In the wee hours of a weekday morning, the LAX terminal seemed eerily empty, a ghost town with a few lingering souls wandering through its grand halls. Their flight had been delayed. Not once, not twice, three times due to thunderous storms coming off the Pacific, transforming a late afternoon flight to the East Coast to a red eye, which also happened to perfectly describe Hunter’s and Xander’s sets. Years of experiencing the turbulent nature of flights, rescheduling, and shuffling connecting flights, had tempered certain patience in Xander. He had the experience of a globetrotter. Unlike the normalcy of urgency to make dates, he didn’t have a deadline to meet this time around. In fact, he gladly would delay his summons; he did not want to deal with Chad Evans and any annoyance to the asshole seemed attractive to Xander. Who would want to be around that fucker? The man’s nutcase masochistic wife? Xander understood the unfortunate circumstance that trapped him. Once again, the asshole’s unsatisfiable need to be entertained had reared its ugly head, intruding in Xander’s life. Causing turbulence to say the least. And what? Xander had to assume the role of his personal plaything, a sock puppet made to dance to Chad’s sinister melody, with Chad’s fist shoved up as far as it could go.
As expected, such violation bred contempt. Xander harbored a whole ocean of resentment towards his would-be overlord.
Xander’s bright eyes glanced to his right. Hunter slumped over; her head rested upon his bicep. Drool escaped her agape mouth, leaving a darkened spot on his sleeve. Nowadays, this served as a rare moment of vulnerability for the woman. She had hardened. But in that still frame, Xander discovered a tiny tingling in his chest. The only time he ever experienced such a strange reaction was during the earlier days of his romance with Calli. He had wanted to protect her too. If he only knew, he had to protect Calli from his own shortcomings. His love bore toxicity, which weighed heavy like lead and poisonous to the touch. He knew Hunter represented a second chance, whatever that means. He still doubted his capability for redemption, but his time was dwindling. He dreamt to be a hero as a child when he was still a victim himself. Time was running out to turn the ship around. Failure meant he’d be a villain forever.
“Flight to Raleigh, North Carolina, boarding now. Can group A line up now!” a way-too-perky flight attendant buzzed over the loudspeaker. Zombies shuffled from their stadium seating, whipping their carry-ons over their shoulders, sauntering to line up in order. Xander elbowed Hunter awake. She jerked right up. Immediately, she wiped the spit from the corner of her mouth, avoided making any eye contact that would acknowledge the slight embarrassment she endured despite the redness gathering around her dimpled cheeks.
“Here we go. Into the jaws of the beast,” Hunter stated as she labored to her feet. She led the way with Xander nodding to her assessment from behind. While trailing her, he stared into the back of her head, her dark flowing hair swaying form side to side. He didn’t want her to accompany him. He had pleaded to her. The last time he answered such an ominous summons, he had destroyed her whole. Consumed whatever innocence the girl held. He disrupted her life. Ruined her even. Like the legend of the phoenix, she rose a beautiful, triumphant being from the ashes. But he knew far too well that new beginnings could pull a U-turn back in the doom promised by the past. Even Jesus returned to the realm of the dead after he was resurrected.
“You’re going to have to stick by me, like glue. He no doubt is going to test us. Knowing full well, he’s going to play those same games, designed to see our limits, and to ultimately push us over the edge. Remember the last time,” Xander warned while they joined the line to board the plane. Determined not to allow her to leave his sight during this next visit, he expected to endure the brunt of Chad’s dark imagination. Forget about her, was he able to withstand such an onslaught? He pretended that he had everything to together, mentally sound, but even with prescription pills, he struggled to keep his grip on reality. Darkness always seemed to be there, threatening to consume him and set him on a murderous rampage, raping and pillaging before ultimately being shot and killed like the dog he was. A thousand years ago, he bet he would have been remembered as a famed marauder, a Viking king that knew no match. After all, Norse blood ran through his veins. But there wasn’t a place in today’s society for bipolar berserkers. They ended up, slicing and dicing the women they stalked. Eventually, they were caught, turned into another figure of intrigue in another true crime horror. While their monstrous being was memorialized by documentaries and internet conspiracies, the real man faced the insides of a prison cell for the remainder of his life. Should he expect loads of mail to flood the jail, love letters from mentally deranged groups, asking to be his wife? Like Bundy, he did have beautiful eyes.
Fuck, people were weird.
“I can handle this. I’m strong now. Thanks to you. I can face him, no problem.”
“Everyone has a breaking point.”
“Yes, I’m very aware of that,” Hunter casually waved Xander off. She stepped up, leaving Xander to shake his head. Hunter faced this, unflinchingly and defiantly. This was her rebellion. Her rejection of the fate prescribed by Chad. A rejection of the role Chad tried to cast her in. She wasn’t a victim no longer. But was she going to be able to pull such a coup? Xander didn’t know if he was able to shrug off the shackles Chad slapped on his wrists, falling back into the role of the monster when pressed. Was her will any stronger than his? He held his doubts. He placed a hand on her shoulder, more to quiet his concerns than to comfort hers. She didn’t need comforting. Not yet.
“All good. Next!” The lady beamed as she scanned Hunter’s boarding pass. Hunter stepped forward but lingered to wait for Xander to catch up the ramp to the plane. Xander flashed his badge. The scanner hiccupped, releasing a cautionary wail. The woman tried again. Same result. A frown withered on her big grin; confrontation reduced her perkiness to rumbles. Most people hated confrontation, actively avoid it at all costs. At least, normal people did. “Sorry, sir. It’s saying that your ticket is no longer active.”
“What do you mean? Not active?”
“Seems like someone canceled your flight. Maybe the company you work for?”
“You’re certain?” Xander questioned but he already knew the answer. Chad. Another one of his tricks. Chad did this to divide and conquer. He wanted to separate Hunter from his watchful his eyes. Xander didn’t bother to let the woman waste her time by trying to scan again. He already knew the verdict. He crumbled up the boarding pass in his newly formed fist.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Hunter turned when she heard the commotion behind her.
“Chad.”
“Of course.
“Don’t board,” Xander requested. If Chad wanted to renege on his promise, so early in this endeavor, then Xander would pull the plug. Fuck the consequences! He grew tired of living underneath Chad’s thumb, harboring the constant fear Chad would ruin him. He made his bed, now Xander would lay in it if it meant keeping Hunter safe and sound.
“No. He’s simply going to punish us. It’d be used as an excuse. He’d punish our disobedience. I’m going on ahead. Keep his guard down. Think we’re his sheep to herd,” Hunter announced. Xander moved past the woman in an attempt to snag Hunter’s wrist. No way she was going to go it alone. The airline employee latched on his arm; afraid he’d board the plane illegally. Xander yanked his arm free. In doing so, he knocked the once joyful woman onto her ass. Immediately, a few men crowded him.
“Hey there, man! What you think you’re doing? Don’t think you can get away with shoving a woman? She’s only doing her job!” One of the good-intentioned men demanded. The others chimed in agreement. Xander growled. His face, however, softened towards the lady.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Ma’am, is there a problem?” Now a security officer approached the scene, readying a nightstick. Xander glanced at the enemy. This could turn ugly. Not to mention the media frenzy, if Xander assaulted someone in public, he had violated his probation. The jail cell called for him. Xander wanted to roar through, fuck everything, start punching. His rage broke containment, Chernobyl undone LAX, a meltdown that would kill everyone in its danger zone.
“Xander!” Hunter called to him. “Stop. Be smart. I told you, I can take care of myself. Now do the same. We’ll see each other soon.”
“But-,” Xander exhaled sharply, turning towards Hunter. Once more, he reached out, but his fingers slipped through Hunter’s long, cascading hair. Hunter pivoted pointedly on her heels, marched up the ramp, a stoic warrior fearless towards the first wave of enemy clashing into his army’s ranks. With a defeated sigh, he turned his attention now to the toppled woman. He offered his hand. He growled, “Shit. I didn’t mean to. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Ma’am?”
“No, no, it’s all right. I shouldn’t have grabbed him. We’re all good here,” the woman accepted his hand, shaking her head. He lifted her to her feet with little difficulty. Relief washed over him. The tension evaporated from the situation. He was safe, right? He slightly thanked the attendant for her mercy. This could have been turned ugly. Thankfully, he regained control over his rage when Hunter called his name. She expected better of him. Getting arrested now would have only made matters worse. He still teased his sinister senses with the image of his hands wrapped tightly around Chad’s throat, watching the light fade from Chad’s eyes. Hopefully soon that daydream turned into reality.
“If you step aside, sir. I’m sure we can get you on the next flight out.”
“Thank you. Again, sorry,” Xander apologized. He heard the wannabe heroes tsked at the anti-climatic end to their flight of fantasy. Some men sought out opportunities to prove their toughness. He understood such folly of youth. Insecurities drove men, much more than dreams and aspirations. Powerless losers became police officers, if not corrections. Women with daddy issues sought out ‘daddies’ through stripping or more intimate professions. We were all incomplete, Xander knew that. Even the best lacked something. But sure, he had welcomed their attack, Xander now could afford to add some medical bills to his tab.
Assert control, that was what his shrink told him. That was his insecurity. He wanted to control everything, everyone, the world around him. In control, he found security. Control. And control didn’t have to mean using an iron fist to strong arm reality into compliance; no, real control required a much gentler touch. A young man disregards finesse and turns to brute strength instead. A wise man knows success is all finesse. The therapist reminded him, some things will always be out of our control, but what always will be in control, is one self’s actions. Xander could control himself. He simply needed to focus. Focus became hard after years of allowing rage to drive him, to take a hold of the steering wheel of his life. Drunk with anger, he crashed, killed his marriage, killed his family, his career, and everything else he had. Xander had been in a rebuild longer than he had ever been at the metaphorical top.
But his change in direction, a new approach, could that finally bring him to the promised land? Allow him to climb up to that happy place again? Wait a second, could he ever be happy? Was happiness even possible?
He supposed not. Anger melted away that fantasy when he checked the number buzzing his phone. Chad. Perfect fucking timing. Xander waved the attendant off at the counter, strolling to an empty corner of the lounge. Chad.
“Change of plans, big boy. There’s still work for you to do before you can join this retreat,” Chad immediately stated when Xander answered. Not even a ‘hello’. Fine by Xander. Before he could protest, Chad explained, “Some of our guests have thrown my carefully crafted invitations in the trash. That won’t fucking do. Not one god damn bit. We’re going to change their minds.”
“What the fuck are you trying to pull here? You better not fucking do anything to her.”
“Xander-,” Chad started.
“- If you hurt her, I’m going to-,” Xander interrupted.
“Do what? What are you going to do Xander? I’d do what I want. You don’t scare me. You don’t have any power over me. You’re kidding yourself to think you can issue threats. Now, I’ll do my best to keep her presentable for when you join us. But right now, Xander, I need you to forget about your bitch. Focus. Focus on what I need you to do for me,” Chad pushed back. Xander fought to contain his volume. He already attracted enough attention for one day. Xander lamented every moment of being under this asshole’s thumb.
“I’m not your errand boy.”
“I’m afraid, that’s exactly what you are right now. My little errand boy, my fucking whipping boy, whatever the fuck I want you to be, you’ll be it. We all know that is how our arrangement is,” Chad snapped back. Unlike him to offer such whiplash. Xander sensed Chad was a man on the edge. Underneath the surface, something started to be undone. The man feared losing control too, so he tries to keep his grip at all costs. Hitler committed suicide, his final assertion. He wished Chad would clock back a gun and pull the trigger, painting a motel room’s wall with his brains. Reel it in, Xander. Reel it fucking in. Don’t go to such places. Such fancies aren’t healthy.
“What now?”
“Katelyn.”
“Who?”
“Buehler.”
“Was that who I spooked the other day? She did look awfully like her now that you mentioned it,” Xander finally connected the dots, feeling stupid in the process. He supposed he could have easily googled the name of the comic bookstore to find the connection. Then again, he didn’t have the internet at home and rarely used his phone for curiosity. But how did she end up caught up with Chad? Was there more like Xander, pawns trapped under Chad’s spell of coercion? Skeletons raised by a necromancer. At least that explained the familiarity of her face. She had a certain beauty to her. A soul that had been scarred at some time. He only had limited interactions with her over the years despite sharing similar orbits, but he could always spot an old, battered soul.
“Yes. That’s the cunt.”
“And she doesn’t want to spend time with you? Not exactly surprising. You have to be stark raving mad to want to share your company. How’s your wife? Bored with her?”
Chad ignored Xander’s attempt at a jest. “I thought the threat would have been enough to put her ass on a plane. Guess not. So we’re taking this one step further. This time, she’ll know better than to blow me off.”
————————————————–
Four concrete towers rose from the earth, all resting in their own cardinal direction; east, north, south, west. Bright chalky exterior caught the reflection of the beating summer sun, even through the haze. In the middle of the compass, a sun-bleached sidewalk gave way to a lush green park, maintained to keep its color in this sweltering heat. In the no man’s land, resting now in the shade of the behemoths around it, children played and dogs were walked. Laughter, screaming, barking, the carelessness the young portrayed drowned out the squealing of LA’s infamous traffic. Xander found a bench perched on the white sidewalk, clamped down with freshly painted lime green hinges. He waited in back of Blake Mason’s building. The summer heat left damp rings underneath Xander’s armpit, turning the bright red of his tank top to that of a bloodstain. Another dark burgundy spot settled on the center of his chest. In the movies, he supposed a man with his task would have kept to the air-conditioning of a car, making good use of binoculars while binging on bags of potato chips, wiping grease upon pant legs. But he didn’t have a car in LA, instead, he used uber to go to the location. He didn’t have binoculars, but he had been blessed with sharp eyes. The photography would have to be done with his phone’s camera. Who cared about the picture quality? As long as Katelyn could make out her daughter’s facial features, the message would have been sent.
The problem Xander had with his stakeout wasn’t the lack of equipment; instead, it was the wait. The slow churn of time tested his patience, tortured him. He wanted to be elsewhere. His hope for continued luck as the fortune with the airline employee had not panned out. He spent days with his ass parked in the vicinity of Blake’s residence. He ran out of clean clothes, forced to rent out an expensive room across the street. Each day, he failed to see Blake venturing in or from the complex. On the third day, he thought to position himself in the expansive courtyard of the complex, right beside the park with its overflowing fountain of youth. He observed children, smile plastered on their dirt-smeared faces, energy, real joy of living, quick to laugh, quick to cry, quick to show emotion with reverse or fear of judgment. Bruises, scrapes slowed them but didn’t stop them. Up and over jungle gyms, they flew, little circus monkey with their aerobatics. In the sandbox, they build up towers only to stomp them down with shoes to start over. Swings swayed the pendulum of a timeless hourglass. Jealousy bore its ugly head within Xander as he watched. Their lives possessed blissful simplicity. Their needs cared for. No worry or existential dread. Underneath the thick layer of envy, a certain longing existed. He wished he could have been there for Connor at that age.
Maybe he was. He didn’t remember.
By chance, Blake Mason stepped from the backdoor of his building, passing Xander’s bench with notice. His voice shot out, a part of a boisterous conversation on the phone, pressed to his head’s side. His other hand held that of his daughter’s. Kayla matched the description to a tee. She ran free of her father’s grasp, meeting awaiting children at the edge of the park’s parameter. Blake motioned a sloppy wave, turning to find his own perch, still flapping his gums on that damn phone. Again, Xander jealous perked up. Within reach, idyllic could have almost been used to describe the interaction between father and daughter, but spoiled Blake’s attention lies in the vigorous conversation. In that moment, Xander actually hated Blake.
Enough with the reflection, Xander had an ugly job to perform. The sooner he finished, the sooner he would be reunited with Hunter. He hadn’t heard anything about her. He didn’t know how she would communicate; she didn’t have a phone. He wished somehow, she could convey her wellbeing to him; instead, he found himself left in the dark, his concern devouring his consciousness, plaguing him throughout restless nights and tormented day. He hadn’t heard a peep from Chad either. He said not to call until the task was done.
He rose to his feet, spat his disgust onto the sidewalk. He ventured into the park, hands in his short pockets. Xander maintained a distance, his eyes kept on watch for the perfect opportunity. She frolicked with her friends, holding their hands now. They sang some melody, but an ambulance washed out the sound, making it impossible for Xander to discern the lyrics. They fell down onto a grassy knoll suddenly, laughing loudly before quickly hopping to their feet. They fled into the playground, but the moment his boots crunched woodchips, he noticed the skeptical stares from his parents. They feared him, recognized him as a threat to their sanctuary.
He retreated.
After an hour, her friends waved goodbye and regrouped with a middle-aged woman at the edge of the park. Kayla had been left behind with a blue frisbee. At first, she held the plastic disc in both hands, smiling. She then she searched with her eyes but frowned when they landed on Blake, still on his park bench. He noticed, waved but turned. Kayla threw the frisbee. She chased after it, rolled to where it landed, and instantly threw it away again. She continued this pursuit. Xander sighed, planting his hips. He wished she had someone to play with her. No longer wanting to be left with these odd feelings, Xander brandished his phone to snap the picture. This was his best opportunity. Let get it done. But as he lifted the phone, he felt a clunk at his shin. Kayla’s toss accidentally overshot her targeted range, catching a gust in the wind, striking Xander. Soon afterward, Kayla approached him, cautiously.
“Excuse me, sir. I- I didn’t mean to. You know, it flew on its own,” Kayla voiced. Xander knelt to collect the frisbee. He held it in his hands. She politely said, “Can I have it back?”
“Of course,” Xander answered. Fearing he would overshoot it, he used the least amount of strength he could fire off, tossed it back to her. Even with his best effort, the attempted pass went over her head. The flying saucer crashed down into the earth behind her. She hurried to get the toy but she returned to him.
“I know, it’s rude. Mom would probably even scold me. But sir, can I ask you something?”
“Listen kid, didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers?” Xander asked. Her big eyes opened up, but they no longer possessed her initial caution, instead, their brightness screamed determination Despite being a giant even to fully-grown men, she approached Atlas without a single fear of being crunched underneath his boot. She didn’t expect him to be a monster. Children were a terrible judge of character. “But fine. Shoot, kid.”
“Why are you sad? Have you lost something?”
“Sad? I’m not sad.”
“Well, you seem lonely. Don’t you have someone to play with? Mike and Rach had to go eat lunch, so I don’t have anyone to play with. I guess I’m lonely too. Plus I know most grownups get too busy to play, but you’re here now and you don’t like you’re busy at all!” Kayla commented, glancing back at her father for a moment. Partly obscured by a bush, Blake still had his body shifted away. Without warning, Kayla flung the frisbee. Xander caught the frisbee in his arms after it thudded off his chest. “You don’t have children, do you? Is that why you’re sad? I bet it’s because you wished you had your own kids to play with. Yes, that must be it!”
“You’re wrong, kid. I have a son.”
“You don’t look anything like a dad.”
“What does that supposed to me?”
“Oh, nothing. I just know these things,” Kayla declared. Xander chuckled at her matter-of-factly demeanor. That disarmed him. He never met such a talkative kid. Then again, most children avoided him like a clown from their worst nightmares, a real-life Stephen King’s It. He preferred it that way, or at least he thought he did.
“What about your father? I don’t think he looks like a dad.”
“My dad? My dad’s the best dad! He’s super strong. I mean, he is sometimes super busy but he’s just the bestest! I’m actually with him right now. Do you want to meet him? Once he gets off the phone, he can play with us,” Kayla nodded, approving of the plan she formulated in her head, almost as if he had no choice but to accept. Xander again tried to return the frisbee to the child, but once more, he released with too much force, this time actually worse than the last. The frisbee soared into the air before nosediving. He hoped his inaptitude would frustrate the girl enough to leave him out of the reindeer games thus alone. This alien experience had verified to him what he knew all along: he wasn’t good with kids.
“You love your dad then?” Xander asked her upon her unfortunate return.
“What kind of stupid question is that? Of course! I love my dad, my mom too!”
“Consider yourself lucky. Not all kids have both parents, some have none. You know that, right?”
“I know I’m lucky. And I think that’s just sad, and so wrong, because everyone should have parents… even if they don’t all get along, living together, and some might be married to other people, that just means you get to have more dads and moms, which we all know that more is better!” Kayla responded, showcasing a rollercoaster of emotions, from sad to unmatched optimism, not missing a single beat with her up-tempo personality. Xander nodded in agreement. Connor didn’t have any parents. Xander never had either. Maybe the lack of was what warped his character. He never had the innocence that Kayla held before him. Was that innocence the byproduct of loving parents? Xander wondered. “You okay, sir? You sure are asking some awfully silly questions.”
“Listen, kid, I’d love to continue talking to you, but I have to get going,” Xander plucked the frisbee out of the air this time. She frowned at his announcement. He skipped the disc across the grass, landing it beside her feet. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t play catch with another person’s kid. This was weird. He was weird. “But before you go, can you do me one big favor?”
“What’s that?” She pressed the frisbee against her chest.
“I enjoyed our talk so much; I just would love to take a picture of you. A keepsake. Do you mind?”
“As long as you promise that you’re not some pervert. I should know. I’ve watched some shows. There are some real weirdos out there that like little girls. Mom even warned me to keep an eye out. But you can’t possibly be one of those, you’re too nice,” Kayla submitted. Xander felt a pang at the girl’s naivety. While he surely did not like small girls, certainly not in that fashion; he was far from a Humber Humbert as humanly possible. Xander raised his phone, grimacing as he captured her image. She posed, not unlike her mother had done years prior in the center of the wrestling ring, with one arm held high and another hand placed proudly on the hip. He sent the picture to Chad in a text, so he could forward it to Katelyn. Mission accomplished. A thankless task which possessed zero sense of accomplishment, but some relief.
“It’s been a pleasure-,” Xander said as he turned to leave.
“Oh, Dad!”
– Shit, the alarm clock screaming in his head. Blake slapped the phone from Xander’s hand, spiking the device into the soft earth below. If he had been a few steps further, Xander would have lost another phone, having been smashed on the sidewalk. Blake immediately had hands on Xander; one yanked on his tank top, threatening to undress Xander. Xander blocked the other with his, curling around and grabbing the wrist. Xander’s first thought was to toss Blake down onto the ground, but Blake stepped forward, bracing his foot against the inside of his. Xander thought Blake should have taken the chance to sucker punch him, that was his best chance to knock Xander down and get him on the defensive. Blake bore teeth, gritting as Xander saw the gravity of a father’s limitless protectiveness in Blake’s azure eyes. In that instance, Xander hesitated. He knew Blake in the moment would do anything to stop Xander, maybe even kill Xander or die trying. This was the hill Blake was willing to die on in a war that had all the stakes. Xander held no stake. He always dismissed Blake as a bona fide push-over, a pussy whose prescience never threatened him until now. Neither man would leave unscathed if this turned violent. Xander understood, this was a losing proposition for him.
“Dad! He’s okay!” Kayla shouted, suddenly wiggling herself between the two men. Blake’s face softened as he released Xander. He covered her with his arms, shielding her from Xander before ushering her to the side. He knelt down. She still defended Xander, “Dad, we were only playing frisbee! Relax! He’s one of the good guys!”
“Kayla, we’ll talk about this later. Run along now. This man and I have some things to discuss. We work together. Don’t worry, go have fun, and I come to get you when I’m finished.”
“-But dad!”
“Kayla,” Blake repeated.
Xander reinforced the father’s words, “Listen to your dad, Kayla. He knows right.”
“Fine,” Kayla expressed her disappointment, maybe even some doubt. She looked back one more time before heading off towards the playground. Shoulder drooped. Blake watched her departure. Xander wasn’t certain if he watched because he wanted to assure his child was a safe distance or that he doubted her obedience. Either way, fists hung either side, telling Xander he wasn’t out of the woods just yet.
“What is going on? What? You’ve grown tired of stalking men and women, now you’re preying on children?” Blake issued the accusation, one that wasn’t as baseless as Xander would have liked. He might be right. He preyed on Kayla, conscripted her unknowingly to be used against her mother. What he was doing? He enabled Chad. To what ends? Well, Chad was a sadistic son of a bitch, so Xander became an accessory to whatever crimes Chad had in store. Xander spat. Blake turned, cutting the distance between them short. His chin raised, shoulder squared, hips free. Punches might still come. Xander readied to meet the challenge.
But there had to be another way.
“Relax, Blake. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s already over.”
“How the fuck do you think it’s possible for me to relax right now? Tell me, Xander, what the fuck is this all about?”
“Listen, man, I’m not going to hurt you or your daughter. She’s safe now. If that’s what you’re worried about… trust me, I am not in the business of hurting children.”
“Of course, I’m worried. Some grown-ass man, a man that we all know to be a real piece of shit and probably batshit insane, I caught him playing with my daughter! MY daughter! I swear-,” Blake failed to contain his voice, but his threat got caught in his throat. Meanwhile, the nearby parents and children froze, turning their heads to watch the car crash unfold in slow motion. Blake stepped forward. Xander wished he hadn’t. Xander wanted nothing more to remove himself from this confrontation. He wanted to board the next flight out, make sure Hunter was safe and sound. He didn’t have to fight here. There would be no reason. He had nothing against Blake Mason, no reason to attack him unless in defense. But once that opening shot fired, Xander wouldn’t stop until Blake was dead.
“With good reason,” Xander caught his confession. “Fuck. This is fucked.”
“You’re telling me…”
“This whole mess is fucked. What the hell am I doing out here? What the hell am I doing taking a picture of some person’s daughter?” Xander glanced up at the hazy sky, wishing God would answer him with a loud booming voice. Maybe he could have simply said ‘no’ to Chad. No, he continued to obey Chad, coerced himself with the threat that Chad would expose Xander. But right now, doing the man’s bidding might lead to exposure anyways. He had a distressed father, on the verge of assaulting him, because he rightfully determined Xander’s close proximity to daughter as dangerous. “Chad sent me here because, for some reason, he wants to force Katelyn to visit him. If I have to guess, the picture I snapped just now… well that’s just leverage to convince her to get on the plane.”
“Chad Evans?”
“I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. This isn’t your business. This is none of your concern.”
“You’re dead wrong. This IS my business. That’s the mother of my child we’re speaking about. Right now, you dragged my daughter into whatever mess you’re caught up in. You better believe, this is my god damn business,” Blake’s voice boomed. Xander struck a nerve but didn’t exactly understand how Katelyn’s relationship with Kayla mattered to Blake. Maybe he was in love with her still. Either way, Xander already knew he said too much.
“I’m done with your daughter, Blake. I’m never going to come back here. I’m never going to hurt her. She’s safe. I told you, I’m in the business of hurting kids,” Xander repeated. Suddenly a flashback struck him hard, a bolt of lightning that left him paralyzed. The image of Connor’s battered boy, resting lifelessly in the wreckage of the coffee table. Connor only had been a child then. Xander had hurt him. That was his own flesh and blood, so what stopped him from Blake’s? Xander shuddered at the gravity of that confession. Guilt gnawed at him, starved rats gnawing at the straw bags containing grain or starved men eating the leather off their shoes.
No, he wasn’t in control then. He had medication. He had therapy. His rage did not lord over him any longer. He knew better. When he hurt Connor, he had allowed rage to dictate him. Today, he had control over his devices. He wasn’t going to destroy innocence never again, definitely not in the form of a small child.
“Like I can take your word. Your word means shit. Lying wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done. I’ve seen first-hand what you’re capable of.”
“If I had wanted to hurt her, I would have done so already. Fuck, that not what I meant. Listen to me closely, I will never hurt your daughter. You have my word. She’s forever safe from me,” Xander hoped that would enough to ease the troubled father’s mind. He didn’t think it would be though.
“Let’s pretend for a moment that I could trust you, and we know I can’t. Then what about Katelyn?”
“What about her?”
“You hurt Katelyn. You hurt Kayla. If you do anything to her mother, you’d broken her promise. Katelyn means everything to her. It’s her mother!” Blake argued. Xander understood Blake’s point, nodding in acknowledgment. He side-eyed Kayla, who watched from afar, perhaps still concerned her father might do something reckless to Xander.
“What more do you want from me, Blake? You have my fucking word.”
“I don’t know what Chad and you are up to, but if something happens to Katelyn, I’ll… I’ll kill you both,” Blake warned. Xander turned, almost wanting to laugh off that last threat, but Blake latched onto him. Xander understood the desperation in Blake’s eyes. That made Blake dangerous.
“Go, be with your child. Protect her.”
“I can’t abandon Katelyn.”
“I’ll see to it that Katelyn survives whatever Chad has planned,” Xander found himself promising. He didn’t know if he intended to keep that promise, but a voice in his head told him that he had to. Blake gauged Xander, staring up into the eyes. Whatever Blake saw convinced him to let go of Xander. He backpedaled, shaking his head.
“I know where to find you.”
“I know,” Xander acknowledged.
————————————————–
I thought better of you, Selena. Fuck, I really did. I thought the world of you. My ideal heroine who had rightfully earned my unrequited love and devotion. You were special. You were the best.
No longer.
After all the battles, we shared, I thought much better of you. After all, we had spent so much time together, connecting as only bitter enemies on a ravaged battlefield can, sharing the struggle for survival all while scorching the earth to take down the other, going shot for shot, itching our names in the other’s body with bruises and scars, brushing crimson paint on the blank canvas. I thought you learned to understand me. Like I understand you. I thought you knew me better after that lifetime of conversations. Like I know you.
I thought better.
I shouldn’t be so surprised by this newest revelation. How mighty fall. The strong become frail and weak in time. Of course, you need to drape yourself in that cocoon of ignorance, keep yourself warm in that cabin built by logs of self-deception, keeping yourself safe from the winter that approaches. So why don’t you, Selena, huddle by that fire of comfort. Warm your bones! Enjoy the flames while they last, because soon they will be smoldering ashes, a perfect metaphor for the little self-worth left after the trauma I’m about to inflict. It will all be in your mind. Don’t worry. I accept the subconscious invitation to come in. I’ll ruin you, once and for all. No longer do you will need to be on the run.
I thought better of you.
But I was wrong. Playing the fool doesn’t suit you though, Selena. That role undoes the beauty you possessed in the brilliance of the savageness you had dressed in, the finest linens I must add. I accepted you as my peer. The war for respect is far from over now, days have passed, buried our rivalry under the sands of time. But you will always have my respect. You earned it. Fought for it. Hard work and tenacity, inner strength aplenty. I would never dream to rob you of that accomplishment. You deserved my respect. Even now, I dispense with the harsh words, perhaps even more pointed, because I harbor respect for you.
I know, for a fact, grandeur and delusion spell the downfall of the mightiest juggernauts, the hubris is the flaw that brought down plenty of Greek heroes. Here you stand before me, a year removed from your most triumphant victory, now standing on the precipice of tragedy, coddling yourself with hubris and vanity. What are you? A child that need to suck a thumb, substitute for her mother’s teat or to wrap oneself in a security blanket, substitute for her father’s warm embrace? Have you really lowered yourself to the mannerisms of the herd around us? We’re supposed to be lions, great hunters, culling the flock, not the run-of-the-mill wrestler, lambs to the slaughter, our prey. We don’t need to groom our fur to stay intact, but I can see, you’re cracking… the tower of Babylon you have built so magnificently, is about to fall, because there are cracks in the foundation.
I thought better of you. I thought you stronger.
Now you make up this fantasy about bruised egos, don’t be so vain to think that my losses to you keep me up at night. I don’t have pride. I have a purpose. We both know that. I accepted my losses and moved on. I take solace knowing that when the gloves off, I’m capable of leaving our hero lifeless in the middle of the ring. Official? Unofficial? Who cares? The world bore witness. When you’re defenseless, no longer shielded by rules, I’m the beast that brought you down. I’m the beast you couldn’t slay, despite all the assurances you issued to your adoring fanbase. Remember, Selena, you told the world you’d be the one to end me! My existence is the glaring failure that threatens to undo you. You were supposed to save SCW, save the world by ending my reign of terror! But instead, it was you who chose to take ‘official’ victories, chalked up in a record book as consolation. You sought higher but failed to finish the job. Now you pretend you never made such bold proclamations, that you had accomplished what set out to do. Let’s call it what that was, a scam.
We all thought better of you.
I’m still here, Selena. Where I always been. I’m lurking in the darkness. I am death, stalking the earth, following you. You might have dodged the stroke of my scythe a few times now. You might have slipped from my grasp, but here I still come. I’m inevitable. My pace picked up, my approach draws near, more determined, I’m coming at you faster, faster, stronger now! The time draws near.
But what offends you most about our latest dance, aren’t the threats I’ve made, but it’s the fact that you no longer are the heroine of our story. You’re yesterday’s news. Your story is over, and you don’t want to accept that. I made you feel alive. I made you feel special. But that’s over. You’re no longer the subject of importance. You’ve become the means to the end, but not the end… at least, no longer for me. It’s not about you, it’s about Regan. And that is what drives you crazy, the insecurities that growing roots are your beast, crumbling the concrete under your feet. I’ve moved onto a new lover, despite the fact you called off our wicked romance, you’re gutted my march forward. You’re jealous.
This is about jealousy.
I love Regan now. The same way I loved you months ago. But this love is much more promising. But you’re not the only one jealous. That’s why I have circled back to you. I see your relationship with Regan, flourishing now, not breaking under the strain of the series of losses that had left you both on the brink of collapse. No, I see that somehow, you two endured. Maybe it’s more than just partnership, or sisterhood as you so preposterously call it. I no longer see your wife, paraded out. I don’t think I’ve seen here since that little scare I call. Another unofficial victory I hold over you. Is something the matter? Your wife used to always be by your side, but now her absence speaks? What has happened? Are you in love with Regan too?
You’re supposed to be a role model, Selena. We all know adulterers don’t deserve a pedestal to stand on. Not even I ever cheated on my Calli. Think of the children. They might grow up to be whores and womanizers now that they see their idol sin in such a way. I mean, after all, when I see you look ay Regan, you no longer have those dead eyes above a fake smile, but a genuine grin with eyes that shine a loving glow. It’s okay, we are weak, some to the flesh and others to the emotional need of another person’s comfort. I’m sure your wife, wherever she is, probably shifts uncomfortably in the lonely bed as she watches you look upon another in such a manner. Some would feel for her.
Who am I to judge?
I’m jealous too. I never had a friend treat me with such confidence or respect as I see in Frozen Hell. Where have all my partnerships gone? Damian Angel has always tried to manipulate me, control me, like a pawn. Dillusion too used me to fulfill his need for masochistism and now cling onto me for the slightest amount of importance. I have no one in my life that have lasted. Nothing that has transcended mere practicality, but maybe Frozen Hell has now grown past the desperate need for Regan to have that Supreme Champion designation. And we all know she couldn’t have done that without you.
So you both need each other, you’re both holding each other up while you withstand the onslaught.
It’s just wonderful. And maybe my disgust lays in the fact that I might want that.
But maybe I don’t. While it has led to more accolades, your partnership with Regan has softened you both. It has melted your icy heart. And in the same sense, it has weakened Regan. United you stand, divided you fall. Now you’re alone, weakened without Regan’s steadying hand, in the ring with the monster once more. If I take you out, not only will I finally keep my promise, but I’ll take the floor right underneath Regan. In annihilation, I’d prove my theory right.
Without you, she’d be nothing. In the same sense, without her, you’d be nothing. Such a symbiotic relationship makes a parasitic entity like me ill.
I thought better of you. I really did.
And what about the United States Championship? That’s an important plot device in all of this. You have always valued title belts, a heroin addict value the needle, golem values the ring. You’d think you grow out of that, given all the accomplishments you have behind you. You think you’d matured enough to know your self-worth shouldn’t be grounded in material possessions and the opinions of others. But in that, you’re still a child in this world. Burdened by that need. If the tag team championship has come to represent the strength of your relationship with Regan, the United States is a symbol of your self-importance. And I would love to rob you of that. Watch you wither when I remove the drip. Then I would finally feel some sense of accomplishment in my career, knowing that I hurt you so. To know that I have such power not only to bruise your pretty little body but to once again, I have free access to your soul, the walls of which I scratch up with my sharp claws. Forget about the trivialities of being the US Champion, comparing yourself to Bree, or distinguishing yourself from her, because I assure you, no one cares.
What we care about is when the ship will finally sink.
And you’ve opened yourself to such harm, making me wonder if subconsciously, you’re simply tired. Tired of keeping up that image, keeping up that façade, wanting that to be destroyed so you can finally rest your warily head. Maybe you have a death wish so you no longer have to run. We all have self-destructive tendencies.
But I thought better of you.
Either way, I’m going to make you know what it feels to have lost everything. No more importance. No more affection. No more attention. You’ve been pampered far too long by success, spoiled far too much by love, be it Regan’s and your fans. It’s time now, to cross the threshold and greet the tragedy. The fire has died in the hearth, the howling winds of winter have whipped open your front door. And in the renewed darkness, there I am like I said I would be, with a grin, being the only one of us that keep their promises. I am the end. You’re to blame, welcoming the vampire into your home. Maybe you had this notion you’d protect Regan from me, either by sacrificing yourself or destroying me, but neither will happen. The ice queen is about to be frozen in time, enshrined like all mythological heroes, forever languishing in a hell shaped by your finale demise, only possible by the insecurities I’m about to expose.
Rest in peace, Selena. You could have kept running, but we all know eventually, the Executioner catches up and we all have to pay the reaper some day. Today’s your day. You thought less of me. That’s your fatal flaw. Don’t worry, all tragic heroes have one.
And now, with you laid to rest, Regan’s mine for the picking.
She’s next. You could not save her. I thought better of you.
Executioner's Plight 