It’s dark and cold here. Not that the girl we see laying on the ground can tell where ‘here’ is at the moment. It’s too dark to see clearly, but the distant sound of waves crashing onto a rocky shore and the smell of sea air are all too familiar to her.
The girl is suddenly full of questions for herself. How did I end up here? Where have I come from? And why do I have this over-powering pain shooting through my head?
She sits up, gingerly, and runs a hand through her long dark hair. She brings her hand back in front of her as her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. The hand is red with blood, and it makes her queasy to see it. A cold streak runs down her neck, and at first she assumes it’s a reaction to seeing blood. But soon she comes to realise that it’s more blood, trickling down her neck. The blood on her hands is her own.
Out of the darkness comes a light, as a car slowly makes its way down the quiet little road. The girl’s eyes are blinded as the headlight gets closer and closer… she turns her head away from the light as the car spots her and pulls over near to her.
The headlights are bright and do her head no good at all, but they do shed a little light on the scene. The light reveals a wall, about five or six feet behind the girl. And there’s a sign…
“Nicosia Central Prison”
A voice comes out of the darkness of the screen, the voice of ‘Veronique’.
“Andersen, it would appear as if this week you face your toughest challenge yet for your MWA Legacy Championship.”
It’s a warm and humid night and Marcie du Toit steps out onto the balcony of her Madison home. She ties up her silky nightrobe as she steps into the night air, briefly looking back over her shoulder at her boyfriend asleep in the bedroom before looking out on the city she’s come to call home.
“You’ve been through some tough matches since your arrival in the MWA, and you’ve done pretty well for yourself, I’ll give you that. But this match, this is one step too far for you. Yes you defeated Mark Mason. Yes you defeated Heather Shannon. Yes you defeated John Patrick.”
Marcie still does not acknowledge the camera, choosing instead to look out over the lights of the city.
“But now you have to beat them all. Plus Dinamite Dan and myself too.”
She turns towards the camera, leaning on the barrier.
“No-one wins a scramble match, they survive. And, throughout my career that’s what I’ve done. I’ve survived some tough situations and some awesomely tough matches. I’ve proved myself time and time again, and I’m the one person in this match that has beaten you. I could go off on an ego trip here, and mention how I beat you and your partner to win the ACW Tag-Team Titles. Mention how I defeated the likes of John Patrick for the ACW Title.”
She pauses for a moment, looking back towards the bedroom and her boyfriend Mike. Mike has woken up, noticing that his girl was not by his side. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking out towards the balcony that Marcie stands on. He also has in his hands the MWA Millennium Title, and Marcie smiles as she spots him holding it. She moves towards the door and pulls the curtain across, cutting Mike out of shot. She shakes her head with a little smile as she looks back towards the camera.
“All the MWA fans know about my past, my history. How I know so little about myself before the summer of 1998. One of the things I’m not so sure about is the name ‘Veronique’. It was scrawled on a piece of paper in my pocket when I was found in Cyprus, severely lacking in memory. I assumed it was my name, but that turned out not to be the case.”
She stops herself from getting too carried away with her story, there’s so much she could tell, but so little need to tell it right now.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, so allow me to explain. Ever since ’98 I’ve been trying to piece together just who I am. And, in the process, I’m trying to leave a trail. A trail of success, a trail of victories and a trail of people who have fallen to me in the ring. I want to make sure that, by the time I’m finished with them, the likes of John Patrick, Dan Thorn, Heather Shannon and Mark Mason will never… EVER… forget the name Veronique.”
Marcie smiles and looks away from the camera, back out to the city.
“And, in the process, maybe I can work out who the hell Veronique is… or was. Maybe I can find her out there, somewhere. Maybe I can force some real answers out of our current Legacy Champion, who’s been teasing me for months now.”
She looks back to the camera.
“All I know for certain is that, when I pull out the victory this Tuesday on BattleZone, my opponents will never forget me. They will never forget the night that Veronique laid the foundations of her MWA Legacy, the night that they come to realise that I have what it takes to gain championship glory here, that nothing is for granted in the MWA. And when I pick up that Legacy Title belt… it’ll be like Deja-vu… all over again!”
Marcie smiles, a glint in her eye. Mike sticks his head through the curtains and beckons for Marcie to come back to bed.
“Ronnie, come on honey. We have to be in Denver tomorrow, you need some sleep.”
“You just want a cuddle…”
Mike smiles broadly “Well, yea, I’ll give ya that!”
Marcie smiles as she disappears through the curtains and back into her bedroom. The scene fades out.
A beautiful young girl, who must only be 16 or 17, lays asleep in a bed. Her head is bandaged, and she doesn’t seem to be sleeping particularly peacefully. She moans and turns her body, curling up into a ball under the sheets.
It’s almost two days since Aleksandr Konstantin found this girl, dazed and confused at the foot of a large wall. A wall that surrounds Nicosia Central Prison, here in Cyprus. His first thought had been to take her to the hospital, get the wound to her head looked at by a doctor. But the girl insisted that she couldn’t go to a hospital, although she didn’t really know why. Aleksandr presumed it was because she is a wanted criminal.
She didn’t know her name either, apparently suffering a little memory loss after her blow to the head. But there was one clue to her identity, a piece of paper in her pocket with the name “Veronique” written on it. The paper was torn, and whatever else was written on it is missing now.
The girl rolled over again as Aleksandr looked down at her. She’d spent most of the last two days asleep, and he had cared for her while she recovered from her fall.
Aleksandr is a guy in his late thirties, Russian in origin, here in Cyprus to avoid someone or something back home in Moscow. He’s a wrestler by trade, and had found himself a small time promotion in Cyprus to appear for once in a while. But now he was more into finding new talent and training them. If this Veronique was around for a while, while she got her memory back, he might even take her under his wing and start to train her.
Part of Aleksandr knew that there was probably a good reason that Veronique had been in prison, and he wasn’t 100% sure that harbouring an escaped convict was a good idea. But then at the same time he thought that the girl was obviously too young to be in such a place, a thought that has not left his mind since he found her.
He’d even called in a favour from a girl hew knew in the police force, to search their records for a girl by the name of Veronique, but she found nothing. She did, however, find a record regarding a prison break on the night that Aleksandr found the girl. But the person who escaped was male, late teens, English… name unknown.
Whoever this girl was, only she had the answers.
Marcie du Toit and Mike Blackwood are sat in their favourite Italian restaurant in Madison, an birthday celebration for Marcie’s 24th.
“Why such a pained look on your face?” Mike looks over the table towards Marcie, who seems to be in a world of her own.
She sighs. “I wish I had the answers.” She says softly. She looks back at Mike and attempts a smile. “Eight years and still nothing has come back to me. Eight years not knowing who I was or why I was in that prison. And the really annoying thing? Andersen knows me, and he’s teasing me. He could have all the answers I ever wanted, and he’s only giving out small bits of information every now and then. The air freshener… if that was him… and that photo…” She stops, shaking her head.
“That photo shows you two were very happy together.” Mike says. “Most likely he’s doing this because something happened between the two of you and he’s trying to get back at you. He’s jealous that you moved on, found love somewhere else. He’s planning something against you because he’s jealous.”
Marcie sits there in silence, toying with the remains of her food. She thinks some more before responding to her boyfriend. “But what if there’s more to it? What if I did something really bad to him, and that’s why I was in prison?”
Mike has had that thought too, truth be told. But whatever had happened, he didn’t care. All that matters is what Marcie is like now, not what she was like eight years ago. “Don’t try to think about it too much.” Mike starts. “You’ve got a lot of other issues to think about at the moment. Keep your mind busy with that.”
“Yeah, I suppose I should. But it’s so hard.” Marcie says. Marcie heads to her second IGA match this Sunday, fresh off the back of a debut victory last week. And then there’s the scramble match for the MWA Legacy Title she has on Tuesday. “Especially as I have to get back into the ring with him… on 6/6/06 no less. That’s got to be a bad omen!” She almost chuckles at that thought.
“Meh” Mike says with a smile. “Everything’s going to be ok, you’ll see.” He reaches out and takes hold of Marcie’s hand. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
Marcie smiles. “Thanks.”
Mike holds her hand for a while. “Ooh.” He says, remembering something. “I almost forgot…” He rummages into his jacket pocket, and pulls out her present, passing it to her.
Her face lights up as she takes the gift. “Present time?!” She says, childishly. Mike nods. “Oooh, I love presents!” She takes no time at all to rip off the gift wrapping, revealing a Tiffany’s gift box. Her eyes light up as she grins wildly. “Oh my god.”
“I hope you like it…” Mike says, knowing full well that anything from Tiffany’s is bound to get the du Toit stamp of approval.
Marcie slowly opens the box, as if to tease herself. “Wow!” She seems to be more than pleased as she pulls out a necklace, with a circular diamond encrusted pendant. “It’s beautiful!”
“I thought you’d look especially gorgeous in it…” Mike says with a smile.
“Thank you so much, I love it!” Marcie says with glee.
Mike gets up out of his seat, moving around the table and putting the necklace on his girlfriend. He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Happy Birthday.”
Marcie reaches up and puts her hand around Mike’s head, kissing him back. “Ti amo.” she says in her best Italian accent.
Mike smiles, hearing those words from Marcie for the first time, albeit not in English. “I love you too.” He says with a smile, fully meaning it. He turns away from the table for a moment, getting the attention of the nearest waiter. He turns back to Marcie. “Come on, honey, the night’s not over yet!” He holds his hand out to Marcie.
She takes his hand as she stands up. “Glad to hear it!”
A man appears at the table, Marcie and Mike smile when they see him. “Michael, Marcie…” The man says in a thick Italian accent. “You enjoy your meal tonight?”
“Beautiful as always, Antonio.” Marcie says.
“Ah, I’m glad you like.” Says Antonio, the owner of the restaurant.
“We’re all done here, thanks.” Mike starts, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
Antonio holds up a hand. “Michael, no need. As this is a birthday meal for your beautiful lady, tonight’s meal is on the house!”
“Aww, Antonio, grazie!” Marcie says, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Antonio smiles. “Hey, it’s the least I can do for my two favourite customers!”
Mike shakes Antonio’s hand. “Thanks mate.” He says. “See you again soon.” Mike picks up his jacket from the back of his chair and takes Marcie by the hand as they head out of the restaurant.
It’s dark, as night time tends to be, and 16 year old Marcie du Toit is sat behind the wheel of a car. The moonlight shimmers down across the ocean, which is visible out of the rear view mirror. In front of her is a road, lit only by the headlights of the car. The road winds up into the hills, and in the distance we can see a familiar looking building. It’s Nicosia Central Prison.
Marcie looks down at her hands on the steering wheel, shaking out of control. She looks out of the window to her left, noticing she’s parked up against a cliff edge, a sharp drop toward the rocky shores below. She looks back up to the rear view mirror, as if searching for something. Hanging down from under the mirror is one of those novelty air fresheners, in the shape of an angel.
As she sits there, scared as hell about something, another car pulls up behind her. A blue light flashes out of the darkness and Marcie’s grip on the wheel tightens as her heart begins to beat harder and faster.
A figure walks in front of the lights, having stepped out off the car behind, and comes up to the drivers side window of Marcie’s car. They knock on the window, but Marcie continues to look straight ahead. They knock again, and slowly Marcie turns and begins to wind down the window.
“καλησπέρα.” The deep voice of the Cypriot Police officer says something to Marcie in Greek that she vaguely recognizes.
She stumbles as she tries to remember the most useful of Greek phrases she’s learnt since being in Cyprus. “Μιλάτε Αγγλικά?”
“Yes.” The officer says. “I speak English.” He leans in some more to take a closer look at Marcie. “So young to be behind wheel.” He says in broken English. “No wonder you hit man back there.”
She moves quickly, catching the officer off guard as she opens the car door. It hits him, forcing him off balance. She swings the door out again, catching the policeman in the knee. She quickly puts the car into first and speeds off, a dust cloud rising up from the road as the policeman hobbles backwards. He trips on a rock and crashes over a safety barrier. Marcie looks in her rear view mirror once more, seeing the policeman fall backwards over the edge of the cliff.
A tear runs down Marcie’s cheek.
Marcie wakes up quickly, sitting upright in a flash. There’s a look of shock etched on her face as the memory of her dream is fresh in her mind. “Oh boy.” She says quietly to herself.
Mike is still asleep beside her, and she looks down at him sleeping peacefully. For a second she considers waking him to tell him about the dream she just had, about the fact she just remembered something about her past.
She chooses not to wake Mike, but slides out of bed and makes her way to the window, looking out on the sites of Madison by night. Mike begins to stir, as if knowing that he was now alone in the bed. He stretches out his arms as he yawns, then rubs his eyes and looks around the room.
“Hey.” Marcie says, softly, as she notices Mike awaken from his sleep.
“Hey.” Mike says back, sleepily. “What’s up?”
Marcie looks away, back out of the window. “Just had another dream.” She says, not giving away much.
Mike sits himself up in bed, leaning over to the bedside table and flicking on a lamp. He takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the light. “The fall again?”
Marcie remains silent for a moment. “No, it was the car…”
“Yeah?” Mike says, feeling that there’s more to it that usual.
“Yeah.” Marcie confirms. “But there was more to it…”
“Well, that’s great!” Mike says as he begins to climb out of bed. “You’re starting to remember things…” He starts to walk up to Marcie.
Marcie turns towards Mike, and a tear is trickling down her face. “It’s not great…”
Mike wipes the tear from Marcie’s cheek and holds her face in his hands as he gazes into her eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong? What did you remember?”
“It was deliberate.” She says, quietly. She suddenly bursts into tears and throws her arms around Mike. “I don’t know who, or why… but it was deliberate!”
Mike is confused, but knows not to push Marcie just now, instead he holds her close to him. He kisses the top of her head as he holds her in his arms.
Marcie du Toit stands on a wall, the wind blowing her long dark hair all over the place, blocking the view of her surroundings as she seemingly struggles to keep her balance. There is a distant sound of waves crashing onto a rocky shore, and the smell of sea air. The sun is setting in the distance and it’s shining right in Marcie’s eyes. She holds her hands up to shield her eyes from the setting sun, and almost loses her footing, but someone grabs her shoulder and steadies her.
As she turns quickly she slips, a gust of wind seizing its opportunity to push her off balance. She tries to reach out, to grab hold of whoever steadied her the last time, but the person steps backwards and lets her fall. The fall seems to happen in slow motion as Marcie sees the rocky floor quickly moving towards her. Her body rotates, leaving her looking upwards towards the wall she just fell from, the sun setting behind it.
She can see a silhouette just a few feet away from where she was stood. She looks towards it for some time, knowing that they let her fall without trying to help. She calls out to them… “Aaron!”
But then there’s a sharp, sudden surging pain, and it all goes black.