I Disappear, Part 2

“I DISAPPEAR, PART 2”

Pro Wrestling Excellence presents Magnificence
No-Disqualification Impulse Championship Match: vs. Tara Ayla

Cameraperson: N/A
On-Camera: Zoey Madigan-Star
Off-Camera: Dennis Madigan, Lucinda Madigan, Cassidy Gentry, Katalina Star, Makayla Star, Ursula Von Rossbach, ?

---

Wednesday, January 26th, 2022
Cavalleri Condominium Complex, Malibu, California
5:46pm, Pacific Time

Seated in the living room of their Malibu condo, Dennis and Lucinda Madigan sit next to one another, holding one another’s hands and weathered with concern. Dennis appears fifteen years beyond his still-vital age, while Lucinda wavers quickly between abject concern and furious determination. In one of the two armchairs sits Katalina Star, from moment to moment putting a handkerchief clutched tightly between her fingers to her nose or eyes. Standing next to her chair and holding her other hand is Makayla Star. The child is usually somewhat aloof but even she looks patently upset this evening. And, in the other chair, sits the well-dressed private investigator known as Miss Gentry, her own expression somewhat severe.

There is a pall over the gathering, and with good reason. The daughter, wife and ‘mama’ has been missing since Sunday night, and given some of the recent happenings surrounding the young woman, her family has clear reason to worry. The silence quickly becomes overbearing and Gentry is the first one to speak.

”Gonna get right to the point, folks: I’ve passed all the information I have on Zoey and what has been going on with her to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and they’re going to do all they can to find her. My main question for all of you is if you know anyone who would want to hurt her for any reason? Any enemies? Has she been worried about anything out of the ordinary or beyond the norm? Remember… no detail is inconsequential.”

There is silence again before Lucinda speaks up.

”If you take away the nonsense she gets up to with her wrestling, she has literally no enemies! You know her by now, don’t you?! She won’t even hurt someone who deserves it!”

A diatribe is no doubt en route, but Dennis squeezes his wife’s hand and whispers something to her that, surprisingly, calms the full-blooded Italian down. He isn’t much better off, but he has his wits about him.

”You know everything that we do, Miss Gentry, but it isn’t much. She hired you to look into matters with her late brother, didn’t she?”

”Yes, sir, she did.”

”Would this have anything to do with that?”

When a situation is so dire that Katalina can fully overlook her fear of men to be in the same room with one, that speaks volumes. She does not even flinch when Dennis sets a hand lightly on hers, something which rightfully surprises Makayla. Miss Gentry considers the question with eight pairs of sad eyes more or less locked on her now.

”My instinct tells me that it does. I just don’t know how.”

”Find out, then! Every day that is gone is another day something else horrible could happen!”

From there, Lucinda launches into a torrent of harsh Italian until Dennis finally gets her to get up and leave the room with him. He gives Miss Gentry an apologetic look and leads the woman somewhere where she can calm down. Meanwhile, Katalina and Makayla are left alone with the private investigator, none knowing what to say until the youngest speaks up.

”Mommy is very upset. Whoever did this is going to be in a lot of trouble.”

Except… while the child does not indicate who the perpetrator will be in trouble ‘with’, it most definitely sounds like she is prepared to take matters into her own hands. One might write that off as childish bravado, but one look into Makayla’s eyes reveals that she is absolutely serious. It’s all over her body language and within her tone of voice. Knowing what’s going through her daughter’s head, Katalina speaks up.

”She will be fine, dear. She always is, you know.”

”They won’t be, mommy. Good people don’t do bad things. Something should be done about them.”

”And so it shall be. Do me a favor, love, and go check on your grandmother. She seems very upset right now and could probably use a hug. Or several.”

Taking the hint, Makayla steps back and nods, though she gives Miss Gentry a look most stern before she departs. Katalina sighs as the girl enters the other room and closes the door behind her.

”Your daughter is very intense.”

”You have no idea. If she were physically capable of matching her own intelligence or insight, I would not be able to handle her. She is far too grown up for my liking.”

”Whereas my son doesn’t think much past what’s for dinner and when the next DLC is dropping for whatever game he’s zoned in on at the moment. Children are a joy, though, no question.”

Katalina is able to smile a little, even though she doesn’t wish to.

”I’m going to do everything in my power to find her, Katalina. I want you to know that.”

”And I do believe you, Miss Gentry. I really do. Unfortunately, I’m no stranger to things like this happening and that being the end of it. I cannot separate that from this… do you understand?”

”I do. That’s why I’m so determined.

She pauses, briefly picking up her cup of coffee from the glass-topped coffee table to sip. Two of the other cups are barely touched. Katalina’s is currently cradled in her shaking hands, dark droplets threatening to spill over onto the white carpet. After a moment, Gentry reaches out and helps Katalina put the cup back down gently, setting it on the table with a soft clink.

”Leave this to me, okay?”

”All right. If I can help in any way, though-”

”You’ll be the first to know. After Mrs. Madigan, anyway. That woman scares me a little.”

”She scares all of us, dear.”

With that said, Katalina excuses herself to see about Lucinda herself, leaving Miss Gentry alone in the living room. She sits in the silence for a few moments, sipping her coffee, when her phone goes off. She glances at the number over the rim of the mug and slowly sets it down. This was not a call she expected to get. Or, to be fair, not yet.

”Good evening. I did not expect to hear from you so soon-”

The other person cuts Gentry off, and whatever is said has the woman swallowing hard.

”Yes, ma’am. Tomorrow, then.”

Hanging up, Gentry gulps down the rest of her coffee and takes her leave, not wishing to disturb the family in their time of worry.

Date Unknown
Location Unknown
Time Unknown

”How many times do I have to tell you?! I DON’T KNOW!”

Metal clinks against metal, a noise that is as grating as it is intense. The room remains as spartan as before, the light once more casting its harsh glow. Seated in a metal chair that, based on the results of Zoey’s motions, is bolted to the floor, the captured woman thrashes against the steel manacles that link her to the furniture. Each wrist and each ankle are tethered to the seat, each cuff closed securely… to a point where not even her escape artistry skills avail her. Not that she’s calm enough to make proper use of them.

Leaned upon the door, half-obscured by shadows, her captor gazes upon her with arms folded. Her shouted response makes him sigh and shake his head.

”Now let me go already! You don’t get anything by keeping me prisoner here!”

She wishes so dearly that she could keep the desperation from her voice and the tears from her eyes, but it has been days like this… questions, demands, secondhand threats… it is wearing on her in more ways than one.

”When are you going to get it through your head? Is some doctor/patient confidentiality bullshit really worth your health and safety? Tell me what he said and where he went and you can leave. It’s that simple.”

”He didn’t SAY anything! OR tell me where he was going!”

”BULLSHIT!”

Despite herself, the sudden shout makes Zoey wince and recoil as far as the cuffs would allow. There is a table as well between her and the man; it is to this he moves, slamming gloved fists down upon it.

”That loquacious motherfucker CAN’T keep his mouth shut! I know this for a FACT! You expect me to believe he just sat there stoically while you worked?! No chance in hell! Use your damn brain, Zoey! You’re not stupid, so stop playing like you are!”

”What the hell do you know that makes you think you can tell me who or what I am?! You’re some hired thug trying to shake down a helpless woman and getting a crappy attitude when she doesn’t tell you what you want to hear! You’re PATHETIC!”

There is a pause… and then the table is flung to the side, slamming into the wall with literally one pull of the man’s hand. Zoey winces again, then flat-out cowers when the man steps forward, right beneath the light, and looms over her. At his side, his hand curls into a tight fist, so tight that the leather creaks when drawn beyond taut by his fingers.

Another tear falls, another link of chain clinks against the chair. Zoey is still in the same attire from the night she was grabbed, though it is more torn and tattered now, smeared with grime. She can feel it; there is a strike coming. When she sees the hand turn into a fist, she cringes and, despite herself, a faint whimper escapes her.

But the blow never comes.

”Maybe you’re right.”

The words come in a whisper. His fingers uncurl slowly and he lets out a held breath.

”I’m sorry.”

”...if… if you’re sorry… just let me leave… please.”

”You’ll be worse off if I let you go at this point. I still feel like you’re holding something back-”

About to protest, albeit weakly, Zoey silences herself when he holds up a hand.

”-but I’m not going to press further. I’ll just find out for myself. My way.”

”...what about-”

”You have to stay here. For now. This won’t take long, but I have to take precautions. Again, I’m sorry.”

His tone is stern but not quite cold. Determined, more like. Understanding, Zoey sits up a little and parts her lips. Crouching briefly, the man picks up a roll of duct tape and a piece of cloth.

The scene fades.

Wednesday, February 2nd, 2022
The Basement of the Madigan-Star Residence, Malibu, California
6:08am, Local Time

Cross-legged on a bench, form-fitting leggings clinging to her tautly-muscled stems, a black sports bra likewise hugging her chest, ample in both shape and muscle, her wrists and ankles bare save for frayed athletic tape and with a torn, sleeveless hoodie hanging loose upon her form, Zoey Madigan-Star sits, barely three days beyond her ordeal. Her head is down, allowing the hood to hide her features. Her hands hang loose in front of her crossed legs, fingers wavering, clenching from time to time. Some of her dark hair is visible beneath the hoodie and what’s there is heavy, soaked with perspiration.

It drip-drip-drips to the floor beneath the bench, a puddle within the dust and detritus. But from whence does all this debris come?

All around her lay punching bags. The heavier, 100-pound variety which you typically hang from a heavy chain. And each bag is torn into. Not via something sharp, for such cuts would be noticeably clean. No, they have been slammed into over and over in such a fashion as to batter holes into them, letting the material inside burst into the outside world. There appears to be at least seven of them lying about. Perhaps not done in one sitting, but… that it is done at all is quite telling.

”You can put make-up on a corpse if you like, but at the end of the day, it is still dead and rotting. Chemicals can only do so much to stop the ravages of time and decay. Hopes and dreams will only delude you into thinking you’re making a difference. It is the destiny of us all, unfortunately; immortality is for memories alone, fond or otherwise.”

Zoey lifts her head, but only enough for the lower part of her face to be seen. No smile, no cosmetics. Just a person. Tired. Hurting.

And angry.

”This is not your fault, Tara, but you are going to get hurt for it all the same. That is something that I will have to live with. Not wanton destruction of a friend as a means of displacing my hurt, mind you. I may be suffering, but I will never reach a point where I will hurt my friends willfully… not even if it would make me feel better. No, I have just… crossed a line. Accusations, abductions, interrogations, backlash, outbursts… all of it conspires to push me to a point that I never thought I would reach.

I won’t be able to control myself at Magnificence. Somehow I just know Xaria will be lurking, trying to put the onus of her weakness on me. My thoughts will no doubt slide away here and there, lingering upon the row I had with Katie, about how my state of being is hurting my wife and daughter and parents. The fear of being subjected again to obscurity and suffering out of my hands will probably stay with me for some time. Even now, knowing I must have 100% focus on this match, lest my first defense of the Impulse Championship be my last. And I… I can’t…”

A shaky sigh, then her hand comes up to wipe beneath her nose and under one of her eyes immediately after. Then she gets up and walks to where the camera is propped up and shuts it off.

Thursday, January 27th, 2022
Malachi’s, Malibu, California
7am, Pacific Time

The sandwich shop, a favorite of Zoey’s, is closed at this hour. However, a massive woman in black BDUs, a black leather jacket, boots and a gray top is leaning against a stylish, well-kept Mercedes parked near the middle of the lot. She is soon joined there by a white sedan, from which emerges Cassidy Gentry, in jeans, flat-soled boots and a thick, cream-colored cashmere sweater.

”Miss Von Rossbach?”

The muscular woman nods. She reaches into jacket and removes a large brown envelope, greeting the P.I. respectfully.

”Ms. Gentry, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance in person.

I have conducted an investigation of my own. Inside this envelope is the evidence I have acquired. I was a bit hopeful that I would find something last night that would better assist us in our efforts to recover Mrs. Madigan-Star. Unfortunately, I have followed my line of inquiry to a dead end. My hope is that you may have some additional information that, when combined with what I have found, may give us the outcome we are looking for.”

”Miss, actually, if it’s all the same. So far, I’ve found no need to complicate my life with a man and I hope to stay that way.”

She smiles a little. While it might be a touch of oversharing, Cassidy is just hoping to break the ice a bit because Ursula looks like she could step on the P.I. and not even know it.

Accepting the information, nodding as she listens, the investigator flips through the files, reports and pictures. She squints a few times, noting some of the ‘shortcuts’ and ‘quick changes’ done in the midst of them preparing the car, which Ursula has noted as the one that was used to abduct Zoey: a Bentley Continental V8.

”THese guys clearly don’t give a damn about regulations, which leads me to believe that they’re both unscrupulous and perhaps on retainer with someone with the means to keep them from being in trouble with the law. I couldn’t imagine who, though…”

Cassidy considers a few moments longer, looking thoughtful.

”That is what I had thought as well. There will likely be no following the money trail as I assume some of the account numbers are linked to dummy offshore accounts.”

Urusla casts her gaze to the ground.

”I have no further leads, but will assist as necessary. Those who harm the few I call friends will learn why it is unwise to cross me.”

”I can’t help thinking it has something to do with those assholes who dug up her brother’s grave. Did you hear about that? Who the hell does something like that?!”

Ursula mulls over Cassidy’s words for a moment, then slowly removes the shades from her face and folds them in her hands.

”It IS interesting in a morbid way…”

Flashes of her own ‘death and rebirth’ came to mind. There is a far-away look in her eyes as she stares off into the distance.

Could it be…?

Suddenly, though, Ursula realizes the silliness of her search and puts the phone away, Cassidy watching her all the while.

”Forgive my momentary lapse, Miss Gentry. A foolish theory likely born from a lack of sleep.”

”Sleep? You mean blink? You DO seem to have been inspired, though…”

”As someone who has died more than once in her life, hearing stories about someone’s grave being defiled often gives way to a mad ‘what if’ theory.”

Ursula turns and opens the door of her car, slipping into the seat.”

”I hope you put what I have provided to good use.”

”That’s the hope. Thank you again.”

And just like that, Ursula drives off, leaving Cassidy watching… and thinking.

Friday, January 28th, 2022
The Dungeon, Malibu, California
1:31pm, Pacific Time

As she leaves Katalina Star’s Dungeon the following day, Cassidy is the epitome of frustration. On a whim she had entered the grand establishment, hoping to either find some missed nuggets of information or even a little inspiration by checking out Zoey’s own establishments within. She left, however, with none of the above.

Stepping into the cool (for California) winter air, Cassidy slides her arms into her suede jacket when she spots something in the distance. She blinks, then lifts her shades and stares more closely.

A Bentley Continental V8… to a ‘T’ just as Ursula described it.

”Son of a bitch!”

Moving to her own car, Cassidy is frustrated, but unsurprised, to see the vehicle pulling away. Starting her ride and gunning the engine, she tears off down the road after it, beginning a wild chase leading toward downtown Malibu. The Bentley has a head start, but Cassidy’s rental is no pushover, slowly but surely gaining on the other car. Squealing tires and angry honks from other commuters, not to mention the odd pedestrian scrambling out of the way, are hallmarks of the chase.

Ignoring the angry shouts, Cassidy’s eyes flick from the car to her mirrors moment to moment as she tries to match the other car’s pace. No way in hell it leads her to where Zoey is; the perpetrator cannot be that thick. But if she can box them in somehow, perhaps she can get the information she seeks. The distance continues to shorten between them, with Cassidy making sure her dash camera is directed at the other car. She gets within several feet of the Bentley before a sudden turn has it nearly up on two wheels. It makes the turn, but Cassidy spins out, almost broadsiding a lamp post.

Cursing sharply, she slams her fist against the steering wheel before forcing herself to calm down and right the vehicle. The Bentley is long gone by now, but maybe… just maybe… she got something useful with her camera. Pulling down the street while ignoring the angry and reproving stares of the people who witnessed the chase, Cassidy activates her dash-mounted phone and speed-dials her new ‘partner’. It goes straight to voicemail, but Cassidy is hardly perturbed.

”It’s me. Spotted our friend in the Bentley. Tried to chase them down but they got away. I’m sending you the recording of the chase from my dash camera. Perhaps you can find something?”

From here, Cassidy links the camera and her phone, sending the video clip while stopped at a red light. Hope, it seems, is not lost.

Saturday, January 29th, 2022
Outside of Malibu, California
11:18pm, Pacific Time

”...I told you I would get the information and I will.”

The masked man is more agitated than usual. Pacing back and forth outside the room housing a captive Zoey Madigan-Star, he is fighting to keep his voice calm, if not quiet. Whoever is on the other end of the call, however, is not making this easy.

”Your lack of faith is getting on my nerves. Not once have I failed to deliver. This will not be the exception. And once I know where he is, the little bastard’s running days are over and our business will be settled.”

Another pause, during which the masked man peers into the room, perhaps checking on Zoey.

”Yes, I will deal with the woman as well. As I said I would. Yes, by tomorrow. Wait, what’s this ‘or else’ bullshit?!”

It would seem that no answers are forthcoming in this regard, for the call ended shortly afterward. It is a battle for the man to keep his temper and not smash the phone. Shoving it in his pocket, he glances over her shoulder toward the door to the makeshift cell, speaking softly.

”Just hold out a little while longer, kid…”

He mutters, turning and heading down the hall.

The next view of him is from the outside, leaving the building and heading for a familiar car parked nearby. He gets into the Bentley, starts it up and drives off. No sooner is he out of sight than does another familiar car slowly roll into view from around the corner, hidden by a dumpster outside an old brick building.

”Gotcha, motherfucker.”

”So… do we go smashing our way in? With him gone, we should be able to retrieve her easily enough.”

Ursula is behind the wheel of her Mercedes, with Cassidy in the passenger seat. Despite wanting to answer otherwise, Cassidy shakes her head.

”No. I wish that we could, but-”

”Why, exactly, can’t we?”

Ursula is less than pleased with the idea of not getting her friend out of danger. Cassidy does her best to help Ursula see sense.

”Because we want to be sure that he pays for what he’s done, and if he realizes something is up, he’ll cut his losses and bolt. Plus, if there’s more behind him, I want to know who they are and what they’re doing. I just can’t shake the idea that this is all connected somehow…”

Definitely not happy with the situation, but understanding Cassidy’s point of view, Ursula grunts and nods slightly. The two settle in to wait for the masked man to return.

A few hours later…

”You’re pretty resourceful.”

”Perhaps you’re just sloppy.”

The locale has not changed, save for the night becoming a little darker. The masked man stands on one side of the Bentley while, across the two-lane street from him is Ursula. Both have weapons pointed at one another at, at this distance, it is reasonable to assume that both would have no issue hitting their target. Ursula’s tone indicates that she would be all too happy to end this guy just for hurting her friend, while the masked fellow, on the other hand, seems almost amused.

That attitude causes Ursula to uncharacteristically bristle.

”Drop the weapon. I promise you that I won’t miss at this range.”

”If I disappear, she disappears.”

The response is cold and calm. Ursula blinks once, then tightens her grip.

”Your partner is already calling the cops. I got what I wanted. I suggest you leave before you have to answer questions that you’d rather not.”

”Bullshit.”

”Really?”

Sirens blare in the distance, once again taking Ursula’s attention. She quickly turns back toward the man, but he’s already gone. Fucker pulled a Batman. Cursing to herself, Ursula puts her gun away and gets into the car as Cassidy pulls up next to her.

”We need to get out of here. We’ll figure this out later.”

They pull away quickly, the area filled with blue and red flashing lights only moments later and, soon after that, uniformed officers leading a woozy, shivering and barely-conscious Zoey out of her week-long prison...

Thursday, February 2nd, 2022
The Madigan-Star Residence, Malibu, California
12:01am, Pacific Time

”Even as I stand here, wondering and worrying, cognizant of my future yet ignorant of my place in it, I cannot help but think that it’s all for naught. What could I possibly have to offer you, Tara, aside from the aforementioned pain, that in and of itself being a by-product of my recent trials? You’re no stranger to suffering. What could I possibly visit upon you that you haven’t felt before, that you could not overcome to take my championship? Nothing that I can see.

Support? You don’t need my support. You get that from Damian and a few others. I have seen how it makes you smile when you think no one is looking.

Friendship? While I am appreciative of yours, I do not have much to offer from my end. My heart is not what it once was.

Understanding? Hmph… your trials and tribulations make mine pale in comparison. It would be akin to empty lip service and little more.

I have nothing, Tara. Nothing but the Impulse Championship. As everything else seems to slip away, from my reputation to my light to who-knows-what-else, that title is my lifeline. My last link to some small amount of light, something to shine upon the path before me.”

The deck’s railing is narrow, barely wider than her bare foot. Yet Zoey finds little problem with balancing herself upon it, walking the rim of the deck in quiet contemplation. Loose black cotton pants sweep about her legs with the ocean breeze, a black, button-down shirt worn over a silky camisole of equal darkness.

If it weren’t for the moonlight, she would be a shadow against a shadow.

Pacing. Flowing. Meandering on the unseen current of life. Adrift.

”And you would take it from me. Not out of malice. Covetousness, perhaps, but not malice. I know why. You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. Really.”

It sounds as if she might be smiling. But the wind tosses her hair in front of her face as she briefly looks at the camera, only her eyes clearly visible.

Then she turns away again.

”I will fight tooth and nail, Tara, to keep this last symbol, this bastion of glory that I went to such pains to earn. Not out of greed, but simply because if I lose it, I’m afraid I’ll never touch such a thing again. It feels so silly to worry about that, all considered, but… well, it should be painfully clear, shouldn’t it?

I’m not myself. Probably won’t be for some time. That’s if I can even remember what I’m supposed to be anymore.

I stand accused of hurting people, the fans slowly turning away from me. The stage has been taken from me. Threats from one side, insults and jibes from another… some of them coming from you, even, though I think I can forgive that. A week of hell suffered for reasons I still cannot grasp. Yet here I am. Ready to fight, to defend my title. My Impulse Championship.

My apologies, Tara, but the Zoey you know will not be at Magnificence. This shell filled with chaos will have to suffice. You are owed more.

I’m… so sorry.”

Her arm lifts, the back of a half-gloved hand wiping over her eyes. Yet it is not sobbing we hear, but instead soft, tremulous laughter.

”It would be so much easier to be a monster, wouldn’t it? To give in to what people say and think I am instead of trying to be what I feel like I’m supposed to be? After over a decade of fighting, perhaps I’m just… tired.”

She crouches at the corner of the deck railing, staring out at the churning waves, listening to them crash.

”But… no rest for the wicked. That’s what I am, after all, right?

So, I will see you soon, Tara. No rules, no holding back, no light or darkness. Only the fight and the prize. I will find a way, my old friend, for better or worse. Perhaps it will be your time to hold the gold high and see Damian look at you with pride, eh?

Or… perhaps I’m still in here somewhere, ready to make your dream… disappear.”

She snaps her fingers sharply and, in a puff of smoke, she’s gone.

Fade to black.