Post by Grimm on Apr 12, 2006 20:04:58 GMT -5
The roads were nothing more than two dirt trails cutting across an empty coastal plain. The landscape was pockmarked with low lying shrubs and swaying grasses and the occasional lone cedar tree. There were no structures, no telephone poles, no signs, nothing that would give the impression that civilization had yet taken hold. The man standing at the crossroads was pale. Paler than even Grimm, if that was possible. Dressed in a black suit that was so dark it seemed to swallow any light that passed near it, he leaned upon an ebony stick topped with a glistening silver knob. The old hound lying at his feet was as black as the outfit. Its eyes were endless pits of ash reflecting nothing. It had the same eyes as its master.
“You’re a long way from home, Mr. Grimm.”
“Not as far as you, I’m sure.”
The man grinned. His teeth were flawless. Sparkling white set against a field of deep red gums. A low rumble, something like a mix between a chuckle and an inhuman growl, slipped out behind that picture-perfect smile. The hound dog didn’t stir.
“You don’t know nearly as much as you’d like to think, Phinehas.”
Oh, we’re on a first name basis now, are we?
“My reputation most definitely precedes me, but it’s so inaccurate. Twisted over time, lies upon lies upon lies. I’m not the boogey man everyone thinks I am. After all, if I was as unpleasant as the stories claimed, I wouldn’t be helping you, now would I?” The grin again.
“You’re not helping me. I haven’t agreed to anything yet, and to be honest I can’t think of anything you could offer that would cause me to accept your terms. Whatever those terms might be.”
The man’s grin dropped a millimeter. Imperceptible to most, but Grimm was watching the man for any signs of weakness. Grimm wasn’t like most people, and he definitely wasn’t a stereotypical sports entertainer. He could tell the man knew this. He could read it in his chalk-white face and hear it in his deep hollow voice. Phinehas may be depraved in the ring, but no guarantees of unimaginable wealth and glory, revolving doors of beautiful women, or unstoppable physical prowess could cause him to align himself with the man. He knew the terms without having heard them yet and he would never agree to them. Nothing was worth that. But the man wouldn’t give up so easily. The grin returned and the eyes burrowed into him, looking for a chink in the Abomination of Desolation’s armor.
“Of course, Phinehas. Your character is above reproach, and I commend you for it. But every man has a price. It just so happens that no one knows yours.” Grimm was forced to squint under the unrelenting gaze of the sun, but the man’s eyes knew no discomfort.
“But I do.”
Just a few minutes ago he wanted to get out of this encounter as quickly as possible, but now Phinehas Grimm was interested to hear what the man had to say. So he knew what Grimm’s deepest desire was. Grimm himself hadn’t figured that out yet. He reckoned it wouldn’t hurt to linger long enough to hear the man out.
“Go on.”
“You don’t care about the number of titles you win. Promising a never-ending reign as world champion wouldn’t get so much as a raised eyebrow from you. Money, homes, cars, possessions…nothing. I could guarantee an overwhelming victory over Mikey Wryght, but that would be meaningless. You don’t need my help with Mr. Showtime. Everyone knows that. You’ll eventually get that elusive win against Ace Anderson, but again, that will be all your doing. So what to do, what to do…”
The man closed his eyes and tapped a long thin finger on his chin, but it was obviously an act. He knew exactly what his proposal was going to be. Grimm looked from him to the hound. It rose to its feet and stared back at him. For a second he thought it had snarled, but he turned his attention back to the man at the snap of his fingers.
“How does ‘purpose’ strike you, Phinehas?”
“Purpose?” Now he was admittedly confused.
“Yes. Purpose. A reason for being. A reason for living. Or, if nothing else, the reason why you insist on returning to this abominable profession. I’ve followed your career, Phinehas. Who am I kidding, I follow everyone’s career, but that’s neither here nor there.”
He deep rumble-laughed again.
“I’ve watched you succeed, reach the pinnacle and try to leave on a high note. I’ve seen you fail to stay away time after time. How would you like to have a real purpose for this pattern, instead of falling back on the fact that it’s all you’ve ever known? Wouldn’t you like to wake up in the morning knowing why it is you spend your nights crushing dreams and breaking spirits? To have a feeling of accomplishment when you make the pin, instead of always looking ahead to the next match, and the next… and the next? It will never end, Phinehas, unless you allow me to show you the way. What say you?”
The man stuck out his hand in anticipation of an old-fashioned handshake agreement. And the grin grew larger. It was at that moment that Grimm saw him for who he truly was. Despite the fact that they stood ankle deep in dust, under a pitiless sun with no shade, the man’s suit was spotless. His shoes had nothing as much as a grain of sand blemishing the shine. They were like sheets of mica. And there was not a single drop of sweat to be found marring his beautiful face. It was quite unnatural. A shiver ran down Phinehas’ spine, and he cursed himself for even having listened to the man’s proposition. He was treading on dangerous ground. And so he turned to leave.
“No thank you.”
The black hound dog stepped forward and growled, but the man held it back with his walking stick. He looked at Grimm with eyes more malevolent than anything else. He had lost the sale and was none too pleased.
“You say that now, Mr. Grimm, but wait until you’re sitting in a filthy locker room years from now in the middle of nowhere, broken down and forgotten by those fools you thought were your fans. Then you’ll wish you had accepted my offer. But don’t worry, it will still be on the table. And you’ll know where to find me.”
“After all, I’m always there.”
“You’re a long way from home, Mr. Grimm.”
“Not as far as you, I’m sure.”
The man grinned. His teeth were flawless. Sparkling white set against a field of deep red gums. A low rumble, something like a mix between a chuckle and an inhuman growl, slipped out behind that picture-perfect smile. The hound dog didn’t stir.
“You don’t know nearly as much as you’d like to think, Phinehas.”
Oh, we’re on a first name basis now, are we?
“My reputation most definitely precedes me, but it’s so inaccurate. Twisted over time, lies upon lies upon lies. I’m not the boogey man everyone thinks I am. After all, if I was as unpleasant as the stories claimed, I wouldn’t be helping you, now would I?” The grin again.
“You’re not helping me. I haven’t agreed to anything yet, and to be honest I can’t think of anything you could offer that would cause me to accept your terms. Whatever those terms might be.”
The man’s grin dropped a millimeter. Imperceptible to most, but Grimm was watching the man for any signs of weakness. Grimm wasn’t like most people, and he definitely wasn’t a stereotypical sports entertainer. He could tell the man knew this. He could read it in his chalk-white face and hear it in his deep hollow voice. Phinehas may be depraved in the ring, but no guarantees of unimaginable wealth and glory, revolving doors of beautiful women, or unstoppable physical prowess could cause him to align himself with the man. He knew the terms without having heard them yet and he would never agree to them. Nothing was worth that. But the man wouldn’t give up so easily. The grin returned and the eyes burrowed into him, looking for a chink in the Abomination of Desolation’s armor.
“Of course, Phinehas. Your character is above reproach, and I commend you for it. But every man has a price. It just so happens that no one knows yours.” Grimm was forced to squint under the unrelenting gaze of the sun, but the man’s eyes knew no discomfort.
“But I do.”
Just a few minutes ago he wanted to get out of this encounter as quickly as possible, but now Phinehas Grimm was interested to hear what the man had to say. So he knew what Grimm’s deepest desire was. Grimm himself hadn’t figured that out yet. He reckoned it wouldn’t hurt to linger long enough to hear the man out.
“Go on.”
“You don’t care about the number of titles you win. Promising a never-ending reign as world champion wouldn’t get so much as a raised eyebrow from you. Money, homes, cars, possessions…nothing. I could guarantee an overwhelming victory over Mikey Wryght, but that would be meaningless. You don’t need my help with Mr. Showtime. Everyone knows that. You’ll eventually get that elusive win against Ace Anderson, but again, that will be all your doing. So what to do, what to do…”
The man closed his eyes and tapped a long thin finger on his chin, but it was obviously an act. He knew exactly what his proposal was going to be. Grimm looked from him to the hound. It rose to its feet and stared back at him. For a second he thought it had snarled, but he turned his attention back to the man at the snap of his fingers.
“How does ‘purpose’ strike you, Phinehas?”
“Purpose?” Now he was admittedly confused.
“Yes. Purpose. A reason for being. A reason for living. Or, if nothing else, the reason why you insist on returning to this abominable profession. I’ve followed your career, Phinehas. Who am I kidding, I follow everyone’s career, but that’s neither here nor there.”
He deep rumble-laughed again.
“I’ve watched you succeed, reach the pinnacle and try to leave on a high note. I’ve seen you fail to stay away time after time. How would you like to have a real purpose for this pattern, instead of falling back on the fact that it’s all you’ve ever known? Wouldn’t you like to wake up in the morning knowing why it is you spend your nights crushing dreams and breaking spirits? To have a feeling of accomplishment when you make the pin, instead of always looking ahead to the next match, and the next… and the next? It will never end, Phinehas, unless you allow me to show you the way. What say you?”
The man stuck out his hand in anticipation of an old-fashioned handshake agreement. And the grin grew larger. It was at that moment that Grimm saw him for who he truly was. Despite the fact that they stood ankle deep in dust, under a pitiless sun with no shade, the man’s suit was spotless. His shoes had nothing as much as a grain of sand blemishing the shine. They were like sheets of mica. And there was not a single drop of sweat to be found marring his beautiful face. It was quite unnatural. A shiver ran down Phinehas’ spine, and he cursed himself for even having listened to the man’s proposition. He was treading on dangerous ground. And so he turned to leave.
“No thank you.”
The black hound dog stepped forward and growled, but the man held it back with his walking stick. He looked at Grimm with eyes more malevolent than anything else. He had lost the sale and was none too pleased.
“You say that now, Mr. Grimm, but wait until you’re sitting in a filthy locker room years from now in the middle of nowhere, broken down and forgotten by those fools you thought were your fans. Then you’ll wish you had accepted my offer. But don’t worry, it will still be on the table. And you’ll know where to find me.”
“After all, I’m always there.”
