His imaginary friend’s footsteps were ominously loud in the hospital’s hallway.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Artur was afraid of so little in life. He had faced his multiple beatings from The Affliction with no protest. He had been disfigured with no protest, suffering the kind of pain most people could never imagine. He had never even said the word “stop” once. But he was afraid of this man, this thing, that came to him more and more know. He had to believe the man wasn’t real, but what if he was?
His lack of an attachment to the outside world and the consequences that awaited him out there had been one of his strengths as a wrestler years ago, and it was one of the qualities that made him such a dangerous mentor for multiple Affliction members. But now, even more than he feared this entity being real, he feared that he wasn’t real. That this was really all in his mind.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
And sure enough, the man in black cowboy hat rounded the corner and into room 277 where Artur laid. In his wrinkled hands were a deck of cards. Sometimes, for only an instant, the figure appeared to Artur as a black flame with glowing red eyes.
“Time to take those band-aids off I reckon, step out of the cocoon, see the world…great rates on hotel rooms in vegas I hear,” the man offered, with a jovial smile. His teeth were all sparkly white, except for one that looked brown and decayed.
Artur said nothing; he only looked at the other man in the hospital room. He could barely make his shadow out through the thin curtain that separated them. The figure was silent, and motionless.
Wake up, Artur thought as hard as he can.
“Who do you think you are, some kinda Magic Man?” the cowboy scoffed, and then giggled at the mention of his own nickname. “Look, I got this deck of cards here…I want you pick one.”
The Traveler extended the deck of cards to what seemed to be a composed Artur.
“Go ahead, take one,” the figure insisted.
Finally, more out of curiosity of the feel of the cards in his hand, he extended a hand and grabbed one.
“Okay, no don’t look at it…I want you to guess what it is.”
It laid face down on Artur’s chest for a moment, and he stared at the card as if it was the strangest thing ever, even though it resembled any other playing card he had ever seen.
“The queen of clubs,” escaped Artur’s throat, in a very hoarse manner.
The Cowboy said nothing. He only nodded, as if he approved of the guess. Slowly Artur reached for the card and turned it over. For whatever reason, he was more than relieved to see a relatively innocent looking 7 of hearts staring at him.
“Oh well,” the Cowboy said, “guess this just isn’t your lucky day.” He threw the last 51 cards up in the air, and they seemed to fall down in slow motion. Artur could clearly make out that every single one of them was the queen of clubs. They landed all around Artur and he recoiled when the cards touched him as if they were snakes.
The Cowboy’s laughter grew louder and louder, and he practically screamed, “You think guys like Jonathan Rhine are going to believe you…that you’re A GOOD GUY NOW!?! THEY’LL NEVER BELIEVE YOU!”
Artur turned to hit the emergency button to get the attention of the nurse, but by the time he turned around the cowboy and the playing cards were all gone.
The only evidence that remained was his laughter, growing fainter and fainter.
* * *
Outside a different hospital, in an entirely different country.
October had already begun to take its toll in Halifax, Canada.
Winter coats were already becoming the norm on certain days, and people were bracing themselves for what was sure to be a rough winter. If you looked at Lane Stevens’ face, however, you wouldn’t have known the winds were cold and harsh.
Lane was dressed the part, however, with an ugly looking bright yellow winter coat, and matching ear muffs. And yes, he might have been the only one wearing ear muffs in the entire city. He stood next to a young man in a white coat that appeared to be a doctor, and he was. They were standing at a side entrance, where a lot of the hospital personnel smoked on their breaks.
In the doctor’s hands was a manila folder that he seemed to be guarding with his life. The doctor straightened his glasses, and regarded Lane with a weary eye.
“Do you have any idea what could happen to me?” the man asked.
“Are you an oak man, Jimmy?” Lane asked, spreading out a wad of hundred dollar bills.
The doctor looked annoyed.
He said, “My name isn’t even Jimmy. Was that some kind of clever Pulp Fiction reference? Jesus Christ.”
Lane looked uncomfortable for a second.
“Anyway,” Lane started again, “yeah, there’s a lot of ethical issues here. I can see that, and I can sympathize. Why just last night I threw a piece of paper into a garbage bin, instead of littering. I mean, I know where you’re coming from, I’m a good guy at heart.”
“Why didn’t you just recycle?” the doctor replied.
“That’s not the fucking point, man,” Lane returned fire, shaking his head. “This isn’t going to come back to you. No way, no how.”
The doctor started to say something, but stopped when someone walked past him and disposed of a cigarette. When they were alone he spoke up again, his eyes periodically glancing at the sweaty wad of cash that Lane had out.
“Why do you need this so bad anyway?” the doctor finally asked.
“Cause I want to embarrass some cunt,” was Lane’s reply, beaming.
“Thought you said you were a good guy?” The doctor replied, with the hint of a smirk.
“Eh, it comes and goes,” Lane said, suddenly snatching the manila folder out of the man’s hands. Before the doctor really had time to react The River Rat tossed the money up in the air, and the young doctor was left grabbing for it frantically, while a confused colleague wandered by.
“Asshole,” the doctor mumbled under his breath has he began to realize that some of the bills were actually one dollar bills.
* * *
Fade up.
Lane Stevens is no longer dressed in his silly looking orange coat, instead he is sitting in the back of a limousine wearing a shirt that says “Cruise Control is not a clever finisher”. If you could see the back of the shirt it would say, “Seriously.”
In the background the city of Halifax flies by at about forty miles per hour.
The River Rat regards the camera with a look of amusement, after he realizes that the camera is now rolling he claps very slowly. The manila folder sits off to his right, unassuming in nature. The FUSE Gateway title rests on top of it.
“You’re right, Jason. I cheated. I won. You didn’t cheat, and you won. I’m really glad you could get in front of a camera and point out our differences. Because I’m sure that was something that needed to be brought to light. I’m sure Smitty T Duluth is going to watch your promo and go…oh shit, I thought Lane was the guy that gave shitty suck-up speeches to the fans, and Jason Cruise was guy who hits people in the face with chairs.”
Lane smiles.
“Why didn’t you talk about our similarities Jason? that might have been a little more original. You can start with the fact that we’re both MOTHERFUCKING CHAMPIONS! BOOYAH! POUND THE ROCK!”
The River Rat does an imaginary fist pump at the camera.
“We also both wear shirts. But I digress. I’m not as young as you Mr. Cruise, I’ve taken my shot a couple times at this business…and my success certainly did not come as immediate as yours did. But since you haven’t been a round for a while, I’m going to let you in on an earth shattering truth. Are you ready?”
He appears to be on the edge of his seat.
“I’m going to cheat again, and I’m going to win again. So you can taunt me, and be as smarmy as you want…but it’s not like I’m going to go into this match and be all, boy I better impress Cruise with my wrestling ability! I worked in Indy federations while you and your friends were buying ‘Keg Security’ shirts. I can go son, and by the video tape I have seen so can you. Congrats, you’re a professional wrestler, and you can do a fujiwara armbar. I give zero fucks.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you have to walk backstage and tell Jonathan Rhine that Sage’s ‘sidekick’ beat his.”
The River Rat has a good hearty chuckle.
“I’m just looking forward to the next time I step in the ring, when the next schmuck says…you cheat when you beat Jason Cruise, but I’m better than you! You throw around words like cheat, like I’m some kind of 80’s wrestling villain, like I’m going to use the ropes for leverage or something.”
Lane reaches for the camera, and has one parting shot before turning it off.
“I wreck things Jason.'
His face is emotionless, it's almost bizarre to see him without a smirk.
Fade.