Deception
Off-Camera
Alone.
He was alone again.
Luna hadn’t been able to tell him the truth. Leon Trucose was dead, and they had hid from him. All of them had hid it from him. Luna, James, Harrison and Sullivan. The irony of it all, was it actually felt like a conspiracy. A conspiracy out to undermine him. It was the first time in months, hell maybe a year, that he didn’t have anyone around him. He was alone again, and that was scary. That reminded him of the isolation, the mortality. It reminded him of working through repressed anger. It reminded him of his own existence. Alexander Raven was alone again, and now nothing could change that. He needed to wake up. He needed to understand.
Between nearly bleeding out in Peru, and being uncomfortably humiliated in his outing with Gabriel. He had taken a moment to return home. To go back to the only thing in the world that cared if he came home or not. The only thing in the world that hadn’t been able to betray him. The royalty of his own home. That poor little pup, Duchess. The dog that was meant to be the reason he’d always come home. Not just for the sake of the animal, but for Luna as well.
The nest was cold and empty. Memories of her danced across the walls. The smells of the incense, the spray of the humidifier. They’d never officially moved in together, but they’d been living like it. This was as much her home as it was his. If not more. The quaint little apartment that had been brightened by something other than his own hand. Now it was cold and empty. Devoid of the brightness that seeped from the love. A home built on lies and evasiveness. There were only a few reasons in the world that they would have kept the truth hidden from him.
The most obvious was that it involved Lauren. The truth sometimes was brutal, and he assumed that this was it. That she had been unfaithful in their marriage at some part. Not just unfaithful, but with Leon. The man who stood to continue taking everything from him even in death. If he didn’t hate the man so much he’d almost be impressed. No proof existed, but the truth was hidden. The fact it was being hidden spoke for legions of truth. Lauren, before she died, had cheated on him with Leon.
Someone knew the truth. He suspected it was Luna. Leon would have told her, to hurt her. To hurt James, and in turn knowing it would hurt Alex. A terrible friend, but they always knew what to expect with Leon. It didn’t make it better. It didn’t excuse anything. Time had passed, and he was only finding out truths now. Truths that everyone else had had time to deal with.
Stroking absent-mindedly at Duchess’s floppy ears, he found himself sitting on a chair on his balcony. A cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, his mind floated through the past. Wondering where things had changed. Was there a moment where Lauren seemed to have betrayed his love? He suspected it was towards the end. He had been less than attentive in her final days. Selfish really. He couldn’t see her like that. He suspected it was towards the end that she had found solace in Leon.
It was hypothetical anyway. He didn’t know, and probably never would. Even if they told the truth now, it wouldn’t matter. It was the deception that was the problem. A deep, long inhale. He pulled his phone out. Another missed call. Another message asking to talk. He had tried to talk when he found out. He’d thanked James when he got home and asked if he could leave Duchess with him again when he flew out again. That was the extent of it. If nothing else, James understood why there was distance. He didn’t pretend that he had done something noble. The hurt was evident, but he would still be there. Alex respected that. Hell, it was James who had drawn the gun on Leon years earlier. Maybe that was why. He’d always assumed it had to do with Luna. Never to do with Leon hurting Alex.
Another deep inhale, and he unlocked his phone. He pulled open the messages. Apology after apology. Requests to talk. She was punishing herself. He needed her, as much as she needed him. Maybe more. Betrayal or not. The only way he was going to wake this all up, was with her. But would she ever be the executioner he needed her to be? It was unclear. He pressed the call button and held the phone up to his ear. Closing his eyes, continuing to stroke Duchess’s ears.
“Alex? Please don’t hang up on me.”
He thought about it. The world seemed to slow down just a bit. Deep breathes.
“Was it Lauren?”
The silence. The whimper. The acknowledgement in voicelessness.
“I deserved to know.”
“We wanted to tell you, truly. But the day James found you, strung out on the couch. Half between worlds. We made that choice.”
“Is that why he is dead?”
“He blamed all of us. For abandoning him. For running him out.”
Alex nodded, exhaling heavily. There were moments of silence. He could hear the whimpers in her throat. The attempts to hold back tears. Punishment for a crime not her own. One of attempted leniency. To save, not harm. He knew this.
“Come home.”
He was leaving tomorrow. Heading to Brazil. Preparing for the remainder of his world tour. Bermuda, beckoned him as well. Something was stirring, and he felt hollow. Things would never be the same in his world. But there was always the opportunity to be happy whilst he could.
And she wailed. Grief, happiness, uncontainable joy all in one.
Almost akin to a death rattle.
And he smiled.
Humanity.
Sleeping with the Dead
On-Camera
The sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon. The low light of the waning Summer in Rio cast an eerie light over the Cemitério São João Batista, the Saint John the Baptist Cemetery. A labyrinth of mausoleums and graves. The maze-like structures create shadows within the long stretches. One of these hallway-like sections is occupied by Alexander Raven.
He is kneeling in the centre of the lane, his eyes cast on the ground in front of him. His hands held out, resting the backs of his palms on his knees. His palms facing upwards in offering.
“It’s an interesting little group we have here. The two men who took my crowns, and the former King who marked the beginning of my passage the Napalm Kingslayer. Strange bedfellows indeed, but an interesting one for me. I hold no resentment for Jack. I hold none for Miles, and I particularly hold none for Austin James. Jack deserves his praise, Miles and King James, whilst they stole what I felt deserving. They too are worthy. The problem however is this. Of all the potential kings, I feel like the imposter. The once false, who became true, now feels false once more. I no longer feel the Kingslayer I so adamantly screamed. I no longer feel the leader of the Broken, or the teller of the false prophecy. No, I am but a shell. A shell of who I once was. A shell of who I wanted to be. A failure. A failure that started with you, Jack.”
He lifts his hands up slowly, and holds them above his head. Shoulder width apart, holding an invisible object above him. Accepting the light from the world above.
“It started a while back actually. It was the first time we faced off, Jack. See, your nonchalance is upsetting to me. It bothers me, because it’s not real. The veil you wear doesn’t obfuscate you as well as you think it does. No, in fact it is more telling than you probably realise. I do not like you Jack, but not because you have my number. That’s irrelevant, truly. I don’t mind losing when it is necessary. All those who rise up will eventually come down. There is even some level of understanding despite your vitriol. You acknowledge, even if you hide it behind your false visage. You listen, even when you deny it. Because you need to know. You need to know what people are saying, and you need to know when it goes poorly for you. Understandable, really. So let me tell you something now, that you can listen to. Something you can understand. I will not save you. I do not mind losing, and because of that. I expect you will do everything you can to ensure that failure does not become us. It’s almost a guarantee. So I leave you with this, my fated companion. Will you let them break you, in order to prove yourself greater?”
Alex slowly brings his palms together, and touches his wrists, his fingers curling up towards themselves. The snap of fingers, and then a sudden shift. The moon hanging high in the sky, shadows thrown through the long laneway of mausoleums. Alexander Raven was in the same spot, but now in his curled fingers, a single rose. White petals, with a smattering of red.
“The white bleeding rose. A symbol of hurt, either given or taken. It’s appropriate for our relationship isn’t it, Wolves? You see, the three of us are inherently linked. It was through my demands of revenge on the mouthy mutts of the Wolf’s Lair, that we crossed paths. The one who defended the honour, the one who now realises its failings. The man I call King James. A man who I first crossed paths with, in that which awaits us. A stain on the mattress, I believe he called me. A flash in the pan. To be seen, thought of, and then forgotten. The same bullshit I have had to listen to, over and over. An argument without substance. A complaint without reality. Yet the irony of it all, is that each and every single one of you has said the same tried and tired bullshit. It all started with Fenris in fact. Another wolf who was blooded in my crusade of silencing the Kings of the past. Then was the would-be King James. Jack Washington was to follow, and then the pup himself, Miles Kasey. Like the bleeding rose, pain has been inflicted to my ego and my physical form by all three of you. But you in particular King James. You hold a special place in my heart. For as much as you hurt me. Broke my nose and belittled my existence. You were made to see the truth. That the lies are just that, lies. But in failing, King James. In failing you were hurt. Your reputation hurts. Everything to do with the big bad wolf coming back was broken. Because not only did you fall, you fell to Alexander Raven. The stain on the mattress.”
“Things have changed now, haven’t they? You appear to understand the weakness that I claimed in the pack mentality. The arrogance of it all. You are now passing that knowledge on. Passing it to the ignorant, passing it to Miles himself. Yet locked in combat, you are both far too focused on maiming to succeed. You collapse at the behest of each other’s whims and it undoes you both. The bleeding white rose is a representation of the fall of the lair itself. But in your failings, it becomes evident. Neither of you could stop me. On my worst days, you are dangerous King James. On my best days, you are another stepping stone in my path. And though I am sleeping, I will soon be awoken. I will soon grasp that which belongs to me, and I will tear it down. I am not a flash in the pan, a momentary distraction. I will prove to you again, I will prove to Jack Washington and I will prove to Miles Kasey. The world will see that Alexander Raven is not the story of his missteps. But the journey of his incomparable successes. Of all the Internet Champions, there is few that will ever be thought of as more successful than me. King James and I are forever linked as a result of it, but he can attest, I'm sure, that my path was not the easy one. So lift your head King James, and prepare to place it on the executioner’s block. For I will be the one who brings the axe down. This is simply fate.”
He wraps his fingers around the rose, crushing the petals tightly between his palms. He pulls his arms down and extends his balled hands out in front of him, slowly beginning to sprinkle the surprisingly untarnished petals from between his hands onto the ground in front of him.
“Fate however, was the time of calling for us Miles. That which sent me on the path that led me here, and which took you to heights you never thought possible. The man who handed Bulldog Bill Barnhart his second reign, and the man who gave you that opportunity. Fate was the call when we clashed for the Roulette Championship. Destiny however was the decider for when we next met. The Kingslayer and the fallen fate lord. You looked upon what was on offer and spited the existence that led you to it. Yet you are the biggest let down of them all, aren’t you? You were given every opportunity when you beat me, and you squandered it. You let the Bulldog get inside your head. You let the sway of love and romance distract you from what lay before you, and in turn. You became lesser. I know all about the weakening in the face of love. As much as I adore Luna, there is a simple fact that cannot be denied. Whilst she may make me a better person, she makes me a worse wrestler. In the same way, I feel I probably make her worse at this craft by simply existing in it. A cruel irony for lovers who would share a passion in slapping flesh on flesh. You interest me Miles, but the interest only extends so far. For what lays before us, is just interest. Strange bedfellows indeed. Can you co-exist with the man who hurt that which you love? Can you co-exist with Austin James Mercer? Can you co-exist with the man who you’ve spent months brawling with? Simple logic will say that it is an impossibility.”
“Impossible is the name of the game for us though, isn’t it? Impossibility is what leads us to a success that is beyond the measure of a normal man. Success reserved for future kings. This however, is not about impossibility. This is survival. None of us want to be here, Miles. Not a single one of us trusts the other. Not a single one of us wants to lose. But if I have to sacrifice anyone, I will. I will throw Jack to the wolves and let them rip him apart. I will throw you to King James and let him finally let him unleash the rage he seems to be holding in for you. Hell, I’ll throw Austin to you and Jack, just so that there is no big bad wolf in our way come Violent Conduct. For me, this is a game of numbers. A logic based approach would be to save myself. A logic based approach would be for none of us to give into the whims of the manipulative elite that seek to control and direct us in their own directions. But the ego. Ego is far too big on all of us to simply let this be nothing. No, this is a war of the bleeding white rose. A preview of what is to be expected at Violent Conduct. So I offer you, Miles, an opportunity. Do what must be done, and I will ensure you the legacy you so desire. Or maybe that in of itself is a deception. For benevolence is not the kingdom I seek. Happiness is not a path in which. No, Miles. What I seek is freedom from myself. A freedom from my own mind. I want to wake up, Miles. I want to wake up.”
He opens his hands, nothing remaining inside. A small pile of red tinged white petals lay in front of him. A slight smile tugs at the edges of his lips. The wind whipping through the long lane way, throwing them to the air. The moans of the stone against the elements echoing through the night covered graveyard.
“A labyrinth, is the greatest representation of that which lies before us all. A pathway to a greater end, hidden behind unending pathways to nothingness. Jack, Miles and King James. We are those who will affect everything going forward, and whilst this particular match is more one of mental gymnastics than actual result. We cannot deny that which it offers. A sacrifice. Who will bleed for the sake of the hurt we intend? Who will be our white bleeding rose? Who is the danger that must be stopped? Arrogance would suggest none, confidence would suggest oneself. Truth would tell us that all are dangerous. Miles and King James cannot stop me. I cannot stop Jack. Jack cannot control his ego, and in turn cannot stop Miles and King James. This is a test, and the only one who can win.”
“The Conspiracy.”
He slowly raises to his feet, a slight wobble after kneeling for so long.
“Sometimes, the most obvious pathway to success is right before our eyes. Are you all sleeping too?”
Raven smiles, and turns towards one of the mausoleums directly beside him. He steps forward, and then into it. The long pathway swathed in a darkness, the end of it hidden. A roaring sound follows a quick snapping sound. The rush of fire. Flames tear through the long laneway and cover everything. Bathing everything in the red glow.
Another snap.
Sudden darkness.
“Who will be the sacrifice?”
And then.
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
