Post by Non Compos Mentis on May 22, 2015 20:33:20 GMT -5
Dear Miss Valentine Elizabeth Landis,
Somewhere in the journey I lost count of how many times her hand slipped to the pocket the letter was kept in. Valentine walks with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly where she’s going, though confidence isn’t a trait I normally associate with those living on the streets. From St Jude’s shelter we make our way toward the more residential area of the city, full of box apartments and tenements.
“How much further, Valentine?” I mutter as we continue trudging through the night. Godfrey was right, it’s getting warmer at night now but not nearly warm enough to stop a chill running down my spine.
Less than a week to go until Living A Legacy and I’m following a pretty young lady into the night. Following my instincts has never been the best choice for me, but this might take the cake. For all I know she does this for a living, luring sad, middle aged, physically spent bastards into a dark alley for her friends to beat senseless and mug. Just a handful of days from facing Tha Joka and perhaps Justin Michaels or even the entirety of The Black Hand, and I’m deciding to be spontaneous and move past my previous emotional bruises. Progress is a funny thing.
“Just up here…” Happily she beckons me on as we approach another block of tenement buildings. Unnervingly, the streets are quiet and little traffic can be heard. It’s that unusual time when everybody in the rat race is back home from work and the night shifts have already arrived.
We turn a corner and find ourselves in an environment I would have dwelt in a decade ago. A gloomy alley, thick with the smell of garbage and urine and crammed with over-filled trashcans and dumpsters. In the dying light the fire escapes cast disturbing shapes on the ground and walls, bringing out a macabre show of shadow-puppetry.
“Help me up?” Valentine asks as she moves toward a ladder leading up the side of one of the buildings. The ladder leads up a fire escape and she seems intent on getting up there with or without me. Hesitantly I make my way over and lend a leg-up that shoots Valentine up to the balcony. I follow, feeling the rust under my skin and that chill descending even further down my back.
NOTICE TO APPEAR
“What are we doing? I don’t think it’s a good idea to be up here.” Calling after her as she moves up another level on the staircase, I know that I shouldn’t be here. Finally I catch up to her on the second landing as she hunkers down behind the railings.
“We’ll be fine, just keep your head down.” Instinctively I duck, whether she’s up to mischief or not I know my best course of action is concealment.
You are hereby notified that the State of New York has filed information against you…
“That is Cesar…” My eyes follow Valentine’s finger as it points across the alley and through the window of an apartment. In the kitchen of that apartment, a latino man with a shaved head, roughly thirty five and smart of appearance. While the woman beside me had crumbled into poverty, he looked to have done fairly well for himself.
Some rise and some fall, the same event can cause one or the other and sometimes both. Men have risen to the very top of PCW with the help of the Icemann Invitational, men like Stormm himself who won the tournament to slingshot himself to the top of the card. Now he looks to solidify his name in the record books by winning a second, by going on to dethrone the reigning Champion of darkness and dread. He wants to leave behind his history of abuse and arrogance and portray himself as the best man to lead PCW forward in place of the Black Hand, but can he really leave his ego behind? I don’t think he can.
Look at a man like ‘Puro Power’ Kaijin Shinryu, who won the Icemann Invitational and segued it into a World Title shot against none other than myself. The greatest moment of his career turned sour in his hands as I beat him, and soon thereafter he was gone. It became the defining loss of his career and the worst moment of his life. The newcomer, making an impact and throwing it all on the line for one opportunity at greatness. Could Tha Joka follow his example? Could he really beat me and take the crown before going on to take out Sadistic? I don’t underestimate a man of his ability or insanity. I know what that can do to someone, and how unpredictable it can make them. Could he win? Yes. But I will do everything in my power to stop him.
And then names like Ace Anderson and Murdoc, established stars who saw the tournament as a chance to solidify their place, to gain further glory. A name to fall in right beside them would be Michael Wryght, a former World Champion who has been around PCW longer than almost anyone. His name would fit right in alright, if it wasn’t for his motives here. Does he really want to win for himself? To satisfy that longest to lift his star a little higher into the sky? Or does he want to take the title so that The Black Hand can make sure they keep hold of power? Will he leave behind his dignity for the sake of being a Black Hand bitch, or will he do it for himself?
“Wait, what? Why are we hiding on a fire escape spying on your ex?” I exclaim, and Valentine’s face crinkles with worry that my voice was a little too loud. Risking a glance at the window, she sees that Cesar is still none the wiser and returns to me.
“He’s not my ex… and anyway, what you said earlier just made me want to see him again. There are some things we can’t leave behind.” She replies, keeping her voice down to a whisper and displaying more than a hint of indignation in her expression.
…charging you with a violation of New York law to-wit: NY CLS PENAL CODE 120.45: STALKING IN THE FOURTH DEGREE…
I can feel my face slackening with the dawning of realisation. Why am I here? Because I’m the witness for an obsession, an accomplice perhaps. “It was love at first sight. After our first date I knew he was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
“And him?” I’m sure she can hear the shock in my voice, the will to escape at the first moment. Her face, however, remains calm as can be as if this is all just a routine evening. The man in the window unscrews the cap on a bottle of fruity red and pours himself a glass, unaware of the events going on outside. “He didn’t see things the same way, did he?”
“I tried convincing him but he wasn’t ready. Maybe I was too forward…” A flicker of doubt in her eyes perhaps, but replaced immediately with that obsessive optimism, like it would only take one word and poor Cesar would welcome her into his arms.
…AGAINST ONE INDIVIDUAL: CESAR PHILIP REYES
But what does she mean ‘too forward’? How had she stepped over the line and put herself in this position? I place a hand solidly on her shoulder, like a parent would to a child who had done wrong. “What did you do, Valentine?”
“I loved, that’s what I did.” Now her voice, her New York accent, rises in volume as the emotions begin to heighten. Valentine quickly brushes off my hand quickly and takes up a defensive stance, protecting her vulnerable feelings. “I dared to show him just how much I loved him when he refused to recognise it.”
You are required to appear before the Hon. Benjamin Howard at the Supreme Court of Schenectady, NY…
“What did you DO?” I reiterate with more authority.
“I snuck into his place while he was out and surprised him with a romantic dinner. In hindsight I should have asked for a key, but I wanted to be spontaneous.” She says this with all the sweetness of intending it to be a beautiful date they could both cherish. No hints of malice or lunacy, nothing but innocence.
“You broke into his apartment!?” Again her eyes flicker to the window with worry but come back to me with that defensive glare, perhaps even a lick of anger in there somewhere.
People go to extreme lengths to get what they want, they sometimes lose all sense of perspective when doing it. Like a man what would sell his soul, what’s left of it anyway, to a shadowy organisation that wishes destruction on everyone who doesn’t conform to their agenda. Like a man losing his mind and delving into the depths of depravity and pain to find some sense of feeling. Like a man who spent his way to the top, throwing his fortune at his career to attain fame and success until conscience struck him and now he fights for honour.
“Don’t be silly… I climbed in through the fire escape.” Matter-of-factly she replies and there is no hint that she is admitting to breaking and entering, to criminal acts. She begins to fiddle with her nails nervously, reminiscent of a girl recounting the anxious first date with her high school love. “He didn’t react well, told me to leave. He was just playing hard to get though so I tried something… else.”
“I don’t want to know…” I try to pull away, I’ve had enough and want to leave. She can have her obsession, but I’m done with mine. If she thinks I understand because of Rebekah, she’s wrong. I can understand love, I can understand a connection, I can even understand going beyond the law to find that care. But this? I’ve been through madness and I’ve dropped to the depths of decency but now I’m better, now I’m different, and I can’t be part of something like this.
She grabs me though, hands wrapped tightly around the collar of my jacket. There is clear desperation in her voice and her face now, trying to convince me of her pure intentions, or perhaps herself. “I kissed him. He tried to push me away. He’s a good man like that, he didn’t want to take advantage of me!”
Failure to appear at court will result in a warrant being issued for your arrest and additional charges filed against you. The date and time of your required attendance are as follows:
I hear a vague muttering in the background, a voice muffled by distance and obstacles. Shortly after a barely audible, but unmistakable, smash of a wine glass half full of fruity red. Valentine’s face drops, turning from youthful exuberance to a ghostly complexion in an instant.
“Fuck! He saw me! I should have been more careful. We have to go!” The grip on my collar turns into a push, trying to force me back down the fire escape. She is insistent on leaving but that enthusiasm isn’t backed up by her size or her force.
When once I was desperate to leave, now I want to stay. I want to know what I’m part of exactly before I’m entrenched in it any further. “What? Why? Valentine, what the hell is going on?”
“I just wanted to see he him, I thought you’d understand. You’re a good man who had to stay away from someone he loved for their own good. You want to see her again, don’t you? You will eventually, no matter who tells you not to, you just have to.” Her eyes are soaking now, the tears in full flow but I see through them. Insanity can turn on the taps quicker that a plumber, and it can turn them off in a second.
“Wait…” I hold her back, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and pinning her to the spot. “Who told you not to?”
“The fucking court… they gave me a hundred yard restraining order. They didn’t understand, I just needed to talk to Cesar properly but they wouldn’t let me.” Sobs threaten to break up her words but I get the gist of it. A restraining order? And now she’s outside his window and he’s gone, no doubt making his way down the stairs as we speak.
I turn, panicked, and make my way to the steps before making a fast descent toward the ground. “You got me involved in this? You’re fucking insane!”
“YOU’RE calling ME insane?!” She follows like a missile on my tail, now her tone has completely shifted from the charming yet slightly brusque to full-on infuriated and hormonally fuming. By now I’m at the ladder we first ascended and rather than taking my time, and risking a hostile boot to the nose from above, I take a couple of steps down and jump the remaining way to the ground.
I call up to her, trying to decide whether or not I should call 911 and let the police deal with her or not, finally deciding Cesar will probably do that job for me. “I can accept that I’m not welcome back with the person I loved, that it’s not safe for me to be there. But you? You need to stop this before you get even deeper into trouble.”
“Deeper? I’m already homeless, I spent all my money on a lawyer who didn’t understand either, and Cesar still hasn’t come around. How can things get worse?” Instead of a graceful landing, Valentine slips on the slight moist ground and lands flat on her ass in the alley. I try to stifle a grunt of laughter and the only thing stopping it from bursting out is my anger at this whole situation.
“You could go to prison for this, I could be in trouble for helping you! I have to be in Greenville on Sunday, I can’t get involved in this!” I shout, unable to control myself but glad there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to hear it yet.
“So you’re just going to run away again? You can help me, just get Cesar to talk to me, please?”
Again? I never ran away, if she knew, if ANYONE knew what I’d been through in my time away from PCW they’d never accuse me of running away. You can call it a heavy rehab if you want but the truth of the matter is this… six months spent fighting an addiction that happens to be your own mind. Imagine trying to cut out part of your soul and throw it away.
The part of me that is a normal, reasonable human being understood that I couldn’t be with Rebekah. It mourned her lost embrace like a death, but it knew it was for the greater good that I move away from her. But the evil, the sickness inside of me? It wanted pain and chaos, and it didn’t care where that came from.
Strangely I feel as if Joka would understand this feeling, the splicing of different psyches inside one skull. Perhaps we have a lot in common, perhaps people could look at him as reflection of me a decade ago when I first joined PCW as an unstable and reckless maniac. Whatever the case, I knew that the maniac needed to go and I devoted myself to getting rid of it… with the help from some friends.
“Look, Valentine, Cesar doesn’t want you. He probably never did, you see that right? You want him to love you back but he won’t. Sometimes there are just things we have to leave behind, please tell me you understand that?” I plead with her, trying to drive some sense through the shroud of fake love and obsession, but there is no hope. I see the look you get from a heroin addict when you say it’s bad for them. Disbelief. Hopeless commitment.
“Sean, this is why you’re where you are now. You’re running away from your problems and I’m facing up to them.” She doesn’t see that it’s the complete opposite, and nothing will make her see it. Not a slap to face or a hundred foot restraining order. It’s hard-wired and only major work can change that.
“Hey!” A shout comes from nearby, a door slams as it’s throws all the way open and collides with the wall. A thirty five year old latino man with a shaved head stands not ten feet away and I resist the urge to ask Cesar to call the cops if he hasn’t already. “I thought the judge made it clear, you stay the hell away from me!”
“Cesar, baby, please don’t be that way…” Valentine takes a step forward, opening her arms to welcome her love home, but Cesar jumps back as if she has leprosy. His body language is the complete reverse, saying ‘stay the fuck away or else’.
“And you…” His raging face turns to me, I’m positive he didn’t see me on the balcony and he looks entirely confused as to my identity, but that is no guarantee. Cesar points angrily, biting his lip because he needs to take out his anger on something. “Who the hell are you? Has she hooked you along with her crazy-talk? I’ve got a restraining order on her, if you helped her get here I could get both of you locked up!”
Valentine looks at me with blind hope, still believing I’ll take part in her hideous charade. I look at her, seeing the insanity gleaming in her eyes and knowing that there’s only one thing I can do to help her now. “… I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, I just saw her climbing down the fire escape and wondered what she was doing.”
I walk away and he doesn’t question it. He doesn’t know my part in the proceedings tonight and I doubt he’ll believe her when she tells him. Maybe he’ll call the police and have her collected, maybe he won’t, but soon she’ll either seek help or push too far and be taken there by men wearing police-uniform blue.
“Sean… wait, Sean! Please… just tell him to listen to me! SEAN!” I hear her, but I keep on walking. How long has this been going on? How much longer will it continue? Obsession has a funny habit of blending into the background. It could be a week, it could be a year, but either way it’s just as dangerous.
June 23rd 2012, 12:30pm
“It’s been over two years, why can’t you just let this go!” I hear the latino gentleman shout, and then I hear what I think Valentine needs. For her own good, I tell myself, she needs to get help. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to call the cops, maybe you can get the help you need if they take you in.”
Years it can take, years to realise you’ve been harming yourself by devoting your heart and mind to the wrong things. I thought I wanted violence, chaos and bloodshed. I thought I wanted to rule over PCW with an army that worshipped the ground I walked on. I thought I wanted to reign over those closest to me with cruelty.
All that serves is the destruction of one’s soul. Eventually you realise the error of your ways, or you die a hollow and frightful creature. The Black Hand rule for their own sick endeavours and Michael Wryght plays his part by blocking the next potential challengers to their crown. Joka looks to find feeling in the pain I will inflict on him, but he doesn’t realised that losing will only make him feel emptier… and so the grotesque cycle continues. Stormm has bought and sold so many souls that even the devil must have his work cut out to keep up, and now he pleads honour and decency. The family man with a heart of gold. What are you really, Justin? It’s time to make your mind up.
I reconciled myself to a few truths when I was coming back; Rebekah can never be part of my life again, PCW cannot live with The Black Hand controlling its throne, and I want that be the one that dethrones them… to help PCW and also to bring success and dignity back to my name. I left behind the things that are worthless to me now, bloodlust and chaos, but I am who I am… and I will fight to win the Icemann Invitational the same way I always have.
Somewhere in the journey I lost count of how many times her hand slipped to the pocket the letter was kept in. Valentine walks with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly where she’s going, though confidence isn’t a trait I normally associate with those living on the streets. From St Jude’s shelter we make our way toward the more residential area of the city, full of box apartments and tenements.
“How much further, Valentine?” I mutter as we continue trudging through the night. Godfrey was right, it’s getting warmer at night now but not nearly warm enough to stop a chill running down my spine.
Less than a week to go until Living A Legacy and I’m following a pretty young lady into the night. Following my instincts has never been the best choice for me, but this might take the cake. For all I know she does this for a living, luring sad, middle aged, physically spent bastards into a dark alley for her friends to beat senseless and mug. Just a handful of days from facing Tha Joka and perhaps Justin Michaels or even the entirety of The Black Hand, and I’m deciding to be spontaneous and move past my previous emotional bruises. Progress is a funny thing.
“Just up here…” Happily she beckons me on as we approach another block of tenement buildings. Unnervingly, the streets are quiet and little traffic can be heard. It’s that unusual time when everybody in the rat race is back home from work and the night shifts have already arrived.
We turn a corner and find ourselves in an environment I would have dwelt in a decade ago. A gloomy alley, thick with the smell of garbage and urine and crammed with over-filled trashcans and dumpsters. In the dying light the fire escapes cast disturbing shapes on the ground and walls, bringing out a macabre show of shadow-puppetry.
“Help me up?” Valentine asks as she moves toward a ladder leading up the side of one of the buildings. The ladder leads up a fire escape and she seems intent on getting up there with or without me. Hesitantly I make my way over and lend a leg-up that shoots Valentine up to the balcony. I follow, feeling the rust under my skin and that chill descending even further down my back.
NOTICE TO APPEAR
“What are we doing? I don’t think it’s a good idea to be up here.” Calling after her as she moves up another level on the staircase, I know that I shouldn’t be here. Finally I catch up to her on the second landing as she hunkers down behind the railings.
“We’ll be fine, just keep your head down.” Instinctively I duck, whether she’s up to mischief or not I know my best course of action is concealment.
You are hereby notified that the State of New York has filed information against you…
“That is Cesar…” My eyes follow Valentine’s finger as it points across the alley and through the window of an apartment. In the kitchen of that apartment, a latino man with a shaved head, roughly thirty five and smart of appearance. While the woman beside me had crumbled into poverty, he looked to have done fairly well for himself.
Some rise and some fall, the same event can cause one or the other and sometimes both. Men have risen to the very top of PCW with the help of the Icemann Invitational, men like Stormm himself who won the tournament to slingshot himself to the top of the card. Now he looks to solidify his name in the record books by winning a second, by going on to dethrone the reigning Champion of darkness and dread. He wants to leave behind his history of abuse and arrogance and portray himself as the best man to lead PCW forward in place of the Black Hand, but can he really leave his ego behind? I don’t think he can.
Look at a man like ‘Puro Power’ Kaijin Shinryu, who won the Icemann Invitational and segued it into a World Title shot against none other than myself. The greatest moment of his career turned sour in his hands as I beat him, and soon thereafter he was gone. It became the defining loss of his career and the worst moment of his life. The newcomer, making an impact and throwing it all on the line for one opportunity at greatness. Could Tha Joka follow his example? Could he really beat me and take the crown before going on to take out Sadistic? I don’t underestimate a man of his ability or insanity. I know what that can do to someone, and how unpredictable it can make them. Could he win? Yes. But I will do everything in my power to stop him.
And then names like Ace Anderson and Murdoc, established stars who saw the tournament as a chance to solidify their place, to gain further glory. A name to fall in right beside them would be Michael Wryght, a former World Champion who has been around PCW longer than almost anyone. His name would fit right in alright, if it wasn’t for his motives here. Does he really want to win for himself? To satisfy that longest to lift his star a little higher into the sky? Or does he want to take the title so that The Black Hand can make sure they keep hold of power? Will he leave behind his dignity for the sake of being a Black Hand bitch, or will he do it for himself?
“Wait, what? Why are we hiding on a fire escape spying on your ex?” I exclaim, and Valentine’s face crinkles with worry that my voice was a little too loud. Risking a glance at the window, she sees that Cesar is still none the wiser and returns to me.
“He’s not my ex… and anyway, what you said earlier just made me want to see him again. There are some things we can’t leave behind.” She replies, keeping her voice down to a whisper and displaying more than a hint of indignation in her expression.
…charging you with a violation of New York law to-wit: NY CLS PENAL CODE 120.45: STALKING IN THE FOURTH DEGREE…
I can feel my face slackening with the dawning of realisation. Why am I here? Because I’m the witness for an obsession, an accomplice perhaps. “It was love at first sight. After our first date I knew he was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
“And him?” I’m sure she can hear the shock in my voice, the will to escape at the first moment. Her face, however, remains calm as can be as if this is all just a routine evening. The man in the window unscrews the cap on a bottle of fruity red and pours himself a glass, unaware of the events going on outside. “He didn’t see things the same way, did he?”
“I tried convincing him but he wasn’t ready. Maybe I was too forward…” A flicker of doubt in her eyes perhaps, but replaced immediately with that obsessive optimism, like it would only take one word and poor Cesar would welcome her into his arms.
…AGAINST ONE INDIVIDUAL: CESAR PHILIP REYES
But what does she mean ‘too forward’? How had she stepped over the line and put herself in this position? I place a hand solidly on her shoulder, like a parent would to a child who had done wrong. “What did you do, Valentine?”
“I loved, that’s what I did.” Now her voice, her New York accent, rises in volume as the emotions begin to heighten. Valentine quickly brushes off my hand quickly and takes up a defensive stance, protecting her vulnerable feelings. “I dared to show him just how much I loved him when he refused to recognise it.”
You are required to appear before the Hon. Benjamin Howard at the Supreme Court of Schenectady, NY…
“What did you DO?” I reiterate with more authority.
“I snuck into his place while he was out and surprised him with a romantic dinner. In hindsight I should have asked for a key, but I wanted to be spontaneous.” She says this with all the sweetness of intending it to be a beautiful date they could both cherish. No hints of malice or lunacy, nothing but innocence.
“You broke into his apartment!?” Again her eyes flicker to the window with worry but come back to me with that defensive glare, perhaps even a lick of anger in there somewhere.
People go to extreme lengths to get what they want, they sometimes lose all sense of perspective when doing it. Like a man what would sell his soul, what’s left of it anyway, to a shadowy organisation that wishes destruction on everyone who doesn’t conform to their agenda. Like a man losing his mind and delving into the depths of depravity and pain to find some sense of feeling. Like a man who spent his way to the top, throwing his fortune at his career to attain fame and success until conscience struck him and now he fights for honour.
“Don’t be silly… I climbed in through the fire escape.” Matter-of-factly she replies and there is no hint that she is admitting to breaking and entering, to criminal acts. She begins to fiddle with her nails nervously, reminiscent of a girl recounting the anxious first date with her high school love. “He didn’t react well, told me to leave. He was just playing hard to get though so I tried something… else.”
“I don’t want to know…” I try to pull away, I’ve had enough and want to leave. She can have her obsession, but I’m done with mine. If she thinks I understand because of Rebekah, she’s wrong. I can understand love, I can understand a connection, I can even understand going beyond the law to find that care. But this? I’ve been through madness and I’ve dropped to the depths of decency but now I’m better, now I’m different, and I can’t be part of something like this.
She grabs me though, hands wrapped tightly around the collar of my jacket. There is clear desperation in her voice and her face now, trying to convince me of her pure intentions, or perhaps herself. “I kissed him. He tried to push me away. He’s a good man like that, he didn’t want to take advantage of me!”
Failure to appear at court will result in a warrant being issued for your arrest and additional charges filed against you. The date and time of your required attendance are as follows:
I hear a vague muttering in the background, a voice muffled by distance and obstacles. Shortly after a barely audible, but unmistakable, smash of a wine glass half full of fruity red. Valentine’s face drops, turning from youthful exuberance to a ghostly complexion in an instant.
“Fuck! He saw me! I should have been more careful. We have to go!” The grip on my collar turns into a push, trying to force me back down the fire escape. She is insistent on leaving but that enthusiasm isn’t backed up by her size or her force.
When once I was desperate to leave, now I want to stay. I want to know what I’m part of exactly before I’m entrenched in it any further. “What? Why? Valentine, what the hell is going on?”
“I just wanted to see he him, I thought you’d understand. You’re a good man who had to stay away from someone he loved for their own good. You want to see her again, don’t you? You will eventually, no matter who tells you not to, you just have to.” Her eyes are soaking now, the tears in full flow but I see through them. Insanity can turn on the taps quicker that a plumber, and it can turn them off in a second.
“Wait…” I hold her back, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and pinning her to the spot. “Who told you not to?”
“The fucking court… they gave me a hundred yard restraining order. They didn’t understand, I just needed to talk to Cesar properly but they wouldn’t let me.” Sobs threaten to break up her words but I get the gist of it. A restraining order? And now she’s outside his window and he’s gone, no doubt making his way down the stairs as we speak.
I turn, panicked, and make my way to the steps before making a fast descent toward the ground. “You got me involved in this? You’re fucking insane!”
“YOU’RE calling ME insane?!” She follows like a missile on my tail, now her tone has completely shifted from the charming yet slightly brusque to full-on infuriated and hormonally fuming. By now I’m at the ladder we first ascended and rather than taking my time, and risking a hostile boot to the nose from above, I take a couple of steps down and jump the remaining way to the ground.
I call up to her, trying to decide whether or not I should call 911 and let the police deal with her or not, finally deciding Cesar will probably do that job for me. “I can accept that I’m not welcome back with the person I loved, that it’s not safe for me to be there. But you? You need to stop this before you get even deeper into trouble.”
“Deeper? I’m already homeless, I spent all my money on a lawyer who didn’t understand either, and Cesar still hasn’t come around. How can things get worse?” Instead of a graceful landing, Valentine slips on the slight moist ground and lands flat on her ass in the alley. I try to stifle a grunt of laughter and the only thing stopping it from bursting out is my anger at this whole situation.
“You could go to prison for this, I could be in trouble for helping you! I have to be in Greenville on Sunday, I can’t get involved in this!” I shout, unable to control myself but glad there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to hear it yet.
“So you’re just going to run away again? You can help me, just get Cesar to talk to me, please?”
Again? I never ran away, if she knew, if ANYONE knew what I’d been through in my time away from PCW they’d never accuse me of running away. You can call it a heavy rehab if you want but the truth of the matter is this… six months spent fighting an addiction that happens to be your own mind. Imagine trying to cut out part of your soul and throw it away.
The part of me that is a normal, reasonable human being understood that I couldn’t be with Rebekah. It mourned her lost embrace like a death, but it knew it was for the greater good that I move away from her. But the evil, the sickness inside of me? It wanted pain and chaos, and it didn’t care where that came from.
Strangely I feel as if Joka would understand this feeling, the splicing of different psyches inside one skull. Perhaps we have a lot in common, perhaps people could look at him as reflection of me a decade ago when I first joined PCW as an unstable and reckless maniac. Whatever the case, I knew that the maniac needed to go and I devoted myself to getting rid of it… with the help from some friends.
“Look, Valentine, Cesar doesn’t want you. He probably never did, you see that right? You want him to love you back but he won’t. Sometimes there are just things we have to leave behind, please tell me you understand that?” I plead with her, trying to drive some sense through the shroud of fake love and obsession, but there is no hope. I see the look you get from a heroin addict when you say it’s bad for them. Disbelief. Hopeless commitment.
“Sean, this is why you’re where you are now. You’re running away from your problems and I’m facing up to them.” She doesn’t see that it’s the complete opposite, and nothing will make her see it. Not a slap to face or a hundred foot restraining order. It’s hard-wired and only major work can change that.
“Hey!” A shout comes from nearby, a door slams as it’s throws all the way open and collides with the wall. A thirty five year old latino man with a shaved head stands not ten feet away and I resist the urge to ask Cesar to call the cops if he hasn’t already. “I thought the judge made it clear, you stay the hell away from me!”
“Cesar, baby, please don’t be that way…” Valentine takes a step forward, opening her arms to welcome her love home, but Cesar jumps back as if she has leprosy. His body language is the complete reverse, saying ‘stay the fuck away or else’.
“And you…” His raging face turns to me, I’m positive he didn’t see me on the balcony and he looks entirely confused as to my identity, but that is no guarantee. Cesar points angrily, biting his lip because he needs to take out his anger on something. “Who the hell are you? Has she hooked you along with her crazy-talk? I’ve got a restraining order on her, if you helped her get here I could get both of you locked up!”
Valentine looks at me with blind hope, still believing I’ll take part in her hideous charade. I look at her, seeing the insanity gleaming in her eyes and knowing that there’s only one thing I can do to help her now. “… I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, I just saw her climbing down the fire escape and wondered what she was doing.”
I walk away and he doesn’t question it. He doesn’t know my part in the proceedings tonight and I doubt he’ll believe her when she tells him. Maybe he’ll call the police and have her collected, maybe he won’t, but soon she’ll either seek help or push too far and be taken there by men wearing police-uniform blue.
“Sean… wait, Sean! Please… just tell him to listen to me! SEAN!” I hear her, but I keep on walking. How long has this been going on? How much longer will it continue? Obsession has a funny habit of blending into the background. It could be a week, it could be a year, but either way it’s just as dangerous.
June 23rd 2012, 12:30pm
“It’s been over two years, why can’t you just let this go!” I hear the latino gentleman shout, and then I hear what I think Valentine needs. For her own good, I tell myself, she needs to get help. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to call the cops, maybe you can get the help you need if they take you in.”
Years it can take, years to realise you’ve been harming yourself by devoting your heart and mind to the wrong things. I thought I wanted violence, chaos and bloodshed. I thought I wanted to rule over PCW with an army that worshipped the ground I walked on. I thought I wanted to reign over those closest to me with cruelty.
All that serves is the destruction of one’s soul. Eventually you realise the error of your ways, or you die a hollow and frightful creature. The Black Hand rule for their own sick endeavours and Michael Wryght plays his part by blocking the next potential challengers to their crown. Joka looks to find feeling in the pain I will inflict on him, but he doesn’t realised that losing will only make him feel emptier… and so the grotesque cycle continues. Stormm has bought and sold so many souls that even the devil must have his work cut out to keep up, and now he pleads honour and decency. The family man with a heart of gold. What are you really, Justin? It’s time to make your mind up.
I reconciled myself to a few truths when I was coming back; Rebekah can never be part of my life again, PCW cannot live with The Black Hand controlling its throne, and I want that be the one that dethrones them… to help PCW and also to bring success and dignity back to my name. I left behind the things that are worthless to me now, bloodlust and chaos, but I am who I am… and I will fight to win the Icemann Invitational the same way I always have.
