==================
Glory
==================


 	There's this guy named Brick who lives about five blocks down 
from where we live, a big guy with horn-rimmed glasses and someone 
that could of actually made something of himself and gotten out of 
this stinking town had he played his cards right.  Not only is he a 
great ball player, but he's some sort of fucking genius too - makes 
all sorts of shit in this little ‘lab' in his basement.  Mostly of 
the chemical and pharmaceutical variety if you get my drift.  And 
it's not just that trial by error deal either, he has walls and 
notebooks full of all his ‘recipes'; numbers and symbols and chemical
formulas that are more then just Greek to me - it's fucking Klingon. 
He makes the real heavy stuff that you can't find most places - 
except for New Ville of course.  This is the place to come when you 
want to get high, and Brick is the guy to see if you're looking to 
get seriously trashed.  I consider him a close personal friend.

	 He has this stuff called Glory, his own personal concoction.  
It comes in the form of a little blue gel capsule and is strong 
enough to either make you laugh or cry all day long and not give a 
shit either way.  The real deal in suicidal highs and lows.  Not 
downers, but not exactly your MJ either.  Sweet grass is the safe way
to go if you're a beginner, best to leave the Glory to the veterans.

	 I think I was somewhere between stoned and just tired when the
Twins came in.  Saddie and Jay - two of the biggest losers and 
psychos this side of New Ville.  Not to mention my roommates and best
friends;  I'm just glad they're on my side.

	 The three of us, we're pretty much left alone; no one bothers 
us, and we don't bother anyone else.  It's good that way - safer.  We
hole up in here, in this ratty apartment, and get by just fine; I go 
out for work and that's about it.  I'm the bread maker in this sickly
little trio.  The Twins can usually get some good stuff, so I keep 
them around.  And although I would never admit it to nobody, I need 
them around because if they weren't - I'd be alone.  And probably 
dead.

	 Only this time - they've brought somebody else home.  Not 
exactly of his own free will either.  He looks pretty messed up, they
really did a number on him before bringing him in.  I'm half worried 
but not really concerned.
	
	 "Who's your friend?" I asked, trying not to sound too 
interested.  "New boyfriend, Sad?"

	 She giggled at that, her brother rolled his eyes and gave the 
man a good kick in the ribs for my little comment.  Oops, sorry big 
guy.  "His car broke down out it front of Wimpy's," she said with a 
sly smile, a glint in her eyes that I've come to recognize as her, 
‘Girls just wanna have fun' look,  "So we decided to play good 
citizen and give him a helping hand."
	
	 "I take it he didn't offer up a good enough reward for your 
troubles?" I asked.  Okay, so maybe this whole situation was a little
funny - the dude on the floor looked like he'd gone a few rounds with
Tyson.  A black and blue bloody mess.  Yup, the Twins had really 
fucked him up something serious.  My Glory was starting to wear off, 
and he was starting to look a little familiar.

	 Jay made a face, walked around the body to come sit on the 
couch next to me and pluck the cig from my hand.  Good ol'Jay - 
freeloader in ever sense of the word.  "Nah, we gots an idea, man, 
you recognize the dude?  Come on, you're suppose to be the fuckin' 
wrestling fan."

	 At the mention of the one thing that actually brings some 
measurement of joy to my life I take a bit of a closer look at our 
new house guest.  Dark crop of hair, pale skin, slightly boyish face.
Nothing's ringing a bell, which must mean I'm still in La La land.  
Standing, I go over for a closer look.  Put my foot on his chest and 
push him onto his back with a not so light kick.  Not that's it going
to matter to him anyway, the guy already looks half-dead.

	 Ah.  Now things are starting to look a little more familiar.  
Leaning down, I squint a bit at the face, and Saddie giggles over me,
bounces on her feet and starts to hop around.  The girl can't stay 
still for more then two minutes at a time; just another one of her 
personality quirks.  One of the better ones.

	 "He's kinda cute, baby," she cooed.  "Let's keep him."

	 "Only if you clean up after him," I said, making her giggles 
turn into somewhat of a fit.  Boy.  She is definitely the more messed
up twin, not that the other one is much better.

	 Going back to matters at hand, I take him by the hair and lift 
his head up slightly, roll his face from side to side to try and get 
a real good look.  Hmmm....then I remember.

	 "Holy shit!  You fucking kidnapped Shane McMahon!"

	 The twins laugh in unison and I shake my head as I move away 
from the man on the floor.  This can't be good.  Of all the people to
take home.

	 "We saw him and thought of you, Jacks," Jay said with a small, 
sly smile.  "You're the one that's such a hard on wrestling freak.  
We figured you could play with him a little before killing him," his 
smirk got impossibly bigger.  "You know - maybe get an autograph?"

	 Fucking morons.  Sometimes I think they share the same, non-
functioning brain.  Walking back to couch, I pick up my pack of cigs 
from the beat up coffee table and stick one in my mouth, light it 
with slightly shaking hands.  Crap, I'm starting to hit my low, soon,
I might start screaming.

	 I look over to see that Saddie has straddled young Shane's 
waist, is leaning forward with her arms crossed over her chest, her 
head is bowed low over his and she smiles into his lifeless features.
"If you won't play with him, Jacks, I will.  He's tasty..."

	 "GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!"

	 Should of seen that one coming.  Jay comes over and yanks 
sister dear off the body so fast, he's a damn blur.  It's more then 
anger, the guy is fucking jealous.  I don't want to think about what 
kind of sick relationship they have going, but as they argue behind 
me, I notice that some life is returning to Mr. Shane McMahon.  He's 
waking up.

	 Going over to the kitchen, I find those plastic ties for the 
garbage bags and do his hands and ankles up good - he ain't going to 
break out of those things anytime soon.  Sitting back on the couch, I
wait for him to wake up completely, even the Twins are quiet as they 
watch.

	 He makes a sound of pain and his eyes blink open slowly, the 
lashes thick with blood.  One of ‘em, probably Saddie, really must of
clocked him one on the head.  His hair is matted and sticky with the 
red slime, and I would of almost felt sorry of the guy if I wasn't so
worried about my own skin.  Shane fucking McMahon - we were really 
screwed now.  Every fucking cop in the city would be out looking for 
him if he wasn't returned safe to his daddy soon.

	 Taking a long drag of my cig, I go over and take a hold of his 
collar, drag him over to the couch and prop his back against it so if 
he decides to throw up, he won't fucking choke.  He coughs, and his 
eyes open all the way.

	 Welcome to hell, Kiddo - nice to meet ya.




					~~~~~




	 I'm on my second pack when 5AM hits, and the three of us are 
sitting around the living room, chewing on three day old pizza.  Our 
guest is in the hallway closet, asleep, unconcious, or dead because 
he hasn't made a sound in the past two hours.

	 Although it isn't really my style to sweat about anything, I 
can't help but get a bad feeling about this.  I mean, this guy ain't 
just no cheap street walker or bumb - he's a fucking millionare.  
There were going to be people looking for him and shit.  I keep on 
getting these ideas of choppers circling our building, and Boy 
Wonder's face being plastered all over the news with a big REWARD 
caption under his shit-eating grin.  The worst part is, I know it's 
not just the paranoia talking.

	 I'm thinking now wouldn't be such a bad time just to make a 
break for it and head for the Bronx or something.  Just leave the guy
in the closet and let fate decide whether he lives or dies.  Hell, 
why should I worry about it?  It's not as if we can throw him back 
now, he's seen all of us.  Rich dude like him will probably make sure
we all fry for pulling a stunt like this.  I take a deep drag of my 
cig, debate with myself if I should take another Glory pill.  But I 
decide against it, I got work in about an hour, and having two of 
those suckers in one day is enough to make a guy OD.  Not that that 
would be such a bad thing.

	 "He's rich, I say we ask for some _ransom_," Jay said, making 
me snap out of it for a moment and come back to our shithole of an 
apartment.  "I bet we can get at least a mill."

	 I have to laugh at that, "You kidding me?  This is Shane 
McMahon - his father's loaded.  We can ask for ten times as much - at
least.  Not that we should do this crap.  Fuck, is that why you 
brought him here, Jay?  Dude, you're more messed up then I thought."
Maybe Jay's kidding.  I take a closer look at that wild eyed look he 
gets sometimes.  Then again, maybe not.

	 I'm thinking I shouldn't of said that about the money, I can 
practically see the dollar signs go off in their eyes like those 
stupid cartoons.  We all want to get out of this hellhole, I bet 
they're thinking good ol'Shane in the hall closet is the way.

	 Saddie giggles her giggle, "Let's do it!" she said, "It'll be 
fun."

	 Fun isn't the word to use in a situation like this, Saddie 
babe.  "This ain't the movies," I said.  "How many times have you 
read in the news about kidnappers getting away with ransom and shit?
Those bastards ALWAYS get caught."

	 "Not always," Jay said.  "Come on, dude - really - what do we 
have to lose?  Look around you Jacks, it don't GET no worst then 
this.  I say we just do it.  Come on, man...you in or out?"

	 Taking an angry puff of my smoke, I steal a glance at the hall 
closet, the dude really COULD be dead.  Then again, if he wasn't - 
this really was a great way to get some major green.  I didn't want 
to blow it.  If we played this right, hell - we might even get away 
with it. 

	 Saddie and Jay were watching me, waiting for ME to make the 
goddman choice.  I shrugged, stubbed my cigarette out in half a crust
of pizza.  "What the hell?  Let's do it."

	 It's enough to set them off, they start cheering and whooping 
all over the friggin' place, and Jay goes over to the closet to check
on our investment.  I guess it was about two seconds after he opened 
up the door that I realized maybe we were in for more then we 
bargained for.

	 At first, all I see is this black blur, and next thing I know 
Shane's flyin' out of that closet and landing the most sickest lookin'
spear on Jay I've ever seen.  I mean, the guy's neck snaps back like 
it was made of tissue paper and he is just planted in the wall behind
him.

	 And now I'm thinking that Shane must not of been sleeping in 
that closet this whole time after all, it must of taken a damn lot of
patience to get his feet out of that plastic tie.  Somehow, his tied 
hands are now in front of him too, and he's making a break for the 
door.

	 I know I should probably try to stop him or something, but 
when Saddie jumps on his back like a human knapsack, I just light me 
another cig and sorta sit back and watch.  It's really kinda funny 
actually, crazy girl.  She holds on to his hair tight and wraps her 
legs around his waist;  Shane doesn't seem to be doing to well.  I 
gotta laugh at that, dude's fightingfor his life, but he can't bring 
himself to hit a woman.

	 Deciding it'd be better if I just put both of them out of their
misery, and that I should stop this before Jay comes around and kills
good little Shaney on the spot, I go over to the utility drawyer in 
the kitchen and get the .44 caliber.  Aim at Shane good and straight 
so he knows I mean business.

	 "Hold it right there, Mr. McMahon.  Now is that any way for a 
guest to behave in someone's home?" I smile around my cigarette before
flicking it to the floor where it joins the other butts and litter.  
"Get off him, Sad, I got it covered."

	 She whacks him on the head once before unlocking her legs from
around his waist and going to check on her brother.  Shane looks at me
with a mixture of fear and anger, I'd be intimidated if I wasn't 
holding a damn gun to his face.

	 For a moment, I'm tempted to shoot, I've never killed anyone 
before and I think it could be a pretty cool high in on itself.  And 
hell, killing Shane McMahon would be pretty damn sweet.  In our 
building, no one would call the cops over the shot either.  Fuck, they
probably wouldn't call the cops if they saw us dragging Shane's 
carcass down the hallway.

	 But I don't kill him, he's no good to us dead, and between the
two bastards lying on the floor and this fucking prick looking at me 
like I was dinner, I can't quite bring myself to pull the trigger.  A
part of me even respects the guy, here he is in a no win situation and
he still manages to look like he has some control in the matter.

	 As I think about what I can do with him, I realize that 
sticking him in the closet now would be a bad idea, who knows what 
kind of shit is in there that he could use as a weapon and I'm not in
the mood to play cleaning maid and empty the rat hole out.  So I tell
him to go over to the couch instead, dude actually has the balls to 
think about it for a while before doing it.  I'm guessing it might be
a while before the Rich Punk learns who's really in charge here.

	 I'm pretty sure it's me.



					~~~~


	
	 Watching Jay hiss and snarl for an hour an half has me thinking
that going to work today isn't such a hot idea.  That little ‘coming 
out of the closet' stunt that Shane pulled on Jay did not earn him any
brownie points with the twin, and now I can see that Jay is itching to
plant his fists in Shane's nice little face.

	 Saddie is crooning and fussing over the goose egg on the back 
of her brother's head, touching it with the tips of her fingers and 
planting dry, open mouthed kissed on the greasy and matted hair; her 
eyes flicking between me and Shane-O.  She doesn't say it, but I can 
tell she thinks that her brother getting clobbered is just as much my
fault as it is McMahon's.  Like _I_ could of fucking predicted that 
the kid would pull a stunt like that, like it was my idea to kidnap 
him in the first place.  But that's Saddie for you, there's no arguing
with her version of logic.

	 As the twins continue to feed off each other's insanity, I turn 
away to study our guest with renewed interest.  Shane McMahon, in my 
pad.  My hostage, my bitch.  I could plant a bullet in his skull right
now, right between those pretty brown eyes of his.  Although I never 
thought myself to be a murderer per say, I'm pretty sure I would enjoy
it.  After all, Shane McMahon is...well, Shane McMahon.  The arrogant
prick on Monday Night RAW, the bastard that has all the answers, 
someone who has life by the balls.  Someone I wish I could be.

	 I have to smirk though, I have to laugh.  He's not such fucking
hot shit now, is he?  Scared and hurt and at _my_ mercy.  Sitting on 
my couch, looking up into MY eyes, gritting his teeth in pain and 
fucking waiting for ME to do something.  He's helpless, a puppy. To 
quote the man himself: the power is intoxicating.

	 Lighting another cigarette, I walk over to him casually, 
letting him know that I'm in no rush to deal with him, that he doesn't
faze me one bit.  He might be able to get a rise out of the Twins, but
he damn sure is going to know that he can't fuck with me the same way.
I lean down a bit to get into his personal space, let the tip of my 
gun rest lightly against his chin - a barely there touch.  But with a 
gun, I guarantee you that he feels every bit of it and then some.  
Trust me, I speak from experience.

	 "So, you're Shane McMahon."  I give him another once over, let 
him squirm just a little bit under my gaze.  Oh, he's feeling the gun,
his eyes are _shifting_ and I have to play with him; test that 
bravado.  "How much would you say your life was worth?"

	 He doesn't answer, but I didn't really expect him to.  His 
adam's apple bobs up and down a little under the skin of his throat, 
his eyes are fixed on mine, but his lips remained sealed and I can 
hear him breathing through his nose.  Feel the small puffs of breath.
I wonder what he would do if I put my hand over his nose, over his 
mouth.  Maybe I'll find that out later, but right now - I want him to
talk to me.

	 "Answer me," I push the gun a little harder under his chin.  
"How much is your life worth?"

	 I feel his jaw push back against the gun as he opens his mouth
to speak, his eyes never wavering from mine.  "My father won't pay 
ransom," he snarled, "He'd never give into scum like you."

	 Okay, so that takes me just a teensy bit off guard, and I can 
hear Saddie pouting again in the background.  "You're saying your old 
man wouldn't pay for your life?"

	 A muscle in his cheek twitches, "That's what I'm saying.  He 
won't deal."

	 "Then I guess you're worth nothing, huh Shane?"  I take a step 
back, throw a look over my shoulder and take a moment to enjoy a set 
of crestfallen looks before shrugging.  "I say he's full of shit, 
Vince'll pay whatever the hell we ask for - we just gotta ask right.
Show ‘em we're serious." 

	 Jay rubs the bump on his head, throws a fierce look Shane's 
way.  For Shane's part, he doesn't seem to care.  "And how do we do 
that, Jacks?  Huh?"

	 Before I can answer, Saddie giggles and skips over to the same 
hallway closet that Shane had been occupying for part of the night.  
There's sounds of rummaging and more giggling, before she skips back 
in, something red and shiny in her hand.  There's a glint of steel as
she holds up her prize proudly.  It's a pair of heavy duty bolt 
cutters, the silver jaws looking vicious in the dim apartment 
lighting.

	 "I got an idea," she said, almost shyly.  "We have to be nice, 
daddy probably misses his son.  How ‘bout a reunion?"

	 Like it always is between us, I have no fucking clue what she's 
talking about while her brother seems to be on the exact same wave 
length.  He lets out a howl, half wolf, half laugh.

	 I take the bait, "A reunion?  What do you mean, baby?"

	 "I say we reunite daddy with one of Shane's fingers."

	 That gets a nice little reaction out of Shane-O as I see him 
suddenly straighten from his seat on the couch, his whole body tensing
and eyes going wide, his fist clench tightly in his lap and I gotta 
smile a bit.  Or maybe I'm grimacing.

	 Knowing Saddie the way I do, I bet she's already hearing the 
crunch of bone and ripping of flesh, Shaney's screams.  I wonder if 
cutting off a finger will make blood spray or just...gush.  I can't 
say that I really want to find out.  But, girl does have a point - you
get a finger and a ransom note in your mail, that's bound to get your 
attention; and when playing a game like this - you can't afford not to
be taken seriously.  But still...I don't know if my gag reflex is 
strong enough for that sort of thing just yet.

	 "That's my girl," Jay coos to little sister, "I love the way 
you think.  Or maybe we should do something else.  Like his nose.  Or
an ear."  He brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck and throws 
another one of _those_ looks Shane's way.  "Or we can send his dick in
a zip lock bag."

	 Giggling, Saddie claps her hands together and gives her brother
a not so sisterly kiss on lips.  "That'll hurt."

	 Well, big fat no brainer you sick bitch.  "Fuck it you guys."  
All this talk is making a little more queasy then I want to admit.  
"You want a finger, we'll take a fucking finger - anything else will 
probably just kill the bastard anyway."  Shane doesn't look too 
relieved that I just saved him from getting his Corporate Grapefruits
picked off by the crazy twins, but I guess he's still hung up on the 
whole finger thing.

	 Saddie pouts ‘cause she's disappointed, and Jay pouts because 
Saddie's pouting.  "Get the ducktape out of the hall closet and a 
plastic bag to catch the blood," I love ordering them around.  I give
Shane my best smile, "The doctor is in."

	 As they scramble to get the stuff I want, I see Shane lick his 
lips and shift on the couch, his eyes dart around the room before 
finally resting on me as I watch him with a mix of amusement of pity.
It _is_ kinda funny after all.  And the pity, well - who the hell 
wouldn't feel sorry for someone neck deep in a situation like this?  I
figure he should start trying to deal his way out of this right now.

	 "Look..." he starts, and I smother my smile.  "Let's talk about
this." 

	 "What's there to talk about?  You already said that your father
won't deal with us, which says a fuck lot about your father I might 
add.  But I guarantee you Shane-O I don't care how big the stick up 
his ass is, if we send him your finger he sure as hell will deal.  And
maybe if he doesn't we'll keep sending him body parts until he does." 
I lean in good and close, but Shane doesn't back down an inch so I 
_make_ him back down by shoving the gun in his chest.  "You heard what
those crazy twins said, man, how long do you think I can control them?
If things don't go the way they want, they'll start carving you up 
like a Christmas turkey and fuck the consequences.  Better a finger 
then a nose, Shane-O."

	 He bit his lip and looked up the hall for a moment where Saddie
was rummaging in the closet again, then back up to the kitchen where 
Jay stood against the counter trying to get the lid off a bottle of 
prescription pills.  "My father won't deal, I meant it when I said 
that.  He sees it as giving in and that's just not in him to do, no 
matter how many body parts you send him.  But....I know someone who 
will." 

	 I give him a look to show him I'm interested, ease up on the 
gun just a little.

	 "You call my mother, tell her that you got me, maybe let me 
talk to her, and tell her to give Vince some story about how I'm 
staying with friends.  She'll pay you on the spot, for whatever you 
ask for and by the time Vince finds out you should already have your 
money."  He swallowed, "No fingerectomies involved."

	 I pretend to consider this for a while, letting him squirm.  
But really, I never had any intention of cutting anything off, but it
did get him talking didn't it?  Guys like this, very hard to outsmart,
but fear does amazing things to a person and right now I can tell that
Shane is feeling a lot of fear.

	 "Okay," I nodded a bit, "We'll try it your way.  But no funny 
business, you try anything and we'll just kill you on the spot and get
it over with.  Maybe nab Stone Cold Steve Austin instead."

	 Ha, sometimes I just crack myself up.



					~~~~



	 A rectangular piece of silver ducktape is covering Shane's 
mouth and there's also some wrapped tightly around his ankles.  No 
more closet for our boy, he's going to stay right where I can see him.

	 The twins are pissed that we're not going to cut the finger 
off, but they seem to be satisfied with the new plan, and now that 
Shane is completely tied down Jay gets in the occasional punch or 
kick without having to worry about our guest fighting back.  
Sometimes it's fun to watch Jay go off on someone, the guy can get 
pretty caveman when he wants to, but right now it's just getting on my
nerves so I leave the room and head for the bathroom.  A little early 
morning pick-me up sounds pretty good to me right about now. 

	 It's not everyday you kidnap a millionaire.

	 So it's when I‘m trying to decide between a hit of Brick's 
purple downers or orange highs that I catch sight of my reflection in
the medicine cabinet and have to stop to look, not because I'm such a
good looking guy but because every once in a while I get the need to 
study the stranger in the mirror.

	 It never fails to depress me, the thing I have become, the 
loser.  Too many drugs, too many close calls, and too many nights 
spent with the twins have changed me to a point where I am well beyond
hope.  I see the way people look at me.

	 I see the way Shane looks at me.

	 This kid, this punk that's never known me or seen me before 
today looks at me like he knows me.  He probably sees just another 
drug addict, a maniac, a nutcase.  It's just when I'm thinking to 
myself that he's wrong, that there's more to me then that, that I 
realize maybe there isn't.  Maybe I lost whatever I use to be twenty 
Glory pills and five liquor store robberies ago; I have a hard time 
remembering life before New Ville and the new me.

	 Something involving school and too short haircuts, I think.  A 
woman I use to call ‘mom' who would pack me peanut butter and banana 
sandwiches for lunch, tuck me in at night and sing me the theme song 
from "Gilligan's Island" to help me go to sleep.

	 Something involving coming home from school one day, and seeing
her in the kitchen.  Something involving blood...

	 I choke down another pill, wash it a bit with handfuls of luke
warm water but it's too late to try and stop myself from remembering.
Kinda funny how the mind works, I suppose.  It's yours, but has the 
nasty habit of turning against you; making you think things you don't
want to think about.

	 The cops were nice to the hysterical little boy when they came 
by later to find him standing a few inches away from mommy.  They 
wrapped him in a quilt from the couch and let him hold his teddy bear 
as they asked him questions he couldn't answer or really understand.

	 Do you know who did this?

	 Did any strangers come to the house before?  Anyone scare 
mommy?

	 Is there anyone you can stay with?

	 Where's daddy?

	 After being bounced around foster homes and orphanages, I got 
enough of that sort of crap and ran away from Adoptive Parents number
52 at 13 and just kept running ‘till I found a place to stay.  ‘Till 
I found Brick.  He was only 20 then, still with a spark of hope for a
decent life, but I was around first hand to watch that spark go out in
him.  Hell, I probably even helped a little.  Even so, Brick is the 
big brother I never had, he was always good to me.  I'm thinking I'll 
give him a call and ask him to come over, odds are he'll have a great 
plan for what we can do with Shaney and it'll give me an excuse to 
give him a cut of the ransom money if we ever get that far.

	 Casting my reflection one last look I leave the room to find 
the phone and as I pass the living room I try to drown out the sounds 
of the twins' laughter and Shane's muffled grunts of pain.  Not that 
it bothers me too much, I always was more of a Mankind fan.




					~~~~




	 "I called Brick, he's gonna bring some shit over and help us 
with this thing."

	 Jay don't seem to happy about this, not that I'm surprised, he
never really liked Brick all that much but he doesn't say anything 
because he knows what Brick is capable of.  He's one of the few people
that Jay and Saddie are actually afraid of.

	 I walk over to Shane, ruffle his hair and watch as he grimaces 
in pain, "Hear that, Shane-O?  We're bringing in the big guns for you,
baby."  When I pull my hand away, I frown when I feel something wet 
and sticky on the palm, and turn it up to inspect it with narrowed 
eyes.  It's blood, a whole lot of it.  Shane's eyes seem to dim a 
little as I stare at him hard before reaching out to grab him by the 
back of his neck.  I pull him close and inspect his head carefully, 
and surprise myself again when I make out a deep wound buried in tufts
of black hair.  The blood has clotted, slowing the bleeding, but a few
more hours of this and I don't think the Boy Wonder is going to be 
worth very much to us.

	 "Damn it, guys, what'd you hit him with, a fucking brick?"

	 "Toolbox."  Saddie bounces a little, gives a little girl pout,
"He fell down after that, but still got up."

	 I sneak another look at the kid and see that he's giving 
ol'Saddie a nice little death stare and swallow a chuckle.  I bet you
wish you hadn't been so easy on her now, huh Big Guy?  "Well, we gotta
patch him up - he's gonna die on us if we don't."

	 "You kidding, man?  If the pussy can't take a little hit to the
head, then what the hell is he doing being a wrestler?" Jay grabbed 
his sister's limp little hand and pulled her into the direction of the
door.  "Watch the chump, Jacks, me and Saddie's got some shopping to 
do.  Gonna grab some food and a few things for our pet."

	 Can't say I like the idea of being left to baby-sit but the 
idea of eating is real appealing, and Brick should be here soon anyway
so I just nod and let ‘em go without a word, reach past Shane for my 
pack of cigarettes.  Hope Shaney doesn't mind sharing a couch with a 
smoker.

	 Rolling the perfect cylinder between my fingers briefly before 
lighting it and taking a puff, I let myself relax for a moment and 
close my eyes, my head reclining back against the couch.  I hear and 
feel Shane rustling around beside me but ignore it, I'm not going to 
untie him anytime soon and I sure as hell am not up to making 
conversation with the guy. It's kinda neat watching him though.

	 His eyes are half-closed, I can tell he's fighting to stay 
awake - that hit to the head must hurt like a bitch, and he's sorta 
teetering in his seat.  He has a few new bruises and scrapes since I 
went to the bathroom and left him alone with the twins, and I wonder 
if he's having trouble breathing - not that I care all that much.  The
downers are kicking in and I'm feeling a little...detached.

	 I don't even realize that I'm talking until I see two brown 
eyes staring blearily at me.

	 "...match."  My voice is drifting in and out of my ears, and 
damned if I know if I'm making any sense.  Shane just continues to 
stare at me.  "You weren't bad, ya know?  Personally, I thought you'd 
suck, but it was pretty decent.  Well, fuck that - it was the best 
match of the night.  Not to say that the main even was all that bad -
never thought Austin would actually lose the title.  He's slipping, 
ain't he?  Well, guess it was just a matter of time."

	 Hmm...I wonder who moved that wall over there.

	 "....Foley.  Sick bastard, he is.  Then, I guess you already 
knew that.  Hey, what's the Undertaker like in person, I mean, is he 
really all undead and shit or is that just some stupid gimmick?  I 
always wanted to know."  Shane doesn't answer, and I start to get a 
little pissed at him but then I remember the ducktape that's over his 
mouth.  Oops, my bad, Shane-O.  I kinda wanna hear him talk now, but 
it seems like it'll be just too much effort to lift my hand to rip it 
off.

	 I giggle a bit, sounding more the twins then myself.  Maybe I 
can shoot that sucker off.  It'll probably take his lips with it, 
maybe a good part of his face but I'm sure he'll let loose a pretty 
little scream.

	 The look on my face must be pretty obvious because he sorta 
shrinks away from me, leans a bit towards the other end of the couch 
and blinks rapidly.  Shane, Shane, Shane...how do you get yourself 
into these situations?

	 I lean forward a bit, get a good look into those glassy eyes 
of his that get a little wide at my closeness.  He's got the whole 
puppy thing going for him, but he doesn't fool me.  I've seen the pit 
bull.

	 Shrugging, I reach out and rip the tape from his lips, and he 
groans.  But just a little.  "Tell me, Shane...who do you think is 
gonna be the next WWF champ?"

	 He licks his lips, blinks a few more times.  "Water?  Can I get
some...water?"

	 "Not now," I really don't want to get up.  "Come on, Shaney, I
bet you got the inside track.  Who's gonna take the belt from Hunter?"
My words are slurring now, that last bit came out like, _Whoz guna ake
huh bell from unter?_

 	Surprisingly, Shane understands me.  His voice sounds scratchy 
though, dry.  I'm thinking maybe I should get him his damn water.  
"No one.  Triple H's gonna be champ for as long as he wants."

	 "Can't say that surprises me.  What with you in his corner, the
fucking _owner_, I guess he could do that."

	 I like his answer, so I'm going to get him his stupid water.  
But I get sidetracked from the kitchen when the door suddenly opens 
and my good friend Brick is standing there, a shit-eating grin on his 
face and a bag thrown over his shoulder.

	 "Jackson!"  He's the only one that still calls me by my full 
name, the only one that can get away with it.  "How's it going, man?"

	 "It's going." I have to smile at my friend, he's one of the few
good things left in this town.  "How ‘bout you?  You still having 
problems with that Debb bastard?"

	 "Nah, I got it taken care of.  So, this is Shane McMahon...he's
bigger then I thought he'd be," Brick looks Shane over.  "Then again, 
I am more of a WCW fan."

	 I have to laugh at the face Shane makes.  "Don't sweat it, Boy
Wonder, there's just no accounting for taste.  Brick, what's the plan,
bro?  We're dying here, we can't deal with this shit."

	 "What's the idea so far?"

	 "Call up his moms, let him make some scared noises into the 
phone.  ‘Cording to Shaney, his pops won't deal with low life like 
us."

	 Brick gets a stern look, shakes his head.  "No fucking way, 
man.  Don't make any calls or shit like that, they have a way of 
tracing these things.  And don't let him talk either, he might be able
to signal them or something."

	 "He was out of it for the ride over, he doesn't even know where
he is."

	 "You sure ‘bout that?"

	 I start to say yes, but then I remember that stunt he pulled in
the closet.  Guess it would be a bad idea to start under-estimating 
the guy now.  "So what the hell are we going to do?"

	 "I got it covered," Brick reaches into his bag, pulls out a lap 
top and a Polaroid.  "We snap a few pictures, we scan them and e-mail 
‘em over to Titan or the WWF or whatever.  I can make it so they don't
trace it back to us."

	 We both look at Shane, and he looks back at us.  Suddenly, I'm 
tired.  Tired of this whole thing.  I don't feel like playing 
kidnapper anymore, it's all too much effort and I'm hit by an all too
sure certainty that it'll never work anyway.

	 "Maybe we should just let him go."  I throw my cigarette down, 
"Shit, I'm tired, Brick."

	 "He's seen us all now, we can't let him go."

	 Shane speaks up at this, I can see something in his eyes that 
you don't usually see here.  Fucking _hope_.  Idiot.  "I won't tell a
soul, I give you my word.  I promise."

	 "You word means jack shit."  Damn, I need to lie down or 
something.  "I - I.."

	 A hand comes down on my shoulder and pushes me over to the 
couch just in time because a moment longer and I'd of been flat on my 
face.  Brick's giving me a Big Brother Look, "You been taking Glory 
and downers again?"

 I don't really answer, but I must of said or done something because 
Brick shakes his head in a way that makes me feel bad ‘cause it's like
I let him down in some way.  Brick, man, I'm sorry...but I'm tired, 
dude.  Really.

	 "Crash for a while, Jackson, I'll watch your friend."  It takes
me a moment to realize he's talking about Shane, and then just a 
little longer before I fall asleep.



					~~~~


	 Every once in a while I get this dream, it comes whenever it 
feels like and damned if I know what it means.  Sometimes I get 
further along in the dream then usual, but I've never seen its end, I
hope I never do.  It's not a good dream.

	 I'm on a diving board and looking in a large pool of clear blue
water; I don't know what I'm doing there, I can't swim.  For some 
reason, I start jumping, higher and higher until I'm diving into the 
pool, the water surrounding me as I swim down deeper and deeper.  The
pool doesn't seem to have a bottom so I just keeping swimming 
downwards.  Breathing isn't really a problem, it doesn't even occur to
me while I'm down there, ‘cause in my dream, I'm Aqua Boy.

	 But then, like it usually does in dreams, things get...weird.  
The water's gets denser, thicker, like soup.  Then mud.  Then tar.  
Black and sticky and it's squeezing in around me and my arms and legs
are pumping slower and slower, and I can no longer see.  But I still 
keep going, deeper and deeper.  I don't think I'll ever stop.

	 The dream usually ends there.  I don't wake up with a scream, 
but sometimes I do scream afterwards, just for the hell of it.  Once 
in a while I'll dream longer, swim longer; one time, I saw a dim light
in the murky water.  But that's the farthest I've ever gotten in my 
reoccurring dream.

	 I don't ever want to reach the bottom.




					~~~~




	 First thing I see when I wake up are the twins, they're back 
from their little excursion and huddled at the kitchen table 
surrounding by fast food wrappers while Brick sits on the floor in 
front of the beat-up TV cruising the news stations.  Shane's nowhere 
to be seen and I'm not quite up to wondering or caring yet.

	 My feet rest where he had been sitting on the couch before, and
I blink away the last traces of sleep as I try to get the message to 
my feet that I want to stand.

	 "Mornin' sunshine," Brick doesn't even look at me while he 
talks.  "Welcome back to our world."

	 My grunt is less then comprehensible I'm sure.  I give up 
trying to stand, settle for just sitting up right instead.  "Where's 
whassisname?"

	 "He's...resting."

	 Resting?  Resting as in sleeping, or resting as in dead?  I 
look around the room, thinking maybe I missed him huddling in the 
corner or something.  Nope.  No Shane.  "Serious, guy, what did ja do
with him?"

	 "You shoulda told me about the car, man."

	 Now he's kinda lost me.  Car, what car?  "Car, what car?"

	 "Shane's car, dude.  The twins told me that it broke down out 
on Tellar street.  Shit, Jackson...the cops are probably looking for 
him now, they'll have a good idea where to start - and as soon as they
find his car there gonna be swarms of them washing down on this place 
like the fucking end of the world!  And it's too late to ditch it now,
someone must of seen it.  Let's just hope the scavengers got to it and
tore it up for scrap or hauled it off some place."

	 Leave it to Brick to think of all the little things.  I never 
even thought of that.  Well, not much we can do about it now, I 
suppose.  I still wonder where Shane is at though, his absence is 
making me a little nervous.  "What'd ya do with, Shane, man?  You 
shouldn't leave that dude alone.  He nearly broke Jay in half 
yesterday."  At least I think it was yesterday, just how long have I 
been asleep?  I've been known to pull some marathon snoozes...three 
days is my personal record.  Or maybe that isn't so much as SLEEP-ING
as it is CO-MA.

	 "He ain't doing nothing like that anytime soon."  Uh oh, 
Brick's got _that_ look on his face.

	 Saddie let's loose a high pitched screech from the table that 
could be a laugh, "Brick played rough with Shane."

	 Big Brother feeds her a french fry and smiles fondly at his 
little sister, "Right, Saddie, looks like Brick broke your new toy."

	 Fuck nervousness, I'm pretty much pushing the panic envelope 
now.  "What did you do, Brick?"  Oh man, I never should of gone to 
sleep.  Shit.  Fuck.  Shitfuck.  The last thing I need right now is a
dead body, the last thing I need is more guilt.  If I had another 
pill, if I was a little more high, I could join in on their fun but my
nap has completely dulled the edge on mojo.

	 Hell, wasn't it just a few hours ago I was wondering what it'd 
be like to kill that sorry bastard myself?  Amazing what a little 
Glory will do to a person.  Looking at Brick, I can tell he's had his
hand in the honey pot himself recently.  Like I said, Brick's a pretty
decent guy but he has this dark side to him too.  Dark even for our 
lousy town.

	 "You accusin' me of something, Jackson?" Brick settles on a 
local station, he still isn't looking at me.  He's squinting through 
the snow on the screen but the sound is good enough.  The volume goes
up just a notch.  "You...you thinking something?"

	 I lived with the guy most of my life, I'm not about to mess 
with him when he's like this.  "I was just wondering, Brick.  Nothing 
meant by it.  It's just..."

	 "Just _what_?"  Aw hell, he's looking at me now.  Hell.

	 "He's no good to us dead, man."

	 "I know that.  Relax, I didn't kill him or nothing.  But Saddie
did tell me about your plans to dice and slice the young McMahon."  
Brick smiles, and the television is glaring off his glasses so I can't
see his eyes, can't tell if he's fucking with me or not.  "I could of 
been a doctor you know, I'd probably of been good at it too."

 	I'm feeling a little queasy, a little light headed.  The twins 
and Brick are all looking at me now, like a hungry pack staring down 
their prey.  All of ‘em are fucking _smiling_.  "Tell me..."

	 "Shane's in the bedroom.  What's left of him."  Brick turns 
away, dismissing me, and I get to my feet.  I don't want to go in 
there but I can't stop myself from moving in that direction anyway;  
from walking down the dark hall where I can already smell blood and 
vomit.

	 I just keep swimming deeper.

	 What if he's dead?  Another one dead.  I don't think I can take
another one, I don't think I can handle that.  So much blood on my 
hands as it is, I can deal if it's my own, but if another fucking 
person dies in this damn rathole...

	 The door to the bedroom is open just a crack, and all I see is
blackness.  It's like a vacuum or something because I can feel it 
pulling me in, pulling me closer.  Damn, oh damn - death.  The stench
of death...tell me I'm just imagining things, tell me I'm being 
paranoid...tell me...

	 I walk in, close the door behind me, turn on the light.  And...
and...well, shit.

	 "Oh, Shane...Shane...don't be dead.  Don't be dead..." And just
like that I'm a sobbing mess, and I can't stop.  Just can't stop.  I'm
next to him, holding his bloody body in my arms, and I barely register
that he's moaning into his gag (a new one) , that his hands and legs 
are still tied up.  I'm choking on tears and I can't breathe.

	 Shane's dead?  Is Shane dead?  Do dead men moan?  I'm wailing 
right now, so I guess it's possible.

	 It's right when I'm rubbing his hair, getting my shirt damp 
with his blood and sweat that I realize it's the downers doing the
doing, and not really me.  Glory's gone, but those little purple 
downers I took a while ago are really starting to play head games with
me now - they're knocking me for a loop, that's for sure.  A small, 
somewhat sane part of my mind wonders if anything I do is even ME 
anymore, if I'm not just another drug addict after all.  I can't tell
where I start and where the drugs end.  Or is it where I end and where
the drugs begin?  Or is it...

	 I giggle.  I have more personalities then Mick Fucking Foley.  
Hey, maybe that's why I like that guy so much - someone I can relate 
to.  I'm still down though, ‘cause I'm still crying, still rocking 
Shaney back and forth.  Whatever part of him isn't as fucked up as me
right now must be terrified - he must be thinking I'm gonna take 
advantage of him or some messed up shit like that.

	 His ribs feel mushy, a little too soft under my hand.  
Definitely broken, and his right arm is bent in a really weird way 
too, awkward and sort turned back over his body.  A thin line of blood
is oozing out of his nose and ear, and I ain't no doctor, but even I 
know that can't be good news.  

	 I rip off the second gag, and pink foam bubbles ooze up out of 
his mouth.  Tisk tisk, sob sob.  I may be fucked up but my good buddy 
Shane here is FUCKED UP.  And maybe it's the downers talking, but I 
think I might just help him get out of here, I think I might help him
live.

	 He falls back onto the limp mattress when I let go, and I watch 
his head sort of roll around on his shoulders as it settles onto the 
flat pillow underneath.  He's not exactly unconscious, but he ain't 
awake either.  His eyes aren't open but instinctively I know he knows
I'm here.  Me.  Not Brick, not Saddie, not Jay.  Me.  For some reason,
that kinda gives me a little bit of something.  What, I don't know - I
just know it ain't exactly bad so I go with it.  Even go so far as to 
lean over him a bit, whisper in his ear, "Shane...if you die, I die.  
That's the way it is.  I'll get you outta this, buddy."

	 Geezus...I must be stoned, but at least the downer is wearing 
off.  I lumber over the drawer on the left side of the bed, open it 
and sort through the various pill bottles and little vials.  I 
remember it being here yesterday, or was that the day before?  It was
definitely not today, but it coulda been here tomorrow...or maybe...

	 I find what I'm looking for, salvation in a little brown pill.  
But not my salvation, this is good ol'Shane's.  Pain 
killer/hallucinogen...this will take Shane's mind off the pain for a 
while and bring him to a place with wonderful pink butterflies and 
happy/scary things. 

	 Pushing the pill in between limp, dry lips, I snag a glass of 
water from the john and help him swallow, nod in satisfaction when he
does. "That's it, kiddo - saddle up.  You're outta here."




					~~~~




	 Sobriety is hitting me hard just as Shane is riding his trip.  
I'm vaguely aware of the TV sounds down the hall muffled by the door 
as I lean against it.  I don't want any of the other guys coming in 
here, for some reason, this is personal for me.  I want to see Shane 
get high, I wanna get a hint as to what someone like him sees when 
their doped up like someone like me. 

	 For some reason, I remember the fourth grade now, remember it 
something fierce.  A cop coming to the school with a flat black 
briefcase and a bagful of information pamphlets.  The case had been 
full of drugs, labelled and categorized for legibility.  He had spent
over an hour with us, talking about which drug did what and how it was
illegal and wrong and bad.  I just remember thinking that anything 
that could make you see things that weren't there couldn't be all that
bad.  That mushrooms were vegetables, and mommy always said eat your 
vegetables, so magic mushrooms must of been even better then the 
regular ones.

	 Hell, I still think that.

	 Shane's making soft humming noises under his breath now, and I
stand slowly, stumbling enough that I think I might just fall down if
I don't walk a little slower.  But the shakes aren't going to go away
until I get my next fix, so I half fall, half sit on the bed next to 
Shane, look down into his eyes as he tries to focus on something only
he can see.  He's looking at me, but he's not really seeing me, I 
know.

	 "Dad...?"

	 My answer is to reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table,
to light it with shaking hands.  The burnt out match falls onto the 
bedspread next to Shane's cheek and lets loose a small grey thread of
smoke. 

	 "You never listen to me anymore...I'm sorry, daddy - I tried to
get good on the test, but there was this game...I wanted to study, 
really...Hardcore sucks, I can't believe you haven't fired him yet.  
Potential my ass, I could take him any day of the ... You love Stephie
more then me, don't you?" 

	 He goes on for a while longer before finally drifting off into 
a weird set of hums and chirps - one of us is fading in and out of 
reality but damned if I know who it is.  Shane-O's not making much 
ense right now and I'm starting to see black dots in front of my 
eyes.  I teaf off some of Shane's water and contemplate the _candy_ 
drawer.  But no, I take anything now and Shane-O's as good as dead.  
I'm thinking I should care now ‘cause I sure as hell won't care later;
more likely I'll be joining in with Brick and the twins the next time 
they decide to play with the pet.  And probably enjoying it.

	 "Shane - you should never of gotten out of bed...two days ago?
Yeah, that sounds about right.  Two days.  ‘Cause you are f-u-c-k-e-d
fucked man.  Something severe.  Even if you do get out of this the 
term ‘scarred for life' comes to mind, bro.  Sorry ‘bout that man, got
to apologize for the lack of hospitality New Ville has showed you - 
but if it makes you feel any better, you're the first person we've 
ever actually tried to kidnap.  Usually it's just a mugging, beating,
torturing thing.  Not even rape dude.  Hey, I'm not a fag and either 
is Jay - Saddie'll never be allowed near another man if her brother 
has anything to say about it.  Guess you and Jay have something in 
common with that, huh?  The whole over-protective brother thing.  
‘Course, I'm guessing Jay and Saddie are a little different from you 
and your little sister.  Then, maybe not.  Ever play doctor as a kid, 
Shane?  Saddie and Jay did...but they probably used real scalpels..."

	 Eyes I can hardly see in the dark blink open and look in my 
direction, but I don't think Shane can really see me.  He's probably 
all light and dark and there's no place like home right now - floating
somewhere over the bed and watching this happen with an anvil tied to 
his feet not letting him completely lift through the roof and oh fuck 
I wish I could do that too but I can't because it'll kill him and I 
can't kill another one I can't I can't...

	 We don't have a first aid kit, it'd be the practical thing to 
have but no first aid kit for us.  So I end up patching him up with 
strips of old t-shirts and safety pins.  I splint up the arm like I 
saw on TV, and I wrap the head just so it'll stop bleeding; not a damn
thing I can do about the ribs though, not my forte.  He's breathing a
little funny, not exactly hard, but all pinched and painful...the pill
is masking the pain nicely though, he's lovely-like stoned.

	 After a while he starts talking again, and maybe it's because 
I'm paying attention or he's already flying down down down, but he 
makes a little more sense this time around.  He looks and talks to me,
but I'm not what he sees.  He doesn't see daddy either.

	 "I'm thinking about quitting...so much trouble.  I can't...
can't...too much stress.  I like the job, I like the business, but 
there's too much...I'm so tired..."

	 Well, yeah, pal...aren't we all?

	 "But I can't quit, ‘cause I got...re-re-respons-spons...duties
to take care.  Of.  Gotta make dad proud, gotta make him ... p-roud. 
And ladies and gentlemen welcome to Sunday Night Heat!  We got a great
card up for tonight...whaddya say, Kev?  Undertaker in a Love Her Or 
Leave Her match against Taka Mitchu Noki...Taki Mitchy Niko...Taka...
something.  It's going to be a slobberknocker!"

	 Ladies and gentlemen we now return you to your regularly 
scheduled Life Or Death situation, already in progress...

	"...off the TOP-ROPE!  But no!  Oh, Killer Kelly...it doesn't 
look like he's gonna pull this one off, the odds are just stacked 
against him.  Taka has heart but he doesn't have the grapefruits to 
stand down the Phenom...the Undertaker is taking him out of the game!
Chokeslam and piledriver!  Yeah, yeah, yeah...come on ‘Taker baby!"

	 Cheering for the bad guy, how typical.  Then again, I guess 
Shane is one of the bad guys himself, at least he was in his world.  
But here, we're the bad guys.  The bad guy's bad guy is the good guy's
friend, right?  Sorta like the enemy of your enemy is still a fucking
BASTARD ‘cause why the hell should there BE any enemies and damn it I
want a fucking PILL!  I want a pill because I don't like this dark 
room in New Ville, I want a pill because I don't like realizing I'm 
me and that I don't like me but I can't get away from me, I want a 
pill because of all those BASTARDS in the living room eating bad fast
food and laughing about how much they hurt Shane.  I want a pill 
because Shane is REALLY starting to scare me, his ribs are just so 
fucking..._soft_, and he won't stop talking and I can't stop listening
and I can't help but think that every God damn thing he's saying is 
some damn metaphor or something.  Where the hell did I learn a word 
like ‘metaphor' anyway?  Shit, I want a pill because I think I'm 
crackin' up.

	 "Wellllll...it's the BIG SHOW..." Shane chuckles a bit, and I 
have no idea what he's laughing at.  That stupid song, this situation,
himself, me.  He wouldn't laugh at Brick though, no one laughs at 
Brick, ‘cause Brick's a bad ass, and Brick's the candy man, and 
Brick's just...Brick.  And how the hell did Brick find his way into my
thoughts now anyway?  Shit. 

	 "...it's the BIG BAD SHOW tonight!  Wellll..."  Shane's sudden
coughing fit chokes off the rest of the song and that's really too bad
because I kinda forgot how the rest of it went, and I can see 
something dark and splotchy coming out of his mouth and I know right 
away it's blood.  You live where I live most of your life and you know
blood when you smell it, like apple pie in mom's kitchen.

	 I feel it spray my hand where it's sitting on the bedspread 
next to him and I wonder briefly how sick it would make me if I licked
it off or sucked it straight out of Shane-O's mouth.  But of course I 
don't, I just sorta wipe it on the sheets and help Shane drink his 
water; I figure if I was into doing stuff like that I could of traded
Shane here in for a member of the Brood.  Maybe Edge, he seems like a
cool guy.  A Molson with his Type A negative kind of guy.

	 "Oh shit...Rod, Rod...I'm in trouble.  Posse up guys and help 
me, shit...Pete?  Is that you?"  He still isn't talking to ME, but for
the first time I get the feeling he wants some sort of answer.

	 "Sure, Shane, it's me."

	 "Oh good, oh man...I'm in a bad way, pal, you gotta get me 
outta here.  There are some psychos out there and they keep hitting me
and I can't run because they've tied me up with the ropes from the 
ring.  Shit, dad's going to be mad that they took the ring apart, 
Pete...don't tell him I said they took the ring apart, okay, man?  But
something hurts inside, a lot.  I can't really breathe, but that's 
okay, right?  Do I have to breathe, I think I forgot how?  Breathing 
shouldn't hurt, should it?  I think I'm doing something wrong, ‘cause
it's hurting right now.  And my arm...that bastard Mankind is gonna 
pay Corporation style for breaking my arm...you make ‘em pay."

	 Another cigarette goes to my mouth and as I light the match I 
get a brief glimpse of just how messed up our guest really is and have
to look away.  "Make ‘em pay," I say agreeably.  "You got it Shane."

	 "My posse, I knew I could count on my posse...you guys are 
great, all of ya.  You've gotten me out of hairier situations then 
this, right?  I'm counting on you, I know you'll get me out of this
..."  Shane's voice drifts off and he's silent for a good three 
minutes, blinking and moping up at the ceiling.

	 "Ladies and gentlemen!"

	 The break in quiet makes me jump and I see Shane's lips moving
but no sound is coming out so I gotta lean in real close to hear what
he's saying.  "...the ref has called for the bell...this...this one 
is OVER!"




					~~~~



	 I've given in and taken another damn pill.  Fuck me, I know but
I couldn't help myself and now I'm just sitting on the floor next to 
the bed waiting for it to kick in and take over.  Shane's gotten quiet
again and I've gone nice guy on him by ripping the ducktape off his 
wrists and ankles.  He ain't going anywhere, his fate was sealed when
his car broke down two days ago.

	 For the past two or three hours I've listen to him talk to me 
like I was someone he knew or even cared about.  His father, that's a
reoccurring one, his mother, his sister, some chick who's name sounds
like ‘Melissa' but not quite, his Greenwich Pussy friends and even 
Stone Cold Steve Austin; but for that one I was mostly just yelled at.

	 When he starts talking again he says a name I never thought I'd
hear come out of his mouth: my own.

	 "Jacks...?"

	 It's said softly, a barely there voice that just manages 
graduate to whisper.  There's no hostility, just confusion, he says my
name like he said Pete's and Rodney's.  Not like his father's.  I 
stumble up a bit, sit on the edge of the bed again and hover over his
face so he can see me.

	 "Yeah?"

	 "Let me go."

	 "Can't."

	 His expression changes a little and I see his head roll on the 
pillow as he tries to look away, but too many beatings and too many 
sore muscles make that impossible and he grimaces at the effort.  
Twinges of emotions that are already slipping away from me touch and 
tangle inside, and I sit back a little to watch him, to wait for more.

	 As I wait I notice how damp the mattress has gotten with his 
blood, how the smell is now a permanent fixture in the room.  I notice
that his breathing is now no longer laboured as it is...pushed.  
Struggled with to be released from within his mangled chest and 
bruised mouth.  His eyes seem...odd.

	 "You gave me something..." he groans a little, and now I do 
hear the accusation in his voice and it bothers me a little more then
I thought it would.  "...Jesus, the walls are fucking _breathing_, 
Jacks."

	 "Yeah, they do that."

	 He might of laughed then but I can't be too sure, maybe the 
walls are doing more then just breathing.  And uh oh...here we go!  
The wave is coming down.  A purple pill wave...Or is it an orange pill
wave?  What did I take again?  I don't remember.  Oh well, in a few 
minutes it won't matter...

	 "I forgot to turn off my computer...at Titan.  Stupid of me, 
Jenny won't turn it off because she never goes into my office, not 
even when I'm there...she thinks it's sacred or something, needs to 
sacrifice a fucking jobber at my desk first.  Sweet girl and a total 
glacier.  Beautiful and cold, but with nothing below the surface.

	 "I forgot to take my car into the shop last weekend too.  But 
it's just...the engine had been making the clunk clunk noise for so 
LONG, you know?  I got use to it, barely recognized it as a problem 
until the clunk clunk became a clunk BANG and I was on the side of the
street unable to get the damn thing to go again.  It was a scary 
neighbourhood too, man, you live in a place that's bad, very bad.  I 
was scared, but it was a nervous scared and not a worried scared.  I 
didn't really think anything could happen to me.  Not to me.

	 "Those two fucked up friends of yours, they seemed okay at 
first.  It didn't take me long to realize that she was crazy and that
he wasn't much better, but they didn't seem like a threat exactly.  
She was dancing on the sidewalk, Jacks, fucking _dancing_.  This may 
sound weird to you, but it's been a real long time since I've ever 
seen anyone actually dance at all, and it was kinda fun and funny to 
just watch her for a while.  Dancing, Jesus.  He smelt like beer and 
that sweet smell I remember from Boston U fraternity parties, he 
didn't dance though.  He strutted and swayed and the fucker _pounced_
on me but he didn't dance.

	 "I didn't scream, or beg, or shout.  That's not me, and I don't 
think I could ever be something that does do all those things.  Would 
it of made a difference anyway, Jacks?  If I had called out for help 
would anyone had come to my rescue?  Don't answer that, I know.  They
didn't have a gun, I guess I always thought it would take at least a 
gun to get swung ass first into a situation like this.  But a few hits
with something really hard, and a few kicks while I was down and I 
wake up in my own personal Hell with three...no wait, _four_ homicidal
maniacs.  I keep waiting for my posse to show up, in fact...weren't 
they here a moment ago?  I could of _sworn_..."

	 His voice drifts off and I'm left a little bit numb.  No one 
should be able to talk that much or be that comprehensible with the 
shit I got him floating on.  His little bedtime story makes me feel 
bad and I have to reach out and put a hand on that chest of his, have
to _push_ just a little...

	 A hard, choked sound comes out of his mouth and his right hand 
rises up to try and swat my hand away but it doesn't move nearly fast
or far enough.  I move it away anyway, sit and watch and wait and 
smile.

	 "Jacks...help me get out of here."

	 And who is he, I wonder, who is he to think that I could help 
him when I can't even help myself?  I'm just as trapped here as he is 
but it's a different kind of trapped.

	 Suddenly, I have the urge to tell Shaney a little story of my 
own.
	
	 I push the night table and a dirty (icky) hamper  in front of 
the door.  It won't be enough to stop anyone if they _really_ want to
get in, but it's enough of a deterrent to give me confidence to be 
able to go on.  ‘Cause you see, I think I have a little Master Plan
of my own forming.

	 Maybe me and Shane can get out of here together.

	 Death seems like such a pretty thing right now.  Such a shiny, 
perfect, pretty thing.  As pretty as Shane's blood, as pretty as the 
moonlight slicing through the darkness of the bedroom floor.  So 
pretty I want to share it.

	 But not before I finish.

 "You must think you're the unluckiest guy in the world, Shane," I 
start, touching the side of his face with my fingers.  "But I can 
think of at least three other people in this apartment that might give
you a run for the money for that title.  You're not in Kansas anymore
Shane, this is somewhere else completely."  Duh on that Jacks, you 
feeling all right?  "Is Kansas close to Greenwich?  Never mind, not 
important.

	 "You know how old I am bro?  18.  Probably look a lot older, 
huh?  I sure as hell feel a lot older, but then I guess there's good 
reason for that, the way I see it I've lived a good...six, seven life-
times.  Time has a way of slowing down when you're stoned.  Or scared.
And I've been scared for a long time, Shane.

	 "But wrestling helps take that fear away you know, I really dig
RAW, it's a good show.  Reality but...not.  See, the way I see it, 
nothing on TV is really real.  Not to me anyway.

	 "Test is a prick, I'm glad you beat his ass so severely at 
SummerSlam, even if I don't like you much either, and like I said 
before:  you impressed me.  Which is weird, ‘cause I thought I was no
longer the type of person that got impressed with anything.  So you 
impressed me by impressing me, Shane-O."  And there's that urge again,
to touch him where it hurts, to add to that hurt.  So I do, and he 
moans and it doesn't make me smile but I do it again anyway.

	 "Jacks..."

	 "Shhh," and just like that the question is dead before it hits
the air between us.  "I was about 16 when the twins brought in some 
poor bastard off the streets in January.  He was a homeless guy, 
covered in snow and shit and road slime.  He _stank_ and he was 
_hungry_.  The twins were hungry too, I had figured out too late that
they were insane, too late to get away from that hunger."

	 Someone knocks on the door and calls my name, but I ignore it 
and reach out to open the drawer underneath the one with all the sweet
stuff in it.  Don't reach in but let myself get ready to.

	 "Saddie liked his hair, it was pretty cool hair, I guess.  It 
was red and brown and blonde and way too nice for some homeless guy's
hair.  Saddie washed it, cut it, styled it.  She played with it for a
long time, even after he was dead and his corpse was stinking up this 
very bedroom.  I tried to save him, I did.  I begged with the twins, I
begged with Brick, I didn't want the guy to die because I was just so 
_close_ to it.  Another random death of some nobody on the street, I 
can deal with that sort of stuff, but when it happens in your pad by 
people you know...you feel responsible.  And I was responsible, there
_was_ stuff I could of done I guess, although they were really those 
options that aren't really options then actual options.  Get what I 
mean?

	 "Sorta like to escape from the handcuffs you can rip off your 
thumb, like that guy on the X-Files, but you can't _really_ do 
something like that.  An option that's not REALLY an option.  I could
of called the cops on the twins and Brick, I could of knocked them out
from behind and ran with the bum, but again...an option that's not 
really an option.

	 "So he died.  Died here, died while I was watching.  His pain 
was almost as nice as yours Shane."  His chest is _heaving_ now, his 
eyes are wide but dull with loss of blood and I put my hand out again,
put it on his chest...._push_.  I wait to see if he'll say my name 
again, but he doesn't.

	 The knock at the door comes again, a little louder and a little
more insistent.  Who's ever on the other side doesn't say my name 
again either.  I reach into the drawer, let my hand settle on what I 
find there but I don't pull it out just yet.

	 "Guilt hurts, Shane.  It hurts a lot.  I don't know what kind 
of guilt you know, but this guilt has been eating me up inside for the
past two years.  Eating me alive.  Not good.  Ungood."  My fingers 
play with the buttons of Shane's shirt, his bluish red shirt.  "I 
still see his face, see his hair.  Your blood looks like his blood."

	 Shane is _moving_ now, just a little but it's enough to 
temporarily stupefy me.  Damn, I just keep under-estimating the kid, 
don't I?  And he _is_ a kid.  I don't care if he _is_ older then me, 
he's just a baby.  A hurt, bleeding, moving baby that I have to just 
stare at for a while because I didn't think _anyone_ had this kind of
fight in them.  Is he trying to run?  To attack?  He said he wasn't 
one to scream or beg, but I don't _quite_ believe him...could be 
nothing but macho locker room talk.  Everybody screams once in a 
while.

	 "No more blood...doesn't have to be..." his voice drifts off 
and he frowns as if confused as to where the rest of his sentence 
went.  "Jacks?  Pete?  Rodney?"

	 I think I sigh then, I'm not sure.  I take the thing out of 
the drawer that I had been holding.  Another shiny, pretty thing.

	 The sound of police sirens just barely register with me, the 
sound of the knocking and yelling on the other side of the door is 
even more distant.

	 "Shane...I can help you get outta here.  Outta this.  We can
run together."

	 Yeah, Shane wants me to, he's scared but he trusts me, I can 
tell.  I hold up the gun and smile at its strength.  Shane, my buddy, 
my friend in this hellhole trusts me.  A Forever Friend, ‘cause what's
more Forever then death?

	 "No..."

	 I don't think he means it.

	 "Jacks...stop, wait...don't."

	 Stop?  Shane...no time for that buddy.  The sirens, dude...the
fucking COPS man...

	 "You want outta here, I want outta here...let's go together."

	 "I don't suppose you mean you're gonna call me a cab?"

	 Click and the gun's safety is off.  "It'll be great man, I 
promise.  No pain where we're going."  And now that I know death is 
coming, I'm facing a new surreal kind of high that's better then 
anything I've ever felt before.  Peace, calm.

	 "Don't do it, Jacks...Jesus, don't make _me_ do it.  It doesn't
have to be like this, I .. " And again he's struggling, I can tell 
he's riding low his high now and things are just beginning to make 
sense.  He's trying to tell me something but he's not quite sober 
enough yet and things are still unclear.  It doesn't matter, things 
will be just fine soon.

	 I notice absently that his fingers are twitching and moving 
along the bloodstained sheets, making streaks and soft, wet sounds.  
"Shane, don't be afraid man, it'll be cool."

	 My hand moves to aim the gun but before I can even think about
pulling the trigger, I see his hand move to out of the corner of my 
eye.  After that, I can't be too sure of what happens.

	 But I do know his blood isn't all I see anymore, and something 
that kinda hurts is sticking out of the side of my neck.

	 "Jacks?  Oh man, I'm sorry..."

	 Sorry?  Shane, why are you sorry?  I'm finally getting out, 
dude.  And I think I might of fallen off the bed then because now that
thing in my neck really hurts and my hands move up to pull it out but
I don't really try too hard because the pain is too bad and I'm too 
out of it and I think Shane is still trying to talk to me.

	 "Shit, hold on man, shitshitshit..."

	 No way, Shane. No wa...




					~~~~




Epilogue


	
	 Beep.  Shane blinked.  Beep.  What the hell...

	 Beep, beep, beep, beep....

	 "He's awake."

	 Shane knew that he should be in pain, that he should be in that
place the doctors liked to call "the woods", but for some reason all 
he felt was a soft numb blanket of drowsiness and ... white.  That was
the only way he could find to describe it all, white.  Lots and lots 
of white.  Was it possible to feel colors?  He had heard about being 
blue or green with envy, but never white.  Giving a mental shrug, 
Shane blinked again and tried to focus on the blurry face that was 
looking down at him.  If he wanted to feel white, he would feel white,
damn it.

	 "Shane, how ya doin' buddy?  Joey, go call his parents, man."

	 "Pete, that you?"

	 "Yeah, yeah."  Pete smiled down at his friend, and tried not to
grimace.  "Whoa, it's good to see you, Shane.  We were all starting to
think the worst."

	 "Guess you weren't that far off the mark then, huh, Pete?"

	 Now Pete did grimace and shared a look with Rodney over the
hospital bed.  "We thought you were dead, Shane-O.  And even though 
you do look like shit and the doctor says you got a whole whack of 
things wrong with you at least you're _alive_ man.  And alive means 
you'll get better.  It was almost too late, the cops found your car 
but nobody in that damn neighbourhood would _talk_.  I guess they 
finally knocked on some right doors and tracked you down in time, 
Shane."

	 Shane groaned a little as the white began to gray, "Shit.  I 
wouldn't be so sure about that.  My chest freakin' hurts."

	 "You got a lot of broken and bruised ribs.  You've been in here
for three days now, in and out of it for a while.  This is the first 
time you've really woken up, they've kept you pretty drugged up."

	 At the mention of drugs, Shane felt something tickle the back 
of his mind.  "Jacks?  Where's Jacks?"

	 Rodney and Pete did that Look thing again.  "Jacks?  You mean 
one of the guys that was holding you prisoner in their fortress of 
solitude?"

	 "Yeah, JACKS, the youngest one."  The one guy that didn't beat 
the crap out of me, Shane thought to himself.  "I...Jesus...did I kill
him?"

	 Pete put a hand on Shane's shoulder, "It was self-defence, 
Shane.  You surprised everyone, if you hadn't...you'd be dead.  The 
doctors can't believe you had the strength at that point to...well, 
you know."

	 "He's dead?"  The word was choked out and Shane felt as if 
someone had dumped a bucket of ice-water on the bed.  "I killed him?"

	 "You had to," Pete's voice was stern, leaving no room for
argument, and Shane looked down at his hands to avoid his friend's 
eyes.  Dead.  He had killed Jacks?  The 18 year old kid that had, in 
his own twisted way, tried to help him?

	 "If he'd just waited...just a few minutes," Shane closed his 
eyes.  "Fuck, I should of tried to stall, _something_.  I heard the 
damn sirens, I knew they were close..."

	 "Stalling would of gotten you killed, bro," Rodney said with a
shake of his head.  "You did what you had to.  Screwdriver to the neck
...guy, how'd you...?"

	 Shane closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it and he 
thanked his two friends silently for understanding and letting it go.
"We're glad to have you back, Shane," Pete said sincerely.

	 "What about the others?  There were three others?"

	 "One of ‘em was killed when the police stormed the apartment, 
the other two are waiting for sentencing.  The cops say that they were
pretty messed up when they found them, trashed out of their minds or 
something.  Not only do they have ‘em up on assault and kidnapping 
charges but trafficking illegal drugs too."

	 He felt strangely empty at hearing that his kidnappers had been 
caught, that justice had been served.  Had he really killed someone?  
Really?  Shane looked down at the hand that had driven the screwdriver
into Jacks' neck.  It was pale and heavy, an IV tube ran into a vein 
on it.  It didn't look like the hand of a killer.

	 Jacks.  Young Jacks who was so totally fucked up but had 
listened to him and stuck to him, and had even helped him a little 
when he thought that he was completely alone with his own pain and 
hurt.  Jacks who was the only one of them that was still somewhat 
decent and had something human left inside of him.  Jacks, who he had
killed. _Killed_.

	 "I need to be alone now, please."

	 For a second it looked like Pete and Rodney were going to stay
anyway, but one look at Shane's resolved face changed their minds and
they nodded reluctantly.  "Okay, Shane-O, you rest up then."  Pete 
took his hand briefly and squeezed while Rodney gave his shoulder the
same treatment.

	 His friends walked out and Shane closed his eyes as the door 
closed.  He remembered Jacks putting the gun under his chin, 
threatening him, playing with him, that wild-eyed look that he'd get 
so often.  But at the same time he remembered how Jacks was there when
he needed it.  He'd just been dumped in that room like garbage, in the
dark and in pain and hardly able to breathe.  Then Jacks had come in 
and suddenly things weren't so bad because, shit, at least someone was
 _there_.  Someone who wasn't beating the hell out of him.  Jacks had 
kept him sane.

	 Near the end it had gotten pretty bad, pretty hairy.  Jacks 
wanted to kill him, to help him escape.  So he had used the 
screwdriver he had found while in the closet and tucked into his 
pants.  He could still feel the resistance that the skin on Jacks 
throat gave as he pushed the metal in, the look in the kid's eyes as 
he fell.

	 Shane had seen peace, calm, gratitude.  Fear.   Shane didn't 
feel any of it, he knew he wouldn't for a long time.

	 "Jacks, man, I'm sorry," he mumbled to the darkness.  "I'm glad
you got out."






=======
end