Where am I? I honestly can’t tell you that. I have spent the last several weeks trying to figure out the answer, but I keep coming up short. I do my best to find my way back to reality, but I just can’t. I was supposed to be at Climax Control today, but I couldn’t get myself to leave the house. It is the same old garbage as usual, so I don’t feel like I missed much. Some asshole was running his mouth about being mistreated while another asshole was making back door deals. Some bitch attacked a fellow Bombshell, while everyone bitched and moaned. Oh, and there was another attack on the New X-Tremes. Yep, the same old tired routine that has been going on for months. If I had been there, I would be angry right about now. Instead, I sit here sedated by my own apathy. The only place I want to be is at the edge of my back yard. My hands pressed against the hard, cold stone block.”
The cold winter air wisps through Spike’s jacket as he walks across the crunchy leaves in his back yard. The sun is glowing red in the western sky as he makes the slow trek across the acre lawn. His face is like a statue despite the blustery cold wind whipping at his pale cheeks. The light snow flurries behind him as he works his way past the jolly red swing set and the merry go round. He goes to a dead tree at the corner of his lawn, sitting down on a marble bench that sits beneath it. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a single red rose. His eyes waver just slightly as he places it between his two hands. After moments of deliberation, Spike opens his mouth to speak, but he chokes on his own words. His eyes focus solely on the stone block sitting in front of him as he clutches the rose tighter in his hand. The thorns break through his skin, causing trickles of blood to pour down to the dead brown blades of grass. He closes his eyes, enjoying the first time feeling anything since SCW’s New Year Rising on January 13th. A soft groan escapes his lips as he eventually loosens his grip on the stem. He looks up at the sky for just a moment, not sure if he will find his answer there. He chokes on his own breaths, stifling them as his eyes return down to the ground. He places the single rose on top of the stone next to a wilted red rose. Spike had never been a very religious man, but these last three weeks, he has been praying a lot. He places his fingers to his forehead, to his stomach, then left to right. He mouths “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit… Amen.” He folds his hands, lacing his fingers together as he places his chin on top of his hands.
Spike: Father, I have come to you once more to ask for your guidance. I need you to explain to me why on God’s… your green Earth, would you allow this to happen? Why?
Spike closes his eyes tightly, straining his hardest to hear an answer. Any answer would do, but he hears nothing. Absolutely nothing. His eyes shoot open, looking around. A delusion produced by his own mind would even suffice as divine intervention, but he is not even afforded that. His eyes wander around the neighboring yard of the “abandoned” house where Misty has been residing. Hate fills his eyes as he grits his teeth. That hate is clouded by regret and sadness, diluting his rage toward his ex. He tries so hard to tune himself into the spirit, but he fails. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes once more.
Spike: I know I have not been a poster boy of Christianity. I understand that I am a rotten bastard in many ways. I know that I do not deserve any grace for what I’ve done in my life. If you struck me down by lightening right this very minute, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. I just want to know why? Why? WHY?!
Spike pounds his balled up fists to his sides, scraping them up on the marble bench. He loses focus for just a moment, but he tries his very best to quickly regain it. He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes so that he isn’t distracted by any of the outside factors. His ears perk up slightly, much like a wolf who is listening for potential prey. His clinches jaw slowly unravels and he looks deep inside himself for an answer; any answer at all.
Spike: I don’t deserve any mercy. That has been made abundantly clear over the last year or so. I have come to accept this fact, but this is not even about me. This is not about the way Misty and I have screwed things up for ourselves and our potential salvation. All I am asking for is an answer. Dear Lord, please afford me that at the very least?
Spike opens his eyes hopefully. He scans the yard, and then moves back up to the sky. All he sees above him is the wind blowing through the lifeless branches. Everything around his is dead. Death lingers in the bushes, in the trees, in the ground, and it claws at his very own soul. It has almost become a desire of his own that Death ravage him and finish doing what the world had already been furiously working at doing. When all is down and out, that is when the fighter in Spike comes out. This time is no different. Spike shoots his icy blue eyes open and he looks furiously toward the stone.
Spike: For fuck’s sake! Piss and fuck! I come out here, doing my best to appease something that obviously isn’t there, on the off chance that I could become a believer! Who in their right mind could understand this kind of poetic tragedy? Who the FUCK can accept losing their unborn son to a selfish woman who lacks any maternal instinct? I tried. I came out here daily and I put my pride and my emotions on the line in hopes of understanding something greater than myself! If you have a plan for all of this, then I damn well fucking hope you spill it now, because I’m just about out of patience!
Spike’s fists are clinched tightly as a single stream of tears runs down his face. He angrily bites down on his lip, trying his best to calm himself down. He falls down on his hands and knees at the blank slab of rock in front of him, his hands crunching against the crimson red, delicately dead roses he has brought out with him over the last several weeks. He screams out in aggravation, pounding his fists against the ground. The anger wells up inside of him as he finds himself curling up on the ground in a fetal position. He clutches onto his own knees as he steadies himself. He tries so hard to calm himself down that he doesn’t see the dark haired boy walking over to his side. Spike doesn’t even notice that the boy is leaning down, but his emotions are set at ease when the boy begins gently stroking Spike’s head. He leans down and wraps his arms around Spike, warming him with his angelic glow. From the distance, Misty’s face peeks through a window at Spike. She is enraged as she leans out of her window. The piercing shriek of a woman hell-bent on protecting her child comes out from the distance. It startles Spike as he looks up at her. He can make out his name, and a few obscenities, but he can’t tell what she is saying. He gets up from the ground and walks closer to her, following the gate until he is parallel to her window. He still has trouble understanding her as she freaks out on him, but three words make his ears perk up.
Misty: … MY BABY BOY!
He notices the familiar look in her eyes, as well as the faint moonlight glowing off of her tears. His face turns red with anger as he tries to think of something, anything, to say to her so will stop using emotional warfare on him. His words strain as he begins choking on them. He wipes the tear from his eyes as he pulls himself together somewhat.
Spike: You have NO business interrupting my time with our child! You are a selfish, conceded piece of SHIT Misty!
With that, she pulls the shades closed and she disappears. Spike turns around and sighs in relief. He leans against the fence and looks up at the moon, shaking his head in pure disbelief. As he starts to walk away, he hears the back door creak open. Misty comes outside, screaming like a banshee as she charges at him. She tries running through the fence at him, but she skids to a stop while reaching over toward Spike’s folded arms. She grunts in a primal nature as Spike backs away. Misty begins climbing over the fence to get at him.
Misty: You son of a BITCH! You give him back right now, do you hear me?
Spike: What in hell are you talking about, Misty?
Misty’s grief stricken eyes shoot daggers through Spike when she leaps over the remainder of the fence. She shoves him in the chest and tries to snatch at something in his arms.
Misty: You know exactly what I’m talking about, you thief. Our child!
Spike: You abandoned Eden, Misty. You only want her to hurt me, but you have absolutely no claim to her beyond the blood tie.
Misty: Eden is my daughter, but I’m talking about our son! In your arms!
Spike looks down and unfolds his arms. When crazy talks to crazy, then crazy is bound to happen. Misty gasps at Spike but keeps her eyes on Spike’s right hand. She continuously tries to grab at it. Spike’s eyes widen as he listens to her grunt. He can tell that something serious is going on with Misty. For the briefest of seconds, Spike feels a pang of sympathy for her. He puts his left hand against Misty’s abdomen, keeping her at a distance.
Misty: Get your disgusting hands off of me, you creep!
Spike: Misty… MISTY! Our son is… he’s dead.
Misty’s eyes stare into his and al of the anger pours out in several tears that stream down her cheek. There is plenty to go around as she punches him in the chest. She slaps him across the face as hard as she can.
Misty: NO! He’s right… He’s right th…ere. I see him.
Misty’s eyes pour out tears as she continues punching him in anger. Each blow gets softer until Spike pulls her in for a hug out of instinct. She screams out in pain as she continues hitting him in the side until her arms fall limp. She sinks to the ground, a mess, as she buries her head on his shoulder. He comes down to the ground with her, patting her on the back. Spike pats her back as he joins her in a pain-letting cry, not noticing the glow of their angelic son who is standing behind them, looking down at them with his wings spread proudly.
”Never a full answer. Everything is so cryptic and convoluted. The only thing that sets me at ease is clinging to the belief that there is someone or something out there that is greater than me. Someone who is better capable of looking after my son. I am frail. I am damaged. I might be beyond redemption, but I am not without grace. I was meant to watch after him, when in fact, it is he who watches over me… Of course, this does not come without it’s price to pay, when the person who came together with me to create this spirit is a woman I completely and utterly detest. As much as I want to hate her and to see her disappear, I just can’t push her out completely. She is an awful human being, a terrible mother, and a selfish drain on everyone around her… But she is human. She is the mother of my child. She is around. I just have to accept it and move on, I suppose.”
In the distance, the groaning of a female can be heard echoing off of the walls. Getting closer, the panting gets louder and the creaking of the bed and headboard is an excellent clue as to what is going on. The groaning gets louder as a male accompanies her ecstatic cries. The creaking of the bed becomes much more rapid as we move toward the open doorway. The moon shines through the darkened room, showing us a silhouette of a woman bent over and a man behind, sitting on his own feet as he pushes forward. The covers are clustered about, giving them a thin bit of privacy as the cameras move in, looking around the blackness. The groaning and light French accent immediately gives it away as Vixen. Her breaths interrupt her speech as she lashes out in her native tongue. Spike responds without words, but by simply picking her up and holding her firmly against himself. Their bodies melt into each other as their moans turn to screams. After just a moment, Vixen clutches onto Spike, burying her face against his neck. Shortly after she moans desperately into him, he releases many of his recent tensions. He hugs her closely before they collapse on the bed together. Their breaths lash against each others as they stare into each others eyes. Vixen runs her fingers over Spike’s cheek, wiping away a few beads of sweat. He gives a soft chuckle as he leans up and lashes his lips against hers. The moonlight glows in his eyes as Vixen mutters something in French. He responds with his own seductive, but admittedly bad French phrase and accent.
Spike: Mmmm… Mon chou petit…
Vixen giggles at Spike’s first (butchering) attempt at speaking French. She runs her fingers over his right cheek slowly before kissing his left. He places his hand behind her head, lacing his fingers up in her hair. He gives a gentle nudge as his lips tangle with hers for just a moment. He quivers as he slowly pulls away. Spike stares deep into Vixen’s eyes, calming himself down, watching the sparkle in her eyes.
Spike: You laughed as if I said something wrong.
Vixen: It was cute that you tried to speak French to me. Very sweet.
Spike places his hand gently against Vixen’s face, running his fingers across her cheek gently. She grabs onto his hand, worriedly and looks at the cuts on his palm. She gasps, getting under the covers and curling up next to him. She stays quiet about it, leaving Spike to wonder what she has to say about it. He takes a deep breath, cutting off the opportunity for her to speculate some sort of crazy idea.
Spike: I squeezed too tightly when I was carrying a rose out back. It is no big deal, babe.
Vixen raises her eyebrows, looking up at Spike as he sits there, calmly. He flattens out his hand for her to study. Once she sees the direct order of the markings, she nods her head, accepting his answer. But then her fingers run over the edge of his fist.
Vixen: And what about these?
Spike: What about them? I’m a wrestler, I get injuries sometimes. It is all part of the job. Scrapes and scratches happen…
Spike looks flustered as he leans down in the bed. He slides his hands under the covers and down to Vixen’s hip, massaging as she nearly purrs like a kitten. She bats her eyes at him, but the sleepiness does not deter her from getting answers.
Vixen: Yes, but you didn’t fight this past week, and I know they weren’t there before. I know you have been under a lot of stress lately, so I just want to make sure you aren’t trying to do anything to yourself.
Spike: Look, I know I have a history of being a little… unhinged, but trust me when I say I would never take the coward’s way out. I enjoy taking my aggressions out inside of the ring. That is the one and only thing I can truly thank my uncle Erik for. I have a lot of rage built up, and a lot to prove when I go inside of that cage against Chris Xtreme at WrestleClassic.
Vixen nods her head in agreement. She runs her nails over Spike’s pale chest. She plays with the tuft of dark hair on his chest as she looks up into his eyes. He looks down at hers and his stern expression slowly fades into a smile. He holds her head gently against his chest, lulling her with his steady heartbeat.
Spike: Besides that, we have a chance to come out of WrestleClassic as SCW’s and NWA’s first Double Crown Golden Couple. Can you imagine that? Maybe then we will finally get some respect around these places. Maybe then, Mark Ward and Blade Alexander will stop calling us losers?
Vixen: But Spike… you know that neither of them will stop doing that. You have already accomplished so much in your career, in SCW, and inside of the NWA and they still make fun of you. Blade Alexander is jealous of your accomplishments because they are far greater than his.
Spike: Not to mention, he is jealous that he gets rejected by Misty when I have something a hundred times better.
Vixen looks offended as she leans up in bed. Spike looks as if he is struggling to pull the proverbial foot from out of his mouth. He stutters for a second as Vixen wraps the sheet over herself and climbs up, leaning over Spike. He raises his eyebrows looking at her apologetically.
Vixen: A hundred times zero is still nothing Spike!
Spike looks shocked as she flashes him a smile of her own. She leans down and teases him with kiss after kiss, breaking up his speech.
Spike: Okay… One… hundred per…cent better than she… who… shall… not be mentioned… in bed.
She giggles as she continues to tease his lips with little pecks. He smiles mischievously as he scoops her up and rolls her onto her back. He hunches over her and she enjoys being overtaken. Her eyes flash some mischief of their own as she wraps her arms around his neck. Spike leans down and ravages Vixen’s lips and neck with kisses as we slowly begin to pan out and fade.
”Many a wise man have said… ‘Women; can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’ I spend so much of my time around people who have helped shape me. I grew up with two brothers, raised by my uncle. My mother died when I was eleven years old. She died giving birth to my youngest brother, Tommy. Being around men constantly, I still have to give credit to the women regardless of whether they are in this sport, or out of it. In many ways, whether I liked them or not, women have shaped much of my life. No, seriously… Without women, we would know life or death. Many would not know heartache or love. We would not know that sweet scent that we always forget to tell them drives us crazy. Often enough, we don’t stop to think about it like we should, unless it is with our… ya know’s… I want to thank every woman who is, or has been, a part of my life. Without you, I would not be the man I am today. From the most sincere place in my heart… thank you. Now, it is time to get down to business…”
More female grunts? Seriously, Spike, you… Oh…
We pan inside of Spike Staggs’ training dungeon in Las Vegas, Nevada. There are a few small banners hanging up near the doorway reading his accolades. “Former GXW Heavyweight Champion” and “Former NeWA World Heavyweight Champion” and “SCW Heavyweight Champion” banners flap from the intense breeze of the fan. In the background, there is a loud boom. Traveling through the gym, se pass up the weight benches and boxing bags, we see Spike Staggs standing inside of the ring with a remote control in his hand. Once he is satisfied with the volume control, he presses play and drops the remote control to the ground, kicking it outside. “Redemption” by Shadows Fall begins playing at a medium tone. You can tell by Spike’s hesitation that he wants to blare it, but he abstains as he looks over to Jessie Salco who is stretching on the outside of the ring. Jessie finishes up, getting herself into the proper mindset for the training session. She stands up and begins jogging in place, working up her heartbeat. After a moment, she jogs up the ring steps and Spike greets her on the apron. He sits down on the ropes, holding them open for her. Eagerly, she starts to step inside of the ring, but Spike places a firm and on her shoulder. A genuinely sweet expression contradicts his slight warning grip on her shoulder. Jessie looks confused for a moment when Spike speaks.
Spike: I want to make sure that we are clear on one thing, Jessie.
Jessie: I know, you will not be taking it easy on me and…
Spike loosens his grip, looking down into her deep eyes and his smile shines brighter. He slowly shakes his head from side to side, causing her to groan in aggravation. She leans out of the ring and hovers over Spike by only a couple of inches. She puts her hands in her pockets, waiting for an explanation.
Spike: No, you are right, but I’m not sure you understand exactly how right you are. Outside of this ring, we are friends. We are comrades. We are like family. But inside of this ring, I am a strict, unforgiving, hard ass sonuvabitch. Are we clear? You do have time to back…
Jessie: No. I want to do this. I need to do this. Besides, how can you bring me all the way out here, put on a kickass song like this, and then tell me I can still chicken out? Do you not know me?
Spike shrugs his shoulders as Jessie laughs. Spike’s smile fades as he motions for Jessie to enter the ring. Once she does, Spike stands up and walks toward the center of the ring. Jessie stands there, trying her best not to bang her head to the music playing in the background. Spike’s face turns completely stern as he hovers over the short bombshell. He steps slowly toward her, using his size to intimidate Jessie. However, the young Bombshell refuses to back down. She puffs her chest out as Spike slowly circles her like a Drill Sergeant. She passes his slow and thorough inspection as he takes a few steps back. He comes back to the front of her and looks dead into her eyes. She smiles proudly and starts to speak. However, Spike cuts her off. Instead, he hands her a black bandana.
Spike: Your stance is perfect.
Jessie: Thanks!
Spike: You have your maneuvers down pretty well, but not one hundred percent. In order to beat Misty, who hates admitting that I helped her train frequently, giving her many of the tricks she uses today, you need to be at one hundred… and ten percent! She is a former World Champion, looking for her second reign. If you beat her and win the J Cup, then you could face our own SCW Bombshell Champion for that same title. Are you prepared to face former World Champions?
Jessie thinks about it for a moment before nodding her head in the positive. Spike shrugs his shoulders and brings the bandana back to himself. He ties it around his own eyes. He takes a few steps backwards and then spins around in about four circles. He takes a deep breath and walks right over to Jessie.
Spike: If you are ready for this challenge, then I expect you to take me down one time. It shouldn’t be hard if you are already fully prepared, right?
Without saying one word in response, Jessie kneels down and throws her fist backwards. She is in mid swing when Spike spins around. Before she knows it, he is on her back, pulling her arm back as she winces a little.
Spike: By any legal means necessary…
Spike drops her arm and then steps around, getting back in front of her. She gets up off of the ground and lunges forward with a clothesline that looks as if she had tried the move on a brick wall. Spike smiles as she bounces off of the ropes and comes back with another attempt that barely rocks the 6 foot 6 inch SCW Heavyweight Champion. She stomps her foot in anger before bouncing off of the ropes one last time. She comes back at Spike with a Crossbody, but Spike catches her in mid air. He gently sets her back on the ground.
Jessie: That’s no fair. You’ve got over a hundred and fifty pounds on me. If I can’t take you down like this, then how am I supposed to take you down with a blindfold?
Spike: This is not a math lesson, this is a wrestling lesson. Do you think Ben Jordan would take it easy on you? He’s got a hundred pounds on you. He could be a potential opponent. I know you have potential to be a bright star, but you have got to use your head! These ropes are a sign that you are entering a mind game. That is half of what wrestling is. Your best bet is to learn the ring. Learn to listen and be patient. Learn the game before you play it. Once you utilize your mind, the rest comes easy, but you have to be in tune with your surroundings.
Jessie pulls the bandana off of Spike’s head. She tightens it around her own eyes. She is hungry to improve and to leave her spot in wrestling history. She listens as Spike slowly creeps around the ring. He makes a few loud noises before rotating his pattern. He creeps up behind Jessie and puts her in a headlock. She elbows him in the gut a few times as the song goes repeats itself in the background. She grunts as she gives him one more elbow. She loosens his grip and moves backward, holding her hands out in front of her. She slowly gets a feel for where Spike is, and she leans against the far corner. She breathes slowly through her nostrils as Spike slowly charges toward her. He increases his speed and leaps up for a body avalanche. She gasps for air, and at the last second, she rolls out of the way. She pulls herself up on the ropes, but doesn’t see Spike reaching for her ankles. He quickly picks her up in a Powerbomb position. She uses all of her force to try bringing him down with a Hurricanrana, but his size advantage doesn’t really allow it. She lifts herself back up and gives a few hard punches to Spike’s head. She rolls down his body and up to her feet in an instant. Spike reaches forward, but barely misses catching one of her legs. She backs away quickly before darting forward, kneeing Spike in the gut as hard as she can. Spike’s eyes bulge just a bit. Jessie does a spinning legsweep to Spike, surprising herself and Spike when he trips up and falls flat on his bottom. Jessie listens, hearing the crash on the mat and she pulls the bandana off. She points down at him, trying to hide her surprised look. Spike’s eyes narrow just a bit as he gets up.
Jessie: I did it! I just took down Spike Sta…
Spike: You’ve earned an early day today. Just… hit the showers, kiddo.
Spike looks a bit flustered but he slowly gets over himself. He sits on the ropes as Jessie looks surprised. She reluctantly meets him at the ropes and exits the ring. Once she jumps down to the floor, she looks up at Spike almost apologetically. He steps onto the apron and as soon as both feet are outside, a bright smile spreads over his face. He pats her on the back proudly.
Spike: You are definitely on your way to great things. We have plenty of preparation to do, but I think you did enough today with the weights and the jogging.
Jessie: Who knows, maybe one day I will be facing you for your NWA title.
Spike: Well, thank you, but I’m not the NWA Heavyweight champ. We won’t know that until February 28th.
Jessie looks back up at Spike and nods her head at him. This time, she goads him by patting him on the back firmly yet gently.
Jessie: Yes we do. Everyone knows you are going to bring that belt back here to Sin City where it truly belongs.
With that, Jessie tosses a towel around her neck. She picks up her duffel bag from one of the weight benches as she works her way over toward the Women’s Locker Room. Once she disappears through the doors, Spike leans down and picks up the remote control. He turns the music off and he wanders over to his own duffel bag by the benches. He sits down and takes a drink from his water bottle, spraying it over his face and his hair. He sits there, soaking it in for a minute before he wipes his face clean. He closes his eyes, sitting in the silence as he pulls out a pen and a pad of paper. He opens his eyes and flips through a few pages, looking at a few words jotted down near the top. He taps the pen against the paper and finally he gets a few ideas for the journal.
”In just a few short weeks, I will be headed to San Juan, Puerto Rico for one of the biggest matches of my life. I will be inside of a steel cage, facing Chris Xtreme for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship. That is such a huge honor. Not to be facing Chris Xtreme, but to be competing in front of the millions of fans across the world, for the most prestigious championship belt in the world. It is what I was born to do. I feel as though I never really lost the belt to begin with. That is why I said on Twitter that the everyone knows that the belt is mine. And the crackpot Chris Xtreme is just keeping it warm for me. The fans know this is true. Mr. Batee knows it is true. The only people who don’t are the ones at PRA backing Chris Xtreme. Even the naysayers in Sin City Wrestling think that I will fail, but they don’t know how driven I am to bring that belt back to Vegas with me.
“When I lost the belt, I had a million and one things going on in my life. That has downgraded to only a hundred thousand, which I am used to. Since that fateful day that I lost the belt to Mike Sloan, I swore I would come back and reclaim my spot at the top. I have been asked whether I really thought I stood a chance against someone who defeated the man that defeated me. When you look at it that way, my chances to reclaim the championship seem rather slim. If you take the time to look at the facts, then you will understand the popular opinion. Spike Staggs was meant to lead the NWA and SCW as a double champion. I defeated Kai Kennedy who, other than Jack Kraven himself, was my toughest NWA adversary. By comparison, Chris Xtreme is a peon, a placeholder of a champion. He is one of those names people will forget within months of losing the belt to me.
“I know, I know, I sound like an asshole saying all of this, but it is what is on everyone’s mind as I’m writing this. He walks around with some undeserved sense of duty and pride. This Ultimate Authority shit is a cover up for his desire to keep his lips firmly planted against Manuel Diaria’s right ass cheek. For instance, we have a wrestling match coming up where there is supposed to be a lot of hype. I make appearances, do photo shoots, train my ass off, run back and forth between Puerto Rico and Las Vegas, plus promotional works, and all I get is a half-assed video about how Manuel is like God, basically watching Xtreme lick Diaria clean. If this guy thinks he can just breeze through me, then he is in for a VERY rude awakening come February 28th at WrestleClassic.
“It is my destiny to walk out of that cage with the championship belt held high above my head, hearing the fans screaming my name as I look back to see Chris Xtreme staring up at the lights as he lays lifeless on the mat. Fate has brought me here for a reason, and I cannot believe that it is to fail against Chris Xtreme. I have seen the future, and that future involves the championship belt resting on my shoulder, opposite the SCW Heavyweight Championship…”
Spike takes a deep breath and places the pen on top of the notebook. He sits there for a moment, enjoying the brief moment of silence. He gazes across his creation, imagining the “Former NWA World Heavyweight Champion” banner has dropped the “Former”. His eyes soon work their way across the gym to see Jessie walking out of the locker room with her bag slung over her shoulder. She heads over to the door, but looks back at Spike as if to ask if he were joining her or not. Spike breaks free from his trance and gets up from the bench. He places the notepad in his duffel bag. He holds the bag and joins Jessie as the door as they exit. The camera pans back up to the banners above the door, focusing on them for a moment, as we fade…
(TBC next week)
