What Tomorrow Will Do

  “Do I look like someone who cares what God thinks?”

- Pinhead, Hellraiser: Bloodline

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Other people might look at a victory and see it as a triumph. Not JC, not this week. All he thought about was what he could have done better. How he could have won quicker. If he'd be a hair quicker here or a little stronger there. 

It was infuriating.

JC was a perfectionist inhabiting an imperfect, aging, body. A large mass of skin and tissue growing weaker with each passing year. A brain that housed mental illness embodied in a disembodied voice that talked him into giving into his baser impulses if he didn't dull it with his daily allotment of chemicals.

He laid back on the bench in the locker room of a gym he once owned in Jersey City, letting the cool surface press against his head while his neck lay against a Ziploc bag stuffed with ice cubes. Having a surgically repaired neck didn't necessarily guarantee that he'd be pain-free the rest of his life. As a matter of fact, it made him more likely to be in pain after every taxing match.

All that pain and he couldn't even enjoy the win. It was the futility of it that really bothered him. 

"I put myself into the bottom of the card to work my way up the card and that mustachioed fuck gaslights his way into the main event of all main events."

As he spoke to no one in particular, especially considering the relatively empty state of the room, he swung his fist into the nearby wall. Of course this was only a half-hearted attempt. He didn't have it in him to get angry. He was too sore and too defeated. 

No. NO. You aren't that person anymore. 

He didn't want to kick Steve Matthews in the face. He wanted to kick Ken Davison in the face. He wanted to be a champion. The desire to do it the right way clashed with a growing awareness that his body may not let him. 

His eyes closed and he let the cool feeling on the back of his neck erase the soreness, even if that soothing sensation did nothing to quiet the usual storm in his head.

He was not left alone with his thoughts for long. With his own bag of ice clutched to his neck and his ribs taped up, Jonathan Willis, the man that JC would soon call a partner, walked into his locker room. Jon looked down at JC and shook his head.

“It never gets any easier, does it?”

JC didn’t bother looking up, he just stayed still with his eyes closed.

“You drove a long way just to ask dumb questions, kid.”

Jon nodded.

“I’m here because I just got word that it’ll be you and me at Chaos 98 against Kyra Johnson and Ken Davison. I know we’ve got no history as a team and we nearly tore each other apart a few weeks ago. But whether we like it or not, it’ll be the two of us against the two biggest champions in this company. You’ve got a lot of history with both of them.

I think it would be a good idea if we trained together. I don’t know how you feel about me, but I’ve always respected you. You brought out the best in me. You nearly killed me, but you still brought out the best in me. Our fight at WAR was one of the highlights of my career. I think there’s a lot I could learn from you.

First, I need to know about who we’re up against. I’ve found my place in Carnage, but I’m not an institution in this place. Not like Kyra, Ken or even you. The way I work, the way I beat my opponents… I try to get inside their heads and find out what makes them tick. What makes them, them. I’m a student of the game. I tracked down almost every match you ever had before our match. But there’s only so much the tape shows, you know? There’s a history between you three that I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface of. So, whenever I show up to wherever it is that you train, I don’t want to just see how you handle yourself in the ring. I also want to know as much as you can tell me about them.”

JC sat up, slowly, noticing that the ice pack slid off the bench and hit the floor with a plop. It was half melted, anyway. 

“You could have saved yourself some trouble if you had Twitter, you know.”

He smirked, hoping to put his future tag partner at ease and let him know he was only kidding.

“I don’t mind training. That was the plan today until...well, you saw.”

“I can relate. I was expecting a hard fight with Knox… not to be jumped by masked goons.”

“Anyway, I don’t know a lot about Ken. I know he’s a scumbag and a con man, but anyone can tell that from watching him. But Kyra, I can help you there.”

He pushed himself up and suppressed a groan, not wanting Willis to know just how sore he was. Keeping people at a distance was a way to prevent getting hurt. 

“So, where do we start?”

“I was thinking you could tell me what you know while we go through some maneuvers and strategies. You threw me around like a ragdoll in our match, and I hated you for it, but as a team we should use that to our advantage. Use our individual strengths to pull off combination offense that hits harder and hurts longer than anything they could do separately. I’ve got a few spots in mind. I excel at using my body as a weapon, and with your strength, I should be able to make that weapon do even more damage.”

JC stared at Willis for a moment and shook his head. Maybe 'reckless' was a better descriptor for him.

“You put a lot of thought into this.”

“You don’t?”

“I kinda just do things.”

“To each their own. I’ve always known from when I first stepped into the ring, from the first time I ever signed up for wrestling class with a bad fake ID, that I’d never be the strongest or most dominating person in the room. But I could be the fastest. And I could be smart. I didn’t think I’d be teaming with anyone again for a while, and definitely not against the two champions, but we play the cards we’re dealt. Maybe this pairing doesn’t have to be as random as either of us think.”

JC nodded at this, thinking about the possibilities. Trent Steel was normally his go-to partner, and he didn’t do well teaming with others. But those “others” didn’t bother going to the trouble Willis was now. It showed him more respect than, say, someone tweeting congratulations after a loss on Twitter.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy. We don’t have much time to prepare, so it’ll be a crash course at best. But nobody’s unbeatable. And if we work together? If we capitalize on each other’s strengths, minimize our weaknesses, and become actual partners. If this works out better than the last tag match I was in, where my “partner” told me he didn’t care about me and wanted me to stay the hell out of his way...nothing’s impossible. Sometimes it’s just your night. Any given Sunday. Right?”

“Anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

JC was smiling as he said this, trying to keep the kid at ease. He was beginning to see why others had praised him. His work ethic really was relentless. He sat back down, expecting the conversation to go on a little longer.

“Alright. I’ll tell you all you need to know about Kyra, and what I can about Kenny. But if we’re going to do this, we have to get completely in sync. I don’t mean one of us tells the other what to do, I mean we have to move as one.”

He paused for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. The lights in the old gym flickered, reminding him of the pain in his neck and head that had him laid out when Willis found him. 

“Davison and Kyra are...well I’m not sure what their relationship is and thinking about it makes me nauseous. But the point is, they have a bond. That puts us at a disadvantage. They think that bond is going to get the win. But if we put in the work, we can surprise them. Wouldn’t be your first time.”

Jon chuckled a bit under his breath and smiled. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been kinda making a career out of surprising people. You're right about Kyra and Ken too. Whatever’s going on with them, it’s easy to see that there’s a connection there. But I think we can beat them. There’s an old saying, one of my favorites: 'Hard work beats talent when talent won’t work hard.'

I think Ken and Kyra have a lot on their plate right now. Everybody wants a piece of Ken. Jack freaking Michaels of all people is coming back to challenge him, and Mac Bane is on the warpath for Kyra. They might be overlooking us, too focused on Chaos 100 to realize that there’s a world of things that could happen between now and then. I think we can beat them and be a better team than anybody believes. We just have to go to… some dark places.”

Jon seemed hesitant, but sat down next to JC.

“I know you’ve got your issues. I know that sometimes you want to rip someone’s head off just because you woke up in the morning and felt that way. I haven’t been to the same abyss as you, but I’ve been down into my own pit of darkness. I think that’s where we beat them. Davison wouldn’t know hardcore if it hit him over the head with a barbed wire two by four. Kyra may be the Ultraviolent Champion, but sometimes I feel she doesn’t know what Ultraviolence truly means.

It won’t be easy, but we can win this by showing those two what it means to be hardcore. Can't get too crazy since it's standard rules, but we can take them both out of their element. You’re a brawler, and I’m a high flyer. So instead of a wrestling match, let’s put on a clusterfuck. Let’s hit them so hard, so fast, and so often that their pompous, arrogant, selfish little heads spin. We watch each other’s backs. You help me not kill myself with my offense and I’ll help you not kill someone with yours. It won’t be a technical classic, but it doesn’t have to be. We’ll win by being ruthless. We’ll win by being relentless. We’ll win by being… heh…. tree lobsters.

I’m talking too much again. Sorry about that. I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing. But we should train together. I think it’ll be good for the both of us. Here, take this.”

Jon handed JC a business card that had an address and contact number listed below a banner reading 'Gimnasio Para Los Lucha Libra Campeones Del Mundo'.

“That’s my gym. Has been since I first started. That’s the gym that made me a world champion. You’ll like it there. There’s a lot of up-and-coming talent, and the head trainer is a personal friend. He knows all about helping train someone to fight past their demons, overcome their own weaknesses, and become better than they ever thought possible. And he’s got the coldest Mexican-style Cokes you could ever want. I’ll see you there. For what it’s worth… thanks. I’ll see you around.”

Jon grinned and actually winked at JC before leaving the locker room. The bigger man sat alone for a moment before looking at the card.

"'Gimnasio Para Los Lucha'....even his business card talks too much."

He tossed the card into his gym bag and headed out.

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Joe hadn't been in Jersey for the gym, which made it even more astounding that Jon Willis found him. The kid really did do his homework when it came to studying opponents, something he found admirable. He'd had a protege before. Two, actually. Neither relationship ended particularly well. Not that he considered Willis one. Nor would Willis feel the same. But it had that vibe, and he wasn't about to push another person away when they were offering friendship. 

Elsewhere in town sat a storage unit in a nondescript area. It was where his brother kept all the belongings left in their former home, since sold to a family of four. The unit had no air conditioning, so it was muggy once they stepped inside. Not that Joe minded too much. 

"Why do you want to look through this stuff, anyway?"

"I just want the photos. I wanted to give them to Lizzie. That's why I was at the house to begin with."

"Yeah listen..."

"Look, I don't like you sold the place, but you did what you had to do. At least there's a family in it again."

"I just got tired of watching it fall apart every time I visited."

Joe nodded. Eric put a hand on his shoulder as he knelt over to peer into one of the bigger boxes. Nothing was labeled. The last time Joe even cared to look through them was with his ex-wife, but he had more reason to care now. 

"I don't even know where to start."

"There's a box of home movies in the back. A plastic tub with an old TV and VCR."

"What about the photos?"

"I definitely packed them."

Joe maneuvered his way to the back. He shook his cell phone to turn on the light and get a better view of things. He didn't just want to silently look while being starred at by his brother, so he decided to start talking. Even if it was something he didn't really want to talk about.

"I had another reason for coming out here."

"What's that?"

"Did you end up watching that UGWC show?"

"I did."

He frowned, but Eric couldn't see. JC had his head inside of a box, pushing around some old knick-knacks of his mother's, wrapped gently in bubble wrap. He had no idea why they kept these things. They had nothing except sentimental value, and he didn't really have any memories of them. The older he got, the harder it was to even recall his parents' faces without a visual aid first. 

He wondered if it would be like that for Lizzie whenever he passed. At least he had a 20-year career she could watch. His parents were accountants.

"And?"

"What do you want me to say? I don't like that you attacked Lucy and I want to know why."

Joe continued to rummage, this time finding a box of old toys. Lizzie would have no use for these. Something told him Inhumanoids wasn't coming back to relevancy any time soon. He rolled a bag of army men in his hand, then set it back down next to a round, tin container holding a game of Chinese checkers.

"I can explain it, but I don't think this is the place. And I don't think you would like the reason."

"As long as you're taking your meds..."

"I am."

"Then I guess it's none of my business." 

He finally hit the back of the unit, and the grey tub stared up at him. He cracked it open and a stale smell stung his nostrils. Inside were a whole stack of VHS tapes. Not just home movies but things recorded off TV. Possibly wrestling. Maybe the early days of MTV. And next to the TV/VCR combination...a photo album.

"Well, I found one of them."

"Photos?"

"An album."

As it was getting too hot in the unit to really breathe, he decided this was enough for now. He grabbed the album and a handful of tapes and started to go back. That's when Eric asked him something that caught him completely off guard.

"Do you still love her?"

"Lucy?"

"No, Madonna. Of course Lucy."

"I...yes."

His brother shot him a confused look.

"Then why? Make it make sense." 

"I wish I could tell you. But you have to trust me on this."

He managed to get to the front again, nearly tripping over another box. He bent over and moved under the door, which Eric promptly closed. Joe sighed and rested his back against it, feeling sweat form on his forehead.

Eric also leaned against the door and observed his older brother for a moment.

"You're right. You are taking your meds. You don't have that wild look you get when you're off of them."

"Told you."

Joe stuffed the tapes under his arm and pried open the photo album. This looked to be full of baby photos of...Eric.

"Great. Made out like a bandit. I get to show Lizzie what her uncle looked like at her age."

"I was a cute baby."

"Sure, sure...what happened?"

The former GI rolled his eyes, chuckled for a moment then got serious again. Joe continued to thumb through the album, half-listening as he did so.

"I'll trust you this time, but I like Lucy, man. I really do. So whatever's going on...I just hope you know what you're doing."

JC looked up from the photo album and gave Eric a sad smile.

"Me too."

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The church that Joe sat in was one of those old Gothic-style cathedrals that you didn't really see in America anymore. He didn't expect to shoot anything in a church, but sometime you find fortune in the unlikeliest of places. In this case, he found himself driving through Plainfield on the way to Baltimore and happened to notice the Grace Episcopal Church. 

Given his past misdeeds, he was thankful he didn't burst into flames upon entering. 

But he was glad to have the location, as it was perfect given who his opponent was. Even then, he wasn't going to go near near the pulpit. Not because he was afraid of sacrilege. He just thought it was poor taste to mock someone's religion. Instead, he sat in the pews, staring at a camera he placed nearby.

Is this too over the top? Too dramatic? I've been doing this so long I can't even tell anymore.

He smiled for a moment, then continued.

I'm not much for religion these days. I definitely wouldn't base one around myself. I'll leave that up to the real egomaniacs like Ken Davison. Our current World Champion and proof that if there is someone up there, they stopped caring a long time ago. 

I was also out of my mind the last time I had a religious-themed promo. So tell me, priest, what's your excuse? 

I've met quite a few Ken Davisons in my day. Oh sure, they had different names. Reaper. Wolf. C4. Jesse Williams. Jack Michaels.

He added a sly wink with the last name, as he had a good feeling the former champion was watching.

But they all had the same worldview. They thought they were the center of everything. That they could do no wrong. That they were perfect. None of them were right and after they faced me, they left with a piece of themselves missing. 

I took Jesse's title and legacy away from him. I brought Michaels down to my level and exposed him for what he is. 

What am I going to take from you, Kenny? 

I can't take that World title from you. Not yet anyway. I haven't earned it, even if getting title shots without earning them seems to be the "in" thing these days. You didn't deserve your shot. Michaels doesn't deserve his. I'm sure we'll drag Sinc Mercier out of the mothballs just in time for Ultimate Carnage 6 and he can get one too.

I will take something though. Count on it.

But don't get it twisted. I don't give a shit what you did to Amber. I don't care that you're a slimy, lying grifter. That makes me not like you, but that's not why I'm going to hurt you.

He shook his head, to reiterate his point.

My reason is purer than that. I want to hurt you and your little cult of two for the hell of it. For violence's sake. Because it would be fun. I claim no moral high ground. I'm no hero. I'm not out for vengeance. I think it'd be a thrill to break something in you just for the hell of it. 

And if you don't like what I'm saying, then please, come shut me up. I'm begging you. Try me. You're no god to me, Ken Davison. You're not even a man. You're just the next victim.

He smiled again, prepared to move on to the next target. It was a tag team match, after all.

But you didn't come alone, did you? No, you've got your little rube in there with you.

Hi, Kyra. 

He waved as he said this, somehow knowing that his fake cheeriness would irritate Kyra just a little bit. Even now, he was trolling.

I think the last time we met I was beating you within an inch of your life, wasn't I? 

Don't worry, I'm much better now. I'll only maim you as much as necessary. What amount that is will be up to you. 

This situation just feels so damn familiar, you know? Kyra Johnson, in the ring with JC, about to get hurt because she blindly follows a holier-than-thou World champion who the entire company is against. You sure do know how to pick 'em, don't you? 

I wish I could say I'm surprised. That you might have learned something from last year. I sure did, that's why I'm a solo act once again. 

Say hi to Lucy for me, by the way. 

He saw the doors open and an elderly man came in, keeping to the back without acknowledging him. JC pressed on.

I'm sure the both of you have promos ready about how you're above me. I'm sure Davison will say "Ken" instead of "God" and pat himself on the back like he's clever. You'll say "sweetie" in a condescending tone and think that passes for wit. 

You'll both threaten and you'll both fail. That's what you do, Kyra. You fail. Even when you succeed, it's just failing upwards. One step forward, two steps back.

You hate when I bring up your history, Kyra, but history is what defines us. I use my history of violence to grow. You? You just repeat yours. You push away everyone that cares about you and side with those who ultimately don't.

Pushed away Lucy and loved Jack.

Pushed away Eli and sided with Ken. 

You're not as bad as you let on, Kyra. You're just misguided. You're flawed. You don't know how to handle personal setbacks so you lash out. You're a lot like me in that regard, which is probably why we hardly ever get along.

But don't worry. I didn't come to condemn or save you.

I'm here to send a message and I have a relentless partner to help me. I've had only a handful of conversations and I know I can trust him.

Can you say the same for a man that only cares for himself? 

He got up to leave and made sure to grab the camera on his way. But as he did, he had some parting words.

Willis likes to say 'any given Sunday', but Chaos isn't on Sunday and we ain't in a church. 

But don't worry. I'll have you both praying for forgiveness by the time it's over.