"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved."
~ George MacDonald
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada - Broodmoore Mental Facility
2009
“No, please!” His whining cry rang on the hollow halls of the facility that he had been forced to call his ‘home’ for the past several years. The place where they had promised his family that they would be able to help him; to ease - if not cure outright - the fragile mental state that he had been slowly deteriorating towards ever since the car accident when he was only roughly five years of age. The accident where he had suffered such severe brain damage that it all but destroyed the part of his brain that allowed him to mentally mature. The accident that, for lack of a better explanation, trapped him in the mental state of a toddler. Imagine, the body of a teenager, but the mind of a small boy. And the older he got, he would always remain in that very same mental state. In fact, the more years that would pass, the more potentially dangerous he would become. After all, what kind of damage could a fully grown man with the emotional instability of a boy wreak on those around him? It was why his Grandfather forced his mother to bring him here, when his animalistic actions grew too intense, and they were unable to handle him at home.
They promised that they would help, but they either lied or were grossly mistaken. They didn’t help. If anything, they made him even worse. Caused him to regress to an even worse animalistic state where there was less child now than there was animal. Their methods were -- brutal, to say the least. And when he fought back, they would either restrain him, physically punish him - or both.
It was why the orderlies remained immune to his pleas when they came to his room to bring him to where the ‘Bad Doctor’ as Joshua called him, had instructed them. They had him firmly by the arms, and even if Joshua had put his every effort into getting loose, there was little chance of success. He was half their size, and where would he even go? Their grips were so tight on his pale, skinny arms that they were already hurting him, and causing bruises to form. He was clad in his hospital pajamas that he wore to ruin, and trying to bury his stocking feet against the floor was woefully unsuccessful.
“Please, let me go!” He cried, but they did not listen. “You’re hurting me!” His cheeks were wet with tears from both the pain of their grips, as well as the fear of what was to come. There was always the fear. Every time they came for him, they took him to the doctor’s ‘special room’ on the second floor, and he always left the worse for wear. Battered. Beaten. Bruised. More so mentally than physically, but that was even worse.
They pulled the fifteen year old around the corner of the hallway, and that was when he realized he was not being taken upstairs. They had passed by both the stairs and the elevators, and were going closer toward the front of the facility. There stood Doctor Silkworth, the “Bad Doctor,” beside a private visitation room. The memory lingered faintly in the back of his mind, the last time he had been brought up here. It seemed only recently that he had sat across from a table, across from his mom and grandma. But it had been longer than his mind was able to process. In truth, he had a difficulty in deciphering time. As of late, he was only allowed out of his private room when he was allowed to shower, his meals, or to be brought to the doctor. He was never allowed to go outside, and it was a rarity he was ever brought to the recreation room for movie night. Doctor Silkworth said it was because of his behavior, but Joshua knew the truth; the Doctor hated him.
Ever since he got hold of that pencil that one time and stabbed that nurse through the palm of her hand in a fitful rage.
“Joshua?” Dr. Silkworth said in that dreadful voice, causing the lad to start and look at him with total fear in his eyes. A look that the doctor found privately satisfying because he believed that if the patients feared him, they would be more susceptible to proper treatment, not fighting against it. The Doctor surprised him with, “You have a visitor.”
Words that made his little heart soar, as he asked, “Mom!?” But when the Doctor answered in the negative, shaking his head, that soaring heart came crashing down.
The orderlies brought him inside of the room and forcibly sat him in the chair at the table, on the far side of the room so he would be facing the door. One of them stretched his arm out while the other secured him as was the hospital protocol, handcuffing his wrist to the lock on the table’s surface. He looked at his lashed wrist, then up at the doctor as he stepped outside along with the orderlies. A curious thing as usually the doctor remained inside of the room for the visit, at least at the very beginning to ensure he would behave himself. So why…? But then the door opened, and inside stepped a total stranger. He had to be the tallest man he had ever seen, and had a way about him from his facial expression to his posture that practically screamed “WARNING! WARNING!”
The man was Synn, and he was visiting the teenager that he had only recently discovered that he was his son, his flesh and blood. The doctor stepped in the frame of the door, and it was enough to give the poor kid a jolt as the doctor said, “Joshua, you’ll behave yourself?” And he raised his eyebrows, making it more of a statement than a question, prompting the boy to remain silent but nod in the affirmative. Only then did the doctor nod as if pleased with the control he had over him, and he stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
Joshua looked up to steal a glance at the man he did not yet know was his own father, before he hurriedly looked away. As if the man would be upset or insulted for merely being looked upon. But the man said nothing, not yet. He calmly walked over to the table and as he extended a hand toward the visitor’s chair, he paused when the teenager flinched. Synn waited a moment or two, giving the boy a chance to calm himself, before he pulled the chair out and took a seat opposite of him. Synn watched as the boy all but hid as far into the chair as he was physically able, shielding himself from the stranger across from him.
“Joshua,” Synn finally broke the uneasy silence between them. “May I call you Joshua?” When the boy did not answer him, Synn struggled privately. Under most circumstances, Synn prided himself on always being in control. He had every minute detailing of his life, both personal as well as professional, laid out before him at all times, and he did not like when anything went astray. Some called him a control freak of the highest order, but such was life. His life. And yet, here he was. In Canada at the behest of someone he had not spoken to in over fifteen years. Sitting across from his son.
His son.
The moment that realization struck him, all control over his life went out the proverbial window. This sad sight before him, this frail, small lad, had done the seemingly impossible. He made Synn what he never expected to be. He made him a father. And to make matters even more complicated, without having spoken to him, the very moment Synn laid eyes on this boy, he was bound and determined to save him from this place. Even if he had to bring the walls down in order to do so and take out every single person inside who had brought harm upon his son!
He had awoken something in his heart.
Synn fished for something in his pocket, and once he had retrieved whatever it was, he reached across the table and a fearful by nature Joshua shot back in his chair, but it was only the handcuffs on his one wrist that prevented him from toppling over completely. Synn paused, blaming himself for perhaps moving too soon and without explanation. He then calmly held up a key, and motioned with a head lilt toward the handcuffs. Joshua’s wide eyed strayed from this stranger to his locked wrist, and then back again.
Synn said, “I see little need for you to be chained while we have a talk.” Joshua stole a quick glance past him and toward the door where the doctor had vanished, prompting Synn to add, “Don’t worry about him. I got this from one of the employees.”
With that being said, Synn stood up from the chair and started to unlock the cuff from around Joshua’s wrist. But the moment he was freed, his childish, more animalistic instincts took over. Joshua grabbed Synn by the nearest wrist and bit down on his hand - HARD! Having expected this possible reaction, Synn gritted his teeth tightly, ignoring the pain just long enough to reach over with his free hand and dig his strong fingers down into the soft crevice between Joshua’s shoulder and neck! The painful nerve hold caused Joshua to immediately stop biting, his eyes tightly shut and his mouth wide open in a silent cry of sharp pain! He fell back into his chair, and curled up into himself! He drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, his face hidden as his forehead rested down on his knees with his long, black hair shielding his face. But although he gave no further outward sign, the way his small shoulders spasmed was evidence enough the boy had been driven hard to tears.
Slowly, Synn resumed his seated position and he gave Joshua a few needed moments until he finally asked, “Are you alright?”
It took seemingly forever, but finally Joshua’s head rose up and his pretty, gray eyes were bloodshot from the salty tears, and his face flushed with the fresh tears staining streaks down his face until they pooled at the cleft in his chin.
“Y-you hurt me!” The boy cried in a charged accusation, but Synn remained stoic in his seat as he replied, “Joshua. YOU hurt ME first.”
Joshua didn’t answer this accusation. He did not or could not, because Synn spoke the simple truth. And when a child was faced with an unpleasant truth about his or her own actions, they reacted just as Joshua now did; he turned his head away so as not to face the truth of the situation, and he aid the side of his head onto his rested forearms. He then downcast his face into his arms and rocked his head back and forth.
“Joshua,” Synn said. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Joshua did not do as requested, but Synn heard his soft and shaky voice murmur, “Are you a doctor?”
“No, Joshua.”
“Do you work here at the hospital?”
“No.”
Joshua’s eyes then peeked up over the surface of his forearms and his gray eyes met Synn’s own emerald green ones as he whispered hoarsely, “Then stop telling me what to do!”’
Synn just stared down at the small teenager, and as their eyes were locked, with the pained defiance he saw in those gray eyes, there was no doubt in his mind. Deep down inside, the two were so much alike. Joshua Young indeed was his son. Then in a tender, childlike moment, Joshua wiped at his tear stained cheeks with the back of his hand and he drew in a shaky breath, but found his voice enough to ask, “Are you angry with me?”
It was such a simple question, as what child wanted an adult to be mad at them? They sought acceptance from the older generation. If anything more, they wanted them to be proud of them. Sometimes, even strangers.
“No, Joshua.” Synn shook his head in the negative. “I’m not angry with you.”
Joshua turned his head onto its side to better look at the man across from him. He asked, “Are you going to tell on me for biting you?”
Synn just smiled, “No.”
“How come?”
Synn drew in a deep breath and exhaled silently through his nose, and then answered, “Because as much as you hate your doctor, I find myself with a strong dislike toward him as well.”
“Why?”
“Because I find him to be something of a pompous bastard, if you truly want to know.”
Joshua’s eyes opened wide, almost as wide as his mouth when it fell open. To say he was surprised would be a vast understatement. Shocked, might be a better choice of words. NOBODY at the hospital ever spoke to or about Doctor Silkworth the way this stranger just had! Seeing the shock evident on the boy’s face, Synn sought to try and further this slight advantage he had found. He tilted his head to the side to better look into Joshua’s face and he said, “I am sorry that I hurt you just now.”
A soft laugh gently escaped Joshua’s smiling lips, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement. It was one of resignation. Acceptance of the inevitable. Where he has been told the same thing many times before, but was now immune to the bitter disappointment of betrayal. He sighed, all manner of innocence lost in his eyes as he looked away from Synn and mumbled, “I’m used to it.”
This revelation brought a frown to Synn’s face, and he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Joshua resumed burying his face into his forearms and he went radio silent, pretending as if he had not spoken a word. But it was an opening that Synn knew he had to press, albeit gently or else risk losing what ground he had gained with his son’s fragile psyche.
Synn said, “Joshua? Please don’t do that. You brought something up, so please share what you wanted to say. Not doing so wouldn’t be very fair of you.”
After a handful of delayed moments, Joshua finally looked up, and Synn had just barely noticed his eyes shift quickly to the door and back. He read his concern quite readily and Synn said, “Do not worry about him. Whatever you have to say to me, stays between just us.” Synn motioned between the two of them.
Again, it took a few moments of silence between them, until Joshua whispered, “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Pinky swear?” The boy said with an innocent gesture, extending his arm over toward the man with his pinky extended, which took a monumental effort of trust on his behalf. Synn looked at his extended pinky, then at him and smiled. He reached out with his own hand and their pinkies locked.
“Pinky swear.” Synn yielded. They released the binding gesture of promise and Joshua huddled back against his chair, but this time did not hide within himself. Synn relaxed back in his own chair, his chin propped on his curled fingers.
He said, “Now please tell me what they’ve done to you.”
Joshua took in a deep breath….
Las Vegas, Nevada - NowThe front door of the household swung open with its usual loud clatter, and out into the warm, evening air raced Despayre with an excited expression on his face. In the curl of his right arm, he carried his best friend Angel, and under his left arm, he carried a brand new and unopened edition of the classic board game, CLUE: Master Detective. Once she had gotten word that he had received his first vaccination shot, his ‘pal’ Mrs. Colleen O’Heaney invited him over for the evening meal. The first time he had been allowed to visit the elderly woman in her home ever since the Covid outbreak had first reared its ugly head across the world. Given her age, she was a chief risk, and it ate away at poor Despayre not being allowed to visit her as often as he liked.
A sentiment that had been lost on most, if not all, of the remaining members of his makeshift family of the Sins and the GO Gym. Mrs. O’Heaney was viewed as the meaning, orneriest person in the neighborhood, but Despayre just so happened to adore her. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, she herself had a growing affection for him as well. It just was not in her nature to admit to such a thing. But he had given her little choice but to let him be her friend, and more than once he was right there when she needed someone the most.
He had earned both her trust as well as her friendship.
He skidded to a halt at her doorstep and was about to barge inside as he had the habit of doing so, whether it was his home or not. But instead, he paused briefly as if in contemplative thought. He then carefully reached up and delivered a knock on the surface of the door. And after a moment, the door was opened from the inside and the smiling young man gleefully bounded inside as the door closed behind him.
Synn: “Those closest to me know what kind of man I am. They know I can be quite prideful when it concerns me, but I have found in recent years that I can be even more so when it comes to the accomplishments of those very same people who know me so well. The men and women that were once under my care as members of the Seven Deadly Sins and their careers inside of the ring. Their accomplishments after those same in-ring careers came to a slow yet satisfying conclusion. The fact that Gabriel, my proverbial crown jewel where the Sins are concerned as well as his lovely wife Odette, have passed on so much of their collective knowledge to the ‘next generation’ of wrestling stars. A new generation where so many have followed the traditions set by their mentors to rise to be the best. Names such as Evie Jordan and Fenris, and London Underground come immediately to mind. But I have to say, that as proud as I am of so many, perhaps it is for selfish and personal reasons that my pride for Despayre remains so prominent.”
“Despayre had not competed in over two years when he decided to finally follow through and enter the 2021 Blast From the Past tournament. I knew for the last several years how much he wanted to enter his name, and each year he allowed the time to lapse away until it was too late. Each time I encouraged him, and each time he simply allowed the spot to be filled by another. He never did explain why, when everyone in our little circle knew how much fun he had in tag team wrestling, and an event such as this was practically made for him. I thought briefly he was concerned about not doing as well as he had been known for in the past, but you know? That never really was a concern for him. Wins, losses … championships. Aside from the titles he shared with Gabriel, those things were just words. Whether it be singles or tag team matches, Despayre’s primary reason for doing so was to have fun, and to share that fun with others. And this year, I was happy when Despayre’s best friend and ‘big brother’ Gabriel helped me in convincing him to finally put his name down.”
“And once he did, all doubt was erased. With Amber at his side, Despayre has erased any doubt where his return to the ring was concerned. Any accusations that he would be suffering from ring rust for his time away? Completely erased. Despayre and Amber have come so far, making it to this year’s Semi-Finals, and they have so much further to go before they can call themselves the 2021 Champions. The next step is Myra Rivers and (and this is where things might get complicated) Mac Bane.”
“Now those who know Joshua are well aware that he is not what you might call much of a talker, at least when it comes to his wrestling promos. Every once in a blue moon, a whimsy on his part might lure him into a little chat about whomever he is standing across the ring from, but more often than not, it would be either Angel or myself who would take up the proverbial gauntlet on his behalf.”
“What it all boiled down to was who could be the meanest in some of the things that had to be said this week where his and Amber’s opponents were concerned. I’m still not altogether certain how I should feel when the votes between Angel and he came back with my having won in a so-called ‘landslide,’ but then why argue fate. We are here, I am here, and some things need to be said.”
“It is, after all, the allotted task for a manager to do the talking where his athlete is concerned.”
“Myra Rivers is without a doubt going to be the toughest challenge for Despayre’s partner Amber Ryans to face. After all, we are talking about not only the longest reigning Bombshell Internet Champion in SCW history, but also the fact that she has set a record atop that in sheer number of defenses. Do you know how I know? Quite simple, really. Because Myra tells us as much - each and every time the camera is turned on and set in her direction. Now, I can’t nor would I take anything away from the accomplishments of Ms. Rivers, and I ask that Despayre not be judged for what I’m about to say because these are my words, my thoughts - not his.”
“Myra often reminds us that by wrestler standards, she is not as young as she used to be and the level of success that she has achieved in SCW is remarkable at her age. I have never understood why this age thing even gets brought up at all, when you take into consideration that she is not that old! Seriously, thirty five? You consider THAT to be an advanced age when there are athletes twice that age still going strong in all manner of sports!? Perhaps we might even agree in her outlook if she did not take the time to state this each and every time. Granted, I said I would not take anything away from her victories, but why bring up your age every time you pull off another in an already long list of victories? False modesty, perhaps? Or to use so-called advanced age as an excuse in the event of a loss? An act of self reassurance. Whatever the case, this ageism … her bringing up so often her victories and record setting accomplishments… one has to wonder if Andrea Hernandez has had more of an effect on her than she has had on Andrea.”
“But Myra is for Amber’s concern. What Despayre has to face inside of the ring is about more than just a tall, lanky cowboy. His concerns are twofold; Mac Bane - and trust.”
“Trust.”
“Such a small word but one with the greatest of ramifications. Because without trust, you can not have a personal nor a professional relationship with someone that you have to depend on. In order to have complete trust in someone, you MUST have confidence in the honesty or integrity of a person or thing. Joshua does not trust easily, or at least, he didn’t used to. Nowadays? It seems to come more easily to him, even if he continues to have doubts or reservations. And his trust in Amber Ryans as his partner has been unshakeable since the very beginning, even when he realized when this week’s semi-Final match was against someone that his partner had a personal connection to. I only wish that I had that same luxury.”
“Mac Bane had not been around SCW for some time before he signed up for the Blast From the Past, And what time he did have previously was filled with promise. He had the world at his fingertips. He defeated Kedron Williams for the Roulette Championship, and when he did, so many people - myself included - felt that it would be the tip of the iceberg. Unfortunately, it was more like the iceberg that sank the Titanic, because a mere one week after winning the first of what could have been many championships, Mac Bane simply - left.”
“That’s right. After earning a shot at a major championship and winning it in convincing fashion, what does Mac do? He announces his departure from SCW, and the title is vacated and his accomplishments and reputation becomes a mere speck of the distant past. I myself was surprised when Mac signed up for the tournament this year, because to do so you have to put a certain level of trust (there’s that word again) in your partner, and urge your partner to have that same trust in you. And so far, Mac has proven himself a worthy partner for Myra as they’ve made it this far. Now, wrestling locker rooms are notorious for the proverbial grapevines of gossip, and word has it that some see Myra as being a fool for putting any trust in Mac for indiscretions he has had in his past in-ring career. Still, she chooses to trust him and he has done right by her. But how long can or will that trust last? Well, that I can answer; it will last until Sunday, March 14th.”
“Because the team that everyone dreaded is alive and well, and they are the ones facing Myra and Mac this coming weekend, and while the clash between Amber and Myra will be one to be remembered, I admit that I can not wait to see what happens when Mac steps inside of the ring with Despayre. Mac has a distinctive advantage in size and weight behind him, with a foot in height and over a hundred pounds in weight, but this is the part that I really enjoy; when has such a thing ever really mattered where Despayre was concerned? Goth. Shipman. Casey Williams. They all thought and said as much. They all went down in defeat to a young man barely half their size - if that. Each, and every one!”
“Mac, you had all the promise in the world when you were first here, and you squandered it on a whim. You could have moved on and become the Internet Champion had it suited your needs. You could have even made an attempt to become king of the mountain and possibly reign as the World heavyweight Champion. You just chose to piss it all away along with any real hopes and dreams that you once had to make something of yourself where it truly mattered.”
“The simple fact, Mac, is that when it comes right down to it, you are not committed where wrestling is concerned. In the end, all of the trust that Myra had for you to get her to the finals will have been proven to be mislaid. Your time is at an end, Mac. What happens next is up to you, but goes no further in this tournament after this coming Sunday.”
