Post by Mr. Showtime on Jun 7, 2021 22:49:40 GMT -5
“What do you mean they have me tagging with fucking Angelo,” bellowed “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght, into his phone as if he was going to smash it against his face. “That son of a bitch just tried to run me over with a car, and I’m supposed to trust him against Majors and Phinehas? I swear the last competent person they had running bookings over there was, well, me!”
Showtime paused as he listened to the grabbled response from the other end of the call. He let his arm drip as just let the other person run on, he wasn’t really interested in what they had to say. He was tired. He had his ass kicked at Living a Legacy and there was still no news on his family. He felt like he had to sleep with one eye open each night in his hotel room. He expected that every person who walked past his room was only inches away from kicking in the door to throw him back into the hole Grimm had pulled him out of. It was only a matter of time.
The sound of his name brought his attention back to his cell, and out of his trance. “Yeah, I’m still here. What? Of course I’ll still fight, what kind of question is that? In all honesty it’s all I really have at this moment. Listen, Jason, I have to run. No, everything is alright, I just have to go.”
Showtime hung up before his agent and longtime friend could protest any further. He was one of the few people around who Showtime dared to speak with. Anyone else would be at risk of something horrible happening to. Wryght did his best to protect Jason as well, but he insisted he knew the risks corresponding with Showtime and didn’t care. It was refreshing someone had his back at this moment.
The white rabbit’s foot sat on the bedside table and Showtime instinctually picked it up and rubbed it for good luck. He laughed under his breath at the ridiculous nature of rubbing an animal foot would change anything that was going to happen next. Hell, if it were all that lucky, wouldn’t the rabbit still have it? He placed it back down on the bed side table and back on the manila envelope he retrieved from what remains of his home. He’s convinced himself that he was too big of a coward to actually open it to view its contents.
He hated himself for not doing it sooner. If this gave him real information on where they were he’d never forgive himself. Though there was one thing which held him back, it was one of the main reasons he’s gone back to the house in the first place. He told himself that he went there to look for clues, and though he may have succeeded, he wasn’t hopeful. In truth, he went there hoping he might find a picture of them. Some keepsake which he could carry with him.
Strangely all proof they ever existed started to vanish faster than he could save it. Social media accounts were deleted. His phone was wiped with and automatic update. Someone was making sure they vanished, and not just physically. Which is why Showtime couldn’t open the envelope because he has an aching feeling that it was a picture. One that would leave a lasting impression. One posthumous.
He swore to himself he’d look tonight. Waiting any longer might cause more harm and the only one he was protecting at this moment was himself. He slid the envelope out from under the rabbit’s foot and tore quickly so not to stop himself. As he reached his hand in, he felt a glossy five by eight object. He went green in the face, but it was too late to turn back now. He flipped over the photo, ready for the worst.
His green turned to red as it wasn’t what his nightmares had tricked him into believing. It was simply just a photo of three distinct words, “They’re in Hangtown.”
Showtime paused as he listened to the grabbled response from the other end of the call. He let his arm drip as just let the other person run on, he wasn’t really interested in what they had to say. He was tired. He had his ass kicked at Living a Legacy and there was still no news on his family. He felt like he had to sleep with one eye open each night in his hotel room. He expected that every person who walked past his room was only inches away from kicking in the door to throw him back into the hole Grimm had pulled him out of. It was only a matter of time.
The sound of his name brought his attention back to his cell, and out of his trance. “Yeah, I’m still here. What? Of course I’ll still fight, what kind of question is that? In all honesty it’s all I really have at this moment. Listen, Jason, I have to run. No, everything is alright, I just have to go.”
Showtime hung up before his agent and longtime friend could protest any further. He was one of the few people around who Showtime dared to speak with. Anyone else would be at risk of something horrible happening to. Wryght did his best to protect Jason as well, but he insisted he knew the risks corresponding with Showtime and didn’t care. It was refreshing someone had his back at this moment.
The white rabbit’s foot sat on the bedside table and Showtime instinctually picked it up and rubbed it for good luck. He laughed under his breath at the ridiculous nature of rubbing an animal foot would change anything that was going to happen next. Hell, if it were all that lucky, wouldn’t the rabbit still have it? He placed it back down on the bed side table and back on the manila envelope he retrieved from what remains of his home. He’s convinced himself that he was too big of a coward to actually open it to view its contents.
He hated himself for not doing it sooner. If this gave him real information on where they were he’d never forgive himself. Though there was one thing which held him back, it was one of the main reasons he’s gone back to the house in the first place. He told himself that he went there to look for clues, and though he may have succeeded, he wasn’t hopeful. In truth, he went there hoping he might find a picture of them. Some keepsake which he could carry with him.
Strangely all proof they ever existed started to vanish faster than he could save it. Social media accounts were deleted. His phone was wiped with and automatic update. Someone was making sure they vanished, and not just physically. Which is why Showtime couldn’t open the envelope because he has an aching feeling that it was a picture. One that would leave a lasting impression. One posthumous.
He swore to himself he’d look tonight. Waiting any longer might cause more harm and the only one he was protecting at this moment was himself. He slid the envelope out from under the rabbit’s foot and tore quickly so not to stop himself. As he reached his hand in, he felt a glossy five by eight object. He went green in the face, but it was too late to turn back now. He flipped over the photo, ready for the worst.
His green turned to red as it wasn’t what his nightmares had tricked him into believing. It was simply just a photo of three distinct words, “They’re in Hangtown.”
