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PROLOGUE -
Legend. Icon. The 9th Wonder of the World.
The EBWF Tour was winding its way from Atlanta, back toward St. Louis for the next episode of Warfare. This round of shows kicked off in Nashville, Tennessee, and the cast and crew had been arriving at the arena for hours. Dark shows in a big arena were fun. They drew a large crowd, and the talent got to interact a little more than they otherwise might on live television.
Wes Ikeda had a makeshift office down a long corridor, and before him was a hand written proposal for match bookings that night. One of the production staff had brought it to him, and having looked it over he had a few suggestions to make. He left his office and walked across the backstage area. There was laughter coming from craft services. He saw flashes in his peripheral as the photography team worked on a photoshoot. Members of the road crew were still rolling pieces of the set out into the arena. Everything was running like the well oiled machine that it was, and he nodded and said hello to people as he passed them. The production table wasn't very busy, it didn't need to be on non-televised nights. They had a few cameramen, of course, for exclusives and the like, but most of the people responsible for production wouldn't be on the road until later in the weekend. Wes walked up to the table and was greeted immediately by the one young man sitting there.
Wes Ikeda: Hey Carter. Where's Joanie? I wanted to talk to her about this lineup she left for me.
Carter glanced back into the production area behind him and shrugged a little bit.
Carter: I'm sorry Mr. Ikeda. I haven't seen her around all afternoon. I don't think she's here yet.
Wes Ikeda: Oh.
Wes lifted his arm, turning his wrist to check his Rolex.
Wes Ikeda: Weird. She got in last night, right?
Carter: Usually. JR will know.
Wes Ikeda: Yeah, I suppose he would. Thanks Carter.
Wes turned from him and began walking back toward the office area to find Jim Ross. In the meantime he pulled out his phone, checking his text messages, seeing no new alerts, he went to his contact list and called Joanie. The phone rang at least six times. Then her voicemail picked up. He disconnected the call and called again. The result was the same. Wes paused where he stood, looking down at his illuminated screen. That was weird. He considered calling a third time, but instead, walked a little more hurriedly to find JR. He found Jim at a table in craft services. He had papers spread out in front of him, and a coffee within reach.
Wes Ikeda: Jim. Did Joanie fly in last night? She's not here yet. I thought she might be in the air, but her phone is ringing, not going straight to voicemail.
Jim Ross: She's not here yet? She texted me last night. Said she was here.
JR saw Wes screw his face up with a confused expression. The truth was, Wes didn't know why he was asking people if Joanie had made it to Nashville. He knew she had. The match lineup he'd been looking at was in her hand writing. Though he guessed she could have given it to an assistant back in St. Louis.
Jim Ross: Want me to send someone back to the hotel. I'm sure she just had a long night. Probably forgot to set an alarm.
Wes Ikeda: That doesn't sound like her.
Jim Ross: Well, it happens to the best of us sometimes. I'll send one of her assistants and a car. Do you want to talk about the matches she suggested?
Wes looked at his watch again.
Wes Ikeda: There's still time. I'll wait for her.
Jim nodded, and Wes walked out of the room. He still had his phone in his hand and he looked down at it one more time. He opened his messages and shot her a quick text, just a heads up that someone was coming, in case she noticed it. Then he returned to his office, and continued his work building up to the show. It had to have been an hour later before he started to wonder what in the hell was going on. No one had come to see him, and no one had called either, except for McKenzie, who always called him between school and dance class. There were no texts either, and then he heard something outside the door. It sounded like running. That wasn't unusual either. People needed things quick and in a hurry sometimes. He had just forced himself to focus back on the paperwork in front of him when there was a soft knock on the door. He looked up, but was unable to say come in. The door was already opening.
Wes Ikeda: Hey, babe...
His wife came through the threshold, and when he saw her he stopped mid sentence. Wes' administrative assistant, and longtime friend, Lynne McClinton was with her. Lynne was only on this leg of the tour to help finish up some contracts for Aftermath, so it was strange to see her. Stranger still was that Paul Heyman was with them. The three of them walked into the office and closed the door. Wes stood up, and he studied Natalie a little harder. She had been crying. Wes could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his wife cry. She was too tough to waste her time on tears.
Wes Ikeda: What's... what's wrong? What happened? Where's CJ?
Natalie Neidhart: He's fine. He's fine. He's with Nicole. Wes, honey...
She saw his knuckles turn white as he gripped the side of his temporary desk. He had had enough tragedy in his life to know when bad news was coming. But he was still about to be blindsided.
Natalie Neidhart: Sweetheart, they... they found Joanie...
Wes Ikeda: Okay, is she on her way here? We've got a show in less than three hours.
And then he saw it in all of them. A look of sympathy. Paul and Lynne exchanged looks. He was missing something. He realized what it had been, just as Natalie clarified.
Natalie Neidhart: No, honey, she's. I'm sorry, she's...
She burst into tears, and Lynne reached out, consoling her. Wes felt his knees shake, and sank back into his chair.
Paul Heyman: Sir, are you alright?
Wes Ikeda: No, Paul. I am not alright. She's... how?
Paul Heyman: Jim sent Carter to the hotel to pick her up. She didn't answer the door, so Carter tried to call Jim. Jim didn't answer. He called me. I went to the hotel.
Paul approached Wes' desk. He hesitated when he noticed Wes' bottom lip was quivering.
Wes Ikeda: Go on.
Paul Heyman: I knocked on the door. When she didn't answer, sir, I called her. I could hear her phone ringing from the hallway. I went downstairs and got a security officer, told him the situation, and he opened the door for us. She was already gone.
Wes leaned forward onto the desk putting his head in his hands.
Wes Ikeda: Did she... was it an OD? Did she relapse?
Joanie had been clean for almost a decade, but he knew from personal experience that it could happen to anyone, at any time.
Paul Heyman: The security officer wouldn't let me touch anything. He ushered me and Carter out. Then he called the police, but, no, sir. I don't think it was anything like that.
Wes Ikeda: What makes you think that?
Wes' voice cracked when he asked that, and Paul thought his boss was dangerously close to breaking.
Paul Heyman: Her outfit for today was hanging on a rack. Her shoes were set out. Her laptop was open on the chair. Her phone was on the charger.
Wes could tell that Paul had taken a mental photograph, knowing he'd have to retell this story to Wes.
Paul Heyman: Sir, the mini-bar looked in tact. There was half of a bottle of water on the nightstand. She was wearing pajamas, under the blankets. I thought she was sleeping, but she was... cold, sir.
Wes finally glanced up, his eyes moist with tears.
Wes Ikeda: Thank you, Paul. I'm sorry you had to see that.
Heyman simply gave a sympathetic nod. Wes was too polite to ask him to leave, but Paul could tell he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.
Paul Heyman: Sir, I'm going to tell Carter to go home for the weekend.
Wes nodded, but otherwise acted as though he hadn't heard him.
Wes Ikeda: Just, gone? Do they know how?
Paul Heyman: Dr. Clemente is accompanying her to the, the uh, coroner's office. We'll know soon.
He backed away, moving toward the door.
Wes Ikeda: How do I tell her crew? The whole crew?
Paul Heyman: Why don't you let me and Jim take care of that?
Wes was in no condition to argue. He nodded again.
Wes Ikeda: I have to call Hunter.
He put his head in his hands again.
Wes Ikeda: Oh my God, I have to call Hunter.
Lynne was embracing Natalie now. She looked up as Wes' voice quaked and saw his hands were shaking.
Paul Heyman: I'll help however I can, sir. We all will. Is there anything else?
Wes shook his head no, but just as Heyman put his hand on the door he looked up again.
Wes Ikeda: Wait. Sean Waltman. Please make sure someone tells him, before we make a staff announcement. I don't... I don't want him to find out in front of everyone. I think it's going to be, probably pretty hard on him.
Paul Heyman: I'll do that. And I will inform you before we make the announcement to the staff.
Paul didn't wait for Wes to respond. He simply left, closing the door behind him. Wes was still looking up. He sat up a little straighter. His hands were flat on the desk, and he just stared at the door. Lynne gave Natalie a pat on the back and she moved over to Wes. She stood across from him, and leaned over, resting her hand on top of his. It made Natalie cry a little harder. She bit her bottom lip as Lynne spoke to him.
Lynne McClinton: Wes, what can I do for you?
Lynne never called him by his first name when they were at work. It was always, always a professional “Mr. Ikeda”.
Natalie stood frozen. She meant to go to him, but the two tears spilling over his lower eyelid made her a statue.
Wes Ikeda: What do I do, Lynne? How do I call Hunter? Their kids are 7 and 8. Oh my God. Her kids.
Lynne McClinton: I'll call him.
Wes Ikeda: I have to call him. It has to be me.
Lynne McClinton: What can I do?
Wes Ikeda: I know he's off this weekend, but could you call Chris? Get him here?
Lynne nodded, giving Wes' hand a pat.
Lynne McClinton: I'll do that. I'll do that right away.
She couldn't help herself. She reached up and wiped a tear off of his cheek and then turned, leaving Wes and Natalie alone. Natalie approached him slowly, but he adjusted, sitting up straight. Natalie sat down on his lap, and he pulled her in close. She felt his chest heave with emotion, but he didn't make a sound.
Jim Ross and Paul Heyman had made an announcement to the staff. They'd been shocked. Tears had been shed. Some people had to take the night off. They'd offered to cancel the show for that evening, but a majority of the staff agreed that Joanie wouldn't have wanted that. Dr. Hope Clemente had returned from the coroner's office and said the preliminary finding was a massive cerebral aneurysm. She'd likely had a headache and gone to sleep. She appeared to have gone peacefully. That brought Wes some comfort. Hunter had suspected something was wrong, and when he picked up Wes' call his fears had been confirmed. He hadn't expected to learn his wife was dead, and Wes heard the panic in his voice. Wes had asked if there was anything he could do for him, for Morgan, for Michael. But Hunter declined, only saying he'd be on his way to Nashville as soon as he called Shawn and Becky to take the kids.
When the show was over, Wes went to the production area. The stunned staff was still working, and Paul and Jim had managed to keep everyone around for a short staff meeting. Wes wasn't ready to address them, but when he stood in front of everyone, seeing the faces of people he considered family, it all felt a little easier. He even noticed the faces of those he never seemed to see eye to eye with, and he knew despite everything, he was glad they were there. He cleared his throat.
Wes Ikeda: I know you all know that Joanie has passed away. It seems that she died in her sleep, from a brain aneurysm.
Wes' voice cracked. He tried to contain his emotion.
Wes Ikeda: She was strong until the end. And losing her, leaves a giant wound in our family. We have seen more tragedy than we possibly deserve. And I'm not sure I know how to run this program without Joanie Helmsley. I know you're all going to miss her. I'm going to miss her. I trust the crew that runs this show, but I think, in light of today's events that the best thing we can do to move forward is to change this storyline. I'm going to drop the World Championship, return to the production booth, and book a tournament for Aftermath so we can all move on from this.
There were murmurs.
Wes Ikeda: I thank all of you for helping us get through this time. I think it would be a good idea if we cancelled the next two house shows and went on to St. Louis so we could...
Natalie Neidhart: I can't let you do this.
She spoke up above those gathered.
Wes Ikeda: Natalie can we talk about this later? Not now.
Natalie Neidhart: No. I'm right about this. You can't do this.
People started to murmur again. And most of them seemed to be agreeing with her.
Natalie Neidhart: Just a few days after the shooting, when we lost friends, when you were almost fatally injured, Joanie stood where you're standing now. Right there in front of those crates, and she didn't say that everything was changing. She said that we were going to go out there and put on the show you would have wanted.
Wes looked down at his feet.
Natalie Neidhart: Wes, she had this whole thing mapped out. The feud with you and her. This was the show she wanted. You have to see this through. And I don't mean to call you out in front of your staff, but Wes, any other outcome makes it seem like you don't trust these people to run this show as well as she did. I know that's not true. Trust them. Trust you. Finish this. For her.
They were agreeing with her. Words of affirmation where growing loudly all around him. It took him a moment, but he finally looked up, meeting Natalie's eyes, and then he nodded.
Wes Ikeda: Okay. I'll appoint an interim lead producer. We'll finish this.
They did't know what to do, so they applauded. A small victory in an awful day.
Wes Ikeda: I want an unbelievable in memoriam to open Warfare. We're cancelling the next two shows while we handle this. We're all going home. Pack up.
Natalie looked at Wes apologetically, but he gave her a soft smile. It was okay. He probably had that coming to him. She was right. The staff still had a lot of loading to do, and Wes decided to go back to his office. It was a short trip home. He figured they'd make the journey tonight. He guessed he'd dozed off in his chair, because it wasn't until the door opened that he realized he didn't know what time it was. Chris Jericho was walking into the room. Wes guessed he hadn't been there for long, he still wore a leather jacket, and he looked stoic. Wes hated to be looked on with pity, but as his best friend's glance met his, he couldn't even be mad. If he looked half as bad as he felt, he probably deserved a little sympathy. Jericho strolled over to the desk. Wes had missed the two rocks glasses he balanced in one hand. He put them down, and then he reached into his jacket revealing a $25,000 bottle of Dalmore Selene, a 58 year old scotch. He popped it open, pouring Wes a double.
Chris Jericho: Sorry it took me so long. I ran by Joanie's office. She may have been sober, but she was a thoughtful friend. She was saving this one for your mid-life crisis. Our at least your 40th birthday.
That made Wes crack a smile.
Wes Ikeda: There always was a certain irony in her being sober, but gifting excellent alcohol.
Chris Jericho: I used to hate her. Thought she was too ambitious. Thought she had a lot of nerve. We didn't always see eye to eye. Not until later. Then those things turned out to be what I admired most about her.
Wes nodded, picking up his glass. Chris picked his up too.
Chris Jericho: To Joanie.
Wes Ikeda: To Joanie.
They raised their glasses in a toast, and drank. Jericho poured them each another. They sat in silence, sipping the second serving. Their hearts were heavy, and neither of them looked up when the door opened. Hope Clemente came in.
Dr. Hope Clemente: Wes? I'm sorry to interrupt. Hunter is here. I told him everything I know. He wanted to say hello.
Wes stood up, nodding. Chris stood up too. Hope left the room and after a moment, Hunter came in. He wore jeans, a gray v-neck t-shirt, his heavy motorcycle boots. He looked good, albeit tired, and he'd cut off all his hair. Wes hadn't seen him in a couple of years, and while they'd never been the best of friends, he hated that these were the circumstances.
Wes Ikeda: Hi Hunter.
Triple H: Wes. Chris.
Jericho just gave a simple nod, he couldn't possibly find the words.
Wes Ikeda: Hunter, I...
Triple H: She loved you guys. You know. EBWF. All of this.
Wes nodded.
Triple H: May I?
He gestured toward the bottle, and Wes offered him his glass. Hunter poured himself a drink. His glass about half full before he stopped. He drank it all in two gulps and put the glass down.
Triple H: Hope said she didn't suffer.
Wes Ikeda: No. It doesn't seem like she did.
Triple H: Thanks for calling me. I know it probably would have been a lot easier to put it off on someone else. Hope is going to take me to her. I need to see her. I just need to see her.
Jericho shuffled uncomfortably for a moment. Wes cleared his throat.
Wes Ikeda: Hunter, if there's anything I can do. For you, for Morgan, for Michael...
Triple H: Actually, I think maybe, if it would be alright...could I borrow your plane?
Wes looked at him blankly for a moment, and then suddenly the large man's chest heaved and he choked on his words.
Triple H: I need to take her home. I can't bear the thought of someone sticking her in a cargo hold.
Jericho looked away. Wes squeezed his eyes shut. Nodding. At least this way they'd transport her body and casket in the passenger area.
Wes Ikeda: Of course, Hunter. Whatever you need. Please, let Lynne help you make arrangements. Whatever makes this... easier for you.
It was a poor choice of words, but Hunter thanked him anyway. Hope poked her head in the door, softly letting Hunter know she was ready. Hunter shook Jericho's hand, then Wes', and then he left for the morgue to be reunited with his wife. Again, Wes found himself sinking into his seat. He was tired, and he didn't feel like his legs could carry him another step. Jericho tried to help take his mind off things, as he lowered his drink from his lips.