The Fate of a Family Man - Part Two

[Joey "The Handyman" Handy]

The Fate of a Family Man - Part Two 

James Arthur Baldwin was once quoted as saying, "The most dangerous creation of any society is the man who has nothing to lose." That sort of phraseology has appeared throughout human history. Over and over. Right now, I identified the most with that sentiment in every single one of its incarnations.



I had won against razor on Trauma 245, so why was I still feeling like a failure?



Oh yeah. I remember now. My "win" was happenstance. It was a great match, but I still looked like a rank amateur. My plan to lure Alexa out had worked, but I still got my head handed to me. Oh, and then there's that pesky "wife-turned-her-back-on-me-on-national-television" thing.



No.



She didn't just turn her back on me. She actually helped the enemy. That's some Benedict Arnold shit, right there. The next Trauma, 246 I think it is; things are a blur of emotion right now, is ironically called, "Love Hurts." They had no idea. I had been left off of the card, perhaps by design, due to my encounter with that Amazon bitch. I still stung from the Killshot on the chair she had given me. The medics even wondered how I hadn't had my neck broken.



Numbly, I looked at the papers I had my lawyer draft in a fit of fury. All it would take is a phone call, and he would file these with the courthouse and the ball would get rolling. In his experience, he advised that I take these papers and looks at them long and hard before I told him to pull the trigger. He was "old school;" from a time when broken things got fixed instead of replaced. That was one endearing quality I appreciated from him.



I filed the papers back into their folder and into my travel bag I had on the bed. I quickly stuffed as many clothes as I could on top of the file to get it out of my sight. I zipped the bag shut, plopping it onto the floor on its wheels. After these latest events, I had decided that Nadine and I needed some time apart, perhaps even permanently.



I just needed to get into the attic, retrieve any family heirlooms left to me and get them to a safe storage place. I trusted my own wife about as far as I could comfortably shit a rat right now. I pulled the rope that dislodges the attic stepladder from its hiding spot. It rattled into place, and I extended the bottom half on its hinges.



I marveled at the simple contraption, wondering just who had come up with such an invention. Finally, I snapped out of my daze and ascended the ladder into the dark mustiness of the storage space. Reaching up into the darkness, I yanked the light chord.



"Wow," I exclaimed, fanning the dust away as it seemingly attacked my nose like an intruder. I coughed as I finished the climb and stood in a half-slump, looking around. Christmas ornaments and tree, and other holiday accoutrements lined one side, half organized. Daylight shone in through the louvers, dust dancing in the beams lazily.



"Now where are they?" I asked myself, looking around for a landmark in the clutter. I finally spied the old cedar trunk in the far corner. That bastard was almost as heavy as a small safe completely empty. I had no idea how I was going to lug it by myself out of the attic. Nadine and the kids wouldn't have been physically able to help me, even if they were home.



I dragged the trunk out to the middle of the plywood floor. I had decided, before we moved in, to give this space a finished feel, and protect the kids from roof nails, insulation, or falling through the sheetrock, if they came up here to play. They never did. They said the attic gave them the creeps. I was starting to understand why.



I could barely pull the heavy trunk out of its confinement, but I got it out where I could pop the lid. Inside, an old reel-to-reel projector, and three stacks of reels waited for anyone curious enough to fire them up. even though I had the reels of old family footage, from my youth and even prior, converted to digital, for some reason, I kept the originals. There was just something nostalgic about them that I couldn't let go of, even through Nadine's pleading.



Beside the projector and home movies, a shoebox of memories, collected throughout my life, beckoned to be opened for old time's sake. I picked it up, noticing that the cardboard was starting to turn brittle. "I should replace it," I thought, setting the box carefully aside. I was after the photo album underneath it.



It had a cloth and lace cover sewn for it, with the words "Family History" embroidered meticulously on it. That was my nana's doing. She was always handy (Ha! Puns!) with a needle and thread. I carefully opened the book, it's cover crackling in protest. Most of the photos were black-and-whites of people from the family tree that I had never met; matriarchs and patriarchs from back when photography was still new.



Women with large bustled gowns with pillowy shoulders, men with stovepipe top hats and tailcoats with severely pointed collars posed with odd tools in their hands. I imagined these were old-time incarnations of the things we used nowadays. At their feet in nearly every picture was an old leather toolbox. The graininess of the photos made it difficult, but I could barely make out some initials: "T. B. O. D."



I continued to flip through the ages and the pages, each subsequent page depicting yet another in my family line. The quality improved. The fashion evolved. Only one thing remained the same: that leather toolbox. There was some part of me that swore I had seen that toolbox somewhere. I just couldn't place it.

SLAM! 

The noise sent my heart into orbit around my throat, and I'll admit, I think I screamed like a little girl. The attic door had shut on its own. I puzzled for a few seconds. For that to happen, the ladder would have had to be folded and the steps sent back into their proper place. it couldn't just "happen" on its own. Then a full-on panic set in. I raced over to the trap door, jiggling it desperately, but it refused to budge.



Cold chills ran down my spine as I contemplated what I imagined would be my final days. No one was home. Nadine wouldn't be off of her job for at least seven more hours, and this contraption was stuck. Even with a few good swift kicks to the housing didn't make it flinch.



The lone light flickered and went out with an audible pop. "Yep. That's not creepy at all," I muttered, stepping up my protest at the door, raining kicks down on it as if it were Alexa herself. Another audible click, and a beam of light flickered into life, accompanied by the unmistakable clicking of the reel projector.



I stared, wide-eyed at the beam while shielding myself as best I could from the dancing light. "I didn't set that up!" my brain screamed as I dodged to the side, to get out of the beam. I stepped away, watching, barely holding any sanity together, as the movie I had also not loaded began playing, using Nadine's wedding dress we had mounted on a dress form as a projection screen.



A movie I had previously never seen began playing out in front of me.

******* 

Dan Fierce had worked me out, taking extra care to not aggravate my neck. He showed me a few ways to protect my injuries, too. Before we started today's training, we reviewed my match with Razor several times. He pointed out, in his fabulously snarky, yet gentle way, how clumsy I had been during the match, and we worked on those scenarios to improve my methods.



"You aren't booked for Trauma 246," Dan remarked. "Why do you suppose they left you off of the card?"



"Probably because I'm such a slop-artist," I joked.



"Maybe," Dan agreed. "I think it may be more because your rivalry with Alexa just took a very personal turn. you need to keep your wits about you, or she will get in your head and live there, Sweetie."



"Too late for that," I grumbled under my breath.



"I know." Dan paused, trying to measure what he would say next. "As for your wife..."



"I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind," I snapped.



Dan looked hurt at the interruption, but he also understood. "I can't even imagine, honey."



"Sorry." I took in a deep breath. "I guess I've been a bit on edge lately. I've exchanged words backstage with David Hunter, Gerard Angelo, and even the Heavyweight Champ, Kyle Shane, all because they dared to speak with me after the night's events."



"That temper of your will be a problem, if you're not careful," advised Dan. "You need to keep that in check when you're going up against someone as dangerous as Alexa." A few seconds passed before he spoke again. "Speaking of which, what do you plan on doing this week?"



"Alexa is in a battle royal for the Underground Championship. I'm going to make sure that she doesn't win that gold."



"That's going to piss her off." Dan looked at me with an accusatory glance before his typical smile parted his lips and he placed his hands on his hips. "I love it!"



"Well, Alexa sure won't," I declared. "I'm taking that bitch out with a vengeance." I wasn't sure what I was going to do for sure, but I know a sledgehammer and her body were going to meet, and not in a fun way.