“I need to get out of here. Let me out.”
The door opens; he steps through. The mirrored room.
He runs and charges, slamming his shoulder into the window. The glass shakes, the frame rattles, but it does not break. He screams, because he wants to be free. He wants to get to the other side. He closes his eyes and collapses to the floor, shaking and rattling in his body. His mind slamming against his skull, the dull throb behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
It was strange to see yourself, through your own eyes. He could see the battle scars etched onto his face, the strains and the lines from the pain and the wars. It was strange looking at himself, sitting on the edge of that bed, staring at him. Staring at himself cowering on the floor. Laying on the floor, struggling. Wanting to be free.
The man who wore his face, The Lost, simply smiled. An empty smile, devoid of happiness. Devoid of purity. Devoid of anything that spoke of any part of life. Just a creature wearing his skin and mocking him with it. Mocking him with what he could have. What he should have.
“Why do you fight it? You know it’s never going to happen for you. You’ll never be allowed out again. You can’t be trusted, Alexander. You can’t be trusted out there. Just stop.” The Lost said, speaking with Alex’s own voice. A voice that sounded foreign coming from that man wearing his face.
It was strange, this wasn’t the first time he’d felt this. It had been similar when Mors had infested his mind. He felt fractured then, not totally in control, but for the most part he was himself. It was different now; he existed in two parts. Almost like a split personality. The Lost was himself, but it wasn’t. It was a fracture of his mind, but something completely different. Maybe it wasn’t even something separate. Maybe it was just him. Unable to deal with his own life anymore. Keeping himself prisoner and making something else the reason why.
“I just want to be with her. Please, I love her. I just want to be out there, with her.” Alex said softly, struggling to beat back the throbbing pain in his head. He noticed that the leaking in the ceiling was worse than it had been before. Not much, but it was definitely spreading. The water seeping further in threatening to drown him when the world broke apart.
“Just give in. Stop torturing yourself. I can see how much pain you are in. Just let it go. Let me take it all. You don’t deserve her anymore. You don’t deserve to be out there, Alexander. You don’t deserve to be free. Not until you accept just how Broken you truly are. How Lost you truly are. Until you truly become yourself again, but. We both know, you’ll never forsake her, and you’ll never be free.” The Lost mocked him, reaching forward to place a cold hand upon his shoulder. The squeeze was anything but reassuring. It was just further salting of the wound.
Alex closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Pushing the world away from him. Pushing the thoughts out of his mind. Pushing it all to the limits, to try and find some moment of peace. Of freedom in his own head. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t in the room. At least, not the same one. No, whilst it seemed every damn hotel he stayed in these days mocked him with that room. The room in his mind. This was definitely different. For one, there was no leaking in the roof. The windows were open, the scent of coffee in the air, mixed with cigarette smoke.
He was leaning against the door frame, looking out over Amsterdam. Luna was wrapped up on a seat, nose in some book. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, coffee in both their hands. A moment of peace. A moment of reprieve from his own mind. Maybe there was something in finding peace when he felt trapped. In reminding himself of the world that existed outside. Of pushing all the negative thoughts out. It was a nice thought, if wholly unlikely. But for the moment, he found reprieve in being here. Being with her. Being in the moment.
“Bill fuckin’ Barnhart, huh.” Alex said softly, taking a long drag on his cigarette. Luna turned to look up at him, her eyes tired. She hadn’t slept very well by the looks, but she smiled regardless. Happy to see him. Happy that he was present.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same. How you doing, sugar?” Luna asked, ushering him to sit down beside him. To let her cosy up on him and spend the moment with each other. He smiled a little, as he placed himself down on the little two-seater, one leg up, one leg down. She twisted and turned, pulling her hair over a shoulder as she leaned up on him, laying across his body. Her smell filling his nose. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, holding it loosely in a hand hanging over the edge of the little seat. He placed his nose against the top of her head, breathing deeply.
“I sometimes wonder if I’m making the right choices. I was so happy to just walk away, and five months later, I’m right back. Here, Valor. Nothing but us has changed. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Alex asked gently, taking another long and slow breath. His mind was beginning to waver already. Struggling against him.
“I’m always going to support you, Lexi-baby. Always. Something feels unfinished, and you’ll do what you need to, to feel done with it all. If that means giving this all one more go, then so be it. I’ll be here, to hold your hand. To dab your wounds, and to hold you together. You’re stuck with me, and I’m stuck with you. Forever and always.” Luna said with certainty. A calming presence. A calming voice.
For a moment, all that existed in the world was them.
Water splashes, over and over. The echo of the drops bounding through the dark and empty space. A single chair sits beneath a overhead light. The buzz of fluorescent lighting filling the air as the yellow glow illuminates Alexander Raven. Skinny jeans, a white singlet marred with darkish stains. Dried blood if one had to guess. Upon his head a crown of barbwire, around his throat a dog collar attached to a chain. The chain is being held by slender looking hands, the owner of them not fully illuminated.
“Time and time again, they think to underestimate me. Time and time again, they learn their lesson. Beauty became disgraced. Using ploys and tactics belonging to their own misbegotten ilk. Attempting to attack me from behind, attempting to upset me by misunderstanding who I am. This was not for them to have their moment. This was not for them to succeed. This was their understanding to be given and broken upon debut. An exhibition of their inability. The fathoms that exist between us and in turn. In turn their lacking foresight. Beauty, I hope you understand. Your head was served up, for greater purpose.”
“See for the second year in a row, my path to the finals is laid in gold. Though I had the murder’s row of challengers last year. Mark Cross, Peter Vaughn. Finally landing on Sean Parker. Another failure, another collapse, but truly. I don’t mind so much. I don’t mind because it allowed for me to see how things truly work around here. It allowed me to see how they were treating us. How they treated my wife. How they treated me. Random draw, that is always the excuse. Random draw, yet they threw the world against us in hopes of slowing us down. So imagine my surprise this year. Beauty, the debuting ingrate. Bulldog Bill Barnhart, an everlasting thorn of idiocy and blunt-nosed ineptitude. A yellow brick road guiding me to the finale. To the peak, to the end. To where I will be revenged. To where I will have my return on investment. My payout. My existence brought to fulfilment.”
“See things this time are wholly different. Presence lost is presence hurt. Understanding that the money is held not in the journey, but the outcome. The outcome being the return of Alexander Raven. The outcome being the climax with a triple threat of brutality and violence. The triple threat of a estranged allies, and either. A proud Lion still chasing his own tail. Or a man still longing regain his former glory, faced with the memory who stole it all from him. Eddie Lyons or Kris Ryans. One has to wonder, who has enough tenacity to know the ending does not favour them. See, the thing is this. It doesn’t matter who it is, neither of them really have a chance here. No, see this is a full circle moment. This is a year coming. My descent started when I fought James for the World Championship. It started there, and it will climax there. So I need you to listen carefully, Bill. You? You’re a non-factor.”
The tug of the chain at his neck made him grimace slightly. Pain etched across his features, his eyes closing as he attempted to ignore it. He raised a hand to his throat, holding the chain, balling it around his own fist. His other hand went to his head pushing down the barbwire on his head a little more. Pushing the barbs deeper into his flesh. Small streams of blood beginning to slide down his face, across his features. Painting a slow crimson mask on his face.
“Do you know why you’re a non-factor, Bill? You’re a gimme. A free pass. Entry into the finals. A gift for my return, and another notch on my belt. Another nothing win against the great and almighty Bulldog. The man who hasn’t changed. The man who will never change. Unable to see beyond your own hubris you say the same things, over and over. Never changing, never stopping. Time and time again, you bluster and breathe hot air. Spewing filth and lies and pretending that it actually has any real relevance. A distorted world view is something I can abide by, normally. However, in your case? It is nothing more than aggravating to the umpteenth. I’m bored by you, Bill. Every time, the outcome will remain the same. Savour the upsets you once had, for they are nothing but memories now. Nothing but a past long forgotten, against a man who would cower in the shadow of who I stand as now.”
“I do not wish harm upon you, Bill. Truly, I wish you would simply just stop. Stop getting in my way. Stop standing in my path. Just stop, pretending that you matter. Stop pretending like any of this is in your control, for the simple fact of the matter, is that it is meaningless. You are meaningless. The only time people see you is when you are being beaten down by me. The only time they acknowledge you, is to reminisce upon my brutality against you. You are a joke. A laughingstock. A man far beyond broken, but still unable to see. You are Lost, but never to be found, because you cannot allow yourself the truth. The only time there was ever any fire in you Bill, was when these chains were wrapped around your goddamn throat. When we were tied together, in order to give a bloodthirsty crowd some fun. Some gladiatorial entertainment, reminiscent of a long bygone era.”
“Yet, you will continue to believe, as you always have. That one day this will all change for you. That you will get your championship back, that you will be more than an undercarder. That somehow, some way, you will beat me. You will go on to win the Blast from the Past. By some miracle, you will drag together just enough etiquette to be eloquent and articulate enough to go head-to-head with the master wordsmiths before you and not let them get under your skin. To get under theirs and disarm them. Somehow you think that you will succeed where everyone else continually fails. To get to the heights of the Finn Whelans and Alex Joneses of the world. I feel for you, Bill. Truly, I do. A man dragged through the mud over and over, and still. Still it falls upon deaf ears, because you refuse to listen. You refuse to see. You refuse to see the truth that is ever looming. You are nothing but a heater, a warmer. A contender to nothing more than an exercise. A warming up.”
One of the hands holding the change reaches out, placing the back of her hand against Alex’s cheek. Gently running along and rubbing his cheek. Smearing the blood across his features in the gentle gesture. Reassuring, his face slackening a little. Comfort washing over him.
“Hello Bill. How lovely it is to see you again. Are you and Bea keeping well? I’ll be honest, I haven’t really been keeping up. I couldn’t care less, truthfully. See, this scenario we find ourselves in? I don’t much care for it. I don’t much care for you. What I care about, is seeing my husband, my Alexander. Seeing him happy. How do I make him happy, Bill? There’s many ways I could do it. To comfort him through his pain, to guide him to his goals. To allow his flesh upon mine. To be together physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. There’s many ways I can please him, help him. Guide him. You? You’re in the way. I don’t like things when they get in the way, Bill. When I have to apply a harsher touch.”
“When I have to remind him of what was. What is and what will be. You, Bill? You’re meant to be in the past. The Barnharts never stood a chance against us. You never stood a chance against Alex, and Bea, never stood a chance against me. The Barnharts were always less. Always the failures. Always the losers, and now. Now you try and get in the way of our goals. I want you to know, Bill. I’ll give you, your out. The out that Alex is too kind, too proud, to offer. Simply lay down. Simply step aside, and let your betters do what they need to do. Let your betters be the better that they will always be. Or I’ll make you step aside. I don’t mind applying a loving touch, but I also do not mind in the slightest about applying a brutish one. Your pretty little wife, how much do you love her? Do you love her enough to know that I will tear each and every hair from her head. That I will claw, and rip and tear her fucking eyes out, if I need to, to ensure that you stay in your lane. Stay in your place. That you finally open your damn eyes.”
“Think of me, as the silent arbiter. The corrector of inconsistencies. The fixator of the fixated. The obsession of the one truly obsessed. You’re not worth the breath it will take to end you, but I will be there to ensure it happens. For better or worse, you needn’t worry about Alex. I’ll hold the leash, as long as you put the dog down. Aren’t you tired of being so wrong?”
Luna tugged at the chain, as she stepped into sight, stepping in behind Alex. His face twitching in pain once more. She moved the hand she was caressing his face with to his head, pressing the crown down more roughly. Tearing more at the skin. Greater streams of blood beginning to billow and cascade down his face. Down his features. Along his skin.
“Are you truly willing to face us, Bill? No longer will I simply let idiots be idiots. I will hurt you, Bill. I will break you. I will tear and cut and bite and bleed you. For you simply need to understand. You need to see, that nobody gives a damn about you. Nobody wants you here. Nobody needs you here. We do not care for you; you are a stepping stone. A gift that the next day is not yours to have. You will lose. You will fail, and when you do, I want you to understand. That when I win the Blast from the Past. When I go on to beat the World Champion and finally achieve what every was expecting of me. When I finally become the One Truth in this Broken and Damned place full of Lost souls. You will be forced to acknowledge it. You will be forced to see. You will be made to understand that you cannot, you will not. Ever be in my league.”
“I bleed for you, so you need not weep. I hurt for you, so that need not cry. I simply need you to bow your head. To listen to what I’m saying. To understand the threats of Luna are not idle, for it is only in accepting what we say, that you can be fully saved. There is no destiny, there is no fate. There is simply, you and me.”
“You, Bill? You’re not even in the same world as me. Remember that, when you’re staring up at the lights and wondering. Wondering where it all went wrong. Why you are just another loser, laying on the mat, knowing you’ll never be quite good enough.”
With that, Luna dropped the chain. A surge of electricity and Alex launched himself out of the chair, as the light goes out. The bloodied visage hanging in the darkness, the dripping of water continuing to echo in the empty space.
And then?
