beLIEve

The stars shone brightly that evening over the highway going from Gnaw Bone, Indiana to Baltimore, Maryland. The 1989 Black Pontiac Grand Am was looking sharp, having been repainted and tuned up prior to his trip to the airport for his last two events. The damage from Cervantes was so severe, that airport security had not even allowed Ken to get through the gate, seeing the ghastly amounts of blood on the back of his shirt. Sure, the doctor had patched him up, but it was like a Band-aid on a bullet wound. The leather jacket Ken had purchased to cover himself up while he rented a car had already been thrown away, the blood stained memories associated with it would likely never fade. Now, after having picked up his baby from the airport he was supposed to fly into, the tires rolls over the pavement, the gentle sound of pebbles under the tires crunchy are slightly cathartic.

Ken grabs his phone and dials Kyra, who picks up immediately.

“Thank God you’re awake.”

“Of course I am. You home?”

“Yeah… I need you to get dressed and bring me to the hospital.”

“The fuck you mean ‘bring me to the hospital?’ Didn’t you go already? Isn’t that why you’re so fucking late?”

“Not exactly. I needed you.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll be right out. CHLOE!” Kyra yells with a mix of concern and exasperation in her voice. “Ken’s home. I need you to stay with Adina. He needs to go to the ER!”

The response in the background is muffled but sounds positive.

“Be right out.”

“‘Kay. Thanks.”

Ken returns the cell phone to his pocket as he disconnects, then opens the door, stepping out as Kyra comes through the front door. That is the last thing he sees as everything suddenly fades to black.

Some time between the Davison household and MedStar Union Memorial Hospital, Ken begins to come to. As Kyra is trying to explain to the EMT exactly why her husband’s back looks like an undercooked hamburger, he reaches out with what little energy he has and takes her hand.

“Mama, just know that whatever happens with Lucy,  I love you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Everything. Every moment we’ve had together, every championship, every injury I’ve suffered has been worth it. When I met you, you gave me purpose. I want to make you proud, mama. I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

“Is he okay?” Kyra asks the parameic. With a look of concern on his face. Looking up at the tears welling up in her eyes, Ken gives her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I’m fine. I’ve been just been thinking about us. I know Lucy is a tough bitch. If she beats me again, I’m not going to be sad. I’m not going to cry. I’m going to come home and make you the happiest woman in the world.”

“Ms. Johnson, we’re worried he’s lost too much blood. We’ve got everything ready to go once we get to the hospital.”

Kyra looks down at Ken, who is going right at her, but at the same time, with his glassy eyes, it seems like he is looking through her.

“I know the world that Rogan has created for your sister. It gives her strength. It gives her power. But what they have, it’s nothing compared to what we have. I love you so much that I would die if I knew it would spare you a moment of pain.”

“Ken, stop. You’re scarying me.”

“Three years ago, I loathed you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab, or poisoned. Then we had our little adventure up in Carnage and things started to change. Things changed when we kissed. And when you told me about your kid. Even when you checked me out when we were naked. But I didn’t realize any of this until I was driving alone, in a car, wifeless. This made me remember that you are my reason for living and I don’t ever want to leave you alone. I don’t ever want to leave you alone or worry you or giving you a moment of doubt ever again.”

“What the fuck, Ken? I love you, too. But you’re freaking me out. Are you dilussional?”

“Quite the opposite. This is the clearest I think I have ever seen my life. I’m going to do what I started when I won the Conquest Championship and I’m going to win the World Championship… for you.”

Those are Ken’s last words before he passes out again.

“He’ll be fine. We’re almost to the hospital, Ms. Johnson.”

“MRS. DAVISON,” Kyra sternly corrects the man as the sirens blare loudly for a moment while they turn into the parking lot of the emergency department.

“In my opinion, a person who can shine can shine no matter where he goes. Those who don’t shine, don’t shine anywhere.” – Tetsuya Naito

A video clip from the Circus Deathmatch begins to play, showing in blank and white . We pick up at the moment that Cervantes Monrogue aims the flare gun and “Godly” Ken Davison. We see the blood spilling, the seared skin, and most importantly, we see “The Showman” trying to reload the gun. Ken charges and and the surprisingly graceful somersault dodge allows Montague to passover head. Cervantes tackles Davison and they both tumble off of the scaffolding.

{RECORD SCRATCH}
{FREEZE FRAME}

“Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation,” Davison’s voice plays over the still shot. “The honest answer is, I don’t know, either. I didn’t ask for the match, much less two weeks competing in another company. Yet, there I was standing in Gnaw Bone, Indiana in the middle of a Circus Death Match. What the hell is a ‘Circus Death Match?’ you may ask. I asked the same thing. For those of you who didn’t watch Nightmare at Gnaw Bone, it would seem as though it is a scaffold match where the objective is to throw your opponent off of some scaffolding and onto webbing made from razor wire down below.”

Ken audibly sighs.

“I suppose that’s part of the problem with this business, promoters will put you in any kind of match they want to. Then there is my problem… I won’t back down.”

The video unfreezes and the two men crash down onto the awaiting razor wire, with Ken landing first. If not for the heaving of their chests, one might think they were dead. The bell rings and the announcer states the name of the winner. The sound is distorted, meant to mimic Ken’s state of fatigue at that moment. Cervantes and his devious, demented smile are an image etched into his very psyche, and likely would be forever. Davison waves off the medical team, leaving a pool of viscous crimson around him. He stands up under his own power and simply glares at his adversary, the mob roaring in approval. The video fades out with a close up of Davison’s sanguine visage and turns to Ken laying in a hospital bed. You can see the stitches in his head and one of his eyes is completely black from the damage. Despite this, he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

“I may have lost the match, Cervantes, but I got the last laugh. As I watched you, a mere man was loaded onto a stretcher, I knew what I had to do. I had to stand up for my wife… for my family… for each and every one of the fans that has supported me throughout my career. I had to stand up and prove that it is not the victories that allow me to call myself “Godly”. I had to stand up and show Lucy Wylde that man her sister married, the man that would be challenging her in two weeks time, was going to be damned near impossible to keep down. I had to show Zane Scott that if, by some chance he was lucky enough to get past Lucy, that I had walked through the fires of hell and still stood tall. I had to make everyone believe.”

Davison sits up, hanging his legs over the side of the hospital bed and standing up.

“One thing I have learned is that you cannot hide from the truth, but it sure as hell can hide from you. After all, it is said that the artist is the one who uses lies to tell the truth. One thing’s for sure: It’s impossible to tell the whole truth, especially when you are talking about yourself. Sometimes the lie is in the omission. Sometimes the lie is in the spin. But there is always an element of fiction, because the talking is not the thing itself – the gap between the word and the moment is always too wide. How honest can you be with yourself? How does it feel to tell the truth?”

Davison pauses, sitting back down on the hospital bed and groaning as the burns and cuts react to moving around.

“I suppose the real question here is this: How possible is it to see yourself clearly through your own supremely biased eyes? However you choose to use this opportunity, think about “the truth” before you speak. At least then, you might know if you’re lying or not.”

Ken holds up a few sheets of notebook paper that had a moment ago been sitting on the table next to him. Though the words aren’t clear, there’s quite a few areas where you can see things heavily crossed out.

“Handwriting is like a fingerprint, a singing voice, a footstep: unique. Each person’s handwriting style betrays as much in and of itself as in the intention as the intention with which it is used. You give yourself away when you take pen to paper. In the age of infinite and instant reproduction only the unique is still beautiful. Ever wonder if our descendants will read our Facebook timelines? Save something for the real world, which remains, after all, the only place where we can really be ourselves. Write something beautiful by hand and you can be sure it will last for eternity. Even these scars will heal and one day fade. When I die, they will decompose like the rest of my body. But my words, they may just last forever.”

“That is why, prior to recording this, I wrote down my words, my truth. I do this with every promo because I want my children to know who I am. I want my students.to be able to tell their students about the man who trained them. When they see my words, when they learn about who I am, each and every one of those words will be the Kendamned truth.”

He puts the pages down back on the table and the camera catches a glimpse of the blood covered pad on the back of his hospital bed. He then reaches back and rubs the back of his neck, like that’s actually going to relieve any of the pain. He has refused pain medicine, as he has always done. Pain medication was just another lie, tricking the body into feeling better than it had any right to be.

“I would be lying if I pretended that I wasn’t the underdog going into this match. Both Lucy and Zane have defeated me in the past. In a way, it didn’t matter who won that match. I knew where I was starting from regardless. What is it that makes me confident that I can win the World Championship from a woman who’s beaten me before? Why is it that I am walking, perhaps more appropriately limping, into this match thinking that I have any chance of leaving with the World Championship? I cannot run from the truth. I cannot fabricate a lie. I can simply choose to believe.”

“I’m a little tired of all the bullshit you see. I’m tired of dealing with people running around acting like they are something they aren’t. They tell a good story, a damn good story. but they don’t tell a real story. they don’t tell you anything authentic. I’m not the type of man who has a menagerie of certified Psychopaths surrounding him like Cervantes, like Tempest. if that were real, the entirety of the Astro creeps would be fucking institutionalized. Cervantes tells you the truth when he says he’s a Showman. but he’s not fucking real.”

“Goddamn!” Ken screams as he turns the wrong way, aggravating his various wounds.

“Lucy and Rogan, good as they are, don’t live in a reality like you and I do. Lucy is riding the coattails of some delusional Stephen King inspired fever dream that Rogan MacLean is having. In the reality that we live in, in the reality that this match is going to take place in, Lucy Wylde is a normal woman, a regular human being like you and I. Aside from her talent, there is nothing special about her. I am not going to let her get in my head before this match.”

Ken puts his hand up and grimaces.

“Lucy, I’m done talking about you. I need to talk to you. We both know ever since I joined this company I’ve had to deal with people asking if I could win on my own. Up until recently that has been a very valid question. but it’s a question that has continually gotten under my skin. Our history is somewhat mixed, I appreciate the times you’ve been there almost as much as the times where you’ve been my opponent. but I have a question for you. I have a question for everyone in the back who doubts me. because you all have to remember something, as long as I have her, as long as I have Kyra, the world is mine.”

“I digress. Here’s my question, why are you so different now than when we faced the Conquest Championship? We know how I am different. I walk with confidence. I walk into each and every match knowing full well that I can take out any opponent put in front of me. In fact, I did with the Conquest Championship what you could not do. I ran the gauntlet. I earned this opportunity based on what I did with that championship. I forced my way into this match. So, Lucy. What changed? The Conquest Championship, I am one of the few men who gave it the meaning it was intended to have. With my blood, my sweat, my tears, and my fire, I reminded UGWC officials, the entire Coalition, what the Conquest was meant to represent.”

Davison grabs a large peach plastic cup and takes a few gulps of water of it, whetting his whistle before he continues.

“I want you to listen to me, lucy. I want you to listen real closely.  I’ve been with a woman, a beautiful woman, your sister, my wife, for about 2 years now. We spent our third Valentine’s together, we have our first anniversary coming up. we’ve known each other for the better part of the last 5 years. she’s seen me beating up. she’s seen me her. she’s seen me in a million pieces, maybe not this badly, but we’ve been there. she’s always been able to hold her shit together.”

Ken tries to say more, but chokes on his own breath as the tears fall down his face.

“But when she… When she walked into this hospital room, the look on her face was fear. she started crying when she saw what I had gone through. the fact that I drove all the way home before she forced me to come here… We both know that’s not her. my wife crying.. that will be burned in my soul far longer than the scars from the match would cervantes. it will be burned in my soul forever. That match proved what I am willing to go through to be successful in this business. I need to bring the same kind of fight to you that I showed at the end of the circus deathmatch. let that image marinate in your consciousness. When we walk into this match I want you to remember I was the man who walked out of the deathmatch. I want you to know that I asked for Kyra to be there supporting me. I made certain that she and Adina would have front row seats.You may not believe this, but Monday night I want to make your sister cry one more time. this time, I want them to be tears of joy. The only way I can do that is by taking the World Championship from you.”

Ken wipes the tears from his eyes before the pain interrupts him causing him to involuntarily straighten his spine.

“I will promise you this, this will be the first, last, and only time that I try to make her cry.”