Post by Mr. Showtime on May 22, 2015 17:12:55 GMT -5
It wasn’t a terribly long flight from New Jersey to Kansas City, but “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght was glad it was over. He’d flown alone and loneliness was dangerous. He had nothing to distract him from the dreams the Black Hand had put him through. Dreams probably wasn’t the right term, more like partial or forgotten memories. Each time he closed his eyes a flash of the four scenes would appear. They were unwelcomed memories, but apparently necessary. Through it all there was the underlying guilt of marking the Michaels’ twins.
In reality it wasn’t Showtime who marked the twins, but it didn’t make the guilt subside. A Wryght was guilty, and as the old men said the sins of the father. Showtime had tried to forget his prior run-ins with his father. At the time he’d only been anger with Harold for abandoning the family. Showtime had always felt cheated not having his father around. Family normalcy was stolen from him.
He couldn’t decide if knowing his father was forced to leave made a difference. He could have stayed, or at least the dreams didn’t appear that he was in much danger. This was probably due to the Hand being the ones who guided that journey. How they did it he didn’t even wonder. Nothing could surprise him from the other things he’d seen.
What his father had done was the constant question, or rather what he hadn’t done. Whatever it was it had to be big. Murder was a possibility. Nothing else could justify Harold Wryght’s decision to jeopardize his family. Though that sin seemed trivial in the eyes of the Black Hand. They’d started World Wars to help shape society. What was one more to the already astronomical body count.
When he exited his plane a custom limousine was waiting for him. After all the changes that Showtime had been through his style was constant. He’d acclimated nicely to luxurious amenities, almost naturally. The dreams did achieve one positive that he could see. They gave him back part of his self that he’d been missing. Ever since Ruth Dilinger had given Granny’s fungus powder to Grimm, Showtime had felt like someone else. After watching the boy the man would grow into it made him feel close to whole.
He poured himself a glass of Macallan twenty-five year scotch to ease his nerves. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he reached his destination, but it wasn’t going to be good. He wasn’t worried about the voice returning to his mind with one glass. It was just to take a bit of the edge off. He’d probably have a second to make sure the edges were completely rounded.
He tried to think of his upcoming matches at Living a Legacy. He had thought enough about the evil the Wryght Family had brought upon the Michaels. More than they deserved, but that didn’t change facts. The Black Hand had set the matches that Showtime needed to compete in. First defeating Cory Steel, exacting the revenge both the Hand and Showtime desired. It took a while to figure out how Seth Archer fit into the equation, but he had become a catalyst. He represented the potential failure that Showtime could endure. He was always meant to tie Archer the first match to make sure Showtime’s resolve was true.
The finals would have more depth to them. He wasn’t sure if the trash-man and juggalo had any deeper meaning then being the last obstacle. Regardless they were destined to the same fate as the rest. It was clear that Showtime was meant to win the tournament. He had to. He must protect the integrity of the Black Hand.
He scoffed at that comment as he sipped his scotch. Did he really care about the Black Hand after all they had done? Did they even have any integrity? Showtime didn’t know, but he was planning on finding out. Regardless he knew that he was meant to claim victory over the remaining three men. If not for them, then for himself. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Two of these men were former World Champions. One of which Showtime had never beaten. The last was a complete wild card. A demented jester with a point to prove. Tha Joka was probably the most dangerous man out of the bunch. Showtime didn’t know what to expect from him, no research had been done, and that did not bode well in Showtime’s mind.
The luxury vehicle came to a halt. Showtime looked around not believing that it had been two hours already. The car ride felt as short as the flight felt long. He looked down to find half the bottle of scotch gone. Maybe a mistake, but only time would tell. The driver ran around to open the door. Showtime took his first footsteps in Wichita, Kansas. Or at least the first steps he’d known of.
“Well Toto,” was all he said, even though he was actually in Kansas. It seemed fitting. In front of him stood a fortress protecting society from hardened criminals. You didn’t get placed into Sedgwick County Prison for petty crimes. The men incarcerated here were not to be trifled with, even though trifling was on the menu.
Showtime threw on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, no sure if they’d make him inconspicuous or more recognizable. Either way he doubted that anyone would recognize him in the middle of nowhere. He kept his head down and made his way towards the imposing prison. There were people walking towards the gate while guards trolled it around them.
As he reached the main gate a guard grabbed him and pulled him away from the chain-linked fence. He was older, but had surprising strength for his age. He pulled Showtime around a small stone wall where they couldn’t really be seen. Showtime was in awe, and was starting to get used to being abducted at this point. He refused to speak first, but as he surveyed the man his piercing blue eyes and white mustache gave him away.
“It’s good to see you Michael,” said Harold Wryght, putting his hands on his son’s broad shoulders.
“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Wryght,” replied Showtime. His curtness was unintentional. It was more of a defensive mechanism, and it cut his father deep. It’d been a long time since someone had called him that, and of all people he never thought he’d hear it from his son. He’d been living under numerous aliases. Always trying to stay one step in front of the Black Hand.
“Please you can call me Harry,” tried Showtime’s father to ease the tension.
“You’re a prison guard?” observed Showtime, looking the uniform up and down.
“Not exactly,” slyly replied Harold, with a half smile comparable to Showtime’s. “You could probably consider me more a master of disguise. But you need to turn back now and get out of sight.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I’m sure by now you know how deep things with The Black Hand run. Your life, career and everything have been manipulated by them. Everything you do follows that path. Even now you are just doing what they want you to.”
“They don’t know I’m here,” retorted Showtime, annoyed at his father’s presumptions. Showtime thought back to the member who’d given Showtime the idea to find someone who knew the Black Hand, but no longer answered to them. This was the only place he knew he’d find someone that matched that criterion.
“Don’t be naive, Mikey. Even the license plate on the vehicle you came up in said Nex Addo. They are everywhere.”
“Don’t call me Mikey.”
“Sorry, an old habit, but this man is dangerous. I know by experience.”
“What didn’t you do?” abruptly asked Showtime, changing the subject.
Harold Wryght looked away, the answer was on the tip of his tongue and sat there like fire, “I can’t answer that.”
“Sure you can,” Showtime mocked. “It starts with, I wasn’t able to…”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then we are done here old man.”
“Please listen.”
“No you listen. Do you understand the damage you’ve done? You left Nicole and me at a time when we needed you the most. You destroyed Mom, she always blamed herself for your death, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that she’s been killing herself for nothing.”
“You mustn’t tell your mother.”
“Don’t tell me what I mustn’t do. She did everything she could to raise us the best she could, but you broke her. Year after year we’d go to the plot that you were apparently buried in to speak to a stranger. Hell maybe no one. You didn’t have any issue with killing that man and setting him up to free you. I see you could do that, so what’s so much worse that you’d turn your back on our family lineage.”
“I didn’t kill him,” sadly defended Harold. “And they’ve really got to you, huh?”
“This isn’t about them, it’s about you. I’m not actually sure what I think about the Black Hand at this time, but I know that you’re a cowardly piece of shit. You should have never left us.”
“It was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Malarkey!” blurted Showtime, unable to control his anger. “It’s real tough to defend someone when you’re not there. Now if you won’t answer my questions then I need to go talk to someone that will.”
“Please be reasonable,” pleaded Harold, replacing his hands on Showtime’s shoulders. “Turn back, blow off this tournament and take Perfection to some recluse island for a while. Maybe if you vanish they’ll let you be.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” growled Showtime. “And you know there is no chance the Hand ever leaves me alone, and I still don’t know enough to determine if that’s what I want. Both of which is your fault.”
“Hey,” yelled a guard witnessing the scene. Showtime shrugged his father’s grip off and turned towards the real patrolman.
“Hello, officer,” started Showtime towards the man. Unexpectedly, the guard pulled his pistol on Showtime, causing him to freeze.
“Whoa,” called Showtime, not noticing that his father was making a hasty retreat. “I want to report that there is a man masquerading around as a prison guard.”
“Not here they’re not.”
Showtime looked back, seeing no one was behind him any longer and brought his attention back to the pistol. “Then why would a guard abandon another guard? That man was an imposter.”
“You just place your hands on the wall and no sudden moves,” ordered the officer. Showtime did as he was told. He had nothing to hide and wouldn’t let his father stop him from his mission. The man ran his hands all over Showtime’s body looking of a weapon. Finding nothing, he withdrew Showtime’s wallet and told him not to turn around. Showtime was not a small person and the guard felt safer with Wryght pressed against the wall.
“No shit,” jovially said the officer. “You’re Michael Wryght. Mr. Showtime, right?”
“Guilty,” replied Showtime with his cocky half smile. It was time to use his acting skills to their fullest. Showtime was no strangers to fans and the nicer you were the more useful they would be. “Do you mind if I turn around?”
The guard’s instinct to be suspicious kicked back in, but it was softer, “What are you doing out here?”
“Well, I’m here to visit someone and that man recognized me. He certainly wasn’t a real guard. Even admitted it.”
“Did you know him?”
Showtime had to think about that question. His smile waned for an instant, but he turned his charm back on before responding, “I can honestly say I don’t know that man at all.”
It wasn’t a lie. The white haired Harold Wryght that he just spoke with was no long Showtime’s father. The guard motioned Showtime towards the visitor’s entrance, and called in the impersonator. After he did his duty he stuck by Showtime’s side. The conversation started like a fan would usually. He asked mundane questions that you might get off of TMZ. Stupid shit, but Showtime was happy to answer them if this man got him to his final destination.
When they arrived at the visitor’s line the guard cut past the twenty-minute wait and the hour-long prep areas. They went straight to the prison’s main foyer and stood by while Showtime signed in. Under “prisoner visiting” Showtime wrote, Dr. Damian Sorrows. Showtime noticed that the two guards met eyes and checked the schedule. Showtime hadn’t made an appointment, but his name was on the register. Now he knew the Black Hand had set him up.
As they walked towards Sorrows’ cell the guard asked, “How do you know Dr. Sorrows?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need answers.” Showtime’s answers were now short. He used the guard to his fullest and now Showtime wished the man would get lost. He regretted drinking so much of the limousine scotch, but it did keep his mind clear.
“He’s right at the end here,” warily pointed the guard. “I’m going to give you your space, but I’ll be near by. Don’t let that quack get into your head.”
“Head games are my job,” replied Showtime in a cocky manner.
“Yeah but they’re his life’s work,” added the guard, locking eyes with Showtime. The guard seemed legitimately scared of the good doctor, which didn’t help.
The window was blacked out when Showtime approached the cell. It was larger than he’d expect it to be. He noticed a line of buttons on the side of the cell, but decided it would be best to just knock. Before his third rap the window became clear. Damian Sorrows was standing inches from Showtime’s face, which caused him to jump. The doctor was grinning at the surprise, a yellow nasty smile. Sorrows mouthed the words, blue button and looked at the panel next to the cell. After Showtime pressed it the cruel voice of Dr. Sorrows came through a speaker.
“Ah, Mr. Wryght,” he hissed. “I am happily surprised you decided to visit.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I must admit that a little bird did tell me that you would be stopping by.”
“Someone from the Black Hand?”
“Heavens no,” Dr. Sorrows replied. “We do not get along quiet as well as we once did. Apparently I am a monster.”
It chilled Showtime’s blood that he was so casual about being called a monster, but it looked to be a game to him. Showtime was happy to play the mind games back, but it would probably only give Sorrows more pleasure.
“So, Mr. Wryght, what do I owe the pleasure?” grinned Damian.
“I need you to answer some questions for me.”
“Ah, the Wryght family, always looking for a resolution rather than creating one themselves.”
“What is that suppose to mean?”
“Your father had a tendency to ask a lot of questions. Never truly sure what the right course of action was. Always seeking affirmation. Does the apple not fall far from the tree?” In honesty the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, but Showtime didn’t want to admit that. “How is your father these days?”
Showtime didn’t expect that question, but kept cool and answered. “My father died when I was young.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” replied Sorrows, grinning bigger. “Now that you answered correctly, how is your father, Mr. Wryght? We both know that he is out there somewhere. Word has it that he was lurking around the grounds awaiting your arrival.”
“How could you?”
“Like I said, I have talkative birds. One of the many reason your escort, Officer Riley, decided not to join the conversation.” Sorrows waved at the officer, who quickly turned away. “He does not like me too much, but no one does these day.”
“Please, you are just talking in circles and I need answers,” demanded Showtime already getting frustrated. “Tell me how did you know my father.”
“Mr. Wryght, you know this already. We were members together,” he said, pointing to his hand. “But this you already knew.”
“I wanted to see how honest you would be.”
“I assure you that the answers you already know, I will answer truthfully.”
“Fine, what did he not do?”
“Alas, that is one thing not even I know. A few years after his falling out he came to me for a place to stay and possibly some work. I of course was happy to help a member of the Wryght clan, and we had always been friendly. A relationship built on mutual gain, if you will. He refused to tell me no matter what I did. I could have used, let us say, more persuasive means, but I thought that a man of his lineage might come in use later. If he made amends or not.”
“Why did he leave?”
“He was paranoid, and possibly delusional. Who knows what the Wryghts do to their children in preparation. Though I digress, he stayed around for a while, but found out on some of my more secret projects. He did not particularly agree with progress and left. I have not heard from him since.”
“You really are a monster, aren’t you?”
Damian Sorrows shrugs, and replied, “What is in a name. You were one of my special patients. Though we never had a chance to meet face to face, you were the only one to be able to survive a certain cerium. How are the dreams treating you?”
“You made that?”
“Well of course, my lad. The human mind has always fascinated me. How are the dreams treating you?”
“They’re intense, if you must know, but we aren’t here to discuss me.”
“We should some time, please come back and let me know how it works. All of the children I have used it on died after their seizures and the adults are too old and go mad. Breakthroughs in science are messy business.”
“Tell me, is there a way out of the Black Hand?”
“Besides death?”
“Of course.”
“Are you going to try and repeat you father’s mistakes?”
“Let’s say it isn’t for me. Just answer the question.”
“I will have to say no, but if you rub elbows with the right people it could be possible. Nothing is impossible. Who is this lucky someone whom has a Wryght guardian angle?”
“I doesn’t matter,” replied Showtime, though he could only think of the Michaels twins. He didn’t want his crimes to hurt anyone innocent. He’d already have to deal with their father, and he didn’t want his kids to have to deal with them.
“Who do I need to talk to? Is there some one in charge of all this? An inner circle?”
“You have too many questions, Mr. Wryght, and not nearly enough patients. These answers will come, so until our next meeting I fear I cannot help you any further. Please do give my regards to Justin. I have always had a fondness for that boy.”
Dr. Sorrows hits the button to black out his window divider. Showtime banged on the glass as long as Officer Riley allowed it to go on. Reluctantly, Showtime was pulled away and went back with his escort to safer areas. On their way Showtime asked Riley if there was anywhere he could get together with some of the other guards. His charm turned up to one hundred and ten percent. Making friends before he left would be a necessity, since he suspected that he might be back.
After an hour or two, he was on his way back to his private plane. His limousine was parked in the lot awaiting his arrival. He took note that the license plate actually said Nex Addo. As they pulled away his eyes caught a black seventy Chevelle. He knew that Stormm drove one of those, but what were the chances?
In reality it wasn’t Showtime who marked the twins, but it didn’t make the guilt subside. A Wryght was guilty, and as the old men said the sins of the father. Showtime had tried to forget his prior run-ins with his father. At the time he’d only been anger with Harold for abandoning the family. Showtime had always felt cheated not having his father around. Family normalcy was stolen from him.
He couldn’t decide if knowing his father was forced to leave made a difference. He could have stayed, or at least the dreams didn’t appear that he was in much danger. This was probably due to the Hand being the ones who guided that journey. How they did it he didn’t even wonder. Nothing could surprise him from the other things he’d seen.
What his father had done was the constant question, or rather what he hadn’t done. Whatever it was it had to be big. Murder was a possibility. Nothing else could justify Harold Wryght’s decision to jeopardize his family. Though that sin seemed trivial in the eyes of the Black Hand. They’d started World Wars to help shape society. What was one more to the already astronomical body count.
When he exited his plane a custom limousine was waiting for him. After all the changes that Showtime had been through his style was constant. He’d acclimated nicely to luxurious amenities, almost naturally. The dreams did achieve one positive that he could see. They gave him back part of his self that he’d been missing. Ever since Ruth Dilinger had given Granny’s fungus powder to Grimm, Showtime had felt like someone else. After watching the boy the man would grow into it made him feel close to whole.
He poured himself a glass of Macallan twenty-five year scotch to ease his nerves. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he reached his destination, but it wasn’t going to be good. He wasn’t worried about the voice returning to his mind with one glass. It was just to take a bit of the edge off. He’d probably have a second to make sure the edges were completely rounded.
He tried to think of his upcoming matches at Living a Legacy. He had thought enough about the evil the Wryght Family had brought upon the Michaels. More than they deserved, but that didn’t change facts. The Black Hand had set the matches that Showtime needed to compete in. First defeating Cory Steel, exacting the revenge both the Hand and Showtime desired. It took a while to figure out how Seth Archer fit into the equation, but he had become a catalyst. He represented the potential failure that Showtime could endure. He was always meant to tie Archer the first match to make sure Showtime’s resolve was true.
The finals would have more depth to them. He wasn’t sure if the trash-man and juggalo had any deeper meaning then being the last obstacle. Regardless they were destined to the same fate as the rest. It was clear that Showtime was meant to win the tournament. He had to. He must protect the integrity of the Black Hand.
He scoffed at that comment as he sipped his scotch. Did he really care about the Black Hand after all they had done? Did they even have any integrity? Showtime didn’t know, but he was planning on finding out. Regardless he knew that he was meant to claim victory over the remaining three men. If not for them, then for himself. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Two of these men were former World Champions. One of which Showtime had never beaten. The last was a complete wild card. A demented jester with a point to prove. Tha Joka was probably the most dangerous man out of the bunch. Showtime didn’t know what to expect from him, no research had been done, and that did not bode well in Showtime’s mind.
The luxury vehicle came to a halt. Showtime looked around not believing that it had been two hours already. The car ride felt as short as the flight felt long. He looked down to find half the bottle of scotch gone. Maybe a mistake, but only time would tell. The driver ran around to open the door. Showtime took his first footsteps in Wichita, Kansas. Or at least the first steps he’d known of.
“Well Toto,” was all he said, even though he was actually in Kansas. It seemed fitting. In front of him stood a fortress protecting society from hardened criminals. You didn’t get placed into Sedgwick County Prison for petty crimes. The men incarcerated here were not to be trifled with, even though trifling was on the menu.
Showtime threw on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, no sure if they’d make him inconspicuous or more recognizable. Either way he doubted that anyone would recognize him in the middle of nowhere. He kept his head down and made his way towards the imposing prison. There were people walking towards the gate while guards trolled it around them.
As he reached the main gate a guard grabbed him and pulled him away from the chain-linked fence. He was older, but had surprising strength for his age. He pulled Showtime around a small stone wall where they couldn’t really be seen. Showtime was in awe, and was starting to get used to being abducted at this point. He refused to speak first, but as he surveyed the man his piercing blue eyes and white mustache gave him away.
“It’s good to see you Michael,” said Harold Wryght, putting his hands on his son’s broad shoulders.
“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Wryght,” replied Showtime. His curtness was unintentional. It was more of a defensive mechanism, and it cut his father deep. It’d been a long time since someone had called him that, and of all people he never thought he’d hear it from his son. He’d been living under numerous aliases. Always trying to stay one step in front of the Black Hand.
“Please you can call me Harry,” tried Showtime’s father to ease the tension.
“You’re a prison guard?” observed Showtime, looking the uniform up and down.
“Not exactly,” slyly replied Harold, with a half smile comparable to Showtime’s. “You could probably consider me more a master of disguise. But you need to turn back now and get out of sight.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I’m sure by now you know how deep things with The Black Hand run. Your life, career and everything have been manipulated by them. Everything you do follows that path. Even now you are just doing what they want you to.”
“They don’t know I’m here,” retorted Showtime, annoyed at his father’s presumptions. Showtime thought back to the member who’d given Showtime the idea to find someone who knew the Black Hand, but no longer answered to them. This was the only place he knew he’d find someone that matched that criterion.
“Don’t be naive, Mikey. Even the license plate on the vehicle you came up in said Nex Addo. They are everywhere.”
“Don’t call me Mikey.”
“Sorry, an old habit, but this man is dangerous. I know by experience.”
“What didn’t you do?” abruptly asked Showtime, changing the subject.
Harold Wryght looked away, the answer was on the tip of his tongue and sat there like fire, “I can’t answer that.”
“Sure you can,” Showtime mocked. “It starts with, I wasn’t able to…”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then we are done here old man.”
“Please listen.”
“No you listen. Do you understand the damage you’ve done? You left Nicole and me at a time when we needed you the most. You destroyed Mom, she always blamed herself for your death, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that she’s been killing herself for nothing.”
“You mustn’t tell your mother.”
“Don’t tell me what I mustn’t do. She did everything she could to raise us the best she could, but you broke her. Year after year we’d go to the plot that you were apparently buried in to speak to a stranger. Hell maybe no one. You didn’t have any issue with killing that man and setting him up to free you. I see you could do that, so what’s so much worse that you’d turn your back on our family lineage.”
“I didn’t kill him,” sadly defended Harold. “And they’ve really got to you, huh?”
“This isn’t about them, it’s about you. I’m not actually sure what I think about the Black Hand at this time, but I know that you’re a cowardly piece of shit. You should have never left us.”
“It was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Malarkey!” blurted Showtime, unable to control his anger. “It’s real tough to defend someone when you’re not there. Now if you won’t answer my questions then I need to go talk to someone that will.”
“Please be reasonable,” pleaded Harold, replacing his hands on Showtime’s shoulders. “Turn back, blow off this tournament and take Perfection to some recluse island for a while. Maybe if you vanish they’ll let you be.”
“Don’t you dare say her name,” growled Showtime. “And you know there is no chance the Hand ever leaves me alone, and I still don’t know enough to determine if that’s what I want. Both of which is your fault.”
“Hey,” yelled a guard witnessing the scene. Showtime shrugged his father’s grip off and turned towards the real patrolman.
“Hello, officer,” started Showtime towards the man. Unexpectedly, the guard pulled his pistol on Showtime, causing him to freeze.
“Whoa,” called Showtime, not noticing that his father was making a hasty retreat. “I want to report that there is a man masquerading around as a prison guard.”
“Not here they’re not.”
Showtime looked back, seeing no one was behind him any longer and brought his attention back to the pistol. “Then why would a guard abandon another guard? That man was an imposter.”
“You just place your hands on the wall and no sudden moves,” ordered the officer. Showtime did as he was told. He had nothing to hide and wouldn’t let his father stop him from his mission. The man ran his hands all over Showtime’s body looking of a weapon. Finding nothing, he withdrew Showtime’s wallet and told him not to turn around. Showtime was not a small person and the guard felt safer with Wryght pressed against the wall.
“No shit,” jovially said the officer. “You’re Michael Wryght. Mr. Showtime, right?”
“Guilty,” replied Showtime with his cocky half smile. It was time to use his acting skills to their fullest. Showtime was no strangers to fans and the nicer you were the more useful they would be. “Do you mind if I turn around?”
The guard’s instinct to be suspicious kicked back in, but it was softer, “What are you doing out here?”
“Well, I’m here to visit someone and that man recognized me. He certainly wasn’t a real guard. Even admitted it.”
“Did you know him?”
Showtime had to think about that question. His smile waned for an instant, but he turned his charm back on before responding, “I can honestly say I don’t know that man at all.”
It wasn’t a lie. The white haired Harold Wryght that he just spoke with was no long Showtime’s father. The guard motioned Showtime towards the visitor’s entrance, and called in the impersonator. After he did his duty he stuck by Showtime’s side. The conversation started like a fan would usually. He asked mundane questions that you might get off of TMZ. Stupid shit, but Showtime was happy to answer them if this man got him to his final destination.
When they arrived at the visitor’s line the guard cut past the twenty-minute wait and the hour-long prep areas. They went straight to the prison’s main foyer and stood by while Showtime signed in. Under “prisoner visiting” Showtime wrote, Dr. Damian Sorrows. Showtime noticed that the two guards met eyes and checked the schedule. Showtime hadn’t made an appointment, but his name was on the register. Now he knew the Black Hand had set him up.
As they walked towards Sorrows’ cell the guard asked, “How do you know Dr. Sorrows?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need answers.” Showtime’s answers were now short. He used the guard to his fullest and now Showtime wished the man would get lost. He regretted drinking so much of the limousine scotch, but it did keep his mind clear.
“He’s right at the end here,” warily pointed the guard. “I’m going to give you your space, but I’ll be near by. Don’t let that quack get into your head.”
“Head games are my job,” replied Showtime in a cocky manner.
“Yeah but they’re his life’s work,” added the guard, locking eyes with Showtime. The guard seemed legitimately scared of the good doctor, which didn’t help.
The window was blacked out when Showtime approached the cell. It was larger than he’d expect it to be. He noticed a line of buttons on the side of the cell, but decided it would be best to just knock. Before his third rap the window became clear. Damian Sorrows was standing inches from Showtime’s face, which caused him to jump. The doctor was grinning at the surprise, a yellow nasty smile. Sorrows mouthed the words, blue button and looked at the panel next to the cell. After Showtime pressed it the cruel voice of Dr. Sorrows came through a speaker.
“Ah, Mr. Wryght,” he hissed. “I am happily surprised you decided to visit.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I must admit that a little bird did tell me that you would be stopping by.”
“Someone from the Black Hand?”
“Heavens no,” Dr. Sorrows replied. “We do not get along quiet as well as we once did. Apparently I am a monster.”
It chilled Showtime’s blood that he was so casual about being called a monster, but it looked to be a game to him. Showtime was happy to play the mind games back, but it would probably only give Sorrows more pleasure.
“So, Mr. Wryght, what do I owe the pleasure?” grinned Damian.
“I need you to answer some questions for me.”
“Ah, the Wryght family, always looking for a resolution rather than creating one themselves.”
“What is that suppose to mean?”
“Your father had a tendency to ask a lot of questions. Never truly sure what the right course of action was. Always seeking affirmation. Does the apple not fall far from the tree?” In honesty the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, but Showtime didn’t want to admit that. “How is your father these days?”
Showtime didn’t expect that question, but kept cool and answered. “My father died when I was young.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” replied Sorrows, grinning bigger. “Now that you answered correctly, how is your father, Mr. Wryght? We both know that he is out there somewhere. Word has it that he was lurking around the grounds awaiting your arrival.”
“How could you?”
“Like I said, I have talkative birds. One of the many reason your escort, Officer Riley, decided not to join the conversation.” Sorrows waved at the officer, who quickly turned away. “He does not like me too much, but no one does these day.”
“Please, you are just talking in circles and I need answers,” demanded Showtime already getting frustrated. “Tell me how did you know my father.”
“Mr. Wryght, you know this already. We were members together,” he said, pointing to his hand. “But this you already knew.”
“I wanted to see how honest you would be.”
“I assure you that the answers you already know, I will answer truthfully.”
“Fine, what did he not do?”
“Alas, that is one thing not even I know. A few years after his falling out he came to me for a place to stay and possibly some work. I of course was happy to help a member of the Wryght clan, and we had always been friendly. A relationship built on mutual gain, if you will. He refused to tell me no matter what I did. I could have used, let us say, more persuasive means, but I thought that a man of his lineage might come in use later. If he made amends or not.”
“Why did he leave?”
“He was paranoid, and possibly delusional. Who knows what the Wryghts do to their children in preparation. Though I digress, he stayed around for a while, but found out on some of my more secret projects. He did not particularly agree with progress and left. I have not heard from him since.”
“You really are a monster, aren’t you?”
Damian Sorrows shrugs, and replied, “What is in a name. You were one of my special patients. Though we never had a chance to meet face to face, you were the only one to be able to survive a certain cerium. How are the dreams treating you?”
“You made that?”
“Well of course, my lad. The human mind has always fascinated me. How are the dreams treating you?”
“They’re intense, if you must know, but we aren’t here to discuss me.”
“We should some time, please come back and let me know how it works. All of the children I have used it on died after their seizures and the adults are too old and go mad. Breakthroughs in science are messy business.”
“Tell me, is there a way out of the Black Hand?”
“Besides death?”
“Of course.”
“Are you going to try and repeat you father’s mistakes?”
“Let’s say it isn’t for me. Just answer the question.”
“I will have to say no, but if you rub elbows with the right people it could be possible. Nothing is impossible. Who is this lucky someone whom has a Wryght guardian angle?”
“I doesn’t matter,” replied Showtime, though he could only think of the Michaels twins. He didn’t want his crimes to hurt anyone innocent. He’d already have to deal with their father, and he didn’t want his kids to have to deal with them.
“Who do I need to talk to? Is there some one in charge of all this? An inner circle?”
“You have too many questions, Mr. Wryght, and not nearly enough patients. These answers will come, so until our next meeting I fear I cannot help you any further. Please do give my regards to Justin. I have always had a fondness for that boy.”
Dr. Sorrows hits the button to black out his window divider. Showtime banged on the glass as long as Officer Riley allowed it to go on. Reluctantly, Showtime was pulled away and went back with his escort to safer areas. On their way Showtime asked Riley if there was anywhere he could get together with some of the other guards. His charm turned up to one hundred and ten percent. Making friends before he left would be a necessity, since he suspected that he might be back.
After an hour or two, he was on his way back to his private plane. His limousine was parked in the lot awaiting his arrival. He took note that the license plate actually said Nex Addo. As they pulled away his eyes caught a black seventy Chevelle. He knew that Stormm drove one of those, but what were the chances?
