That's Where I Live

    It's been days since Detective Kuban has slept, you could tell by how short his nails were. What was left of them were stained a nasty yellow. One pinky finger remained long. If he wasn't going to the office he liked to grow one out. Easier to scoop up product. As for the other nails? Yikes. He had started to chew them dangerously close to the nerve. Occasionally he would nibble a little to close to flesh startling himself. This case was consuming him. He went back to the scene. He studied both bodies. The pictures hung on the wall and he paced his apartment shirtless. Pushing his hand though his hair in frustration then slams his hand down on the table so hard the tenets dog below starts to yap. Lewis Connolly, Lewis Connolly. Connolly Lewis. Lewis. Lewis. Lewis. It raced in his head, the face. The name. That dead young prison guard. His eyes flashed red. Justice.

    He talked to the deceased’s mother, and father. Told them the terrible news of his death. He was stabbed in prison. That's what he told them “Was it a prisoner? Another guard? Jesus I am going to sue the fuck. . .” They were mad how couldn't they be?

    Lewis Connolly’s family, coworkers, and friends all said the same things. He was a good person. He didn't really have any enemies He was nice to the prisoners. He loved wrestling. He always wanted to be a police officer, but a piss test held him back. In Canada they don't piss test prison guards so Lewis was fine to smoke all the weed me wanted and watch all the wrestling he needed between shifts.

    As Kuban paced that was the one thing he always came back to. The night when he went into Mr. Connolly’s apartment and saw that gigantic image of the Visionaries of Wresting World Champion Casanova English. Somehow he was connected. Somehow this was all connected. Some fucked up conspiracy. He just had to piece it together. How could he present it to the captain? How could he go in right after a coke binge ranting a raving how a minor celebrity may have murdered a prison guard? He had no motive. No true link. Just that fucking picture burned into his mind.

    It had to be the coke making him crazy. “Fuck.” Kuban says softly plopping down in the chair. The Orphanage? Casanova English? He was going nuts. It couldn't be connected to all this. Wrestling is fake after all...isn't it?



    I can still hear the crowd seething, I can still hear Ryder's little heart breaking in two like someone spilled milk on his PS2. My music was just finishing as Corpse and I made our way to the parking lot. The Orphanage flag hung proudly over my shoulders and I smirked arrogantly. My body pained, my breath was short, but my ego. . . not a scratch.

    “Ah! Fuck.” I wobbled barely able to put any weight on my right knee; the one I had just used to haul Ryder Blade off the top rope with and plant to the mat. The one that I used seconds later to administer another finisher. It screamed Kill Me! Kill Me! As I used the door way to the arena to brace myself. Corpse shook his head at me as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Jesus.” I winced taking another step. It's only temporary. It means you're alive. The taste of blood filled my mouth even though none was there. I kind of liked it. Corpse grabbed me with one long arm before I fell to the parking lot asphalt. Lawrence stepped out from the driver's seat seeing my struggle to the car. “You didn't think I had it in me. Thought my time was up didn't ya big boy!?” I say laughing hysterically and slapping Corpse right on the ass as hard as I can.

    “Well boss, ya didn't get out of there unscathed.” He says rubbing the cheek I just lit up.

    “Tis merely a flesh wound.” I boast as heat shoots through my ears meeting in the middle to turn my brain to mush. It didn't feel broken, or sprained. I've had injuries like that when I was younger. Felt more muscular. Like I tweaked it. Over extended. Regardless my adrenaline rush was coming down and I couldn't wait to find something else to dull the pain. “Ryder won't ever be the same. I assure you that.” I smirked as both of my comrades helped me into the back of the limo. Tossing the championship on my lap I lean back and sigh with exhaustion. “Familiar scene.” Licking the sweat from my upper lip and sliding a hand into the pocket of my jacket on the seat I continue. “They think they got me. They think they have me trapped and cornered and there is no where to go.” Cigarette, I need a cigarette. My lips quiver as they meet the coffin nail and I ignite. “I strike like a scorpion. I inject the venom and we watch another dream slowly die of infection. I've held this championship for a year and look what I have done. I have reinvented the entire game. I sent the old generation packing and now here I am leader of the broken free world.” Laughing I scratch the bridge of my nose with my thumb the lit ember danging in my vision.

    Corpse looks me up and down rolling his eyes at my arrogance. He thinks I barely scraped by, but that is what the masses think each and every month. Each and every time I lift the veil of ignorance exposing their idols as mere mortal imperfections; abominations. “Who do you think they are going to throw at you next?”

    I tilt my head narrowing my eyes. “Does it matter? I'll just do what I always do.”

    “Win?” Corpse questions trying to finish my thought.

    He was wrong. “Survive.”



    “You seem to be doing a lot better.” Alabama was right. I was doing a lot better. I haven't been drinking, my knee had been feeling a lot better than it was last week.

    “Yeah. I feel a hell of a lot better that is for sure.” Smiling she tossed her blonde hair and pushed a coffee into my hand. It was almost too hot in that shitty little room to drink it. “Thanks.” Black, just the way I like it. Alabama has been staying with me, trying to keep me on the straightened arrow. Now the main event scene in VoW was finally establishing I had to make sure my mind was as clear as it could be. Our relationship isn't sensual; despite the many times I catch her gnawing at her bottom lip; or staring extra deep into my eyes. It's more of a mutual respect. I never turned her in all those years ago when I was reporting on the cult suicides. I never really explained what I did, but she knew I played a hand in my father's demise. Just like I knew she had a hand in her past crimes. I never really told anyone what really happened in that room. I didn't need to. I was the only person that needed to know. Not a single soul on earth gives a fuck about my father. The other offspring he may have had, they are probably as happy as I am he's gone. After all I am happy... right?

    “So what is the plan for today Cass?” Alabama inquired throwing me a flash of her pearly whites.

    “I think I will go to the gym and then probably discuss my plans for Emma at the upcoming Breakthrough.”

    “You worried about her?” Alabama didn't talk to me a lot about wrestling, but maybe she could tell I really wanted a drink. She engaged herself fully as if dedicated to keeping my mind off the topic. “You seem to have a lot of trouble with the ladies. Wasn't your last loss to... Constance Chapin. That's the one right?”

    My eyes fell to the ground and then back up to hers. “Yeah that is the one. Yeah, yeah to be honest with you Al I am worried about Emma. She has this killer instinct in her. I have seen her choke the life out of people. I've seen her take it that extra step. I know her bloody history and she has been around a lot longer than I have.” My eyes narrow now as my foot gets restless. Even when I think of the ring it gets my heart pumping. Since the incident with my father it has truly become a form of therapy. The weeks I am off the card, those are the weeks I just show up to sell tickets. Those are the weeks I am finding it hard to remain sober. Then again it's not even the substance I am addicted to. No, it's the visions. I get to talk to him. I get a little bit closer to closure. “I don't think she has me beaten. If that is what you are really asking. I don't think she is going to leave me in a pool of my own blood while reciting Websters dictionary. I just don't see it happening like that. Emma thinks I underestimate her; it's the same story with everyone. She is wrong. I do my research. That is my secret. It's not an extra rep at the gym, or a good nights sleep. It is studying. It's watching, it's knowing exactly when the perfect opening is going to reveal itself. Everyone gets tired, everyone gets arrogant, and everyone gets beaten. Even Death.” I look at Alabama who is pleased knowing she has turned my mind in the correct direction. “You and I both know that.”

    “Yeah, but you always have to look over your shoulder. You never know when death will be back.” She was still paranoid that the police would be back with questions for her, even though her plea deal with air tight. The media really wanted to publish the story on the White Wizard cult leader who killed a bunch of teens by poisoning; not the one about the beautiful blonde next door manipulative teen that orchestrated the whole madness. There was no drugs in her piss. None. The stuff they were on and overdosed on that stayed in your system will over a week. Not a trace in Alabama's urine. That was what the story I was going to write all those years ago was about. “You never know when it could all fall apart.”

    “Nothing is infinite. Not my life, and not my title reign, but I won't let this terror of a woman come in here and demand something she never earned. Maybe at Breakthrough she earns it, maybe she doesn't. The title shot, that is the easy part to get from me it really is. The respect... that is a whole different story.” Alabama liked my perspective, hated the wrestling, but liked the way I applied my philosophy to it. She was kind to me like no other over the past month or so. When she found me in vomit and piss a few nights before Fate of the God's she didn't judge me. She cleaned me up, and she reminded me why I do all of this. “What are your plans for the day?” I ask finally returning the question that she initially asked, probably not expecting for me to launch into a speech about Emma.

    “I think I am going to do some shopping. Maybe some hiking later if you wanted to come along.” I could tell by her voice that she really wanted me to come, but I had no interest in hiking in the woods. My jungle is made of concrete; the animals there are far more savage.

    “No, I shouldn't Alabama. I should focus on my match.” Or use the time away to sneak a drink. She watched me like hawk. Not that she truly ever stopped me, but those eyes screamed guilt when I was in her presence intoxicated. It's the only time I really recall feeling shame. Like letting your mother down.


    It's late now; early morning. I waited till I knew Alabama was asleep before I started walking back to that hotel. Fuck. What is happening to me? I grip the paper bag tight around the bottle of whiskey I bribed the bar tender for. This is where I belong. “Hahaha.” Out here in the night, on the street. I'm one of them... I am one of these people. The scum... the children. You think after beating Ryder I would be on top of the world. I would be riding the lighting all the way to immortality. If only it were that simple. My issues go beyond the ring; and they go much further than Ryder Blade. The idea of talking to the mass collection of drones made my stomach turn and form knots. It had to be done. I was the World Champion. A World Champion that was drunk on the streets of Dayton struggling to pull out his cellphone to cut a wrestling promo. A World Champion that is busy getting drunk in order to see a false incarnation of his dead father. Careful how you choose your role models I guess.

    Drunkenly I pull the cellphone from my pocket and flicked the camera on to face me. I leaned against a brick wall breathing heavily for a moment before pulling a cigarette from my pants pocket. Sweat trickled from my forehead as I light the smoke and let out an exaggerated groan. “You think I am scared of death? No, I like the taste on my fucking lips.” I smirk taking a long hard drag off the cigarette staggering back slowly with the momentum of the inhale. I blow a plume of smoke into my cellphone camera. I start hacking up portions of my lung before regaining my breath. I push my hands through my sweat soaked hair and take another snap from the bottle. “So this week I get the pleasure, nay the honor of being in the ring with the Queen of Chaos herself. Finally an intellectual to match wits with. Finally someone who can break down the existential existence of a capitalistic social structure. Finally someone who truly understand that this nation and world needs a revolution that is long over do. You think I would be excited to enter that ring with you at Breakthrough and do the dance under those hot lights. Lets face it; here in VoW you are nothing until you have been in the ring with me. All the other talk; hell all the other action it's cheap. Yeah I should be excited Emma. With you it seems all my dreams have come true.” I tap the ash off my cigarette winking one eye at the camera, but I leave it shut as if I am lining up a target though a rifle scope. “I'm not excited. You think you can walk down the ramp and into my ring and demand worth. It bothered you didn't it Emma. It got past those cold eyes and into that frozen one track mind of yours. The fact that I am not scared of you.” I shake my head now opening my eyes and snickering a bit. “Now, don't be offended little Emma. Please don't nail me to the cross. Please DEATH HAVE MERCY!” I sarcastically hold my hands in praying formation shaking the cell phone around foolishly.

    I fix my hair and continue. “Emma you haven't done much here in VoW for me to have the fear of your so called wrath to resonate with me. I know your history. I know what you have done, I know you have left Constance Chapin in a pool of blood. I know the things you accomplished in GPW. I read the book on Death. Here in VoW what have you done? Not beat the Neon Babes for the Twin City Championships? The only one who blows more smoke around here than me is you little Miss Carlisle. You talk of the gore that will come here in VoW as a result of your fury. The Fury of The Horsewomen. Yet truthfully you have avoided me. You have avoided a mass altercation with The Orphanage, because you know the one that truly has their hands soaked in blood and flesh is ME. Now you are under the strange assumption that I have grown weak. You believe the crown is slipping from my head and all you need to do is chop a low hanging neck. I've fought Ryder, Valquist, I am battle worn The truth is... I've only been doing this for 3 years. The road ahead me is much longer than the one behind me Carlisle... I don't know if you can say the same for yourself. I was born to bleed, born a sin, and a sacrifice.”

    “I know your game. The destruction game. The destroy everything so no one can have it game. I have seen it play out over and over. It's nice; see I know that to you the World Championship means little. It is just the piece of architecture that happens to be in the way. You want to destroy me, because you know I am the pillar that holds up this institution. It's not Ryan Omega who pulls the strings. It's not Sky. It's not Frei. It is me. It is me through hard work. Through dedication. By putting the target on myself I have drawn the world's best talent here to compete for this prize. I've created a war zone, a new standard... and you think you can come in here and tear it all away to fuel your ego. I don't see it playing out that way. Over the past year I have built a machine... a suicide machine.” I take three sharp puffs off the cancer stick and narrow my eyes speaking with complete clarity even though my body still physically sways from the liquor. “I know how I come out of all this. You are going to have to make good on each and every promise. You are going to have the break my legs. Leave me barely breathing. You are going to have the crucify me... and I hope you do. I really do. I was born a sacrifice Emma. It's inevitable, but I'm not ready yet and I don't think you are the woman to do it. I don't think you have earned that honor. VoW is going to eat me alive one day, and that is the way I have designed this beast. See I don't think you understand it. I don't think you have taken the time to appreciate this hollowed ground I have carved. You will respect it though Emma. At Breakthrough you will respect it.” I toss the cigarette to the ground stomping it out. “You are just another entitled cunt; another one of the insects that thinks they can make a difference. Now, this land is already claimed. Chaos has no place here. You come and crucify The Modern Day Messiah... so be it. I'll rise again; just to drag you all back to hell.” I laugh flicking the camera off abruptly. What the fuck was that? Drunken rambling I am going to pawn off as match promotion. I take another swing before straying off back toward the hotel room.

    I was nearing the end of my bottle fearful that the visions would never come, but as I reached the door to my room they came flooding like a train wreck. Not the image of my father, but the images of my mother. Her lighting a flame under spoons. Scabs covering her arms. Chewing nails. Bloody fingertips. Police lights. Red and Blue. Blue and Red. Moans. Sex. Syringes. My eyes blast open and somehow I had managed to make it to bed in the disorder and confusion. Somehow I had manged to make it here to my bed. Alabama rested in the other twin parallel. She would be disappointed in the morning. My heart rate slowed. The sweating dissipated. Sobriety began to usher in.

    I don't fear Chaos...

                                    That's where I live.