“You know why I’m here.”

A preacher man in black cloth hovers over the edge of a hospital bed. Bible clutched in his soft, wrinkled hands; he comes in lieu of God. In the bed before him, just a little more than a recognizable face. The heart rate monitor above him pulses softly; it’s clear that these are the final ticks of a tired clock that is ready to drift off into peaceful nothingness.

The man in the bed lowers his head, the only acknowledgment that his weakness can offer. His advocate, William T. Hickerson, vowed to remain at his side until the bitter end. Hickerson acknowledged the preacher as well.

“We can’t thank you enough for coming here on such short notice.” Hickerson stated.

“In matters such as these, time is of the essence.” the preacher replied.

“We don’t really know how much longer he has left. But we’re both just glad that you could come.”

The preacher nodded and turned his attention back towards the man on his death bed.

“Now, son, are you ready to give your soul to the lord?”

The man looked up at the preacher, and he clutched the white cotton blanket that they had covered him with.

“You’re too late,” the frail voice from the man in the death bed replied. “Tell the collector… that there’s nothing left for me to give.”

 

 

CJ Wylde Presents:

Death Bed

Knock knock.

“Come in.”

It’s strange the types of people that will visit you when you’re dying. In this case, it’s the members of a team for a pay per view event ironically named ‘Outlast’. No one really gave two shits about CJ Wylde two weeks prior to this event, but when Killian King of all people chose CJ Wylde to be on his team, suddenly changes had come.

Gone was the stigma of a character who would leave and only return for the likes of David Rydell. Gone was the infamous ban on CJ Wylde competing inside a UGWC ring. Teammates felt a tiny bit of added security knowing how desperate Mister King must have been to pull the elder Wylde’s name out of the grand ether. Opponents quickly flocked to the internet to google the definition of the phrases like ‘has-been’ and words such as ‘coward’ and ‘cuck’.

CJ Wylde, or at least the empty shell of the man; the one that was grasping onto life as if it were hanging by its fingertips over a ledge, watched as the first of his teammates for ‘Outlast’ waltzed through the door.

“Hello there, CJ.” The deep-throaty voice spoke. “I’m Klaus vonKnorre.”

“Who?”

Klaus entered the room with a smirk on his face. He pulled up a chair and straddled it at the edge of CJ’s death bed.

“Haha. That’s quite funny for a dead fellow.”

“Dying, actually.” Hickerson replied.

“You stay out of this, chump.” vonKnorre snapped back.

Wylde turned his head slowly, he wanted to make eye contact with vonKnorre. He could sense that vonKnorre was scanning him, which if were true would give away why vonKnorre would show up in the first place.

“Well now Wylde, I just-”

“Came to see the goods, am I right?” CJ quipped, followed by a rough cough. “I hope you’re not too impressed. I’d hate to shatter someone elses ego so soon before I go.”

“A talker.” vonKnorre nodded. “Admirable. I like that. But no, don’t be too worried about hurting my feelings now, darlin’. I’ve already seen what I’ve needed to see. Sometimes I wonder about King’s choices in friends…”

Wylde chuckled.

“Well then, I guess that’s not saying much for either of us, now is it?”

“I suppose it isn’t.”

“And no, as I lay here dying I can tell you that Killian King and I are not friends.”

“Fair enough.” Klaus replied. “Just… one more thing. Tell me that you’ll be ready to go at Outlast. I’d hate to find out that my team is at a severe disadvantage because of King’s obviously poor choices.”

“Heh. Don’t worry about it.” CJ replied. “I’ll be there if it kills me.”

“You better be.” vonKnorre replied. “Or else.”

 

 

Knock knock.

“Who is it?”

The door to the hospital room flies open. It’s Rogan McLean. Rogan wastes little time moving over to the bed. He’s got a bouquet of flowers in his hand… it’s a sweet gesture, really. McLean places the flowers in a vase and is careful to make sure that the get well soon card attached faces forward for all to see.

“Hey there Ceej. Wow man, you’re looking rough.”

CJ looks up at Rogan, over at the flowers, and back at Rogan again.

“What’s this all about?”

“Can’t you see it? Get well soon, man! From the Engine of Chaos, straight to you.”

CJ rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” he replies sarcastically. “I’m about to get real well real soon. But thanks anyway.”

Rogan McLean slides a chair over to the bed and straddles it. (What’s up with everyone straddling chairs lately?)

“So, uhh, you heard about Killian King picking you to be on his team for Outlast, right?” McLean says with a snort.

“Yup.” Wylde replies. “You talk about desperate. Shit. At least I know that I’ll die never having been as low as Killian has.”

“Killian needs you man.” McLean replies. “Or at least, that’s the way I feel about it. He must need me pretty badly too. Can you imagine what it would be like to lose to Eden?”

Wylde stares at McLean. He doesn’t think McLean realizes who exactly he’s talking to.

“Well, it’s really Team Morgan, but that’s alright. I understand what you meant.”

“Speaking of,” McLean adds. “Ichabod, Quentin Barnes, Olivia Price…”

“What the fuck is this? The UGWC ‘call back’ show?”

“Well,” McLean replies, “You’re in it.”

“Ouch.” Wylde clutches his stomach in pain. “You’re killing me here.”

 

 

Knock knock.

“Please, I don’t want any more visitors today.”

The door opens. The Black Adder appears.

“That’s too bad.” Killian King says with a trademark grin. “You’re not getting what you want.”

“Do I ever?” CJ replies.

Killian takes a seat at the bed.

“So, Mister Wylde…”

“Mister Adder?”

“Heh. You like the name?”

“It’s cute. What- was ‘Pale Asshole’ already taken?”

Killian laughs.

“Oh Ceej. Never short of that good ol’ American wit, I see.”

“Just hurry up and say your fucking piece so that I can die already.”

“Fair enough.”

Dressed in a black oxford suit and tie, Killian King just may be death himself. Death is what the Black Adder usually brings along with it, so the new nickname seems to fit the man quite well.

“You do know why I picked you, right?”

“Let me guess. Were they out of talent by the time it was your turn to pick?”

Killian turned his head in disgust.

“Close.” He replied. “I figured that you had an old score to settle with Eden, and with you-know-who.”

“An old score, hmm?” CJ pondered. The score seemed to be as old as he was, and as near-death too. It seems like the only people that haven’t forgotten about CJ’s match with Eden are those that, ironically, need to find something negative to say about CJ in their promos.

CJ didn’t even care anymore.

“Well, I can see that I’ve wasted a pick then.” Killian added as he stood up and turned towards the door. “If you even make it to Outlast, I suppose I’ll see you there. If not, then, it’s been fun.”

“No, it hasn’t.” Wylde replied.

“I’m not entirely cold…” Killian retorted. “…not like you, anyway.”

 

 

“Now, son, are you ready to give your soul to the lord?”

The man looked up at the preacher, and he clutched the white cotton blanket that they had covered him with.

“You’re too late,” the frail voice from the man in the death bed replied. “Tell the collector… that there’s nothing left for me to give.”

“That’s a shame.” The preacher replied, opening up his bible. “You’ll be going to hell soon then.”

“Good,” CJ Wylde replied. “I wouldn’t really have it any other way.”

“So that’s the way it’s going to be then, son. You’re giving up?”

“The thought of it does suit my style.” Wylde responded.

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” The preacher asked.

“I just thought that I’d go with the consensus here, Father.” Wylde replied. “What else am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to lie here feeling sorry for myself? Or am I supposed to show up at UGWC Outlast claiming that there’s vengeance in my heart? Am I supposed to lie to myself and say that I wanted to be on Killian Kings team? Or am I supposed to lie to everyone else and say that I’m looking forward to meeting Lucy in the finals of Outlast?”

The preacher, and Hickerson, stared on.

“You listen here. I don’t give a damn about where I’m headed. God hasn’t done me any favors, so why should I start begging for forgiveness now? I won’t insult the man’s intelligence, I won’t act like that proclaiming my love for his son five minutes before my own death will change what I’ve done with my life. I’m not like these other people that you meet, Father. I’m scared, but you’re not going to use that fear against me. You see, it’s never really been about whether or not CJ Wylde is afraid. Fear is just an emotion. I’ve always felt it, but I’ve always acted on that fear, too. And do you know what I fear most?”

“No.”

“It’s not dying alone. And it’s not dying and going to hell, either. There’s only been one thing that I’ve ever wished to truly prevent, and I’m afraid that that’s inevitable at this point. Do you think I give a damn about my own soul? Fine. Fuck you. Get out. Take Hickerson with you, too. Go find God in an alleyway drinking booze and shooting up. Leave me on my death bed!”

 

 

I’ve heard it all, seen it all, done it all before.

And I’m tired, so very tired.

I’m tired of trying to figure out who half of you are. Or why I should even care. Like any of you have a clue.

Quentin whatever. Olivia something. One look at me and you know exactly what’s underneath the surface, right? One look at my life and you somehow know everything that I’ve ever done wrong, and you know what you’d do differently to have fixed it. Whatever sounds good in front of a camera, I suppose. Whatever makes you look half-decent on your twenty-second redebut.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk about Lucy and Gabriel fucking as if it’s a fucking clue as to how to fight me inside the ring. I’m a bitch, hmm? Bitches don’t resort to cheap ass tactics; bitches don’t really say the same shit that the 1057 other bitches on Twitter already beat you to. But hey, it’s all good. You don’t really know me from Adam, Quentin, but you’re an amazing judge of character. Remind me again why pissing me off is supposed to help Eden win? Remind me again about how this is a wrestling show and not some reran episode of Doctor Phil?

Oh yeah, that’s right… I’m sorry. Generic promo number 81 was supposed to get under my skin. So flashy, so flattering. Who are you again? Don’t bother with it because at least Olivia Price has been around trying to build up her career. And at least between the two of us Killian King has to feel actual regret for picking me, because he knew like I know that it was really only a talent driven choice. When we step into the ring it’s going to become all too clear that your fighting skill hasn’t quite caught up where your mouth is. And that, comrade, is a terrible, terrible problem to have in this industry.

Olivia Price stands as Eden’s only good pick, and that’s impressively bad considering Eden was forced to choose herself to fight on her own team. Everyone’s talking about how bad I want to get at Gabriel… (do I?) But they’re really neglecting the girl who lost her championship to Mr. Baal even after Baal did some highly questionable things to her. Olivia Price stands the best chance of helping Eden Morgan get through to the finals to get some measure of revenge, this I truly believe. UGWC would be stupid if they didn’t sign this girl to some sort of long-term contract, lock her up for good.

Which leaves only Ichabod and Eden herself, and honestly Ichabod, like me, is a gross underachiever around here. So besides this mouthy Quentin Barnes guy who else is there to carry this team? It really is Price and Morgan versus Killians rag-tags. And really, who can predict what’s going to come of this Outlast when most of us have never really worked together before? The two people that have spent the most time together between the eight of us are Killian and Eden; and oh wait, they’re the captains, aren’t they?

As far as I’m concerned, I’m in it until the end. But this isn’t my fight. Not the first round anyway.

I’ve got to make it to the finals to even have a chance to fight Baal, or Lucy Wylde.

That means that I ultimately have more motivation to move on than anyone else.

 

 

Knock Knock

It’s dark and its quiet. Everyone’s gone. All of the nurses and the doctors, too. The heart rate monitor beats slowly, steadily. The beats start getting faster though, faster since CJ heard the soft knock on the door.

Knock Knock

Maybe if he’s real quiet, the grim reaper won’t know that he’s here.

Knock Knock

Knock Knock

The steady pulse of his own heart growing faster must’ve given him away.

The doorknob turns and the door creaks open…

“If it’s another teammate of mine… JUST GO AWAY!”

…

Standing in the doorframe, a dainty figure. Her long flowing blonde hair like a wisp within the cool night air. Her black boots smack against the cold tile floor. CJ Wylde looks like he has just seen a ghost.

“I’ve been your teammate forever, CJ. But you turned your back on me… you left me.”

Wylde wanted to hide under his blanket, but he didn’t have the strength. For when he looked up he saw none other than his wife, Lucy Wylde.

“I-I-I…”

“You did CJ, you left me.” Lucy peered down at him. “You promised me the world. You promised me forever-”

Her lips turned upward in a smirk.

“No one has ever hurt me as much as you have, CJ. Promises, promises.”

For once, CJ had nothing more to say.

“Well, I did want to stop by and say one thing, CJ.”

She pulled some folded up paperwork out of her jeans pocket, and she threw it down on the bed at his feet.

“Changes do come, don’t they?”

The heart rate monitor went berserk.

As Lucy tiptoed around the bed, she kept her eyes down on her soon-to-be-late husband.

“I think that it’s time that we get a divorce.”

Wylde’s heart raced so fast that he felt like he was having a heart attack. But Lucy didn’t really mind it. She was here to do one thing, and one thing only. She was here to finish off CJ Wylde for good.

“So, do you have any final words?”

“I do.”

“Then spill it.”

“No, Luce.” CJ replied. “My final words are ‘I do’, just like our wedding day, something that I’ll never regret.”

“Haha. Fair enough. A little bit too late, now, don’t you suppose? You were always the one who was the best at destroying me. But now there’s nothing left of me to destroy, so I guess it’s ironic or at least coincidental that there’s no longer anything left for you to live for, either. You know what, CJ? I’ll always love you. But it’ll always be the greatest source of my pain. There’s no forgiving you this time, Ceej. I have to do what a girl has to. I have to be able to live the life that I deserve to live. You really are a coward and I hope that hell doesn’t exist, for your sake. I suppose that this is truly goodbye for us.”

Lucy turned to the machines that were keeping CJ Wylde alive. She found the power cord, and she pulled the plug.

CJ looked up in horror. The beeps that once signaled his life had now gone into a single, straight line.

Wylde’s eyes glassed over and his head fell back into the soft pillow.

Lucy leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead.

She used her fingertips to close his eyes.

 

 

Knock Knock

“Huh, wha?”

CJ Wylde stirs to life after hearing a knock on the door. His head shoots up from his arms as he realizes that he must’ve fallen asleep back in his UGWC locker room.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Hickerson, open up man!”

“Oh shit-”

Wylde climbs to his feet, and moves to unlock the door.

“Hey buddy! Your match is up next! Come on man, you’ve got to go!”

Wylde nodded as he bit on his bottom lip.

“What’s wrong, CJ? Is something bothering you? Come on now, this is your big chance to get back at Gabriel!”

“I don’t even think I’m going to make it to Gabriel…” Wylde replied.

“What? What are you saying?”

“Maybe this really isn’t about revenge after all…” Wylde replied. “Perhaps this is just retribution.”

Her retribution.