“I had the dream again last night.”
“The Cyprus dream?”
“Yea.”
It’s been more than a decade since Marcie du Toit was in Cyprus. But the dreams have been an almost constant fixture for the past five years. There are times she will go months without thinking about the events in Nicosia. But there are other times she will re-live those events every single night.
“I think it’s stress related. You’re worried about something and as a result you get the dream.”
“I just wish I could put it behind me, once and for all.”
“That why you’re going to Canada?”
The dreams came back recently when Marcie decided to get back into wrestling. She was contacted by the Untied Nations, a group of wrestlers from around the globe who wanted her to represent them. And then came the call from SIMCOE.
“I’m going because I need to get to the bottom of Veronique once and for all. And the only time I ever get answers is when I’m wrestling.”
“And what about me? What about us?”
“There can’t be an us.”
Marcie’s life has been a long string of broken relationships. From her husband back in Cyprus to the friend who turned his back on her to all the boyfriends that have come and been pushed away. The latest chapter in Marcie’s life appeared to be starting the same way as all the others.
———–
The dream always comes as a montage, the events of one summer condensed into one five minute burst. The summer of 1998. The summer that is the first memory of Marcie du Toit.
It’s dark and cold, the distant sound of waves crashing onto a rocky shore. Marcie feels uneasy, unsure as to where she is and how she ended up there. And there’s pain. A deep pulsing pain in her head and down her neck. She sits up, gingerly, and 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.
Out of the darkness comes a light, as a car slowly makes its way down the quiet little road. 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 her. And there’s a sign…
“Nicosia Central Prison”
Suddenly things flash forward. Marcie lays in a bed, her head bandaged. She is confused, disorientated. She has no memory of who she is or where she is. She sits, looking down at a piece of paper she found in her pocket with the name “Veronique” written on it.
Then things flash again; Marcie is sat behind the wheel of a car. 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. 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.
“So young to be behind wheel.” A policeman 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.
Another flash, forwards this time. Marcie 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. 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 someone, 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. But then there’s a sharp, sudden surging pain, and it all goes black.
———–
“At age 16 I thought I knew everything. It’s funny how your life can change so dramatically in just one summer.”
Marcie du Toit, known in the wrestling world as Veronique, is stood in an empty Studio A in Barrie. She’s looking in reflective mood as she looks out at her surroundings, her new wrestling home.
“I was married at a very early age, wrestling with my husband in venues much like this; all around Europe. One day we got into a fight. I stole his car and drove off, crying my eyes out. I hit someone. I didn’t stop. I fled from the police and I panicked. I was so angry with my husband that I told the police that it was him. He was jailed and I was so ridden with guilt I decided to break him out. I almost managed it too, but I fell from a wall and cracked my skull. He let me fall. He left me for dead. I lost my memory as a result of the fall but in time one memory returned; the memory of that summer.”
She stops. It’s not often she talks about her past, she doesn’t like to be reminded about the events in Cyprus.
“I’d always believed myself to be a good person. To suddenly realise one day that I’d managed to rack up Grand Theft Auto, Hit & Run, Manslaughter, Perverting the Course of Justice and Aiding & Abetting in one fell swoop? It destroyed me.”
Marcie shakes her head and adjusts her feet, turning away from the camera slightly, her eyes showing signs of guilt and regret. After a moment to compose herself she returns her focus to the camera.
“It’s been five years since those memories returned. And it’s been five years since I stepped into a wrestling ring. Now, after a lot of soul searching and a fair amount of legal ramifications, the time has come to get back in the ring. Back to doing what I do best. The only thing I know how to do. That I know of.”
She almost smiles, but feels bad about doing so. The Marcie that was full of life, that lived every day to the max… that Marcie died five years ago. Slowly but surely she’s been rebuilding her life. She’s re-built friendships, she’s paid the price for her crimes. And now, here in Simcoe County, she’s starting the path to rebuilding her career.
“Monday Night Aggression, right here in this studio, my journey takes a new direction. My SCCW debut, with Midnight Felon in my corner. Felon, I know it’s always difficult teaming with someone you don’t know but I’m ready, willing and able to tear it up. Our opponents won’t know what’s hit them.”
Marcie does now manage a smile as she thinks of the positive possibilities that could come out of this match. But she’s been around enough to know there are just as many negative things that could sour her SIMCOE debut.
“Many opponents dismiss me when they first see my name opposite theirs. Be it because I’m small; or because I’m a woman; or because of my previous head trauma; or because I’m judged to be weaker. But they soon learn to dismiss me at their peril. And the next people to learn that lesson? Zack Connors and Jen Blackhart. The Black Widow of wrestling and wrestling’s self professed Asshole. An interesting combination. I know as much about you as you know about yours truly. But I know not to dismiss you out of hand. Just because you’re both ass clowns doesn’t mean you can’t cut it in the ring.”
“I may not know you. I may not like you. But I’ve seen your records, your accomplishments, and I have to respect you as wrestlers. And therein lays the difference between you and I.”
“Between Midnight Felon’s power and my high flying, we’re going to teach Connors and Blackhart a lesson in respect. We’re going to beat some into them. So, you’d be mad to be anywhere other than right here in Barrie this Monday night.”
Marcie smiles into the camera as we fade to black.