Treason in High Places

Scene I: Wessex, England - Lancastrian ancestral estate - Friday, July 18, 2003

So here I am now, sitting at home, on the sidelines, days before one of the biggest pay-per-view cards in CAL history.  I had been placed on the first ever CSWA "Takedown" houseshow.  I do admit I enjoyed the houseshow feel I have not had in years - the intimacy just isn't there with Wildfire.  And Americano is one hell of a competitor.  He took me to the limit, almost finished me off.  Still haven't quite gotten over that assault, but by some means of Fate I pulled off a win.

It has not quenched my desire to be on that goddamn show though.  I've told my pilot to be on standguard in case I have a sudden change of mind, and wish to be there, even if just in the stands.

Seamus notified me that he's off to Belfast soon, if not already, to return to the Old Country to baptize the wee lad Rebecca just conceived.  I would love to attend, but something within me just tells me not to do so.  I have no desire, save to attend the PPV perhaps, to leave my estate.

It's been several days since I've had anything whatsoever to do.  I had my birthday towards the end of June, and did not celebrate it whatsoever.  I received a call from both Jeff and Seamus, sending their best wishes, of which I could use all I could get.  Stephanie mailed me a picture Edward had scribbled with crayon as my birthday greeting, and that's all I wanted, and nothing frankly that she could have sent could have been better than that.

Getting to see Jeff, Seamus, and myself back on that stage, in that ring together, wearing Triumvirate t-shirts, was nothing short of magic.  We showed we still had what it takes to get the job done.  But now Jeff wears another t-shirt, one that I will never particularly care for: that of the Authority.  And I fear for the future.  If we should ever cross swords again, if there should ever arise a philosophical difference between us, I truly truly hope that war shall not result.  It did once though, and when the time is there for Jeff to take sides, if it ever arises, I cannot help but fear that he will side with those he feel are "good."  I have not been a good man always, but still, I did what I felt was needed.  I only hope he understands that, and that I can rely on him. But now, he must focus on another goal.  One more grandiose than I dare ever hope for, that of the World Heavyweight Championship.

A feat he tasted before, years ago though, against a man almost twice his size: eight feet tall of pure, maniacal evil; CWF President Thane Renhsuk's interpretation of Satan, the One in the Throne.  Somehow, this shot around meant more, at least in my mind.  I know he can take it.  I know he will take it, unless CKK pulls a miracle from his ass - something he is quite capable of.  But no matter the outcome, Jeff will have given his best.  And he did that recently when he teamed with us once more.

He, Seamus and I made our "return" as the Triumvirate, successfully, although somewhat dubiously - but hell in the day we weren't afraid to bend the rules - by defeating 187.  Luckily for Murray Monroe, he himself wasn't defeated after being stabbed in the back by some crazed persons down in Mexico, I believe.  I don't care for the son of a bitch, but there's no excuse for that, whatsoever.

Although I know all too well the feeling of being stabbed in the back, in this case, not physically.  Nevertheless.  

My suspicions about Simkins had not been raised since my return to Wessex, after the house show in Kansas.  I had many opportunities but I could not bring myself to stand there and unleash accusations against my closest confidante and against a man whom had pledged himself to the service of the House of Lancaster.

A glass or two of claret however should serve to bolster my resolve.

It's a rather dreary day in Wessex.  Clouds have rolled in off the sea.  Thunder rumbles, lightning strikes.  The wind blows the curtains aloft in the Grand Library, as the strikes of energy across the sky casts an eerie glow across the ancient tomes.

Simkins walks in, wearing his suit, shined shoes, his grey hair thinning only slightly at the sides, despite his elder age.  He closes the windows, stopping the rain from pouring in, as it had begun to just then.

The light of the few candles I had lit just in case danced across the walls, as the flames in the fire place crackled amongst the ticking of the Grandfather clock, as it had done so for the last two centuries and more.

Absorbing all the sounds and visuals, I felt the building of my ancesters come to life.  The portrait of my father called out to me to find the truth, to defend our name, to clear the air, even if my actions had done irreparable damage to our family.

"Be a man you little bastard.  Do all you need to do.  Show mercy when necessary, be ruthless at all other times."

The clock struck seven PM as another lightning bolt cracked across the black skies of rural England.

"Simkins," I called holding my wine glass.

He turned around and walked forward as I sat in my leatherback chair.

"Did you reveal my adultery with Christine to the tabloids."

He raised an eyebrow.

"That your Grace is a question I believe you would not rather have the answer to."  He nodded his head and turned to walk away.  I stopped him immediately though.

"Simkins over four decades ago you swore loyalty and service to the House of Lancaster.  You will answer my question or I shall have no choice but to dismiss you."

He turned around once more, a serious look in his eye.

"Your Grace."

"Simkins," I said smugly and contemptuously.

"What you accuse me of, I must confess to.  Along with other, what you may call, treasons."

I could not believe what I had just heard.

"Did you cost me my marriage."

"Perhaps," he responded without showing an iota of emotion.  "What I did I was compelled to do.  For the good of yourself, your son, your wife."

I frowned.  "And who are you to judge what is best for me, or us, or my family."

"Because I dare say I know you better than you know yourself, your Grace."

Pompous son of a bitch.  Yet he was so confident in what he said, in what he believed - more than I can say about myself.

"Tell me.  All of it.  I want to know all you did."

"If you wish."  He sighed and began.  "I, sir, suggested to her Ladyship that she test your fidelity to her by having a certain waif seduce you while in Las Vegas."

My eyes grew wide.  "Kathy."

"Quite.  I furthermore helped her Ladyship hire a young gentleman to interview in your hotel room, feigning as an internet columnist for the sport which you are privy to be a part.  Your denial of adultery did infuriate her so.  I could not allow you to humiliate yourself further, nor cause her Ladyship any more hardship."

"So," my patience had run out, rage began to take hold.  "You wish to spare me humiliation by revealing to those salivating bastards my mistake in judgment with Christine those years ago."

"Indeed."

Paradoxical.  Yet logical.

The wind howled as if to reflect my mood all the more as I lowered my eyes, nearly trembling, my emotions about to erupt.

Everything, all the hell of the past three or four months suddenly returned and compounded upon my soul once more.  Can I trust anyone now?  Goddamn the planet to hell.

Misanthropic was not an adequate enough term to describe my attitude.

I looked up and stared at the man I once considered my father.  "Tell me why I should not grab one of the swords off this wall and kill you where you stand."

His retort was sharp as the lightning bolts that continued to reveal their jagged presence every few seconds.

"If you wish to have blood upon your hands and add it to the iniquity of your soul, please do.  And you shall convince me ultimately that you are not your father's son."

That was enough.  I pointed to the door of the Grand Library as the power suddenly flickered out.  He nodded again and exited, closing the doors behind him, the sound of the oak resonating amongst the fury of nature.

So now I am left alone in this world.  Paranoid of whom to trust, at least for the time being.  Apparently that man's promise in the Queen's study was coming true already.

"...I want to see all the hell I've put you through over these past, oh, months - 'Lancaster's Inferno' as you so aptly called it - put to good use.  Don't disappoint me, or there'll be more of that to come, and mere humiliation and divorce will not be the price you pay this time."

I have paid more than I had hoped to ever pay, already.

Now I am left with the flames of hell, burning in the fireplace, as the only source of light and comfort in my life.

I smirked to myself.  I received some sort of sadistic pleasure from all this.  I knew that I would make them pay, the whole CAL, the entire planet if needs be.  I would make them all pay.

Their displeasure shall be my repentence.


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