Merely Human: The Silver Curtain

Professional Wrestling… has fallen beyond salvation.

Finally, I understand the futility of my admirable endeavours. I am nothing but a powerless anomaly, unable to repair the plight of this once-prestigious industry. A different standard exists now, spreading malice and sickness with it’s abhorrent nature. All I can do is wade through the decay, watching as a business I fought so hard to improve succumbs to the callous actions of our so-called “Visionaries”.

I was a fool to believe I could make a worthwhile difference.

My stubborn vows have condemned me to emptiness. Relying on hope? Why bother. The state of the profession is beyond my influence. I wanted things to change. I wanted the fans to listen, to comprehend what this company was supposed to be about. Instead, my lone achievement has been self-inflicted ruination; just like what happened four years ago.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. How ironic that the very promises I committed to - mending the past and preventing its sordid resurrection - brought forth those horrors I fought to erase. Instead, my actions have broken everything; my coaching duties at the Simcoe Wrestling Club, my relationship with Amy, and the parental guardianship of my son Gabriel. Should I be held solely accountable for that? Retrospectively, no one is to prominently blame.

No one but myself.

The line in the sand is closer now. Soon enough, my final, solitary quest will conclude; one way or another. Once I cross over to the other side, stained with blood and carrying heavy burdens… my will be done - in agonizing vain.

This industry… this once-majestic sport of honor and integrity… it is no longer my concern.

For those who bring chaos and destruction to our domain, for those who contribute to its demise; it is your world now. Control and transform it however you desire.

The only objective that matters to me... is her.



Confused and anxious, Gabriel stared at his father from inside the safely-secured Cruiser. His petite hand pressed against the reinforced glass, wanting to reach out to his distant parent. Any explanation would have sufficed; anything that would cure his bewilderment, anything that would make him understand why he had to leave under these circumstances.

But he did not scream. He did not rebel against his scheduled departure. He simply kept his father in focus until he could not see him anymore, ignoring the commands of his bitter mother as the vehicle left the estate.

From the open doorway of his home, Slater watched his son and the Cruiser disappear behind the bushes that lined the winding path. With two security personnel accompanying him, Gabriel would be monitored on a frequent basis, ensuring he was safe on his way to Toronto. But he wanted to keep his son close. He wished he could remain in Barrie, but unfortunately, given his recent abduction, he was at too much of a risk staying in the area.

This had not been a conscious effort by Amy to shield Gabriel from Slater’s unstable behaviour. This had been his decision, designed to prevent any further complications and to put both of them at ease.

But he would never forget the state of Gabriel’s inquisitive eyes. Perplexed. Disturbed. Worried.

He wished he could have embraced him then. He wished he could have brushed his golden hair back, telling him everything would be alright; that everything would be fine.

But nothing would be fine; not even after he had settled some unfinished business.

“Solitary Man” by Johnny Cash flowed throughout the rose-and-cream coloured dining room of the Rosen Plaza Hotel in Orlando. The light twangs of Cash’s acoustic guitar contrasted his deep, baritone voice, exemplifying his somber nature as a musician. To many, the lyrics of the song expressed the loss of love and not wanting to be alone, waiting for a day when love rescued them from romantic mediocrity. To Slater - although half-listening - the song brought forward a different interpretation. He only envisioned the impending loss of Professional Wrestling; specifically its respectable artistry.

Visionaries of Wrestling, to him, should have been immune to the contagious aspects of corruption. Only now had his optimism withered. Now he knew, dishearteningly, that the company would never be the same again.

Failing to consume whatever food the two night-shift chefs in the kitchen had available - chefs who were, to the best of his knowledge, country music fans based on the playlist that emanated from the speakers on the ceiling - Slater quietly drank a bottle of homebrew beer; refreshingly cold yet disappointingly flavourless. He remained slouched against the upward curve of the oval sofa chair in the corner of the room, every so often picking at the cherry tomatoes and honey-cured ham on his plate with little appetite.

His mind could not settle. If he could not eat, it was very likely he would be unable to sleep as well.

Eventually, he forced a slice of cucumber into his mouth, chewing on the watery vegetable as Johnny Cash droned on. He was alone in the clean dining room, a place that was crafted to accentuate sophistication. Only the two chefs were present company, although they were too busy cleaning the service area to offer any meaningful conversation.

Not that Slater had any intention of communicating with them. He was too engrossed by the feeling of loneliness; a feeling that was not shunned, but depressingly welcomed.

Suddenly, the distant twin-doors of the room audibly opened. Slater continued to be still, not at all tempted to witness the person - or people - who had entered. Instead he acknowledged how much alcohol was left in the brown-glass bottle… until two familiar voices reached his ears.

‘... But don’t worry about Stacy. Katie is looking after her right now.’

‘I know… but what Winter did… I feel so horrible.’

‘Okay, how about this? How about you and I, before we leave Orlando, go to Sea World?’

‘You’ll take me there? I didn’t think it would be open at this time of year.’

‘The calendar says it is.’

‘If it is open, we should invite Stacy and Katie too. They’ll enjoy that.’

‘Well… we can discuss the details later. Let’s just get some food.’

Zelda Lawson and Tyler Storm - the former experiencing the effects of mid-term pregnancy - approached the cleansed service area, scanning the empty trays for nourishment. Having overheard their arrival, the elder chef of the two departed the adjacent kitchen, beaming with joy at the privilege to serve them. Hastily addressing the time and how strict their practices are, he prevented worsening Zelda’s mood by offering them two menus, informing them they were special guests and would be treated like royalty. Overwhelmed by the reception, Zelda not only blushed; she attempted to downplay their importance and did not want to come across as a bother. Storm, on the other hand, read through the menu intently.

‘Could I get the chicken salad bowl with dressing?’ he enquired. Zelda immediately slapped his hand and highlighted his rudeness; albeit in an affectionate manner. Storm simply stuck his tongue out at her before scanning the premises. That was when he finally noticed.

Despite not wanting to be detected, Slater continued to remain seated. He could have walked away as they conversed with the chef, but he felt no sense of urgency. They would have caught him regardless; whichever decision he made, each selection would have led to the same, inevitable conclusion.

Storm turned his full attention towards Slater, lowering the menu to his side. ‘Hey, Slater! How’s it going?’

‘Slater…?’ Zelda reacted curiously, she too turning around and viewing the state of the acclaimed “Silver Knight”. ‘Matt!’

However, it was just as the two internally expected; instead of waving or replying, Slater simply finished off the bottle of beer. He slid the empty bottle across the table afterward, watching it come to a safe stop in the center before he lowered his eyes.

‘Matt, it’s us!’ Zelda pleaded, wanting him to at least pay them mind.

‘He knows, Zelda,’ Storm whispered to her, understanding the situation at hand. 'Hopefully he’ll lighten up if we sit with him.'

‘But he looks like he wants to be alone…’

‘I realize that,’ Storm quickly replied. ‘But remember what we did for Stacy? She was able to talk after a while.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Zelda complied, accepting her role as a voluntary therapist.

With both of them on the same page, Storm slowly approached Slater’s circular table. ‘Do you mind if we sit with you?’

Slater’s forlorn eyes rolled. Meanwhile Storm tensed; upon closer inspection, he looked even worse than before.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ Storm said as he lowered himself onto the long, curved seat that Slater occupied. Zelda felt her lower abdomen as she squatted down next to him, courtesy of their unborn child growing within her enlarged womb. ‘We’ve been at the same events, but… we haven’t really talked much.’

‘I know what you’re attempting to do,’ Slater dryly responded, his eyes fixated on the table. A few seconds later the stare broke, with Slater putting Tyler into focus. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

‘We’re not, Matt,’ Zelda chimed in sympathetically. ‘We’re worried about you. You’re one of our friends, and what good are friends if they fail to help each other?’

For a brief moment, Slater peered at the roughness of his palm. ‘What good are people who fail to keep their promises?’

Zelda shared a sad look with Storm. ‘You haven’t failed, Matt. We’ve all gone through terrible things in our lives. You can move on from this. You can get better.’

Slater’s frown was set like concrete. ‘Not after what I’ve done.’

‘Slater, man, you’re better than this,’ Storm said, complimenting Slater’s intellect and his courageous persistence. ‘I still remember the night in Edinburgh when you defeated Casanova English. We all celebrated with you. You did that on your own. You can be a World Champion again, Matt, I just know it. Sure, Zahara and Constance have defeated you, but you can bounce back.’

Acknowledging neither Zelda or Storm, Slater heavily exhaled. Zahara and Constance certainly deserved their respective victories; they were both tremendous wrestlers, and he predicted they would achieve quite a few goals in the company. But despite the respect he showed them - and the respect they offered him in return - he could not shift the disappointment of being an utter failure from his mind.

‘Talk to us, Matt,’ Zelda begged, convincing him to get everything of his chest. Due to her role as a reporter, she had developed a tone of voice that compelled others to speak. ‘Why do you put so much pressure on yourself?’

Unable to neutralize the effectiveness of her words, Slater glanced at Zelda. Shortly thereafter, he turned his attention to Storm. “The Hybrid” nodded, clasping his hands together on the table as he relaxed.

Finally, after issuing a slight shake of his head, Slater gazed thoughtfully at the cream coloured wall directly in front of him. He had never been comfortable talking about certain parts of his past. But now, with Zelda and Storm persuading him to release his discomfort, he found no harm in telling them everything.

It was not because they were trustworthy and considerate. It was because he did not care about concealing his feelings anymore.

‘I wasn’t always an upstanding, respectful person…’ Slater began drearily. ‘As a young man… I was a foul-mouthed bastard. I know that’s hard to believe nowadays, but it’s true. I constantly got drunk and chased women to appease my sexual drive. I started fights for the sake of it… just for the thrill of being powerful. Again, it all sounds rather farfetched… but there was a reason for my change in behaviour.’

Zelda caressed her fingers, listening to Slater with unwavering concentration.

‘One night, while being drunk and reckless as usual… I pissed off a group of men. I don’t really know how or why, but… it’s all irrelevant now. They attacked me outside the club and left me for dead. I suffered significant trauma and was monitored routinely in the hospital. But despite what I did and how I treated other people poorly… the doctors and nurses worked hard to save my life. My parents and my brother never left my side through the recovery process… and without their support, and without the consideration of the doctors and nurses… I wouldn’t have made it.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ Storm said, offering a compliment to his tortured friend.

‘Before I even left the ward…’ Slater continued, ‘I decided to turn over a new leaf. I realized what I had become and how… insidious I was. Those doctors and nurses… people I had never known before and may never meet again… they gave me a new lease on life. I needed to drastically modify my lifestyle, to make amends and atone for my mistakes. I wanted to become a better person for my family and friends… but I also wanted to look out for the helpless and downtrodden. Everyone deserves a chance at life. Comfortingly... I was given the opportunity to make the most of mine.’

Glancing at his finished beverage, Slater plainly exposed how hypocritical that previous statement had been.

‘I made some progress once I settled into a different routine. I graduated college with a Bachelor of Arts Degree and became a Public Administrator… but deep in my heart, ever since I was a child… I always wanted to be a Professional Wrestler.’

Showing interest, Zelda nodded.

‘My Grandfather used to be a wrestler in the 60’s,’ Slater fondly explained, remembering his Grandfather’s tall physique and soft tone of voice; a comforting trait that opposed his rough-and-tumble wrestling style. ‘He introduced me to the sport at a young age, and the moment I started watching it… I became an instant fan. I always knew that wrestling was filled with debauchery and malice… but there were some wrestlers - the ones I followed passionately anyway - who fought for more than just gold and personal pride. They fought for the people. Given my recent changes, I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to bring a positive change to the sport, to make everyone feel empowered by my actions. Truthfully… in retrospect… wrestling has been the only thing I was ever good at.’

‘Something you’re really, really good at,’ Storm replied again, hoping to alleviate Slater’s dismal mood in some capacity. ‘You definitely have the wrestling gene.’

Although it was a humbling comment, Slater merely shrugged.

‘Sadly, my Grandfather passed away before he could witness my first wrestling match. That hurt… it really did… but his passing only strengthened my cause, to live my dream in a way that he would have been proud of.’

‘And he would be proud of you,’ Zelda declared. Slater grunted.

‘For the next several years, everything went well for me. I continued to develop my skills and gained more exposure in various markets around the world. I started to earn more money doing what I loved… but truth be told, it was never about the money for me. I wanted to win championships too, but… it was about being an influential figure who people could vicariously live through for a short period of time, to help motivate them to overcome the obstacles that blocked them from living a happy life. Then Amy came into my life… we got married… and then I became a father. I’m proud to say… my son has been the brightest light in my life since the day he was born.’

Zelda affectionately stared at Storm from across the table, smiling proudly at the two of them becoming parents themselves. She then gazed down at her protruding baby-bump, blushing with emotion at the wonderful premise of creating life; creating a family.

However, what had become a joyful journey through recent history suddenly turned toward a dark route, foreshadowed by Slater’s morbid expression and the dryness of his voice. ‘And then everything fell apart.’

Zelda lifted her head, limiting her smile as Slater dryly choked on the memory of a tragic occurrence.

‘In May of 2010… my parents and my brother died in a car accident. I… was a few days away from wrestling in Madison Square Garden for the TEW World Heavyweight Championship… so as you can imagine, their loss badly affected my psyche. But... I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to devote my upcoming match to them and my Grandfather, to show them how their kindness and support had benefited me throughout the years. Unfortunately… I couldn’t focus as well as I should have, and… I lost.’

Slater wiped his eye, but no tears seemed to be forming underneath them.

‘I will never forget their combined funerals… having to say goodbye to them and cremating them all at the same time. I questioned why it had to happen, over and over again… but I kept my vow in mind as a strict priority… to always make them proud, no matter what.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Zelda said, offering genuine sympathy as she laid her hand on top of his. Slater allowed her to do so, although it was clear he would rather not be touched at this moment.

‘Apart from Amy and Gabriel... professional wrestling was all I had left in my life. There were no other family members that meant that much to me… even if they were family. I can’t explain it… but what I can explain is the reason why I care so strongly about Professional Wrestling. It kept me going. It helped me continue to be a better person. So I promised myself and every other person out there who adored our sport that I would do all I could to keep it dignified and sacred, because it had… and always will have... sentimental value to me.’

Storm nodded and briefly looked toward the kitchen, where steam was now flowing outward. Becoming hungry, he glanced at Slater’s plate and pinched a tomato, consuming the vegetable as Zelda simply shook her head. Slater did not care, even pushing the plate aside towards Storm.

‘But in New Edge - the company I joined after TEW closed it’s doors - various wrestlers were tearing the company apart at the seams. They were failing to show the sport or their predecessors any respect whatsoever. When I saw what was happening, my mission became clear. I came in to fix the damage they had done… and I got abused and betrayed by people I thought I could trust.’

Storm momentarily groaned, having had previous experiences in New Edge and hardly being surprised by the actions of the wrestlers, as well as those in control of the company.

‘All the while, the fans would just... say nothing. Sometimes they even cheered the people who were turning our sport into a mockery. I lost my composure. I became cold and callous, because I thought the fans didn’t care. I thought the wrestlers didn’t care about the profession and those who paved the way for them. So I changed my game plan. I forced them to pay attention, because I didn’t want the only thing I had left in my life to be ruined and taken away from me.’

Zelda nodded once again, understanding his apparent stubbornness, but also his dedication and commitment to retain what he aimed to cherish.

‘Even though others wanted me to realize that I couldn’t change this sport or other people for the better… I didn’t want to accept it. I was too devoted to protecting what I didn’t want to lose. In the end, my obsession cost me dearly. I got divorced from Amy and couldn’t see my son until last year. A number of months later… I asked myself whether I was doing the right thing by being this way. So I left the business to repair myself… but, inadvertently, I also shattered my partnership with Cera in the process.’

Neither Storm or Zelda said anything. They remained silent, waiting for Slater to speak again.

‘With a refreshed mind… even though I was alone and only had a couple of things worth fighting for… the other being my son, Gabriel… I came back to wrestling and instantly continued to fight for the improvement of the sport, to make whatever company I worked for better as a whole. That was how I became “The Silver Knight” to the rest of the world, because I was protecting what I loved with courage and nobility. I never gave myself that name… they cemented it for me. The Court cemented it for me. But despite the support I was being given, and the one golden opportunity I had to be a positive representative of New Edge as their World Heavyweight Champion in 2013… I ultimately failed. I failed... because I could never, and can never, change how people are. Only they could change who they were… and when no one did, New Edge crumbled spectacularly. Just like ACW before that… and TEW before that… and CWX before that.’

At that moment, Slater seriously considered whether he was a cursed individual. Every company he fought to improve gradually worsened over time, to the point where his contributions actually harmed its longevity. Every single wrestling company he had worked for - with the exception of a couple - had folded due to financial concerns, mergers or heartless terminations whilst he was there.

It was an alarming revelation and an even more alarming statistic, to say the least.

‘Before it collapsed…’ Slater pressed on, quickly diagnosing his cursed nature as nothing more than a chain of bizarre coincidences, ‘I knew the company had become irreparable… so I accepted Stefan Frei’s offer and decided to go to VoW once my New Edge contract expired. With the passion Frei had for the business and the pure vision he maintained… VoW should have been the saving grace of the sport, highlighting respect, sportsmanship and celebrating wrestling’s storied roots. I believed it would be… until I got injured and was forced to retire at the hands of Seth Iser.’

This time, Slater did not visualize the state he was in after Seth Iser’s assault. He simply stared at the cream-coloured wall again, thinking about VoW’s slow degradation.

‘Instead… as I made some helpful amendments to my life and became a wrestling coach in Ontario… I started to see the shift. I watched as VoW became just like New Edge and all the other companies I ever worked for. It became the fucking same... with wrestlers trying to take it over and making it their playground, to do as they pleased without punishment. It sickened me. It disturbed me. But it motivated me. It drove me to improve my physical condition and to get rid of the ring-rust... so I decided to disobey the doctor’s orders. I wasn’t a hundred percent… and I haven’t been a hundred percent since 2013… but I had to go back. I had to protect what I loved… before it was too late.’

Interestingly, as if by insulting design, “How Do You Like Me Now?!” by Toby Keith began to play through the speakers of the dining room. The music remained country-themed, but it was still a coincidental choice on the part of the randomly-assigned playlist.

‘I wanted to make VoW whole again, to make it what it was supposed to be. But my choices have ruined everything yet again. I was so determined to do the right thing… even helping Cera with her issues… that I lost my job as a wrestling coach… and I lost my second-chance relationship with Amy again. I was so certain that all of my sacrifices would be justified and that I could repair them accordingly… but all I’ve done is hurt others and lost respect for myself.’

‘VoW isn’t in a terrible state,’ Storm debated. He knew Slater was exaggerating the negatives of the situation - as depression sufferers commonly do - and he was determined to make him see the light at the end of the tunnel. ‘Yeah, you’ve got the Orphanage, the Chaos Sworn and Ryder Blade running around and being a nuisance… but there are still wrestlers who care about VoW. There’s me, there’s Stacy… there’s Katie and Owen… there’s PJ… there’s a number of us who want to keep wrestling as it should be. Zelda cares as much as we do too. The point is, you’re not fighting by yourself with everyone against you. You have friends who want to help you… but you just need to get out of this slump you’re in.’

Zelda nodded, agreeing with her husband’s words. However, Slater simply stared at the table.

‘You can worry about VoW… because I don’t. Not anymore. I’ve let my Grandfather down. I’ve let my friends and family down. I’ve let Amy down. I’ve let my son down… and because of that, I’ve let myself down. I’ve broken every promise I vowed to keep. There’s nothing left for me to cherish. No matter how many leaves I’ve figuratively turned over… I’ve always been a no-good bastard.’

Visibly unsure what to say, both Storm and Zelda awkwardly looked at each other.

‘As a matter of fact… Double Jeopardy… could potentially be the last event of my career.’

Surprised by that comment, Zelda’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t say that, Matt!’

‘Just take a break after the PPV and unwind,’ Storm added. ‘We’ll be there for you if you need us.’

‘Don’t bother…’ Slater grimly responded, standing up from the seat and bypassing Storm. He lingered near the table, adjusting his shirt as Storm and Zelda stared worriedly at him. ‘As far as I’m concerned, I only have one objective left to complete… one more match to get through. In Caguas… only she matters to me.’

Storm and Zelda instantly know who he is referring to and share a look, but before either of them can reply, Slater walks away, departing the dining room and leaving the loving couple to their own devices.



Smoke flowed from her pouted lips, spreading across her denim vest as she looked at me with pale, almond eyes. That was the first appearance of Cera I vividly recall from five years ago, occurring as if it was a recent memory. Despite the low temperature, neither of us were cold outside the Magnolia Hotel in Denver; especially her. She was always so warm and content, even among the coldest climates while wearing minimal clothing.

To this day, I still wonder why she was so enamoured by my presence on that fateful night. Perhaps she wanted to know if the hype regarding my abilities was necessary. Perhaps she wanted to know if I was everything they claimed I was, coming to her own conclusion and labelling me as she determined. Perhaps it was mere attraction that possessed her to stroll forward, keeping her half-finished cigarette held comfortably at her side and her phone gripped tightly in the other.

Whatever the case, for both my career and my personal life, everything changed from that moment onward.

Admittedly, my initial perception of her was not very good. I was already familiar with her identity - which I labelled a narcissistic, bloodthirsty one - and her intimidating reputation. But when she spoke to me for the first time, those aforementioned traits never manifested. She harboured no resentment or negativity, conversing with me like a new colleague or friend.

Stranger still… her presence not only calmed me; it soothed me.

She had been deemed a colossal piece of shit who deserved punishment by everyone else. To me, once I learned about her troubled upbringing and sensed what existed within her heart… she meant so much more. She became my significant flame, containing the fire that kept my passion and drive burning through the darkest of times.

If I could rewind time, I would go back to that point when we first met. I don’t intend to change what transpired between us: establishing trust and teamwork; putting a stop to her mysterious injections; the increasing affection; the “TAINTED” mark she carved into my flesh as her unique message of gratitude; the nights we spent out in each city… or alone in private. I don’t even want to go back to prevent my divorce from Amy, or the consequential order of not being able to see my son.

I simply want to relive how we used to be… how I came to know the real Cera… before I unintentionally tarnished our nurtured bond.

Now, five years later, in her birthplace of Caguas, Puerto Rico, we’re destined to compete at Double Jeopardy… under No Disqualification rules.

Never in my wildest dreams did I consider this eventuality.

Astonishingly, despite my negative feelings, I have succeeded in a number of hardcore encounters throughout my career: The Terrordome, a participant and victor; Stable Wars, a sole survivor; Hell in a Cell, undefeated on four separate occasions. I never backed down from any of them. I put my career on the line in all of those contests, and in most of them, contrary to the odds against me, I triumphed above the obstacles lying in my wake.

But as much as people believe this upcoming contest pales in comparison to those, this is unlike anything I have ever accepted before.

This will not only be the toughest match of my career. This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life.

My heart aches when I contemplate this match. How can I brutalize a woman I intended to save from her downward spiral? How can I punish a woman who deserves to be unlocked from her chains, free of abuse and emotional torment? Why do I need to harm a woman I care about?

Why do I need to harm… a woman I loved?

Because she pushed me to make a decision that, deep inside her afflicted heart, she desperately yearned for.

I never intended for this to happen. I never intended to hurt or leave a mark on her; until I regrettably wrung her neck.

But with no alternative, I relented. I gave her exactly what she craved; a definitive end. An end to the pain. An end to the games. An end to the past that plagues her fading soul.

But for her… I cannot forfeit. I will not walk away again. This is my last resort.

I have to finish what I compassionately started.

But whatever will be… will be.

And whatever will be… for better or worse… will culminate my final promise.



Roaming the Botanical Gardens in Caguas, Slater surveyed the forested mountain range and the pristine water streaming throughout the park. He did not venture to these Gardens to train or to curiously observe a particular addition; he was here for privacy outside the confines of his hotel room. As popular as it was, the Gardens were near-vacant. Only a handful of other people toured the premises, keeping to themselves or with their respective company.

However, there was one task Slater had pushed himself to do.

Before his match with Zahara, Slater had noted the magical comparisons between her and a woman he had known for half a decade; Vanessa. This thought-process generated the urge to contact her; it had been over a year since they properly conversed. But with Gabriel’s kidnapping occurring, the thought of calling her slipped his mind. At least until now.

With his match against Cera approaching, and with everything he had left being put on the line, he needed to hear what she would do. Despite being half-sisters, the two of them had formed a long, bitter history, perpetuated by their father and their different origins. But Vanessa was rather forgiving, even with people who had caused her tremendous grief and suffering.

She would understand his concern. Or at least he hoped she would.

With the sun being free for a little while, Slater stood underneath the exposed sunlight and dialled her number. He viewed the various flowers and trees on display as the call droned on. However, after the eighth ring tone, he started to lose faith.

Believing the call would not be answered, Slater prepared to cancel the connection. However, just before he pulled the phone away from his ear, the call was suddenly accepted.

Paying attention, Slater listened to audible rummaging happening on the other end, as if someone was trying to keep the phone steady. This being Vanessa, she was likely dealing with something else while accepting the call; multi-tasking beyond rationality.

‘Vanessa?’ he said, hoping to get her attention. A few seconds later the rummaging concluded, being followed by light, distinctly-British sigh. Slater immediately held his breath; either Vanessa was putting on a British accent for him as a joke, or this was someone else entirely.

‘Uh, h-hi…?’

Slater furrowed his eyebrows quizzically; it definitely was not Vanessa, but he knew he had heard this voice before. Aggravatingly, he could not remember who the voice belonged to.

‘Hello. It’s Matt calling. Matt Slater.’

‘Oh… h-hi…’

‘I'm sorry, who is this?’ Slater asked. He needed to know who he was speaking to and why they had possession of Vanessa’s phone.

‘Oh, u-um... J- Jessica??’ they replied timidly, sounding as if they were questioning their own identity with perplexing uncertainty. He mouthed the name to himself a few times, visualizing different women until he identified her appearance and completed the puzzle.

‘Vanessa's friend, am I correct?’

‘Friend... y-yes, that's r-right,’ she replied with a little more confidence. ‘Jessi... uh, so... what d-do you want?’

With the confusion out of the way, Slater decided to get straight to the point. ‘Well... I was hoping to speak to Vanessa about... an important matter. Is she there?’

‘I…’ Jessi began to speak until she audibly choked on her words. ‘N-no... she isn't.’

‘Well could you leave her a message from me? I would really like to speak with her.’

‘I can't. I mean, you c-can't. Ohh…’

She sounded desperate, as if trying to escape this conversation. Soon enough, her voice lowered to a nervous whisper.

‘Matt p-please... let it be. Delete this number from y-your phone... for your own g-good.’

Suddenly confused, Slater sensed something was not right about this situation.

‘What's going on, Jessi?’

Jessi failed to respond. Instead she whimpered.

‘Jessica…’ Slater pressed onward. ‘Tell me…’

For a moment, the whimpering stopped. Then, in a somewhat disturbing way, a strange-sounding chuckle flowed from the phone.

‘Aha... isn't it funny.’ Jessi’s voice turned sullen and flat. It seemed to Slater as though she was giving up talking with him. ‘Not everyone's there f-for you when you need them the m-most…’

‘What are you talking about?’ Slater questioned, becoming more stern.

‘I'm sorry.’ Jessi responded from a distance. Then all of the sound on the other end suddenly stopped, leaving Slater listening to nothing.

‘Jessica?’ He yelled to no avail. ‘Jessica?!’

Disturbed and worried, Slater tried to call again. After two rings, the call went straight to voicemail. Jessi was not kidding around.

After taking a breather, Slater thought of Reya. She would be able to provide some information as to Vanessa’s whereabouts. Immediately, he located her number in his contact list and dialled. But this too went unanswered, going to voicemail after a certain amount of rings.

Giving up himself, Slater sighed and pocketed his phone. He strolled across the garden, contemplating what could have happened and what Jessi meant by her final words. Was it her? Was it him? It was the first time he had contacted her since they were both in VoW, but anything could have happened since then.

Casanova English was a culprit in that regard, given how he ended her career the previous year over the Visionary World Championship.

Strangely, as Slater walked onward towards the calming stream of water, he felt as though someone was following him; watching him. Looking around, all he witnessed were the finely-trimmed bushes and planted flowers. Perhaps it was a local who recognized him, but decided to leave him be.

Shrugging his shoulders, Slater finally walked to the water and knelt down on the low-cut grass, studying his own reflection and the weary markings that covered his face. That was when, from over his shoulder, a familiar person appeared, also looking into the water at their joint reflections.

‘Lost?’

Instantly being fuelled by anger, Slater turned towards Jen Ryette, staring into her dark eyes and the masochism beneath them.

‘Stay the fuck away from me,’ he warned, getting to his feet and walking away from the woman who was singularly responsible for Gabriel’s abduction. But the young woman followed him vigilantly, hardly paying attention to the wondrous features of the Garden.

‘Ehh, what's wrong? C'monnn! I thought we were buddies!’

Stopping at that comment, Slater angrily looked to the side of himself.

'Buddies...?'

Finally he turned around, facing her directly with eyes of fire.

'You abducted my son! And before you say a thing, I don't care if you whisked him away to some kind of distant paradise somewhere for a few hours, or how many scoops of chocolate ice cream you gave him! You don't ever touch my son!'

Growling, Slater shook his head.

‘I mean what were you even thinking doing that?! What were you trying to achieve by taking my son away from his mother?!’

Jen tilted her head slightly to the side. ‘I needed to give Cera somethin’ to react to. Something to use…’

In response, Slater bore a hole through her. 'Oh you gave her something to react to alright. When I saw her entering her locker room... I...'

Feeling guilty, Slater became more enraged by his own actions than what Jen did.

'I lost my mind. I jumped to a stupid conclusion and barged in there, gripping her around the neck. I gripped her around the neck!'

For a short while, Slater looked at the grass below his feet, thinking about Cera’s panicked reaction and the pain in her eyes.

‘After all the time we spent together... not once did I think that someday... I could harm her. Not once. I will never... forgive myself for that. I lost myself... and now, I may have lost the last amount of respect she had for me... all thanks to your shenanigans.’

‘Pretty sure she'll be okay,’ Jen replied thoughtlessly, as if discarding his grief as a temporary nuisance. ‘If not better than. Raw emotion instead a' the silly whiny depressive guy is wayyy better. For both of you…’

After looking around, Jen spotted something a short distance away and approached an ornate patch of plants. She stopped at a strange looking plant and examined it, avoiding the ongoing stare from Slater. He watched Jen tend to the flower, feeling the petals and smelling its distinct scent.

‘It doesn't matter anymore, Jen. I've lost everything. Call me a whiner and a crybaby all you want... everyone else does. The fact is... it doesn't change what I've done.’

‘Aaand what was that?’ Jen questioned, simultaneously plucking a petal from the plant and licking it. Jen made a disgusted face from the taste, all while Slater stared in disbelief at why she would ask him such a question. She knew everything he had done; asking him about them was unnecessary and essentially pointless.

If this was intentional, it only served to make Slater turn around and walk onward, not wanting to continue their conversation.

But still Jen followed, keeping her eyes on him as she hummed a tune; a particular tune that made Slater stop and freeze in place.

His eyes became wide with remembrance. It was a tune he had heard long ago, a harmonic melody of betterment and healing that was formulated by one person; one person who had hummed this to him to soothe his stress and provide tender moments when they were alone.

Cera.

Once again, Jen had captured his attention. He slowly turned to look at her, his eyes weakening as he remembered Cera's soothing voice.

‘It's been a long time since I've heard that…’

He studied Jen's soft expression, piecing together what she could be doing. There was always a reasoning behind the madness she weaved, no matter how asinine or chaotic.

‘You want us to be together again... don't you?’

Jen tilted her head to the side and smirked. ‘I'm... not right in the head. The things I do are questionable and I'm kiiiinda not a good person…’

She paused, staring downward.

‘But even the darkest of people can ignite if the flame's there.’ She laughed sardonically, strangely culminating a laugh that was eerily similar to Cera's. ‘A fire so hot it can melt the ice in your heart or the front you put up... but... fire still burns, y'know?’

Slater's eyes wandered slightly, thinking about Jen's words. However, all he could do was sigh pessimistically.

‘I extinguished that fire a long time ago. Not by choice... by unforeseen circumstance. Whatever we had, it's gone now... at least in her mind.’

‘Didja ever think that.... that might be a good thing?’

Jen hurriedly put her hands out before he could retort.

‘Love don't die out. I get that. But our situations are different, ya dig? I can’t just give up on her and walk away cuz she's become a part a' me. Without Cera, what is Jen Ryette?’

Her voice clearly had a slight sadness to it, but she hastily shook away the visible sadness and stepped up to Slater, holding the flower she still possessed toward him.

‘Incarnatione…’ she said with an accent, her gaze trailing down the flower. ‘It's said that the carnation's name is derived from this word... latin... pretty obvious what it is, ne?’

Jen twirled the flower by its stem, her eyes lowering slightly.

‘Usually carnations symbolize renewal... or some other positive shiz. But... this carnation is striped. A dual colored carnation.... do you know from where it came to be?’

She paused again, looking back up at him and being legitimately surprised that he was still listening. Then she cleared her throat, presumably to begin her history lesson.

‘Legend tells of two Italians named Margherita and Orlando. Margherita gave Orlando a white carnation, for love and luck, that he took with him when he went ta fight in the war. He carried it through every battle, never allowing it to be damaged or to wilt. He was... fighting hard one chilly day and... ended up getting fatally wounded. It was an owie no medic could fix.’

Frowning slightly, Jen gently tugged at the outer petals to reveal a deep red inside the flower.

‘Drops of blood fell to the center of the carnation. It was found and returned ta Margherita, along with the news that her beloved had passed away.’ With a deep inhale of air, she lowered the arm holding the flower and locked eyes with Slater. ‘She planted it, and it thrived... and each flower that bloomed from its seeds also had that red center. A reminder of the life Orlando lived and the love he and Margherita shared. But also a constant reminder of the blood that was shed and pain that was endured…’

Once again Jen laughed in that same dry manner Cera was known for.

‘Y'know... carnations are slightly poisonous. Too much of them... can kill you.’

For the first time, Slater turned his full attention to the flower in her hand. He digested what had been said, slowly reaching out to it and, with silent permission, took it from her hand. Studying it closely and twirling it between his fingers, all the thoughts of his past flew back. Then, as he examined the redness that symbolized Orlando’s blood, it no longer became his. It became Cera’s; everything he knew she went through. Every drop of blood she shed. Every painful tear that dripped down her face.

Solemnly, Slater tensed his hand around the stem, being careful enough not to snap its fragile structure.

‘Should the poison vanquish me…’

Beginning a thought he could not quite complete, Slater shook his head and lowered the flower.

‘I know what I have to do. But... I don't feel myself... anymore…’

‘That's why ya need ta let go... you look so lost. She consumes people, Matt. No matter what role she plays... from the moment I met her years ago, I knew. And ya might enjoy the warmth but the burns leave these... these scars…’

Jen once again held her hands out in front of her, this time staring at them with a pained look.

‘I deserve it. The torture of not knowin' if she cares or not and if she is what she pretends to be and desperately trying to unfold a paper that keeps gettin' stapled over and over again. I don't have an identity now. I'm just a side character in her big story and I've realized I lost myself in it.’

Concluding her rambling, as coherent as it was, Jen took a breath and placed one of her hands to her heart. Meanwhile Slater remained rigid, solemnly looking into Jen’s dark, pleading eyes.

‘I...I followed ya today cuz, even though we were never super close friends, somehow I still care. And mebe that's cuz of her... the small part of her who feels the same way. You still have time. So many good things can still come ta you in the future as long as ya don't lose yourself too.’

Glancing down at the carnation, Slater thought of Jen’s story once again. ‘Then we'll just have to see what character I end up being after it's all said and done.’

Clenching her hand at her chest, Jen watched as Slater approached a neighbouring set of flowers. There he knelt down and, with one last look at the carnation, left it lying amongst the pleasant gathering.

‘All good things come to an end…’ he ominously stated, ascending from his knelt position and looking at Jen. ‘Even what exists within ourselves.’

With Jen puzzled, Slater turned and walked away. This time, she did not follow.

All she could do was look at the striped carnation on the soil and visibly wonder about what was to come.



For all of Jen’s reprehensible schemes and her masochistic behaviour, she was correct about one thing she said that day. It is time I let go... of everything.

I cannot save Professional Wrestling, and I cannot be a pure, reputable Visionary. I cannot bring justice and protection to the ones I love… even when I passionately vowed to.

For all of my recent transgressions, I deserve to be alone in this world. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to be made a mockery of. But most of all… I do not deserve to bear a moniker of honor and esteem that has been associated with me for more than four years.

Shred me bare to the core… and cast my armor into the grave. The silver curtain has fallen.

I am not a role model or a legend.

I am no longer the Silver Knight.

I am merely human… an ordinary man who will never be the same again.

An ordinary man… with nothing left to lose.