Post by Rated R on Apr 23, 2015 14:32:40 GMT -5
Turn Your Back
The Truth of a Revolution; Finale
Or
Something New; Beginning
Trace
Somewhere
Now
He’s groggy when he wakes, but not too groggy to know that something isn’t right. It’s dark outside and he’s alone in his bed, Alexa hasn’t risen earlier than him since Eliza started sleeping through the night. If she’s not there then something is wrong. He can feel it too, something drifting around his head, a sickness in his stomach, his eyes unable to focus properly. The room is a blur, not just looks but the way it feels around him. He hasn’t felt like this since he got sober. He is not a fan.
He staggers out of bed, doesn’t even think about clothes. Before he knows it he’s in the hallway, can’t really remember walking but he must of done, he sure as hell didn’t float. There’s a light on in Eliza’s room but something’s off about it, it’s got this strange tint to it, green maybe? Or red? He can’t tell, why can’t he tell? Did he go colour blind and not realize it. He doesn’t remember taking a step forward but now he’s at Eliza’s door and he can see them, plain as day. The only thing that isn’t blurry in the whole room.
Alexa has her back to him and Eliza’s in his arms. At least he thinks it’s Eliza, he can’t really make out her face from here. It has to be Eliza though, Alexa isn’t exactly the baby snatching kind, he likes to think he’s a better judge of character than that.
Trace Demon: Alexa?
His voice sounds strange, gravelly and distorted, words floating from his mouth as if they’re not his own. What did he take last night, why can’t he remember any of it? What’s with all the god damn questions floating around his skull.
Trace Demon: Alexa, what is going on? Did I do something?
She doesn’t answer, keeping her back to him. If he did something then now would probably be a good time to start apologizing, but he should probably figure out what he’s apologizing for first. He approaches her, definitely walking this time, no time skips or whatever you want to call it. He reaches out for her and… she’s gone, just gone. His hand passes right on through the suddenly empty air. He loses his balance and falls forwards, head first to the floor.
He hits the ground hard, smacking his head upon the wooden flooring. Wait, that’s not right, Eliza’s room has carpeting, needlessly expensive carpeting that Alexa insisted on and that wouldn’t hurt as much if you face planted it. But this is definitely wood, he can tell from the fact he’s seeing stars. Maybe it isn’t drugs, maybe he’s got a head injury, concussion even? His vision clears, just enough to recognise the room that he’s in and immediately the wood makes sense. He remembers the endless number of times the old man sent him face first into the floor, the number of times his blood dripped onto the wood, the hours his mom spent scrubbing to get it off.
Only reason it was wood in the first place was because his old man wouldn’t spend the money to lay some carpeting. “The little crap don’t need no carpets, what, does he think this is come kind of hotel?”
Trace Demon: A f*****g eastern European hostel maybe.
He chuckles to himself but ends up spitting up blood onto the floor. Not the first time that’s happened in here either. Split his lip open so often he’s surprised he can’t peel the thing in two. He struggles to his feet, his legs feel heavy, like they would if he had just done a killer workout, and it takes a few moments for him to even stay still. His whole body feels like it’s being pulled down, like there’s something trying to drag him straight through the floor.
Getting out of the room is hard, and making it down the corridor is even worse. It feels like something is reaching out to him with every single step, pulling him in, telling him he can’t leave. His body moves in slow motion, out of his control, and it comes to an abrupt halt when he makes it into the kitchen.
There stands his family. His mother, the pathetic, weak woman who never defended her children. His father, the abusive, alcoholic, violent man who is responsible for many of Trace’s problems, at least in his own eyes. And him, a younger version of him, five years old. His mother and father have their backs turned to him and his father is screaming silently at the younger Trace. He thinks it’s silent, because Trace can’t hear anything, just the sound of waves, like there’s water stuck in his ears. But that isn’t what puts him on edge, it’s his own face. The younger him. The faceless him. He knows it’s himself he’s looking at, he just knows, but there’s no eyes looking back at him, no mouth, no anything.
Like he’s not even there at all.
He wants to say something, wants to scream, but as he goes to open his mouth the dragging feeling becomes stronger than ever, something tearing at his legs and sending him face first to the ground, a pain that is far too familiar. And then he’s being dragged back, pulled away, through the darkness of the house and away from the memory, because that’s what is has to be, a memory.
Trace Demon: Stop!
And he does, but not in his house anymore. He’s lying down in a shower, the water running down upon him. He’s clothed, but can’t quiet tell whether he’s soaked or not. It’s like his brain has stopped working properly, like he can’t recognise something so simple as water anymore. He does recognise where he is, the shower of one of the arenas, backstage at a WFWF show. Is this real? More real than whatever else that was? Maybe he slipped, hit his head, he’s not sure. He can hear voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying.
Without knowing it he’s on his feet and moving towards the voices, at least that’s what he thinks they are. They’re not words, not that he knows, a foreign language maybe? He didn’t know, he didn’t care, he was shaken up and the world was shifting in a way that he didn’t understand, everything was changing and he couldn’t change with it, he didn’t belong.
As he crossed the line from shower to locker room he recognises the people inside it. Jason Anders, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews. The three of them stand with their backs to him, the strange sounds coming from their mouths. It’s their voices alright, he’s no doubt about that, but they’re not speaking any words that he knows. It’s just sounds, and the closer he gets the louder they get, the sound of screeching, tearing his ear drums apart.
They’re plotting, he knows they are, they’re planning to tear him down and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s stuck here, the three of them with their backs turned to him like he’s nothing. He can’t get over the noise, their alien words, they’re horrific painful voices.
What has he done to deserve this?
< *** >
Trace
Trace’s Bedroom
17th April 2015
He wakes with a start and lobs his alarm across the room, only just spotting the time “02:34” on it as it smashes into the wall and shatters into a hundred tiny pieces. The noise persists though and it turns out it’s his phone going off, not the alarm. It’s hard to focus on anything other than that bloody dream but dreams don’t help when you’ve just broken the damn clock and woken up the mother of your child who, for the record, isn’t much of a morning person let alone a woken in the middle of the night person.
Alexa Munroe: what the f**k Trace?
At least that’s what it sounds like, hard to make out when she’s still half asleep.
Trace Demon: It’s my phone.
Alexa Munroe: Turn it off or answer it outside you twat.
He might not have been sure about some of her other words but that last one makes it through loud and clear. The girl had a mouth on her back when they first met, that and her take no s**t attitude being two of the things that turned him on the most. It’s mellowed some since then but when she’s tired or pissed off she can’t keep it at bay for long.
Trace Demon: Alright, chill out, I’m going.
She throws a pillow at him as he makes a swift exit, not like he’s never been woken up in the middle of the night by one of her friends crying about some pathetic heartbreak. Gender equality is all good unless it comes to sleep apparently. He recognises the number and immediately knows what he’s picking up to.
Trace Demon: Benny?
Benny Jinks: Hey Trace, I got your boy here and he ain’t in the best of ways.
The familiar voice of Callahan’s late-shift bartender rings through the phone. Trace gave them his number in case the worst happened and he’s gotten a few of these calls since. He regrets it every time, being a good person does not have many positives to it. That warm feeling inside they say you get when you do something good for someone else? Just drink some whiskey, you’ll get the same feeling.
Trace Demon: What now?
Benny Jinks: The usual, slumped over at the booth at closing time. I ain’t staying here all night and I certainly ain’t leaving him in a bar full of booze.
Trace Demon: So kick him outside, he can sleep on the street.
Benny Jinks: Not that I got much of a problem with that, but that really what you want me doing?
F**k his kind heartedness.
Trace Demon: I’ll be right there.
He hangs up, not caring what else Benny has to say in that southern drawl of his. He doesn’t care about helping Danny, he just wants the money. He tries to keep quiet as he sneaks back into the bedroom. If he had the choice he’d head straight out instead of risking agitating Alexa further but the state of California frowns a bit on indecent exposure.
Alexa Munroe: Is this more of your shady s**t Trace?
Turns out he needn’t of sneaked full stop.
Trace Demon: It was Benny.
Alexa Munroe: About Danny? Again?
He nods, then remembers it’s dark in here and there’s no way she can see him.
Trace Demon: I nodded.
Alexa Munroe: Tell him to sort himself out because if he wakes me up one more time you can join him in that dump he calls an apartment.
Something tells him that that isn’t an altogether unlikely possibility tonight.
< *** >
Benny
Callahan’s
17th April 2015
Benny Jinks didn’t sign up for this when he accepted the job at Callahan’s. He just wanted to make some dough, maybe sneak a few drinks here and there and use his job to find some girls with loose morals who would f**k on the first date for a few shots and maybe some bar peanuts. Instead he’s gotten himself saddled with a priest with a drinking problem and a psychotic wrestler who somehow makes more money than him. Life really isn’t fair. Still, as much as he hates the guy he’s relieved when Trace walks through the door.
Benny Jinks: Didn’t think you’d ever turn up.
Trace Demon: Can’t say I wasn’t tempted. Where’s the man of God?
He thinks he’s funny with his sarcasm and witty comments, really he’s just another one of these rich LA types who tries to come off as edgy with his coloured hair and bad attitude. Benny felt confident in the thought that the guy had probably never thrown a punch outside of a pathetic wrestling ring in his life. He was wrong, as the still-comatose Alan Bennett could attest to if he had any higher brain function left, but he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t of cared all that much either, as long as he kept his distance and kept the dollar coming.
He directs the red headed freak to the corner booth. The holy man lies slumped over the table, passed out from one too many drinks. Did Benny feel bad about serving him even when he knew he’d had enough? Hell no, a drunks money is as good as anyone else’s. He did feel hard done by that the guy’s inability to hold his drink had kept him past quitting time.
Trace Demon: How long’s he been like this?
Benny Jinks: Couple of hours, was hoping he’d come too before quitting time and I could send him on his messy way.
Trace Demon: You’re a saint Benny, don’t let anyone tell you any different.
Benny wants to lash out at the sarcasm, plant a right hand right on the pointed jaw of this wannabe gangster. But he holds his nerve, he won’t get paid if he puts the money man in the hospital.
Benny Jinks: Hey, he’s your friend man; he ain’t nothing to me but another punter who can’t hold his liquor. Only reason I give you the courtesy of a call is because you make it worth my while. Speaking of?
Trace Demon: Yeah, yeah, take your money and lend me a hand.
Trace throws a few notes at him and Benny greedily sweeps them up off the floor. He’s not some vulture, he’s just doing the same as everybody else, making dollar. The world spins on the tip of the coin and anybody who thinks otherwise is downright delusional. Still, it’s not all about the money, he’s a man of his word just like mom taught him. Benny grabs one arm and Trace the other, it’s a good thing the redhead’s got at least a bit of muscle because Benny does not want to be throwing off the holy man’s sense of balance right now, he don’t want no mess to wipe up.
It’s less of a carry and more of a drag, Danny’s feet scraping along the floor between them. They manage to avoid smacking his head into the door on the way out but aren’t as ceremonious when they throw him onto the back seat of Trace’s car. Both men can’t help but think of Danny waking up and making a mess on the back seat. Benny finds the thought hilarious, that’s his style of humour right there.
Benny Jinks: That dude needs help man.
Trace Demon: And with insight like that you need to get an application in for Mensa.
Benny Jinks: Watch your mouth.
Trace Demon: Or what you big piece of s**t? You gonna stop accepting my money?
He says it out of frustration but knowing that ain’t enough to calm Benny’s rising rage. This guy’s treated him like dirt long enough and he’s sick of it, rich guys think they get to do what they want just because they’ve got money, he’s about to show him that isn’t how it works around here. They square up to each other and then he sees the look in Trace’s eyes, the look of a man who isn’t messing around, a man who’s spoiling for a fight. Benny takes a step back, second guessing himself, not often that happens, he decides to listen to his instincts.
Benny Jinks: Just get rid of him will ya.
Trace smirks at him and it pisses him off even more but he can’t come up with the guts to throw a punch. He ain’t felt nothing like this in a long time. That feeling that eats you up inside, the feeling of fear.
< *** >
Danny
Danny’s Apartment
17th April 2015
Danny Braun: What the hell?
He rubs his head, trying to rid himself of the pain shooting through it then realizes it’s not going away. That’s the familiar thudding of a hangover in full effect and it’s not going anywhere any time soon. Still that isn’t the reason for his confusion, no, that comes from waking up inside the bath at his s**thole of an apartment. Last thing he remembers was being in Callahan’s and… it all blurs from there, which makes sense given he was in that dive bar.
Exiting the bath isn’t as easy as it should be. He tries a couple of times before he can actually manage it, the first two hampered by the bile in his stomach threatening to make it’s way up through his throat, and even once he’s out it takes a lot of effort to remain on two feet. The room spins and before he knows it his head is in the toilet and he’s emptying the contents of his guts. He doesn’t remember eating tacos.
A struggle is the only way to describe the walk to the living room, passing the barren walls. He can’t bare to hang anything up on them. Used to be a time he owned a house out in Hamilton, his walls adorned with silly tributes to his lord. He brought them with him when he moved out here, to Los Angeles, with the good intention of trying to help those in need. Two months later his sister was diagnosed. Another six and she was in the ground. The tributes came down and since then have been sold one by one to fund his drinking.
He felt like s**t.
Trace Demon: You look like s**t.
He’s taken off guard by the devil sitting on his sofa sipping a cup of coffee. Where did he even get coffee at this time in the morning? More to the point, what time was it in the first place?
Danny Braun: Trace? Is this some kind of dream?
Trace Demon: Maybe, I’ve had some pretty messed up dreams as of late.
Danny didn’t want to hear about the kind of dreams that a man like Trace had. He was trying to do good by him, not that he need any help, but Trace was one messed up guy. Still he was impressed by how the guy contained his demons and vices, especially given the multitude of them all. Maybe he could learn something… no, no, not from him. He didn’t need from a heathen like Trace.
Danny Braun: You bring me back here?
He just nods with the kind of look that says “well, obviously” and takes a sip of his coffee.
Danny Braun: Why’d you dump me in the bath?
Trace Demon: Because you told me to.
Danny Braun: I did?
Trace just nods again and Danny can’t help but wonder how f****d up was he last night? His throat tastes like sandpaper, vodka and vomit, not a cocktail you’re going to find becoming popular any time soon.
Danny Braun: I need a drink.
Trace doesn’t say anything, just sips his coffee nonchalantly as he watches Danny head for the fridge, the door as broken down as the rest of the apartment he’s ashamed to call his home. He pops it open and reaches in for a beer. There’s nothing in there. He slams the door shut, doesn’t need to think about it to know what’s happened.
Danny Braun: What the f**k Trace!
Trace was waiting for this, Danny can tell by the look on his face. It’s as if he knew Danny would go straight to the fridge. He probably did, he’s been there, he knows that the only real cure for a hangover is hair of the dog. It’s not addiction, it’s just smart.
Trace Demon: What?
He feigns ignorance, but they both know there was a six-pack in that fridge when he headed to Callahan’s last night. The only reason he chooses to drink down there rather than in his own place is that he needs the distraction, otherwise he spends too much time thinking about her, about Katie and how that damn disease took her away from him.
Danny Braun: Where are they Trace?
Trace Demon: Check the plug hole.
Danny glances across to the sink, the bottles lie empty inside. His blood boils, since leaving the church he has fallen victim to a number of the seven sins but Wrath has not been one of them. Until today that is.
Danny Braun: What gives you the right to come into my apartment and-
Trace Demon: You’re stretching it calling this an apartment Danny, look around you, look where you’re living.
Danny isn’t blind, he knows what he’s fallen to. He can see that this apartment looks more like a crack den than something belonging to a former man of god, but rent in Los Angeles in expensive and he’s got to stretch his savings if he wants to afford the drink. That’s not the argument in his head of course, it’s a subconscious decision to make his coping mechanism at least semi-manageable. Sooner or later though it’s bound to fall apart.
Danny Braun: Just leave me alone Trace, I didn’t ask for your help, I don’t want your help.
He doesn’t realize he’s shouting, that he’s screaming the words out as loud as he can. He can’t see how red his face is going, another side-effect of two years of liver abuse.
Trace Demon: You didn’t have to, your sis-
Danny Braun: Yeah, yeah, my sister asked you to look out for me. But my sister is dead Trace! She’s in the ground! You don’t owe her anything anymore, you don’t have to keep coming to my rescue, I don’t need it, I don’t need you and I don’t want someone like you around me!
He’s breathing heavily, two years of drinking and a lack of cardio having taken its toll. Trace sits calmly, just staring at him in mild disgust. It’s like he’s been pushed to breaking point. In truth he has.
Trace Demon: I’m tired of this.
He stands, hands in his jacket pockets, staring Danny down. Danny can’t keep eye contact for long, there’s something very off-putting about staring Trace in the eyes for too long. Sometimes Danny can’t help but wonder if his loss of faith is misguided because if there was ever proof of a devil on Earth then he’s looking right at him.
Trace Demon: I’ve humoured you Danny, for two years I’ve bailed you out whenever you’ve gotten in trouble, I’ve paid off bar tabs that you couldn’t even remember setting up, I’ve paid your rent off whenever you got into trouble… what, you thought this place was that cheap?
He did, he was surprised when the rent was halved but he didn’t question it, “regulations” the landlord said. Part of him probably knew, he wasn’t a stupid man after all, but he wanted to believe it was just a stroke of good luck. It makes him sick to think that this entire time Trace Demon has been keeping a roof over his head.
Trace Demon: No, that was me. Because I promised her I’d look out for you. I didn’t want to get involved Danny, I didn’t want to strong arm you into any kind of rehab or force you into going cold turkey, you had to want that for yourself, but I wasn’t going to make things any harder than they had to be for you. I wasn’t going to see you out on the streets or in trouble with the bars because I promised her I’d look after you. Pretty clear to me I made a mistake.
It must pain a man like Trace to admit that he made a mistake, it’s strange that that is how Danny knows he’s serious.
Trace Demon: You’re pathetic, a waste of space, you know how much effort it takes me to give a s**t about somebody who isn’t family. You’re a nobody to me Danny, you’re my dead best friend’s brother, that’s like being a third cousin twice removed. Nobody gives a s**t. You know how many people I’ve left behind in my life? Near enough all of them, and they were a hell of a lot more useful than you. You drag me down Danny, you make my life difficult and yet I still come out in the middle of the night, pick you up from a dive bar and dump you in the bath like any great friend would! You go and find another guy who’ll dump you in the bath, guess what, you won’t! And what do you do, time and time again? You disappoint, you spit in my face and show me no gratitude at all. You think you’re important to me? No! Your sister was important to me, you’re a footnote!
He stops his tirade and it’s only now that Danny realizes how close he’s gotten, how tightly his fists are closed up, how easy it would be for Trace to just beat the life out of him and nobody would ever know.
Trace Demon: Your sister would be ashamed of you.
His words hurt more.
Trace Demon: Just like I am.
And with that he takes his leave, slamming the door on his way out. Danny slumps into a heap on the floor, unable to contain the tears as he thinks about his sister. Trace is right, she would be ashamed of him.
He needs a drink.
< *** >
Trace
Outside
17th April 2015
Trace has never been one for small gestures, more for grand rhetoric. Speeches come naturally to him, particularly since he often gets to the point that he’s so wound up he no longer cares about what he’s saying, just about making sure his point is clear. Still, sometimes you’ve got to wonder whether he’d be better off doing things in a different way.
Trace Demon: That f*****g holy man.
He sits beside the steering wheel of his car, surprised that his wheels haven’t been stolen from right on under it. He doesn’t think about going back in even for a minute, he meant everything he said and he’s sick of being the life raft for someone who just seems happy to sink. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t the smallest hint of guilt inside. He’s been on edge since he woke up, a mix of the lack of sleep and that dream.
That damn dream.
He doesn’t like to put much credence into dreams and nightmares, they’re just s**t your brain puts together while you sleep. All that stuff about them being subconscious messages never flew with him, if that was true he’d be dreaming about f*****g every single night, instead that only happens half the time and the other half he gets twisted little pieces like last night. But still, he can’t quite shake it. He’d like to convince himself that he hadn’t spent the past six hours plus sitting in that crack den of an apartment fixating over it, trying to push it to the back of his mind, trying to pretend he’d forgotten it after half an hour like he would every other dream.
He’d like to convince himself of that but he can’t, because that’d be a lie. And as much as he lies to everyone else he keeps a strict truth-only policy with himself.
That’s when his phone rings and, for a few seconds at least, he’s thankful for the distraction.
Jason Anders
The name flashes up on the screen and Trace can’t quite believe he hasn’t gotten the message yet. He goes to hang up, then hesitates. The match is edging closer, him and Joe Bishop, and he’s already got one too many distractions on his place. Those distractions though, the likes of Danny, aren’t going to rear their ugly head in the middle of the match. He isn’t so convinced that the same can be said for Anders. He wants his job back and Trace has a bad feeling that he’ll try to win it back by helping him beat Joe Bishop, because the man isn’t stupid and he knows he gets nothing by backing Bishop. That’s not what he wants, he has to beat Joe cleanly and definitively. If Anders gets himself involved that cheapens the entire thing, he can’t let that happen.
There’s only one way to be sure that it doesn’t.
Click.
He answers.
Trace Demon: You rang…
< *** >
Trace
WFWF Headquarters; Trace’s Office
18th April 2015
They sit awkwardly. Or rather he sits in such a way as to make Jason Anders feel incredibly, horribly awkward. He sits in the big chair on the top floor of the building, his eyes glaring intently into the very soul of Jason Anders. At least that’s how it feels for the former legal advisor. Trace was in full on intimidation mode right now, and he was enjoying putting a little bit of fear into the weasely, pot-bellied Anders. It took his mind off of the dream. He places his hand down on the desk and even that tiny motion makes Jason flinch.
Sometimes it’s good to be the king.
Trace Demon: What are you hoping to achieve here Anders?
He goes to speak but Trace holds a hand up, stopping him before he has the chance. It’s unneeded of course, but it’s a power play, he’s doing Jason a favour by meeting him after all, this meeting is going to run his way.
Trace Demon: Weeks and weeks of ignoring your calls, of keeping you out of shows, of telling you not to turn up for work, of having you escorted off of the premises. All of that and you still think that I’m going to cave and take you back with open arms?
Trace can see it in his eyes, that moment of doubt, where he wonders what exactly he was planning on doing when he finally got a chance to talk to Trace face to face. He must of given up hope after a while, that’s why the constant phone calls have gone from a dozen a day down to one every three or four. And even that one was probably just desperation, the faint clinging of hope that maybe he had a chance. He doesn’t.
Trace Demon: Well?
Jason Anders: I just want a chance to explain.
Trace Demon: Not sure how much explaining is needed Anders; you stabbed me in the back. There was a knife, in my back, that you and Joe Bishop placed there. There you go; I just explained it for you.
He knows he’s oversimplifying things, warping it even, but his blood still boils when he thinks about it. He was the one left lying, the one double crossed. It isn’t meant to be that way, it’s meant to be the other way around. That’s his whole shtick, the one thing that has lasted through all his mood shifts and changes in attitude. You could never, not truly, trust Trace Demon.
Jason Anders: That’s not how it was Trace.
Trace Demon: Then go on, explain it to me, make me understand “how it was”.
Jason takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to go on some long winded explanation.
Jason Anders: It was all Joe.
And that’s it, that’s the explanation, that’s all he feels the need to say. Trace almost feels insulted that he hasn’t come up with more than that, as if in the time he spent ostracised from himself and the WFWF as a whole he couldn’t be bothered to come up with something a little more dramatic. Thankfully, for him at least, Jason seems to notice the vague look of disappointment in his eyes and decides to beef up the plot a little bit.
Jason Anders: I didn’t know it was going to happen, I didn’t have a clue. It was all him, his decision, his actions, his thoughts and words. Everything he did was just him Trace.
Still not enough for him. Not even close.
Trace Demon: Do you really want me to believe that you absolutely no idea what he was going to do?
Anders shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then realizes what he’s doing and stops. Everything feels guilty when you’re trying not to come across as guilty.
Jason Anders: I knew he had… doubts.
Trace Demon: Doubts?
Jason Anders: I knew he wasn’t happy, okay! He thought you were full of s**t!
He shuts up, stunned by his own outburst. Trace chuckles to himself, but he’s also impressed. As long as he’s worked with him Anders has never shown any kind of anger, he didn’t even know he was capable of it.
Jason Anders: He didn’t see things the way we saw them, he’s young, he…
Trace Demon: No, don’t backtrack now. He thought I was full of s**t. Joe thought I was too wrapped up in my own selfish need to be champion. What? Surprised Anders? Are you surprised I actually pay attention and listen to what’s going on? You really don’t see it do you?
And now Anders is surprised, he doesn’t understand what’s happening here, far too much for him to keep tabs on it all.
Trace Demon: I already knew that one of these days either Bishop would turn on me or I would turn on Bishop. Am I disappointed that I didn’t get in there first; sure, it hurts the ego a little bit. No, I saw it coming and I’ll deal with Bishop in due course the way I was always going to deal with him, in the ring, one on one, one and done. I’ll beat him to a bloody heap and we’ll be done with things and I’ll make an example out of him. I do not blame you for what Bishop did.
Jason Anders: Then what? What the hell are you throwing me under the bus for?
Trace Demon: You never bought in. You were never part of this, you never believed I was trying to help this company. Whether you were going to do anything about it or not you agreed with Bishop that I was just out for myself. Don’t argue Anders, we both know it’s true. You never bought in because you were only in this because of your own selfishness. And there’s nothing wrong with that, be selfish, do what you need to do, be your own man, but recognise that when you’re selfish like that that sooner or later you stop being useful.
A quiet calm has come across the room.
Trace Demon: The simple truth is Anders that I don’t need you now, you brought something to the revolution, not going to deny that, not going to downplay how useful you were, but you’re not a loyal man. I saw it in your eyes, the moment Bishop took me out, it was the look of a man trying to decide which side was going to be the winning one. You side with the winners Anders, it’s a good game plan, but you didn’t play it properly, you have to see the winner coming way before the actual battle.
Trace leans back in the chair, feeling unburdened. Anders does not look to be in such a good way.
Trace Demon: I’ve spent too long playing short cons Anders, aligning myself with people who I’ll either turn my back on or they’ll turn their back on me. It doesn’t work anymore, not at this level. The only people in my life who I trust are my family, because they’re the kind of people who will never turn their backs on me and you know why? Because they know I’ll never turn my back on them. Trust is given to those who deserve it. I don’t deserve your trust Anders, and you don’t deserve mine. You’re as much of a turncoat as I am, difference is the only one I hurt is someone else. Can’t keep aligning myself with turncoats you know.
Jason Anders: This isn’t fair, I worked hard, I helped you, I did everything-
Trace Demon: Except for earn my trust. That’s where you went wrong.
The two men stare at each other, and Trace wonders whether Anders has the balls to leap across the table and take a swing at him. He’d give Anders one punch for all the bulls**t he’s fed him in this office, both over the past year and here today. But it had better be a good one. No punch comes, and Trace grows tired of it all. He presses the button on the intercom, he can’t keep looking at Ander’s pudgy hurt face.
Trace Demon: Jenna, can you show Jason Anders the door please.
Deep down he knows it isn’t enough to banish the dream.
< *** >
Anders
WFWF Headquarters; Parking Lot
18th April 2015
How long has he been sitting here, on the hood of his car staring up at what he can only assume to be his former place of work? Will the dent from where he boot a boot to the side of his cheap, crappy car come out? Do either of these things really matter, he just got f****d. Trace just screwed him over and fed him a load of crap in the process. Preaching about trust when the man can’t even get through a week without stabbing someone in the back.
Good riddance, that’s what Jason thinks.
But then he thinks about his daughter, and his ex-wife who’ll use his new unemployed status to screw him over on their custody agreement and make him look bad to the only girl who has ever looked up to him. It isn’t about the job security either, he could get a job at just about any legal firm he wanted, well the low class ones maybe, it was the power that working with Trace provided, the money, the strength. He needs that, he can’t let it go, he isn’t ready.
Trace is wrong about him, Anders knows that but he has to prove it to him. He has to show that he isn’t just backing the winning side, he’s backing the King of Demons and his revolution. Sure it might provide him with all his selfish needs but that’s just a bonus, right? Okay, okay, that’s the main thing, but that makes him trustworthy, he just has to show it. He has to prove it, come hell or high water. Nothing matters but his little girl and he needs this for her. He’ll prove his trust, he’ll prove that he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he has to do.
He has to be at End Game.
< *** >
Caitlyn
The Demon Residence; Sitting Room
19th April 2015
She’s filled with nerves, unsure whether it’s a good idea to approach him or not. It’s got to be said, she’s got to say it, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. He’s been on edge for two days now, ever since he drove off in the middle of the night, to “deal with some drunken priest” is what Alexa said, whatever that means. She’s pretty sure he hasn’t slept since then either, she caught him in the kitchen last night, when she was on a secret chocolate run, just staring out into the darkness. He’d mumbled something about a dream when she spoke to him and then made his excuses to leave. No, today wasn’t the right day, it wasn’t the right time, he’s got a big match coming up and she doesn’t want to distract him, no she…
“Oh f*****g pull it together” she thinks to herself. It’s now or never, she’s tired of ducking around the subject. She approaches.
Caitlyn Lucia: Trace?
He doesn’t look up from the laptop screen where’s watching some wrestling match. She doesn’t know who’s in it, wrestling isn’t her thing. She gets close enough to recognise to the screen to recognise that Trace is in the clip, he’s just got smacked in the head with a microphone by some wannabe punk looking tween. No, wrestling isn’t her thing at all.
Caitlyn Lucia: Trace?!
She startles him this time and he nearly knocks the laptop off of the table. She’s never seen him this jumpy before. Course she’s only known the guy for six months but still, jumpy doesn’t suit him.
Caitlyn Lucia: You okay?
Trace Demon: Yeah, yeah, fine, just a bit tired is all.
No s**t. He looks terrible, like worse than usual. His hairs lost some serious volume, giant bags sit under unfocused eyes and his hand is shaking. Too much sugar she guesses, too much coffee.
Caitlyn Lucia: You think maybe you should get some sleep?
Trace Demon: Don’t think I haven’t been trying. You wanted something?
He’s not his usually witty self, but two days without sleep will do that to you. Whatever it is that’s got the guy riled it must be pretty messed up. Just a couple of weeks back he admitted to putting a man, her mother’s bunghole of an abusive boyfriend to boot, in hospital with some pretty serious brain damage. She doesn’t think he lost a second of sleep over that. So this, well she’s pretty sure she doesn’t even want to know what’s going on with him.
Caitlyn Lucia: I was hoping to ask a favour.
Trace Demon: I don’t know if I’m really the right person to ask, turns out I’m not too great at helping other people.
Caitlyn Lucia: Well when you’re not bashing people’s heads in with crowbars you’re not that bad at it.
He gives her a half-serious glare.
Caitlyn Lucia: What, too soon?
Trace Demon: Maybe a tad.
Caitlyn Lucia: Oh well.
He chuckles to himself at the lack of empathy in her voice. She doesn’t even think for a second that maybe that’s worrying, the lack of care for another person’s wellbeing. But he was an bunghole so what does it matter really?
Caitlyn Lucia: I think I should go and see my mother and…
She’s already come too far, there’s no backing away now. Trace looks at her expectantly through those creepy eyes of his. Why is it he can’t just have normal eyes that don’t seem to judge everything you do or say.
Caitlyn Lucia: I want you to come with me.
He doesn’t seem shocked or surprised, though maybe that’s the lack of sleep taking away some basic motor functions. Like botox stopping you from moving your face or something.
Trace Demon: Why?
Caitlyn Lucia: I don’t know, because I can’t legally drive.
Trace Demon: You stole my car the first day we met.
Caitlyn Lucia: I said legally.
He isn’t buying it, not even the littlest bit. She doesn’t want to get all mushy about it, that’s not here scene, feelings are for losers and stoners.
Trace Demon: Look if you can’t give me a good enough reason to travel ten states over then-
Caitlyn Lucia: Because you’re like all I’ve got, and I trust you.
There’s a moment of silence, she can tell he’s just bathing in the moment, as if he’s won something glorious. He’s an ass like that.
Trace Demon: Okay.
Caitlyn Lucia: Thank f**k for that, thought I was going to have to steal your car again.
Trace Demon: Little s**t.
Caitlyn Lucia: Dude language, I’m impressionable don’t you know.
Trace Demon: Girl if anybody around here is going to be a bad influence something tells me it’s going to be you.
It’s her time to smile now as she tucks her hands in her pockets and… oh.
Caitlyn Lucia: I almost forgot, this was on the doorstep when I came in earlier.
She pulls out a folded up envelope and hands it to him, Trace is scrawled on it in neat but rushed lettering. He looks at it, confused.
Trace Demon: Any idea who put it there?
Caitlyn Lucia: I’m guessing if you read it you’ll find out, weirdo.
He tears it open, wondering exactly who in their right mind writes letters anymore.
< *** >
Danny
Trace,
You’re probably sat there reading this wondering who in their right mind writes letters anymore. Well it turns out I lost my phone last night, I think I might have lost it in a game of poker to this Russian girl who might have been a man. I regret telling you that, but this is the only piece of paper I’ve got left in the house and I’m not going to go hunting down some more.
You were right, believe it or not, and as much as it pains me to say that it’s the truth. What you said, it was right. I got caught up in my own grief instead of what Alice’s death actually meant. I lost my sister, and instead of dedicating myself to trying to help the world I caved in on myself, I was selfish, narcissistic and, worst of all, sinful. I looked inward and retreated into the darkness when really I should have been looking outward, helping those affected by her death and so many others. That was the role I accepted when I became a man of god.
I don’t know whether there is a god anymore, that’s not something that I can just come around to. My sister died, and so many other horrific things have happened since and before then. I have my doubts and I don’t see them going away any time soon, but doubting god does not mean that I cannot help people in another way, any way really. There are so many opportunities to make this world a better place and I want to do exactly that, however I can.
I know that won’t be easy, even now I’m craving a drink. I need to help myself before I can help anybody else and I can’t do that here, if there’s no god then he can’t help me, which means I need actual help. Rehab maybe. I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. If you can get clean then so can I, right? I just need to go away for a while, I can’t be here and I can’t go back to Hamilton, not with all the memories. One day I’ll come back and confront everything, one day I’ll find a way to right all the wrongs I’ve committed, all the people I’ve hurt, and I’ll pay you back your money, because I know that’s important to a man like you.
We were never friends Trace, I understand that. You helped me out of an obligation to my sister, but from what I’ve seen of you in the past it must of taken a lot of work to do that for the past two years. For that I’m thankful, and I’m thankful for what you said, for finally snapping me out of myself. You were right, my sister would be ashamed of me, and because of that I am ashamed of myself. It’s time I became a man that she’d be proud of again, a man that I can be proud of, and I’m going to do that because of your words.
For that I thank you.
Danny.
Trace Demon: Well s**t me. What a day.
< *** >
Trace
Trace’s Bedroom
19th April 2015
Trace has experienced a lot of weird post-sex conversations, but amidst the sweaty mix of his and Alexa’s beautiful limbs he has never had a conversation that involves the rehab of an alcoholic holy man.
Alexa Munroe: So you really think he’s going to get clean?
Trace Demon: I don’t know, but he’s definitely gone. I rang the landlord, Danny handed in his notice on the tenancy agreement. Unless he’s got some secret hideaway that he’s not telling me about then he’s either going to get clean or die in a ditch.
Alexa Munroe: And you’re so confident that it’s going to be the former?
Trace Demon: What am I meant to do? I don’t know where he’s gone.
Alexa Munroe: As if you couldn’t find out.
She’s right, with the kind of connections he’s made over the years it wouldn’t be all that difficult to find someone who can find him.
Trace Demon: I’ll make a few calls in the morning, but I’m not getting involved. I’ll keep an eye on him but he’s got to get this out of his system his way, it’s the only way it’ll work, if it works at all.
Alexa Munroe: You seem surprisingly chipper about the whole thing.
It’s hard to describe how he’s feeling really, it’s been such a whirlwind the past few days, he hasn’t slept, that dreams been playing on his mind every second he closed his eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what it was about, as much as he denies any of that subconscious rubbish. Belief or not he’s been fixated on it, but now it’s different. Now he’s free.
Trace Demon: You ever realize how important I am?
Alexa Munroe: In your own mind maybe.
Trace Demon: No, I mean, people listen to me.
Alexa Munroe: You’re very persuasive, you’ve got the charisma of a cult leader.
Trace Demon: Cheers.
She just gives a little smile, she certainly doesn’t deny it. It’d be a lie if she did.
Trace Demon: People trust me, they shouldn’t, but they do. And for the longest time I’ve betrayed that trust because I can’t handle being surrounded by failure.
Alexa Munroe: Good to know we’re not considered a failure.
Trace Demon: But that’s my point, I trust you, all of you, I’ve never turned my back on you and look where we are now. Big house, family, all of the money, like seriously all of it. And Danny, I never turned my back on him because of some notion of loyalty to a dead friend and now he’s got a chance to turn his life around. A slim chance sure, most alcoholics relapse and die of liver poisoning but that’s beside the point.
Alexa Munroe: Is there a point?
Trace Demon: It turns out if you don’t turn your back on people, the right people, then not only will they not turn their back on you but they’ll help you just like you help them. For the longest time I’ve either aligned with the wrong people or I’ve turned my backs on the right ones. And right now that feels like a mistake.
Alexa Munroe: Did you just admit you made a mistake?
Trace Demon: No.
Alexa Munroe: You did, you admitted that you made a mistake.
Trace Demon: Fine, maybe a little one, maybe a tiny mistake.
Trace rolls over onto his back, his arm around Alexa’s shoulder, her sweat soaked hair drenching the crook of his elbow. Anyone who doesn’t believe that sex is the best workout available to man and woman has never gotten laid.
Alexa Munroe: So what now?
She says it half between the realm of the living and the dreaming and he can feel her head going limp on his arm.
Trace Demon: Now… now a change of tactics.
And finally, after two days of not being able to, Trace drifts off. And he sleeps soundly.
< *** >
I took my eye off the ball, that’s what everyone is saying, that’s what the whole world thinks, it’s even what I thought for a while. But that’s not the truth, not really. See the truth is my eye was never really on the ball. For nine years I’ve been doing this and I’ve never seen the bigger picture, I’ve never seen the true value of other people. See for my entire career other people have been expendable, I’ve stepped over bodies to get to where I am right now because I thought that was the way it had to be. Wayne McGurk, Scarlett Quinn, Jack Sabbath, whether it’s here in the WFWF or elsewhere all of these names have been partners of mine amongst many others. And each of them have ended up with a knife in their back staring up at my blood covered hands.
And I never gave a damn about them.
Ever since day one other people have just been tools to further my goals, and I’ve got no shame in that, but I am ashamed that I’ve not seen the bigger picture. See I turned my back on each and every one of them without ever thinking what I would gain if I didn’t. I worked with them but never really placed my faith in them. Looking back now it’s no surprise to me that the only man I never turned on was the only man I ever won the WFWF Tag Team Championships with. I respected Thunder, and I respected a lot of the others too, but I trusted Thunder and I never turned on him and in turn he never turned on me and we had a hell of a ride. And even then I was looking out for number one but as it turns out you can still look out for number one without destroying everybody else around you.
It got to the stage where the only thing that mattered was me, and that meant that I didn’t care who I worked with as long as it meant that Trace Demon remained at the top. But when you stop looking at the actual person and just what they can do for you, you stop paying attention to what they’re going to you. You stop paying attention to whether they’re worthy to be around you full stop. Jason Anders, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews… none of you were worthy of being part of my revolution, but you were all useful. None of you shared my values or my goals which meant you were unreliable, but because you were good at what you did I kept you around knowing that for as long as you had my back I was safe.
See deep down I knew the day would come where one of you would stab me in the back, but because of my own ego I never thought you’d get the chance. I always thought I’d get in there first because I always get in there first. But why would I put myself in that position in the first place, eh? What sense does it make to ally myself with people who can’t be trusted, who I can’t rely on, people who sooner or later are going to stab me in the back or get stabbed in the back by yours truly? None, not a bit, no sense whatsoever. Yet again and again I’ve done it, again and again I’ve put myself in this position and it wasn’t until now, it wasn’t until you Joe, that I realized what a stupid mistake I’ve been making.
It turns out that when you trust someone, and they trust you in return, with absolutely no intention of stabbing them in the back you get a lot further in a lot less time. There’s a lot less scheming involved. Because you look at the list of people I’ve worked with, Scarlett, Penny, Thunder, they found success when they trusted me. A war of attrition helps nobody, and when you turn your back on someone you might take two steps forward but you always get dragged one step back. The aftermath is a distraction, as you’re about to find out.
Joe Bishop, I made a mistake letting you watch my back, but you made an even bigger mistake when you stabbed me in it. Just because I’m starting to recognise the value of respect and trust doesn’t mean I don’t still hold the same love for revenge. You betrayed me, one of few to manage something so impressive, and I’ve got to put you back in your place. I made you the man you are today, it’s because of me you’ve risen up the ranks, it’s because of me that a Trace Demon vs. Joe Bishop match is getting so much marquee attention. I made you into a star, and I can stop that rise just as quickly.
Joe, you put a knife in my back, but you didn’t kill me.
Now it’s time for me to plunge that knife into what remains of your dead career.
The Truth of a Revolution; Finale
Or
Something New; Beginning
Trace
Somewhere
Now
He’s groggy when he wakes, but not too groggy to know that something isn’t right. It’s dark outside and he’s alone in his bed, Alexa hasn’t risen earlier than him since Eliza started sleeping through the night. If she’s not there then something is wrong. He can feel it too, something drifting around his head, a sickness in his stomach, his eyes unable to focus properly. The room is a blur, not just looks but the way it feels around him. He hasn’t felt like this since he got sober. He is not a fan.
He staggers out of bed, doesn’t even think about clothes. Before he knows it he’s in the hallway, can’t really remember walking but he must of done, he sure as hell didn’t float. There’s a light on in Eliza’s room but something’s off about it, it’s got this strange tint to it, green maybe? Or red? He can’t tell, why can’t he tell? Did he go colour blind and not realize it. He doesn’t remember taking a step forward but now he’s at Eliza’s door and he can see them, plain as day. The only thing that isn’t blurry in the whole room.
Alexa has her back to him and Eliza’s in his arms. At least he thinks it’s Eliza, he can’t really make out her face from here. It has to be Eliza though, Alexa isn’t exactly the baby snatching kind, he likes to think he’s a better judge of character than that.
Trace Demon: Alexa?
His voice sounds strange, gravelly and distorted, words floating from his mouth as if they’re not his own. What did he take last night, why can’t he remember any of it? What’s with all the god damn questions floating around his skull.
Trace Demon: Alexa, what is going on? Did I do something?
She doesn’t answer, keeping her back to him. If he did something then now would probably be a good time to start apologizing, but he should probably figure out what he’s apologizing for first. He approaches her, definitely walking this time, no time skips or whatever you want to call it. He reaches out for her and… she’s gone, just gone. His hand passes right on through the suddenly empty air. He loses his balance and falls forwards, head first to the floor.
He hits the ground hard, smacking his head upon the wooden flooring. Wait, that’s not right, Eliza’s room has carpeting, needlessly expensive carpeting that Alexa insisted on and that wouldn’t hurt as much if you face planted it. But this is definitely wood, he can tell from the fact he’s seeing stars. Maybe it isn’t drugs, maybe he’s got a head injury, concussion even? His vision clears, just enough to recognise the room that he’s in and immediately the wood makes sense. He remembers the endless number of times the old man sent him face first into the floor, the number of times his blood dripped onto the wood, the hours his mom spent scrubbing to get it off.
Only reason it was wood in the first place was because his old man wouldn’t spend the money to lay some carpeting. “The little crap don’t need no carpets, what, does he think this is come kind of hotel?”
Trace Demon: A f*****g eastern European hostel maybe.
He chuckles to himself but ends up spitting up blood onto the floor. Not the first time that’s happened in here either. Split his lip open so often he’s surprised he can’t peel the thing in two. He struggles to his feet, his legs feel heavy, like they would if he had just done a killer workout, and it takes a few moments for him to even stay still. His whole body feels like it’s being pulled down, like there’s something trying to drag him straight through the floor.
Getting out of the room is hard, and making it down the corridor is even worse. It feels like something is reaching out to him with every single step, pulling him in, telling him he can’t leave. His body moves in slow motion, out of his control, and it comes to an abrupt halt when he makes it into the kitchen.
There stands his family. His mother, the pathetic, weak woman who never defended her children. His father, the abusive, alcoholic, violent man who is responsible for many of Trace’s problems, at least in his own eyes. And him, a younger version of him, five years old. His mother and father have their backs turned to him and his father is screaming silently at the younger Trace. He thinks it’s silent, because Trace can’t hear anything, just the sound of waves, like there’s water stuck in his ears. But that isn’t what puts him on edge, it’s his own face. The younger him. The faceless him. He knows it’s himself he’s looking at, he just knows, but there’s no eyes looking back at him, no mouth, no anything.
Like he’s not even there at all.
He wants to say something, wants to scream, but as he goes to open his mouth the dragging feeling becomes stronger than ever, something tearing at his legs and sending him face first to the ground, a pain that is far too familiar. And then he’s being dragged back, pulled away, through the darkness of the house and away from the memory, because that’s what is has to be, a memory.
Trace Demon: Stop!
And he does, but not in his house anymore. He’s lying down in a shower, the water running down upon him. He’s clothed, but can’t quiet tell whether he’s soaked or not. It’s like his brain has stopped working properly, like he can’t recognise something so simple as water anymore. He does recognise where he is, the shower of one of the arenas, backstage at a WFWF show. Is this real? More real than whatever else that was? Maybe he slipped, hit his head, he’s not sure. He can hear voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying.
Without knowing it he’s on his feet and moving towards the voices, at least that’s what he thinks they are. They’re not words, not that he knows, a foreign language maybe? He didn’t know, he didn’t care, he was shaken up and the world was shifting in a way that he didn’t understand, everything was changing and he couldn’t change with it, he didn’t belong.
As he crossed the line from shower to locker room he recognises the people inside it. Jason Anders, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews. The three of them stand with their backs to him, the strange sounds coming from their mouths. It’s their voices alright, he’s no doubt about that, but they’re not speaking any words that he knows. It’s just sounds, and the closer he gets the louder they get, the sound of screeching, tearing his ear drums apart.
They’re plotting, he knows they are, they’re planning to tear him down and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s stuck here, the three of them with their backs turned to him like he’s nothing. He can’t get over the noise, their alien words, they’re horrific painful voices.
What has he done to deserve this?
< *** >
Trace
Trace’s Bedroom
17th April 2015
He wakes with a start and lobs his alarm across the room, only just spotting the time “02:34” on it as it smashes into the wall and shatters into a hundred tiny pieces. The noise persists though and it turns out it’s his phone going off, not the alarm. It’s hard to focus on anything other than that bloody dream but dreams don’t help when you’ve just broken the damn clock and woken up the mother of your child who, for the record, isn’t much of a morning person let alone a woken in the middle of the night person.
Alexa Munroe: what the f**k Trace?
At least that’s what it sounds like, hard to make out when she’s still half asleep.
Trace Demon: It’s my phone.
Alexa Munroe: Turn it off or answer it outside you twat.
He might not have been sure about some of her other words but that last one makes it through loud and clear. The girl had a mouth on her back when they first met, that and her take no s**t attitude being two of the things that turned him on the most. It’s mellowed some since then but when she’s tired or pissed off she can’t keep it at bay for long.
Trace Demon: Alright, chill out, I’m going.
She throws a pillow at him as he makes a swift exit, not like he’s never been woken up in the middle of the night by one of her friends crying about some pathetic heartbreak. Gender equality is all good unless it comes to sleep apparently. He recognises the number and immediately knows what he’s picking up to.
Trace Demon: Benny?
Benny Jinks: Hey Trace, I got your boy here and he ain’t in the best of ways.
The familiar voice of Callahan’s late-shift bartender rings through the phone. Trace gave them his number in case the worst happened and he’s gotten a few of these calls since. He regrets it every time, being a good person does not have many positives to it. That warm feeling inside they say you get when you do something good for someone else? Just drink some whiskey, you’ll get the same feeling.
Trace Demon: What now?
Benny Jinks: The usual, slumped over at the booth at closing time. I ain’t staying here all night and I certainly ain’t leaving him in a bar full of booze.
Trace Demon: So kick him outside, he can sleep on the street.
Benny Jinks: Not that I got much of a problem with that, but that really what you want me doing?
F**k his kind heartedness.
Trace Demon: I’ll be right there.
He hangs up, not caring what else Benny has to say in that southern drawl of his. He doesn’t care about helping Danny, he just wants the money. He tries to keep quiet as he sneaks back into the bedroom. If he had the choice he’d head straight out instead of risking agitating Alexa further but the state of California frowns a bit on indecent exposure.
Alexa Munroe: Is this more of your shady s**t Trace?
Turns out he needn’t of sneaked full stop.
Trace Demon: It was Benny.
Alexa Munroe: About Danny? Again?
He nods, then remembers it’s dark in here and there’s no way she can see him.
Trace Demon: I nodded.
Alexa Munroe: Tell him to sort himself out because if he wakes me up one more time you can join him in that dump he calls an apartment.
Something tells him that that isn’t an altogether unlikely possibility tonight.
< *** >
Benny
Callahan’s
17th April 2015
Benny Jinks didn’t sign up for this when he accepted the job at Callahan’s. He just wanted to make some dough, maybe sneak a few drinks here and there and use his job to find some girls with loose morals who would f**k on the first date for a few shots and maybe some bar peanuts. Instead he’s gotten himself saddled with a priest with a drinking problem and a psychotic wrestler who somehow makes more money than him. Life really isn’t fair. Still, as much as he hates the guy he’s relieved when Trace walks through the door.
Benny Jinks: Didn’t think you’d ever turn up.
Trace Demon: Can’t say I wasn’t tempted. Where’s the man of God?
He thinks he’s funny with his sarcasm and witty comments, really he’s just another one of these rich LA types who tries to come off as edgy with his coloured hair and bad attitude. Benny felt confident in the thought that the guy had probably never thrown a punch outside of a pathetic wrestling ring in his life. He was wrong, as the still-comatose Alan Bennett could attest to if he had any higher brain function left, but he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t of cared all that much either, as long as he kept his distance and kept the dollar coming.
He directs the red headed freak to the corner booth. The holy man lies slumped over the table, passed out from one too many drinks. Did Benny feel bad about serving him even when he knew he’d had enough? Hell no, a drunks money is as good as anyone else’s. He did feel hard done by that the guy’s inability to hold his drink had kept him past quitting time.
Trace Demon: How long’s he been like this?
Benny Jinks: Couple of hours, was hoping he’d come too before quitting time and I could send him on his messy way.
Trace Demon: You’re a saint Benny, don’t let anyone tell you any different.
Benny wants to lash out at the sarcasm, plant a right hand right on the pointed jaw of this wannabe gangster. But he holds his nerve, he won’t get paid if he puts the money man in the hospital.
Benny Jinks: Hey, he’s your friend man; he ain’t nothing to me but another punter who can’t hold his liquor. Only reason I give you the courtesy of a call is because you make it worth my while. Speaking of?
Trace Demon: Yeah, yeah, take your money and lend me a hand.
Trace throws a few notes at him and Benny greedily sweeps them up off the floor. He’s not some vulture, he’s just doing the same as everybody else, making dollar. The world spins on the tip of the coin and anybody who thinks otherwise is downright delusional. Still, it’s not all about the money, he’s a man of his word just like mom taught him. Benny grabs one arm and Trace the other, it’s a good thing the redhead’s got at least a bit of muscle because Benny does not want to be throwing off the holy man’s sense of balance right now, he don’t want no mess to wipe up.
It’s less of a carry and more of a drag, Danny’s feet scraping along the floor between them. They manage to avoid smacking his head into the door on the way out but aren’t as ceremonious when they throw him onto the back seat of Trace’s car. Both men can’t help but think of Danny waking up and making a mess on the back seat. Benny finds the thought hilarious, that’s his style of humour right there.
Benny Jinks: That dude needs help man.
Trace Demon: And with insight like that you need to get an application in for Mensa.
Benny Jinks: Watch your mouth.
Trace Demon: Or what you big piece of s**t? You gonna stop accepting my money?
He says it out of frustration but knowing that ain’t enough to calm Benny’s rising rage. This guy’s treated him like dirt long enough and he’s sick of it, rich guys think they get to do what they want just because they’ve got money, he’s about to show him that isn’t how it works around here. They square up to each other and then he sees the look in Trace’s eyes, the look of a man who isn’t messing around, a man who’s spoiling for a fight. Benny takes a step back, second guessing himself, not often that happens, he decides to listen to his instincts.
Benny Jinks: Just get rid of him will ya.
Trace smirks at him and it pisses him off even more but he can’t come up with the guts to throw a punch. He ain’t felt nothing like this in a long time. That feeling that eats you up inside, the feeling of fear.
< *** >
Danny
Danny’s Apartment
17th April 2015
Danny Braun: What the hell?
He rubs his head, trying to rid himself of the pain shooting through it then realizes it’s not going away. That’s the familiar thudding of a hangover in full effect and it’s not going anywhere any time soon. Still that isn’t the reason for his confusion, no, that comes from waking up inside the bath at his s**thole of an apartment. Last thing he remembers was being in Callahan’s and… it all blurs from there, which makes sense given he was in that dive bar.
Exiting the bath isn’t as easy as it should be. He tries a couple of times before he can actually manage it, the first two hampered by the bile in his stomach threatening to make it’s way up through his throat, and even once he’s out it takes a lot of effort to remain on two feet. The room spins and before he knows it his head is in the toilet and he’s emptying the contents of his guts. He doesn’t remember eating tacos.
A struggle is the only way to describe the walk to the living room, passing the barren walls. He can’t bare to hang anything up on them. Used to be a time he owned a house out in Hamilton, his walls adorned with silly tributes to his lord. He brought them with him when he moved out here, to Los Angeles, with the good intention of trying to help those in need. Two months later his sister was diagnosed. Another six and she was in the ground. The tributes came down and since then have been sold one by one to fund his drinking.
He felt like s**t.
Trace Demon: You look like s**t.
He’s taken off guard by the devil sitting on his sofa sipping a cup of coffee. Where did he even get coffee at this time in the morning? More to the point, what time was it in the first place?
Danny Braun: Trace? Is this some kind of dream?
Trace Demon: Maybe, I’ve had some pretty messed up dreams as of late.
Danny didn’t want to hear about the kind of dreams that a man like Trace had. He was trying to do good by him, not that he need any help, but Trace was one messed up guy. Still he was impressed by how the guy contained his demons and vices, especially given the multitude of them all. Maybe he could learn something… no, no, not from him. He didn’t need from a heathen like Trace.
Danny Braun: You bring me back here?
He just nods with the kind of look that says “well, obviously” and takes a sip of his coffee.
Danny Braun: Why’d you dump me in the bath?
Trace Demon: Because you told me to.
Danny Braun: I did?
Trace just nods again and Danny can’t help but wonder how f****d up was he last night? His throat tastes like sandpaper, vodka and vomit, not a cocktail you’re going to find becoming popular any time soon.
Danny Braun: I need a drink.
Trace doesn’t say anything, just sips his coffee nonchalantly as he watches Danny head for the fridge, the door as broken down as the rest of the apartment he’s ashamed to call his home. He pops it open and reaches in for a beer. There’s nothing in there. He slams the door shut, doesn’t need to think about it to know what’s happened.
Danny Braun: What the f**k Trace!
Trace was waiting for this, Danny can tell by the look on his face. It’s as if he knew Danny would go straight to the fridge. He probably did, he’s been there, he knows that the only real cure for a hangover is hair of the dog. It’s not addiction, it’s just smart.
Trace Demon: What?
He feigns ignorance, but they both know there was a six-pack in that fridge when he headed to Callahan’s last night. The only reason he chooses to drink down there rather than in his own place is that he needs the distraction, otherwise he spends too much time thinking about her, about Katie and how that damn disease took her away from him.
Danny Braun: Where are they Trace?
Trace Demon: Check the plug hole.
Danny glances across to the sink, the bottles lie empty inside. His blood boils, since leaving the church he has fallen victim to a number of the seven sins but Wrath has not been one of them. Until today that is.
Danny Braun: What gives you the right to come into my apartment and-
Trace Demon: You’re stretching it calling this an apartment Danny, look around you, look where you’re living.
Danny isn’t blind, he knows what he’s fallen to. He can see that this apartment looks more like a crack den than something belonging to a former man of god, but rent in Los Angeles in expensive and he’s got to stretch his savings if he wants to afford the drink. That’s not the argument in his head of course, it’s a subconscious decision to make his coping mechanism at least semi-manageable. Sooner or later though it’s bound to fall apart.
Danny Braun: Just leave me alone Trace, I didn’t ask for your help, I don’t want your help.
He doesn’t realize he’s shouting, that he’s screaming the words out as loud as he can. He can’t see how red his face is going, another side-effect of two years of liver abuse.
Trace Demon: You didn’t have to, your sis-
Danny Braun: Yeah, yeah, my sister asked you to look out for me. But my sister is dead Trace! She’s in the ground! You don’t owe her anything anymore, you don’t have to keep coming to my rescue, I don’t need it, I don’t need you and I don’t want someone like you around me!
He’s breathing heavily, two years of drinking and a lack of cardio having taken its toll. Trace sits calmly, just staring at him in mild disgust. It’s like he’s been pushed to breaking point. In truth he has.
Trace Demon: I’m tired of this.
He stands, hands in his jacket pockets, staring Danny down. Danny can’t keep eye contact for long, there’s something very off-putting about staring Trace in the eyes for too long. Sometimes Danny can’t help but wonder if his loss of faith is misguided because if there was ever proof of a devil on Earth then he’s looking right at him.
Trace Demon: I’ve humoured you Danny, for two years I’ve bailed you out whenever you’ve gotten in trouble, I’ve paid off bar tabs that you couldn’t even remember setting up, I’ve paid your rent off whenever you got into trouble… what, you thought this place was that cheap?
He did, he was surprised when the rent was halved but he didn’t question it, “regulations” the landlord said. Part of him probably knew, he wasn’t a stupid man after all, but he wanted to believe it was just a stroke of good luck. It makes him sick to think that this entire time Trace Demon has been keeping a roof over his head.
Trace Demon: No, that was me. Because I promised her I’d look out for you. I didn’t want to get involved Danny, I didn’t want to strong arm you into any kind of rehab or force you into going cold turkey, you had to want that for yourself, but I wasn’t going to make things any harder than they had to be for you. I wasn’t going to see you out on the streets or in trouble with the bars because I promised her I’d look after you. Pretty clear to me I made a mistake.
It must pain a man like Trace to admit that he made a mistake, it’s strange that that is how Danny knows he’s serious.
Trace Demon: You’re pathetic, a waste of space, you know how much effort it takes me to give a s**t about somebody who isn’t family. You’re a nobody to me Danny, you’re my dead best friend’s brother, that’s like being a third cousin twice removed. Nobody gives a s**t. You know how many people I’ve left behind in my life? Near enough all of them, and they were a hell of a lot more useful than you. You drag me down Danny, you make my life difficult and yet I still come out in the middle of the night, pick you up from a dive bar and dump you in the bath like any great friend would! You go and find another guy who’ll dump you in the bath, guess what, you won’t! And what do you do, time and time again? You disappoint, you spit in my face and show me no gratitude at all. You think you’re important to me? No! Your sister was important to me, you’re a footnote!
He stops his tirade and it’s only now that Danny realizes how close he’s gotten, how tightly his fists are closed up, how easy it would be for Trace to just beat the life out of him and nobody would ever know.
Trace Demon: Your sister would be ashamed of you.
His words hurt more.
Trace Demon: Just like I am.
And with that he takes his leave, slamming the door on his way out. Danny slumps into a heap on the floor, unable to contain the tears as he thinks about his sister. Trace is right, she would be ashamed of him.
He needs a drink.
< *** >
Trace
Outside
17th April 2015
Trace has never been one for small gestures, more for grand rhetoric. Speeches come naturally to him, particularly since he often gets to the point that he’s so wound up he no longer cares about what he’s saying, just about making sure his point is clear. Still, sometimes you’ve got to wonder whether he’d be better off doing things in a different way.
Trace Demon: That f*****g holy man.
He sits beside the steering wheel of his car, surprised that his wheels haven’t been stolen from right on under it. He doesn’t think about going back in even for a minute, he meant everything he said and he’s sick of being the life raft for someone who just seems happy to sink. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t the smallest hint of guilt inside. He’s been on edge since he woke up, a mix of the lack of sleep and that dream.
That damn dream.
He doesn’t like to put much credence into dreams and nightmares, they’re just s**t your brain puts together while you sleep. All that stuff about them being subconscious messages never flew with him, if that was true he’d be dreaming about f*****g every single night, instead that only happens half the time and the other half he gets twisted little pieces like last night. But still, he can’t quite shake it. He’d like to convince himself that he hadn’t spent the past six hours plus sitting in that crack den of an apartment fixating over it, trying to push it to the back of his mind, trying to pretend he’d forgotten it after half an hour like he would every other dream.
He’d like to convince himself of that but he can’t, because that’d be a lie. And as much as he lies to everyone else he keeps a strict truth-only policy with himself.
That’s when his phone rings and, for a few seconds at least, he’s thankful for the distraction.
Jason Anders
The name flashes up on the screen and Trace can’t quite believe he hasn’t gotten the message yet. He goes to hang up, then hesitates. The match is edging closer, him and Joe Bishop, and he’s already got one too many distractions on his place. Those distractions though, the likes of Danny, aren’t going to rear their ugly head in the middle of the match. He isn’t so convinced that the same can be said for Anders. He wants his job back and Trace has a bad feeling that he’ll try to win it back by helping him beat Joe Bishop, because the man isn’t stupid and he knows he gets nothing by backing Bishop. That’s not what he wants, he has to beat Joe cleanly and definitively. If Anders gets himself involved that cheapens the entire thing, he can’t let that happen.
There’s only one way to be sure that it doesn’t.
Click.
He answers.
Trace Demon: You rang…
< *** >
Trace
WFWF Headquarters; Trace’s Office
18th April 2015
They sit awkwardly. Or rather he sits in such a way as to make Jason Anders feel incredibly, horribly awkward. He sits in the big chair on the top floor of the building, his eyes glaring intently into the very soul of Jason Anders. At least that’s how it feels for the former legal advisor. Trace was in full on intimidation mode right now, and he was enjoying putting a little bit of fear into the weasely, pot-bellied Anders. It took his mind off of the dream. He places his hand down on the desk and even that tiny motion makes Jason flinch.
Sometimes it’s good to be the king.
Trace Demon: What are you hoping to achieve here Anders?
He goes to speak but Trace holds a hand up, stopping him before he has the chance. It’s unneeded of course, but it’s a power play, he’s doing Jason a favour by meeting him after all, this meeting is going to run his way.
Trace Demon: Weeks and weeks of ignoring your calls, of keeping you out of shows, of telling you not to turn up for work, of having you escorted off of the premises. All of that and you still think that I’m going to cave and take you back with open arms?
Trace can see it in his eyes, that moment of doubt, where he wonders what exactly he was planning on doing when he finally got a chance to talk to Trace face to face. He must of given up hope after a while, that’s why the constant phone calls have gone from a dozen a day down to one every three or four. And even that one was probably just desperation, the faint clinging of hope that maybe he had a chance. He doesn’t.
Trace Demon: Well?
Jason Anders: I just want a chance to explain.
Trace Demon: Not sure how much explaining is needed Anders; you stabbed me in the back. There was a knife, in my back, that you and Joe Bishop placed there. There you go; I just explained it for you.
He knows he’s oversimplifying things, warping it even, but his blood still boils when he thinks about it. He was the one left lying, the one double crossed. It isn’t meant to be that way, it’s meant to be the other way around. That’s his whole shtick, the one thing that has lasted through all his mood shifts and changes in attitude. You could never, not truly, trust Trace Demon.
Jason Anders: That’s not how it was Trace.
Trace Demon: Then go on, explain it to me, make me understand “how it was”.
Jason takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to go on some long winded explanation.
Jason Anders: It was all Joe.
And that’s it, that’s the explanation, that’s all he feels the need to say. Trace almost feels insulted that he hasn’t come up with more than that, as if in the time he spent ostracised from himself and the WFWF as a whole he couldn’t be bothered to come up with something a little more dramatic. Thankfully, for him at least, Jason seems to notice the vague look of disappointment in his eyes and decides to beef up the plot a little bit.
Jason Anders: I didn’t know it was going to happen, I didn’t have a clue. It was all him, his decision, his actions, his thoughts and words. Everything he did was just him Trace.
Still not enough for him. Not even close.
Trace Demon: Do you really want me to believe that you absolutely no idea what he was going to do?
Anders shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then realizes what he’s doing and stops. Everything feels guilty when you’re trying not to come across as guilty.
Jason Anders: I knew he had… doubts.
Trace Demon: Doubts?
Jason Anders: I knew he wasn’t happy, okay! He thought you were full of s**t!
He shuts up, stunned by his own outburst. Trace chuckles to himself, but he’s also impressed. As long as he’s worked with him Anders has never shown any kind of anger, he didn’t even know he was capable of it.
Jason Anders: He didn’t see things the way we saw them, he’s young, he…
Trace Demon: No, don’t backtrack now. He thought I was full of s**t. Joe thought I was too wrapped up in my own selfish need to be champion. What? Surprised Anders? Are you surprised I actually pay attention and listen to what’s going on? You really don’t see it do you?
And now Anders is surprised, he doesn’t understand what’s happening here, far too much for him to keep tabs on it all.
Trace Demon: I already knew that one of these days either Bishop would turn on me or I would turn on Bishop. Am I disappointed that I didn’t get in there first; sure, it hurts the ego a little bit. No, I saw it coming and I’ll deal with Bishop in due course the way I was always going to deal with him, in the ring, one on one, one and done. I’ll beat him to a bloody heap and we’ll be done with things and I’ll make an example out of him. I do not blame you for what Bishop did.
Jason Anders: Then what? What the hell are you throwing me under the bus for?
Trace Demon: You never bought in. You were never part of this, you never believed I was trying to help this company. Whether you were going to do anything about it or not you agreed with Bishop that I was just out for myself. Don’t argue Anders, we both know it’s true. You never bought in because you were only in this because of your own selfishness. And there’s nothing wrong with that, be selfish, do what you need to do, be your own man, but recognise that when you’re selfish like that that sooner or later you stop being useful.
A quiet calm has come across the room.
Trace Demon: The simple truth is Anders that I don’t need you now, you brought something to the revolution, not going to deny that, not going to downplay how useful you were, but you’re not a loyal man. I saw it in your eyes, the moment Bishop took me out, it was the look of a man trying to decide which side was going to be the winning one. You side with the winners Anders, it’s a good game plan, but you didn’t play it properly, you have to see the winner coming way before the actual battle.
Trace leans back in the chair, feeling unburdened. Anders does not look to be in such a good way.
Trace Demon: I’ve spent too long playing short cons Anders, aligning myself with people who I’ll either turn my back on or they’ll turn their back on me. It doesn’t work anymore, not at this level. The only people in my life who I trust are my family, because they’re the kind of people who will never turn their backs on me and you know why? Because they know I’ll never turn my back on them. Trust is given to those who deserve it. I don’t deserve your trust Anders, and you don’t deserve mine. You’re as much of a turncoat as I am, difference is the only one I hurt is someone else. Can’t keep aligning myself with turncoats you know.
Jason Anders: This isn’t fair, I worked hard, I helped you, I did everything-
Trace Demon: Except for earn my trust. That’s where you went wrong.
The two men stare at each other, and Trace wonders whether Anders has the balls to leap across the table and take a swing at him. He’d give Anders one punch for all the bulls**t he’s fed him in this office, both over the past year and here today. But it had better be a good one. No punch comes, and Trace grows tired of it all. He presses the button on the intercom, he can’t keep looking at Ander’s pudgy hurt face.
Trace Demon: Jenna, can you show Jason Anders the door please.
Deep down he knows it isn’t enough to banish the dream.
< *** >
Anders
WFWF Headquarters; Parking Lot
18th April 2015
How long has he been sitting here, on the hood of his car staring up at what he can only assume to be his former place of work? Will the dent from where he boot a boot to the side of his cheap, crappy car come out? Do either of these things really matter, he just got f****d. Trace just screwed him over and fed him a load of crap in the process. Preaching about trust when the man can’t even get through a week without stabbing someone in the back.
Good riddance, that’s what Jason thinks.
But then he thinks about his daughter, and his ex-wife who’ll use his new unemployed status to screw him over on their custody agreement and make him look bad to the only girl who has ever looked up to him. It isn’t about the job security either, he could get a job at just about any legal firm he wanted, well the low class ones maybe, it was the power that working with Trace provided, the money, the strength. He needs that, he can’t let it go, he isn’t ready.
Trace is wrong about him, Anders knows that but he has to prove it to him. He has to show that he isn’t just backing the winning side, he’s backing the King of Demons and his revolution. Sure it might provide him with all his selfish needs but that’s just a bonus, right? Okay, okay, that’s the main thing, but that makes him trustworthy, he just has to show it. He has to prove it, come hell or high water. Nothing matters but his little girl and he needs this for her. He’ll prove his trust, he’ll prove that he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he has to do.
He has to be at End Game.
< *** >
Caitlyn
The Demon Residence; Sitting Room
19th April 2015
She’s filled with nerves, unsure whether it’s a good idea to approach him or not. It’s got to be said, she’s got to say it, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. He’s been on edge for two days now, ever since he drove off in the middle of the night, to “deal with some drunken priest” is what Alexa said, whatever that means. She’s pretty sure he hasn’t slept since then either, she caught him in the kitchen last night, when she was on a secret chocolate run, just staring out into the darkness. He’d mumbled something about a dream when she spoke to him and then made his excuses to leave. No, today wasn’t the right day, it wasn’t the right time, he’s got a big match coming up and she doesn’t want to distract him, no she…
“Oh f*****g pull it together” she thinks to herself. It’s now or never, she’s tired of ducking around the subject. She approaches.
Caitlyn Lucia: Trace?
He doesn’t look up from the laptop screen where’s watching some wrestling match. She doesn’t know who’s in it, wrestling isn’t her thing. She gets close enough to recognise to the screen to recognise that Trace is in the clip, he’s just got smacked in the head with a microphone by some wannabe punk looking tween. No, wrestling isn’t her thing at all.
Caitlyn Lucia: Trace?!
She startles him this time and he nearly knocks the laptop off of the table. She’s never seen him this jumpy before. Course she’s only known the guy for six months but still, jumpy doesn’t suit him.
Caitlyn Lucia: You okay?
Trace Demon: Yeah, yeah, fine, just a bit tired is all.
No s**t. He looks terrible, like worse than usual. His hairs lost some serious volume, giant bags sit under unfocused eyes and his hand is shaking. Too much sugar she guesses, too much coffee.
Caitlyn Lucia: You think maybe you should get some sleep?
Trace Demon: Don’t think I haven’t been trying. You wanted something?
He’s not his usually witty self, but two days without sleep will do that to you. Whatever it is that’s got the guy riled it must be pretty messed up. Just a couple of weeks back he admitted to putting a man, her mother’s bunghole of an abusive boyfriend to boot, in hospital with some pretty serious brain damage. She doesn’t think he lost a second of sleep over that. So this, well she’s pretty sure she doesn’t even want to know what’s going on with him.
Caitlyn Lucia: I was hoping to ask a favour.
Trace Demon: I don’t know if I’m really the right person to ask, turns out I’m not too great at helping other people.
Caitlyn Lucia: Well when you’re not bashing people’s heads in with crowbars you’re not that bad at it.
He gives her a half-serious glare.
Caitlyn Lucia: What, too soon?
Trace Demon: Maybe a tad.
Caitlyn Lucia: Oh well.
He chuckles to himself at the lack of empathy in her voice. She doesn’t even think for a second that maybe that’s worrying, the lack of care for another person’s wellbeing. But he was an bunghole so what does it matter really?
Caitlyn Lucia: I think I should go and see my mother and…
She’s already come too far, there’s no backing away now. Trace looks at her expectantly through those creepy eyes of his. Why is it he can’t just have normal eyes that don’t seem to judge everything you do or say.
Caitlyn Lucia: I want you to come with me.
He doesn’t seem shocked or surprised, though maybe that’s the lack of sleep taking away some basic motor functions. Like botox stopping you from moving your face or something.
Trace Demon: Why?
Caitlyn Lucia: I don’t know, because I can’t legally drive.
Trace Demon: You stole my car the first day we met.
Caitlyn Lucia: I said legally.
He isn’t buying it, not even the littlest bit. She doesn’t want to get all mushy about it, that’s not here scene, feelings are for losers and stoners.
Trace Demon: Look if you can’t give me a good enough reason to travel ten states over then-
Caitlyn Lucia: Because you’re like all I’ve got, and I trust you.
There’s a moment of silence, she can tell he’s just bathing in the moment, as if he’s won something glorious. He’s an ass like that.
Trace Demon: Okay.
Caitlyn Lucia: Thank f**k for that, thought I was going to have to steal your car again.
Trace Demon: Little s**t.
Caitlyn Lucia: Dude language, I’m impressionable don’t you know.
Trace Demon: Girl if anybody around here is going to be a bad influence something tells me it’s going to be you.
It’s her time to smile now as she tucks her hands in her pockets and… oh.
Caitlyn Lucia: I almost forgot, this was on the doorstep when I came in earlier.
She pulls out a folded up envelope and hands it to him, Trace is scrawled on it in neat but rushed lettering. He looks at it, confused.
Trace Demon: Any idea who put it there?
Caitlyn Lucia: I’m guessing if you read it you’ll find out, weirdo.
He tears it open, wondering exactly who in their right mind writes letters anymore.
< *** >
Danny
Trace,
You’re probably sat there reading this wondering who in their right mind writes letters anymore. Well it turns out I lost my phone last night, I think I might have lost it in a game of poker to this Russian girl who might have been a man. I regret telling you that, but this is the only piece of paper I’ve got left in the house and I’m not going to go hunting down some more.
You were right, believe it or not, and as much as it pains me to say that it’s the truth. What you said, it was right. I got caught up in my own grief instead of what Alice’s death actually meant. I lost my sister, and instead of dedicating myself to trying to help the world I caved in on myself, I was selfish, narcissistic and, worst of all, sinful. I looked inward and retreated into the darkness when really I should have been looking outward, helping those affected by her death and so many others. That was the role I accepted when I became a man of god.
I don’t know whether there is a god anymore, that’s not something that I can just come around to. My sister died, and so many other horrific things have happened since and before then. I have my doubts and I don’t see them going away any time soon, but doubting god does not mean that I cannot help people in another way, any way really. There are so many opportunities to make this world a better place and I want to do exactly that, however I can.
I know that won’t be easy, even now I’m craving a drink. I need to help myself before I can help anybody else and I can’t do that here, if there’s no god then he can’t help me, which means I need actual help. Rehab maybe. I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. If you can get clean then so can I, right? I just need to go away for a while, I can’t be here and I can’t go back to Hamilton, not with all the memories. One day I’ll come back and confront everything, one day I’ll find a way to right all the wrongs I’ve committed, all the people I’ve hurt, and I’ll pay you back your money, because I know that’s important to a man like you.
We were never friends Trace, I understand that. You helped me out of an obligation to my sister, but from what I’ve seen of you in the past it must of taken a lot of work to do that for the past two years. For that I’m thankful, and I’m thankful for what you said, for finally snapping me out of myself. You were right, my sister would be ashamed of me, and because of that I am ashamed of myself. It’s time I became a man that she’d be proud of again, a man that I can be proud of, and I’m going to do that because of your words.
For that I thank you.
Danny.
Trace Demon: Well s**t me. What a day.
< *** >
Trace
Trace’s Bedroom
19th April 2015
Trace has experienced a lot of weird post-sex conversations, but amidst the sweaty mix of his and Alexa’s beautiful limbs he has never had a conversation that involves the rehab of an alcoholic holy man.
Alexa Munroe: So you really think he’s going to get clean?
Trace Demon: I don’t know, but he’s definitely gone. I rang the landlord, Danny handed in his notice on the tenancy agreement. Unless he’s got some secret hideaway that he’s not telling me about then he’s either going to get clean or die in a ditch.
Alexa Munroe: And you’re so confident that it’s going to be the former?
Trace Demon: What am I meant to do? I don’t know where he’s gone.
Alexa Munroe: As if you couldn’t find out.
She’s right, with the kind of connections he’s made over the years it wouldn’t be all that difficult to find someone who can find him.
Trace Demon: I’ll make a few calls in the morning, but I’m not getting involved. I’ll keep an eye on him but he’s got to get this out of his system his way, it’s the only way it’ll work, if it works at all.
Alexa Munroe: You seem surprisingly chipper about the whole thing.
It’s hard to describe how he’s feeling really, it’s been such a whirlwind the past few days, he hasn’t slept, that dreams been playing on his mind every second he closed his eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what it was about, as much as he denies any of that subconscious rubbish. Belief or not he’s been fixated on it, but now it’s different. Now he’s free.
Trace Demon: You ever realize how important I am?
Alexa Munroe: In your own mind maybe.
Trace Demon: No, I mean, people listen to me.
Alexa Munroe: You’re very persuasive, you’ve got the charisma of a cult leader.
Trace Demon: Cheers.
She just gives a little smile, she certainly doesn’t deny it. It’d be a lie if she did.
Trace Demon: People trust me, they shouldn’t, but they do. And for the longest time I’ve betrayed that trust because I can’t handle being surrounded by failure.
Alexa Munroe: Good to know we’re not considered a failure.
Trace Demon: But that’s my point, I trust you, all of you, I’ve never turned my back on you and look where we are now. Big house, family, all of the money, like seriously all of it. And Danny, I never turned my back on him because of some notion of loyalty to a dead friend and now he’s got a chance to turn his life around. A slim chance sure, most alcoholics relapse and die of liver poisoning but that’s beside the point.
Alexa Munroe: Is there a point?
Trace Demon: It turns out if you don’t turn your back on people, the right people, then not only will they not turn their back on you but they’ll help you just like you help them. For the longest time I’ve either aligned with the wrong people or I’ve turned my backs on the right ones. And right now that feels like a mistake.
Alexa Munroe: Did you just admit you made a mistake?
Trace Demon: No.
Alexa Munroe: You did, you admitted that you made a mistake.
Trace Demon: Fine, maybe a little one, maybe a tiny mistake.
Trace rolls over onto his back, his arm around Alexa’s shoulder, her sweat soaked hair drenching the crook of his elbow. Anyone who doesn’t believe that sex is the best workout available to man and woman has never gotten laid.
Alexa Munroe: So what now?
She says it half between the realm of the living and the dreaming and he can feel her head going limp on his arm.
Trace Demon: Now… now a change of tactics.
And finally, after two days of not being able to, Trace drifts off. And he sleeps soundly.
< *** >
I took my eye off the ball, that’s what everyone is saying, that’s what the whole world thinks, it’s even what I thought for a while. But that’s not the truth, not really. See the truth is my eye was never really on the ball. For nine years I’ve been doing this and I’ve never seen the bigger picture, I’ve never seen the true value of other people. See for my entire career other people have been expendable, I’ve stepped over bodies to get to where I am right now because I thought that was the way it had to be. Wayne McGurk, Scarlett Quinn, Jack Sabbath, whether it’s here in the WFWF or elsewhere all of these names have been partners of mine amongst many others. And each of them have ended up with a knife in their back staring up at my blood covered hands.
And I never gave a damn about them.
Ever since day one other people have just been tools to further my goals, and I’ve got no shame in that, but I am ashamed that I’ve not seen the bigger picture. See I turned my back on each and every one of them without ever thinking what I would gain if I didn’t. I worked with them but never really placed my faith in them. Looking back now it’s no surprise to me that the only man I never turned on was the only man I ever won the WFWF Tag Team Championships with. I respected Thunder, and I respected a lot of the others too, but I trusted Thunder and I never turned on him and in turn he never turned on me and we had a hell of a ride. And even then I was looking out for number one but as it turns out you can still look out for number one without destroying everybody else around you.
It got to the stage where the only thing that mattered was me, and that meant that I didn’t care who I worked with as long as it meant that Trace Demon remained at the top. But when you stop looking at the actual person and just what they can do for you, you stop paying attention to what they’re going to you. You stop paying attention to whether they’re worthy to be around you full stop. Jason Anders, Joe Bishop, Kyle Matthews… none of you were worthy of being part of my revolution, but you were all useful. None of you shared my values or my goals which meant you were unreliable, but because you were good at what you did I kept you around knowing that for as long as you had my back I was safe.
See deep down I knew the day would come where one of you would stab me in the back, but because of my own ego I never thought you’d get the chance. I always thought I’d get in there first because I always get in there first. But why would I put myself in that position in the first place, eh? What sense does it make to ally myself with people who can’t be trusted, who I can’t rely on, people who sooner or later are going to stab me in the back or get stabbed in the back by yours truly? None, not a bit, no sense whatsoever. Yet again and again I’ve done it, again and again I’ve put myself in this position and it wasn’t until now, it wasn’t until you Joe, that I realized what a stupid mistake I’ve been making.
It turns out that when you trust someone, and they trust you in return, with absolutely no intention of stabbing them in the back you get a lot further in a lot less time. There’s a lot less scheming involved. Because you look at the list of people I’ve worked with, Scarlett, Penny, Thunder, they found success when they trusted me. A war of attrition helps nobody, and when you turn your back on someone you might take two steps forward but you always get dragged one step back. The aftermath is a distraction, as you’re about to find out.
Joe Bishop, I made a mistake letting you watch my back, but you made an even bigger mistake when you stabbed me in it. Just because I’m starting to recognise the value of respect and trust doesn’t mean I don’t still hold the same love for revenge. You betrayed me, one of few to manage something so impressive, and I’ve got to put you back in your place. I made you the man you are today, it’s because of me you’ve risen up the ranks, it’s because of me that a Trace Demon vs. Joe Bishop match is getting so much marquee attention. I made you into a star, and I can stop that rise just as quickly.
Joe, you put a knife in my back, but you didn’t kill me.
Now it’s time for me to plunge that knife into what remains of your dead career.
