“The French have a phrase for it. The bastards have a phrase for everything and they are always right. To say goodbye is to die a little.”
The fading sunlight glistened on the water as Joe sat at the edge of Patapsco River, letting his feet soak in water cooled by the October air. He found himself a little spot that was away from the hustle and bustle of his day job. A place to relax. A place to find meaning in his life.
The latter had been a very difficult thing to do over the year that was 2020. Starting out the year away from what he loved, currently floundering in spite of his ambition. It was a hard truth that maybe he was starting to become that which he hated: a has-been. Numerous people told him otherwise and he tried to convince himself of the same, but facts were what they were.
So he sat. And waited. He wasn't exactly sure what, or whom, he was waiting for, but he waited just the same. The cool air felt like a comfort on his aching muscles. His last match was weeks ago, but that hardly mattered. He was in his mid-40s and no matter when he last competed, he was beat up. At this stage in his life, the only way for the aches to go away was to stop doing what he was doing.
There was always dying in the ring, but he knew that'd leave Lizzie alone and he already had enough smug assholes calling him a bad father on the internet.
Instead, he waited.
He didn't have to wait long. He heard the footsteps coming from blocks away, or the best approximate form of measurement. Joe had walked a fair distance to get away from civilization to the extent he could. So it did whoever trailed him no favors to have to walk through nature to get to him.
"I guess this is my fault for leaving my cell in the truck."
The words stung on the otherwise quiet atmosphere he had been enjoying, spoken to the sky since he hadn't bothered to turn around to see who had followed him out there. A shadow stretched out over him.
"Sorry, JC. Didn't mean to sneak up on you like this," a voice said. It was a voice that was instantly recognizable, even though he barely knew the person behind it.
Joe shifted his weight around, turning his head to look at his one-time tag team partner Jon Willis.
“You’re starting to make a habit out of stalking me,” he replied sarcastically. Sarcasm was his second-language, spoken perhaps more fluently than English. It earned him a reputation of being 'difficult', at best. But at his age, he was set in his ways, even if those ways made people think he was as coarse as sandpaper.
“Stalking is a repeated pattern of unwanted contact. The way we worked together as a team, how we managed to beat the brakes off of Ken and Kyra before I fucked it all up, I don’t think what I’m doing qualifies. We made a good team. We worked together, we got along well together, and we pulled off some of those big moves we trained for. And we’re both tree lobsters. I know you said you didn’t like the shirt… but you also didn’t just set it on fire while I was watching either. So I came by just to talk. Honestly.”
JC listened intently. He had been in this very same spot many times before. He still blamed himself after every loss and after every failure. He was just better about putting on one of his masks to hide himself. Willis was far more open and honest than he ever could be.
Willis continued after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. JC didn't bother interrupting, letting the younger wrestler say his piece.
“And to apologize. I cost us the match at 98. My head wasn’t in the game, not like it should have been. I’ve been dealing with… this thing. But it’s not going to be an issue anymore. I’m not going to let some pissant blackmailer control my life anymore. I’m ready to just come clean and get this all off my chest so I can refocus on being the best wrestler I can be. I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t come to my senses sooner, or else we’d both be walking into 100 with wins.”
JC stared at him for a moment, noticing that the joke went way over his head. Willis wasn’t stupid, of course, so obviously this was really bothering him. He nodded and motioned to the unoccupied rocks nearby.
“Have a seat ki,” he started, before correcting himself. “Jon.”
Jon sat down on a particularly flat-looking rock.
“Kid’s fine, JC. I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“Works for me,” he conceded. Joe had learned recently not everyone liked that term, even if he used it for most people younger than he was. “But like I said before, that wasn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine for thinking Kyra would play by the rules. I wasn’t there to break up the pin.”
He felt more than a little hypocritical about giving someone else advice about handling loss when he himself still couldn’t at his age. The people who give the best advice always seemed to be the ones who couldn't follow it themselves. It was one of those sad little ironies in life.
“And I made a mistake in focusing so much on trying to get my hands on Ken. It’s not just about the championship he’s wearing… I just… I hate him. I truly do. Everything he stands for, everything he talks about, the way he carries himself, that cocky grin of his… I legitimately can’t stand him. I thought I had Kyra figured out, but apparently this thing she’s got going with Ken, whatever the hell that even is… apparently it’s worse than I thought. He’s really corrupting her. Ken’s a damn disease. And I was so focused on trying to do my part to cure that disease that I didn’t see Kyra coming until it was too late.”
“You might say he’s a cancer,” JC added, remembering more problematic times and feeling a chill go up his spine.
“He honestly reminds me more of a pit. A sucking pit that drags you down and swallows you whole.”
“My point," JC continued, as if he were never interrupted, "is that you didn’t let me down. We did a hell of a job out there. Made me reconsider whether or not I should stay a solo act if I can find a dependable partner.”
Jon chuckled and smiled.
“I appreciate that. I think we made a good team. And I think we’ll make one again, if the situation ever calls for it. Anytime you want to get the band back together, let me know, and Team Tree Lobster will ride again.”
“Hopefully the shirts are more professional,” JC replied, smirking, before getting serious. “And about that blackmail thing…”
Jon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, and in his expression it was obvious how much his blackmail scandal had affected him in the three months since it began.
“Yeah… About the blackmail thing…”
“I could make this go away for you. I’ve hurt people for less. Might be nice to do it for a good cause for once.”
“I won’t lie, I thought about going that route: taking care of things the old-fashioned way, by myself or with someone else. But if this person is who I think they are… handling it that way just proves them right. So I chose to do things differently. I chose to stop burying my head in the sand. It’s past time I just came clean and got it all out in the open. I don’t know how everyone will react after Chaos 100, but at least I know that after 100 I won’t have to live my life with this secret hanging over me anymore. Come what may, I’m ready to get this over with.”
“Well, whatever it is. There’s very little in this business...or in life for that matters, that you can’t come back from.”
He pointed at himself to prove his point.
“Exhibit A.”
JC then lowered his arm and continued. He stared outward at the ever-fading sunset, as the darkness was beginning to settle in for the night.
“Most of the people I’ve hurt aren’t around anymore to even seek forgiveness from. Some of them were spiteful and refused. But they don’t matter. What matters is if you can look yourself in the mirror after whatever it is that you’ve done. If you can’t, then figure out what you need to do to give yourself that ability again. So tell me, Jon…”
He glanced back over at his once and possibly future tag team partner again.
“What’s your reflection look like?”
Jon thought for a moment and spoke.
“Clearer. More focused. Like I’m finally seeing the real me.”
“As long as you like who that person is, then it really doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about what this person has over you.”
He considered his words for a moment, thinking that perhaps the people who had been sharing similar sentiments with him were right all along. He smiled in spite of himself.
“But regardless, you’ve got friends, if you need them.”
Jon extended his hand for a handshake as he spoke. JC gladly accepted it. There was something about Willis he liked, although he couldn't put it into words just yet. Perhaps it was the fact that they both shared demons. Perhaps it was their approach to wrestling. But he had a good feeling this "tree lobster" was one of the good ones.
“Thank you," Jon replied. "And just remember, you’ve got friends too.”
For someone that had friends, Joe had felt completely friendless lately.
He had played a very strategic game in one company and was floating around aimlessly in the other. His career, such as it was, was at a standstill. He knew it. He felt it. And there was a growing sense that there was nothing he could do about it.
With Carnage, it felt like spitting into the wind. Screaming into the void. The tidal wave he wanted to avoid getting swept up in was slowly pulling him out to sea. And nothing made him angrier, more determined to prove otherwise.
If anything could be said about JC's career, it's that most of his success was out of spite.
He sat in his truck, letting it idle as he was now far away from Baltimore, all the way in New York. He had driven, instead of flying, because driving allowed him peace.
He looked up at the condo that he once shared with Lucy Johnson (finally back to her actual name) and felt a pang of guilt.
"Luce," he said, almost spooking himself by breaking up the silence in his own car. "I really wish you were around right now."
He knew he couldn't stay here. It didn't really matter if she was around or not, staying would have been a bad idea. But there was a growing restlessness within him to spite everything and everyone. As the younger wrestlers might say, he was ready to shoot his shot.
The visit didn't have to take long, and it would go smoother if she wasn't there. For now, anyway. As long as no one saw him, and he didn't have to answer any questions later. The air somehow felt colder here than it did by the river in Baltimore, and it stung him as he opened the door of the truck and swung his legs out. He glanced up at the building again, then reached under the visor on the driver's side and grabbed a folded piece of paper.
Would she appreciate this? He didn't know. He didn't care. He had a lot he wanted to say to her that he wouldn't be allowed to say otherwise.
And he still had a key.
Spite wasn't always a good thing. Sometimes it produced bad results. He was dealing with that now, and he knew he had to turn things around.
"Hopefully I'm not too late," he muttered to himself, continuing his bad habit of finishing his thoughts out loud.
All he wanted, especially lately, was to restore some color to his world. But everything was dull and gray, and he had the feeling it would stay that way for some time.
Joe found himself trying to recall a quote from a book he read once, something which fit this very situation. The name and words escaped him, but he did remember how he felt reading it. It was a lot like he felt now.
He stuffed the paper into his pocket, shut his car door and began to walk to the home he once shared with a woman who he felt he may have shut out of his life permanently.
“I was as hollow and empty as the spaces between stars.”
The usual color found in JC's promos had been washed away. Instead, he was in a dark room, surrounded by various signs that featured various commands. He wondered if the younger wrestlers will even get the reference. Then he decided he didn't care. This wasn't for them. He pointed at one of them, which read...
This is they want you to do. Obey. Fit in to the neat box of what we say a wrestler should be. Wrestle the matches we want. Team with who we want. Deliver promos in a cadence we want. Fit a certain age bracket. Wrestling is full of cliques with the biggest being the cult of personality surrounding whichever asshole is running things. I should know, I was that asshole once.
Christopher St. James is a man with just enough intelligence to realize the letter S resembles a dollar sign but not enough to know not to piss off the majority of the people who work for him. I knew what he was the day he arrived, and now he's worse.
He nodded his head, as if confirming a fact that people were only just now waking up to. He had been in the business long enough to recognize the type, regardless of how often that type likes to pretend they're something else.
He kept me off of 99 and away from an opponent on my 'dream match' list, but he couldn't keep me from 100. Carnage Wrestling is my home. I was here at Chaos 50. I was not about to skip this event for anything, and I'm not about to settle for just any match. JC is just not any wrestler. JC in Carnage, at Chaos 100, doesn't come along every day. So you need something special.
You need the in-ring return of Will Prydor. Will is far too humble a man to talk himself up so allow me to do it for him. Will Prydor is the only one to walk into Carnage Wrestling and deserve the awe and hushed tones about his legendary career. He's done nearly everything there is to do here and he did it all without once compromising.
He didn't bow down to CON. He refused to let Jason Bridges dictate his career. He tapped out Amy Jo Smyth. He defended the Ultraviolent title at multiple shows without lifting a single weapon.
It was obvious that JC had a point to make, and even though it wasn't originally his intention to make that point at Will's expense, it was happening anyway. He pointed to another sign.
Carnage Wrestling is not Ultraviolence. If you think that, you're thinking too small. But some people are small-minded and just clinging to their spots. Carnage Wrestling is grit. It's hard work. It's determination. It's knowing that you're giving your everything to make yourself a better competitor against some of the toughest competition in the industry.
I don't think there's anyone that personifies that more than Will. He's more about what this company is than some of our champions ever could be.
So why the challenge? Why drag you back into the pit? That's easy. I challenged you because I think you're one of the best goddamned wrestlers this business has ever seen. You are the best of us. I've known that since the moment I first stepped in the ring with him, no matter how disrespectful I was at the time.
He considered his words for a moment, remembering the various wars he had with Will over the years. They were usually wars he started.
JC helpfully pointed out another sign.
Even though they don't want this to happen, we are not the type to bow to the will of others. We've always thought freely, right or wrong. Now we have the opportunity to steal the show and give Carnage Wrestling the best wrestling match it's ever had. No weapons. No dishonor. No ulterior motives. Just two grunts out there competing for the sake of competition. I think that's something we deserve. I think that's something this company deserves.
I wanted a submission match, but not because I want to hurt you, Will. You're one of the few men I can say that about. It's because submission is the only way to really prove anything. Anyone can kick someone in the dick, but that doesn't mean they can do what we can do.
A smirk formed on JC's face, thinking to the Ultraviolent champion that he was sure would lose her title. This wasn't about Kyra, but in the same way it was. The ideological battle between The Override and Paragon was ongoing, even if those groups were long dead. No one could help him possibly prove what wrestling truly was more than his Chaos 100 opponent.
No one was capable of thinking of only one thing, JC guessed, especially when they stoked so many fires.
To submit means to give up. To admit that your opponent is better. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've submitted in my life. Not because I think I'm some tough guy, but because I'm stubborn as fuck. I don't like to admit defeat. Who does? If that means I'm more sore than usual in the morning, so be it, but you will not get me to tap out without a fight.
I've no doubt you can still bring that fight. I wouldn't have made the challenge if I thought this would be easy. But I'm always striving to be the best, and "making a submission expert tap out" is going to go a long way to deciding that.
If I can definitively say that I am better than Will Prydor, then we can let the pretenders carry the top belts in this place for now.
JC pointed out another sign, the final one, the one he felt was most important.
It would be so easy for the roster of Carnage to stay asleep. To accept what we're given and scratch and crawl for opportunities we know we deserve. The more difficult path is to go out there and show everyone that you won't be denied.
All due respect to the younger generation trying to shake my hand as they push me out the door, but we know more than they've ever learned. I don't know about you, but I'm not really ready to go gently into that good night.
He felt himself getting fired up. JC didn't come back to Carnage to get pushed aside. He wanted to help, he wanted to move the company into the future, but just as important, he wanted to prove that he was the best. Then, now and forever.
That's what I plan to do with you, Will. I plan to show that I am not some relic of the past, clinging on to what works for me. And I don't believe you are that relic either. We've both got a point to prove, even if I believe mine is the more pressing issue. This isn't just another match between us, it's our final chapter. I was damn lucky to talk you into coming back for one last match and I know it. But it's more than time to pen that epilogue and decide who is truly better at what we do.
I may be a hair slower than I used to be. I may not be able to string together as many wins in a row as I used to. Maybe a JC win isn't as sure a thing as it once was. But damn it, I still have value to this business and so do you. I need this win Will, more than you could know. Win or lose, you go back to The Aerie and that's that. My batting average is below .500 right now and I have a point to prove. So if I tap you out...
He shook his head in defiance. Defiance to a generation that looked down on him just as the generations before. Defiance in the face of his own body failing him, of his losses beginning to pile up. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the heart that still beat within him. The heart that beat for Carnage. For wrestling. For the thing he loved since he was a child.
No. NO. When I tap you out, I will let the world know that JC is still a force to be reckoned with.
You know how stubborn I am. You know how hard I hit. You still accepted my challenge. For that, my friend, I thank you.
And I'll be sure to thank you again after I show the world, once and for all, that I'm better than you.
With one huge, sweeping motion, JC threw his arm into the four signs, knocking them all down. He turned around and glared at the camera for a moment, showing everyone just a glimpse at the inner demons he gleefully paraded around last year.
'The Answer' sighed for a moment, composing himself, then walked off to make his statement to the world.
