The lights didn’t really come on anymore. He was in that place, he knew it. But his eyes might as well have been sewn shut. Ever since he’d accepted the schism in his mind, things had become worse. The ceiling was no longer, the window to the world was boarded up. The bed dripped with an ethereal ooze that seemed devoid of all essence of life. No colour, no heartbeat. The only thing that really reminded him he was alive was his own breath.
It was cold now.
Hope was fading, hope beyond hope. He could taste the collapse in the back of his mind; the smell of eternity stretched before him and his eyes refused to feel what he knew was there. The room he couldn’t escape was to be his tomb. The Lost would win, and he would die here. He would lose her forever, and there was nothing he could do. There was no freedom now. Nobody would ever pull him from this place.
He hoped they would get his message. He hoped they could do it.
He needed them to break his mind open. Alexander needed to be saved.
It took everything he could muster, to fight against his own body. To fight the invisible shackles that held him in place. To stand up, to move. To wade through the thick nothingness that wasn’t real. The prison that demanded he sit in it. He needed to tell them. He needed to reach out. He needed help.
“Save me, please.” He said into the void. He hoped someone was listening. Luna, his wife. Knox or Amber, one who could see he was wrong. One who could break him free. There was Noelle too. Noelle, he didn’t have faith in being saved by. No, it was far more likely that The Lost would offer her a hand in support. Support to keep him trapped here. Trapped in return for offering her exactly what she needed. What she wanted.
To offer her Knox.
It was funny how the four of them were so intricately linked.
He just hoped they heard his screams for help.
“The sentimentality in a prop is truly amusing. I said I was going to take from Carter, everything he loves. His family, his belongings, his very own blood and hubris. I intend to break him. To tear him down and ruin him. To leave him a snivelling puddle of muck groaning for relief from it all. Taking the belt itself? Symbolic. Symbolic of what is to come. The actual object is meaningless. Whoever holds it, rightfully or otherwise. It is simply an image to accompany the idea. The idea that they are the best. That they stand taller and better. That they are the king of the mountain.”
“Such love is placed in the metal, and in taking it, I upset him. I made him spit vitriol, as I knew he would. I made him do exactly what I’ve been telling people he would do. Turned him into the vile spewing narcissist that he is. Revealed to the world that it takes very little to set off their favourite. I intend to ruin what he loves. Continue to wipe my fluids upon the belt. Continue to put my cigarettes out on the face and slowly mar the lustre. I’m going to tarnish everything about this that he holds dear.”
“But taking it symbolically and taking it physically. Well, those are two different paths that lie before us. I’ve done one, and I just know he’ll be playing to take it back. He can do as he wishes, for the object is ruined. The sanctity of it, ruined. Hubris leads to downfall, and his hubris is already crushing him. One-eyed, focused and blind to what the grander plan is. For there is no destiny, there is not fate. There is just the inevitability of Alexander Raven. Which leads me to the little Lion himself. The man who fights with honour.”
“Hello Eddie, how good it is to see you again.”
“I must admit, it’s almost refreshing to see you still in the place I left you. Scrambling for that which you believe is your right. Scrambling to be seen as anything but the failure of the den. It hurts me, Eddie. To know that I offered you a hand time and time again, just to see you squander the opportunity. To see you squander every chance you get and do nothing to succeed beyond it. The sheer irony of it all, Eddie? They talk about me, as if I am a constant failure. The loser of all losers. Yet, time and time again. I prove myself to be above them all. Above you.”
“Does that strike you as strange, Edward? I’m sure it does. Both accusations should. You know better than most, you’re just not quite good enough to stop me. In your own words, I was the one who should have won the Blast from The Past. Had you both dead to rights. In your own admission, you acknowledge that it should have been me, and not J2H who was on that cruise. In your own admission, you accept that the best person in Sin City is me, Alexander Raven. No matter how much they mince words. No matter how much they try and deny it. There is no fallacy in what I do. There is no fallacy in what I must continue to do.”
“So it is through you, Edward. It is through you that I must plow again, to reach what belongs to me. To get my hands on Carter. To take more from him. To break him. To level him. It is through you, that I must break, to get one step closer to the end. No longer shall I be denied. No longer will I accept being overlooked. No longer will I let them control my narrative. That which I offered you, it is no longer yours to accept. Honour or otherwise, it no longer matters. For in me you shall find no honour. You shall find no reprieve. No forgiveness. Nothing to justify your walking of the line. Nothing to justify your inability to do what must be done.”
“For us, there is no choice. There is no acceptance, there is no forgiveness. There is a simple inevitability here, Edward. You are never going to be as good as me. You will never be on my level. You are simply in the way. You are simply another problem to be overcome. Again, the little Lion shall fall upon his blade, because that is the way of it. The honourable Knight, to be felled over and over by the devious minstrel. The Pied Piper who controls the rats and guides the mewling kittens to their untimely demise. You are nothing to me, Edward.”
“It almost feels like the story retold. First Bill, my ever-present thorn. The bleeding pain in my abdomen that refuses to ever relent. Who changes tact, but never really changes his strategy. An assumption of power that he fails to enact. You, Edward. Eddie Lyons the man of honour that is always just a pain to be overcome. A memory to be erased. A man who refuses to take the dirty low path because he seems himself as better than the muck who crawl through the gutters. You’re not better than us Broken, Edward. You’re not better than those of us who are guided by being The Lost. You’re just one of us, wearing a mantle that doesn’t belong to you. A mantle that will never fit your slim shoulders. The weight too much to bear. Too much to handle.”
“You are nothing but another of the Broken, just too proud to admit it. Too proud to admit your own failings. Too proud to admit that others are right. That the honourable and righteous path is your constant downfall. A failing among failings. You mould and shape yourself in the image of those who you think embody everything you do. The narcissists who the crowd let pander to them. The blind who pretend that they aren’t as horrible as I am. Carrion in the gutters to feed the incessant and gluttonous attendees. You mould yourself in their image, but blind yourself to their shortcomings.”
“I wear my failings on my heart. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I wear my truth for the world to see. Whether you choose to listen? That’s not my prerogative. That’s not for me to determine. That’s not for me to justify. I speak, and they’ll deny. They’ll deny the truth staring them in the face. You deny the truth that stares you in your face, Edward. You deny the truth about yourself, and who you truly need to be to do what you wish you could. You intend to take the championship belt back to Carter. Hand him back his precious little object, because you seem to think that matters. Karma? I wonder if that is what you believe, Edward.”
“Do you believe your good actions will result in positive outcomes? That a greater force will guide you to the promised land that you so desperately seek? I’ve seen into the infinite ends of the world. Into pure nothingness and seen the connective tissue of the universe and all those beyond it, and I came to realise. There is nothing grander, nothing greater. Nothing more important and powerful than us. Ourselves and our ability to believe. To be conscious. To make choices that lead to our outcomes. There is no destiny, there is no fate. There is simple you and me, Edward. There is simply us. And because I know the truth, I know what must be done, and I am willing to do it. When it comes to you and I? There is no escape. There is no greater. There is no redemption for you. There is simply, pain.”
“So I will hurt you again. I will do what I need. I will hold that championship belt aloft over your whimpering body, because that is what you deserve. That is what you are owed. To be so close to an object of your desire, but to know it is slipping away once more. For you are simply nothing but fodder. Another Bill Barnhart by another name. Another failing in the never-ending list of just not good enough. Come at me with it all Edward and know. Your best is not even close to good enough. That when it comes to you and me? Until you’re ready to accept the truth, ready to accept that of what I offer. To become, Broken. To become the Lost. You’ll never beat me.”
“Keep a close eye, Jones. Keep a closer eye, Carter. For the both of you are baying for blood, I can feel it. Baying and hoping that Edward is the upset is this time. That he can stop Alexander Raven, for fear and desire. Desire to hurt me for my actions, I know this feeling well Alex. Fear for you Carter, knowing that if Edward falls, you’re one step closer to total eradication. Annihilation. To be left the simpering fool you are, devoid of your precious championship. To see yourself bathed in crimson and know that your family can not help you. To know that they are nothing in my world. The Stakes grow ever higher, and I am the house. For the House always fucking wins.”
“I hope you’ve listened, for this time there is no forgiveness for ineptitude. I’m coming to hurt you, Edward.”
There was moments of peace in the turbulent chaos. A world that begged for constant association. That refused to relent in the endless continuation of time. As trapped as he felt in the moment, he always wished that there was something else to be free in. He wasn’t even really sure what was truth or fiction anymore. Trapped in his own mind, begging for someone to take his head.
They just wouldn’t listen to his cries.
No, it was not something they could do. He’d come to understand that now. That with each passing moment there was another bit of fracturing. The split slowly becoming whole once more. An empty abyss waiting to be flooded by the two halves of his subconscious. To bring the Broken and The Lost together once more. Ever since that fateful night with Vita Mors, the journey within himself. Acknowledgement of what was causing him to fall apart. It was slowly becoming more and more lucid.
Today was a day of his own. Freedom, a true moment of lucidity. To be utterly present with the only person left in his world. His last attachment to reality. To spend it with Luna. Like a thief in the night, Alex had taken the championship belt. It currently lay across a bare bedside table, a makeshift ashtray. He wasn’t quite sure when that habit started, but it was one that persisted. The Valor World Championship had been little more than an ash tray made visible prop. The objects meant nothing to him. It was what they stood for that truly meant anything.
He wasn’t stupid enough to think that stealing it meant anything of consequence. As much as everyone else seemed to fixate upon it. It was symbolic, everything was about the symbolism. He had to prove and show proof of that. They wouldn’t listen, so he had to make them see. See the futility of that which they attach themselves to. Objects of desire, rather than the meaning behind what the prop hides. To desecrate was to belittle what they held so dear. There was a sweet justice in that.
He leaned out of bed, butting out his cigarette on the faceplate of the championship. Adding another ash ring to the faceplate. Luna grumbled beside him, peacefully off in a world of dreams. He turned to look at her, smiling. Sheets wrapped up around her body, her hair a halo of black around her. He reached out, brushing a few stray strands back behind her ear and out of her face. The gentlest movement of thumb against her cheek. Reminding himself that she was real, that she was warm. That he was alive, and present. That for now, he was free. If only for this moment.
He took in a deep breath and swung his legs out of the bed. He couldn’t sleep; his mind was too busy. Too busy with his own existentialism. He reached out and grabbed the championship, taking it loosely in one hand as he got up out of bed with a grunt. His body was beginning to hurt after the decades long abuse it had been under. Beginning was probably the wrong way to describe it. He always hurt, it just was more noticeable in moments like these. Moments of quiet, moments of softness. When he relaxed, his muscles were given the right to ache. Reminders of what he had done to himself. Reminders of what awaited him. Constant burning pain.
“Where you going, baby?” Luna said softly, her voice groggy with sleep. He smiled as he turned around to look down at her. Her eyes half opened in drowsiness. Not really ready to wake up just yet. The glare of a bedside clock on her side told him it was only 3 in the morning. Far too early for them to actually rise.
“Just need to stretch my legs. Mind is a little too busy.” Alex said softly in response, reaching down to brush her cheek once more. She turned into his touch, taking his hand in hers and placing a gentle kiss to it.
“Take me with you.” Luna mumbled quietly. He smiled, dropping the championship into the mess of clothes on the floor. A tale of a messy night and hurried undressing. The belt meant nothing compared to her. He placed a knee on the bed, pulling her up into his chest, and then scooping her up in his arms. Her tiny frame pressed tightly to him. Her arms looping around his neck, as she buried her face into his chest. The true championship in his life. The only thing that really mattered.
He slowly walked his way through the mess on the ground, carrying her out into the lounge area. Thankfully a lamp left on so he could guide his way through the low light. Being careful not to disturb her as her breathing turned shallow. Drifted off to sleep once more. He looked around at their little den of love, their home. Everything spoke of her. Her furniture, her life. Her decorations and touches of life. Replicas of their former glories framed and hung on the walls. This was her home, her place. There was moments of him, but truly.
He lived somewhere that enshrined her completely. He gingerly reached down to grab a blanket that hung over the back of one of their couches, wrapping it around his shoulders. Giving some break against the chill of the air on their naked frames. He bumped the central heating control with his shoulder, turning on the heat. He waited a few seconds before he heard the telltale roar of the system coming to life. Hot air blasting out of the ceiling vents. It would take a few minutes to warm up, but it was better than attempting to navigate getting dressed with Luna in his arms.
He was impressed she slept so soundly. Her safest place, in his arms. It remind him of something. Reminded him of a night so many years ago. The two of them, seated in a backyard somewhere in the suburbs of Melbourne. Gazing into the sky, wrapped up on each other on a tacky broken couch that they’d picked up off the side of the road. James had drunk himself into a stupor and was snoring away in a camping chair on the other side of a barrel fire.
“Do you remember when my mum passed? You spent that whole night after her funeral, holding my hand. Letting me know that there was still love in this world. That there was still… peace. I don’t know if I ever thanked for that. I love you, Luna. You’re my peace.” Alex said softly, looking down at her as she slept peacefully in his arms. It was a strange thing, standing her. The two of them in nothing but their bare bodies. Standing in a world that she had built to keep them safe and happy. The roar of the heating, a blanket to keep them warm. Standing there, looking around. A moment of peace, in a world that he continued to build into chaos.
He would never let anyone take this from him.
Never again.
