No Holds Barred in Boston

'So, from that one experience you worked out I was here.'

'Yeah. You hadn't left the country, the Commissioner's soft on you and you weren't to be found anywhere else. Two and two makes four. And four gives me another exclusive.'

'How did you get past security?' Mickie asked.

'I did a lot of walking when I was here.' Erin tapped the side of her nose. 'I know tracks and trails nobody ever uses. And don't take offence, but your lives aren't exactly in danger, are they? How hard do you think those guards are working?'

'So what is it you want?' Trish glared at the reporter as she spoke. Erin wanted to stir up trouble and sell the story to the world. That much was obvious. Failing that, a photo of the cabin would probably do. Problem was, now wasn't the time for DIVA HIDEAWAY EXPOSED headlines. Or any other headlines, come to that.

'I've got the location and I've seen you with my own eyes.' Erin shrugged. 'Sharing a love nest is another angle. The only thing I'm missing is the date of your comeback. Give me that and I'll hold off a while.'

'Who says I'm ever coming back.'

'Trish, this is me, Erin. I know what you're like. You have the same fire in you that I have. There is no doubt you'll be back. You even said so that night in Calgary. The only question is when. Give me that and I'll hold off. Otherwise I'm outta here. And as soon as I get somewhere with a signal, I'm going public with what I've got.'

Trish had no doubt she meant it. What little friendship they had would never stand in the way of a good story. She turned to Mickie. 'What do you think I should do with her? Stake her out in the backyard and let the grizzlies teach her a lesson?'

'Sounds good,' said Mickie. 'We could smear her with honey too. Attract them a little sooner.'

'Very funny,' said Erin. 'Quit messing and tell me what I want to hear.' Then, with a note of panic as the two wrestlers got to their feet: 'Hey, what are you doing?'

*****

It was Saturday night in Boston. And there was yet another full house to witness Victoria's fifth successful title defence. Tonight's loser was Mari-Lynn again, back by popular demand. Tonight was going to be another close one, too. And it was going to be a very sporting contest. They were both going to endear themselves to faithful WWE supporters worldwide.

First into the ring, her arrival suitably dramatic, Victoria showed off her belt, just in case there was an individual in the universe who did not know who and what she was. Her duties duly performed, she put on her game face and turned towards the entrance.

'And now,' the announcer said, 'in a late change to the programme . . .'

Eh? Victoria thought, Mari-Lynn was there in the locker room, not five minutes ago.

'. . . we have a special treat for you,' the announcer continued. 'Ladies and gentlemen, replacing the scheduled opponent, here she is! The lady who needs no introduction . . .'

Fanfare for the Common Man resounded throughout the arena. That was clue enough. Victoria knew exactly who it was going to be before she came into view.

It was Trish.

And the audience went utterly batshit.

'Trish, Trish, Trish,' they chanted. 'Trish, Trish, Trish.'

Victoria gave herself a mental slapping as her rival strutted down the walkway. She should have expected something like this. The Commissioner had been far too compliant. Now was not the time to dwell on mistakes, though. Trish was smiling and waving but very obviously up for this.

And there wasn't a storyline!

'Me and her but no script,' Victoria said out loud. Then, laughing crazily, 'Fuck me, this should be interesting!'

*****

Mickie had been babysitting Erin ever since Trish left, mid-morning on Friday. Finding a use for the handcuffs at last, they had at first kept her subdued in the gym. And hadn't she objected before those cuffs went on, when Trish carried her in there!

Mickie had to laugh at the memory. Trish wasn't exactly a giant herself, but she towered over the petite reporter. And it had been funny to watch. Erin's arms and legs had been flailing wildly. She had looked like a kiddie having a tantrum.

The mouth on her wasn't so funny. Surely a woman who used words to earn a living shouldn't need to resort to such filth. It was objectionable, to say the least. They had even, in her presence, discussed gagging her. That shut her up a little, but she still had her moments. Yes, didn't she just.

They had also (more privately) discussed keeping their captive secret, but that had been a non-starter. Mickie was supposed to be travelling with Trish; to change that they needed to speak with the Commissioner. And to do that they needed Karl.

The security officer had been annoyed about Erin evading his colleagues but had no problem with her being held against her will.

'I should take you down to town and get you officially locked up,' he told her. 'This isn't NYC, you know. The sheriff's a friend of mine. If I ask nicely, he'll hold you for a week.'

'A police state,' Erin retaliated. 'I will use that. You can depend on it.'

Although she'd been almost permanently cuffed, the reporter had been well-treated. She'd been provided with plenty of bedcovers and pillows, dined like a queen and allowed to drink copious amounts of wine. She hated being confined to the gym, though; hated it with a vengeance. Alone with her, under what seemed to be a barrage of moans, Mickie finally wilted and agreed to move her into a bedroom.

And then she had an idea.

It's over with Trish, she thought. We might have the odd tumble now and then, but the days of being with her 24/7 are done. So why not?

This morning, Saturday at seven thirty, she'd dropped by to allow Erin a comfort break.

'Did you sleep all right?' she'd asked casually.

'Like a log; all the better for being in a proper bed.'

'That's a relief,' she said as she left, 'the old stories can't all be true.'

Erin was as sharp as a tack. She'd tried to find out about those stories all day. Mickie had fobbed her off, telling her precisely nothing. Now, around the time Trish would be out there, winning back her coveted belt, she dropped by again.

'No sign of Bill yet?' she began.

'Bill who?'

'I forget his last name, but he used to live here. He was a famous mountain man. He used to deal in hides: grizzly; beaver; buffalo; wolves . . . things like that.'

'When was this?'

'Back in the 1840s, I think. Obviously this cabin wasn't here then. But it's built on the site of Bill's original cabin. That was only small, of course, and it was right here.' Mickie tapped the floorboards with her toe.

'If this is a haunted house story you're wasting your breath.' Erin sounded normal but she'd lost some of her brash veneer. 'I've stayed here before, remember? I know the place isn't haunted.'

'It's not a haunted house story,' Mickie replied, 'it's a haunted room story. His home fit right inside this bedroom. That's why he comes back every night, looking for his squaw.'

'His squaw?'

'Bill traded hides with native Americans. They gave him a young woman in exchange. He wanted her for the obvious reasons, but legend has it he fell in love. Like really and sincerely. So much so he hated to leave her on her own. But he had to when he was off trapping and hunting, which was most of the time. And, one day while he was away, a stranger turned up and raped and murdered her. Bill always blamed himself and vowed he'd never forget her. And he hasn't; he's still coming back even now. If you're in luck he'll pay you a visit later on.'

'Whoa, whoa,' Erin cried as Mickie turned to leave. 'Can't you shift me into the main bedroom?'

'I'm sleeping in there.'

'It's a big bedroom; there's room for two of us.'

'My, my, Ms Brook,' said Mickie, widening here eyes. 'Are you asking me to sleep with you?'

'No. Yes . . . I mean tell me you're making it up. I hate ghost stories but I can take a joke. Come clean and I'll say no more about it.'

'Liver-Eating Bill!' Mickie exclaimed. 'That's what they called him. I finally remembered.' Then, pretending to yawn: 'Goodnight. You sleep tight and have sweet dreams.'

'Whoa,' Erin cried again. 'Don't leave me here. Let me come and sleep with you.'

Mickie feigned indecision. 'I don't know if I should,' she said. 'I'm not absolutely certain that Liver-Eating Bill will show up and fuck you tonight. But one thing is beyond doubt: if I handcuff you to my bedhead, you'll be getting fucked from all angles.'

As she'd correctly assumed, the reporter hadn't built up her network of informants without putting out now and then. She didn't waste energy pretending to be outraged or accusing her of forcing lesbian attentions on her.

'What are we talking?' she wondered. 'The cuffs I can take, but I'm not doing kinky.'

'We're talking straight with a strap-on.' Mickie grinned at her. 'And I'm going at least twice. If you want more after that, you only have to ask.'

'This is exploitation as well as kidnapping.' Erin sighed deeply. 'But go on, get me outta here.'