Evans vs. Williams vs. Adams vs. Maloney

[eavanmaloney]

Waiting for someone to save me
But everyone just runs away
Waiting for someone to change me
But no one ever comes
I'm breaking down the walls that cage me
But nothing ever falls in place
Waiting for the end to take me
Blinded by the sun

“The Church”
Los Angeles, CA
September 14th, 2019

I guess an explanation of what The Church is is in order. It’s just that, a church. However, God had long left this House, as the building was old and crumbling. The walls had been stripped down to the stone, the wooden beams seeing better days. Some had already fallen, some were covered in mold and rot. However, a few pews remained, but they had stopped being for sitting some time ago. The pews had become beds. New walls of dirty sheets or cardboard or if you were lucky, wooden pallets, created rooms within the inside of this building. The stained glass had been replaced with boards. The city had classified the church as condemned years back, but over time, homeless people had taken the place over. Created their own community within it.

There was still a serviceable kitchen, electricity, and even working plumbing which the new ‘congregation’ would use as needed. A couple of times a week, a few members would go to nearby food banks and clean needle sites to pick up supplies for the others.

Nobody wanted to be there, but they didn’t want to be anywhere else.

There was even a working payphone that accepted incoming calls. Quite often, the phone would never stop ringing for somebody. Lawyers, doctors, shrinks, sponsors, dealers, loved ones. Sometimes you’d know someone received bad news, as their cries would echo throughout. Sometimes, well, oftentimes, someone would be tripping on a bad hit. And occasionally, you could wake up in the morning and find another lost angel had passed away. And usually it doesn’t take too long for someone else to take their place.

In the far corner of The Church lived… would ‘lived’ actually be the best word here? Let’s go with survived. In the far corner of The Church was a girl barely surviving. She laid on her pew with a thin towel and a ratty old hoodie rolled up like a pillow, barely conscious. With any motion of anyone else approaching her or what few possessions she had, she’d be wide-eyed and alert long enough to keep everyone at a solid distance from her.

“Oyo, phone call.”

Oyo became a nickname Olive Maloney inherited during her time at The Church, seemingly started by one of the town addicts with no teeth and an accent that couldn’t be deciphered.

“Oyo’s dead, I ain’t fucking talkin’ to no-one, man. Hang the fuck up.”

The old man, named Jimmy, shrugged and said nothing, before hanging up the phone. Jimmy ‘lived’ next to Olive and the two, depending on whoever’s mood, would either talk for hours like the greatest of friends, or fight like the worst of enemies. Usually it was Olive who instigated the fights, usually when she couldn’t score a line in time to stop the crashes. The phone immediately rang again, and again, Jimmy answered.

“Oyo, phone!”

“Fuck sakes, whoever it is, tell them I fucking OD’ed or something.”

Olive can hear Jimmy passing on the message before nodding his head and turning back towards Olive.

“You’re gonna want to take this call, Olive. It’s Linnea.”

Olive shakes her head no, then pulls herself off of her pew and staggers to the phone.

“How…”

For the next several minutes, Olive sat and listened to the woman’s voice on the other end of the line, as tears streamed down her face. After she hung up, Olive walked back to her pew and flipped it over in a rage nobody in that place had ever seen from her. She picked up her possessions and placed them in a small pile, and after lighting a cigarette, tossed the Zippo on the pile and sat on the floor, watching everything she owned burn in a low flame. Jimmy immediately runs over and starts trying to put the fire out.

“What are you doing?! You trying to burn the place down?”

“No. Pushing my past into the ashes, Jimmy. My family’s coming to get me in an hour.”

“You’re getting out. It’s about time.”

“Out… wherever out is anymore.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“No, but it will. Linnea and Zenna don’t give up, so they’ll keep trying until it does work.”

“Then why aren’t you happy?”

Olive looks over at Jimmy, who’s now sat down beside her on the concrete floor. Her eyes are glassed over, her whole sense of being disconnected.

“Because I’ll fail, and they aren’t the kind of people you want to fail around. Their love for me is genuine, and that’s what hurts me most. They watched me fall from the skies, setting my own wings ablaze on the way down, and their love never wavered. How the FUCK do I come back from that? I NEED to be hated, Jimmy. I NEED to feel every ounce of pain I can feel, and the thing is, I don’t feel pain anymore. I’ve gone numb, more numb than the coke, the pills, or the speed ever made me. I’m going to be the one to break them. I’ll be the first one they give up on.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“No, Jimmy, I’m being real. I… I don’t want to do this. I can’t. I don’t have the strength to fight anymore. I used to be a Billy Badass, now I’m the urchin Axl sang about. I can’t face them. I… I gotta get out of here.”

Just as Olive stood up to find her shoes, a car pulls up outside. Olive panics, throws the hood over her head, and as she heads out the front door, two woman are standing by the car. Olive freezes.

“Sorry, Olive, we said an hour but we were already up the road, trying to figure out which way you’d try to run off from. Noticed this was the only way in and out. Come on, let’s get you a shower, a change of clothes, and a cheeseburger, alright?”

Olive starts to shake, trying to hold back tears, before collapsing on the steps of The Church. Linnea and Zenna pick her up, wrapping an arm around each side of her and leading her to the car.

“Who… who knows…?”

“Just us.”

“Ok.”

Location of the former “Church”
Los Angeles, CA
July 26th, 2024

All the ghosts that live inside me
Always waiting in the wind
I can see through my reflection
What I've become and what I've been
You see, your Heaven doesn't want me
And your Hell won't let me in
It's like I'm holding all the aces
But I know I'll never win

A black sports car parks on the side of the road beside a fenced-off parcel of land. The concrete steps lead to nothing but a concrete floor now. Eavan “Sykobitty” Maloney stands at the fence for a minute before looking up. No barbed wire. Eavan looks around before readjusting the backpack on her back and starting to climb the fence. As she gets over and down, she walks up the steps slowly. Her body starts to sway, her arms outstretched as she relives old memories. Eavan walks along the old floor, seeing some of the graffiti that hadn’t fully faded yet. As she looks around, she sighs, remembering the past. She walks to the far side of the floor to a corner she knew well. Part of the floor still had scorch marks from a moment in time she recalled like it had happened only the day prior. Eavan sits down on the ground and as she pulls out her camera and tripod to record, a voice yells to her from a distance.

“Hey, Miss, you’re on private property.”

“I’m aware, Officer.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave as you are trespassing.”

“One, I will not comply with your request and two, I suppose the problem is more on your end and less on mine. You see, I was never given a key to the lock from the Registrar’s office, so I climbed over the fence. I have no intent to damage the integrity of the property or its fencing though it will be replaced as soon as convenient. So, while yes, TECHNICALLY I’m trespassing, you’ll also find that I am the owner of this property effective as of 48 hours ago.”

Eavan walked to the fence where the LAPD officer was standing. Eavan shows him the deed to the property, plus her drivers’ license.

“Why couldn’t you have waited for a key, or simply used bolt cutters and changed the lock yourself?”

“No time for that, Officer. I’m only here for a few hours on business. I wanted to do some quick assessments before the deed was transferred to my associates in San Clemente. Plus, this place has some sentimental value to me and I wanted to be with my own thoughts.”

“Ma’am, this used to be a homeless shelter.”

“No, the homeless MADE this place a shelter before you guys and the city said it was unfit for habitation then strong-armed yourselves inside, shoved everyone out and then bulldozed it. Officer Pansy Peterson, if you’re going to try and explain its past, at least be honest.”

The officer tilts his head a little, hit by the insult and a memory at the same time.

“Oyo?”

Eavan smiles, and extends her hand.

“That was an era ago. Safe to say a lot’s changed in the last five years. I’m clean, I’m healthy, and life’s finally good to me.”

“Then why come back?”

“To remind myself of the journey? Or maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Fuck, maybe a small part of me misses this place. Once an addict, always an addict, right? This was home. Don’t you got anything better to do than to harass a tiny broad just trying to get by?”

Eavan laughs to stop herself from crying, turning her head quickly to wipe a year as Peterson shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“A day at a time.”

As Peterson walks away, Eavan starts to scratch at herself. She walks back to the scorched part of the floor and sits down. She pulls her phone and tripod out and sets it up in front of her. She begins to feel the old twitches before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Eavan removes her backpack and opens it, before pulling out the SCW Underground Championship and placing it in front of the camera.

“So… what do we want to talk about? We can talk about the fact that ever since I walked into SCW, I have beat every opponent that’s been placed in front of me. We can talk about the fact that I had one goal when I came into this company and that was to become SCW Underground Champion, and I did just that. Or, we can talk about the fact that a has-been and a never-will had to hitch their wagons to the two hottest commodities currently in SCW to either become relevant again, or try to become relevant at all. Boys, first of all, do not bring a knife to a gunfight, and secondly, don’t come for me unless you absolutely know what you’re in for, and I can tell you already you have NO idea.”

“Let me take you back to the year 2000 when nine-year-old Olive took her first bump in a wrestling match because her brother clocked her in the face, supposedly accidentally, with a chair at full force. The smile my brother got from me once I got up; two teeth missing, nose crooked, gash across my eye, blood everywhere, set me on a path that has brought me here today.”

“Let me take you back to 2017 when I broke into this business after being in the independents for a couple of years and within a month, I beat their undefeated world champion. Within three months, I had four different championships across three different companies. I was practically being thrown championships because nobody could figure me out. How can someone so small not only go up against people twice their size, but pin them for three or make them tap out? I had a style of my own. I was top of the world… until I stopped being on top of the world.”

“I was trying to get under it. Oh, it wasn’t a complete free fall, I felt every single bump all the way down. And if I wasn’t low enough, I’d find shovels to go even deeper. By the fall of 2019, for all intents and purposes, I was at my lowest. I lived right where I’m sitting. Lived on a pew while I chased the dragon. And I was getting myself booked in the most dangerous matches I was allowed to. Why? Well, the answer’s two-fold. I wanted to feel, and I wanted to die.”

“I needed to know if I was even still human, and if I was, it had to die. I didn’t want to be here anymore. Destroying myself and keeping myself as numb as possible was better than facing the truth about myself at that time. And then the weirdest thing happened along the way.”

“I fell in love. I got pleasure from the beatings. I giggled with glee with every bone broken, whether it was mine or not. I comforted myself in the warmth of the blood pouring from our bodies. I loved everything about deathmatch wrestling. I also fell in love… with Her.”

Eavan reaches into the bag again and pulls out a crowbar wrapped in barbed wire. She smiles at it lovingly and even caresses it, a few barbs ripping at the flesh on her cheek.

“This is Barbie, and she has an insatiable appetite. She loves how warm blood feels on her barbs, and I love the way it tastes, so we’re a perfect pair. Ah, it’s ironic now that not many years ago, I thought this would be the place where Eavan Maloney and Olive Zdunich would come to die. I had made a vow to my family as I recovered mentally, physically, and emotionally, that I would not seek the pleasures of old in the same way I used to, and yet, being back here? This place of ill repute, this former House of a former God, I strangely feel more alive than ever. For the first time in a long time, something’s awakened. It’s not the old demons of addiction anymore. It’s not even the old devils of destruction. It’s… resolve.”

“It’s that feeling of being able to put a hand into flame and feel a chill. It’s that feeling of facing a tornado and it feeling only like a faint breeze. It’s feeling the power of a million warriors and being connected to every single one of them at once.”

Eavan puts the championship on her shoulder, reaches into her bag and pulls out a ratty old hoodie and folds it up and places it on the ground. Next she pulls out a canister of lighter fluid and starts dousing the hoodie before tossing the canister aside. She pulls out a Zippo lighter, and then three pictures. One of Leroy Adams. One of James Evans. One of Kimberly Williams. She places the photos on the ground, weighted down with a loose stone. Eavan then lights the Zippo, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one, then tosses the Zippo onto the hoodie.

“Thank you, Olive, but your presence is no longer required. I can take it from here.”

You can take it away, tear it all down
Spit in my face, pushed to the ground
Look what I've become
I've fallen from grace, bloodied and bound
Taking up space, lost and I'm found
Look what I've become

Eavan closes her eyes and stretches her neck one side and then the other. When she opens them again, she gives a sardonic grin to the camera. Sykobitty has arrived.

“Rise To Greatness. Seems appropriate for my opponents in this match. I look at the participants here and one has a deep-seeded need to take back what was once hers. One is still trying to make his mark and the third is grasping at any threads he can to become relevant again. And the end goal for them sits right here on my shoulder. It’s been some time since I’ve been the Hunted at such a degree. I’d almost consider it a honor had it been the match it should have been. One on one, with the only participants between the two that matter in this match. The current champion, and the former getting their match that was offered out of respect.”

“I had considered listening to what everyone had to say before I finally spoke up, but I’ve been around the block enough times to know what everyone’s angle already is coming in. And I can respect the fact that everyone BELIEVES they have a reason to be here. And I can also respect the fact that, every once in a while, some more than others, somebody’s going to be absolutely full of shit. Everybody is going to have a fatal flaw in their story and I’m just the bitch to expose it.”

Sykobitty picks up the photo of James Evans, whose eyes have been X’ed out with a Sharpie.

“Let’s start with Mister Insignificant, James Evans. For a year, you have been a thorn in the side of Kimberly for whatever reason. I don’t have the luxury of time to waste reviewing your every move and motive. However, you carry the most flaws so allow me to eviscerate you first so that I may get the cancer out of the way quickly before it spreads and begins to feel like people in general, and myself specifically, give a rat’s fuck about you.”

“You speak of saving people. You wish to abolish my kind of wrestling because it does not sit well with you. Who the fuck are you? Save me the accomplishments of your past, Evans, and answer my question truthfully. Who. The fuck. Are YOU. Don’t strain the brain too long, I already know the answer. You’re an empty vessel. You want the world to be in your image as you stand there as the Tommy Wiseau of Picassos. You need the world to bow to you because as it’s evolved, it has left you behind. You are become more and more insignificant by the second and it eats at you. Ironic how the cancer has a cancer of his own but I’m on to you.”

“In the two occasions you have interfered in my affairs, the one person you never came for… is me. Now, I’m sure in your narrative, it’s because I’m unimportant to you. Personally, I think you fear the present and the future. So you attack the past because it’s what you know, it’s where you’re comfortable. Dude, anybody who’s been in therapy for longer than ten minutes knows that stems from fear. As loud as you will bluster, and I’m sure you have already because you crave the spotlight… haha, classic Attention Seeking Disorder. Answer me truthfully, James, though I won’t hold my breath that you’ll do so with any level of honesty, how’s your self-esteem? Did you come from a family who held you back? Did you grow feeling like you were never enough, or seen, or heard? I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You need us to see you, to hear you, to play by your rules so that you become the center of attention. And because you didn’t get any of that in your youth, it made you bitter. It made you angry. So you found weak-minded people to follow you, surrounded yourself with morons and sycophants so that, again, you are the center of attention.”

“Truth is, you’re pathetic and you need help. What, did you expect the hero in this match to pat you on the head and remind you that you’re doing your best and that I’m proud of you? Bitch, please. Anyone who knows me knows I respect very few in this business, and you are not even on my level, or on my list of people I could ever respect. This right here? Me talking to you and given you these minutes of my time? Cherish them, because when Rise To Greatness is over, I will forget you even exist. I’ll shed myself of this mild discomfort that you float within my consciousness. And you would be wise to take that exit and not return.”

Sykobitty takes the photo of James and tosses it into the fire and nods to herself. She picks up the second photo. Leroy Adams. Scrawled over his head is a halo with horns, and behind him, a set of tattered and broken wings.

“I do not do this lightly, but I will admit I was wrong about you, Leroy. First time I see you, you too were getting involved in my match and I would have bet money your reasons were selfish. And the more I learned about you, the more I learned your story. And I saw a lot of myself. The road to redemption isn’t an easy one. Fuck, look around me, Leroy. I had to come back to THIS place so I can get to the next place. And I know, Leroy, it’s very easy to give up. It’s very tempting. Especially when you stick your hand out and risk having it bitten off. So I apologize. I finally grew a spine and said the words but if you look back at the last Breakdown, I came to your rescue and I had your back. I just wanted my actions to match my words. Now, with that being said, forgive me in advance because what I’m about to say is going to come off a hell of a lot more insulting than I mean it.”

“Watch out for snakes like Evans.”

“As I said about him earlier, he surrounds himself with weak-minded people. I know Kim calls his group a cult and hell if she ain’t wrong. I fully expect Evans to try and charm you and turn you against me. Against Kim. Maybe offer you some shortcuts for some quick cash, if you’re willing to sell your soul to the devil himself. Personally, I’d like to think I can read people pretty well, and I’d like to think you have too much pride in yourself, your desire to be a better man for your son, to take that kind of offer. However, I’ve been surprised and disappointed before. Now, SHOULD he make a play like I think Evans is capable of, allow me to tell you the fine print. The shit nobody reads. Evans is the type that would rather have someone like you on his side because, being afraid of the present as he is, he’d rather not have to face you. That gives YOU the advantage over HIM. Remember that.”

“I like you, big man, but like you learned first-hand, I’m not going to take things easy on you. This title is the prize you are all hunting for, and I’m not giving it up willingly. I had you beat until Evans got involved, let’s be honest here. Does that make me better than you? No. On that night, things were favorable for me. You’ll learn eventually I don’t blow smoke up peoples’ asses for the hell of it, but I will legit go on record and say you are the future of SCW and I see you with gold around your waist real soon. JUST not at Rise To Greatness.”

Sykobitty lays the picture of Leroy in the flames and picks up the last photo.

“This was not the way we were supposed to meet again, Kimberly. I hate this situation probably as much as you do. I hear the chirping of the boobirds saying I shouldn’t even be in the position I’m in as champion. They tell me I should be thankful to Evans for gift-wrapping the title, but I know deep down inside of me that I earned this. And the only person who had the ability to take that feeling from me would have been you, and unless I’ve missed something, you’ve never done that so I thank you.”

“You were the first person in SCW that I immediately clicked with when I walked in the door. The way you carried yourself as champion. The efforts you put in to defend this title when it was yours was incredible. You have a bit of that old-school mentality that’s slowly becoming lost in this industry so it was a nice change to see someone have that. I’m that way myself which probably attracted me to you. Not like that, let’s kill that idea because it runs all over social media. I know you know what I mean.”

“I also know something else. I know you were wary of me because of who you run with. It’s no secret that all over my social media, hell even in the other company I work for, I have taken shot after shot at… well, not everyone, usually just one person in particular. And you know what? I know how infantile it looked when nobody shot back. The group took the high road, she took the high road, and I can respect that. I hold no ill will towards any member of the Queens of Chaos. I just have a problem with anyone considering themselves royalty. Anatomy lesson, blue blood only exists if you’re a hermit crab. Us mammals have red blood. Surely you’ve bled in enough matches to learn that by now, I would hope.”

“Kim, I like you, I respect you, hell I’ve put my body on the line against you. I’d back you in any fight on any day… but I can’t let you have this back. You’ve accomplished so much. You brought a division back from the brink. You made this title as prestigious as it is but it’s my turn now. Focus on something else. Fuck, I’ll hand you one of my Desert Eagles and you can put a bullet in Evans’ skull and finally put that fucker out of your misery. Fight for the big belt, the sky’s your limit, but this one’s mine now. You can keep your Queen of the Deathmatch throne though, I prefer recliners. Thrones are too rigid, too opulent, that ain’t me or my style.”

“I’m walking in with this title, and whether I walk out or I’m carried out, I will STILL BE SCW Underground Champion. Are you ready?”

As the darkness settles... in