His eyes open and he's in a formless void.
His eyes close and he hears noises. He can't quite make them out.
Is something calling to him?
He tries to listen and...
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September 16, 2017
"Joe..?"
Joe's eyes snapped open and he returned from his hazy daydream and found he was in the office of Dr. Jonathan Fuller. He came here almost immediately after the incident in the basement. It was a great and secret show that his mind played for him, a visual hallucination that caused him to simply stumble back to a chair and sit there in silent. He remembered the anxious expressions on the faces of his wife and Lucy Wylde, who had been crashing for the night, and he couldn't explain himself.
He remembered coming with with a clumsy excuse of it slipping out of his hand, but he knew they didn't buy it. That didn't explain the talking to someone that wasn't there. That didn't explain the screaming. He saw that look in his wife's eyes that questioned if he was going back to the way he was, and he had no answer for it. He saw Lucy doubting her decision to include him on her UGWC Outlast team and he had no answer for THAT, either.
JC, a man who routinely touted his lack of fear, was in fact very afraid. He was afraid of who he might become and most of all, he was afraid that he wanted to become that person.
"Joe, you asked for this visit. What was so urgent?"
Joe refused to look at the man who had been treating him for the past year. He couldn't. He was ashamed. He was ashamed of who he was and who he could be. Dr. Fuller knew every vulgar detail because that was his job. Joe told him things he couldn't tell his wife. He used doctor-patient confidentiality to its breaking point. For these reasons, he could never look the man in the eye. Instead he stared at his hands, nervously moving them around like a child who can't face his parent after breaking something.
"I've had a major setback, doc."
"I assumed as much. My receptionist told me it was 'urgent' that we set this appointment today."
"That's true. It's...very urgent."
He raised his head ever so slightly to get a glimpse of his doctor, who was staring at him intently. It's hard to face a person who knew so much about you, right down to how you ticked. Dr. Fuller was half his size but in a way, he terrified him. The man had an unfathomable amount of knowledge, willingly given. He had an unbelievable amount of power, which JC also gave him when he put himself in his care. Care. As though he was were sick.
He definitely wasn't sick, but he certainly wasn't well.
"That's what I'm here for, Joe. I'll be direct with you as I always am. Stop beating around the bush and tell me the issue."
"I saw something that wasn't there yesterday."
There it was. Joe finally said it out loud. He tried to convince himself it wasn't real, but his mind wouldn't let him. He exited the conversation about the basement incident with the grace of a drunken elephant and called his doctor. He did so in the shadows, a clandestine discussion in which he conspired to divulge more secrets.
"What do you mean 'saw something'? A hallucination, like the voice?"
"Yes, exactly like that. I saw a friend, and she was saying nasty things. I lost my temper and..."
(tried to severely hurt her with a hand weight)
"..and I threw something at her. She wasn't there anymore and she hadn't been."
Dr. Fuller considered this for a moment, as JC finally looked at him to get a gauge on what his reaction would be. Joe was good at reading people. He always had been. It's probably what made him effective when he was rampaging through OWF. Yet he couldn't really figure out his psychiatrist. Maybe that was part of the job: encourage your patients to be open but don't open up yourself. He supposed it was a lot like competing in the ring. You wanted to exploit an opponent's weakness but never reveal your own. Of course there was no competition here. They were both focused on making JC better.
"Have you been taking your medicine properly?"
Joe expected that question. It wasn't an accusation, as Fuller had to know in order to properly diagnose him, but it still felt like one.
"No. I was forgetful after my concussion and then I just..never got back into the right pattern. I took it the second I was able to today, that much I know."
"The thing about the pills is, you have to take them regularly. The only way to keep your condition from getting worse is to stick to a regular schedule for the rest of your life. I know that seems like a big task but it's the only way."
"I know. I've been...distracted."
"Distracted?"
"My job has been especially stressful lately."
That felt like an excuse, but he wasn't about to sit here and tell his doctor that he planned to severely a man at the start of next month. Fuller might not let him leave. Then who would hurt Redemption? No, it was best he was vague.
"Haven't you been watching?"
"No, I've told you that I don't really watch anymore."
"I've had some issues with a guy, and we're fighting soon."
"Any kind of stress, in addition to recovering from a concussion, would explain why you haven't been on your medication routine. And without a persistent regimen, I can't be sure if its' working or not. It's in your best interest to map out a schedule and stick to it. You were doing well before the concussion."
"I know I was and...I don't really have an excuse."
"No, you don't."
This bluntness was expected from his doctor and desired. It's what he asked him to do from the moment they first started seeing each other. JC wasn't a big believer in the entire therapy process, but it did help to have someone to tell his innermost thoughts too without judgement. At least, without open judgment. Dr. Fuller would tell him what he needed to do and how he needed to fix his problem, but he kept his moral viewpoints to himself. More important, he didn't tell anyone the violent fantasies JC used to have.
That wouldn't be good for Joe, his family or his friends. He would be a pariah if people knew he once considered murdering Moxie Roxie instead of just kicking her head through a car window. That he was told to do it by a voice in his head and he agreed because he hated her. Of course, that was ancient history. The alarming fact was that even with his treatment, his medication and being "better" now, he had similar thoughts about the former Drake Munday.
The past Dr. Fuller knew about. The present he wouldn't, accept in the future when JC elected to tell him. That assumed, of course, that he didn't finally act on his thoughts this time. He thought he had a good handle on his actions but then he threw a weight at his friend only to find out she wasn't there. He didn't know what he could do and that scared him. The fact that it excited some hidden part of him was one he refused to acknowledge.
"I think the best thing to do is to set an appointment after the first, and after you've been taking your medicine regularly. That way we can really see where we're at. If you have any more hallucinations, mark them down and we'll discuss."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"I come here for help because I'm scared, and I'm told to do something I could have done on my own?"
"What do you want me to do, Joe? Do you want me to lock you up for observation? I can make that recommendation."
No, he didn't want that. He couldn't be locked up like some crazy person. Not this close to the vengeance he sought. Not this close to hurting Redemption.
"No."
"Then I suggest we stick to the plan. Routine, medication, visit back in October."
"I guess. I'm just...I'm worried I'm losing my grip on reality, here."
"I know. But the fact that you're aware and doing something automatically means you're better than you were last year."
He wasn't sure about that, but it seemed true enough. Last year he was practically forced to come here by an ultimatum from his wife. Now he was here on his own. Maybe he was a little saner than he was before.
Or maybe he was fooling himself.
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He was stumbling, tripping over his own feet.
He was not alone.
Something was in here with him.
He peered out to try to make out the form he saw in the distance...
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October 1, 2017
He heard a clanging noise and his eyes shot open. He was once again lost in thought, almost meditating. They darted to the door and his body tensed up, almost as if he were expecting a fight. Perhaps he was. Perhaps Redemption decided to start their match back here.
Instead, it was a woman much smaller than Redemption, wearing her usual leather attire and her platinum blonde hair spilling from her head down to her shoulders. It was Lucy Wylde, the only one of the Wyldes he actually liked. He hadn't seen much of her husband since their failed attempt at tag teaming, but he didn't care. CJ was an asshole. Lucy had a bit of a mean streak, but she was a kindred spirit. In another life, they would have been a great tag team.
That's why he hadn't been talking to her lately. He felt guilty over what he did, even if she wasn't aware of it. Even if that Lucy was real, the intent was. The intent was very real. If she had been there, not even JC knew how that would have ended.
"What are you doing here?"
He put the roll of white athletic tape up to his mouth and gripped the end with his teeth, before pulling the strand free of its holding. He then started to wrap up his left forearm: a pre-match ritual. Lucy watched all of this as she gave her reply.
"I wanted to come support you...I know how important this is to you. How're you doing?"
"I'm just getting ready. I've been waiting for this for a while."
"I know. I think everyone has."
He repeated the process with his right forearm, making sure to tighten it enough that it would support the series of punches that he planned to give to Redemption's face. He had yet to actually look at Lucy again, preferring to focus on his preparation. And yet, he knew what he was going to do the moment she arrived.
"Actually, it's good you're here. I've had something I've been wanting to tell you."
"Oh God..."
JC let out a dry, humorless laugh at that. He couldn't help it. She had no idea what was coming and yet she already expected something bad. That was Lucy in a nutshell: hope for the best, expect the worst.
"You remember a few weeks ago, when you crashed at my place?"
"How could I forget?"
She gave him a small, sarcastic chuckle to go along with the tone of her answer. He didn't think she was thinking abut the same incident he was.
"Hey, I am sorry about that... I shouldn't have come to your place like that. I haven't been in the right place lately bu--"
"It's not about that. This is about me. I've got something I need to tell you."
This was it. He was going to tell one of his best friends that he meant to do her serious harm a few weeks ago. It didn't matter that it was a hallucination. It didn't matter that she left his home in one piece. That weight could have inflicted some serious damage if a real person had been standing there. He knew that because he knew how much force he put into throwing it. He saw the crack in the wall behind the shattered mirror. He knew.
She didn't, and Joe felt another pang of guilt when he saw an expression of genuine concern on her face. He didn't deserve the friends he had. He didn't deserve this good life. He was too broken inside.
"What is it, Joe? What's going on?"
"When you and Stacy came downstairs and the mirror was shattered...that wasn't an accident. I did that on purpose."
Lucy almost smirked, almost as if it was a sigh of relief. After all, JC broke a mirror in anger. Big deal. She watched him literally punch a television to death. She knew about his anger issues and had accepted them. Friends accepted flaws.
"Hey, it happens..."
He turned back to his gym bag now and removed a pack of kinesio tape. He carefully tried to apply it to the base of his neck and down his spine, before adding several more layers near his neck and shoulders. The silence in the room was deafening, but he wasn't ready to tell her the rest yet. He wasn't so sure she would accept the next part of what he had to say.
"I threw that weight at the mirror because I thought I was throwing it at a person."
"And who pissed you off enough to break your mirror?"
"That person was you."
He heard an incredulous laugh escape her lips now, as if this were the most ridiculous joke she's ever heard. Perhaps she did think it was a joke. Maybe she just thought that Joe had a weird sense of humor. That seemed unlikely, though.
"Me? Joe I wasn't even--"
"I know you weren't there. That's the point I'm trying to get to. I think I'm getting worse, up here."
Joe pointed to his head as he said this to really drive the point home. Lucy, like everyone when he announced it last year, knew of his bipolar disorder and knew of the voice. She knew he wasn't well. However what he just told her was privileged information that only his doctor and his wife (whom he told sometime after his doctor visit) knew. He was taking his medication now but he still felt very off.
Lucy's eyebrows went up at the news and he noticed an alarmed look on her face. However, to her credit (she's a better person than me, he thought), she made no move to get away. She stood her ground.
"Joe..."
"I don't even want to hurt you, is the thing. And no, I don't think I would if given the chance. But if I'm seeing shit? If I'm having urges to hurt hallucinations? Who knows what I'm capable of."
"What are you saying?"
"I think the best thing may be for you to stay away from me, honestly."
Joe wasn't sure how he expected her to take that. With the way she had been treated by CJ and Gabriel Baal, he did think there was a possibility she would turn on him. She wouldn't be the first friend to do so. Trent did it, and he didn't even have a real reason to. Joe was the one person Lucy could trust and here he was telling her he wanted to harm her earlier in the month. That's not usually something a friendship could recover from.
She went to what Joe assumed was a defense mechanism, and let loose another sly chuckle.
"Joe, come on... I'm a big girl. I'm not going to run away just because you thought you were throwing a weight at me..."
"You don't understand. I'm genuinely scared of what I might do. What happens if I lose control again and it's actually you standing there? Or Stacy? Or Lizzy, in a few years?"
Finished with taping up his body, Joe sat down in a chair and reached in his bag for his ring gloves. His entire body was tense, even now. His nerves felt frayed and his body felt electric. His heart rate was going way faster than healthy, especially for a man his size and age. In that moment he truly believed that stress and stress alone could kill a person.
"I don't know if I can be fixed and I'm scared I'm close to losing everything."
Lucy simply stared at him, perhaps choosing her next words carefully. Once again the two had an uncanny knack for being vulnerable around each other, something that started before they really knew each other. Lucy sat down next to him and simply gave him a friendly pat on the back. He actually flinched at that, because he was so on edge.
"Well lucky for you, you've got a best friend who's stubborn and isn't going to tuck tail and run away just because you think you can't control yourself. You've done it before, and you'll do it again."
He appreciated the sentiment, but he felt to far gone this time. The worst part was, he was completely aware of his insanity this time.
The hallucinations may not be real, but his fear certainly was.
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Suddenly he heard something, a voice. It was a low volume, as if it it were far away and shouting into the darkness that clouded Joe's mind.
Joe opened his eyes and focused on his dark passenger.
"Who are you?"
You know who I am.
"What do you want?"
The same things you want.
A smile crept upon his lips.
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You're right. I haven't changed.
There's something very wrong with me, Drake. Of course I have a mental illness but that's only part of it. Something's damaged inside, something's broken beyond repair. Truth be told, I've laid awake at night in a cold sweat, my skin on fire with the tingling of my nerves, because I don't know if I can ever be fixed.
This is a fact that's been true ever since I first heard a voice in my head telling me to assault my classmates when I was fifteen. I'm broken, flawed and in some ways bitter. I'm bitter that my parents left me and I was forced to raise my brother. I'm bitter that the business continues to leave me behind and the generation ahead of me doesn't cherish it. I bottle all that up because it's wrong to express those views. It's wrong to want to rend the people that irritate me. I can't hurt people, not like I really want to.
But it's okay to hurt you.
I can hurt you and not a single fucking person will care. Isn't that lovely? I can do the things to you that I've wanted to others and it's okay, because society has decided you deserve it. You don't have a single ally, a single person standing up in your defense. It's just a series of different people condemning you, wanting me to do the things I've denied myself for so long. They want me to hurt you. They want me to kick your teeth in. They want me to rip your leg apart like you did my brother.
Lucy Wylde hopes you choke on my boot. Brian Crucifix hopes to get your mask when it's been ripped from your face. Trent Steel wants you dead, no matter what he's done lately. GI wants the same, although he's too good a person to admit it.
I'm not.
So you're right that I'm still the violent and dark man you once knew. You may be wrong about how much I truly care about people, but I'm still dangerous. Perhaps that's why Crucifix beat me. Maybe that's why I lost at Outlast. Maybe the thoughts in my head that tell me I've lost my edge are right. Maybe the only way I can truly keep this career going is to embrace that killer instinct and become the destructive force I used to be.
After all, you're right. I'm not a good person. And quite frankly, it's time I stop pretending otherwise. I'm a mentally ill man with a love of violence and the knowledge to dish it out effectively. I have a family that I love and I have friends that I care for. I love this business and I appreciate the fans that still cheer me. But I'm not a good person. I want to be. I desperately wish I wasn't this distorted thing that once called itself my mother's son.
But that's who I am. That's who I always will be. Everyone else has accepted it and it's time for me to accept it too. You've been so honest about me, Drake, it's time for me to be honest about myself.
So this is the part where I thank you. Not as a feeble attempt at threatening you. That's not what this is about. This is an open letter, of sorts, to genuinely thank you. You have helped me realize over these past few months that I never have and never will be the good man I want to be. I can have flashes of genuine goodness. I can take care of those who care about me and I can defend those who may need it, but there will always be part of me that enjoys the violent aspects of this business.
There's only one way I can repay the man who ushered in my rebirth. I can show him exactly what he had a hand in. I can give you some violence of your own. I can go to that ring and utterly destroy you. That's what you want. It has to be. You've been goading me all this time, hoping to draw out something. Otherwise, why would you have went after my brother first? If you wanted me gone, why not just attack me first?
Because you know. You know I'm not wired right. You know that attacking family isn't going to throw me off my game. It's going to give me focus. It's going to let me tap into the more savage sides of my personality. You knew all of this and you welcomed it, because I think, deep down, you want to atone for your crimes. You know you're not a good person so you've awakened something that can finally make you pay.
So let me thank you for that, Drake. Accept my gift of broken bones. Accept my gift of wanton bloodshed. Accept my gift of torn flesh. But most of all, accept my gratitude. I want to thank you for giving me the ability to accept who I really am. I want to thank you for opening my eyes.
I want to thank you for redeeming me.
