Another night. Another run down hotel in the middle of nowhere. It's amazing what you can get used to, when you repeat the same thing over and over. Was it so long ago that he'd eagerly hopped on a jet to fly back home between shows, departed only reluctantly at the last second? It felt like centuries. More than that. It felt like an entirely different life. Something he'd heard about, read about, something that had happened to another man. Not him. Not Drake Callahan.
With a heaving sigh, he tossed his bag on the floor and flipped the light on. He shook out his hair, wet from the pouring rain outside. The room was dirty, but then again, so was he. It didn't much matter anymore. If the bed held up through the night, he'd call it a good deal and more. He sat down on it, found it surprisingly sturdy for what he'd paid. He tried not to think about what might have transpired on this particular bed. He leaned forward to flip on the small TV, surprised to find it even worked. Well, sort of. He could make out the local news between the static. He thought he could. He flipped it off again. Useless. There'd be nothing to distract him tonight.
He glanced over to a mirror hanging on the wall and considered his appearance. His beard had grown out, wild. There were bits of foodstuffs in it. He scratched it idly and crumbs fell out. He'd had a reason to shave, that other man had. But he didn't, not now. His hair had gotten greasy, longer, increasingly unkempt. His clothes hadn't been washed since....well, he wasn't entirely sure since when. He shook his head violently. What did it matter? He was trying to avoid sleep, thinking about useless things like this. His dreams were unpleasant lately. Never another meeting with Outis, fortunately, but he was there, one way or another. Sometimes a softly spoken word here and there, that could come from no other voice. Sometimes a shadow in the corner that was unmistakable. Sometimes just a stiff breeze where there could be none, to remind him his own head wasn't entirely his. It was...challenging, to sleep, of late.
He laid back on the bed despite his better judgment and stared at the ceiling. He thought now of what was coming in just a few day. Redemption. He snorted back bitter laughter. They thought they were cute, with that name. All the losers from Kingdom Come get a shot at redeeming themselves, do they? They thought winning the world championship would be redemption for him, or Matt Tastic, or Steven Kurtesy, or anyone. He knew better, now. Still, it wouldn't stop him from trying. It wouldn't stop him from winning. What else did he have, now?
He supposed he shouldn't get ahead of himself. Tastic came first. His fists clenched just a bit when he thought about him. One of his hands unclenched and felt at his head, a lump still there from the bastard's chair shot. He thought he knew what it was to lose? To be frustrated? He had no idea. He was the darling of the company, constantly being thrown opportunity after opportunity. Oh, here you go Matt, have a Eurasian title match. Drake? No, Drake will wrestle Brad Bomb. Hey, you just attacked a man in cold blood with a steel chair? Why not have a shot at the world title? It was enough to make Drake sick. The son of a bitch had no idea.
And his little girlfriend. Alisha. She was the worst. Always there, with a comforting word, an encouragement, feeding Tastic's ego. The stupid bitch. She should stand up to him, throw his lies in his face. His illusions that he would ever be more than midcard fodder. That he ever should be more than that. The mere idea that he stood on Drake's level. Reinforced by his fawning girlfriend, and WZCW's conspiracy, and every single person in the company who was either too stupid or too blind to know the truth. That Tastic was no one next to Drake. Just a stepping stone.
Drake: "I'll show him. I'll show her. I'll show both of them, all of them. Everyone."
He turned over on his side, bracing himself for sleep. It would have to come eventually. Just as he closed his eyes, a rapping came at the door. Timid, yet oddly urgent. His eyes shot open and he with them. Anyone at his door at this hour could mean nothing good. Not at this place. He tried to sneak a glance out of the window to see who it could be, but the darkness and the rain obscured the figure too much. He tried to look out the peephole, but it had long ago been damaged and unsurprisingly was never repaired. He took a deep breath and threw open the door.
His heart very nearly stopped as Kate, wet and bedraggled from the rain, stood in front of him, a smile exploding on her face. Before he could say a word she had thrown herself at him, kissing him deeply and passionately.
He couldn't say how long they stood there, locked together in that moment. No more than seconds, but at the same time, years. But all too soon, he thought, they had separated, Drake gasping desperately for air and trying to sort out his reeling head. Kate herself was out of breath, but her smile never left her face. She stood there, biting her lip, and Drake forced the words out of his mouth.
Drake: How....how....I don't....how?
It was all he could manage. Kate, incredibly, looked confused.
Kate: Joe, of course. He called me last week and said that if I wanted to find you, to fly out here, and he'd have your hotel room. I assumed he was staying with you. Is he here?
Joe? How could Joe know where he was? Wildly, he pushed past again, avoiding meeting her eyes, and stared out into the rain. The old man had to be following him. For how long? And how? He had to have been tracking him since Kingdom Come, if he'd found him here. He'd left no hint to anyone where he was going between shows. Impossible. And yet, here was Kate.
Kate: I thought you'd be happy to see me, Drake.
He turned slowly, but kept his eyes just averted from hers. No need for that. He forced a smile onto his face that did not begin to reflect the sea of emotions roiling inside of him. Fear, anger, confusion, joy, elation, and above all the incredible desire to run away and never look back. God, how could he face her?
Drake: I am, I am. Really. I am. Just...I didn't expect you.
He motioned for her to sit on the only chair in the room and took the bed himself, staring at his feet. She sat across from him, staring at him intently. Finally, she spoke.
Kate: We need to talk, Drake. I'm tired of you dodging my phone calls and it's obvious you're never coming home. What's going on with you?
Drake: I don't know what you're talking about.
She reached over and before he knew what was happening, she'd slapped him across the face. Anger rose in him and a snarl flashed across his face, but he suppressed it. Any other time, it was welcome. But now now, not here. It was too dangerous. He barely rose his head, still not wholly looking at her.
Kate: It's enough that you're going to run away from everything we had, and carry on like a madman on television, but now you're going to lie to my face? You have some kind of nerve, Drake Callahan. How dare you?
Ashamed, and angry, and still confused, and a million other things all jumbled up, Drake stared at his shoes and mumbled.
Drake: I'm sorry. Maybe you should just go.
He looked up fleetingly and saw her arm tense as if she were ready to slap him again. He hoped she wouldn't - he wasn't sure he could stop himself if she did it again. But she stopped.
Kate: I came all the way out here, and after one minute, you want me to leave? What the hell is wrong with you?
Drake ran a hand through his hair and a sudden flash of anger took him.
Drake: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you!? You come in her, smiling and kissing me like it's the happiest day of your life, and now you're screaming at me and hitting me? Jesus, Kate, what the hell do you want?
He regretted the words even as he said them, but he couldn't stop the torrent once it was begun. Sorrow, sadness, shame, hurt, anger, everything in a chaotic mess slamming around his head. It felt as if his skull would burst soon. He heard her inhale deeply before beginning.
Kate: I'm sorry. I'm...I'm confused too, Drake. You ran away without ever explaining anything to me. We've barely spoken since Kingdom Come. I don't understand. God, I'm so happy to see you, but I'm furious, Drake. How would you feel?
Drake: I...I didn't mean to hurt you. I just...
He threw up his hands and could say no more.
Kate: What? You just what?
It sounded like there were tears coming soon. It took him long moments before he could summon the will to say anything, separate any emotion out of the jumble in his head. When he did, his words were jilted, hesitant.
Drake: I've just been in a fog since Kingdom Come, Kate. So many lost opportunities. I thought I could sort it out if I was alone. I couldn't...I couldn't deal with the idea that you would hate me for failing. I'm sorry.
Kate: I don't hate you, Drake. I just want to be part of your life. I thought we had something, and then you ran away.
He had nothing to say to that. How could he? She was right, but how could he explain it? He couldn't have borne to look into her eyes and see himself reflected in them, a failure. It would have been too much. Too much to bear. It would have broken him beyond repair. But maybe, now...
Kate: We need to talk about what's been happening in the ring, Drake.
He nodded slowly, reluctantly.
Kate: What the hell is wrong with you? You're acting like an animal out there.
He grimaced and felt a twinge of anger. And something else. You're winning, aren't you? You're doing what you must.
Drake: I need to. I need people to understand that I'm not a pushover.
Kate: No one ever thought you were a pushover, Drake. But now they think you're a bully, and they're not wrong.
A bully? You're no bully. Just a man fighting monsters. Your cause is just.
Drake: You don't understand. Everyone thinks they can treat me like nobody, toss me second rate opportunities and laugh when I fail. I had to prove I was more than that. I had to prove that they couldn't treat me like that anymore.
Kate was shaking her head.
Kate: Drake, what's wrong with you? You never talked like this before. You never got treated any differently than anyone.
Drake: So what? I just failed? Is that what you're saying? I'm just a failure?
Nonsense. You were plotted against. Cheated. Robbed of what's yours.
Kate spoke gently, yet firmly.
Kate: Drake, it's okay. Everyone fails sometimes. You just have to get up and keep trying -
Drake was on his feet, an emotion finally standing out strong in his head. Anger. The blissful anger that gave clarity to everything at times like this.
Drake: No, Kate. No. You just don't get it. This company is filled with monsters. People who stab each others' backs every day, looking for any advantage, and get rewarded for it by corrupt management. It's a conspiracy in WZCW, Kate, and I have to rise above it. I have to rise above it by stopping the monsters from getting what they want. Beat them when they come to me, and make them remember me. Don't you see?
Kate stands up slowly, ponderously. She grabs Drake's chin and tries to move his head to face her, but he jerks away. Why wouldn't she see?
Kate: Drake, please. Just listen to me. How can you believe what you're saying?
Drake: Because it's true! Stop questioning me, Kate!
His shout hung in the air. He'd never raised his voice at her. Not before.
Kate: Drake, listen to me. There is no conspiracy. You're letting your frustration get the better of you. You just have to calm down and think about this clearly.
Drake shakes his head violently.
Drake: No. No. This is what's true, Kate. There's a conspiracy, and if you can't see it, then maybe -
He cut himself off from what he was about to say. Kate pales for a moment, but then comes back at him, now angry herself.
Kate: Maybe what, Drake? Maybe what!
He shifted his jaw back and forth, mulling it over.
Drake: If you can't - won't! - see it, like the rest of them...maybe I don't need you, either.
It all happened as if in slow motion, the world unfolding frame by frame. Her arm coming at him. The ringing slap, twice as hard as the first, hearing it before he felt it. Searing pain, his jaw shifting, maybe even broken. His head turning, his arm tensing, raising, fist clenching, what was he doing? A rush of air. A scream, a body falling to the floor. His knuckles, stinging.
The world resumed its normal motion. He wished it hadn't, had hung suspended forever.
This was what could not - must not be.
She was there, on the floor, sobbing.
This could not be.
But it was.
Trembling, Kate looked up at him from the floor. Their eyes met for the first time. He would have given his life to erase the bright right spot on her face, already bruising, her broken lip, the blood on her face. He would have given more than his life to have never met her eyes.
He had expected disappointment. He realized now he'd even been prepared for it. Anger, even. But not fear. Not terror. He realized, only now, he could have recovered from her disappointment. Her anger. But not her fear.
He was damned. Damned by this existential moment when he saw himself as she saw him, reflected in a mirror of agony. To know that everything you feared about yourself was true, that the lies we all build up around ourselves are false, to be confronted and revealed as the weak, sad, pathetic man he could not stand to be, was unbearable. His heart and mind shattered in this eternal, damning moment. He had stared into the abyss of self and staring back was the monster within. He felt as though someone was laughing at him.
He ran. What else could he do? He left her there, hating himself for it. But staying could make nothing better. Not for her, and certainly not for him.
He told himself so, anyway.
----
The rain continued to beat down as he rested at last from his dead sprint through this unknown city. He sat on the curb of an abandoned street, staring up into the dark sky. He began to speak, addressing nothing.
Drake: It's funny what happens when you let the world in.
He clenched a fist, still with smears of blood on it. He sucked on the bruised knuckles.
Drake: We all start off the same. Happy, not than any of us know it. Wanting something. Thinking we need it. You want something, and you see where it is. It's never home. So you go after it. You leave home. You leave happiness. You go on a journey. They say there's supposed to be something magical about journeys. They write books about that kind of thing. Coming of age. Heroic epics. That kind of thing. It's all garbage, in the end. It starts slow. You get your feet wet, find out a few things about the world. You have your troubles, but you persevere. You tell yourself you're learning about the world. Like that's a good thing.
He rubs a hand across his face and barks a short laugh.
Drake: Little by little, you and the world get a thing going. It asks a little bit. Just a little. Change the way you think about this - after all, your little small town ideas can't be expected to hold all the way out here in the big bad world. Just do this little thing that makes you feel funny - hey, it's what everyone has to do to get by out here. It asks so little, and you give it. Little by little, you put yourself into the world, and you take the world back into you.
His fist clenches hard again.
Drake: Until one day, you're standing there, wondering what happened. You swore it wouldn't change you - but it did. It gets to everybody. It makes everyone the same in the end. It takes your happiness - that blessed happiness you never knew you had, desperately wish you could get back - and turns it into hunger. Hunger for money, power, women. Whatever. Pick your poison, or have it picked for you. You're there in the middle of it - your big magical journey - and you realize you've wound up where you swore you'd never be. See, when you set out on the journey, you always think you'll come home. But that's a crock. You never make it home. Even if you can get back to the place that's supposed to be home, it isn't, because you're changed too much.
He shakes his head and a sad, angry, ironic smile comes on his face.
Drake: So there you are. Hopelessly changed, ruined by the world. And there in front of you is what you went out looking for to begin with, only now it doesn't matter anymore. It's a tiny prize next to what you want now. You want what the world's told you to want. You want everything. And most of all, deep down, you just want back everything you lost. So what do you do, when you come to this insignificant prize? You do the only thing you can. You take it anyway. You take it because at least, in the end, it's something. It won't help - not really - but it's better than nothing. And you hate how the biggest prize in your life, what you ruined yourself for, is just that. Better than nothing.
He sighs and looks up into the rain.
Drake: My name is Drake Callahan. All I've ever wanted in my life was to be world champion. I fought so hard for it, and along the way, I got so much more. Friends. A beautiful girlfriend. And I tossed it aside for something I thought was worth more. It's all gone now. Everything I ever had. All my happiness is lost. I once accused everyone in this company of being a monster, but I understand them now. They are monsters, but so am I. We've all been corrupted by this filth. This world championship. In the end, this golden idol is what's dragged us all down into the mud.
He laughs then, mirthless but deep.
Drake: But I'm going to take it anyway, because I have to. Because what else am I supposed to do? If I go back now, everything is for nothing. I've found the difference between me and them at last. It's not that they're monsters and I'm not. It's that I know what I am. I hate it. But because I know it, I understand what I need to do. Make note of that. I need the world championship. That's what separates me in the end. There are monsters who think they are men, and they want it. But there is one monster who knows better, and has to take this. The world championship is what I gave myself away for. It's what I became a monster for. It will be monument to my sin, an idol to monstrosity, and I will wear it in shame. But I will wear it all the same.
He stands, now, the rain growing stronger as lightning flashes.
Drake: Matt Tastic is a roadblock, and I will end him. I'm sorry, Matt. I don't hate you. I understand you more than you can understand yourself. But all the same, I will defeat you, and I will not make it pleasant. And then, Showtime, Kurtesy, Barbosa...and whether it's Celeste or S.H.I.T., Titus or King...it will just be us six, us six wretches, us six monsters. And I want to apologize to all of you too. I'm sorry. I don't hate you, truly. Not even you, Showtime. I understand why each and every one of you has done what you've done. But I still cannot allow you to keep what I need more than life itself.
One more flash of lightning and a ripping peal of thunder resounds.
Drake: Make no mistake. I have no hope that I will be saved at Redemption. Redemption is a lie. But I will do what I must, and no more than that. I know the difference, now.
He hangs his head solemnly.
Drake: I wish I did not.
