PROMO: Shadows

[Toxxic 0]

“So she din’t say what it was then?” Amy asks as she helps her brother get their bags out of the car. They’re at one of the large, soulless motels that litter the landscape of much of the so-called ‘developed’ world and it’s late at night; the parking lot is lit by the acrid neon lights overhead that tinge everything an unhealthy orange-yellow.

 

“No,” Michael replies heavily, grunting as he heaves his black holdall out of the car’s trunk.

 

“Bout as much use as she ever was then, innit.” Amy sniffs, hauling her own rucksack out and swinging it onto her back.

 

“Look, I know you didn’t like her-”

 

“Too fuckin’ right I din’t! Up-herself bloody cow!” Amy proclaims.

 

“You only met her once,” Mike snaps, grabbing the last bag and thinking back to the autumn of 2004 when the SWF had travelled to England for Ashes 2 Ashes. Jet had come with him to meet his parents and sister - Sacred, Sean Davis and Spike had been left in Nottingham to amuse themselves - and while his parents had seemed remarkably amenable to the out-spoken, out-going, heavily pierced and flamboyantly-dreadlocked girl introduced to them as Naomi, Amy had been rather more hostile. As the only member of the family who still watched her brother’s exploits on TV (his parents had avoided it after seeing the bloodbath that was Toxxic vs. Aecas at From The Fire, and had therefore missed out on his subsequent fall from favour with the fans) she’d already had plenty of time to form an opinion, and didn’t hesitate to make that opinion known.

 

“More’n enough, believe me,” Amy says. “But anyway, what’s the fuckin’ point of givin’ you a warnin’ about somefing if she ain’t gonna tell you what it is, ya get me?”

 

“Well, at least it’s something,” Michael replies reasonably, “I mean, it’s not like her not to tell me flat out, but-”

 

He stops.

 

He stares.

 

“But what?” Amy says, looking first at her brother, then at the place where he’s staring. This appears to be a couple of articulated lorries some thirty yards away in the parking lot, and seeing nothing there she looks back at Mike again. This time, she notices what it is about him that looks odd.

 

It’s difficult to tell under the neon lights, but she could swear that her brother has gone far, far whiter than even his usual pallid shade.

 

“Mike, what-”

 

“Sssshhh…”

 

He doesn’t even look at her. The only acknowledgement of her presence is one black-nailed finger raised as a warning against any further noise. Everything about Michael Stephens is concentrated on that one spot. He’s listening.

 

His eyes flicker left.

 

And right.

 

It’s almost as if he’s scared to move his head in case it makes a sound that might mask something he’s listening for.

 

Or attract attention.

 

Cautiously, bending carefully at the knees, Mike places his black holdall and the other bag on the tarmac surface of the parking lot, then starts to very carefully, very quietly walk forwards. He doesn’t look back.

 

The SWF World Heavyweight Title is in that black holdall, the biggest prize in the business. A prize he’s fought for, a prize he’s bled for, a prize that he never normally lets out of his sight. And her brother is walking away from it without looking back.

 

Something, Amy decides, is seriously wrong here.

 

“Mike…” she hisses, trying to attract his attention and at least get him to tell her what’s going on, but he ignores her. Swearing under her breath, Amy places her own bags carefully on the ground and hurries after him. She always could move more quietly than her brother.

 

She catches up with him just as he reaches the lorries. He pauses to glance back at her for a split-second, lips pressed tight, then motions for her to stay behind him. There’s nothing on this side of the first lorry. Mike looks up into the cab, then over at the cab of the second. Nothing.

 

“Mike, what-”

 

“Ssh!”

 

Her brother suddenly falls forward, landing on his fingertips and cushioning the fall as if about to start the press-ups he does every morning and evening. She realises after a second that he’s looking underneath the two vehicles, presumably checking to see if there’s anyone hiding beneath. Apparently there isn’t, because he pushes himself up again, absent-mindedly brushing small specks of gravel from his hands. Slowly, he edges around the front of the first lorry with a bewildered Amy in tow, looking down the shadowy space between them.

 

Nothing.

 

It’s only after they’ve made a complete circuit of the two lorries that Mike seems to relax. He puffs his cheeks out and lets out a small laugh, presumably at himself. He still doesn’t seem quite right though; Amy sees him chewing at his lip and in the stillness of the night air she can hear a faint *click… click… click* as he cycles through the knuckles of his right hand, squeezing and cracking them in turn. She can’t remember him doing that since they were much younger.

 

“I must be imagining things…” the SWF World Champion mutters ruefully, then turns to head back towards their pile of abandoned bags. “Come on Ames, let’s get indoors.”

 

“What, an’ you’re jus’ gonna walk off now?” Amy says incredulously, hurrying to keep up with her brother’s insistent pace, “d’you mind tellin’ me what the fuck that was all about?”

 

“I thought I saw someone,” Mike replies, not looking back at her. Or the lorries.

 

“You thought you saw someone?” Amy repeats incredulously, then her brows furrow. “’ang on a minute - didja think you saw someone, as in just any ol’ someone, or didja think you saw someone, as in someone specific, as in someone that you’re worried about an’ I should be too?” She quickens her step a fraction and gets in front of her brother just as they reach their bags. “As in, someone who might jus’ be what that bint warned you about?”

 

“As in, I thought I saw someone, I was wrong, there was no-one there, and let’s get inside the bloody motel,” Mike growls, pushing past her and picking his stuff up. “It’s bad enough I’m jumping at bloody shadows without you cooking up some sort of conspiracy theory with it.” He sighs, and continues in a slightly more reasonable tone, “look, I’m tired, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, and yes, what Naomi told me earlier is probably worrying me a bit. Just leave it at that.” Amy nods, but can’t help herself but turn back and look at the two lorries as she follows her brother towards the motel. They look as innocent as anything that casts large shadows in a neon-lit parking lot can.

 

* * *

 

Once the Stephens siblings are inside the motel a shape detaches itself from the roof of one of the trailers and moves with careful deliberation and in near-silence to descend down the little service ladder, put there for those occasions when someone may need to get on top of the trailer. Mike did look up several times when circling the lorries, but he never thought to actually climb up and take a peek. If he had, he might have got a surprise.

 

Or then again, he might not. It all depends what he allowed himself to believe.

 

* * *

 

At 3am, Michael Stephens is looking out of the window of his motel room again. He hasn’t slept yet.

 

Was it him?

 

If it was him, the only reason I saw him was because he let me. Because he wanted me to see him.

 

But why would he want me to see him? He’s got to know I’m not scared of him.

 

Am I?

 

Hell, I might not have seen anything. Part of the reason we stopped here was because I was tired and my eyes were getting blurry anyway. I could have imagined it all. Maybe there was nothing there after all. Maybe I didn’t see anyone.

 

But if I did see someone…

 

Was it him?

[Guest The Satanic Angel]

It was just me. Sorry!

[Ace309 0]

Interesting. I think I can see where this is going, and I like it.

 

I also like Amy's default position as a foil for Toxxic. It's very useful for these promos, even though it started as a way to avoid having to write Toxxic again. heh

 

Good show.