Post by Meatball-kun on Jun 7, 2014 22:43:03 GMT -6
May 30, 2014
Chicago, Illinois
Matthews Residence
There were now three members of the Matthews clan living under that roof in Chicago: Chuck, the youngest sibling. The businessman. The wrestler. Jessica, the baby girl of the family. The doctor. The college graduate. Christopher, the oldest twin. The soldier. The new patriarch of the family.
Tonight, they were gathered around the den, enjoying a warm Chicago evening. Chris had the paper open in his lap, reading over it before turning the page lazily with his right hand. Jessica stood behind the sofa, gently rotating Chris's left arm, which was still heavily bandaged from some unknown wound.
Jessica Casey: "How does that feel? Okay?"
She lifts his shoulder fully, and Chris grunts in pain.
Christopher Matthews: "Fine. It's fine."
Jessica Casey: "You have full mobility. That's good, at least."
Sofia Sinclair: "What happened, anyway?"
Chuck looks over at his wife. She was nuzzled up next to him, a book in her lap. Chuck himself had been reading over her shoulder for a while, but had slowly become lost in thought, and for the last few minutes had been completely oblivious to the world around him. He perks up at Sofia's voice, and glances over at his brother. Truth be told, Chuck had wondered himself what had happened to Chris's arm. He had learned a long time ago that Chris didn't often speak about himself. Usually, it was better not to ask. Chris tears his eyes away from the paper and looks at Sofia. He seems to be measuring her up for a moment, as though debating whether her question was really worth answering. He apparently deems her worthy, because he finally responds:
Christopher Matthews: "Stabbed."
He speaks plainly, as though it was perfectly normal for a man to arrive, unannounced, at his brother's house with a stab wound. Sofia looks to Jessica and Chuck, who seem completely indifferent to this news.
Sofia Sinclair: "And...you two knew this?"
Chuck Matthews: "Nope."
Jessica Casey: "Uh-uh."
Sofia frowns.
Sofia Sinclair: "I mean...how did that happen? Are you okay?"
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "Jess says I'll be fine, so I'm not too worried. I've had worse."
To prove it, Chris lifts his shirt slightly, revealing a scar just below his ribcage.
Sofia Sinclair: "That's a bullet wound."
Christopher Matthews: "Damascus, 2007."
Sofia Sinclair: "Charlie tells me you're in the military."
Christopher Matthews: "Sure."
Sofia Sinclair: "Sure?"
Christopher Matthews: "I do the things that the government doesn't want you to know we're doing."
Sofia eyes him for a moment. She lowers her shirt slightly, revealing her own scar just above her right breast. Chris suddenly seems interested.
Sofia Sinclair: "Las Vegas, 2009."
Chris smirks.
Christopher Matthews: "That doesn't look like it came from any gun."
Sofia Sinclair: "Broomstick, actually. Broke it in half and got me when my guard was down."
Christopher Matthews: "It's amazing how inventive people can get when they want to hurt someone."
There's silence for a moment.
Christopher Matthews: "So what do you do for a living?"
Sofia Sinclair: "I work for the government. Top clearance sort of stuff."
Christopher Matthews: "Like what, exactly?"
Sofia smiles.
Sofia Sinclair: "I'm not really allowed to talk about any details."
She sees the look of interest on the faces of the Matthews siblings, and rolls her eyes.
Sofia Sinclair: "All I can say is that we're doing some iffy stuff over in Ukraine right now. Like, some really fishy shit."
Chuck nods slowly. Jessica too, seems satisfied with this response. Silence falls over the room again.
Sofia Sinclair: "So...military. Where have you been?"
Chris opens his mouth and closes it several times, looking embarrassed.
Christopher Matthews: "......I was in Ukraine..."
Yup. That was Chris. Chuck had gotten used to this life by now, thanks to Chris. With his wife in federal work, Chuck learned fairly quickly that he couldn't really ask her about her job. It didn't bother Chuck terrible, and Chris was the reason for that; Chuck knew the drill by now. He knew Chris's job was dangerous...and, truth be told, Chuck had often wondered if someday he would get that call, telling him that his brother wouldn't be coming home. It was always a fear in the deepest recesses of Chuck's mind...but that was life. Chuck had made his decision to go into business. Jessica opted to go into medicine. And Chris's calling was to serve his country. He did his job, and he did it well. It wasn't Chuck's place to question it.
Jessica Casey: "How does this feel?"
She's since returned to examining Chris's shoulder. Chris shakes his head.
Christopher Matthews: "Feels fine, Jess. Really. Can I have my arm back?"
Jessica grumbles, but releases his arm. Chris looks at Chuck.
Christopher Matthews: "Is she always like this?"
Chuck Matthews: "She throws a fit if I don't let her examine every joint after a match."
Jessica Casey: "I went to med school so I could make sure my idiot brothers didn't cripple themselves at work."
Chuck Matthews: "Aw, that hurts."
Jessica rolls her eyes, and punches Chuck's arm.
Jessica Casey: "Jerk."
Chuck smiles, resting his head on the back of his seat. He closes his eyes, enjoying the peace of his den. The sound of a page turning. Jessica's footsteps leaving the room. Darkness. And then...a face, grinning from the shadows, as though plastered on the inside of Chuck's eyelids. Paul Matthews, smirking from the shadows. Chuck jumps in his seat, jerking Sofia's head forward in the process.
Sofia Sinclair: "Jesus, Charlie, what happened?"
Chuck looks around the room. Chris eyes him, eyebrow raised slightly.
Chuck Matthews: "...nothing. Just dozed off. I think I'm going to get some sleep."
Sofia Sinclair: "Everything okay?"
Chuck kisses the top of her head.
Chuck Matthews: "Fine. Just tired. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"
Sofia Sinclair: "Of course. Good night."
Chuck stands, rubbing his eyes. Paul's face was nowhere to be seen. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Christopher Matthews: "Night, Charlie."
Chuck nods at Chris, and heads up the stairs. He spots Jessica out of the corner of his eye, tending to the babies in their beds. Chuck slips into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and leans over the sink.
Chuck Matthews: "Fucking Christ..."
He splashes water in his face, looking at his reflection. Paul hadn't made his presence known in some time. For a while, Chuck had hoped it would be the last he'd ever see of his long-dead brother. But with Chris home...was that what was triggering it? Was Paul returning along with his twin?
As if he had ever returned in the first place. Chuck was seeing things. Hearing things. Paul had been dead for years. No...it was some bizarre hallucination, and nothing more.
?: "You wanna tell me what that was about?"
The familiar southern twang of his brother's voice breaks Chuck out of his trance. Chuck turns to see Chris, leaning against the doorframe, looking inquisitively at his brother.
Chuck Matthews: "Nothing at all."
Chris cocks his head slightly.
Christopher Matthews: "When are you going to learn? You can't lie to me."
Chuck hears Paul's voice speak the words. It was eerie how similar the twins thought sometimes.
Chuck Matthews: "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Christopher Matthews: "Is it about that Japan trip?"
Chuck frowns. He'd been ruing the journey to Japan for some time. He knew he would have to leave soon. He had contractual obligations to be there. It didn't make it any easier to motivate himself to pack his bags and actually book the flight.
Chuck Matthews: "Don't remind me."
Chris laughs.
Christopher Matthews: "Isn't Japan supposed to be some sort of wrestling hotbed?"
Chuck Matthews: "I don't hate Japan for its wrestling."
Christopher Matthews: "How does Sofia feel about you leaving?"
Chuck takes a deep breath.
Chuck Matthews: "I don't want to leave her here."
Christopher Matthews: "You're afraid she's going to have the baby while you're gone."
Chuck Matthews: "She's due around the end of June."
Christopher Matthews: "Hey. You've got Jessie here to help her out if she needs it. I was going to head back to Tennessee, but if it makes you feel better, I can always stick around too. At least until you can grab the first flight home."
Chuck Matthews: "I appreciate that. I'm sure watching my house wasn't on your mind when you went on leave."
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "I'm out of action for a while. Boss's orders. And you're family, little C. I'm always here when you need me."
Chuck gives him a weak smile. Little C. That was Chris's nickname for him when they were kids. Big C and Little C. Chris and Charlie. Chuck hated the name, especially now that they were both adults...and that Chuck had an inch and thirty pounds on his older brother. Chris continued to use it though, likely to spite Chuck more than anything else.
Chuck Matthews: "Let me ask you something."
Christopher Matthews: "Shoot."
Chuck pauses, fumbling with the right words. If there was anyone that he could go to with the problem, Chris was the guy. Jessica was sweet, and Chuck and Jess were the closest of any siblings...but that closeness meant that she could turn the smallest problem into the end of the world. Chris didn't get so attached. He made no judgments. He sat, and listened, and went about his business.
Chuck Matthews: "Do you ever think about Paul?"
Chris opens his mouth to answer, but seems a bit taken aback by the question.
Christopher Matthews: "I...well...yeah, of course. He was my brother, too."
Chuck Matthews: "Your twin brother."
Christopher Matthews: "Why do you ask?"
Chuck steals a glance at himself in the mirror. He spots his own reflection, the pensive look etched into his face. Behind him, seen by nobody but himself, Paul Matthews leans against the wall. He gives Chuck a knowing wave, and nods his head towards Chris. Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "He's just been on my mind a lot lately..."
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Chuck Matthews: "And here...we go...again.
So what should I talk about this week, hm? What do you guys want to talk about? I'm a little stumped for material, I have to admit.
Well, I suppose I could talk about Absent Are the Saints, right? Seems reasonable, seeing that I made quite an impact there...hmm...
Sure, that sounds good. Let's talk about that. So, the Crucible. Eventually won by Fiona Collins. Congratulations, you earned that. Now go and whip ol' Chrissy into next week, won't you? And Furor! A world champion once again, and this time with no Andreas to whip his ass and take it from him! Talk about your good fortune! Did anything else happen at the event? There were a few other matches. Solid bouts. It was a pretty great night, if I do say so myself.
You seem confused. Why-...oh. OH! You...thought I'd be upset? Disappointed that I didn't win the Crucible? Angry that my 'master plan' failed? Pulling my hair out because my little plot to enter at number two ended up backfiring?
Now that's just sad. I would have thought you'd know me better by now. I would have thought maybe SOMEONE would have pieced that together. I mean, the Crucible was a glorious opportunity! Well...not really for me, no. But for YOU, the people. See...this was, in fact, the first time you all have had a chance to see a piece of my plans come to life. You've FINALLY seen a small leg of the plan! All this time, it's been talking, talking, planning, some philosophical bullshit, more talking, more planning, something about a chess piece...but you've never actually seen a RESULT, have you? Never really seen the things I'm saying come to fruition, have you? Ah...but two weeks ago, you finally got a small sample. You finally got to see a little bit of how I work.
I'm still seeing some confused faces. Alright, let's try a different approach:
What if I told you that my plan worked like a dream?
What if I told you that the Crucible went exactly as I intended?
What if I told you that I accomplished exactly what I had set out to accomplish?
Ooh, did you get chills? I got chills. I do believe I've done it. I think I've finally done what I once thought was impossible. Ladies and gentlemen, I finally got you all to THINK!
Now let's see if we can't find you some answers.
This week, I'm slated to go up against Kerry Windsor...the very man who threw me over the top in the Crucible.
That was you, then? Nice work Kerry. Truth be told, I wasn't sure WHO had done it. I wasn't paying attention...which, I suppose, is why I got thrown out. Go figure.
I bet you're real proud of yourself, aren't you? I can't be mad, honestly. Fact is, you were the only guy who actually did what I told you to do. I said, plain and simple...shit, what were my words again? Ah!"
Chuck makes a rolling motion with his hand, and his voice plays back from two weeks ago.
'There are nineteen men and women in this match who, at the end of the day, need to accomplish ONE thing: They need to stop Chuck Matthews. They need to stop the threat. So...I have given you all a golden opportunity on a silver platter served up by a diamond butler.'
'I'm curious to see which one of you does it.'
'I beg you. I implore you. Fight your hearts and souls out. Take me, head on. Beat me. End my plans. Throw a wrench in my system. Make me rethink my strategy. Make me work that extra bit to get back on my game.'
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "And that winner was YOU, Kerry! So now, I ask you...can I really be upset? Do you really think you got under my skin? That you've somehow upset me? Shit, out of nineteen people in the Crucible, you were the ONLY one who actually did what I told you to do. YOU took out Chuck Matthews, and what a marvelous elimination it was.
'Oh, but Chuck!' I hear you protest. 'I took away your chance at the world championship!'
Well, yes, Kerry, you did. But riddle me this, buddy: Was the world championship ever my goal?
A-ha! NOW we're starting to see it all come together! NOW it makes sense! Chuck SHOULD be upset that he lost the Crucible, because now he can't get a chance to fight for the belt! But...you see....that automatically implies a rather ambitious assumption: You assume that Chuck Matthews is after the world championship. Take THAT little piece of information out, and....why exactly do I care that I lost the Crucible?
I mean, I guess I should choose my words better, shouldn't I? Of course I care that I lost. Of course, the Crucible played a part in my master plan. In some way, EVERY match plays a part in my plan. But what you need to realize is that there are certain matches that mean more than others. And there are SOME matches...like, for instance, the Crucible, where it is actually in my best interest to lose the match. Where my plans, in fact, take a huge step BACKWARDS by winning.
Are you seeing the problem here? No, the problem is not that the world championship means dick to me. No, it's not that I continue to 'disrespect' or whatever dime-a-dozen word people use without actually knowing what they mean. No...the reason you struggle to grasp my plans is because, as I say, week after week...you don't understand me.
You're so baffled by this. You scratched your heads for hours, trying to figure out why the fuck Chuck Matthews, who had a chance to enter ANYWHERE he wanted, decided on number two. Why, of all positions, he decided to take the hardest road. But the fact of the matter is, you were all thinking with the same goal in mind.
Tell me: How many of you ever considered the possibility that perhaps a victory WASN'T the end goal? How many of you considered that maybe, just maybe...Chuck didn't actually care about winning the Crucible?
The correct answer, boys and girls, is a BIG OL' FUCKING GOOSE EGG! NONE of you ever let that thought enter your minds. You were so bewildered by my decision, because you were all assuming that I was after the same thing as everyone else. And the simple, painful truth is? I wasn't. You couldn't even figure out square one, and you expect to be able to stop my entire master plan? Good fucking luck.
And here's the kicker: You had it sitting right there. For fuck's sake, I'd wager that more than a few of you even asked yourself at one point of another:
'Why the fuck would he pick number two? Does he even want to win this thing?'
And every last one of you automatically decided: 'Of course he does. He must have some strange strategy in mind. He's the smartest man in wrestling, he wouldn't pick number two for no reason.'
Well...yes and no. Of course I picked number two for a reason. Number two guaranteed that I would meet every one of you in the ring at one point or another...but the odds were certainly against me. I don't believe anyone truly believed I would walk out the winner. So my decision confused you. You had all sorts of speculations for the first question, all sorts of ideas as to why I picked it...but you never once questioned your answer to the SECOND question. It never once dawned on you that the question you SHOULD have been asking was 'Is winning even the goal?'
But do you know the saddest part? You know what's the most depressing? I TOLD YOU IT WOULD HAPPEN. I-...you know something? Roll the fucking tape."
Once again, Chuck's recorded voice is played.
'How do I expect to win? Now, why would you ask that? Why would you ask HOW I expect to win, when the more delicious question is: DO I expect to win? Do I PLAN to win?'
Chuck Matthews: "IT'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE. What does it TAKE with you people? What do I have to do to drill this into your heads? Do you not get it? Do you not understand? Has it really not sunk in yet?
I DO NOT THINK LIKE YOU. I am not bothered with things like world championship matches. Why? Because it doesn't play into my plans. And I say it week after week, show after show, tape after tape...you can't stop me, because you can't think like me. Sure, yeah, the world title is nice and all. Give it time, I'll be holding it myself. But right now? It was in my best interest to lose the match. To AVOID the world title bout. Right now, there is something FAR more valuable to me than the world championship, and I aim to keep hold of it before it escapes my grasp yet again.
But of course, that never even occurred to you. It never dawned on you that I had something greater in mind that a victory in the Crucible. You all put your chips on the same number, and the reason that I become so dangerous is because I'm the only one that puts his money on something else entirely...and you have no idea what that thing is. Why? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN FATHOM IT. You can't even wrap your heads around the notion that there may be something...ANYTHING...more valuable to a wrestler than a world title.
Here's the bottom line. You hear people say this bullshit all the time. People who believe that they've 'transcended' this industry, or this mindset that so many people find themselves in. Jesus fucking Christ, your world champion is doing it RIGHT NOW. Furor preaches on and on about how wonderful his plan is going, but you want to know a fun little secret? That same guy is on top of the world right now because he won the world title. That motherfucker claims to be writing the rules, but at the end of the day, he's playing the SAME FUCKING GAME.
So what do you do with a guy like me, hm? What do you do when some hooligan comes in who ISN'T playing that game? What do you do when you find a wrestler who isn't concerned with world titles? With main event matches? What do you do when you find a guy who claims to be hunting something greater?
Do you shrug me off as insane? Do you deem me no threat? Sure, you could. And, sure enough, many of you have done exactly that. But is that particularly wise? Because there are those two terrifying little words that give me all the power in the world:
'What if?'
What if I'm NOT crazy? What if I know EXACTLY what I'm doing? What if, exactly as I claim, I've got a plan that is going to rock this entire company and everyone in it?
You realize that the best time to kill a weed is before it takes root. But you're still trying to decide whether I'm a weed or not. You're still trying to make heads or tails of what I say. Am I a threat, or am I to be brushed off as nothing?
But IF I'm a weed...if I'm a poison about to take effect...is that a risk you're really prepared to take? How will that feel, I wonder? How will you react when my plans finally come to fruition, and you realize that for months, you were in a perfect position to stop it? Will it eat you up inside knowing that all of this time, you shrugged it off...and for what? To pretend that I was some rookie out of the woodwork trying to make a name for himself?
Jesus, I really hope you're not truly that dense. I hope you've realized that if I REALLY wanted to make a name for myself, throwing away world championship matches isn't the way to do it.
....so, Kerry. We're back to you. The man that threw Chuck Matthews out of the ring in the Crucible. Like that's some fucking accomplishment. Like that's something you can brag to me about.
'I can beat you, Chuck! I beat you two weeks ago, and I can do it again!'
Motherfucker, let me explain something to you. If you didn't throw me out when you did, I would have jumped out of that ring myself as soon as it was the three of us left. Third place. THAT was my aim. THAT was my goal. Why?
Well, to tell you that would be to reveal what it is that I'm really after...and I'd much rather see you figure it out.
So what's the game here, Kerry? You know I'm the greatest mind in the business. You know that you can't outsmart me...and sure, maybe that worked well for you when you were fighting a guy focused on other things. But now? Can you say the same?
Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Well, if you didn't care about winning then, why now?' A valid point, Mr. Windsor! And, to be fair, nothing's really changed. You're exactly right, this victory really doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.
But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Sure as hell didn't stop me from fighting through fifteen men and women two weeks ago, did it? You're going to make a very dangerous mistake, Kerry. You're going to assume that my lack of motivation means a lack of talent.
And that's a very, very dangerous mindset to be in.
But, of course, that's exactly what I need to prove: That I'm still a threat. That I should NOT be brushed off. So, as bizarre as it may seem: This match actually means a little bit more to me than my last one. It's actually more important to my plans that I beat you than it is that I compete for a world title. Ain't that a bitch?
So I suppose the pressure is on me, then, isn't it? It would seem that if anyone HAS to win this match, I'm the guy, right? You came in second place in the Crucible, you've proven your talent, right?
Sorry, buddy. You may be the runner-up, but as the saying goes, you're the first one to lose the race. You said it two weeks ago. You need to prove yourself in EXODUS. You need to show the world that you can roll with the best. You need to show everyone that you can take on the big names and come out on top.
Now I wonder...how do I factor into this, Kerry? Do I fulfill your desire to fight top-tier talent? Am I one of these talented individuals that you so dearly want to compete against? Or will you make the same mistake as everybody else? Will you shove me aside? Will you look across the ring at me, thinking I'm just another rookie with a chip on his shoulder and a mountain ahead of him?
Here's the thing, Kerry. You've gone your entire career defying the odds. You're the greatest underdog story, aren't you? You're a guy who came from nothing, and you succeeded in the wrestling business. But you're in a world now where you're NOT the underdog. Where you're fighting a guy who nobody is quite sure what to make of. And I wonder how you're going to react. How you're going to prepare.
Indulge me, Kerry. How do you intend to beat the Smartest Man in Wrestling? What is this ace in the hole that you suddenly have? How does the ultimate underdog prepare for a fight when suddenly, he's exactly what he's always fought against?
Because make no mistake, that's exactly where you find yourself. Your entire career, you've fought your way up...but now? Now, you're there. You've made it. You've proven yourself an established talent and a tough nut to crack. And I'm in your shoes. Truth is, nobody's giving me a shot in hell at beating you...which means that suddenly, your greatest advantage is gone. You don't have that intensity that comes only when you're fighting someone that nobody believes you can beat. You don't have that drive that every great competitor gets...that strange, inexplicable burst of energy, of talent, that comes when they realize that nobody thinks they can do it. You're all too familiar with it, aren't you? Hell, you've spent most of your career harnessing that very energy...that wild intangible.
But me? I take that away. I remove your single greatest asset solely by existing lower on the food chain than you. And suddenly...suddenly, all of the pressure is back on you. Suddenly, I can sit back and play this game at my own pace yet again. Suddenly, YOU need to win this match. To prove that you belong. To prove that you're not a big fish in a small pond who's decided to try his hand in EXODUS. I mean, how can you expect to roll with the best when you can't even beat a guy fresh to the EXODUS roster?
And poof! Like magic...I'm in your head, Windsor. Because as much as you'll deny it, say that the pressure is on me, tell me that I'm the one that needs to win this match...you know that everything I say is true. You've heard me speak. You know I'm right.
So your job is quite simple, really: Convince me I'm wrong."
Chicago, Illinois
Matthews Residence
There were now three members of the Matthews clan living under that roof in Chicago: Chuck, the youngest sibling. The businessman. The wrestler. Jessica, the baby girl of the family. The doctor. The college graduate. Christopher, the oldest twin. The soldier. The new patriarch of the family.
Tonight, they were gathered around the den, enjoying a warm Chicago evening. Chris had the paper open in his lap, reading over it before turning the page lazily with his right hand. Jessica stood behind the sofa, gently rotating Chris's left arm, which was still heavily bandaged from some unknown wound.
Jessica Casey: "How does that feel? Okay?"
She lifts his shoulder fully, and Chris grunts in pain.
Christopher Matthews: "Fine. It's fine."
Jessica Casey: "You have full mobility. That's good, at least."
Sofia Sinclair: "What happened, anyway?"
Chuck looks over at his wife. She was nuzzled up next to him, a book in her lap. Chuck himself had been reading over her shoulder for a while, but had slowly become lost in thought, and for the last few minutes had been completely oblivious to the world around him. He perks up at Sofia's voice, and glances over at his brother. Truth be told, Chuck had wondered himself what had happened to Chris's arm. He had learned a long time ago that Chris didn't often speak about himself. Usually, it was better not to ask. Chris tears his eyes away from the paper and looks at Sofia. He seems to be measuring her up for a moment, as though debating whether her question was really worth answering. He apparently deems her worthy, because he finally responds:
Christopher Matthews: "Stabbed."
He speaks plainly, as though it was perfectly normal for a man to arrive, unannounced, at his brother's house with a stab wound. Sofia looks to Jessica and Chuck, who seem completely indifferent to this news.
Sofia Sinclair: "And...you two knew this?"
Chuck Matthews: "Nope."
Jessica Casey: "Uh-uh."
Sofia frowns.
Sofia Sinclair: "I mean...how did that happen? Are you okay?"
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "Jess says I'll be fine, so I'm not too worried. I've had worse."
To prove it, Chris lifts his shirt slightly, revealing a scar just below his ribcage.
Sofia Sinclair: "That's a bullet wound."
Christopher Matthews: "Damascus, 2007."
Sofia Sinclair: "Charlie tells me you're in the military."
Christopher Matthews: "Sure."
Sofia Sinclair: "Sure?"
Christopher Matthews: "I do the things that the government doesn't want you to know we're doing."
Sofia eyes him for a moment. She lowers her shirt slightly, revealing her own scar just above her right breast. Chris suddenly seems interested.
Sofia Sinclair: "Las Vegas, 2009."
Chris smirks.
Christopher Matthews: "That doesn't look like it came from any gun."
Sofia Sinclair: "Broomstick, actually. Broke it in half and got me when my guard was down."
Christopher Matthews: "It's amazing how inventive people can get when they want to hurt someone."
There's silence for a moment.
Christopher Matthews: "So what do you do for a living?"
Sofia Sinclair: "I work for the government. Top clearance sort of stuff."
Christopher Matthews: "Like what, exactly?"
Sofia smiles.
Sofia Sinclair: "I'm not really allowed to talk about any details."
She sees the look of interest on the faces of the Matthews siblings, and rolls her eyes.
Sofia Sinclair: "All I can say is that we're doing some iffy stuff over in Ukraine right now. Like, some really fishy shit."
Chuck nods slowly. Jessica too, seems satisfied with this response. Silence falls over the room again.
Sofia Sinclair: "So...military. Where have you been?"
Chris opens his mouth and closes it several times, looking embarrassed.
Christopher Matthews: "......I was in Ukraine..."
Yup. That was Chris. Chuck had gotten used to this life by now, thanks to Chris. With his wife in federal work, Chuck learned fairly quickly that he couldn't really ask her about her job. It didn't bother Chuck terrible, and Chris was the reason for that; Chuck knew the drill by now. He knew Chris's job was dangerous...and, truth be told, Chuck had often wondered if someday he would get that call, telling him that his brother wouldn't be coming home. It was always a fear in the deepest recesses of Chuck's mind...but that was life. Chuck had made his decision to go into business. Jessica opted to go into medicine. And Chris's calling was to serve his country. He did his job, and he did it well. It wasn't Chuck's place to question it.
Jessica Casey: "How does this feel?"
She's since returned to examining Chris's shoulder. Chris shakes his head.
Christopher Matthews: "Feels fine, Jess. Really. Can I have my arm back?"
Jessica grumbles, but releases his arm. Chris looks at Chuck.
Christopher Matthews: "Is she always like this?"
Chuck Matthews: "She throws a fit if I don't let her examine every joint after a match."
Jessica Casey: "I went to med school so I could make sure my idiot brothers didn't cripple themselves at work."
Chuck Matthews: "Aw, that hurts."
Jessica rolls her eyes, and punches Chuck's arm.
Jessica Casey: "Jerk."
Chuck smiles, resting his head on the back of his seat. He closes his eyes, enjoying the peace of his den. The sound of a page turning. Jessica's footsteps leaving the room. Darkness. And then...a face, grinning from the shadows, as though plastered on the inside of Chuck's eyelids. Paul Matthews, smirking from the shadows. Chuck jumps in his seat, jerking Sofia's head forward in the process.
Sofia Sinclair: "Jesus, Charlie, what happened?"
Chuck looks around the room. Chris eyes him, eyebrow raised slightly.
Chuck Matthews: "...nothing. Just dozed off. I think I'm going to get some sleep."
Sofia Sinclair: "Everything okay?"
Chuck kisses the top of her head.
Chuck Matthews: "Fine. Just tired. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"
Sofia Sinclair: "Of course. Good night."
Chuck stands, rubbing his eyes. Paul's face was nowhere to be seen. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Christopher Matthews: "Night, Charlie."
Chuck nods at Chris, and heads up the stairs. He spots Jessica out of the corner of his eye, tending to the babies in their beds. Chuck slips into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and leans over the sink.
Chuck Matthews: "Fucking Christ..."
He splashes water in his face, looking at his reflection. Paul hadn't made his presence known in some time. For a while, Chuck had hoped it would be the last he'd ever see of his long-dead brother. But with Chris home...was that what was triggering it? Was Paul returning along with his twin?
As if he had ever returned in the first place. Chuck was seeing things. Hearing things. Paul had been dead for years. No...it was some bizarre hallucination, and nothing more.
?: "You wanna tell me what that was about?"
The familiar southern twang of his brother's voice breaks Chuck out of his trance. Chuck turns to see Chris, leaning against the doorframe, looking inquisitively at his brother.
Chuck Matthews: "Nothing at all."
Chris cocks his head slightly.
Christopher Matthews: "When are you going to learn? You can't lie to me."
Chuck hears Paul's voice speak the words. It was eerie how similar the twins thought sometimes.
Chuck Matthews: "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
Christopher Matthews: "Is it about that Japan trip?"
Chuck frowns. He'd been ruing the journey to Japan for some time. He knew he would have to leave soon. He had contractual obligations to be there. It didn't make it any easier to motivate himself to pack his bags and actually book the flight.
Chuck Matthews: "Don't remind me."
Chris laughs.
Christopher Matthews: "Isn't Japan supposed to be some sort of wrestling hotbed?"
Chuck Matthews: "I don't hate Japan for its wrestling."
Christopher Matthews: "How does Sofia feel about you leaving?"
Chuck takes a deep breath.
Chuck Matthews: "I don't want to leave her here."
Christopher Matthews: "You're afraid she's going to have the baby while you're gone."
Chuck Matthews: "She's due around the end of June."
Christopher Matthews: "Hey. You've got Jessie here to help her out if she needs it. I was going to head back to Tennessee, but if it makes you feel better, I can always stick around too. At least until you can grab the first flight home."
Chuck Matthews: "I appreciate that. I'm sure watching my house wasn't on your mind when you went on leave."
Chris chuckles.
Christopher Matthews: "I'm out of action for a while. Boss's orders. And you're family, little C. I'm always here when you need me."
Chuck gives him a weak smile. Little C. That was Chris's nickname for him when they were kids. Big C and Little C. Chris and Charlie. Chuck hated the name, especially now that they were both adults...and that Chuck had an inch and thirty pounds on his older brother. Chris continued to use it though, likely to spite Chuck more than anything else.
Chuck Matthews: "Let me ask you something."
Christopher Matthews: "Shoot."
Chuck pauses, fumbling with the right words. If there was anyone that he could go to with the problem, Chris was the guy. Jessica was sweet, and Chuck and Jess were the closest of any siblings...but that closeness meant that she could turn the smallest problem into the end of the world. Chris didn't get so attached. He made no judgments. He sat, and listened, and went about his business.
Chuck Matthews: "Do you ever think about Paul?"
Chris opens his mouth to answer, but seems a bit taken aback by the question.
Christopher Matthews: "I...well...yeah, of course. He was my brother, too."
Chuck Matthews: "Your twin brother."
Christopher Matthews: "Why do you ask?"
Chuck steals a glance at himself in the mirror. He spots his own reflection, the pensive look etched into his face. Behind him, seen by nobody but himself, Paul Matthews leans against the wall. He gives Chuck a knowing wave, and nods his head towards Chris. Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "He's just been on my mind a lot lately..."
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Chuck Matthews: "And here...we go...again.
So what should I talk about this week, hm? What do you guys want to talk about? I'm a little stumped for material, I have to admit.
Well, I suppose I could talk about Absent Are the Saints, right? Seems reasonable, seeing that I made quite an impact there...hmm...
Sure, that sounds good. Let's talk about that. So, the Crucible. Eventually won by Fiona Collins. Congratulations, you earned that. Now go and whip ol' Chrissy into next week, won't you? And Furor! A world champion once again, and this time with no Andreas to whip his ass and take it from him! Talk about your good fortune! Did anything else happen at the event? There were a few other matches. Solid bouts. It was a pretty great night, if I do say so myself.
You seem confused. Why-...oh. OH! You...thought I'd be upset? Disappointed that I didn't win the Crucible? Angry that my 'master plan' failed? Pulling my hair out because my little plot to enter at number two ended up backfiring?
Now that's just sad. I would have thought you'd know me better by now. I would have thought maybe SOMEONE would have pieced that together. I mean, the Crucible was a glorious opportunity! Well...not really for me, no. But for YOU, the people. See...this was, in fact, the first time you all have had a chance to see a piece of my plans come to life. You've FINALLY seen a small leg of the plan! All this time, it's been talking, talking, planning, some philosophical bullshit, more talking, more planning, something about a chess piece...but you've never actually seen a RESULT, have you? Never really seen the things I'm saying come to fruition, have you? Ah...but two weeks ago, you finally got a small sample. You finally got to see a little bit of how I work.
I'm still seeing some confused faces. Alright, let's try a different approach:
What if I told you that my plan worked like a dream?
What if I told you that the Crucible went exactly as I intended?
What if I told you that I accomplished exactly what I had set out to accomplish?
Ooh, did you get chills? I got chills. I do believe I've done it. I think I've finally done what I once thought was impossible. Ladies and gentlemen, I finally got you all to THINK!
Now let's see if we can't find you some answers.
This week, I'm slated to go up against Kerry Windsor...the very man who threw me over the top in the Crucible.
That was you, then? Nice work Kerry. Truth be told, I wasn't sure WHO had done it. I wasn't paying attention...which, I suppose, is why I got thrown out. Go figure.
I bet you're real proud of yourself, aren't you? I can't be mad, honestly. Fact is, you were the only guy who actually did what I told you to do. I said, plain and simple...shit, what were my words again? Ah!"
Chuck makes a rolling motion with his hand, and his voice plays back from two weeks ago.
'There are nineteen men and women in this match who, at the end of the day, need to accomplish ONE thing: They need to stop Chuck Matthews. They need to stop the threat. So...I have given you all a golden opportunity on a silver platter served up by a diamond butler.'
'I'm curious to see which one of you does it.'
'I beg you. I implore you. Fight your hearts and souls out. Take me, head on. Beat me. End my plans. Throw a wrench in my system. Make me rethink my strategy. Make me work that extra bit to get back on my game.'
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "And that winner was YOU, Kerry! So now, I ask you...can I really be upset? Do you really think you got under my skin? That you've somehow upset me? Shit, out of nineteen people in the Crucible, you were the ONLY one who actually did what I told you to do. YOU took out Chuck Matthews, and what a marvelous elimination it was.
'Oh, but Chuck!' I hear you protest. 'I took away your chance at the world championship!'
Well, yes, Kerry, you did. But riddle me this, buddy: Was the world championship ever my goal?
A-ha! NOW we're starting to see it all come together! NOW it makes sense! Chuck SHOULD be upset that he lost the Crucible, because now he can't get a chance to fight for the belt! But...you see....that automatically implies a rather ambitious assumption: You assume that Chuck Matthews is after the world championship. Take THAT little piece of information out, and....why exactly do I care that I lost the Crucible?
I mean, I guess I should choose my words better, shouldn't I? Of course I care that I lost. Of course, the Crucible played a part in my master plan. In some way, EVERY match plays a part in my plan. But what you need to realize is that there are certain matches that mean more than others. And there are SOME matches...like, for instance, the Crucible, where it is actually in my best interest to lose the match. Where my plans, in fact, take a huge step BACKWARDS by winning.
Are you seeing the problem here? No, the problem is not that the world championship means dick to me. No, it's not that I continue to 'disrespect' or whatever dime-a-dozen word people use without actually knowing what they mean. No...the reason you struggle to grasp my plans is because, as I say, week after week...you don't understand me.
You're so baffled by this. You scratched your heads for hours, trying to figure out why the fuck Chuck Matthews, who had a chance to enter ANYWHERE he wanted, decided on number two. Why, of all positions, he decided to take the hardest road. But the fact of the matter is, you were all thinking with the same goal in mind.
Tell me: How many of you ever considered the possibility that perhaps a victory WASN'T the end goal? How many of you considered that maybe, just maybe...Chuck didn't actually care about winning the Crucible?
The correct answer, boys and girls, is a BIG OL' FUCKING GOOSE EGG! NONE of you ever let that thought enter your minds. You were so bewildered by my decision, because you were all assuming that I was after the same thing as everyone else. And the simple, painful truth is? I wasn't. You couldn't even figure out square one, and you expect to be able to stop my entire master plan? Good fucking luck.
And here's the kicker: You had it sitting right there. For fuck's sake, I'd wager that more than a few of you even asked yourself at one point of another:
'Why the fuck would he pick number two? Does he even want to win this thing?'
And every last one of you automatically decided: 'Of course he does. He must have some strange strategy in mind. He's the smartest man in wrestling, he wouldn't pick number two for no reason.'
Well...yes and no. Of course I picked number two for a reason. Number two guaranteed that I would meet every one of you in the ring at one point or another...but the odds were certainly against me. I don't believe anyone truly believed I would walk out the winner. So my decision confused you. You had all sorts of speculations for the first question, all sorts of ideas as to why I picked it...but you never once questioned your answer to the SECOND question. It never once dawned on you that the question you SHOULD have been asking was 'Is winning even the goal?'
But do you know the saddest part? You know what's the most depressing? I TOLD YOU IT WOULD HAPPEN. I-...you know something? Roll the fucking tape."
Once again, Chuck's recorded voice is played.
'How do I expect to win? Now, why would you ask that? Why would you ask HOW I expect to win, when the more delicious question is: DO I expect to win? Do I PLAN to win?'
Chuck Matthews: "IT'S RIGHT FUCKING THERE. What does it TAKE with you people? What do I have to do to drill this into your heads? Do you not get it? Do you not understand? Has it really not sunk in yet?
I DO NOT THINK LIKE YOU. I am not bothered with things like world championship matches. Why? Because it doesn't play into my plans. And I say it week after week, show after show, tape after tape...you can't stop me, because you can't think like me. Sure, yeah, the world title is nice and all. Give it time, I'll be holding it myself. But right now? It was in my best interest to lose the match. To AVOID the world title bout. Right now, there is something FAR more valuable to me than the world championship, and I aim to keep hold of it before it escapes my grasp yet again.
But of course, that never even occurred to you. It never dawned on you that I had something greater in mind that a victory in the Crucible. You all put your chips on the same number, and the reason that I become so dangerous is because I'm the only one that puts his money on something else entirely...and you have no idea what that thing is. Why? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN FATHOM IT. You can't even wrap your heads around the notion that there may be something...ANYTHING...more valuable to a wrestler than a world title.
Here's the bottom line. You hear people say this bullshit all the time. People who believe that they've 'transcended' this industry, or this mindset that so many people find themselves in. Jesus fucking Christ, your world champion is doing it RIGHT NOW. Furor preaches on and on about how wonderful his plan is going, but you want to know a fun little secret? That same guy is on top of the world right now because he won the world title. That motherfucker claims to be writing the rules, but at the end of the day, he's playing the SAME FUCKING GAME.
So what do you do with a guy like me, hm? What do you do when some hooligan comes in who ISN'T playing that game? What do you do when you find a wrestler who isn't concerned with world titles? With main event matches? What do you do when you find a guy who claims to be hunting something greater?
Do you shrug me off as insane? Do you deem me no threat? Sure, you could. And, sure enough, many of you have done exactly that. But is that particularly wise? Because there are those two terrifying little words that give me all the power in the world:
'What if?'
What if I'm NOT crazy? What if I know EXACTLY what I'm doing? What if, exactly as I claim, I've got a plan that is going to rock this entire company and everyone in it?
You realize that the best time to kill a weed is before it takes root. But you're still trying to decide whether I'm a weed or not. You're still trying to make heads or tails of what I say. Am I a threat, or am I to be brushed off as nothing?
But IF I'm a weed...if I'm a poison about to take effect...is that a risk you're really prepared to take? How will that feel, I wonder? How will you react when my plans finally come to fruition, and you realize that for months, you were in a perfect position to stop it? Will it eat you up inside knowing that all of this time, you shrugged it off...and for what? To pretend that I was some rookie out of the woodwork trying to make a name for himself?
Jesus, I really hope you're not truly that dense. I hope you've realized that if I REALLY wanted to make a name for myself, throwing away world championship matches isn't the way to do it.
....so, Kerry. We're back to you. The man that threw Chuck Matthews out of the ring in the Crucible. Like that's some fucking accomplishment. Like that's something you can brag to me about.
'I can beat you, Chuck! I beat you two weeks ago, and I can do it again!'
Motherfucker, let me explain something to you. If you didn't throw me out when you did, I would have jumped out of that ring myself as soon as it was the three of us left. Third place. THAT was my aim. THAT was my goal. Why?
Well, to tell you that would be to reveal what it is that I'm really after...and I'd much rather see you figure it out.
So what's the game here, Kerry? You know I'm the greatest mind in the business. You know that you can't outsmart me...and sure, maybe that worked well for you when you were fighting a guy focused on other things. But now? Can you say the same?
Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Well, if you didn't care about winning then, why now?' A valid point, Mr. Windsor! And, to be fair, nothing's really changed. You're exactly right, this victory really doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.
But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Sure as hell didn't stop me from fighting through fifteen men and women two weeks ago, did it? You're going to make a very dangerous mistake, Kerry. You're going to assume that my lack of motivation means a lack of talent.
And that's a very, very dangerous mindset to be in.
But, of course, that's exactly what I need to prove: That I'm still a threat. That I should NOT be brushed off. So, as bizarre as it may seem: This match actually means a little bit more to me than my last one. It's actually more important to my plans that I beat you than it is that I compete for a world title. Ain't that a bitch?
So I suppose the pressure is on me, then, isn't it? It would seem that if anyone HAS to win this match, I'm the guy, right? You came in second place in the Crucible, you've proven your talent, right?
Sorry, buddy. You may be the runner-up, but as the saying goes, you're the first one to lose the race. You said it two weeks ago. You need to prove yourself in EXODUS. You need to show the world that you can roll with the best. You need to show everyone that you can take on the big names and come out on top.
Now I wonder...how do I factor into this, Kerry? Do I fulfill your desire to fight top-tier talent? Am I one of these talented individuals that you so dearly want to compete against? Or will you make the same mistake as everybody else? Will you shove me aside? Will you look across the ring at me, thinking I'm just another rookie with a chip on his shoulder and a mountain ahead of him?
Here's the thing, Kerry. You've gone your entire career defying the odds. You're the greatest underdog story, aren't you? You're a guy who came from nothing, and you succeeded in the wrestling business. But you're in a world now where you're NOT the underdog. Where you're fighting a guy who nobody is quite sure what to make of. And I wonder how you're going to react. How you're going to prepare.
Indulge me, Kerry. How do you intend to beat the Smartest Man in Wrestling? What is this ace in the hole that you suddenly have? How does the ultimate underdog prepare for a fight when suddenly, he's exactly what he's always fought against?
Because make no mistake, that's exactly where you find yourself. Your entire career, you've fought your way up...but now? Now, you're there. You've made it. You've proven yourself an established talent and a tough nut to crack. And I'm in your shoes. Truth is, nobody's giving me a shot in hell at beating you...which means that suddenly, your greatest advantage is gone. You don't have that intensity that comes only when you're fighting someone that nobody believes you can beat. You don't have that drive that every great competitor gets...that strange, inexplicable burst of energy, of talent, that comes when they realize that nobody thinks they can do it. You're all too familiar with it, aren't you? Hell, you've spent most of your career harnessing that very energy...that wild intangible.
But me? I take that away. I remove your single greatest asset solely by existing lower on the food chain than you. And suddenly...suddenly, all of the pressure is back on you. Suddenly, I can sit back and play this game at my own pace yet again. Suddenly, YOU need to win this match. To prove that you belong. To prove that you're not a big fish in a small pond who's decided to try his hand in EXODUS. I mean, how can you expect to roll with the best when you can't even beat a guy fresh to the EXODUS roster?
And poof! Like magic...I'm in your head, Windsor. Because as much as you'll deny it, say that the pressure is on me, tell me that I'm the one that needs to win this match...you know that everything I say is true. You've heard me speak. You know I'm right.
So your job is quite simple, really: Convince me I'm wrong."