Now We Begin

“Season Of The Witch is over, I could do what a lot of people here in Carnage do and piss and moan about how things turned out. I could, but I won’t. What I’ll do instead is say congratulations to Brian. He’s a solid guy and deserves another shot at Jack, it’ll end up the same as the previous times but hey...who am I to judge. Do I believe that Brian Crucifix has what it takes to beat Jack? Of course, everyone has a chance to be who and what they want to be. Reality though, reality is a bitch. The reality is that the odds are stacked against Crucifix. Jack’s experience and the fact that he has Paragon to watch his back and make sure he doesn’t lose that title.

The battle with Paragon is far from over kids. If you thought that Season of the Witch would decide it all, you’re out of your fucking minds. You put Lucy in the hospital and Joe is wherever Joe is at the moment. Kyra, your actions have caused your sister to believe that she deserved everything that was coming to her in that match. So much so that she wouldn’t even defend herself. That is what you were after right? I hope you’re happy with the outcome kid, the road you’re on is a long one. It’s a dark one, I hope you don’t go too far down that road that you can no longer see the light.

I know all too well about dark paths Kyra. I’m sure you’ll blow this off as just some guy who doesn’t know you or your past or any of the things relevant to your situation. I’ve been betrayed before and I’ve also had the misconception of being betrayed. That second one is a real bite in the ass kid. One ran away when the “flight” instinct kicked in and the other was trapped and left behind. Ten years ago I would have told you that for every one that you hurt I’ll put two of yours in the morgue. I’ll let you chew on that for a bit. I’m sure that we will at some point have a face to face conversation.

Jack Michaels is still champion; the man who was supposed to be the face of the company and represent all the things that are right in wrestling. You failed Jack, any credibility you once had as a champion? All gone now, you’ve let the company and the Legion down so completely I see no redemption for you or your reputation. You’ve encouraged the actions of your group, even defending what your fiance did to her own flesh and blood. You rationalized everything for them so that there’s no possibility of guilt or at least for them to feel the responsibility of guilt. For that alone, I dub thee unforgivable.

Now, Amber Ryan and Eli Goode hold tag team gold. They defeated the current and previous champions at Season of the Witch. This week, The Saints ride again. Ken and I have not tried to hide anything about our friendship. A fifteen year friendship to be more specific. Ken is my best friend in this business and together we are quite a force to be reckoned with. Some of you found this out at the pay per view. He is the Baltimore City Championship holder and soon we’ll be adding tag team gold to that resume.

First though, we have a date with the team that time forgot. Zed Hotley and Christopher Marlowe. Zed, I think it’s pretty clear that no one is going to call you a hottie. They are former challengers to the tag team titles, lots have tried to capture those from Lord Raab and his bunch. Falling short, is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, it obviously happens to us all at some point in time. You two work pretty well as a team, I’ve noticed, I’ve watched a few of your matches. It’s clear that you two have each other’s backs, but you don’t have fifteen years of watching each others backs.

See, The Carnage Legion needs people like these men, they need them to step up and represent. That didn’t happen at Season of the Witch, and it’s not going to happen in the Baltimore Arena either. Men like these two are the kind of heroes that they need in this war against Paragon. Instead they get the heroes they deserve, that men like me, Ken Davison, Joe, Trent Steel, Sebastian Steel and Lucy Wylde. We are who Baltimore deserves and we are the only ones that can deliver them from this fucking mess that Paragon created. You’re fucking welcome.”

{Baltimore, MD - 12 hours after SoTW}

As I approached the entrance to the hospital, I turned my collar up to ease the damp and cool wind that kept threatening to run down my neck, back and points further south that I’d like to keep warm. I was unsure of how my presence here would be taken by Joe or anyone else for that matter. Then there was the question of whether visitation would be allowed. My only interaction with JC had been a brief conversation about a month ago and then that very vague message from him on social media. I looked down at the wedding band that I still wore even though my wife had been dead for eighteen months.

Not really thinking of where I was, I begin talking aloud, “It’s never easy, watching someone you care for, someone you love. To watch them lying in that bed and knowing you cannot help them. It’s a very deflating experience. No matter how big or small the man, that feeling of helplessness. That pain is worse than anything any human being can do to you. He may not have believed it before, but I’d be willing to bet he’s feeling it now.” I look now as an older couple shoot me a strange look and keep walking, their pace increasing.

“I guess that probably sounded odd just now.”, I quip to myself, since no one is really around me at the moment. I shrug and walk towards the nearest smoking section, or at least the one that appears to be designated. I light a cigarette and squat down near the corner of the building, in hopes that the brick and mortar will shield me from some of the wind. It does help a bit, although now without even the wind, I’ve been left to my own thoughts. I never cared for being alone. Oh, I could manage well enough on the road. I’d call home and talk to Melissa anytime I was feeling that way. Now though…”There’s no one there.”

I push that thought away as that line of thinking always led to misery. There had been enough of that in the last twenty-four hours, that’s for sure. “Brian Crucifix”, I shake my head in disdain, still not able to wrap my head around that. “Was I that careless, that reckless that I allow that train wreck to beat me?” I push myself back to my feet, ignoring the soreness in my quads and lower back. A good walk through the hospital would help to alleviate that some. Realizing I hadn’t even smoked my cigarette, I dispose of the now long dead cigarette butt in the receptacle provided, and then light another one. “Fucking hell”, is all I can really say to not paying attention to my smoke and wallowing in my own self pity.

I take a long drag and exhales slowly, allowing the nicotine to do its thing. There was a young lady in this hospital who nearly died last night. Those of us who could have helped were warned to stay out of it. I take another long drag and flick the mostly cooled ash on the ground near the receptacle. “I think I’m about done being pushed around. Fuck Bridges and Paragon. I think it’s time to do some real damage. It’s time for Bridges to understand the full implications of what he’s done.” . I take one last drag off of the cigarette before crushing it out and tossing the butt in the long necked receptacle. “It’s time to show him exactly what Trent warned him about. It’s time for the band to be put back together.”.

There would be time for that later, needed to go check on some allis and see how Miss Wylde was doing. I stop by the information desk and give the monitor a quick scan, finding the location of intensive care I head towards the elevator. I wait a few moments and the telling, “ding”, of an arriving elevator chimes and then slides open. I step inside and press the floor button labeled, “3”, the doors begin to close again. A short time later the elevator lurches, as they often do, to a complete stop and the doors slide open again. I see the mural on the wall indicating the Intensive Care Unit, it’s actually pretty tastefully done. I wouldn’t say I’m impressed with it but, “not bad Baltimore, not bad at all.”. I exit the elevator, turning left as I spot the arrows indicating room numbers. I come to a waiting room and enter there. I sign in and ask the nurse, “would it be possible to get an update on Lucy Wylde?”.

“Didn't’ expect you here Bane.”, the comment comes from behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Trent Steel. I turn around slowly and extend my hand and he shakes it. “Good to see you again too Trent.”, is my response, matching sarcasm with sarcasm is a thing for me. Trent also knows this and gives not really a smile but a smirk. I shrug and respond again, “I didn’t know who would be here with Joe, granted he and I are not friends but…”. He cuts me off in mid sentence, “I know you’ve been through some similar things Mac. You don’t have to tell me, you know my history as well.”. We stand there in silence for what seems like forever and the nurse taps my on my back. “Mr. uhm...Bane? Was it?”. I smile and respond with respect, “Yes ma’am.”. She smiles at me, “If you were listed as family, I would, but I’m afraid your not on that list.”. She says in a very apologetic way.

Fade…

{Approximately 10 days later….}

I returned to the hospital after Trent had texted me the room number for Lucy. I peak my head in the room.

“Is it safe to enter?”, I ask from the doorway. “Sure, why the hell not.”, is the replay I hear from inside the room. A distinctly masculine voice, that belonging to Trent Steel. As I entered the room, I see a woman who’s been through hell and survived it, if only just barely. Her hair is wet from a recent shower, bandage covering the various wounds to her throat. I remind myself, this woman is a warrior, she’ll be fine, given enough time. She just needs time to recover is what I tell myself. Off to the side, the sliding tray, a plate of food that hasn’t really been touched.

I shake hands with Trent as I enter the room, “Thanks for that warm invitation Trent.”. He laughs as I pass him by and take a closer look at Lucy. The thing that’s immediate to me is the dead look in her eyes. It’s the look of someone who’s resigned themselves to their fate and is just simply waiting on death or maybe something else. I look over at Trent and he knows the question I’m about to ask and shakes his head indicating I shouldn’t be asking that question. Instead, Lucy does, “I don’t know where he is.”. She manages through a very rough sounding voice. “Rest your voice sweet girl.”, is my response knowing all too well what it’s like to have a breathing tube in place for a couple of weeks. I unconsciously rub the scar on my own throat, playing it off as if I had an itch.

From inside of my duster I produce a Starbucks cup and hand it to her. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to have it, but I really didn’t care either.” She perks up at the sign of the coffee. She grabs the cup and holds it with both hands, I see a little color return to her face and she takes a sip. I look over at Trent just in time for him to ask, “where’s mine fucker?”. I laugh and hand him my flask, a silver flask with a mural of Jesus on it. At the bottom is engraved, “holy water”, he chuckles to himself and takes a pull. From the doorway I hear another voice, “The real question is where do we go from here?” as Ken Davison walks into the room. I look at my longtime friend and smile, “We handle our business, we still fight for Carnage.”

“We got punched in the mouth pretty hard, you know, in case you hadn’t noticed.” is his smart assed reply. I returned his smile, “Then we get up off the mat, and we return the favor.”. “You’ll want to return that to me.” I say to Trent as he’s about to slip the flask in the back pocket of his jeans. He smirks at me and returns it as I hear slurping from an empty cup that once contained Lucy’s vanilla ice coffee. “Damn girl, I hope drinking that fast doesn’t make you sick.” She smiles in return, but does not lose the color in her face so it appears it didn’t do any damage. I pick up the cup and stuff it back in my duster, just as a nurse walks in to check Lucy’s vitals. I nod to the nurse, “We should probably get out of here so this young lady can do her job”. With that Ken and I step outside the room.

Fade