Salt In The Wound

Almost every son buries their father.

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work -- something we can prepare ourselves for -- but even if you see a freight train coming for miles it hurts just as much when it leaves you a smear on the rails.

Special Agent Hancock didn’t cry when he looked down at his father resting peacefully in the casket. He felt sorrow, it’s just the years of chasing hardened criminals, telling families their son or daughter had been mangled through the night by a neighbor used up all his tears over the last decade. He had little space to feel sorry for himself.a

He combed through all the evidence -- incoherent scribbles and notes his father had collected about Casanova English. Hancock believed it all now, that English killed his own father somehow getting access to a high security prison.

Hancock knew there was not enough evidence to get him on that… but he had tracked down tape. The Detective parked outside the arena where English was doing battle at Project Honor and a woman can be seen approaching the vehicle The Detective was driving. Hancock believed this person had poked a hole in the brake line. The person he was able to identify as Casanova’s love interest, Sara, who has been seemingly helping with the case.

Hancock suspected she was a pawn, set up to get rid of his father and stop the investigation. Working in the justice system for as long as he has though -- he knows these things don’t happen quickly and justice hardly takes place in a courtroom. He and some of his colleagues have learned sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands.

He didn’t even hear the prayer, just placed his hand on his fathers chest as the casket was closed up. He hoisted up one side to help carry it to the graveyard outside the rural Ontario church.


After Myojin pushed my limits I was worried Betsy might have been able to pull one in, the relife I felt when I heard my name ring out over the PA. Setting a new bar in this company is no easy task, and I’ve been embarrassingly humbled into knowing I need to spend more time cutting a place for myself in this company.

Now, I have officially defended the Warrior Rising Championship more than anyone else in this company and am within inches of Emmanuelle’s 114 day record as champion. Without any further distractions I should be able to weasel out another win at The Crowning II.

“I’m just leaving for a few weeks,” Sara said, shoving a pair of black panties into her suitcase.

This would help, I needed to get rid of her for a while to focus. The fact she acted out of line and cut the brakes on The Detective’s car was a red flag to say the least. I need someone to follow orders, someone less erratic, and when her manic episodes hit she was all over the goddamn board. She needed back on meds and she needed to talk to her mom.

“It’ll be good for you Sara, you don’t want to be stuck on the road with me the next few days sleeping in shitty hotel rooms. Go get a few good night's sleep, relax for a few weeks and we will pick back up from there.”

She is happy, feeding into my bullshit, really I needed to help find a way to get her better before taking her back on the road -- I mean what she had done for me means I owe her -- at least in her mind. I tried to spare her, leave her in the past -- but she’s so ambitious to get some dirt under her nails.

“My mom would love to see you! You should fly up next weekend if you can get away from this wrestling shit,” she zipped up her bag and skipped across the room to kiss me hard. She has her hands around my waist and leans back looking up into my eyes, “I love you.”

I swallow hard, “You too.”

A couple horn honks from outside save me from any more awkwardness. She kissed me again and ran down stairs to catch her Uber to the airport.

I couldn't even muster the words to say in return -- but they say you have to love yourself first before anyone else and well…

Voodoo had me set up in front of three mirrors so I could see reflections of myself bouncing back. She was putting the finishing touches on my make-up, stitches and a Glasgow smile. A homage to my brief stint on the deathmatch scene. I pushed my hands through my wet hair and pulled a cigarette front he pack rolled into the selves of my white tee.

“If you don’t know yourself from all sides how do you expect to be able to defeat these three opponents. We’d be lying if we said Betsy wasn’t close to pushing you to your limit at the last Proving Ground.”

She was right, Gallagher was one hell of an opponent she had heart -- and the worst part of the upcoming 4-way match at The Crowing II is the fact she doesn’t even need to pin me to take the championships.

“You have to do a better job of getting to know yourself. I want you to watch your mannerisms, the way you talk, the way you do things like the people studying your every move the last few months have,” Voodoo said, finishing the last touches on my make-up.

I look in the mirror at a face I feel isn’t mind, something stitched together by a surgeon after I gave everything I have to this business. You can see some of the scarring without the makeup, but I’m a little bit proud of it -- I need the scars -- like a road map of where I have been and the sacrifices I’ve made from Japan to the Hammerstein.

“You are a warrior English and it’s not just because you have a title that says the words wrapped around your waist. You were never supposed to be here, cum that was supposed to be swallowed when your evil father accidentally deposited it.”

I shot my eyes up looking at the three versions of myself, jutting my eyes down briefly to the Warrior Rising Championship on my lap.

I puff my cigarette filling the three sides of mirrors tightly pushed together with a thin haze of smoke. I just listened to Voodoo’s monolog.

“You have become bigger than all that, a household name for all the wrong reasons, an undeniable talent with a warped mind and more people see themselves in you than you think. More people want to take their sickness, ball it up, and throw it right back at the world and you… you are writing the playbook English. You are getting to know all these versions of yourself, your anger, your passion, young intellect… the three things twined together that gives you the edge.”

I smirk, puffing away looking myself up and down, propping the championship onto my shoulder proudly. Something I need after taking my first clean singles loss in the company to Myojin. The doubt was sinking in and Betsy didn’t help the way she showed out at Proving Ground.

“That’s right! At The Crowing, you will discover how to truly be king, how to be a ruler, not just in this Warrior Rising Division that you proved time and time again… but in this industry.”

I close my eyes, I don’t know what Voodoo did -- I slept for hours -- let the cigarette fall and burn a hole in my jeans - I almost didn’t want to wake up.

Bash Daddy and I took a trip to Tennessee to check on the old church we bought as a headquarters when I came back to the states to wrestle for a different company. It had been a while since I had been back to check on it being on the road all the time with Project Honor.

The basement had a few more rats than I remembered, but the thing was still standing -- a dusty wrestling ring. I pull a stool to the center of the ring and Bash turns the camera on.

I rest the Warrior Rising Championship on my lap and let out a sigh.

“The target on my back continues to grow and I only did this to myself not being able to put Myojin away when I had a shot at their championship. I was humbled, locking into advancing this Warrior Rising Championship like it or not. It was the only time I was beaten in the center of this ring without question… and I promise you it won’t happen again. See Betsy got close, came so close to proving her bloodline value, proving that the things her brothers and father have taught her are no match for the things I have learned and adapted to in this ring. You can’t plan for something you never experienced. I know now you think you might have the upper hand Gallagher, I know you can learn quickly… but I also know you are smart enough to realize you aren’t going to beat me so fast after losing. You’ll be better off going after the other competitors in the match, but you and I both know your pride won’t let you do that. It won’t let you strategize and I’ll be ready for when you make your move. I’ll send you back home to your lineage disappointed once again.”

I place a cigarette between my lips, casually asking around the title belt on my lap. I look around the dusty old ring a moment before continuing.

“Leann Morgan, you are pretty new around here, trying to be mysterious, not many know much about you, hell you didn’t even have a PR team able to put together a little bio on you on the Project Honor website, which really goes to show how insignificant you are in the match. A sacrificial lamb so to speak and I have a track record of silencing those quite easily. All I have seen from you so far is an inability to get it done in big match situations, you had a crack at the Gatekeeper Championship but you couldn't get the win, you choked and at The Crowing II things won’t be any different. You have the keys, but you are going to keep on fumbling that lock over and over and over… and that’s the scary thing for me Morgan. Can you do your part and keep those shoulders off the mat? I know you have a warrior’s heart -- but you and I aren’t even on the same god damn battlefield -- you will have no idea what to do with the barrage I’ll unleash. I know you’ve reflected on your downfall, well lucky for you there isn’t far before you hit the ground because really I haven’t seen your ass even start to climb.”

I take some sharp drags off my cigarette, smirking about all these wrestlers ‘little is known about.’

“Douglas Crane, you mentioned this championship a few times but you have been careful not to mention my name too much I notice. See you come off as this unblinking badass trying to give Anthony Hopkins vibes in a bodybuilder frame -- but I know people like you Douglas. Rough and tumble on the outside, but soft as baby shit between the fucking eyes. You can have all the brawn you want, you can be psychotic, but take it from me if you don’t understand how to properly channel that you are fucked. You're not the only one who has had their brain analyzed for science, hell look around, this shit… it’s all one experiment big guy. Maybe someone like you needs someone like me, needs to get to know the ways or the True Society.”

I sigh, taking another drag off my cigarette, blowing the smoke into the tip to knock some ashes free.

“I know you just want to be released Crane, I know the biggest enemy is yourself. Well, I was too dumb to be a doctor so I do this shit. I still serve medicine, just in a different way. Maybe when I put my shin across your throat, pull down, hit the ground and lock in a choke, when you flail like the animal you are --- when you go limp -- get put down like a rabid dog maybe you will be able to see yourself then. Maybe once your strength is ripped away, once it settles in you aren’t the baddest motherfucker in this company… maybe then you can move forward… you can find direction and you can have the courage to put my name in your fucking mouth instead of spouting off on Twitter about chasing something shiny.”

I hold up the Warrior Rising Championship for a moment before putting it back down on my lap.

“I’m not ready to move on yet. I know this company is getting tired of me destroying their hottest prospects week after week, PPV after PPV I continue to fuck up the structure, the ranking, continue to change the definition of what a true champion is and at The Crowing it’ll be no different… it’s too God damn heavy now… I don’t think any of you have the spin to fucking support it.”

The basement door of the old church creaked open, startling me and stopping Bash from recording. The first thing to enter the room is the barrel of a gun -- my time has come -- I raised my hands sarcastically letting the cigarette dangle from my lips.

The large man in a suite -- clearly a detective -- holsters his gun. Doesn’t even flash his badge.

“Nice to meet you Mr. English,” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “My name is Special Agent Handcock -- I came to tell you Sara Rider has died in an unfortunate car accident.”

My heart sank, my mouth dries as I pluck the cigarette from my lips.

“I know how shocking this is for you Mr. English, to lose someone you are close with, to lose someone you love. Recently my father, ironically, died in much of the same way. His name was Detective Bruce Hancock, but he never did go by his first name often -- was passed down generations in our family -- but the man wanted to live out his own legacy.”

I knew what had happened right then and there, he had Sara killed for revenge. He found out she was the one who trimmed the brakes on his dad's vehicle in an effort to assure I stayed free.

“I know you know what I know Mr. English. That Sara was the one responsible for my father’s death, but this wouldn't have happened if you just admitted to what you did. See you took my dad’s life way before your little girlfriend freed him from this world,” Hancock paced around the room, his dress shoes snapping off the old stone floor every time he took a step. He walked up the steps and into the ring -- now stepping into my world so brazenly.

“I know your father was a serial killer, I understand that turned you into… whatever the fuck this is. I know you killed him to cleanse yourself, but I also know it doesn’t quite work that way. Revenge and closure are two different things and it takes all of us a while to see that. I could try to prosecute, but if I had enough evidence your girlfriend would still be alive.”

I sit still not giving him the satisfaction of having one up on me, Bash grips his fist tight but I shoot him a look that relaxes his hands.

“I could also put a bullet in your fucking head, but I am a believer in eye for an eye. I lost something I love so I took something you love… but now I need you to do something for me because of all the pain you caused. I want you to set up a business for me and a few others high up with the police who need to set up a proper retirement fund considering the clean-up jobs we’ve done to the ones who’ve managed to skirt the system.”

Special Agent Hancock pulls a fat cigar from the breast pocket of his suit, his badge catching my eye for a moment.

“I wouldn’t bother asking any of True Society to help, this is above them -- above wrestling. Ah, can I get a light?”

Bash slowly walks over and puts a flame under the cigar. Hancock takes a couple puffs and blows the smoke into the church basement. I put my cigarette back between my lips and smoke along with him.

“So, what you are going to do for me… since you took over my dad's life for so long… drove him to madness… what you are going to do for me is set up a combat sports company. I’m as big a wrestling fan as anyone else -- and I know people might think you're a deranged royal prick -- but some believe in your vision, you have a cult following and now I want you to use that. I want you to set up Combat Unlimited: Lethal Trials, you launder money through some fake signings ect. And I will ensure the company is completely bankrolled. It’s a win win right?”

He says pacing toward me.

“But just don’t forget Casanova… I fucking own you now.”

It’s not often I am left speechless, but as Hancock turned to leave I didn’t blink, didn’t sign, didn’t throw my fucking chair across the room.

Maybe this was the best thing for me, anyone who I have involved in this that has been part of the real world has been lost -- my mom -- Sara -- my first protege. I’ve got so much blood on these hands.

But as it all sank in…

I said the words I didn’t return the last time I saw her -- a faithless man in the basement of a church.

“I love you.”

I know she didn’t hear me -- no one did. If people thought I had the capacity for such things I wouldn’t be here.

I let the Warrior Rising Championship slip off my lap and hit the ground -- a king losing grip on his crown.