A Family Affair

The folds at the outside corners of his eyes caused them to slant, giving them the shape of almonds.  The dark brown wheels within closed even more, encroaching upon the black even more.  They wandered up and down, side-to-side, reading Xavier's every reaction as he extended out his right hand to him.  "Mr. Michaels," he said in a sing-song voice, "Glad you made it her so soon.  Took us long enough to just recognize her and get a phone number for us to call."  Xavier took the hand into his, not shaking it in the slightest, but at least acknowledged the gesture of greeting.  "I had hoped your sister would come too.  The woman I talked to was your sister right?," he pressed on, "Best to get the most family input I can while evaluating her."

Xavier pulled his hand away, pushing a heavy gust of breath from his nose with a sigh.  "I think it's best not to involve her in any of this," he said brushing his fingers through his hair agitated, "They don't exactly get along that well for one, and she was pretty much hysterical on the phone.  Even with how much she hates her, she's still her mom."  "Understandable," he nodded with a look of feigned sympathy, "The way it looks now, I guess you're the only one I need in the end.  The prosecutor already said he wouldn’t file any criminal charges as long as she gets the help she needs."

Xavier's his shifted from the compacted features of his face, the black gel-spiked hair topping his head, looking in through the sheet of plate glass to his mother.  Alone and isolated in the square room, a steel table bolted down to the floor along with two matching chairs at opposite sides, she paced back and forth.  What the hell had happened to her?  He and Melissa had not seen her since Melissa moved in with him last month.  The argument she started that they were pushing her out to see like an aged Eskimo was simply the last straw in a string straws.  Melissa went so far as to completely refuse to even call her Christmas morning.  That was the level of contempt that she held their mother, and the main reason he understood why she called him to deal with this.  Carrying the family burden once again.

"What I'm seeing so far is that she's suffering from an acute form of dementia combined with the late stages of Alzheimer's disease.  Which is really bizarre considering her age," the doctor said, hesitating, choosing his words carefully before continuing, "Is there a history of mental illness in the family?"  Xavier said nothing, only looking at him from the corner of his eye with a glaring heat.  Mental illness in the family?  That took a set of balls to ask, but he kept his mouth shut.  Ignoring the question utterly, Xavier groaned a sigh of resignation; "I want to talk to her before I sign her over.  See how bad she is for myself so I can tell my sister."  "That's possible," he smiled with victory, glad Xavier had heeded his advice, "I have to warn you though, she is not well.  Anything she says or does, just remember that this is not how your mother was meant to be."

A clicking from the door to his left, unlocked via remote with probably the push of a button and allowed him to pull the door open a few seconds after.  He pulled it swinging open towards him.  It felt like it weighed half a ton and most likely did.  Walking in, it deftly closed behind him with a thud.  No clicking sound this time, but he knew he knew he was definitely locked in there with her.

The doctor's words were correct, this hollow thing pacing in circles before him was not his mother.  The mop of her hair was nothing better than a hide of matted fur; the bathrobe she wore was a filthy and tattered black with sleeves stitched and cut into it; her face a sunken shell, a skull really with spider silk thin skin wrapped around t.  Her tooth clattered together as if she were cold while he was almost to the point of sweating it was so hot.  He did not know quite what to say, only standing there dumbfounded.

"Mom?," he finally squeaked out, his voice cracked under the weight of emotion.  The sound of his own voiced terrified him almost as much as the spectacle of horrors he was staring at.  He wanted to turn away so badly, but he could not take his eyes off her, waiting for the next monster to appear.  At his words, she turned her head slightly, tilting it to the side. A though was swirling around that mind of hers.  That voice, it sounded so strange to her, yet so familiar.  "Witter shins," she whispered finally. He had no idea who or what a Witter shin was, but she apparently did.  She swirled around, the fur over her head turning in on big clump.  Looking up to the ceiling.  She extended her arms out and wide exclaiming, "Witter shins!"  She dropped her arms back down to hang limply at her sides, returning to a normal volume and speaking somewhat subdued, even mournful, "There's no more room at the inn."

She now turned to him.  Her eyes blinked furiously as if she had just realized he was there, "Xavier," her lips going back and forth between smile and frown, her voice the sweet, soft one he remembered from his childhood, "I didn't see you there.  Is Riley with you?"  Riley?  They had been divorced for a year and a half now.  He had not seen hide nor hair of her since and she was asking if the cut was there with him?

Her hand shook with a twitch at her side.  She was not trying to hide it; he doubted she even noticed it if she did not find it odd.  "They should really meet you know," she said thoughtfully, her right hand up and clenched into an easy fist under her chin, "He couldn't even make it to the wedding."  He was more than just a little confused to say the least.  "Who, mom?," he asked with a minute shake of the head, his eyes squinting as if to see some hidden meaning.  "Your father, silly," she laughed, a smile brimmed across her face at mentioning him, "That's why I'm here; waiting for him to get back."

His father?  Her husband?  Melissa's father?  The same guy that was killed twelve years ago?  What the hell she was talking about?  "Mom...," he tried to get out but she cut him off with her own absent-minded rambling.  Taken into the context of what she was talking about, her voice had taken on a crazed tone, "I know Melissa must be going crazy right now.  Surprised you even got her here without her talking about him nonstop.  You know how much of a daddy's girl she is."

It all was more than he could possibly take.  She was bringing too many memories, harsh ones he would rather not think about.  It was a great present, finding out days before Christmas that his and Melissa's father would not be coming home this time.  All she was doing was making it harder.  He fought it, tried with every bit of will he had not to show how much he was hurting at the sight of this.  All he could do was turn away back to the door.  He tried to open it, tried to just leave her there.  He just could not.  Besides Melissa, she was the only family he had.  His own mother for fuck sake, and she was forcing him to something like this.

The lock clicked again, but he could not bring himself to open.  Just turn the knob and push out.  That was all he had to do but he could not.  His closed fist pounded against the small space between the door and glass.  His other hand shook uncontrollably as it gripped the cold, steel knob.  Why was it always him?  Why did he always have to be the strong one?  After his marriage to Melissa had been made legal, their daughter born months later, he hoped and prayed that life would be a normal one for them.  He should have known better.  There would always be something for him to act on.  Usually it was to defend someone he loved and cared about, now he was in a position where he was forced to condemn one.

"I Didn't Do... Anything."

The walk back to the car had turned into the longest of his life.  It was not due to distance, but the guilt he now carried on his shoulders.  Each and every step felt like a baby step.  Slowly, he inched his way closer.  The sky above loomed above overhead dark and gray.  Pitch lack storm clouds hung low and heavy over the horizon.  Even the heavens were looking down sadly upon what he had done.  No, what he had been forced to do.  With a signature, he had sentenced his own mother to be shipped off to a nut house.  How does someone do that without feeling like a piece of shit.  For eighteen years, even in the aftermath of his father's death, she had provided everything he needed.  She had done the same fore Melissa, completely by herself the last few years.  How did they thank her?  They hauled ass the first chance they could and left her out in the cold of isolation.  Now she was going to receive a room without a view courtesy of the State of New Jersey.

Here and there, darkened spots lay scattered across the black of the asphalt.  A soft drizzling of rain was beginning to fall to the earth.  Droplets splashed sporadically around him.  The black painted steel of the car was slick against his palm, laying one on the roof, keeping him from breaking down with the stoppage of forward motion.  He had to keep moving, doing something, not think about anything at all.  One foot in front of the other.  Anything.  The shelter of the car's interior should have been an relief, but it was anything but.

He dropped down behind the wheel into the seat, exhaling a gust of breath, he sat quietly without a word.  What had he done?  Was there some way around it or was he just feeling the pangs of guilt that were only natural?  Would it really have killed them to at least check with her every now and then?  True, Melissa was showing the pregnancy way too much to not be noticed, but a simple phone call on Christmas mourning would have been good enough.  Or he could have put his foot down with Melissa for once and told her to deal with staying by herself for a few hours while he paid their mother that was the common courtesy to be expected on a holiday.  They had begun to get more than slightly annoyed by her compulsiveness, constant reminded them of the events of their childhood, always bringing up the memory of their father when they would rather not be think of it because it hurt too much emotionally to do so.  In hindsight, however, he would have gladly endured it instead of letting her devolve into such a state.

Almost a year ago, he and Melissa had sat together while the rest of the family celebrated her high school graduation.  The line between the relationship of siblings and lovers was becoming blurred between them.  While she sat there on his lap, he still held and touched her as a brother.  Even at that time, there was something else going on between them.  He fought the temptation to touch her the way he wanted.  His hand wandered down the black linen of the slacks covering her legs, his finger traced around the straps of her heeled shoe that wrapped around her bare ankle.  He could sense a tension from her, a soft tremble.  "Mel, what's wrong?," he asked concerned, rubbing his check over the top of her head.  "Just had this big fight with mom," she mumbled, fingering the buttons of his shirt, "Told her I couldn't do this anymore.  That I'll be staying with you while going to Columbia, and she totally wigged out on me.  Kept talking about how we were abandoning her."  His lips pressed to the top of her head, planting a kiss on the parting line running along the middle and taking in a wondrous sniff of her brown hair.  "I'll talk to her," he whispered soothingly, "You just need a break that's all.  We're both adults now, I'll make sure she can accept that."

And talk to her he did, or something along those lines.  Words were exchanged to say the least, but it was far from the cordial talk between mother and son he had expected.  She would not listen to any reasoning he had.  He tried to explain to her why Melissa had wanted to get away from her, but it was all in one ear and out the other.  He wanted her to get the fuck out of their lives and to stay out.  He hated talking to brick walls, and such a reaction was typical from him.  He always had a way of brushing off annoying people, but he found himself feeling nothing but pure hatred for another woman.  Why was it always the women in his life that tried him the most?  Everyone else was just a mere annoyance.

Even with all that hate building up in him, did even she deserve such a fate?  He looked back out the window at his side.  Thin streams of water dripped down the glass surface outside.  Tiny, vertical creeks pulled down by gravity.  His own mother.  There had to be something he could do to stop it.  No, there was nothing.  She was a fucking loon.  No, she was.... mom.  That was all that mattered did it not?  Deep down inside, there was nothing he could do to help her.  He knew it.  He hated himself for his own ineptitude, his sack of shit fucking uselessness.

A tear broke free from his eye, sliding down the flesh of his cheek.  He wiped away at it quickly before slamming the hand now closed into a fist against the rim of the steering wheel.  No god damn it!  He could not start crying over that bitch!  Mom.  Her and her fucking bullshit, throwing the guilt trip at him when Melissa told her she was going to stay with him.  Going on about the crime and whore mothers throwing babies out of windows.  Mom.

Hunching over, pressing his forehead against the back of his hand on the steering wheel.  No one to hide it from now.  He would at least have privacy to grieve.  He signed her over to a fate worse than death.  He had to do something besides choking on the emotion in his throat.  Sometimes, life just sucked with the normal humdrum of things.  Other times, it just likes being a bitch just for shits and giggles.  Someone, somewhere, somehow was going to have to pay for this.

A Brother's Wrath

The rain had continued on for the most of the day.  Off and on, he had to use the windshield wipers going back up the Parkway.  Going home, but not yet.  A deed to be done, and a promise to keep.  Years ago, he swore to himself that he would do whatever it would take to protect her.  One night three years ago, he kept his word.  Tonight he was going to do the same.

Leaves rustled from above, the branches from the trees looking high over head blowing gently in the breeze.  It was so dark.  The lamp a hundred or so yards in the distance to his right the only source of light other than the moonlight shining down with its glow upon him.  His hands, he turned them up and down, looking at them.  They appeared to have almost a shade of blue.  The serenity of the moment mixed with the rage that brought him here in the first place.  He could not allow himself to be distracted.  To be at peace at a time when he needed his hatred to fuel him would be dangerous and only invite him to screw this up somehow.  The stakes as high as they were, what the consequences would be if he were caught, he could ill afford such a debacle.

His right hand dropped back behind him, touching his locker back.  The dense steel handle of his father's old pistol helping him to keep his eye on the ball.  He could not and would not use it in this case.  He knew it was very likely that a ballistics test would find a match for his father's old service record.

The weather the way it was, the threat of an epic downpour ever present in the air, he knew he'd go into the building he was watching.  It was the only one in the area he had seen the "man" that morning when Melissa had been doing her run.  The ugly cream color painted cinderblocks reflected the pale moonlight.  Streams of the blue and silver glow running vertical along its glossy side.  A public restroom.  Typical.  All the resources for the trash to shit, shower and shave.  Xavier was sure nothing beat a sponge bath with the aid of a sink, but he was not going to try it himself.

After what felt like forever, he saw a shifting of a shadow against the wall.  It was him alright; walking with that same limp he was before with a holey sack slung over his shoulder.  He did not see him; at least Xavier did not think so.  Standing underneath the shadows of the tree, he was almost sure of his stealth had remained unbroken.  Walking as if he had a peg leg, he shouldered open the swinging door to go into the men's restroom.  Even in the dead of night, he went in there.  At least he was a pervert with a decency he did not know how to implement.

Xavier just watched, waiting for the swinging of the door to stop before he started to move in.  He looked around, making sure there was no one else around to see him going in or leaving there.  No one.  Good.  His footfalls a muffled silence, heels landing on the softened blades of grass underfoot.  The last few steps against the poured concrete wrapping around the tiny building's perimeter were barely audible.  He thought about just barging into the room, but stopped.  Pressing his ear against the door, careful not to move it to swing one way or the other in the slightest, he listened.  He heard breathing... close.  So, he had known Xavier was there and waiting for any sign of his approach.  At least he would not be attacking an unsuspecting hobo.

Taking a couple steps back, Xavier thought of only the hatred he felt for the man this morning when he realized he had been stalking Melissa.  He would suffer, Xavier would make sure to it.  With a hard kick at the door, it swung open with ease.  He thought at first that he had not really been listening at the door; it swung open too damned fast.  Running in, he knew that he was up against the door when he kicked it, the man standing slumped against the opposite wall.  "Motherfucker," he cursed, taking his hand away from his head and saw his crimson palm, "When I'm done with you, I'll have that girl of yours."

He charged at Xavier, swinging a fist but he ducked and swung the man around against the wall by the door.  It was still wide open, the man's shoulder against the metal rim around the frame.  Head hanging for a second in the open doorway, Xavier slammed the door shut against the side of the head.  He yelled in pain, head sandwiched in the door, but Xavier had no sympathy.  Repeating the slamming again and again before yanking him back by the back collar of his piece of shit green jacket to slam his back against the sink.

With him laying back against the white ceramic sink, Xavier had not realized just how shaggy of a beard he had until feeling it against his fist.  Rocked and stunned by the punches, the man looked up, a glassy stare filled his eyes.  Xavier looked up, seeing the silver-backed mirror over the sink.  He reached up to the top brim, yanking it down to slam its face against the sink, the man rolling off and out of the way just in time.  A shower of broken glass cascaded down against the man's back while Xavier circled around him, mindful not to get trapped in the narrow space between the row of sinks and the bathroom stalls on his right.

Xavier saw the hands running over the shards of glass on the tiled floor below, he knew what he was going to do even before the man thought of it.  He only watched as he picked up one of the glimmering pieces; waited for him to get up to his feet, use the energy to swing at Xavier with the sharpened edge.  It was easy enough for Xavier to dodge with the feeble, labored steps.  It took only a slight push of the back of his arm to carry the swing over to stab himself in the leg, a weird laugh from Xavier as he watched him do so.  He let out another groaning cry of pain, cut short as Xavier gripped him by the hair on the side of his head and slammed his face into the sink this time.

A crunch of bone and cartilage with the force of the impact.  Drips of crimson dribbled down the front of the bleach white.  Xavier reach around at the man's waist, pulling on the frayed rope he was using for a belt.  "So, you were planning on raping my sister weren't you?," Xavier hissed while tying the rope into a simple noose, "You seriously fucked with the wrong one this time."  Not waiting for an answer of the man's reasoning, Xavier slipping the circling rope around the man's neck.  He could care less of his fucking reasons.  He condemned his mother today; he had to protect the only other woman in his life he actually cared about... loved.

Xavier yanked back on the rope, whipping the man to hit the bathroom stall door head first.  The force of the impact damn near took it completely off the hinges, but only off one, leaving it to barely hang against the wall of the stall.  The man on his knees, Xavier kicked him as hard as he could in the back, between his shoulders, sending him face first into the toilet in front of him.  Xavier hoped that the previous user had been too lazy to bother flushing, but that would be too much to hope for.  Pressing on, Xavier straddle his back, wrapping the rope around his hand and tighten it with his other, burying the unshaven face into the water.

The arms underneath flayed about, clutching and clawing at anything to give him a reprieve.  Xavier knew he tried holding his breath, the bubbling and gurgling from told him he had given up on suddenly learning to breath water.  He tightened the rope as a boa constrictor would itself around its prey.  The sound of the toilet flushing took him off guard a bit.  That was one thing he had not expected, but he should have.  He could hear him gasping and choking, desperate for the barest of breaths.  Good.  Believe.  Hope.  Just like he would have done with her.

The right hand resting on the cinderblock wall, trying to push himself off and fight.  THAT really pissed Xavier off, angering him enough to pull the pistol from the back waist of his pants.  He gripped it by the barrel, swinging it like a tomahawk, the butt of the pistol crushing the bones in his fingers underneath.  He screamed again, but Xavier remained fixated upon the blotch of blood on the wall.  The hand left a trail of crimson as it slid down the wall.  Putting the gun back, Xavier refocused on finishing it, synching in the tightening pressure as the water began filling the bowl.

An indistinct crackling from the radio at the officer's side behind him, he looked on in horror as he saw Melissa laying on her bed.  Face buried the pillow, back heaving up and down with her choked sobs.  When their mother called and said she had not returned home the night before, he feared the worst.  Wanting nothing more than to comfort her, his little sister, he sat on the foot of the bed.  "Mel?," he said, laying his hand on her calf going down to her ankle.  A different touch then now, that of only a worried brother.  At the sound of his force, she pried her face from the pillow.  Tears streaming down her face, she jumped to sit up on the bed and wrap her arms tightly around him.  Her face against his chest now, she kept saying she was sorry, so sorry, she should have listened.  He felt nothing but sympathy and pain for her, while at the same time pure rage for the sack of shit who did this to her.

The fight was fading beneath him, the struggling stopping, arms lying at the sides of the toilet limp.  "Please!  Wait! God no!," bellowed another voice in his ear.  The echo of repeated gunfire.  She was the only person in his life now, the only one he had left.  The situation was direr now than ever.  He could not fail to protect her.  Without her, he would be isolated and alone as their mother had been.  He would not share the same fate of going crazy and sent off to live in a happy hotel with Dustin Hoffman.

It was done and over.  Xavier let the rope drop free, and stepped back and away.  Being careful not to step in the few spots of blood on the floor, leaving a footprint or any other forensics that could be matched to him would not be a good thing.  He walked back out the swinging door, acting as if nothing had happened to be greeted by a rainfall that had only increase with the passing of the few minutes.

Epilogue

How does someone move on with his or her life.  With his own history, returning to the world of professional wrestling was the furthest thing from his mind.  Despite what anyone would say of the relationship, he was now happily married and father to an infant daughter.  He would have been perfectly content to stay away for the rest of his life and live off the money he had made at the height of his career.  But just when he thought he was out, she pulled him back in.  "She," being something of an old "friend" in Shane.

Typical of his life, coming in to help her of all people.  Friends, enemies, lovers, their history was nothing short of filled with complexities.  So when she signed her deal with HCW, she came to him and said he wanted him to come with her.  Given his accolades, the management would surely give him a fair contract.  They did, but it did very little to assuage his uneasiness about getting back into the world he had stayed away from for so long.  Wrestling was still a bit of unholy ground.  He met the cunt because of it.  Even thinking of anything to do with her made him feel sick to his stomach.  With Melissa by his side, there was a fear in him that he would grow to hate her in time.  Melissa, however, was no Riley.  She would not follow in her footsteps.

As his first match in a last time, who did he happen to get put in a match with but an opening filler match with Shane being on of his opponents.  Great.  Just great.  Of all people to face off against.  He would probably be like the damned Tin Man in the proverbial Katrina with all the ring rust he felt he still had.  His only hope was that with their friendship, they would work well enough together to concentrate on beating the others in the match.  With her brother Alex involved in the match as well, the odds of three on two were seriously in their favor.  With them out of the way, what could be called The Elite could decide who were the true winners of the match.

One thing was for sure, win, lose or draw, he was going to make a serious run at this.  When he actually thought about it, he had to get back into wrestling.  So in a way, he owed Shane a bit of thanks.  He would pay back the debt one way or another.  That did not mean he would just lay down for her in this match, however.  It would be a contest, and in the end, all of HCW along with the wrestling world would realize that the return of Xavier Michaels had begun.