July 28th, 2019
The shades remained shuttered. Xander’s hands clutched the end of the wooden arms of the recliner. He stared into nothingness. His thoughts buzzed, flickered back and forth, but his mind filled with white noise. Exhaustion seeped into his soul as much as it had his body. His fingernails dug into the wood but pushed back by the solid material. He didn’t care. He wanted to dig in deeper, break his nails against that unyielding surface. The pain felt so minuscule yet refreshing. At least, he felt. No, he arose from the chair. His balance was still slightly off-kilter. Ever since that night, his body hadn’t been right. No, his head hadn’t been right. He staggered forward towards the wall. A hole emerged here. A hole emerged there. The wall yielded to his fists until his knuckles met a stud. Once he found that sweet spot, he swung his closed fist, a hammer without a nail, until he busted his knuckles, tearing the skin across his knuckles to shreds. Sharp pain gleefully danced up his arm. His mind still lacked real thought; at least, pain filled that gaping hole within his head. The pain served as an anchor, tugging at him to return to reality, pulling him back down to the realm of the living. If not, he would have become a zombie, an empty vessel that still drew breathe.
His mind became grounded. His thoughts returned, through a bit fanatic. He had double thoughts, or that his thought echoed, streams of consciousness spoke over one and another. Still, at least his thoughts slowed enough that he could distinguish words. He had almost himself. Had he almost given him back to Abbadon? No, this break had been different. A straitjacket almost became his home. Fuck. You’re nothing but a god damn faggot, boy. You should have been born a girl, you fuckin’ pussy. At least, I could make some use of you then. Xander shuddered as his uncle’s words chastised him. A glimpse of tearstained vision he remembered from his past, that blur that turned straight lines into waves, but he remembered the softness of the silk, the dress he wore. He let that thought go with a shudder. He hadn’t been humiliated since then. The knife never dug so deep, but this loss cut right to the bone. I’ll fucking kill her. He meant Selena. That cunt had really humiliated him. He released a painful roar, his cold anger turned white hot. Hello, my old friend. He allowed that rage to fill that emptiness within him. Warm him up.
“Are you done?” Hunter called out from the doorway. She had not been impressed with Xander’s performance. The entire return flight, she had not quieted about how Xander’s approach to Selena had been some sort of fool’s errand. She demanded strength from.
Xander didn’t answer her. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
Harnessing that fire, he returned to his seat. He allowed himself to stew in visceral flames, pangs of guilt and embarrassment stabbing deep. Bloodlust cured that sickness; the same longing had overtaken those suicidal thoughts. She ventured across the length of the living room, stopping before him. The lady did not like to be ignored.
“You’re man, aren’t you?” Hunter’s voice challenged him. A tempest brew within her. He sensed it. He had disappointed her with his lack of strength. She expected the world out of him, the man that had ravaged hers, but a thin girl had knocked him the fuck out in front of the entire world. She shared his embarrassment.
Xander still didn’t respond. He didn’t answer to her.
“Really?” She leaned forward. She thrust her hand forward, grasped him by the chin. Saint Anger commanded him to destroy her but the only thing that saved her was that fucking promise. Why did he care about a single promise? Yet, he did. He met her eyes finally.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. You’re drowning in self-pity. It’s pathetic.”
“I won’t drown,” Xander responded, reaching up to snatch her. Women’s forearms were always so tiny. His iron grasp tightened, allowing him to remove her hand from his face. With the back of his arm, he shoved her back. She didn’t break eye contact. Her bottom lip curled but she relented, giving Xander space as he climbed from his chair.
The doorbell’s haunting chime echoed the dark room. A soft rapping knock upon the front door followed. Hunter pointed her head towards the door, motioning him to answer. Xander did not want to socialize one bit, but from the look on the woman’s face, she did not plan on doing the honors. He sucked in a deep breath, hoping the visitor would leave. The knocking continued and he tossed his head back, gripping his fists. Not today. Fucking not today. The knocking grew louder, a muffled voice called out though Xander failed to decipher the meaning of the visitor’s speech.
When Xander opened the door, his son’s caretaker stepped past him, without an invitation. He choked back on the urge to strangle her. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as her thick legs marched onto the living area. She turned around, Abby’s lips puckered in disgust. She seemed far different than the last time they met, months and months ago.
“Mr. Valentine, I have called you… dozens and dozens of times and you have not answered a single one of my calls. Do you have any idea how upsetting that is?” Abby raised her voice, her cute pitch failed to reach the depths required to convey her anger. Her tiny little fists curled in balls, but they remained at her sides, arms flaccid. Daises greeted Xander as he caught sight of her summer dress, her curves budging at the seams. The thing fabric yielded, stretching tightly to restrain her body.
Xander caught himself before he barked. He closed the door behind her. He groaned, knowing very well she would not be easily removed. “I’ve been busy. I live a busy life.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just… abandon your son in my care. No amount of compensation will be enough. I’m not the boy’s mother. I’m only his caretaker and even caretakers need a vacation!” She blew air through those soft pink lips, sending a strand of her hair flying off to the side. She better not fucking quit. I can’t afford to deal with that kid. I would need a replacement, someone who understands that I don’t plan on having contact with that boy. But I don’t have time for that.
“I explicitly explained your responsibilities. You’ll be set for a very long-time once Conner’s capable of being on his own,” Xander reminded her. His bright blue eyes burned, as he leaned over her, but the girl was no longer easily intimidated. In fact, she seemed emboldened by the gesture, stepping towards Xander with those hands curled in the form of fists. Go ahead, bitch. Punch me. I dare you. I swear to god, I won’t even afford you the time to regret such a mistake. I’ll kill you- Wait, this could be amusing. Only if she was skinnier, I could fantasize that she was Selena. I could squeeze the life right out of her- Stop! Such fantasizing is weak. Xander chastised himself, his thoughts finally pulled into clear coherence.
“You can’t be serious! I have not had a single day to myself. You have no clue how difficult your son can be. He’s unpredictably violent. There are entire weeks where he refuses to go to school. Luckily, it’s summer now but there are still weeks where it’s a constant struggle to get him to take his medications. Uh! The number of times I’ve been called to the school,” Abby’s high pitch voice dropped to a flat nasally tone. Was her mask crumbling? Her almond eyes narrowed when she returned his glare. He wanted to press, but he highly doubted in his current state he had much self-control. He didn’t trust himself.
“So the boy’s nothing but trouble. Paint me surprised. He’s my son after all.”
“Uh yeah, He’s trouble, but darn it, if he isn’t such a bright young man. He has so much potential- incredibly intelligent, when he does test, he tests high! If only he would take on some sports, all the coaches keep calling after him because of his size. Surely, basketball, right? But the problem is, Mr. Valentine, if I may…” Abby’s eyes sparkled with starch determination.
“No, you may not. Please. I think I know where this is going-,” Xander tried to cut her off at the pass.
“The boy obviously needs his dad… he needs you,” she finished her sentence despite his attempt at an interruption. Abby actually reached up, poked his chest repeatedly, her long bubblegum pink fingernails stabbed into his skin. She’s fucking joking, right?
“Abby. Do you know who the fuck I am?”
“Oh yes. I know all about you, Mr. Valentine. I’ve done plenty of research. And his therapist states that may be a strong father figure would resolve his daddy issues. And you’re really the only option we have, especially if he’s not playing sports.”
Xander’s rage broke through and the words simply poured out with hesitation: “I’m sure whatever his affliction is, it’s much more than simple daddy issues. I’m sure it’s much more than neglect. I’m certain that there’s emotional scarring from witnessing his mother being beaten. I’m damn sure that had a lasting effect on the boy.”
“I never knew-,” Abby started. Why won’t she give up!
“I even wager that if I did pay the runt a visit, all that past trauma will be dredged up. Who knows how the boy will react that?”
“Well, I’m certain the therapist is all aware of your family history. If she suggests that you should have a role in his life, certainly that should mean something.”
“I think you place too much faith in strangers. I cannot see any outcome of visitation that would benefit me… or my boy.”
“So, you’re going to run away from him? He needs a father, Mr. Valentine. I need a break as much as I adore your son and appreciate the salary,” she paused. Abby retreated back towards the center of the room, contemplating. She turned her back, throwing her arms up in disgust. “No! Please don’t think I’m threatening to quit. I would never. It’s quite evident that I’m the only person that the boy has now, and I won’t abandon as you are doing now.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m trying to do what’s best for your son.”
Xander almost laughed at the previous comment; he stopped, a ray of pain striking throughout his head. His grip on his anger slipped through the cracks. He felt suddenly tired, overwhelming so. “No need for false pretenses. If you need a break, I can find someone else to take over. I only ask you to give me some time to find a replacement.”
“No!” She interrupted him with a shout, catching Xander off guard. The volume worsened the headache flaying his mind. She marched back over, hips swaying. Desperate eyes met his. “That is definitely, absolutely, not necessary, Mr. Valentine!”
“Then I’m confused at what this conversation is about. What do you hope you to accomplish? You seem adamant that you want to continue to be his caretaker. What the fuck do you want then? A pay raise?”
“I’ve already explained! I want you to visit your son! How many times do I have to repeat myself until you see that you need to!”
“He’ll go,” Hunter spoke from the doorway of her bedroom. She stepped forward, translucent gown draped across her body. When had she changed? Why has she changed? His mind wanted to discern reasoning, but he winced not only at the headache but at Hunter’s insistence. Abby seemed surprised; not expecting someone else to be present. Hunter didn’t remove her glare, approached her until she placed both hands on the girl’s shoulders. “But it is going to be a little bit longer. Xander is dealing with a medical issue. I ensure you, I’ll make certain that he will pay a visit. Then afterwards, we can decide what’s best moving forward for the… child.”
Abby turned towards Xander, skeptical at the revelation. “I didn’t know- he looks healthy.”
Hunter snatched Abby’s jaw, very much in the way Xander had done to Hunter in the past. Abby tensed up. Now she’s intimidated? “It’s a serious condition that is not visible to the naked eye, but it’s quite serious. He’s under doctor’s orders to rest. I would explain more but this information is extremely confidential… for reasons regarding, competition and such.”
Abby managed to pull herself away from Hunter. She backpedaled, almost into Xander. She sucked in a deep breathe, before nodding. She glanced, not realizing Xander stood right behind her. “Yes, of course! If that’s the case, then I can be a little more patient. Thank you for your time!”
Abby yanked her purse up high and hurried out the door. Xander fell back against the window frame, watching her scurry to the car. He turned towards, Abby… a part of her wanted to yell, how dare she believe she could speak for him, how dare she agreed on his behalf. But he felt terribly drained, exhausted. His mind starting to relapse into that chaotic confused state. His thoughts echoing. He needed to lie down again. His stomach turned. And if he lashed at her, could he stop himself? He started his retreat towards his bedroom.
“You will go to see your son. You promised me.”
“I have started to believe that you’re acting more and more like me,” Xander staggered past her. She stepped forward, inviting his shoulder to shove against her. Xander didn’t react as she stepped past as they brushed shoulders. He felt her mass. Her body had grown thicker, strapped with muscle. A far cry from the malnourished frame she held in the beginning.
“I guess that means I’m learning…”
August 6th, 2019
Xander raised his hand to his forehead. His top teeth ground against his bottom. Inhale. Exhale. Dread accompanied him on this day. Anxiety exploded when the doctor sat down across from him, a grim face presented. For the past three weeks, the concussion-like symptoms persisted. Three weeks of hell, an unforgiving rollercoaster of infernal emotions, absolute sickness that sunk to his core. He felt poisoned. He never had a concussion remain with him for this long. That scared Xander. There were blurs, batches of time he retreated to somewhere for a long time. But during the bouts of consciousness, when he wasn’t miserable with physical flogging this condition had inflicted on him, the humiliation taunted him. He ran through those final moments, over and over in the head, leading up that defeat at Rise to Greatness. At least, what he remembered. Xander didn’t remember the final few blows as he saw on the tape. The doctor cleared his throat as he raised the paperwork. This isn’t going to bode well.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Valentine. At this time, I can’t clear you to compete. I can’t even clear you to return to exercising. This is one of the most serious cases, I’ve seen in quite a while,” the doctor spoke. Xander sighed, understanding the man’s words as gospel for Dr. Laghari served as a specialist in head trauma. His name in the field had been revered enough that SCW approved Xander’s treatment with the man. A part of the concussion protocol, Xander needed to examine regularly until cleared. Ultimately, SCW’s medical staff would have the final say but until they reached that point, Laghari had been authorized for treatment. Xander felt powerless. The doctor had a lot of sway in his future.
“I don’t know, doc. I wish I could say I’m surprised but I feel like shit.”
“I’ll have you return in a few days for another check. I know you’re eager to return to your regular schedule, but my hands are tied here,” he said as he flipped through the paperwork. He paused doing so, shaking hid head in a foreboding matter. Fuck, now what? “I did want to speak with you before you leave today. It’s never easy to tell a patient this.”
“What?”
“While eventually, we’ll be able to clear you. I’m going to give you my expert opinion. I suggest you consider retirement. This is your second major concussion within the past four months. Knowing your line of work, I bet there are a number of unreported concussions, especially from the early days of your career where concussions were taken less serious,” Dr. Laghari stopped when Xander raised from the bench. Xander grimaced at the notion of retirement. The man obviously had no idea what that meant for Xander. Retirement meant death to Xander. The ring held the only sanctuary. Wrestling served as his only outlet for the violence he needed to release.
“I appreciate the suggestion, doc. I’m afraid that-,” Xander started but the doctor interrupted him with urgency.
“Mr. Valentine! I am not saying this lightly. You must consider the long-term effects that head trauma has on the brain and body. You’re are a very high risk of developing CTE. Any more head tra-…”
“I get that. I’ll be a dementia-ridden piece of shit. A miserable end to a miserable life. But if that’s what’s going to happen, then that’s how it’s going to be. I’m not retiring.”
“That is ultimately your decision. You’re right. You will be cleared. But I must listen to my conscience. I’m going to advise your company about the risks of continuing to place you in active competition. Maybe they can-,” Dr. Laghari stopped when Xander reached over and grabbed his collar. Laghari froze. His brown skin paled to a sickly yellow. In an instant, all sense of security left the doctor as Xander raised him off his chair.
“I’ve known others who have had a lot more than two serious concussions still competing. You’re not going to tell them anything, doctor. You did your duty. You informed me of the risks. Let them know the bare minimum and keep that particular opinion out. I don’t want to give management any funny ideas.”
“That would be completely unethical.”
“I’m not going to threaten you. But I’m going to leave it up to your imagination of what will happen if you are somehow responsible for a forced retirement. This is all I have. Wrestling is survival. I’m willing to do anything to survive,” Xander gently placed the short doctor onto his feet. He patted the middle-aged man on the shoulders. Xander lifted a family portrait on the side table and examined it. The doctor had rather a large, joyous clan surrounding in the photograph. We’re two completely different beings. “With wrestling gone, then I would have nothing, Laghari. Nothing to lose.”
“This is unacceptable! Never in my life have I been threatened!” Laghari yanked free the photo as if that meant defending his family from Xander’s wrath.
Xander tsked loudly. “I’m not threatening. But your imagination is quite strong.”
“I ought to go to the authorities.”
“Dr. Laghari, you’re overreacting. Please don’t overthink the ramblings of a patient, who is obviously suffering from the effects of a concussion.” Xander stopped at the doorway. He looked back at the man. He seemed very conflicted at the moment. Xander hoped that he hadn’t crossed the line and find himself in a legal problem. Xander knew he overreacted. He would be cleared and should have left that. His judgment is suffering. He hoped he didn’t give too much encouragement. “I’ll see you in a few days. Smile, doc. You’re not the one who will have to deal with the consequences.”
Once in the waiting room, Hunter stepped up beside him as they left the office. They started walking through the myriad of corridors this particularly medical complex had to return to his car. Xander tightened his fists. Not only did Selena humiliate him, but she had also threatened his career. He could already imagine that smug smile on her face as she basked in the glory of her knock out victory. He couldn’t let this go, even if he wanted to. She had damaged him, physically, mentally, and even his legacy had been damaged by that loss. He would need to react. He would need to punish. Xander suppressed a roar.
Hunter noticed the morose aura emitting from him. “Bad news?”
“You could say that,” Xander didn’t want to reveal the true nature of the situation.
“No change, huh?”
“Still not cleared. I guess I’m going to remain, sitting around, biding my time.”
“You’ll get through this. I’ve noticed improvements. You’re not as bad as you were, weeks ago,” Hunter answered but her voice bore little emotion. Was she trying to encourage him? He didn’t understand this metamorphosis this woman had been going through under his watch.
“I’ll survive. I have to.”
August 25th, 2019
The house laid too far inland for the sea’s breeze to provide much needed relief, leaving the property to the mercy of the summer sun, now hanging high at noon. The heat seemed more oppressive today, more worthy of the Vegas desert than the SoCal hills. A white picket fence, the kind pulled straight from those 1950s ‘Leave It to Beaver’-type television shows, formed a perimeter around the house; inside the enclosed area, lush carefully-tended green lawn spouted from the earth. Xander owned this property, but never visited in person. The house served as another detail he never gave much thought to in providing for his son. He couldn’t care less, having a half-cocked hope that this home would be satisfactory to raise a boy through the latter years of adolescence. Instead of actually providing any effort to fatherhood, Xander threw money at the problem, convincing himself that was all he owed, but he knew that was never true. He lied to himself.
Lying was easier.
Xander climbed from his car. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped up to the small fence door hung on black cast iron hinges. Welcoming shade presented itself upon a porch, drawing Xander towards shady relief. The ranch style home fanned out on either side, but Xander noticed a narrow path between the house and fence on either side. Sunflowers tilted their heads towards the endless blue sky above. The sight of the sunflowers paired with the white picket fence cast a spell on Xander. For a moment, Xander teleported to the past, to a time when his beloved still breathed and she sought shelter in a home such as this, with the small white picket fences and an abundance of sunflowers. Back then, hope slipped into his soul and filled him. On that day, he would finally meet his son for the first time. He would convince Calli he had changed. Abaddon had been driven out… for good! He beckoned her to return to him and they could live as a family. They could share that wholesome life they all dreamt having but never knew properly.
Xander leaned forward and pressed the palm of his hand on the picket’s top, pressing hard to wake him from that past. Once recovered, he expected to see Calli step around that corner. Or hear Damian’s voice chastise him for losing oneself in such sentimentality or embracing emotional weakness. But neither figure had shown their presence since Xander kept to his medication. Ridiculous as the thought might sound, a part of him longed for their company because at least he could confide in his mind’s ghosts, knowing they would never reveal his secrets.
The loud, obnoxious buzzing of a large fly snapped Xander back to the present. As he swung open the fence and crossed the path leading up to the front stoop, the buzzing grew louder. Many more flies flew by. Some crashed hard into his skull. By the time he reached the steps, the stench of death reached Xander’s nose. A morbid curiosity distracted Xander as he turned back from the front steps and towards the side of the house. The buzzing grew louder, the air heavier, the scent thicker. An eviscerated cat rested upon the path. Matted, dried brown fur stuck out from around the deep cut. The cat’s intestines extended out onto the stone, tangled up. Large black flies danced all over the insides. Too much meat for an animal yet the flesh had been cut. Coyote? Perhaps someone or something spooked the creature before he got away with his meal. Xander reckoned but something caught his attention. The cat’s head hung, whatever killed the wretched feline, it had also gnawed most its neck off. Lifeless cat eyes stared at Xander as he leaned up to gain a better vantage point. Only a thin amount of flesh kept the head attached to the body. He would inform Abby to call someone to take care of the mess.
A woman’s moan slipped past the incessant buzzing. Xander pranced over the remains and down further the path. The moans grew louder the farther he walked. Xander’s heart raced as the voyeur thrill arose within him, a whole different kind of curiosity than the one that drew him to the cat’s corpse. Towards the backside of the house, the woman’s ecstasy sprang forward from an open window. Xander salivated mindlessly. When had I last been with a woman? And the only answer pained him. Hunter had been the last. The realization grounded him back in reality as he tiptoed forward. His aroused mind yet asked the obvious question.
He stopped beside the window to listen.
“Harder. Faster,” a high-pitch voice chimed.
Grunts pursued. The slapping of flesh. The creaking of the bed.
“You’re doing… great…. Fantastic… Such a wonderful young man,” the voice erupted between deep-set cries of pleasure. The tang on the last bit of speech connected with Xander. Abby. Dread shot into Xander, the recognition of the voice served as potent smelling salts. Xander forced himself to peer through the windows. And what he found alarmed him. Xander required a long minute to process the sight that laid before amidst the bedsheets pushed aside. He drowned out the moans and Abby’s sensual encouragements.
Was this the first time he felt deep-rooted concern for his son?
Was this apprehension the genuine article, not some mimicked emotion to convince others he was no animal?
Xander’s introspection didn’t last long. Action manifested in him. Compelled to a run, he rounded over to the back door. A solid boot ripped the handle off the frame. A second completely freed the door and Xander entered the house. An alarmed scream echoed from the bedroom. Xander found himself in the hallway leading to the room. The door opened. A nude boy confronted Xander. The young man’s head carried the short ruffled patch of Calli’s blonde hair yet the mean stare of father’s, bright blue eyes and all. For the first time since Xander’s marriage ended, Xander came face to face with his son. His frame filled the doorway. Lean muscle strapped to the towering height. Oversized, just as Xander was at that ripe age. Abby had been right, he did make for a basketball player, except for the babyface; hell, he could be confused for a pro. Yet fatherly pride didn’t swell up in his chase but instead, alarm bells rang in his head.
The boy meant to fight.
“Step aside, boy,” Xander dictated.
“Stay back!”
“You don’t want to do this, Connor. Listen. Move out of the way.”
Xander kept his eyes on his son’s clenched fists. The boy stepped forward. Picked up the pace so oddly naturally that despite the small confines of the hallway, the boy managed to throw his father the best haymaker he has seen. And his father stunned at the action that he absorbed the hit. In close quarters, the boy delivered the body blows and stepped back. A flashback to his earlier days a boxer, Xander covered up to protect his face, his already suspectable reeling from that powerful opening volley. He absorbed the body blows. His body used to the punishment. He peaked through his guard, waited for another overly aggressive punch to sidestep. When the opportunity came, Xander swept his son’s feet with an arm strapped across the chest, pulling the boy down to the floor. He pinned a knee to the chest. He’s like a captured animal. Those eyes don’t lie. My son’s an animal. Xander’s mind continued to race as he examined his son. He struggled but regardless of the oversized frame and lean muscle, his strength bore no comparison to the well-built and much large body of his father’s. Xander didn’t know what else to do.
“Let go!”
“If I let you up, you have to promise you’ll sit your ass down in the other room and don’t do anything stupid. I think you know what I’m capable of,” the threat slipped freely from Xander’s lips. Too freely. Is that all I am capable of now? Threats? A high school bully shows more diversity than this. A pang of guilt stabbed him. Why now?
“I said, let me go!”
“Not until you promise me that you’ll-,” Xander roared down at his son but paused. Abby peeked her head out from around the door frame. Tussled hair. Bare shoulders. Xander already knew the story, but he didn’t understand the reasoning behind the happenstance. The desperation he sensed earlier had now been explained. She froze upon making eye contact. She knew the noose tightened around her neck. He often saw the same look of despair in his opponents right before he delivered the killing blow. “Abby! What the fuck?”
“Mr. Valentine… it’s… it’s not like you look!”
Xander noticed his son’s struggle weakened so he assumed the risk, standing to his feet. Connor immediately slipped out from his grasp and ran. The front door clicked and slammed. Where was the boy think he was heading, buck-naked out in the middle of nowhere?
“Connor!” Abby called out as she reached out as if she could have stopped him; however, a giant stood in her path. Now out into the hallway, only a thin white bedsheet concealed her carnal flesh. Immediately, her attention turned towards Xander. Self-preservation sunk in. She backpedaled towards the door but Xander’s boot stopped her from closing the door.
“I can explain!”
“How? I would have understood if you called ‘rape’, but those were no cries of pain. I heard ecstasy in those moans. I didn’t hire you to fuck my son, cunt. I hired you to provide a nurturing-,” Xander stopped midsentence. He found himself out of breath. His panicked heart still pounding within his chest. He choked. Why did he care so much? He abandoned son, but this situation enraged him yet in the same blow, deeply wounded him. “What the fuck happened?”
Abby finally released the door. She dropped to the floor, her legs spreading out with her bare red knees pinned the floor. She erupted in sobbing. Xander recognized the cries, not as cries of guilt, cries of desolation. Xander turned, not believing he would find any answers that the many questions formulating. He didn’t need answers he realized. He needed to find his son and bring him to safety. Whatever… whatever this was… was not healthy.
As he stepped away, a hand caught his ankle. “Wait… wait… please don’t call the police. I beg you…”
“Why shouldn’t I? You molested my son.”
“I love your son! I did it out of love and care!”
“He’s only thirteen!” Xander exclaimed as his disgusted eyes. But you were much younger. Xander forced back those memories. He needed to find Connor. “Get yourself dressed. Don’t you dare run. You’ll answer to me later.”
Abby’s face scrunched up in pain as more agonized sobs shook her. Xander didn’t offer any sympathy. His steps hastened as he approached the ajar front door. He stopped at the road, glanced both ways. No signs of his son in either direction but he couldn’t have gone far on barefoot. A frantic compulsion to locate his son overcame Xander. Why now? Why not back then when he could actually have made a difference in the boy’s life? Xander released a primal cry as he climbed into the car. He didn’t need to second guess himself. That would help nothing. Deal with the present.
After several miles downhill, he u-turned. He drove by the house again. Abby emerged from the depths of the house in a summer dress, still weeping as she stood at the top of the steps. He never saw such a wretched creature in his life, the cat had escaped such pain through death. He continued up the road, pushing his pedal down, the sense of urgency never leaving. He slowed and match the speed as his nude son jogged alongside the road.
“Go away! You’re ruin everything! Why you always take everything from me!””
“Stop. Shut up. Get in the car,” Xander instructed after rolling down the passenger’s side window. “We’ll talk in the car.”
“No! You’ll leave us alone!”
“Conner. Get in the fucking car.”
“Shut up! Leave us alone!” The boy cried as he didn’t show any signs of slowing. Xander sped up before spinning off onto the side of the road, slamming the brake. The front ties kicked up the dirt as the car wanted to drift but came to a dead halt. Xander climbed out of the driver’s seat and slammed his hands onto the car’s roof. The boy slowed down to a halt.
“Why won’t you get in the car?”
“You’re here. You’re here again. You’re going to take everything away from me again. I love her! I love her! You’ll rob me of her too!”
“Get in the fucking car,” Xander stopped himself. He threw his hands up. This wasn’t an opponent. Connor wasn’t an enemy. He shouldn’t talk to him such a matter. He’ll only make matters worse. Hasn’t he learned his lesson after all these years? So instead, in a much softer tone, he coached his son, “Get in the car. We’ll talk about this. Everything’s okay. We are only going to talk.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“What are you going to do to Abby?”
“Fuck it, I don’t know boy… I said we’ll talk, we’ll talk. But you need to get in the car. The world doesn’t need to see you like this, and I don’t want to be answering any questions why I’m trying to pick up a naked lad on the side of the road. Now get in the car… and we’ll figure things out,” Xander pleaded. Again and again, this sense of helplessness washed over him. Everywhere he turned in life, he faced that dreadful understanding. The boy bit his bottom lip as he stared into his father’s eyes, trying to gauge him. After what seemed to be a century, the boy complied. He climbed into the passenger’s seat. Xander reached in the back and tossed him a towel.
“Clean yourself up.”
As they returned to the house, Xander noticed Abby’s car missing from the driveway. His son shook his head and angry tears started to well. For a short period of time, they remained silent in the car. He didn’t comment on the tears streaming down his son’s cheeks.
“What did you do?” His son accused him.
“I didn’t do anything. Obviously, she fled. She knows exactly what she has done with you is wrong. I told her not to run, but she ran, boy. Now get in there, pack a bag. You’ll be staying with me for a few days as I sort this out.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say? What you expect me to do?”
Connor spat out a frustrated cry. He whipped open the car door and stomped into the house. Xander clutched his forehead. Cluelessness beset him but nevertheless, anger accompanied him. Rage burned through him. Sighing deeply, Xander followed after his son. He searched the house and remained at the door. His son changed into clothes, shoved clumps of clothes into a duffle bag. He didn’t look back at his father. When all set and done, silently he returned to the car. So he’s refusing to speak to me now? What the fuck did I do? Still, Xander found himself relieved that his child obeyed but dreaded what was in store for him. He had no choice now but to be a father. And ultimately, he knew the truth… This is all my fault. I should have been here.
“How you’re going to handle this?” Hunter queried. Her arms were crossed as she leaned on the countertop behind her.
“For right now, he’ll stay here until I find a replacement. Most preferably, someone who’s a little more dried up and experienced with handing… problematic children,” Xander determined. Neither spoke above a whisper, not wanting the boy to hear. He hadn’t left the master bedroom since the moment Xander surrendered the room for the duration of his stay. When the pizza arrived, Hunter brought him a plate of pizza despite Xander’s insistence the boy joined them.
“But what’s going to happen when we leave? We leave for Boston on Tuesday.”
“The boy’s old enough to be on his own for a few days.”
“After all that has happened? You don’t know what kind of place he’s in right now. You can’t leave him alone,” Hunter implored. Xander narrowed his eyes. Hunter was right. He didn’t have any clue what his son’s mindset was. Hell, how could he establish any inclination towards his son’s state without having a baseline to gauge off of? Teenagers were supposed to be moody and anti-social, right? For all Xander knew, the boy enjoyed getting his dick wet by an older woman. Maybe Xander did overreact to the whole situation and only assumed the damage was done. But… Something felt off with the boy. Xander sensed danger. He felt uneasy around his son.
“I’ll call McGown. I have him arrange for someone to be here.”
“And the bitch?”
“I’ll already put in the call. I’ll find her and…” and then what? Kill her? Beat her? Xander didn’t know what he planned to do to the woman. He knew he would do something. She had to pay.
“What about going to the police?”
“I don’t trust the cops. I don’t want the cops anywhere near my business. I’ll take care of Abby myself.”
“Are you going to tell anyone about this? Not even the kid’s therapist? I don’t get it, Xander. A crime’s been committed.”
“And so she can proceed to tell the cops? I don’t want this out into the media. They will have a field day, smearing my name. They’ll twist it around, put the blame on me,” Xander questioned. But this was his fault, he knew he was responsible for letting this happen. And another point struck out like a sore thumb, what stopped the boy from revealing he was molested? Xander groaned. Hunter once again was in the right about this matter. While he understood that leaks could very well get his name plastered all over the news, he had to get ahead of this. And he also had to have faith that minors weren’t mentioned by name in the newspapers in this type of case. If he didn’t report and then the truth later was revealed, his career would be finished. “I’ll have McCown report the crime on my behalf. But I’m going to find the cunt first.”
“Let the police handle this. Lock her up.”
“I doubt that will happen. The boy will lie for her. You should have heard his declaration of undying love for the slut,” Xander spat his disdain. He didn’t know he could possibly place himself any higher than Abby. He had done far worse than the woman. Yet Abby reminded him of his past… reminded him of how adults exploited the innocent and weak for pleasure’s sake. Abby exploited his son. And that made him sick.
“Maybe right now, he’ll lie. But given some space and time, maybe he’ll come around and realized what she did to him. He’d want justice then,” Hunter argued as she moved past Xander over to the sink. She reached over and pulled down a glass before proceeding to fill the glass with water. Why did she care so much about this? She sounded personally invested. “Besides, having her name in the newspaper will probably keep her from ever landing this type of job again. Consider it your civic duty.”
“Fuck,” Xander muttered. He didn’t care about being a hero and saving other children. He only cared about what transpired under his watch. He only cared about how Abby affected him and through extension, his son. He had one paramount responsibility, ensure his son’s safety, and he blew it. Instead, he served his son up on a silver platter to a child predator. Calli was rolling in her grave right now. And that thought left him feeling utterly humiliated. People had to pay.
“Where are you going?”
“To handle business. I’ll be back late.”
“What if he asks for you?”
“He won’t,” Xander reached the door. He glanced at Hunter, who didn’t seem to be pleased about the situation. Her eyes judged him. These days, they always seemed to judge him. “Keep an eye on him. Don’t get too cozy. Something’s not right with the boy. He’s dangerous.”
“You act like he’s a monster.”
“You should have seen him earlier.”
“Are you sure you’re not projecting yourself on him?” Hunter opined.
Xander didn’t answer. He stepped out into the darkening evening. He needed to escape this. Hunter’s eyes. His son’s presence. Reminders of this humiliation he carried with him. He entered the night with one goal, to escape this hell. People had to pay. And he knew who bore responsibility… he started a list in his head of all those who had done this to him. Drachewych… Selena… and now Abigail. All will share his humiliation.
Selena, you’ve humiliated me.
No one had ever humiliated me before, Selena. My shoulders have been pressed to the canvas for the old one… two… three. I’ve been ensnared in an iron trap, forced to tap out on the mat. I’ve been knocked out, concussed, stars sent spiraling around my head, flat out on my back, but never have I humiliated… mad men’s delusions set aside, you’re the first.
I believe congratulations are in order, Selena. Brav-fucking-o!
The night was yours. You took that victory, seized by your own true hands. You kicked me into oblivion. The entire world as your witness, you embarrassed me.
Congratulations, Selena.
What do you expect me to say? Is this the point where I insert a hundred and one generic excuses, weave a tale about your extreme luck, or drone on and one about how that win didn’t count? Let’s not waste time with such trivialities. Let’s skip all that bullshit. I’m done playing games. And I don’t give a damn about my win-loss record.
You won. You humiliated me. That’s the bare truth about Rise to Greatness.
For a month, I allowed you to enjoy that moment, to bask in the glory of your victory, impressive as it was. You deserved to taste the sweet fruit of your labor, no one can deny the preparation you put in for our match. But in that month, you cradled that heavenly bliss too tightly, Selena. You wandered too far onto the Elysian Fields, drank too much from the mead offered in the Halls of Valhalla. You have yet realized the death still stalked these lands. How could you? You’re already dead. You’re a walking, shambling corpse and you don’t even know it. The ink on your execution had long been dried. It’s all a matter of time, under I string you up to watch your dangling feet, performing a jig on thin air. And now, nothing will be so joyful than to peel back those eyes and show you have I’ve ripped everything you hold precious from your skeletal hands.
But before I do that, I have had to drag you through the streets, bare, exposed… to humiliate you like you’ve humiliated me. Now, that’s more important to me than wins and losses. But since you’ve taken so much pride in this last win, I’m going to enjoy denying you the opportunity to dance again.
Not at my expense.
In your entire professional career, Selena, you’ve never faced an enemy such as me. You might believe you have. You might fool yourself into thinking that I’m your run of the mill villain in this fairy tale you’ve scripted, but it’s not the same old song and dance, my dear Selena. The ending isn’t going to be Happily Ever After, oh no. See, I’m not like Regan. When the dust settles, I’m not going to be your friend at the end. I’m not going to turn the other cheek. I’m not going to forget the spit you spewed in my eye. You won’t either. We won’t pretend that’s nothing ever happened. Far from that. I’m not your monster of the week, propped up for you to knock down. No, I’m a possession that you’re going to haunt you for the rest of your week. You’re going to see ghosts when I’m finished with my venture with you, for years to come.
You should have finished me when you had the chance.
Instead, you frolicked off, humming a cheery melody, like a moth fluttered towards the bright light of the fans’ applause; you wanted your moment in the sun… but instead of ending me, you wasted your only shot. You let your once chance slip through your hands. That moment, once so treasured, will haunt you until the very end, Selena. You’re going to look back, when all is set and done and realized that you should have pulled the trigger. But you didn’t. You didn’t end me. You could have kept Pandora’s Box sealed tightly, you could have prevented pestilence from seeping into every facet of your life… save your family… your friends… your fans from this vengeful curse. But instead, you turned your back, left me wounded, but not dead. Hubris is the downfall of Greek Heroes of Myth, but the same will be said about Selena Frost.
Selena Frost will share their tragic fate, undone by fatal flaws romanticized. And even in the most brilliant of victories, you failed.
You failed.
While right now, you’ve failed to understand such folly. I’ve heard your words, spoken from behind the safety of SCW security. I’ve watched you parade yourself in that stained ring, safely within borders barred from me. I’ve read your tweets, safely written behind a computer monitor.
You’ve escaped to safety… for now.
But I’ve shown you, haven’t I? Your fans aren’t safe. Your family isn’t safe. And now and then, I’ll find those opportunities to punish you. I did so at Apocalypse after all.
No one is safe.
You can’t protect shit.
You don’t fear me, Selena. You dread me. You know you can knock me down, you know you can hurt me. We all know. But you don’t know what I’m going to do. You don’t know where I’m going to strike. You don’t know the costs I’m going to extract. So while you body might be safe, your soul is not.
And it’s starting to show.
Oh, you can go out there, Selena, prance about the canvas, preach your gospel of righteousness and justice. You can claim that you’ll fight for them, that you’ll defend them. But they’re not safe, they haven’t been safe, and they won’t be ever safe from my fury, from my wrath… until one of us is destroyed. I’ve shown you how vulnerable you are. Before your very eyes, I’ve endangered everything important to you Selena. I’ve taken away that peace of mind. You’re already seeing ghosts.
It’s not fear that you have conquered your mind. No, it’s dread. Dread of what to come. Dread of what I might do. I’m in your head and you cannot deny it. Fear you can stand forward and confront. Dread’s the mustering of the will as you are battered. You might be able to put on a brave smile, but that dread is poisoning the well.
You know I threaten everything. My existence threatened to unravel this fairytale you’ve constructed here in SCW. You found shelter in SCW. You’ve escaped here and you’ve clung to the only success you ever hard in your life. You don’t want to go back to the miserable past. But I know that once I pull back that mask you’ve adorned, everyone will come to understand that you’re still nothing more than a broken miner’s daughter, desperately clinging onto her image. You’re not a heroine. My continued existence threatens that precious projection. This is why you can’t afford to ignore me more any farther… because the longer you cower in safety, the more I chip away against your armor, exposing the real you. Between the tweets and the pandering, we see Selena Frost has more common with the great Donald Trump, someone full of shit, blowing smoke and shifting mirrors. But the only key difference is that Selena Frost panders to the gullible youth and the pedophiliac neckbeards… while I will admit, this spell you’ve cast is a genius marketing scheme, topped off beautifully with unoriginal monikers ripped straight from Disney movies.
But now it comes time to play the part of the heroine, and it’s not an easy chore as you make it sound.
Oh, you’ve shown you can catch me in combat. You have shown that you can score the victory over me.
But can you finish the job? And if so, at what cost?
I caught you in a dilemma. You’ve trapped in a corner. There’s no moral high ground left to be had, princess. Everything has been eroded down to survival. I’ll keep taking and taking until you’re left with only a bottle in hand, sipping pitifully by a woodstove. And eventually, that fire will be snuffed too. You tried hiding. You tried running. All there is left to do is fight, but you never had an issue with fighting, but it’s what happens after the battle ends. It comes down to what happens when you get the opportunity again. Will you pull the trigger now? If I’m truly knocked down, eyes glossed over, face flat on the mat, will you finish me? You know, I’ll keep coming. Win. Lose. I’ll keep coming. Your fans are now expecting you to pull the trigger. Your wife and children are secretly hoping you take the kill shot. They want what’s feared to be destroyed, rightfully so. But either way, there will be blood on your hands.
And haven’t we learned that heroes always take the high road? How many tales have shunned the ‘burn it with fire’ mentality, casting it as a sin? How many comic books we read that the heroes take mercy on the fallen villain? No Disney Princess would put the barrel of the gun onto the back of a down villain’s head and pull the trigger. That’s not what real heroines do!
But you’re going to have to. And in death, I’d still win because then I robbed you of that precious image. I steal away that veil of purity you’ve draped yourself in. You’d never be the same again, you’d never be that heroine to you always fantasized being. The fairytale ends now.
Or maybe… maybe we’ll discover that beneath it all, a leviathan lurks. Maybe this is what you’ve been waiting for your entire life. A release valve of all that pent-up frustration, of always doing good. Maybe you’ve been dreaming of the scenario, that finally allows you to take on the role of the predator, to finally be allowed to embrace the little monster hidden within. After all, you seem quick to jump on twitter, without a shred of compassion, lick your lips at the news of my concussion injuries and promise to keep kicking next time even when I’m down and out. Maybe we’re living your darkest fantasy and it’s getting away from you, that sadist is finally being lured out into the open.
Either way, Under Attack, I’ll expose you. You’ve been given another opportunity to end things. Blessed with a second chance. I forced you to gamble everything to save face… And while Sasha wants to believe she’s taking some moral stand, emptying the arena for us, having us sign waivers, and not sanctioning the match… blood will stain her hands as well as yours. She’s choosing to ignore the risks, that she’s overseeing a match that could destroy lives. She’s choosing instead to relent to the undercurrents of greed that she’s inherited from her father. And why am I not surprised? The company was built on my sweat, blood and tears… and others like me. Her father’s greed left behind hollow tusks of men. And now the children of today, including yourself, Selena reaps from sacrifices.
Perhaps, once more, you’ll be able to knock me down. Are you’re brave enough to bloody your hands? Are you eager enough to dye the pure white snow with crimson red? How are you ever going to live with yourself after this?
But I’m not going to make it that easy for you. I now know that you have claws, fangs that sink deep. I’m not going to be easily caught off guard this time, Selena. This match is going to be a deathmatch throughout that arena. I will drag you by the hair. I will scream in your face, force you to listen to the Executioner’s dirge, my humiliation. I’ll show you the hell that I once knew SCW to be, the place where were protected, we weren’t idolized, where only the worst monsters survived. We’re used up now. Broken. Tossed aside. But we’re not dead. You’ll feel how it is to be like me. No fans to embrace you. No wife to console you.
Your only dancing partner is me and I come to break you, I come to grind you. I come to push you to expose you. Force you into that mental coffin.
Because you’re going to have to sell your soul to win or you’re going to be devoured. A night could that quickly turn into a question of how you will answer the humiliation of failure. If you fail to end me here, how are you going to face the broken promises…. To the fans… How are you going to cope, knowing you failed in your duty you owe to your family? I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you feel the same humiliation you made me feel.
This humiliation will be the bleed to peel back the skin off the Face of SCW, to see what creature truly lies underneath. Is she really this heroine she’s proclaimed to be? Is she’s mere miner’s daughter propped up on a throne of shit?
Either way, I’ll expose. Strip bare. Humiliate you.
As you did me.
Executioner's Plight 