As Daylight Dies (Part Two)

Act 2

"Deadly Times"

Chapter One

"The Mechanic"

Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the field so happy and free?
If you've ever seen a one trick pony, then you've seen me.

Have you ever seen a one-legged dog making its way down the street?

If you've seen a one-legged dog, then you've seen me.

Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.

Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I had before.

Then you've seen me, bet I can make you smile when the blood, it hits the floor

Tell me, friend, can you ask for anything more?

Tell me can you ask for anything more?

The song traveled out through the speakers of an old radio in the garage. Its sound distorted and twangy from decades of use. The song made him think of an old hand that he used to tangle with back when he first started out. His name was George "Aces Wild" McCann. Big, strong, fists the size of rotary phones. 

George never really got over, but he had a spectacular clothesline that would leave your neck sore for days. People loved it. Probably get George getting booked long after he should have been left of the card. What George didn't know was that behind his back the boys were talking about him. "One Trick" McCann they used to call him. The guys were tired of getting their heads almost taken off by George.

He pops the hood of the rusted camaro in front of him and takes a long look inside. Age, and years of sitting through seasons in a cluttered garage hadn't been good to the vehicle. He finds a box of tools in a faded red tin sitting on a workbench with splinters five inches long.

He often found that doing work with his hands was a nice escape. It was honest work, and he could lose himself in it for a few hours and feel like he had accomplished something in the day.

Gabrielle comes walking around the other side of the car and he watches her lean against the front bumper, crossing her arms as she rest her head down on them and just starts. Her little eyes are full of curiosity. 

For the first time he notices the bullet holes on the side of the camaro and he wonders if the young girl will ask about them. She's a smart kid and sees more than she lets on.

"This isn't your car," she says.

"I know," he replies. "Just thought I'd work on it for awhile."

"This is my daddy's car."

"That so?"

She nods as if she shared some great important detail with him and maybe in a way she has.

"Where's your daddy now?"

"No one knows."

He nods now, and wipes a hand off on a stained rag that he found on the workbench. 

"If you'd like, I can leave your daddy's car alone."

"No," she says. "It's okay. He's a good man. I don't think he'd mind."

"Okay then."

He resumes his work, letting the young girl watch as he picks through the box of tools for the one he needs. She studies him, intently, so much so he can hear her little breaths in pants from her mouth.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" she asks after a short time.

"What? Fixing cars? Long story, consider it a hobby of mine."

"I have hobbies."

"Oh yeah? What's your hobby?"

"I can hold my breath underwater for almost three minutes!"

He laughs.

"That's not really a hobby as much as it's a talent."

"Oh," she puts her head back down on her arms and frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. A talent is something you do that no one else can."

"What's your talent?"

He looks away, goes to answer --

"Gabrielle?"

They both turn to see Gabrielle's mother, Roselyn, coming up the driveway from the walk.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks.

"I'm just watching."

"I said not to bother my friend, okay? Now please run inside."

The girl pauses, looks up at him and he quietly nods as she scampers off back toward the house.

Roselyn makes sure her daughter is out of ear shot and asks, "What are you doing out here?"

"I, uh… needed to get some fresh air."

"I see that and that requires you to mess around with my husband's car?"

"Well, it's not like it was going anywhere."

She folds her arm, and a warm gust of air pushes her dark hair off her face and blows it sideways.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just trying to figure all this out."

"I understand."

"Have you… remembered anything since last night?"

He shakes his head. 

"What happens now?" she asks.

"I have a name, that's it. Cobb"

He thought that maybe saying it out loud would jog another memory loose, but it doesn't. He looks to Roselyn to see if it means anything to her and it doesn't.

"I just…" she starts. "I just need to know why you had my name on a slip of paper in your pocket."

"I wish I could tell you."

"I want to help… I do. I'm just scared."

"I know," he says and he comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "But I need something from you, other than the room and board."

"What?" she asks.

"I need to know who killed your husband."

---

Chapter Two

"Whole Damn Show"

Sometimes you just need to put things in perspective.

What does it all mean?

Two men. Polar opposites. Different in every way. Believing two very different sets of beliefs, yet, both believe they are the best.

We've not talking about Benjamin Crane and Chris Hartt.

We're talking about the light and the dark.

Angelus and Mark Flynn.

For you see, both men are on a collision course that was put into motion a long time ago. But you could also argue that they both need each other. They balance the other out. Without one you cannot have the other.

Flynn, poignant as ever, will attempt to discredit Angelus as being Witasick's lapdog. But is that true?

Sure, Witasick signed Angelus to a long term deal to be on Warfare, but what has he really done for him since?

Where's the rematch for the US title?

Where's his match for the US title for holding the Xtreme title for over six weeks?

Why is Sebastian Duke, a man that Angelus has beaten twice, getting a title shot before him?

It doesn't add up.

You see, that's the redirect. The slight of hand. 

Now you see it, now you don't.

Angelus is no more a lapdog for Wallace than Flynn is the bill of perfect mental health.

This is personal for Anj. Always has been.

It has nothing to do with being a company man or selling a bunch of t-shirts.

Angelus wants to hurt Flynn. 

And he wants to remove him, because the longer you have a Mark Flynn problem the tighter the vise grip on the company squeezes until there's nothing left.

Wrestlers like Benjamin Crane are just part of the theatrics.

The wonderful assistant to help Flynn cut someone in half, literally and figuratively.

Look, folks. No hands. Nothing up my sleeve.

Believe what you will.

Believe what they're selling you.

Because there's only one spot at the top and it doesn't belong to Mark Flynn, Sebastian Duke, Peter Gilmour, Crimson Cobra.

It belongs to Angelus.

No smoke. No mirrors. 

Just one man, made of flesh and bone like you and I.

Curtains close.

---

---

As Daylight Dies

Act 1

"Reap What You Sow"

No one cut through the field behind the high school anymore. One neighborhood boy claimed that he had seen a man in a black coat standing there, staring off, whistling to himself. No one believed this account, yet mothers kept their children home. Doors were locked at night and the porch lights kept on until dusk. Any dogs were supposed to be kept inside, so when Ruby heard her dog Polo barking she didn’t think it was real.

She sat up in bed, tried to feel for the covers in front of her and couldn’t see where they were without the nightlight.

She’d forgotten to plug it in. 

At eleven years old she was beyond the need of one, but kept it for comfort, and certainly not because she was afraid when the lights in her room went out.

Polo kept right on barking. 

It wasn’t hysterical barking -- yet, but alarmed, and Ruby wondered if the poor lab had been spooked by a raccoon again. She swung her legs over the bed and her feet touched down onto the cold hardwood floor. There was enough of a moon in the sky to light her way to the window and once there she pressed her face up against the glass.

She looked for Polo near the swing set where her dad usually tied him down. The lab wasn’t there. This didn’t concern Ruby as the dog had a knack for breaking free of the rope leash and running through a broken plank in the fence that led to the field beyond it. Her eyes went left and she spotted the dog standing near the barn that had been converted into a guesthouse. Its head was tilted back giving a phlegmy triple bark -- roop-roop-roop- and then went still. 

Ruby followed the dog’s gaze up to the roof of the guesthouse and when she adjusted her eyes she trembled in surprise. There on roof, sitting cross-legged, was a figure, though she couldn’t be sure. Her harsh breaths had turned the window white with condensation. 

On weak knees she broke toward the bedroom door and fled out into the hallway. As she rounded the banister she could hear her feet smacking against the wood of the stairs while she took them two at a time. She paused in the downstairs hallway, the burn in her lungs working its way up to her throat. It dawned on her then that her little sprint was the most she had requested out of her legs since before her last episode.

Blue light flickered and raced at the edges of the doorway to the living room. Her father would be in there watching TV because he never slept well. 

Ruby stepped to the doorway.

Her father was across the room in his recliner, in front of the TV. From where she stood, she couldn’t see anything of him but the back of his head surrounded by the nimbus of blue light. His head also blocked the view of whatever was on the TV, although she could see parts of a basketball court. 

It was dark, the lights in the room switched off.

He didn’t respond when she said, “Daddy,” and her next thought was that maybe he wasn’t asleep after all. She swallowed hard, realizing for the first time how dry her mouth had gotten.

She came forward, moving slowly across the thick carpet. She stopped in front of the TV and her shadow fell upon her sleeping father. He seemed to sense the change in lighting and awoke with a heavy exhale. 

“Ruby?” he said. “What’s going on? Why you still up?”

“Someone is on the roof of the guesthouse. I’m scared.”

       He put a knuckle to his eyes and looked about the room, squinting, as he tried to get his surroundings. She watched him reach over for the bottle of beer on the table next to the recliner.  He took a small sip, smacked his lips to it, and leaned forward as he pulled her close.

“You’re shaking. Take a breath.”

“I want Mom.”

“I know, but she’s still in Chicago,” he said and she could smell the skunky stench of the beer on his breath.

      “Can you make him leave?”

He stood, then, towering over her as he placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. We’ll go back to your room and we’ll work on a few more chapters of Sherlock Holmes until you get tired.”

“What if he’s still out there?"

“What if who’s still out there?” he asked as he guided her toward the hallway with his hand still on her shoulder.

“The man I saw.”

He laughed, “The roof is too narrow. No one would be foolish enough to climb up that and if they did we’ll have a big laugh in the morning because they’ll be stuck up there.”

Ruby followed her father back up the stairs.

“You know,” he said. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you walking around like this. Even if it is the middle of the night.”

In the bedroom, the light in the corner caused a glare against her window and she couldn’t see outside. She crawled back under the covers while her father brought over the chair from her desk. He sat down with a groan and fumbled through a worn paperback copy of Sherlock Holmes stories. Under normal circumstances her father’s dry, rhythmic reading soothed her and often did make her sleepy, but every time she felt the weight of her eyes, they snapped back to the window.

The book closed and her father said, “That’s all for now, okay Rubes? Let’s think about sleep.” He returned the chair to the desk and walked back to the bed. 

In a soft voice he said, “It tore your mother up having to see you stuck in bed all the time. I think this will be a good surprise when she gets back.”

He kissed her forehead then and a few seconds later the lights in the room went out. 

Ruby’s eyes jumped back to the window -- the figure was still there. A cold, prickly feeling washed up arms and she yanked the covers to her face. 

From the doorway her father said, “Night Rubes.”

Outside on the guesthouse roof the figure stood.

He was staring in at her.

“Ruby, I said goodnight.”

“I see him,” she whispered.

She shifted her eyes back to her father and the look in them caused him to step back into the room. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think we’re going to die.”

---

---

Wallace Witasick's Office

March 11th, 2013

"You paying attention, Anj?"

Angelus stirred in his seat and tried to focus his eyes and the room seemed to zoom in close.

"Ah, yes. Sorry. Long day."

Wallace looked at him closely, then leaned back in his chair as he tossed a stress ball upwards and caught it on its fall.

"I was saying that sooner or later we're going to have a Mark Flynn problem. Bigger than the one we already have."

"I understand."

Anj's eyes followed the stress ball going up… then down… then back up.

"How's Jessica holding up?"

"She'll be fine. Tough chick as she'd say."

"Glad to hear it."

The sound of Wallace catching the stress ball was starting to give him a headache.

"You mentioned earlier there was something else?"

Wallace caught the ball and set it back down on his desk.

"Yes, I need to know I have your full buy in. Things are going to be shifting in a new direction very soon and it'd be nice to know you're in my corner."

"Of course, whatever you need."

Wallace gave that big cheshire cat grin of his.

"Good."

---

---

Dave Janice stirred in the warmth of his bed. He could feel something white slipping in under the creases of his eyes. He went to open them and found that he couldn’t see. The white was blinding him. On an unsteady elbow he tried to sit up, and to his relief some of the white faded. He blinked away the fuzzy dots hovering in front of his vision and looked to his bedroom doorway.

A solitary figure stood there, holding a flashlight in his gloved hand. He’d been shining it into Dave’s face. The figure lowered the light to the floor so that he was shrouded by the dark of the room. Dave reached out his hand involuntarily and felt his wife’s arm next to him. She murmured something, started to come awake.

“Wh--what is this?” Dave asked. “What’s happening?”

The figure shone the light back into Dave’s face.

“You smell that?” said the voice.

Dave wished he hadn’t woken Mallory. He didn’t want her to see this. She was a sound sleeper and he prayed she’d turn over and fall back asleep.

“You’re secreting adrenaline,” the voice said. “It’s a very distinct smell.”

“Who are you?” Dave said, trying to put some -- any strength back into his voice.

“I’m sure you’ve smelt it before. Did Laila smell like that after you beat her up?”

“How -- what do you want?” Dave stammered, his voice breaking. He heard Mallory mumble his name.

“It’s quite the stimulating smell,” the voice continued. “I can see why you like it so.”

Dave saw the other’s gloved hand hanging down empty. Despite his age, and even with the last few years where his drinking intensified, he figured he could get a hand under his pillow and snatch the revolver there. It would only take a fraction of a second. So why was he so frightened that his teeth were chattering in his head?

---

---

Episode Thirteen

Subject: Angelus

Date: 3/13/13

Location: Cobra Kai Dojo

Man, it feels so good to be back. I'm not even upset that I'm stuck in Nebraska this week. I know, that's saying a lot.

So, after a short hiatus I return to find that Sir Duke of Hurl and the last cowboy Gilbo Baggins have tried to steal my number one contender slot from me. It's nice to know that when you're away the vultures sweep in.

Duke, I got news for you, you can prance around all you want thinking you're going to taste gold again, but you're not, head to the back of the short bus Gilmour rides to the arena in.

Moving on…

It appears this week I find myself in a match with Crimson Dong… I mean Crimson Deadly… or Crimson Tide the 1995 movie directed by Tony Scott… or is it the Alabama Crimson Tide?

Maybe I'm facing the whole football team. Who knows?

Oh, it's Crimson Cobra you say.

Like Cobra the 1986 movie with Sly Stallone.

Unfortunately, Crimson Cobra is about as useful as a flunky from the Cobra Kai dojo.

C'mon, how am I supposed to take someone who runs around dressed like Aladdin seriously?

Dakota Cobb asked (and that's Crimson Cobra for those playing at home) if I ever had to face my biggest fear.

Why yes, it was that I'd have to sit through another five minutes of your useless promo.

I zoned out when he started to rant about "We believe in this, you believe in that, if you don't believe…"

Blah, blah, blah. 

I think that was followed up with something about his mother helping him, but who knows? I turned the tape off at that point.

I hope you're listening there Cobra Kai.

I am the best at what I do and what I do isn't very nice.

It's nothing personal, Dakota. I just have to eliminate you for your own good.

I'm sure you're a great guy, but I've been champion for forty-two days now and I don't plan on having a guy dressed like you taking the gold off me anytime soon.

So, suit up and bring everything you got, stroke that little evil henchman beard you got going on and prepare for the ass kicking of a lifetime.

This isn't going to be like the movies.

There isn't going to be you trying to sweep the leg for that last second victory.

When you step into the ring with me on Warfare understand that you're in there with the whole damn show.

---

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