Marie Jones vs. Dexter Grant

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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October 19th, 2026
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The crisp mid October wind whistled through the quiet streets of Cambridge, rustling the golden canopy of maple trees that lined the sidewalk outside the small, tucked away café. Tucked into the basement level of a historic brownstone just a few blocks from the river, the coffee house felt like an intimate sanctuary insulated from the bustling university town above. Inside, the space was warm and inviting, rich with the rich, earthy aroma of freshly ground espresso beans, toasted cinnamon, and old paper. Exposed red brick walls, soft and weathered with age, were adorned with eclectic black and white photography of old Boston landmarks, while warm Edison bulbs hung low from exposed dark wooden beams, casting a soft, amber glow over the room. Low jazz played softly from hidden speakers, blending with the gentle hum of quiet conversation and the occasional hiss of a steam wand from behind the polished copper counter.

Marie sat alone at a small, round bistro table crafted from dark walnut and wrought iron, tucked away in a quiet, shadowed corner near a broad bay window that looked out onto the sunken stone patio. Outside, dry leaves skittered across the pavement whenever the breeze picked up, but inside, Marie felt completely suspended in time. She was dressed down in a sleek, charcoal knit sweater that fit snugly over her athletic frame, paired with dark denim and a soft cream colored scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. In front of her, a large ceramic mug of black coffee rested on a cork coaster, the faint wisps of steam curling upward into the warm air. Her vibrant copper hair was pulled up into a soft, textured claw clip, allowing a few loose strands to frame her face, but her sharp green eyes were turned toward the street level window, watching the feet of passersby cut through the autumn chill.

Her manicured fingers lightly traced the rim of her coffee mug as her mind churned through the double life she was currently navigating. In less than two weeks, she would step inside a sixteen foot high steel cage at Apocalypse, staring across the canvas at Dexter Grant with the Supreme Championship Wrestling United States Championship on the line. The thought alone sent a familiar, electric surge of adrenaline straight to her core, tightening her jaw and stiffening her spine. She had spent months clawing her way back to the top of the division, suffering through the physical agony of ladder matches and the bitter taste of near victories. Inside the cage, Dexter would have nowhere to run, no ring skirts to hide behind, and no excuses. Yet, the persistent temptation of Frank Delatosso’s quiet backing lingered at the edges of her thoughts, a subtle reminder that in professional wrestling, fighting fair didn't always guarantee you walked away with the belt. Then her eyes drifted down to the empty chair across the small table, and the fierce, competitive fire of The Phoenix yielded to a much colder, heavier knot in her stomach.

Allison Holland would be walking through that front door at any moment. Marie’s mind flicked back through the painful memories she had spent the last two years trying to cremate: the gilded promises of Raul Alfaro, the suffocating atmosphere of Inner Peace, and the quiet, terrible shame that had united the women trapped inside it. Father Jim and Sister Maria saw this meeting as a bridge toward spiritual healing, a duty ordained by grace and shared suffering. But sitting in the warmth of the café, Marie knew the truth was far more fragile. To mentor Allison through RCIA wasn't just about answering questions about the Catholic faith; it meant allowing someone else to look directly at the scars she had worked so hard to hide beneath championship dreams and athletic perfection. She took a slow, steadying sip of her hot coffee, her heart hammering against her ribs with a strange mix of reluctant empathy and lingering dread, waiting for the bell above the café door to chime.

The brass bell above the front door chimed softly, breaking through the low hum of the café as a cool gust of October air swept inside. Marie’s eyes snapped toward the entrance, her body instantly going rigid against the wooden backrest of her chair. Stepping down the couple of brick steps into the warm glow of the coffee house was Allison. She looked fragile against the chilly Cambridge afternoon, wrapped in a faded, oversized beige trench coat that hung loosely over her small frame. Holland appeared as if she were accustomed to shrinking into the background to avoid being noticed. But as her eyes scanned the room and caught sight of Marie sitting in the corner, her entire posture froze. For a lingering, breathless second, neither woman moved. The sharp, phantom memory of a compound in Massachusetts, the heavy scent of Jasmine incense, and the predatory voice of Raul Alfaro echoed in their minds. They had been two parts of a golden trinity along with Julianne; the prized possessions paraded at the front of the compound, the favorite girls who bore the heaviest, darkest burdens of Inner Peace.

Allison took a slow, hesitating step forward, her fingers clutching the worn strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. She walked over to the corner booth, her soft blue eyes wide with a mixture of intense vulnerability and quiet awe.

“Marie…” Allison whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she pulled out the empty chair across from her “...I...I couldn’t believe it when Sister Maria said it was really you.”

“Sit down, Allison.” Marie said, her tone quiet and remarkably gentle despite the knot in her throat. “It’s been a long time.”

Allison sank into the wooden chair, keeping her coat wrapped tightly around herself as if for warmth. She looked down at her hands, then back up into Marie’s face, a faint, weary smile touching the corners of her lips.

“Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago. And other times...it feels like I never really left that compound. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to see any of us again. Not after everything Raul did to us. Not after Julianne...”

Her voice trailed off, the mention of the third girl hanging heavy and unspoken between them in the warm air of the café. Marie felt a cold chill run down her spine, but she leaned forward slightly across the small dark table, locking her eyes onto Allison’s.

“Julianne is in a safe place getting help, Allison.” Marie said quietly, her voice grounded and steady. “And we survived. We made it out.”

“And Raul?”

“Locked away. In prison.” Marie states firmly. “Right where he belongs.”

“Good.” She sighs as a sense of relief washes across her face. “I honestly wasn’t sure what had happened to him after Inner Peace collapsed. I had heard you had something to do with it. Is that true?”

“I testified against him in court and in return the district attorney let go scott free.”

“Wow…” Allison’s voice trails off as she looks on in awe “...that is brave.”

“Not really. I mean, to be perfectly honest, look at who I am. Look at my family. We are famous in Boston. I am a second generation professional wrestler and a hometown hero. I’m sure my family ties had something to do with it.”

“Nonsense.” Allison insists. “You were very brave to confront a predator like Raul.”

“I was just doing what needed to be done.” Marie states pointedly. “What about you? How have you been doing since Inner Peace?”

“Not as good as you, unfortunately.” She laughs lightly. “I can’t hold down a job…apparently no one wants to hire you if you think you’re a nutcase. I’m sure Julianne is having the same problem.”

“You are NOT a nutcase.” The Phoenix says sternly. “And neither is Julianne. We were all manipulated by a charming con artist. A predator took advantage of us when we were at our weakest. And believe me, Allison, you WILL get your break. I promise you.”

“Thanks.” Allison points a finger at Marie. “What about you? What have you been busy with since Inner Peace?”

“Obviously, as I’m sure you have heard, I returned to Supreme Championship Wrestling. In fact, I have an opportunity to become SCW United States Champion in less than two weeks at Apocalypse.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” Marie smiles devilishly “against another charming con artist named Dexter Grant. Except I get to beat his ass in a steel cage where he can’t run away and hide.”

“Good for you!” Allison exclaims happily and cheerfully. “I will definitely be cheering you on!”

“Uh, I also got back involved with the Church.” She sighs uncomfortably, she knows that she is about to broach the subject she has been dreading. “Which brings me to why we’re meeting, I suppose. “What exactly brought you to Catholicism?”

“Honestly?” Allison snickers. “It was you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. It may sound weird but I had been keeping track with your own story. How you turned your life around since Inner Peace, how you reconciled with your, and how bright and positive you have been no matter what obstacles may arise. And the one thing that seems to have you grounded? The one thing at the center of your life, outside of professional wrestling, is your faith.”

“Allison…” Marie starts to speak up but Allison shakes her head.

“No. I’m serious. I need something to believe in and if that keeps you going, if that gives you that bright and positive energy that motives you to never say die, then I want that in my life too.”

Marie’s brow furrowed slightly, a heavy pang of sympathy cutting straight through her remaining defenses. She leaned across the dark walnut table, her green eyes searching Allison’s tired face.

“Allison… where are you living right now?” Marie asked softly.

Allison looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously picking at the worn edge of her beige trench coat. She let out a small, embarrassed laugh that held no real humor.
“Oh, you know…here and there…” Allison murmured, her voice dropping “...I’m staying on a friend’s couch in South Boston right now, but that’s ending this weekend. I’ve been moving from place to place every few weeks. I’m not quite living on the street, but…yeah. Getting there, I suppose. It’s hard to save up for an apartment deposit when you can’t get hired anywhere.”

The stark reality of Allison’s situation hit Marie like a physical blow. While she had returned to her luxurious townhouse and her high profile career, one of the women who had shared her darkest trauma was quietly falling through the cracks of the city. Any lingering reluctance about stepping back into the shadow of Inner Peace vanished, replaced by a fierce, protective resolve.

“Pack your things,” Marie said firmly. “You’re moving in with me.”

“What?” Allison’s head snapped up, her soft blue eyes widening in total disbelief. “”Marie, no…I can’t do that. I could never impose on you like that. You have your own life, your career, your training…”

“It’s not an imposition, Allison, it’s an offer,” Marie insisted, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I have a huge townhouse with multiple empty bedrooms and it is literally just me right now. You’re not going to stay in shelters or crash on random couches while trying to rebuild your life.”

“Marie, I can’t pay you rent,” Allison whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

“You won’t be paying rent, and you’re not a burden,” Marie replied, reaching across the table to wrap her hands around Allison’s cold fingers, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze. “And as for money, we’re going to fix that too. I have plenty of connections in Boston. I will get you a job so you can get back on your feet, build up some savings, and become completely self-sufficient. But for now, you need a safe place to sleep.”

Allison stared at her, utterly speechless, a single tear slipping down her cheek as the crushing weight of her uncertainty finally lifted. Marie offered her a warm, genuine smile, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over her heart for the first time in weeks. The steel cage match against Dexter Grant was coming, but sitting in that quiet Cambridge café, Marie Jones had found a purpose far greater than championship gold.

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October 31st, 2026
Indianapolis, Indiana
On Camera
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The cameras roll and we open on a quiet street of Indianapolis, Indiana. Walking down the damp, wet street is “The Phoenix” Marie Jones. She is wearing a sharp, black-and-white vertical striped Beetlejuice-style matching blazer and knee-length pencil skirt. Beneath the tailored jacket, she sports a crisp white button-down shirt paired with a classic solid black necktie. To complete her polished outfit, she is wearing sheer black tights, and solid black pointed-toe stiletto heels. The Phoenix stops in the center of the camera view and smirks knowingly at the camera.

“Once, twice, third time’s the charm! It’s SHOWTIME!” The Phoenix snickers. “Sorry, but give me a break! It IS Halloween after all, and besides, I think there is one very special person who would appreciate this Beetlejuice costume. Isn’t that right, Dexter Grant?” The Phoenix smirks knowingly as she lets her question sink in and lets the audience think about it.

“Confused? Well let me spell it out for you, Dexter. I may not be some trickster demon that gets summoned and causes havoc when you call my name three times, but I am NOT the kind of competitor you want to face on a regular basis. I said it once when I returned and I will keep saying it until people like you get it through your thick skull…I am The Phoenix. I may fall in a blaze of glory like the mythical phoenix but also like the mythical phoenix I keep coming back. I keep coming back stronger and more resilient than ever after having endured obstacle after obstacle and set back after set back. I return each time to make life an absolute hell for people like you, people who think that they can beat the system. Confused, paranoid con artists like you who think the entire world is out to get you, when in reality the only person sabotaging you is yourself.” Jones holds up one finger.

“July 16th Breakdown, we met one on one and I had you dead to rights. I was going to win that United States Championship and you knew it. So what did you do? You drew a disqualification. You took the coward’s way out. Hell, the least you could have done was been man enough to just hit me with the title belt or land a low blow.” She shakes her head. “Nah, you had your little weeny sidekick Wendell attack you so I’d get disqualified. Real cute.” The Phoenix holds up a second finger.

“The second time we met was at Rise To Greatness and you got lucky. You might not think of it as being lucky but you were pretty damn lucky because CHBK and Mr. Delatosso decided to throw so many people who had no business challenging for the United States Title all into the match. It should have been just you and me, a straight up one on one rematch to settle things, but no, we had to have a clusterfuck of a ladder match and in the chaos of it all you survived.” Marie holds up a third finger.

“All you gotta do is say my name! Dex, just say it three times in a row and you won't believe how far I'll go! I'm on the bench, but coach just put me in the game! All you gotta do is say my name!” She strikes a pose and then takes a bow. “Ta-Da! Thank you! Thank you very much! Credit to the great Eddie Perfect! And to anyone who is questioning my sanity right now…I swear to God, I am NOT secretly Kimmy, all behavior to the contrary!” She winks playfully.

“Once. Twice. Three times. I have been chasing you and that United States Championship for a very long time now, Dexter, and between your cowardly act in July, your dumbass luck at Rise To Greatness, I am sick and tired of playing nice. My name has been called three times now and I swear to God that I will make this third time count. I will rain down hell upon you, Grant, and there is nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide, no coward’s way out, and definitely no excuses, because you and I will be locked up inside of the Steel Cage.” She laughs softly.

“I find it rather funny that you want Mr. Delatosso to be ringside for our match so he can see what he’s unleashed? As if he or anyone should be afraid of you…the coward who runs…the champion who reigns only because he got lucky. You are no monster, Dexter. There is absolutely nothing about you worth being afraid of.” Jones points to herself. “The real monster here is me. Because twice now I have been screwed over…once when you intentionally drew the disqualification to save your ass and the second time when I was screwed out of my rightful one on one opportunity at Rise To Greatness. The only hell that is being unleashed is me. The only monster that is being unleashed is me. You and this entire situation has pushed me to a place that I have not been to in a very long time.” She shakes her head.

“I am done playing nice. I will do anything to become SCW United States Champion and inside of that steel cage, I quite literally can do anything I want and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.” The Phoenix steps closer to the lens, the playful smirks completely fading from her face. Her voice drops an octave, turning cold and calculated.

“Do you know what happens when you corner someone who has died a thousand deaths and always crawled out of the ashes, Dexter? They stop fearing the burn. You’ve been looking over your shoulder for months, convinced that the world is conspiring against your championship reign. You look at management, you look at the locker room, you look at the fans, you see enemies in every shadow. But you never looked at me. You treated me like a hurdle you cleared in July. You treated me like a name you checked off a list at Rise to Greatness. But I was never cleared, Dex. I was just waiting.” She adjusts her striped jacket, smoothing down the lapels with deliberate, chilling composure.

“This steel cage will not protect you from management. It will not protect your championship. The steel cage is your own execution chamber. You want to bring Mr. Delatosso down to ringside because you want an audience for your delusions? Fine. Let him watch. Let the whole world watch as I tear down the illusion you’ve been hiding behind. Let him see what happens when a paper champion is forced to look real violence in the eye.” Jones leans in, her eyes wide, unblinking, and dead serious.

“Wendell can’t crawl through those chain links to take a hit for you this time. There are no ladders to climb to escape me. There are no referee distractions, no cheap loop holes, no technicalities. It is just four walls of cold, unforgiving steel, you, me, and that title you’ve been holding hostage. You wanted to summon the ghost of your own destruction? Well, congratulations, Dexter. You said my name. You asked for this. And when that cage door locks, you aren’t going to be worried about keeping your belt…” She slowly reaches out, tapping her pointed finger against the camera lens, leaving a small streak on the glass.

“...You’re going to be praying to God that I let you leave that ring alive.” The Phoenix smiles one last sharp, terrifying smile, turns on her stiletto heel, and strolls casually down the damp street into the Indianapolis night.