And the mask slipped. 

 

The crystal-clear sound of glass breaking. Quick. Sudden. She lurched forward, stretching her arms, screaming at the top of her lungs. Around her, it was madness, but those emerald eyes were deadlocked on her daughter. She furiously pushed Eoin to the side, rushing past him, and hit the ground sprinting towards Drago and his mockingbirds. She elbowed fans in their faces, Eoin trying desperately to both catch up and save himself from the literal dirty bomb that had created swaths of frenzied fans. He was screaming after her, but it was too late. She continued pushing forward, her elbows bloody, screaming Annika’s name. Someone pulled her behind, and with that she lost sight of her. She jerked away, and through pure motherly rage, she pushed through the nightmare crowd and to the back, past security, past the other wrestlers, shrieking like a banshee, calling her daughter's name. She stiff-kicked open an outward-opening door into the parking area and, despite injury, exhaustion, and trauma, continued screaming. Eoin had finally caught up and grabbed her, pulling her tight against his chest, restraining her from behind. She struggled, kicking and gnashing her teeth, screaming so hard her daughter she had bitten her cheeks and lips until they bled. Blood and spit trickled down her chin as she wailed.

 

“YOU FUCKING MONGREL!!!!!!!!” Her face scowled as she growled. Mascara tears from screaming sobs stained her cheeks and face. Her red lipstick had smudged. Her hair was wild and disheveled. None of that mattered. Only Annika mattered. Her legs finally gave way from the sheer exhaustion. Eoin kept his hold on her, letting her safely drop to the pavement. He slowly lowered himself down with her, keeping her propped up. She kept screaming Annika’s name, her fists pounding against the pavement until they started to bruise and bleed. Her mental collapse was not nearly complete. She got to her knees and tried to get away from Eoin, but he grabbed her feet, pulling her back. She bellowed, reaching out and clawing her nails against the asphalt, breaking them. 

 

“Mo gra, she’s gone. I’m sorry…” He softened his tone, cradling her and holding her up. He watched the face of his wife lose all color in real time. She started hitting his chest, then started the grief process by first by bargaining.

“No, no….no no no. We...we have to go get her. If we leave now…” She clutched at his arm, her broken, bloody nails squeezing it. He shook his head no, slowly, his eyes glossy, trying to hold back his own tears so Liz could feel safe. 

 

“They left from a different exit; they’re gone. Mo stor, please calm down. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll kill yourself. Lizzy? Liz?” Her soul exited the plane, and she went limp in his hands. Spent every energy credit she had. She had no more to give. She would have rather died. She begged for death. She failed two daughters now. One was six feet deep, and the other was taken with no trace. Missing was worse than death. Death was permanent. Final. Missing meant dark thoughts with even darker PTSD nightmares. Terrifying nightmares where they torture, mutilate, and violate her. The Grove were a bunch of sick fucks. Anything was possible. 

72 Hours

 

It took numerous tranqs, a video call from her Father in France, and Eoin talking her down like a negotiator, but she agreed to the hold. She knew she was a beaten woman. She didn’t care that every colleague backstage watched her implode, fall apart and die in real time. Whatever Apathy looked like before that night was a memory now. All that remained was her, stripped bare and naked, without protest and utterly mad. All that was left was Elizabeth. Apathy died that night as she watched her daughter get whisked away. 

 

“You’ve been here a day now, and I want you to know that participating in group therapy is not mandatory but encouraged so you get the most out of your time here.” Her voice dripping with all the sweetness of cheap honey tainted with the most potent of venom. Liz sat there watching her hand twitch. She had those tics beaten; now she was watching her nervous system devour her completely. 

 

“I don’t WANT to make the most out of my time here. I’m only here because I agreed to. I would rather be dead because SOMEONE TOOK MY FUCKING DAUGHTER YOU SWINE!!!” Her teeth gritted, and she gripped the corners of the chair. Her voice echoed throughout the women’s ward. She could hear Bubba with the nap nap syringe and key to the bouncy house. Instinctively, she flinched and put her arms up, waiting for Nurse Nancy to brace behind her desk. Bubba came, but she raised her hand, holding off Cerebus for now. She closed her door and put a solid barrier between Liz and the rest of the ward.

“If you die, what happens to your daughter…” Her voice mellowed. She sat on the edge of her desk, arms crossed, looking down with sympathy and concern. She was aware that Elizabeth's situation was unique and thus needed unique means to help her reconnect with the atmosphere. 

 

“I failed her. I saw it coming, and I STILL fucked it up. Now they have her, and I’m stuck in this fuckin’ place.” She gestured around at everything and then quickly put her left arm down as the jerking was becoming more noticeable. 

 

“Look at you right now. You have nervous tics. You’re in a flare. Your body is literally attacking itself. She needs you ALIVE, mama bear. Look, I’m a momma bear myself. Your first instinct to give chase was completely normal and natural. I would climb a mountain of people if it meant saving my kids. You did good. It’s just this asshole knew how you would react and slipped out the side door. I want you out of here too. I want you out there, feasting on whordes until you get your baby girl back, but I need you stable, and right now you aren’t. You are wearing dangerously thin. You are weak right now. Sick right now. And truth be told, you are in such a state that unless you start wanting it, those original 72 hours will be extended. I need to be confident in your abilities to cope to let you out of here, and all I have seen is a cycle of depression and rage and complete dissociation.” She returned to her chair, trying to level a line of visual connection to make sure she seemed sympathetic and make Liz feel safe and heard.

 

“You know, right now, right THIS moment, what I wish, what I would love more than anything is to be able to go back in time and AirTag her shoes or Life360 her phone…I would give anything right now to make that happen, but I can’t. All I can do is sit here and wonder and worry. The thought of that makes me sick. It creeps into the back of my throat like stomach bile. It leaches into my tongue and cheeks. Like decay and sulphur from hell itself.” She sat, defeated, stoic now. She nervously scratched her fingertips against the scrub pants she was given; the gauze of some of her fingers made a noticeable sound as they brushed against the smooth fabric.

 

“I won’t bullshit you if you won’t bullshit me, deal? Let me pose a rationalization for you. They need her alive. Killing her does nothing. It proves nothing. He couldn’t break you, so he did the next best thing: he took your daughter. He needs her alive. Now verbally rationalize something yourself.” The psychologist sat forward, resting her elbows on the desk, folding her hands together. She smiled patiently as Liz sat wringing her hands, visibly nervous and showing signs of tremors.

 

“Sexually assaulting her is too low-brow for a man like Drago. He wouldn’t sully himself to enact that kind of desperate and cheap behavior towards her. He wants to hurt me, not her. He wants to ensnare her in his monologues and teach her his melody.” Her voice was drab, monotone. The past twenty-four hours were both violent car crashes and slow motion, frame to frame. She felt like what it used to feel like when the coke would wear off. Everything was blurry and loud. The lights hurt. Her eyes winced as she shielded them.

 

“Very good and also very true. A toxic meglomaniac like this Drago is all about their image. Assaulting her is not becoming of how he sees himself. That’s important. It’s also important what you do with these bits of information. She needs you alive, ma’am. She knows you’re coming and so do you. I know there ain’t a damn thing standing between you and that man. What you do to him when you do catch him is known only to you and God, but remind yourself that while you can afford a good lawyer and they will get you a sweetheart deal, your daughter don’t need to visit you in prison for the rest of your life either. Savvy? So between you and me, in this office, get it out of your system, and then we will figure out a system to get you out of here.” She stood up, walked to the wall by the door, and turned off the lights, staying close to the door just in case things went south.

 

“I know I can’t do what I would like, but is it wrong of me to imagine putting a gun to his stupid fucking face and pulling the trigger? Watch how fucking smug he is with lead in his brain and the wall painted in brain matter and blood. Kill. All I feel is kill. I want to end him for trying to lure my daughter away in the first place. I should have stepped in then, but she assured me she could handle things. You fucking idiot, Lizzy. You fucking dope. So fucking cautious to not step on her toes, you went so lax that they caught you sleeping. He put his hooked thumbs into my daughter. He knew what he was doing. I saw it in his bastard eyes. I can hear the squish of my thumbs digging into his fucking eye sockets. GOD DAMNIT!!!” She slammed her fists against the desk, and the doctor instinctively reached for the doorknob, just in case. With the light gone, Elizabeth finally looked up, staring at the blind covered window, getting slices of views around the outline. 

 

“She’s his insurance card. He’s going to dangle her in front of me like a fucking carrot. He has decided he will not be satisfied until either I join them or they utterly destroy me on a grandiose stage, as if what happened yesterday was not the kill shot. He is ravenous for more. He wants it all or nothing. Just. Like. Jorge.” Her fists slowly started clenching, the path of least resistance quickly traveled up her pale, nimble hands, through the arms and up into her jaw line and she clenched her teeth hard enough to crack a jaw.

 

“Déjà vu.” She said coldly. As the woman released her death grip of the handle and relaxed her shoulders, she leaned against the wall, quiet. Listening.

 

“Shoulda killed him too, but I wasted my best defense with my first husband. Lookin’ back now I probably should have just let it go if I knew I’da run into ole Jorge.” There was a little twang as she continued to reminisce. 

 

“Papa was right. So much time wasted fighting over a man I just loved too fucking much to pay any attention to the red flags. He never loved her. That bitch Sarah was his whole fucking world. He would have captured the moon and stars if he could. Quite frankly, it was perverse how much he doted on her. I shoulda put a bolt between his eyes when I saw the disgust in his eyes when he looked at Annika. Definitely when he started trying to dictate her life. He never even tried. He had his boy. Jake. Fuckin’ clown. I hope Jorge is down in hell wailing as he watches his precious baby boy amount to NOTHING!” That last word hissed as she spoke it. It was filled with the maximum amount of venom and spite. The tics were beginning to subside. She rolled her head, trying to release a pressure that was DNA deep, desperate for a pop. 

 

“Who am I kidding? He would be here all up in my face right now. Calling me stupid, irresponsible. Never one to take responsibility himself unless it benefited him somehow. Me failing her is no different than him using her as a bargaining chip. If it wasn’t for the fact my bitch of a mother would have ended up with custody of Annika, I’da killed him that night he put her up in a fucking cage for ratings and to get off watching me lose my shit. He victimized her. He traumatized her. She’s been in therapy since she was FIVE!!! Now I’m the one in the fuckin’ loony bin and she’s off being indoctrinated into the Grove!” The ache was crystal clear. She started nervously smoothing the palms of her hands against her bottoms, occasionally tugging the hem of the scrub top she was wearing. 

 

“I’m going to have to dance his dance and put on a performance for him. I can’t do that dead. Me being dead just solves my own misery. I deserve to carry this burden. So how about ya’ll sit down and let's talk about damage control?”

Blown Away

 

She heard those sirens screaming out

Her daddy laid there passed out on the couch

She locked herself in the cellar

Listened to the screaming of the wind

Some people called it taking shelter

She called it sweet revenge.

 

Carrie Underwood - Blown Away

 

“I have long since feared my sins would return to visit me. And the cost is more than I can bear.” She scoffed to herself. Not an amused scoff but an apathetic one. Morose. 

 

“One of my favorite movies, truth be told. Just never thought my favorite line would be so telling right now. It is what it is. Things have happened that leave me melancholy. I’ve been left executed on a fraudster's cross and left to hang in my misery, and here, in these dark times, I languish for my murderer’s amusement. I know he’s watching. Enjoy the show, you foul beast.” She thumbs through social media on her phone, scrolling past tweet after tweet, reel after reel of the IWC losing their shit over her losing her fucking mind. 

 

“They say the only way out of pain is through it; I’d say I’m going through it right now, yeah? Let’s talk, Greg. Just me, you, the confessors' eyes, and this livestream because you and I need to have a talk and the rest of the world needs to listen along. Make no mistake, Greg, I am indeed down. But I’m far from fuckin’ out. No sir. I may look like shit, sound like shit and be questionably released on my own free will, but I’m not out.” As she sat smoking a clove cigarette, nearly down to the butt, in the front Seat of her husband's Charger, arm out the window, phone fixed to the dash.

 

“No, I’m not out, but I also died that night. I felt the connection I have felt with my daughter since the day she was born die. She was far enough away from me that I couldn’t feel her. I screamed until my throat was bloody, but she couldn’t hear me, and all my colleagues had to watch as I fell apart. Everything they collectively knew about me in that EXACT moment died. Apathy died. She died there right on the pavement where I collapsed. I don’t say these things to be facetious, merely honest, because I’ve had my scarlet robe torn clear from my body and paraded around the kingdom, naked and at the mercy of those who look away ashamed. Apathy died that night. I am all that remains.” She flicked the ashes, resting her head back against the bucket seat blowing the inhaled smoke out of her nostrils.

“My name is Elizabeth Margot Devereaux-O’Rourke. Daughter of Alphonse Thoreux and Céleste Geneviève Devereaux. Mother to Annika Liese Devereaux. Wife to Eoin O’Rourke. A woman of flesh and blood. I sit here before you humbled. Let’s get one thing straight though Greg, when it comes to my daughter there is not an OUNCE of apathy felt. She is the reason I live and breathe. While it’s true that right now I’d rather load the 38 find that fucking nepotist and put him six down then take myself out back and finish the fucking story, I’m not. No. You think I’m THAT worried about facing the ONE son of a bitch to put Drago down? No offense but you don’t need to throw it in my face. If I couldn’t put him down like the scabie ridden mutt he is, what fucking chance do I have to topple you? I’m pushing uphill in a downwind right now!” She sat shaking her head slowly back and forth. As if to knock something loose or shed a memory.

 

“But that also doesn’t mean the backhand didn’t hit its mark. You did it. You ARE the guy who gave Drago a taste of his own medicine, but you forget, albeit in tags, he was on his back looking up at the lights while his guard dog was held at bay. I KNOW what it feels like to look down at him and give him a taste of his own medicine. I tasted, if only for a moment, what a single’s victory would taste like, and I held onto that going into the PPV. I had to because I had to believe. I’m not even ashamed that I lost. I gave him back tit for tat everything he threw at me, and I can be mighty fucking proud of that, but none of that matters now. He made it personal.” She flicked the spent cigarette and continued, playing with her hair as she did.

 

“What’s more, don’t you EVER fucking discredit what I did in regards to the Valor title. YOU started at the fucking bottom just like everyone else. Yeah, you have your singles win over that fuck, but you had to work your way up the card and claw for every inch of relevancy. I did that. I proved I belong in the upper echelon. You’re really getting off on the wrong foot for wanting to incite me to help you with all of that said…you were right. You saw what was coming and you warned us and we, myself included, didn’t. I chose not to see because I didn’t want to get involved. I just wanted to be left alone but who ever gets what they want? Sooner or later, no matter how hard you try you end up having to deal with it and I’m there now and I’m not too big of a person to say I know I can’t do this alone. Is my husband a prick? Yes. I’m not gonna sit here and deny it. Dude’s been through some shit, now this. Whatever goes on between him and the Padre is between them. Not my fight. Even if I agree to work with you instead of against you, what’s your grand plan? What knowledge could you possibly possess that would help in MY situation? I got you over here trying to entice me one way and Drago saying the same sweet nothings and trying to whittle me down until I join The Grove. I need time, and I don’t have any.” She exhaled sharply and her shoulder slumped.

 

“Greg, I’m impressed of your feat and I respect it because the truth is ending him, ending Eternal Grove, is the best business for everyone. I’m willing to talk business. It’s the principal of the thing really. You and I? I’ve got no beef with you. Similar circles and all that happy bullshit. I’m a desperate woman who is trying to manuever a train going off the tracks. So I’m willing to hear what you have to say. If I beat you, it just sends more of a message to Drago. If I lose? I’m not going to fucking die over it. Nothing could hurt my pride more than it is now. Just Greg? Before I go dark, I just want you to remember one thing. Apathy is dead. Vive le Elisabeth.