Connor stared at the beating sun overhead, placing his hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare. The other hand kept the old woman’s lockbox snug against his side. The only time he let go of the box was when he paid the taxi driver. Looking around this desolated inner-city area, Connor became even more protective of his golden ticket. Homeless people, some with signs, some without, were scattered through his field of vision. None seemed to pay any attention to him, but you never knew. A police car remained parked, empty, outside a diner at the corner. Connor did not like that, not at all. The noses of any passersby shriveled at his scent, which Connor guessed was rancid. His entire body seemed saturated with oily sweat; every pore drowned with his own filth. His hair struck out in every which way direction due to the grease that accumulated within his blonde locks.
Not wanting to draw any attention, he turned around and pushed his way into the airconditioned pawnshop. A little bell jingled, welcoming into the store. Along one side of the store’s main room was a glass display, with trinkets and electronics littered about. The other length bore paintings, signed posters, and clothing. A pudgy man worked the register. At the sight of Connor, he raised his eyebrow. He tried to discern Connor’s age; Connor’s towering height made him second guess whether his babyface told his true age. His eyes then landed on the lockbox underneath Connor’s arm. He licked his lips, perhaps wondering whether he could exploit the youth in order to make a large profit.
Connor approached him and the man cut the distance in half. Once they meet, Connor set the box down, cracked it open, dug his hand in arbitrarily, scooped a handful of jewelry. Necklaces, both gold and pearl, rings, silver and gold, and bracelets clanged harshly against the glass counter. Connor quickly snapped the lockbox, not wanting the man to realize how much he possessed. One of the rings escaped from the pile, spun around towards the edge before the clerk stopped it with his fists. His knuckles were sickly hairy.
“I take it, you’re looking to sell.”
“That’s right.”
“Where you get all this? I don’t deal with stolen goods, man,” the man responded. Alarm bells rang in the back of Connor’s head. He should leave. The man already assumed he was a criminal.
Despite his mind’s warnings, Connor responded coldly, “My grandma passed. Left me everything. In need of some quick cash.”
“Grandma, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take a look over these. You know, to ascertain their authenticity.” The clerk carried the motherlode over to the back counter. He hummed as he proceeded to examine each item, raising pieces to look through a small eyeglass. After several minutes, all of which featured Connor eagerly tapping his foot, bouncing anxiously, the man returned with the jewelry. “Luck you, your grandma left you with some quality pieces. Before I make an offer, I’d like to call an expert to come over and place some dates on these. Some seem antique. Don’t worry, he drops everything to pay me a visit.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes, an hour max.”
“No,” Connor answered. The man seemed caught off guard. Connor swore something felt off with the man. He didn’t want to take the risk. He went to swipe the jewelry off the counter and push it into the lockbox, but the man placed a hand on his wrist. Connor fought against every urge to attack the man, ramming the palm of his hand right up into his nose.
“Come on, man! You won’t find a store willing to give you so much return on the value. Every pawn shop on this side of the city will do the same. If anything, if he confirms these are as old as I think they are, you’ll be making more cash. Haven’t you seen Pawn Stars?”
“Fine,” Connor relented. The clerk removed his hand and Connor returned his own to the box, closing it tightly again. “Can I use the bathroom?”
“Of course, my man. Let me take you to the back.” The clerk removed the jewelry from the counter and placed it out of sight. Connor found himself concerned by the move. The man better not rob from him. Connor found zero resistance to adding any one name to his list. Connor definitely would kill him then. It’s all about survival at this point. While dressed nice with a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and khakis, the man’s girth pressed against the fabric; his fat wanted to roll up over itself. Gluttonous. Greedy. Connor’s gut labeled the man as such.
The bathroom was located in the back half of the store, in what appeared to be a large storage room. Once inside, he ran the water. He squirted a handful of soap before rubbing the substance against his face and through his hair. He struggled to fit his head into the sink to rinse off the soap, stabbing his skull with the corner of the facet. He then peeled off his wifebeater. Yellow stained the sides. He retrieved more soap from the dispenser, this time doing his best to clean his torso. He then used up the rest of the paper towels to dry himself. He started at himself in the mirror, breathing heavily. He countered the remaining cash he had stuffed in his pocket. 73$. Sure, a lot more would be stuffed into his pocket when he unloaded that jewelry. A lot more, Connor imagined. Enough to probably buy a bus ticket and get as far away from California as possible. He would go East Coast, start a new life, forget about his past. His bright eyes seemed faded to him, maybe the mirror hadn’t been washed for years. Good, he always hated his eyes. They were the same as his father.
On his approach back to the storefront, he heard deep animated talking. They were no longer alone. Anticipation made Connor creep back into the room. Connor’s heart stunk. His fears realized as two cops stood beside the clerk. One approached him as the clerk pointed him out.
“Don’t move a muscle, kid,” the dark-skinned one called out. Connor pivoted on his heels, burst through the back door into the storage room. He frantically tried to locate the rear exit. “We got a runner!”
Finally, at the far corner, hidden initial by an overflowing storage rack, Connor found the exit; however, locating the door took too much time. A cop barreled his way into the room. He went to reach for his gun, trying to issue another warning; unfortunately for the man, Connor threw the lockbox which struck the police officer with a loud sickening thud. He slammed his shoulder into the door, escaping into the back alleyway. He turned, looked both directions to decide on which way to go, but there was the other cop. The taser reached out, bit him in the neck. His muscles spasmed. His entire body locked up; any agonizing cramp bound his entire body. He didn’t even feel his face meet the broken pavement. For a moment, Connor floated with an out of body experience. Then everything came rushing back, the pain and the fear.
“Don’t move! I said, don’t move! Keep your hands above your head! Stay down! I SAID, DON’T FUCKING MOVE!” The dark-skinned officer screamed in his hear. Another torrent of pain crashed into Connor’s being, his chest tightening. He cried out. Next, the officer moved, pressing a knee on Connor’s upper back. He struggled to breathe, but he didn’t utter a single word. He no longer struggled. Connor’s hands were pried backward, cuffs sunk into his wrists. At this point, both officers dragged him to his feet, their arms hooked and pulled upwards on either side.
“Fucking bitch threw that box at me,” the other police officer complained in between heavy breathes. They carried him to the police car parked out front, probably the same that was parked at the diner down the street. They tossed him into the back. Connor rolled on his back and went to leap back out but both legs were caught in the door slamming. He scrammed but one of the officers stuffed him back in, closing the door again.
“You’re good now?” The Hispanic cop asked. A small stream of blood flowed down the side of his face, the source seemed slightly red and swollen, where Connor had struck him with the lockbox. “Count your fucking lucky stars, I could have put you down. You got that? You’re in a lot of shit.”
The other cop responded, much calmer than his partner: “We’re taking you down to the station. You’re in a lot of trouble. That’s a lot of stolen merchandise and assaulting an officer. You’re looking at a lot of time. But if you play it cool from here on out, things will only get better. Yeah?”
“I’m going to go in and finish getting a report from the storeowner,” the injured police officer announced. “I don’t trust myself alone with this asshole. The fucker got me good.”
“He refuses to speak. Not to me or any of the other detectives,” Eriksson complained, disgust lacing her sharp tone. I don’t enjoy speaking to you either, bitch, Xander thought. She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly, pushing up on her perky tits. “When he does speak, he’s either asking for a different lawyer because public defender sucks or he demands to see dear old dad. Other than that, he keeps quiet, looking out into space while mumbling something.”
“He’s in luck. From this moment on, I’m assuming legal representation over the boy,” McGowan declared loudly. “I immediately would like to be taken to my client, detective. He’s a minor. He suffers from various mental illnesses. I don’t say this with any disrespect towards your profession, but I don’t trust you, detectives, one bit. You’re all a bit intimidating.”
“Here I thought you weren’t going to go to bat for your son,” Eriksson directed her remark towards Xander. Xander reached up, ran his hands across his jawline, his stubble prickling against his palm while he formulated a response. He couldn’t find a witty retort, so instead, he went back to the uncertainty that remained with him ever since he got the phone call. On the car ride over, he made the decision to let McGowan take on the case. At least then, McGowan would be able to control the information leaving their camp, suppressing any accounts that might come to light about Xander’s abuse. In today’s cancel culture, if even a fraction of Xander’s crimes came to light, Xander’s career would be definitively over.
“Should I go have a talk with him? Maybe I can calm him down?” Xander questioned. He didn’t want to, but maybe he unconsciously harbored some sense of responsibility for the boy. Or maybe, Xander simply was held hostage, held under gunpoint by the boy’s tongue. Appease Connor, and maybe he would stay quiet. Though Xander predicted that any discourse between father and son would have eventually broken down into threats and insults.
Both the detective and the attorney exchanged a look. They immediately shook their heads. Maybe they too foresaw the mess that would result. McGowan explained: “That’s not a good idea at all. Knowing your relationship with the boy, you probably unsettle him even further. From my past experiences, it’s best to keep the parental access to the child limited. Trust me on this. We want to make sure he has the best representation, especially if this goes to trial. The last thing we need is your son to have an emotional response and throw out some lies to hurt you. He might make a false confession or two just to get back at you.”
Xander argued, “He’s guilty. We know that.”
“We don’t know that. We also don’t know the mental state for Connor. He’s been without his medication for weeks now. Furthermore, the last thing the detectives want is the water to be muddied by any fabrications made by the boy. I’ll take care of everything here on out. I’ll bring Sophia out here if this is bad as it seems. Now, detective, please lead the way,” McGowan motioned down the hallway, towards the interrogation rooms. Eriksson sighed, nodding, and led William away to see Connor.
Xander started to pace in the narrow hallway, left now with a deep sense of vulnerability. His own son could expose him, destroy everything he had built in his lifetime. Child abuse that manifested a murder would be grounds for him being blackballed, his name struck from the records, and SCW would pretend he never existed. A hand caught his wrist, squeezed tightly. Hunter yanked him down into a sitting position beside her onto the bench, in very much the same fashion a mother would do to a fidgeting child. “If anyone, you need to collect yourself. I understand this is a very worrisome matter, but you need to remain in control. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find a way to get past all this shit.”
“These are difficult times.”
“I know.”
“If even a tiny sliver of truth came out, I’m finished.”
“We’ll deny everything. Xander, your son is deranged. He robbed an old lady, assaulted an officer, and if he’s telling the truth, murdered Abby! Everything he says can be easily denied and discredited,” Hunter whispered her in his ear. She held her forehead against his cheek. Her soft hand massaged his neck. He found himself escaping into one of those relaxation practices that had been taught him by his court-ordered shrink. He grounded himself. He savored in the connection he found in Hunter. He knew she spoke the truth. He had to remain control. Like that, he found his center.
“I have to ask. Your son is going to go away for a long time. How does that make you feel? Do you feel any guilt over failing as a parent? You did fail him,” Eriksson returned that persistent line of attack. She leaned against the wall, always gauging Xander with that big round eyes. She saw through everything. Before her stood the true villain of the story. And Xander couldn’t argue with her. She was right. But that instinct will never amount to anything if Xander and his camp had anything to say about it.
“All I know, detective, that my son is a dangerous individual. I’m relieved that he’s no in custody. He was a threat to the general public. Do I want to see him behind bars? Of course not. But if it comes out that he really did murder Abby, then maybe he belongs in prison.”
“Like father, like son.”
“I haven’t murdered anyone.”
“Violence begets violence. Monkey see monkey do.”
“Is there any point to this taunting, detective? Do you take pleasure in antagonizing a father who is faced with a difficult decision?” Hunter stood up. Xander snatched her hand before she took a step towards the detective. Now this time, Xander sat her down beside him. Hunter glared daggers at the detective.
“Even if he lied about the murder, which given her disappearance, I highly doubt that’s the case, he still robbed an old lady AND assaulted a police officer. We’re still tracking down all the pawnshops where he might have unloaded some of the missing jewelry from the box. He’s going to be sent away for a very long time, and my point being, it’s all your fault, Mr. Valentine,” Eriksson hissed his name. Xander looked up at her, shrugging his shoulders, giving her a blank stare. Eriksson appeared unsatisfied by his response or lack thereof. That’s right, Eriksson wanted to push Xander to snap, to get him to join his son in the holding cell. With defeat on that front ever evident, Eriksson turned away. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor. Her ass swayed back and forth as she walked away in those tight dark slacks she wore. Xander indulged himself for a moment in fantasy, perversely picturing hate fucking her from behind, all while yanking back on her long dark hair. She joined the ranks of his other female adversaries. In his mind, he violated them completely, destroying them, making them subservient to him. He abruptly ended the daydream. This was neither the place nor time for such daydreams.
William hurried back into the hallway, sweat dripped from his forehead. McGowan kept dabbing his forehead dried to no avail. He motioned to Xander to follow him, to which the pair did until they found themselves outside the police precinct, away from prying ears of an officer William paused, to catch his breath. He then went to talk: “Good news: Connor denied murdering Abby. He said that they got into an argument at the state line. During our conversation, he kept mentioning the ‘Welcome to Nevada’ sign when speaking. He would then stop midsentence, stare at me, before continuing. During this first round of interrogation, he doesn’t ever mention where that incident happened, vaguely somewhere on the way to Vegas. I think he’s telling us something.”
“What’s that? You think he’s saying he killed her at the state line?” Xander questioned.
William hushed him, waved to keep the volume low. “He stated that they stopped there. Outside the car, they continued to argue because Abby had started to reconsider taking Connor with her. According to Connor’s account, he felt unsafe, believed she had a weapon on her being, so he took off in the car, abandoning her out in the middle of the desert.”
“How is that good news? He just confessed to carjacking.”
“That wouldn’t hold up if he thought his life was in jeopardy. In relation to the murder investigation, all they have is Hunter’s account that stated Connor confessed to killing Abby. They don’t have a body yet. They don’t have a murder weapon. All they have is hundreds of miles of desert highway,” William McGowan raised his finger triumphantly. “We need to make sure if there is indeed a body, that it’s in California. You must be at least fourteen to be tried as an adult. Now, there are of course some legal gymnastics, but at his age, he would first have to deemed incapable of rehabilitation by the juvenile courts.”
“You expect Hunter and me to go out into the desert, search for Abby’s remains?” Xander raised an eyebrow. While he wanted nothing more than his son to be lost within the juvenile detention system over the Californian Penitentiary System. “And what about the other crimes?”
“Again, none of those crimes would be considered acceptable to charge as an adult. We can work those out, but worst-case scenario, he’ll get kept a dentation center for a few years.” William pointed behind Xander, Xander looked, didn’t understand what the man was gesturing yet. Neither did Hunter. Enthusiastically speaking, William commanded, “Get your friend there, Chad, and have him wrangle up a group of tight-lipped individuals. Go out there. See what you can find.”
“I can’t believe you’re suggesting to me to tamper with evidence. Aren’t you supposed to advise me to do the opposite?” Xander questioned, he made his reluctance apparent to his attorney. The last thing he wanted to run a risk of getting criminally entangled. That only would make his exile from professional wrestling even more expedited than abuse charges. Additionally, it would be in direct violation of his probation, so he would automatically get the full brunt of the legal system coming down on him.
“I’m not telling you to do it personally. That’s why I said bring Chad.”
“I refuse to have him assist me in this matter. This is just another thing for him to hang over my head,” Xander determined. Chad had enough blackmail material. He didn’t think adding one more piece would really make a difference, but perhaps at this point, some of Xander’s pride had returned. Hunter tugged on Xander’s sleeve. “What?”
“I’ll handle this,” Hunter decided.
“No. No way. I’m not going to let you,” Xander reacted.
“I made my decision. You can’t change my mind.”
“Look, you don’t have to do this. From the sounds of this, they might never have case. They might never find Abby, alive or dead, or whatever,” Xander turned back around to confront William. He had never seen the man display such recklessness before. What had gotten into him? He sensed there was another piece of the puzzle not yet revealed to him. Of course, the withdrawal of any information regarding the full picture angered Xander.
What was McGowan hiding?
“I gave you my two cents. I’m going back in there. Sophia’s going to fly out here and take a look at the case. We will have a better understanding of where we stand once she shifts through everything. You two can go home. I call you if anything comes up,” McGowan said, almost frantically. Xander and Hunter exchanged looks with each other. “It’s really up to you if you follow through with my suggestion. Yes, it’s highly suspect, but I hope you can trust my gut on this matter. Where she is, makes all the difference in the world. Trust me.”
Silence filled the car ride back to their residence. Xander refusal to consider Hunter’s sudden volunteering had left her pouting; well, pouting in the matter only Hunter could do, dangerously. Her face remained fixated on the passing scenery. Her dark hair kept her sour puss hidden from Xander’s view in the driver’s seat. When they arrived home, Hunter basically ran from the truck and entered the house. By the time Xander passed through the front door, Hunter already escaped into the bedroom. He shrugged his shoulder, not understanding her strong response towards his rejection. He only wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her hands absolutely clean, at all costs. Furthermore, he really started to reconsider McGowan’s services. He poured a glass of whiskey in a glass. He approached his chair, kicked off his shoes, and dropped down, only spilling a little bit of the drink on his arm. He allowed his worries to ferment within him. He had to do something. He had to act. Maybe William did have his best interests considered.
What exactly did Connor tell McGowan?
He thought about calling in another favor from Chad. Xander shoved his hand into his pocket, searching for his phone. Fuck, he left the device in the truck. He labored to his feet, checked the cab of his truck. Nowhere in sight. Then it dawned on him, Hunter snatched his phone on the way out. To do what? Call Chad herself. When he reentered the house, he chugged the rest of the glass. Poured another. Repeated the process. He then hammered his fist against the bedroom door. Hunter answered, holding out his phone. Had she called? Typically, any interaction with Chad froze her on the spot with fear. Had she overcome her fears to make that leap? Xander ripped the phone from her hand, of course aggressively. She shut the door. Xander checked the call history. She didn’t call anyone.
“Yo, let’s talk,” Xander called out through the door. He placed his forehead against the door.
She didn’t respond.
Xander turned the knob, the door creaked as he opened. Hunter laid on the bed, curled into a ball. She tried. She had one finger away from the call button but froze. He knew she wasn’t strong enough to overcome her terror. Most often, Xander wanted to scream at her, he had built her up for her to be able to stand against anything, but why was Chad her one weakness? Why could she not get past him? Xander settled down on the bed beside Hunter. He hesitantly reached over and found a hold on her far shoulder. He gently embraced her, pushing his lips against the side of the head. With his free hand, he started to pet her, brushing her hair with his hand. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly became overwhelmed with sympathy towards her. She tried. She failed. Yet in the past where he found himself caught with abhorrence, he related. He tried to be a father. He failed.
“Tell me, what should I do?” Xander caught himself asking her.
“Do whatever it takes.”
“If I call Chad, he will have one more thing to hold over our heads,” Xander hugged her tightly, squeezing her with his might. They were in this together. He took her silence as careful contemplation. “But McGowan seemed pretty spook. He knows something we don’t.”
“Agreed.”
“I don’t know what type of leverage Connor could possibly have given his position or the withdrawal to use said leverage. It has him scared.”
“He does not want to see you fall from grace.”
“If I fall, all his investment would vanish. But for him to advise me to break the law. That’s not him. Not one bit. What the fuck is going on,” Xander wondered aloud. He realized that his spirit shook with fear at the realization that something had compelled his lawyer to go against his nature. A fire in the forest, causing the wildlife to go running except one deer frolicked back towards the flames. Something was not right. Xander couldn’t help but feel like he had been chained down by involuntary ignorance.
“What are you going to do? You know I tried.”
“It is really my decision to make, isn’t it?” Xander laughed. He controlled his destiny. The dilemma before him had been laid out clearly, but perhaps the fact that he had an overly apparent decision to make made him pause. His being pulled in two different directions. One half, calling upon him to take the action the lawyer suggested. The other half, wanting to continue to remove himself from Chad’s sphere of influence. He didn’t want to even become more entangled with a man who named himself his archnemesis. Chad enjoyed his control over Xander, would use the situation to strengthen that chokehold. And at that point, Xander faced a ticking clock, waiting for Chad to grow bored and throw Xander under the bus for amusement’s sake. Still, ultimately the decision landed at Xander’s feet to make.
“Fuck it, I’ll call.”
“You sure?”
“Whatever’s happening, McGowan seems to believe this matter better left be resolved in California. Not Nevada. I’m going to have to trust him. He never led me astray before,” Xander thought aloud. He tried to convince himself that the decision was obvious; but still, he couldn’t help but feel like such decision would ultimately robbing Peter to pay Paul. Was trying to reduce one problem’s severity only to make the other even more threatening?
Xander climbed from the bed, softly placing Hunter’s head across the pillow. He returned to the living room, enjoyed one more glass of whiskey. He then raised the phone to his face. The phone rang on the other end.
“Chad.”
“Let me guess, you need another favor. Why does it feel like our relationship is becoming terribly one fucking sided? What is it this time? What can Chad do for you?”
“Something came up.”
“No shit, or you wouldn’t’ be calling. You seemed pretty fucking ungrateful the last time you came crawling for me,” Chad chuckled, savoring the movement to much Xander’s dismay. What choice did he have? He needed to act. Why not solidify his debts into the possession of one lender? Made figuring out a resolution much easier when the time would come to deal with his debts. One party made it simpler to approach.
“Fuck it. Never mind. I’ll handle this one my own. Go fuck yourself, Chad,” Xander bellowed, shaking as he disconnected the call. Chad immediately called back, left a voicemail, but Xander didn’t bother to listen. He returned to the bedroom.
“And?” Hunter questioned.
“I’m going myself. I don’t care if my hands get dirty. I’ll handle this on my own. No need to worry about people talking. No need to strengthen Chad’s fucking stranglehold over me. I’ll end this myself,” Xander decided. Hunter cried out to him but Xander marched out of the house. From the garage, he threw a wheelbarrow and a shovel up onto the bed. First, Walmart to pick up a few more supplies, a tarp, and a camping lantern. He wanted to be prepared but hoped that people didn’t stop when they see a lone light out on the side of the road.
What other choice did he have?
What is this?
Don’t tell me I detect a trend. Don’t tell me I see a common theme being put on display. SCW booking philosophy is more apparent than ever. And I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
Don’t get confused. This isn’t another bitch whining. I’m not another talent bemoaning that I don’t have glitter on my name and no gold around my waist. While I will always point to the fact that the top crown belongs only on the top of the king’s head, I don’t have gold lust, that gaping hole of insecurity that needs to be pegged with glorified scrap metal. I rule in SCW, if not in name, then by fear. Yet that’s another story, saved for another day. Not today. This soliloquy is about some whole other bullshit, perpetrated by SCW brass. I’m speaking out about how SCW makes me shift through the cannon fodder, they send out my enemies’ associates, rank and file lambs to the slaughter. Corporate are fooling themselves to think they’re doing a great service, sending out necessary sacrifices, tying calves to the sake, and gutting lambs on stone altars. They think it’s enough to sate this appetite.
It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
And now this hunger gnaws at me more than ever. These invisible restraints add to the frustration. I watch, hands tied behind my back, as foes dance presumptively on my empty grave. The carving grows. They whet my appetite. How this is fair? SCW serves me up as the big bad wolf for the hunter to kill with a silver bullet. Point blank, gun pressed to the head, click-click boom, they somehow miss every time. I’m not some dragon at the end of the cave for their chosen Lancelots to slay to earn their heyday. No one has put me down. They come, one and all, claiming to be finally the one to end this reign of terror, put me in the ground, six feet deep. They might bloody my nose, bust my lip, dent my pride, but here I fucking am, ever the same, the dark shadow cast on SCW, the cannibalistic elephant in the room, with teeth razor sharp and hunger that can’t be quelled by this steady diet of ‘yes’ men, boy toys, and other expendables.
I’m sorry, Kandis, I guess you’ve fallen in that latter camp.
While you’re not Lambchop even though your raspy shrieking voice reminds me of my broken childhood you’re a puppet. Tommy’s meat puppet. No, you’re more than a plump pig about to be dropped off at the slaughterhouse at Breakdown. After all, you act like your redeeming trait is that fat backside, but that’s not the only thing you have common with a hog. But while I love baked ham, I wanted Tommy, not you. Don’t take that as an offense. Tommy’s my rival. Tommy’s my enemy. Tommy’s the one that deserves my wrath. Not you. You didn’t interfere with my business. You didn’t interrupt my feeding. You didn’t frustrate me. You didn’t disrespect me. But once again, you’re the expendable body shield they trot onto the field, to absorb the gunfire and I’m that monster that has no qualms about destroying the innocent. Lucas Knight hurried back into retirement after I ripped him to shreds, what will you do when you go monster hunting? You’re going to drop that belt on the floor where you stand before fleeing into the hills, find some hole to crawl into and hide. I wonder how Tommy going beckon you to come out before Rise to Greatness.
Wishful thinking. I won’t even give you that mercy.
No, I’m going to gorge myself. This is my chance at retribution after all. SCW thinks this is going to keep me at bay a little longer, then they’re going to come to realize their mistake. They’re going to be missing one half of their Tag Team Champions, maybe not in body but in spirit. I’m going to turn Tommy’s blowup doll, pink puffy lips popping out and all, into a voodoo doll, to prick and torture Tommy with. You’re a vessel, the means for me to an end. The canvas where I paint my ever-impatient vengeance red. The blood debt will be paid, might involve some exchange rates, but I will get my fill from you. Tommy might love you, but for his sake, I hope he isn’t too attached to you. You’re never going to be the same. I’m going to poke holes, drain you of your air, you’re never going to be the same after I give some stories to tell at the campfire about how you got those scars. I won’t be you’re your executioner, you’re a message so I’ll simply go nip-tuck on your treasured body. Finally, you’ll be mildly interesting. Consider this some character building.
But more importantly, Tommy will feel the full extent of my wrath. And if he truly loves you, he’s going to regret ever letting you stand in his stead. The guilt will eat him up from within. And that image in my head, to think of the internal turmoil that I’m going to unleash on him, I can’t help but lick my lips. I want him to suffer like a cuckolded lover when I take his mate away.
I’m salivating.
But it’s more than simply indulging my base desires. Sure, vengeance is enough to incite this hornet’s nest, but there’s much more compelling me this week. Let’s explore the realm of my pride. Doctor, listen to me. This is personal. Kandis is going to be the carcass I drop at the feet of Frozen Hell. I’m going to show them how it’s done, how to hunt prey properly. Regan should have chosen me. After this match, she’s going to second guess her decision every waking moment, from Breakdown until her ultimate loss at Rise to Greatness. Let’s be honest, Selena’s the square peg that she keeps trying to force into a circular hole. Selena’s always about herself. Always was. Always will be. Her claim that she cares about Regan’s desperate fight to become a Supreme Champion is surely a joke. Her commitment is shallow. The only reason she’s going through the motions at all is to keep face. She wouldn’t want her believers to know how shitty a friend she is.
Think about it all, they’re two of the best SCW has to offer, but as a team, they struggle against Tommy and Kandis. Sure, the champs are champs for a reason, I can’t ever deny your accomplishments, Kandis, but who would have thought Selena and Regan can’t keep up with two love drunk fools more concerned about the folds in one’s body than anything else. They’re supposed to be perfect. They’re supposed to the best. But here they are, despite being handed shot after shot, the best can’t get the job done. Maybe that speaks volumes about your talent, Kandis, because after all, you and Tommy proved to be a frustration for my rivals. The same rivals that have bruised my ego and my body. Maybe, just maybe underneath your body’s soft exterior is a pincushion, so I better watch my step, or I’ll stub my toe against your talent.
With that said, I want to prove to Regan that if she had chosen me, I would have delivered your heads and your belts on a silver fucking platter. That is what this match means to me.
But hell, let’s have some fun with this. I can’t wait to see Selena watch on as I do what she couldn’t. I’ll string you up, Kandis, but I will be persecuting her inferiority complex doing so. Afterward, it’s going to consume her. Maybe you should consider that the silver lining, through your torment and sacrifice, I’m going to turn Selena into an empty husk. My victory over you will tear a hole deep within her. I’ll turn those two friends into toy soldiers to be knocked over. All because I’ll dissect their pride and all while restoring mine.
I can taste satisfaction right now. I’m on the cusp of being able to savor my victory. Because think about it, in one match, I can demolish one of SCW’s more touted matches on the year’s biggest event. In one single blow, I will rip their plans to shreds. Is this how you repay the promotion’s fanbase, Sasha? You should have given me what I wanted. This could have ended with Tommy, just Tommy. But once again, you string me along like aloof lover, you defy me, you dare me. Keep playing those games, keep making me jump through goddamn hoops because I’m going to have the last laugh. If I can’t have my day at Rise to Greatness, I’m going to spoil everyone else’s. Breakdown is as much Tommy’s punishment, as much as Regan’s and Selena’s, as it is yours, SCW.
Moral of the story? You can’t write me off. You can’t sate this hunger with these hors d’oeuvre. You can’t starve me off. I’m not going to drop; instead, I’m only going to be hungrier, more dangerous.
Give me what I want, or eventually, all of this will fade to black. Empires rise and fall. Remember that, Sasha, and remember that the calamity that befalls Kandis on Breakdown is all your fault.
Executioner's Plight 