Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Jan 15, 2018 22:03:11 GMT -5
Monday 15th January 2018 - 02.00am
LOCATION: Unspecified; Salisbury Plain, England, United Kingdom
He looks into the night’s sky; a tranquil canvas of black and white that would be incapable of disturbing him from his contemplations if not for its beauty. There is something mesmerising about looking toward the heavens when the sun goes down. Like watching dancing flames or a field of flowers waving in the wind. There is not a single cloud that threatens his view.
Ahead of him, a reservoir-like body of rain water has gathered, settling amongst the unevenness of the soil. The moon and even the stars reflect off its unmoving surface making it appear as though they actually under the water itself.
He is suitably dressed for the accompanying cold; a scarf is wrapped around his neck, a fur lined hat designed in a ‘Russian’ style allow flaps of fur to smother his ears. Though he wears no gloves, they are suitably nestled in the pockets of his coat. Even the Wellingtons he wears provide warmth alongside the ability to navigate the boggy plain with relative ease. Indeed, the only discomfort he feels are the very thoughts that plague him; the ones he has come here to impede.
Some may have called it a ‘winter break,’ but given Dominic’s circumstances, it had been anything but.
The trail on Shawn had run as cold as the frigid air that surrounds him. He had not visited the supermarket in which he was last sighted since the last time he was there. No transactions across his bank account of which to speak of. By now, it was likely that he had opened another with a different bank, not even giving a hint of where he may be located by going as far as closing the account through which they had been attempting to trace him through. There had been no sight of hair nor breath from the elusive abductor of his child. By this point, there was little hope left. However, Dominic refused to let go of this shred of hope. He couldn’t. For Amy’s sake. He had to keep searching.
Horacio had assured him that Amy would be well looked after, presumably by the doctors and nurses that would serve her hand and foot during the length of her recovery. More than that, Horacio had promised that she would be safe. How such a guarantee could be fulfilled by Mortimer’s word alone was a matter that Dominic had mulled over for seemingly weeks now. But, he thought to himself, at least she was in the best place that she could be.
The one piece of solace that he could keep close during these troublesome times is the knowledge that Amy was recuperating. Slowly. But recuperating nonetheless. Still, the lingering apparition of the amount of bloodshed trickling from the blade that Amy had voluntarily thrust into her torso stained his thoughts.
How could she do such things to herself?
Could her own anguish really be so powerful as to drive her to the point of despair that she would really seek to end her own life? She was ready to implode. If she could, it would be likely that she would try again. Could she? He didn’t know.
He just didn’t know.
“I hope you’re not looking for some form of divine intervention,” an all too familiar voice calls from nearby, causing Dominic to immediately lower his head and twist it to one side. He practically rolls his eyes straight into the back of their sockets in disbelief and exasperation. All he wanted was to be alone to collect his thoughts. Yet, he could not help but wonder exactly how Horacio had managed to track him down. After all, he is practically in the middle of nowhere, stood in the middle of a random field amidst rolling countryside.
“How did you---” Dominic almost stumbles on his words
“Find you?” Horacio completes the query on his protégé’s behalf. “I have my ways.” This perturbs Dominic somewhat. It makes him something analogous to paranoid. Unwilling to subject himself to Mortimer’s mind games in place of contemplating his predicament, he shakes his head to himself slowly.
“I already know what you’re going to say,” The Suzerain of Time sighs, “I know, I should get some rest,” he pivots on his heel as if he had already heard the statement that he thought Horacio was about to say. Before he can even take a step, Horacio plants one hand against his pectoral, as if to keep him in place. Mystified into immobilisation, he pauses and stares at Horacio gesturing that this is not necessarily his thought process.
“As much as I agree with you,” Horacio begins, causing Dominic to remove the hat from his head in order to hear the Chronological Order’s founding member more clearly. He could have just fastened the flaps to the hat using the buttons provided to secure them, although that required far too much fidgeting for Dominic’s liking. “I appreciate that no schedule that I provide for you can allow you the time you need to think.” Dominic is truly taken aback by Mortimer’s comments. Habitually, in spite of the transgressions of Dawn’s abduction and Amy’s failed attempt at suicide, Horacio would ensure that his time is optimised for their needs, both professionally and personally. Why the sudden change? Horacio doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he adopts the posture that Dominic had prior to his arrival; the back of his skull tilted so far back that it nestled nicely against the tops of his shoulders. “I often stargaze when I have something on my mind,” he states. “Aside from sitting in front of a clock and watching the hands rotate around it’s face, there is nothing better to understand just how time truly affects us.”
“How so?” Dominic silently groans to himself, knowing full well that this conversation is going to turn into yet another of Mortimer’s lectures.
“Think of it this way,” Horacio grins, still staring upwards. “Our sun dominates the day before it is swallowed up by night, but the night is illuminated by billions upon billions of suns, even though we call them stars. How much further could these stars be away from the Earth than our own sun? Millions of lightyears away. Even the second closest star to the Earth, Proxima Centauri, is over four lightyears away from Earth.”
“Is this astronomy lesson leading to some sort of point?” Dominic asks, a little incensed that he is being disturbed in spite of Horacio’s best intentions.
“Think about it,” Horacio continues. “A lightyear is measured in how far light travels in a single year. If Proxima Centauri is four lightyears away from Earth, four point two-two to be exact, when said light is very first created, you will not see it from the moment it leaves the star itself for over four years on Earth.” Rather impressed by this feat, Dominic gazes up, towards the brightest star in the sky. Though it is impossible for him to tell if the chosen speck in the sky that he positions his focus toward is this ‘Proxima Centauri’ of which Mortimer speaks of, the realisation quickly sets in.
“So… you’re saying that the stars that are even further away than that…” Dominic ponders.
“…their light is as old as the dinosaurs,” Mortimer informs to Dominic’s awe. “When you look at the night’s sky, you are essentially looking into the past.” Horacio takes a moment to peer at The Zenith through the corners of his eyes. Based on the positive reaction Dominic is exhibiting, Horacio nods to himself in satisfaction. “You’re a strong man, Dominic,” Horacio compliments. “Both physically and mentally, you’re one of the strongest people that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You will get through this. And we will find your daughter. But do not lose sight of what is directly in front of you.” He looks up again, towards the same cosmos that Dominic looks toward. “If you reach for the stars, you’re reaching not just towards the future, but your past as well. Remember that.”
A moment of silence follows. Nothing but the gentlest breeze whistling past their ears can be heard. That is, until the muffled buzzing of a vibrating mobile phone emanates from one of Dominic’s pockets. He assumes a more suitable position, looking down at the screen to identify the caller, which, ironically, cannot be identified. That is, unless he has a contact named ‘Private Number’ saved in the device’s memory. Horacio gestures to Dominic to answer in spite of the number being withheld. He depresses his thumb on the screen before lifting it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey yo,” an electronic, yet human male voice greets from the opposite end of the line. “Dominic Atkinson, right?”
“Who wants to know?” he asks with uncertainty to the caller‘s purpose.
“Easy there, big guy!” the voice replies with an amused snort. “That’s almost as good as a ‘yes.’ Harley Weiss calling. You remember me, right?”
Ah yes. Harley Weiss. He too had a rich history in the wrestling industry. At the time, he went under the moniker of ‘Harley Vice,’ his surname being a homophone. Though Harley was much shorter, weighing little under two hundred pounds in weight, he too had a promising start to his career, obtaining a similar undefeated streak to the one that Dominator himself finds himself amidst.
These memories suddenly bring back the recognition of his professional obligations. With the winter break now over, Dominator had his own winning ways to keep intact embarking into the New Year.
And it all starts with Arica Lewitt, or ‘Trouble’ as she is more commonly referred to.
Immediately, the lines between sanctioned and governed combat and a personal vendetta begin to blur, much in the way that Shawn Metallinos, also a former wrestler, would be on the receiving end of multiple fists to the face.
Dominator knew exactly when it was. Thursday 23rd November; Trauma 222. Gee. A trio of ‘little women’ debutting a faction during THAT week. As if there weren’t enough of THOSE happening in the world of professional wrestling.
Upon achieving yet another victory to his name under a tag team format, it was initially his partner for that contest, High Tide, who struck the initial blow from behind. It was after this that Arica, alongside the one known as Wasp, injected themselves into the onslaught.
Exhausted from carrying the trio’s ‘captain’ through their match, they exploited Dominator’s exhaustion for all it was worth, yet they still could not put him down without said sneak attack before working his knees, parts of his body with documented wear and injury over the years.
High Tide’s reasoning could at least be justified, to some extent. Dominator had steamrolled through him in the sudden death match of the Underground Round Robin resultant of Gabriel’s involuntary relinquishment of the championship. He had vengeance on his mind. Dominator couldn’t fault him for that. If the shoe were on the other foot, he would have likely sought similar revenge.
But if this ‘revenge’ was designed to incapacitate The Zenith, it had been as poorly executed as a Razor Blade promo.
Dominator is still standing. He is still The Underground King. He is still yet to be pinned or made to submit in competition. And he intends on keeping it that way for a long, long time.
But what business did Arica Lewitt have being there on that fateful night? The likely scenario is that she was simply looking to make a name for herself by being the part of the group that managed to take out not only Dominator himself, but also Tyler Scott and Hiroshi Yukio upon their formation. Yet, whatever ‘momentum’ they had managed to build for themselves had since dissipated. Through either a lack of direction or sheer laziness, they had not struck while the iron was hot in later weeks. Had they realised the futility of their endeavours? Did they understand that they had bitten off more than they could chew? Or perhaps they simply regretted their actions and hope to slink into the backs of everybody’s minds back into irrelevance, hoping to be forgotten.
But Dominator hadn’t forgotten. The time for payback is imminent. All trouble eventually leads to punishment, with Dominator acting as judge, jury and, most importantly, executioner.
All is fair within the sanctions of a PCW ring, even a man obliterating any living being, male or female, who would dare to oppose him and threaten his reign as the King of the Underground. And if Trouble wanted proof of this, she should refer to the destruction of Alexa Black at the hands of The Zenith.
She hasn’t been seen in a competitive capacity since…
…instead, she sucks off that sumo every night.
What hope does Trouble have of claiming the throne for herself? She would not become Queen. Instead, she could remain abhorred by society like lyrics of a Taylor Swift single.
Because, conveniently, by the end of their bought, Dominator would leave her lying on the cold hard ground.
“Yo, you still there?” Harley calls down the phone. “Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you fine,” Dominic states bluntly. “What do you want?”
“Come on now. Is that any way for two members of The Chronological Order to speak to each other?” Harley jibes.
“You’re part of The Chronological Order?” queries Dominic, genuinely surprised by this. “I’ve never noticed you at any of our rallies.” It was true. Even with his daughter missing, Dominic would still regularly attend the ‘sermon-like’ presentations that Horacio would give as a form of recruitment drive to garner attention for their cause. But not once had he recalled ever seeing Harley in attendance. Then again, he could barely remember what the man even looked like. Too much time had passed. He most likely bared little resemblance to the lean, trim little hummingbird that he resembled when he threw himself off of turnbuckles.
“Sure am,” he verifies. “Have been for a while now to be honest. I’ve seen you around, but I figured you’ve got a lot of stuff going on right now, so…”
How could he possibly know that? Horacio hadn’t told every member of the Order of Dawn‘s kidnap, had he?
“So, is there a reason for this call or do you have nothing better to do at 2am in the morning?” Dominic huffs, already growing weary of Harley’s optimism.
“Well, it wouldn’t be 2am in the afternoon, would it?” Harley answers audaciously. Dominator lets an audible scowl down the phone, such a statement reminiscent of Horacio’s own corrective detriment. “Besides, I figured I should let you know that I’ve seen Shawn not more than an hour ago.”
Dominic inhales sharply. A whole Molotov cocktail of noxious intentions, fiery rage and sweet relief swirl through his brain. Immediately, his grip on the cellphone intensifies.
“Where is he?” Dominic says bluntly, as if directing Harley to give the details straight away.
“Well, since finishing up in the wrestling business, I followed in my father’s footsteps by becoming a mechanic,” he explains. “I’ve been working in this twenty-four hour garage for about five years now. Actually, it might be six. Is it six?” Dominic is visually growing impatient as Harley tries to recollect the insignificant details. “I think it might actually be four and a half.”
“Where did you see him!?” Dominator bellows, infuriated at this procrastination.
“Right, right,” Harley admits his lapse in understanding with regards to the severity of the situation. “I’d just come off the night shift and decided to head to my local Wetherspoons for a couple of pints.” Wetherspoons is a British pub chain that primarily specialised in serving cheap meals and beverages, opening their doors at 7am to a sea of unemployed, alcoholics and homeless folk. “Anyhow, I was sat at the end of the bar and I saw him come in. At least, I’m pretty sure it was him.
“Did he recognise you?” Dominic enquires, knowing that Harley had also known Shawn and his brother Matthew during his wrestling days by association to Dominic. There could very well be a possibility that Shawn might think something is suspect, although he too had little to no contact with him for years.
“I don’t think so,” Harley confirms to Dominic’s gratification. “He just had a couple of pints and then left with your kid. I’m sorry but I didn’t see which way he went, but I’ve asked around and some of the regulars have said that they’ve seen him there before. Recently, in fact.”
“Where did this happen?” The Zenith presses for perhaps the most vital piece of information that will give him some sort of lead; anything that can get him closer to bringing Shawn to some sort of justice and returning his daughter to her grief-stricken mother.
“Moon Under The Water,” Harley says. “It’s a pub in Wigan.”
“Moon Under The Water?” Dominic repeats, glaring at the reservoir in front of him, noticing the moon’s reflection. He evokes the thought he had earlier; how the moon looked as though it were submerged; under the water. His eyebrows flare upon noticing this. Horacio had even said to him not to lose sight of what was directly in front of him. He wasn’t kidding! Snapping himself out of deliberating over such happenstance, he begins to make some mental calculations in his head. “That’s the other end of the country,” Dominic says down the phone, though he is speaking more so to himself than Harley, “probably around two hundred miles away. If I leave now, I can avoid the notorious traffic on the motorways.”
“Don’t you have a match tomorrow?” Harley interjects.
“Fuck, he’s right,” Dominic mouths. No words actually escape him, only a small exhalation of steam rises in their place. “I’ll have to do it when I get back.”
“I’ve already asked the landlord and the regulars to keep an eye out to see if he comes in again.” Harley states reassuringly.
“You’ve no idea how much that means, Harley,” Dominic says, his gratitude truly sincere. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before.”
“I get it,” Harley dismisses, unfazed by Dominic’s verbal lashings prior, “you just want your kid back. Hey, I’d probably be freaking out as well. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted if anything happens.”
“Thanks,” Dominic cracks perhaps the very first smile of his year, although it quickly fades. Something seems a little off. His relieved tone suddenly shifts to that same dubious look as before. “How did you even get my number?” Dominic quizzically glares at the mobile phone as if looking Harley directly in the eyes.
“Horacio gave it to me,” Harley replies. “All four of us have it.”
Dominic freezes out of suspicion.
“What do you mean ‘all four of you have it,’ exactly?” Dominic snarls quietly. Harley falls eerily silent. His cheerful demeanour has suddenly been vanquished. Instead of an explanation, Dominic is denied by the monotonous drone of three consecutive beeps, signalling that the call had been terminated. There was not even a possible method of returning the call, considering Harley had dialled him using a withheld number. With a grimacing scowl, Dominic once again begrudgingly stares at the phone as though it were the device itself that was the culprit of his own uncertainty. Although, there was still at least one person who could provide further details.
“Care to explain the meaning of all this?” Dominator turns to where Horacio had been stood, although his words meet nothing but the cold air surrounding him. Horacio had disappeared. So engrossed had Dominic been in the discussion that he neglected to monitor Horacio’s movements. He could not tell if he had departed as recently as Harley’s accidental revelation or as long ago as when the call was first answered. “Horacio!” Dominator booms, his voice echoing across the open field. There is no response. A twinge of mistrust flutters across Dominic’s brow in the form of a twitching muscle. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about,” he mutters to himself, yet, upon analysis, he leets out a confident grin. “They can’t keep this from me forever. Not Harley, not Horacio, not Shawn… nobody!” He understands that he would see Horacio at morning’s first break. The time for interrogation could commence then.
For now, it was time to make headway back to his residence for some much needed slumber.
Before he does so, he takes a moment to look upwards at the clear night’s sky once more, looking at the same stars that occupied the space long before his arrival. Much longer, it would seem, according to the words of Horacio.
“If you reach for the stars, you’re reaching not just towards the future, but your past as well.”
It all seems a little too coincidental.
LOCATION: Unspecified; Salisbury Plain, England, United Kingdom
He looks into the night’s sky; a tranquil canvas of black and white that would be incapable of disturbing him from his contemplations if not for its beauty. There is something mesmerising about looking toward the heavens when the sun goes down. Like watching dancing flames or a field of flowers waving in the wind. There is not a single cloud that threatens his view.
Ahead of him, a reservoir-like body of rain water has gathered, settling amongst the unevenness of the soil. The moon and even the stars reflect off its unmoving surface making it appear as though they actually under the water itself.
He is suitably dressed for the accompanying cold; a scarf is wrapped around his neck, a fur lined hat designed in a ‘Russian’ style allow flaps of fur to smother his ears. Though he wears no gloves, they are suitably nestled in the pockets of his coat. Even the Wellingtons he wears provide warmth alongside the ability to navigate the boggy plain with relative ease. Indeed, the only discomfort he feels are the very thoughts that plague him; the ones he has come here to impede.
Some may have called it a ‘winter break,’ but given Dominic’s circumstances, it had been anything but.
The trail on Shawn had run as cold as the frigid air that surrounds him. He had not visited the supermarket in which he was last sighted since the last time he was there. No transactions across his bank account of which to speak of. By now, it was likely that he had opened another with a different bank, not even giving a hint of where he may be located by going as far as closing the account through which they had been attempting to trace him through. There had been no sight of hair nor breath from the elusive abductor of his child. By this point, there was little hope left. However, Dominic refused to let go of this shred of hope. He couldn’t. For Amy’s sake. He had to keep searching.
Horacio had assured him that Amy would be well looked after, presumably by the doctors and nurses that would serve her hand and foot during the length of her recovery. More than that, Horacio had promised that she would be safe. How such a guarantee could be fulfilled by Mortimer’s word alone was a matter that Dominic had mulled over for seemingly weeks now. But, he thought to himself, at least she was in the best place that she could be.
The one piece of solace that he could keep close during these troublesome times is the knowledge that Amy was recuperating. Slowly. But recuperating nonetheless. Still, the lingering apparition of the amount of bloodshed trickling from the blade that Amy had voluntarily thrust into her torso stained his thoughts.
How could she do such things to herself?
Could her own anguish really be so powerful as to drive her to the point of despair that she would really seek to end her own life? She was ready to implode. If she could, it would be likely that she would try again. Could she? He didn’t know.
He just didn’t know.
“I hope you’re not looking for some form of divine intervention,” an all too familiar voice calls from nearby, causing Dominic to immediately lower his head and twist it to one side. He practically rolls his eyes straight into the back of their sockets in disbelief and exasperation. All he wanted was to be alone to collect his thoughts. Yet, he could not help but wonder exactly how Horacio had managed to track him down. After all, he is practically in the middle of nowhere, stood in the middle of a random field amidst rolling countryside.
“How did you---” Dominic almost stumbles on his words
“Find you?” Horacio completes the query on his protégé’s behalf. “I have my ways.” This perturbs Dominic somewhat. It makes him something analogous to paranoid. Unwilling to subject himself to Mortimer’s mind games in place of contemplating his predicament, he shakes his head to himself slowly.
“I already know what you’re going to say,” The Suzerain of Time sighs, “I know, I should get some rest,” he pivots on his heel as if he had already heard the statement that he thought Horacio was about to say. Before he can even take a step, Horacio plants one hand against his pectoral, as if to keep him in place. Mystified into immobilisation, he pauses and stares at Horacio gesturing that this is not necessarily his thought process.
“As much as I agree with you,” Horacio begins, causing Dominic to remove the hat from his head in order to hear the Chronological Order’s founding member more clearly. He could have just fastened the flaps to the hat using the buttons provided to secure them, although that required far too much fidgeting for Dominic’s liking. “I appreciate that no schedule that I provide for you can allow you the time you need to think.” Dominic is truly taken aback by Mortimer’s comments. Habitually, in spite of the transgressions of Dawn’s abduction and Amy’s failed attempt at suicide, Horacio would ensure that his time is optimised for their needs, both professionally and personally. Why the sudden change? Horacio doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he adopts the posture that Dominic had prior to his arrival; the back of his skull tilted so far back that it nestled nicely against the tops of his shoulders. “I often stargaze when I have something on my mind,” he states. “Aside from sitting in front of a clock and watching the hands rotate around it’s face, there is nothing better to understand just how time truly affects us.”
“How so?” Dominic silently groans to himself, knowing full well that this conversation is going to turn into yet another of Mortimer’s lectures.
“Think of it this way,” Horacio grins, still staring upwards. “Our sun dominates the day before it is swallowed up by night, but the night is illuminated by billions upon billions of suns, even though we call them stars. How much further could these stars be away from the Earth than our own sun? Millions of lightyears away. Even the second closest star to the Earth, Proxima Centauri, is over four lightyears away from Earth.”
“Is this astronomy lesson leading to some sort of point?” Dominic asks, a little incensed that he is being disturbed in spite of Horacio’s best intentions.
“Think about it,” Horacio continues. “A lightyear is measured in how far light travels in a single year. If Proxima Centauri is four lightyears away from Earth, four point two-two to be exact, when said light is very first created, you will not see it from the moment it leaves the star itself for over four years on Earth.” Rather impressed by this feat, Dominic gazes up, towards the brightest star in the sky. Though it is impossible for him to tell if the chosen speck in the sky that he positions his focus toward is this ‘Proxima Centauri’ of which Mortimer speaks of, the realisation quickly sets in.
“So… you’re saying that the stars that are even further away than that…” Dominic ponders.
“…their light is as old as the dinosaurs,” Mortimer informs to Dominic’s awe. “When you look at the night’s sky, you are essentially looking into the past.” Horacio takes a moment to peer at The Zenith through the corners of his eyes. Based on the positive reaction Dominic is exhibiting, Horacio nods to himself in satisfaction. “You’re a strong man, Dominic,” Horacio compliments. “Both physically and mentally, you’re one of the strongest people that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. You will get through this. And we will find your daughter. But do not lose sight of what is directly in front of you.” He looks up again, towards the same cosmos that Dominic looks toward. “If you reach for the stars, you’re reaching not just towards the future, but your past as well. Remember that.”
A moment of silence follows. Nothing but the gentlest breeze whistling past their ears can be heard. That is, until the muffled buzzing of a vibrating mobile phone emanates from one of Dominic’s pockets. He assumes a more suitable position, looking down at the screen to identify the caller, which, ironically, cannot be identified. That is, unless he has a contact named ‘Private Number’ saved in the device’s memory. Horacio gestures to Dominic to answer in spite of the number being withheld. He depresses his thumb on the screen before lifting it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey yo,” an electronic, yet human male voice greets from the opposite end of the line. “Dominic Atkinson, right?”
“Who wants to know?” he asks with uncertainty to the caller‘s purpose.
“Easy there, big guy!” the voice replies with an amused snort. “That’s almost as good as a ‘yes.’ Harley Weiss calling. You remember me, right?”
Ah yes. Harley Weiss. He too had a rich history in the wrestling industry. At the time, he went under the moniker of ‘Harley Vice,’ his surname being a homophone. Though Harley was much shorter, weighing little under two hundred pounds in weight, he too had a promising start to his career, obtaining a similar undefeated streak to the one that Dominator himself finds himself amidst.
These memories suddenly bring back the recognition of his professional obligations. With the winter break now over, Dominator had his own winning ways to keep intact embarking into the New Year.
And it all starts with Arica Lewitt, or ‘Trouble’ as she is more commonly referred to.
Immediately, the lines between sanctioned and governed combat and a personal vendetta begin to blur, much in the way that Shawn Metallinos, also a former wrestler, would be on the receiving end of multiple fists to the face.
Dominator knew exactly when it was. Thursday 23rd November; Trauma 222. Gee. A trio of ‘little women’ debutting a faction during THAT week. As if there weren’t enough of THOSE happening in the world of professional wrestling.
Upon achieving yet another victory to his name under a tag team format, it was initially his partner for that contest, High Tide, who struck the initial blow from behind. It was after this that Arica, alongside the one known as Wasp, injected themselves into the onslaught.
Exhausted from carrying the trio’s ‘captain’ through their match, they exploited Dominator’s exhaustion for all it was worth, yet they still could not put him down without said sneak attack before working his knees, parts of his body with documented wear and injury over the years.
High Tide’s reasoning could at least be justified, to some extent. Dominator had steamrolled through him in the sudden death match of the Underground Round Robin resultant of Gabriel’s involuntary relinquishment of the championship. He had vengeance on his mind. Dominator couldn’t fault him for that. If the shoe were on the other foot, he would have likely sought similar revenge.
But if this ‘revenge’ was designed to incapacitate The Zenith, it had been as poorly executed as a Razor Blade promo.
Dominator is still standing. He is still The Underground King. He is still yet to be pinned or made to submit in competition. And he intends on keeping it that way for a long, long time.
But what business did Arica Lewitt have being there on that fateful night? The likely scenario is that she was simply looking to make a name for herself by being the part of the group that managed to take out not only Dominator himself, but also Tyler Scott and Hiroshi Yukio upon their formation. Yet, whatever ‘momentum’ they had managed to build for themselves had since dissipated. Through either a lack of direction or sheer laziness, they had not struck while the iron was hot in later weeks. Had they realised the futility of their endeavours? Did they understand that they had bitten off more than they could chew? Or perhaps they simply regretted their actions and hope to slink into the backs of everybody’s minds back into irrelevance, hoping to be forgotten.
But Dominator hadn’t forgotten. The time for payback is imminent. All trouble eventually leads to punishment, with Dominator acting as judge, jury and, most importantly, executioner.
All is fair within the sanctions of a PCW ring, even a man obliterating any living being, male or female, who would dare to oppose him and threaten his reign as the King of the Underground. And if Trouble wanted proof of this, she should refer to the destruction of Alexa Black at the hands of The Zenith.
She hasn’t been seen in a competitive capacity since…
…instead, she sucks off that sumo every night.
What hope does Trouble have of claiming the throne for herself? She would not become Queen. Instead, she could remain abhorred by society like lyrics of a Taylor Swift single.
Because, conveniently, by the end of their bought, Dominator would leave her lying on the cold hard ground.
“Yo, you still there?” Harley calls down the phone. “Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you fine,” Dominic states bluntly. “What do you want?”
“Come on now. Is that any way for two members of The Chronological Order to speak to each other?” Harley jibes.
“You’re part of The Chronological Order?” queries Dominic, genuinely surprised by this. “I’ve never noticed you at any of our rallies.” It was true. Even with his daughter missing, Dominic would still regularly attend the ‘sermon-like’ presentations that Horacio would give as a form of recruitment drive to garner attention for their cause. But not once had he recalled ever seeing Harley in attendance. Then again, he could barely remember what the man even looked like. Too much time had passed. He most likely bared little resemblance to the lean, trim little hummingbird that he resembled when he threw himself off of turnbuckles.
“Sure am,” he verifies. “Have been for a while now to be honest. I’ve seen you around, but I figured you’ve got a lot of stuff going on right now, so…”
How could he possibly know that? Horacio hadn’t told every member of the Order of Dawn‘s kidnap, had he?
“So, is there a reason for this call or do you have nothing better to do at 2am in the morning?” Dominic huffs, already growing weary of Harley’s optimism.
“Well, it wouldn’t be 2am in the afternoon, would it?” Harley answers audaciously. Dominator lets an audible scowl down the phone, such a statement reminiscent of Horacio’s own corrective detriment. “Besides, I figured I should let you know that I’ve seen Shawn not more than an hour ago.”
Dominic inhales sharply. A whole Molotov cocktail of noxious intentions, fiery rage and sweet relief swirl through his brain. Immediately, his grip on the cellphone intensifies.
“Where is he?” Dominic says bluntly, as if directing Harley to give the details straight away.
“Well, since finishing up in the wrestling business, I followed in my father’s footsteps by becoming a mechanic,” he explains. “I’ve been working in this twenty-four hour garage for about five years now. Actually, it might be six. Is it six?” Dominic is visually growing impatient as Harley tries to recollect the insignificant details. “I think it might actually be four and a half.”
“Where did you see him!?” Dominator bellows, infuriated at this procrastination.
“Right, right,” Harley admits his lapse in understanding with regards to the severity of the situation. “I’d just come off the night shift and decided to head to my local Wetherspoons for a couple of pints.” Wetherspoons is a British pub chain that primarily specialised in serving cheap meals and beverages, opening their doors at 7am to a sea of unemployed, alcoholics and homeless folk. “Anyhow, I was sat at the end of the bar and I saw him come in. At least, I’m pretty sure it was him.
“Did he recognise you?” Dominic enquires, knowing that Harley had also known Shawn and his brother Matthew during his wrestling days by association to Dominic. There could very well be a possibility that Shawn might think something is suspect, although he too had little to no contact with him for years.
“I don’t think so,” Harley confirms to Dominic’s gratification. “He just had a couple of pints and then left with your kid. I’m sorry but I didn’t see which way he went, but I’ve asked around and some of the regulars have said that they’ve seen him there before. Recently, in fact.”
“Where did this happen?” The Zenith presses for perhaps the most vital piece of information that will give him some sort of lead; anything that can get him closer to bringing Shawn to some sort of justice and returning his daughter to her grief-stricken mother.
“Moon Under The Water,” Harley says. “It’s a pub in Wigan.”
“Moon Under The Water?” Dominic repeats, glaring at the reservoir in front of him, noticing the moon’s reflection. He evokes the thought he had earlier; how the moon looked as though it were submerged; under the water. His eyebrows flare upon noticing this. Horacio had even said to him not to lose sight of what was directly in front of him. He wasn’t kidding! Snapping himself out of deliberating over such happenstance, he begins to make some mental calculations in his head. “That’s the other end of the country,” Dominic says down the phone, though he is speaking more so to himself than Harley, “probably around two hundred miles away. If I leave now, I can avoid the notorious traffic on the motorways.”
“Don’t you have a match tomorrow?” Harley interjects.
“Fuck, he’s right,” Dominic mouths. No words actually escape him, only a small exhalation of steam rises in their place. “I’ll have to do it when I get back.”
“I’ve already asked the landlord and the regulars to keep an eye out to see if he comes in again.” Harley states reassuringly.
“You’ve no idea how much that means, Harley,” Dominic says, his gratitude truly sincere. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before.”
“I get it,” Harley dismisses, unfazed by Dominic’s verbal lashings prior, “you just want your kid back. Hey, I’d probably be freaking out as well. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted if anything happens.”
“Thanks,” Dominic cracks perhaps the very first smile of his year, although it quickly fades. Something seems a little off. His relieved tone suddenly shifts to that same dubious look as before. “How did you even get my number?” Dominic quizzically glares at the mobile phone as if looking Harley directly in the eyes.
“Horacio gave it to me,” Harley replies. “All four of us have it.”
Dominic freezes out of suspicion.
“What do you mean ‘all four of you have it,’ exactly?” Dominic snarls quietly. Harley falls eerily silent. His cheerful demeanour has suddenly been vanquished. Instead of an explanation, Dominic is denied by the monotonous drone of three consecutive beeps, signalling that the call had been terminated. There was not even a possible method of returning the call, considering Harley had dialled him using a withheld number. With a grimacing scowl, Dominic once again begrudgingly stares at the phone as though it were the device itself that was the culprit of his own uncertainty. Although, there was still at least one person who could provide further details.
“Care to explain the meaning of all this?” Dominator turns to where Horacio had been stood, although his words meet nothing but the cold air surrounding him. Horacio had disappeared. So engrossed had Dominic been in the discussion that he neglected to monitor Horacio’s movements. He could not tell if he had departed as recently as Harley’s accidental revelation or as long ago as when the call was first answered. “Horacio!” Dominator booms, his voice echoing across the open field. There is no response. A twinge of mistrust flutters across Dominic’s brow in the form of a twitching muscle. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about,” he mutters to himself, yet, upon analysis, he leets out a confident grin. “They can’t keep this from me forever. Not Harley, not Horacio, not Shawn… nobody!” He understands that he would see Horacio at morning’s first break. The time for interrogation could commence then.
For now, it was time to make headway back to his residence for some much needed slumber.
Before he does so, he takes a moment to look upwards at the clear night’s sky once more, looking at the same stars that occupied the space long before his arrival. Much longer, it would seem, according to the words of Horacio.
“If you reach for the stars, you’re reaching not just towards the future, but your past as well.”
It all seems a little too coincidental.
