by Ora Wilde
“Before we go on,” Danny continued, “I’d like to introduce you to a very special person... our host for this press conference... the mayor of the beautiful town of Susanville, the honorable Jarvis O’Toole.”
As the crowd politely applauded once again, I tried my best not to throw up.
Mr. Tool stood up and shook Danny’s hand, then he began to speak.
“Members of the press, our dearest guests, the fine people of Susanville... good day!” he started his spiel. “As you know, this is a momentous occasion for our small town. Today is actually a celebration... a celebration for our town’s most distinguished son...”
Our town?
What the fuck was he talking about? I didn’t even grow up in this poor excuse for a toilet. I haven’t even been here until a few days ago.
“Today, we celebrate Conner ‘The Savior’ McXavier’s ascent to immortality!” he triumphantly proceeded to say.
Instead of being met with cheers, however - and much to his surprise - an eerie silence followed his declaration. They didn’t want to praise me. That was alright. They can all kiss my ass. That would make me happier.
“Well, eherm,” he pretended to clear his throat to regain his bearing. “Anyway... I want to welcome all of you to today’s press conference and, uhm, have a good time everyone! God speed!”
The tool O’Toole abruptly ended his previously glorified speech and went straight to his seat. Danny quickly came back to the podium to rescue the program.
“T-Thank you, Mr. Mayor...” Danny nervously spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the XFC - the Xtreme Fighting Confederation - I’d like to extend our deepest appreciation for attending today’s festivities.”
Crickets.
And my chuckle.
“We... we are still awaiting the arrival of Johnny Jones and his entourage,” Danny finally admitted, proving my suspicion that the bitch was being a prima donna again. Groans and sighs filled the venue. “But he should be here shortly!” he tried to appease them.
“How long?” another person asked in a loud, irritated voice which made me smile.
“Soon... soon...” Danny hastily answered. One of his assistants, a girl with a black XFC cap, approached him on stage and they discussed something away from the mic.
I took that time to survey the crowd.
The theater was indeed fully packed. Reporters - I could tell judging from the IDs they wore and their cellphones being on audio recording mode - were seated on the first three or four rows. Others - who were most likely Susanville residents and some really hardcore fight fans who made the trip - occupied the rows at the back.
But a familiar sight caught my attention.
Standing at the left side of the theater, just beside the emergency exit, was a middle-aged couple. She, frail and short-haired and smiling; and he, burly and anxious and frowning. How could they not be familiar? How could he not be familiar?
I didn’t want him there.
Yet he came.
But why?
What’s the point of his attendance? To watch as the press grilled me with questions about my murderous exploit? To get the chance to say ‘I told you so’ when the crowd got riled up as soon as details of my most recent fight were brought up? To silently laugh at the son who wanted to be a better man than his father, yet unraveled before his most royal presence?
Fuck him!
I quickly turned my head towards the other end of the venue. I didn’t want to see him. And I didn’t want him to see me looking at him.
But then, something else caught my attention as well.
For at the other side of the theater was seated a girl who I was likewise familiar with. Long brown hair tied in a ponytail that revealed the smoothness of the skin on her neck, radiant even under the meager lights of the movie house; her eyes, sparkling and beady and focused on the stage; her lips that looked soft and warm and curled into a smile that wasn’t really a smile - an angle that showed how happy she was to be there; her face - her whole face - that just made me feel something... different...
And that something different suddenly turned into anger when I saw who was sitting beside her.
Fucking Goldilocks!
He was like the fuck ugly offspring of a shih tzu and an emo kid.
“Conner?” Danny asked over the mic. He has been calling my attention and I didn’t even notice.
“Yeah, what?” I asked as I gave him an irritated look.
“Someone asked you a question,” he said in a reminding tone.
Someone did? I didn’t even hear.
I saw a man garbed in a flamboyantly ridiculous red suit, standing up amongst the crowd, his phone extended towards the stage recording every word he was expecting me to say.
“Why take this fight so soon?” he asked rather impatiently, which I presumed was the second time he did so.
“Why take this fight so soon?” I repeated his question. “Why not?”
“Well, it’s been barely a week since your last fight,” he replied.
“A fight where I didn’t even get hit,” I told him. An exaggeration. Donner managed to land a couple of punches, but that was it. Okay, maybe a dozen or so. It didn’t matter. The motherfucker hits like a girl anyway.
“We’re digressing,” the reporter smugly said. I wanted to wriggle his puny throat right there and then. “Again, my question. Why take this fight so soon?”
“Because I fucking want this fight!” I practically screamed at him. The audience oohed and ahed. At first, I thought it was because they got excited by the passion I showed. But when I saw Danny looking at me nervously with his finger over his lips, I realized that it was because of the F word I dropped in what should be a prim and proper affair.
I tried to compose myself. I tried to remember the reason why I was there, in that press conference - to help hype up the fight. The one thing I’ve always wanted was upon me. After years of waiting, the fight that would validate all of the pains and hardships and sacrifices I have made was less than two months away. I shouldn’t mess things up and jeopardize it.
“I... I want this fight,” I repeated over the mic, as calmly as possible. “Almost a decade ago, when I first started fighting in the underground leagues, I always dreamt of being an XFC champion. I always dreamt of being the face of the number one mixed martial arts company in the world. It was what drove me throughout my career. I have been through a lot of wars, and I have wounds to prove it. In 2013, when Junkyard Jarvy punched me so hard in the chest that my heart literally stopped beating for almost a minute... I found the will to pump it back to life by thinking of that championship. In May of 2014, when Ace Bonifacio caught me in a triangle choke in the middle of the octagon and I felt every last ounce of breath escaping my body... that dream of one day getting the title gave me the strength to break the hold and beat him. In December of 2014, when Jam Poon Doh broke my knee with a low roundhouse kick that I couldn’t even stand up... it was my aspiration of becoming the XFC champion that pushed me to continue that fight which I eventually won. So when Danny offered me this match... I didn’t care about anything else... I immediately said yes.”
The reporter just stared at me. He gave me a look that seemingly bellowed ‘you’re fucking crazy!’
“Ah... well... that’s a good first question, don’t y’all think?” Danny interjected over the podium’s microphone. “We will continue the Q&A later, folks. Right now, I’d like to...”
Danny paused as he turned his attention on the screen behind him, then to one of the assistants near the side of the stage. “Is it ready?” he asked off-mic. The assistant gave him a thumbs up.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Danny continued, back on the microphone that time around. “As many of you may know, my team has been documenting Conner McXavier’s life since... well... since the day after that incident. We have captured every second of his every waking hour,” he said, which was an exaggeration of course, “for the purpose of creating a four part docu-serie
s that will air during the last two weeks leading to the fight. It is a documentary series that will chronicle Conner McXavier’s road to redemption. Yes, ladies and gentlemen... this will be an intimate look into the life of the fighter we have come to know as the Savior... and how he is supposed to save himself from the world that has come to misunderstand him.”
Someone actually booed, a very prominent sound considering how silent the crowd was during Danny’s announcement.
“And it is with utmost pride that I’d like to present to you today,” Danny proceeded to say, “the first ten minutes of the first episode of Conner McXavier: Redemption Road!”
A polite applause followed.
The lights dimmed.
Footage was projected on the screen behind us.
I turned my chair to watch what was being presented.
True enough, the episode used Danny’s declared title, no matter how stupid it sounded: Conner McXavier: Redemption Road. A short OBB was shown which flashed those words.
Then a shot of the sunset over the skylines of Las Vegas, interspersed with flashes of the Donner fight. Selected commentaries from the announcers accompanied the montage.
McXavier with a punch to the face!
Donner goes down! Donner goes down!
McXavier on the offensive!
He’s all over him Joe!
Donner is defenseless!
That’s it! The referee’s stopping the fight!
Oh no!
Oh my God!
Dear Lord... no!
Why isn’t he stopping!
He’s going to kill him, Joe!
This... this... this is a travesty...
This isn’t what MMA is all about...
Someone stop him! He’s gone crazy!
Stop him!
This is cold-blooded murder!
Oh my God...
The depths he has fallen...
I never realized the end of that fight was that violent until I watched that sequence. The crowd was stunned... as if they were being forced to re-watch a car crash they have tried so hard to forget.
The next scene showed me riding my SUV as I was about to leave Vegas for Susanville. The camera followed my car from behind.
Conner McXavier, the narrator said.
Savior? Sinner? Or Both?
A soul on a quest for salvation...
And he will try to find it in the land where he grew up... back to his roots... back to where it all began...
Bull fucking shit! I didn’t grow up in Susanville!
This is a tale of one man’s journey to find himself...
So that he can find what it takes to claim what he believes is his destiny...
The film segued to a shot of the XFC middleweight championship belt.
But this is also a story of love...
Love for one’s dreams...
Various shots from my training session.
Love for one’s family...
A sequence from the dinner I had at my father’s house the first night I was in town.
And... a tale of love unrequited.
The screen showed a scene from the restaurant, when I was with Chantelle and the Hanson boy and Margaret.
Wait...
Love unrequited?
What the fuck?!
Chapter Twenty-Two
MEG
A story of love unrequited...
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
A footage of Lucas announcing our engagement to the group, segueing to a shot of Conner... his eyes... full of sadness and longing and helplessness and hopelessness...
I didn’t even notice that look when we were at the restaurant.
Oh no...
Lucas...
I turned towards him. He was watching the video intently. A half-smile was on his face. It was as if he wasn’t taking it seriously. It was as if he was enjoying it.
“Honey...” I silently called out.
“Shhh. Quiet,” he whispered. “This is good. This is so good. They did some really clever editing.”
Clever editing? Was that what it was? Just a bunch of recorded scenes put together to form an enticing story for the audience... at our expense? I admired my fiancee for keeping his cool despite the embarrassment the showing must’ve caused. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just clever editing.
Then the video jumped into an interview, and quickly, it became very apparent that Conner’s portrayal wasn’t just a product of a devious arrangement of scenes.
Chantelle was sitting in the living room of her house. The surroundings were very familiar to me. She was being asked some questions off-cam. And her answers...
Her answers crushed my heart...
“Oh... he’s totally in love with her,” she said with a mischievous smile as her eyes squinted as if she was seducing the camera. “He told me himself... that same night. He was completely heartbroken and he started yelling... in the middle of the road... like a wolf howling at the moon... a primal scream of despair...”
Lucas’ face completely changed. Gone was the coy smile he earlier flashed, replaced by a glare that was filled with pent up rage.
“It was love at first sight, he said,” Chantelle continued as she flicked her hair, playing for the camera. “If I remember his words correctly, they went like ‘she has stolen my heart and became my world the first second I laid my eyes on her.’”
Was that even true? They sounded so... melodramatic. For the short time since we’ve met, I’ve never known Conner to be that dramaturgical.
“Is this shit for real?” Lucas angrily asked.
“I don’t know...” I mumbled, before realizing that it was probably not the answer he wanted to hear. “No! Of course not!” I immediately corrected myself. “They must’ve given her a script or something.”
“Yeah, yeah... she does sound too... mechanical,” he commented as he continued to watch the video.
I heaved a sigh of relief. Thankfully, I was engaged to a loving, understanding and trusting man.
But then, the video shifted to a different scene...
Shots of the school and the children in my class were shown. They were recorded during the day of the accident, which was chronologically out of order. The children were gregariously playing as Conner entered the room. They quieted down and looked at him, and he gave them a mean stare. Then the children laughed and crowded around him. The look of detestation on his face was very clear... it was so undeniable that the audience groaned and murmured about how despicable a soul he really was.
The video cut to another shot...
Of me kneeling down and talking to Zoe as she animatedly asked about Mr. Peeh-neez who just joined our class and...
And...
Oh my God...
The camera zoomed to the collar area of my blouse and exposed a very indiscriminating shot of my cleavage. Some of the people in the audience hooted.
The footage quickly transitioned to another shot...
That of Conner’s eyes wide open, his mouth almost agape, looking downwards, intently, presumably towards my breasts.
“What the hell...” Lucas mumbled. I reached for his hand to squeeze it, to assure him that it wasn’t like that at all. But as soon as my finger brushed against the back of his palm, he withdrew his hand far from mine.
The narrator spoke again...
A story of a man who will stop at nothing to follow his heart...
“This is so fake,” I told Lucas. “The scenes... that’s not even the right sequence...”
Lucas just continued watching, as if he didn’t hear me.
Then, recordings at the restaurant were shown, when Conner tried to get me mad with much success.
“... your panties are already wet,” Conner said with a lascivious smile. The footage started at mid-sentence. It was completely out of context.
The next shot... of myself at the verge of tears, realizing that the camera was aimed towards me, capturing every second of that moment.
; Then the next shot... of Conner trying to swipe the camera away, screaming “stop filming!” Again, a scene that wasn’t complete... forming a machinated story that was far from what was real.
The narrator, again...
He will stop at nothing to win her love...
A footage of Conner punching the bag with unrelenting fury from yesterday. Then the lens defocused on him and focused on me watching at the background. I was looking at him keenly... as if I was enchanted by the passion he was showing.