A Predator's Parallels

Sitting, still as death, hunched over with his unbound hair falling before his face, Nathaniel Cartwright simply emanates an aura of ‘not-to-be-fucked-with’. And, truly, none could blame him. Make of the situation what you will, placing fault, offering theories… all of that. All the Winter Wraith knows is that someone he loves is grievously injured and the identity of those responsible. When one subscribes to the dogma that Nathaniel does, any other information is, at best, extraneous. Already an intense person under optimal circumstances, Nathaniel has an entirely different air around him right now, the kind that you would swear is rippling as though an excessive level of heat was radiating from the tattooed young man.

In a black tank top, jeans and white cross-trainers, he sits upon a hospital chair. No motion, no acknowledgement of those who pass by.

No motion. Scarcely a breath. Waiting. Perhaps… worrying?

Suddenly, our perspective shifts. Behind the telltale, blinking red light, the view of Nathaniel moves from the front to the man’s left. The camera is on but, this time, instead of treating it like it is not there, Nathaniel either does not know or does not care without need for acting.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

“Hey, you want to get your foot in the door and you gotta show initiative! Now just leave the thinking to me! That thing recording?”

”Yeah.”

”Good. Make sure it stays that way.”

Did Nathaniel’s ear twitch? Like an animal picking up a distant noise?

A man walks into the frame, kind of slight, ill-dressed… skeevy is the adjective that immediately comes to mind. He walks over to Nathaniel, digital tape recorder in hand, and just launches right into a bloody survey.

“Nathaniel Cartwright, victorious tonight in a PWE ring over TJ Alexander and, according to my sources, set to take on Chelsea Skye at Victory III! But a dark pall hangs over the Winter Wraith, ladies and gentlemen-”

Nathaniel’s hands imperceptibly twitch, his head turning faintly.

“-as earlier tonight his manager and lady-friend Melissa Reed was attacked and by all accounts had her arm snapped like a dead branch! We’re here tonight to get word on her condition and the thoughts of PWE’s most dangerous rookie! Nathaniel! Any words for the audience?!”

The temperature in the room (figuratively, of course; Nathaniel isn’t a cryomancer) drops a good fifteen degrees. Turning a bit more toward the brusque interviewer, he mutters quietly.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Why, I’m Devon Wilkes, interviewer extraordinaire! I just happened to be in the building and when I saw you, I smelled a scoop!”

Part of Nathaniel seems amused. The other wonders if this guy is real.

“And that’s why you decided to bother someone who clearly wishes to be left alone? Are you thick or do you just have no sense of self-preservation?”

“Come on, Nathaniel! We know there’s something on your mind! And getting into the head of PWE’s best and brightest is certain to get me a shot! So help a fellow up-and-comer out, eh?!”

Dawning realization hits and there’s a certain gleam in Nathaniel’s eyes.

“What would you rather hear then, Devon? About how the Aylas have made themselves prey by attacking Melissa, perhaps costing Pro Wrestling Excellence their highest champion mere weeks into his reign? Perhaps I should reiterate through words my actions toward TJ Alexander, how he did exactly what I said he would do earlier tonight: get eaten by a bigger, badder predator? Or perhaps a preview for the world and the fans within it on how Chelsea Skye is about to make the same mistake as her predecessor?”

“Well… how about all of the above!?”

A thin, snarling smile from Nathaniel appears before-

“No, how about this…”

-he snatches the tape recorder out of Devon’s hand and turns, smashing it against the wall. Dropping the cracked, broken contents on the floor, he stomps on the remains.

“...how about you and your pal, there, walk away. Tell Ophelia Knight to bill me for your toy. And don’t let me catch you lurking in my presence without permission again, savvy?”

”What the hell?!”

Devon seems to be too far within shock, staring at the remnants of his recorder, to respond to Nathaniel’s outburst. The cameraman, however, is in a place to exclaim. And immediately he wishes he hadn’t when Nathaniel’s eyes turn his way.

”What’s your name?”

”Uh… E-Evan. Evan Mayne.”

”Pretty expensive camera, Evan?”

”Er… yes?”

”Then you wouldn’t want it to end up like Devon’s toy here, would you?”

”N-No, sir.”

The Winter Wraith says nothing else; the message, however, is crystal clear. The recording stops and the camera is lowered. At that same moment, a doctor comes out of a nearby room and beckons to Nathaniel. With a warning glare to Devon and Evan, Nathaniel turns and walks over to the physician while Devon mutters to Evan.

“I swear to God, you had better have gotten all of that!”

”Yeah, but… you aren’t really gonna try and upload that, are you? That guy’s fucking crazy! I don’t want him coming after me!”

“Don’t be a pussy! The hell is he gonna do? I’ll press charges so fast he’ll think he was co-starring on CSI instead of whacking zombies on Afterlife! Let’s get the hell out of here before he realizes we still got some footage! Interviewing job, here I come!”

”I… need an adult.”

“I AM an adult!”

The two head off for the elevator, the doors hissing shut as Nathaniel reaches the doctor, who is leafing through his clipboard while glancing past Nathaniel at the two men, an eyebrow elevated.

”Does that happen often?”

”It won’t if they don’t want to see the inside of your operating room.”

The comment is made flatly, with little emotion. The doctor takes it in stride, perhaps having worked with wrestlers and attitudinal people like this before. Nathaniel nods his head in the direction from whence the doctor made his appearance.

”How is she?”

”Pretty standard break. It’s set and she’ll be in a cast for a while, but it should heal just fine. From the looks of things, I’m guessing that this wasn’t an accident?”

”No. The repercussions won’t be, either.”

The doctor pauses for a moment, releases a held breath, then speaks up.

”I don’t pretend to know everything, or anything, about what you do for a living, Mr. Cartwright. But it feels like retribution would just perpetuate a cycle here. Either you or Melissa will end up right back in here, or the people who did this will, and it will just keep getting worse every time. It won’t end until someone cannot go anymore. I think you know that. Is it really worth it to you to hurt someone just for someone else’s honor, no matter how strongly you feel for them?”

Nathaniel’s eyes stay on the door, his focus on the woman beyond it. He hears every word from the doctor, listens, takes it in and lets it swirl about in the maelstrom that is his mind. His lips twitch slightly at the thoughts passing through his brain like lightning. The doctor is about to further his point when the Winter Wraith’s tone stops him.

”With all due respect, doctor…”

A line that is typically followed by a wholly disrespectful line or three.

”...that is the nature of the beast. Either one of the sides will realize that any further victory will be Pyrrhic and back off, or they will continue to walk a path to self-destruction. Honor has nothing to do with it. Neither does malice. It is about teaching a lesson. I am far more likely to learn one than they are.”

The doctor has no prepared response. For as much as he has learned the nonsensical nature of battle from his patients, so has he learned not to put his head into the wall trying to break through their stubborn, violent zen.

”How long until she recovers, if all goes well?”

”About eight weeks at the most. Once the cast comes off, she’ll have a brace for a bit. Afterward I think she’ll have full mobility again.”

”Good. I appreciate your excellent work and forthrightness, doctor.”

”It’s my job, Mr. Cartwright.”

”A thankless one sometimes, I am sure. I, however, am genuinely grateful, despite appearance.”

The doctor nods and leaves as Nathaniel enters the room, the door closing behind him.

Cut to another time and place, indeterminate and inconsequential. Nathaniel is leaning upon a wooden railing, looking out into the distance, the darkness. In truth there is little to see beyond his vantage point, as the camera shows clearly. No streetlamps and certainly not enough illumination from the candles placed upon said railing. The glowing ruby at the tip of Nathaniel’s cigarette is no help, either, save to put a fiery glow on his youthful yet weathered features. And the quiet… it is almost TOO peaceful in this place. Perhaps that is the source of Nathaniel’s current calm; certainly he has not forgotten already the crime done to his lady.

And a calm hunter is the worst kind to have to stare down.

Shirtless, clad only in black cotton pants, Nathaniel’s tattooed upper body is on full display, laden with ink, each portion telling a tale. His body is a book, open to the world but written in a language that goes beyond their understanding… as mysterious as the man himself.

”Pressure does not suit you, Chelsea. This much is clear.”

So we are down to it, then. The address of Nathaniel’s opponent has begun. He casts a swift glance over his shoulder, not at the camera but toward the building behind him. A searching look. Then he draws in on the cig, exhaling twin plumes from his nostrils before looking at the camera directly.

”And positive thinking? It is to be commended in this day and age. In wrestling, though? It is a waste of energy. I am newer to this business than you and such is a lesson I have already taken to heart.”

Returning his gaze to the darkness, another puff is released before Nathaniel traps the smoking stick between his fingers and flicks ashes from the tip.

”The first Victory did not go well for you, but unlike many, you owned up to your mistake and vowed to do better. The second… proved my previous point as well as highlighted your forthcoming failing at Victory III. It was all about throwing shade upon Damian and Tara Ayla, putting stock in the serendipity of tagging with your boyfriend du jour against the new champion.

To call you unskilled would be unfair. To say that your focus was off is a painful truth. Given our respective experience levels, I should not have to tell you this, Chelsea, but I will regardless. Not because I am an asshole, but because I am fair.”

A moment to consider his words as he stands from the railing, stroking his beard with his free hand. Then…

”If it is not happening within the squared circle, it is secondary. You should have what they call tunnel vision, locked in on your adversary and the goal waiting beyond them. A win at Victory would have propelled you into title contention and let you prove the veracity of your harsh words towards Damian Ayla. And for a neophyte in this business, could there be a sweeter meat? Did your mouth not water at the thought of delivering such a double-whammy to the Excellence Champion?

Apparently not. La Andalucera appears and all of a sudden, the twitching creature trapped between your jaws is able to not only squirm free, but drop you on your skull like an eagle dropping a turtle on the rocks. Focus, Chelsea. You have none. I will use that against you… again, because I am fair.”

Another long drag is taken and Nathaniel is silent for several moments. Turning so that his back is to the railing, he half-sits upon it, flicking more ashes into the shadows.

”Some will call me foolish for telling you exactly what your failings are and how I will capitalize. They will call me arrogant and implore you to change your ways, to use the opportunity offered you. But you, like so many of them, are a creature of habit. So am I, though. The difference is that I keep my mind and body malleable and let my spirit wander as it will. I adapt and overcome. So it was with TJ Alexander. So it shall be with you.”

A final draw ends the cig. Nathaniel licks his fingers and snuffs out the burning tip, tossing it aside and pocketing the butt before heading back into the building. As if by design, a breeze blows out the candles as the door closes.

A few moments later, for us at least, Nathaniel is shown sitting at a hand-carved desk in front of a flat-screen monitor, a headset in place. His posture is relaxed, on arm draped over the back of the ergonomic chair as he converses with someone on-screen. The small yet genuine smile indicates that the other person is someone of note, perhaps close to his heart.

”...the doctor say that she will be fine. But I’m having to keep an eye on her. Already she’s restless; I thought I saw her looking for something to cut the cast off.”

A reference to Melissa, perhaps? Whatever it is, a female voice is heard to be laughing through the computer’s speakers.

”You will take good care of her, krútt. I know this. It is sad that the trip will have to be postponed, though.”

”We share that sadness, mother. But once she is well, we will make it a point to come home. You’ve my word on that.”

”No need to be so formal, now. You know I believe you… but you DID tell her that the weather here is rough on non-natives, right?”

There is a light chuckle and a nod from Nathaniel. As the view pans around to show a small, yet vital woman of advanced years… one that looks at first glance as though she would not do well with anything more advanced than a soup pot. You know… old school. Clearly this is not the case, however, and we wonder if Nathaniel’s peculiar nature and tendency to shock people with his very being is something that runs in the family.

”Of course. How is papa?”

”He’s at the university today. It seems that he has found his calling.”

”Really taking well to the teaching thing, eh? He’s always had that in him. I’m proof of that. It’s good to see that his knowledge will help others, too. The world needs more of what he can provide.”

The old woman nods. Once upon a time, her beauty must have shone. There are still bits of it, though. Especially in her eyes. Clearly she is from whom Nathaniel got his piercing stare.

”So true. That being said, I should see about dinner. He’ll be home soon. I will tell him that you and Melissa are well, shall I?”

”Please. I’ll call you both later this week. Might even talk Melissa into sitting down with me for that. Right now she’s just too restless.”

”Later this week, then. Love you, krútt.”

”Love you too.”

A moment after the call ends, Melissa makes an appearance. Her arm is in its cast and the young lady looks a bit forlorn, worried.

”They aren’t upset?”

”No, baby. They understand.”

”Okay...”

Melissa looks like she wants to ask something, fidgeting a little while Nathaniel briefly taps the keyboard, eyeing the screen. But after a few moments…

”Almost time, then? I can try manning the camera.”

”No exertion allowed, Mel. Don’t worry… I’ve got this. But if you want ot join me in the kitchen while I make dinner after, I wouldn’t mind. And I promise not to tell the doctor.”

Finally a smile sneaks out of the pretty jester and she shakes her head.

”You’re terrible. But all right. Do what you must. I will see you in a bit.”

Nathaniel rises, kissing her cheek as he moves past. Into a well-equipped kitchen, and through a door behind which there is only darkness…

...and the camera activates, watching in the dim light of a candle as Nathaniel descends some steps. At the bottom, he uses the candle to light an old-school lantern, then continues on through the in-ground basement past some shelves lined with jars and packages, most of them hand-crafted provisions from the looks of it, and to a locked door. Nathaniel hangs the lantern on a hook next to it, then lets himself in. Within, he turns on a dim electric light via a simple switch… and through another, lights up several glass containers lining the walls to the left and right.

”If you care to see and listen, nature will warn you away from danger and give you a chance to save yourself. It can be as simple as the rattle of a serpent’s tail or the color of a butterfly’s wings. Beauty is dangerous, you see. What we would consider worthy of art, nature uses as an alarm, a neon sign pointed at your end should you ignore the signs.”

Walking up to one of the containers, this more or less happening as a POV monologue, as we do not see Nathaniel save for his hands, do not hear him save for his voice, we see within a rather pretty snake...

”Micrurus fulvius, the eastern coral snake. To us, the colors are beautiful. To its would-be predators, it is a warning, a promise that screwing with this creature will end with a fierce bite and veins full of poison. Granted, there have been no human deaths since the 60s from one of these, but that does not mean caution isn’t demanded.”

Away from the snake and over to another container… with something far more polarizing within.

”Lycosidae, the wolf spider. Intense little creature, this one... perhaps not as dangerous as a black widow or brown recluse, but they can and will chase you, even pounce upon you, if they feel threatened. Enter their territory at your own peril. Their fangs are quite capable of putting a hurt on.”

Is that admiration in the voice of Nathaniel? There’s certainly a chuckle. He moves on to another glass cage, stroking the glass lightly. Within? A tiny bit of cuteness.

”Phyllobates terribilis, the golden dart frog. Almost looks like a cartoon character, but it carries enough poison to kill ten humans. Touching it is… ill-advised.

Tell me, Chelsea: are you starting to get the point? The answer is no.”

From almost amiable to sharp, Nathaniel answers his own question as he takes off and turns the camera so that now we’re looking into his sharp eyes.

”Everything about me screams ‘beware’ and that warning becomes louder, harder to ignore, with every passing match. Nothing to lose? Chelsea, that is another lesson you will have to learn the hard way: there is ALWAYS something to lose, something that can be taken. I know this. Soon, so will you. And so will Damian Ayla.”

A faint grimace.

”Just like TJ, you think I shall be your launching point to higher ground. Trying to tread on me would be akin to stepping on a scorpion barefoot, Chelsea: you’ll pause, you’ll feel a shooting pain and, if you are slow to react, you will witness your end. Someone literally waving at you diverted you long enough for defeat to happen. The difference between myself and the Aylas, young lady, is that I won’t require outside influence.

No, you’re already wide open. I just have to pick my moment and-”

The sound of his fingers snapping is akin to a gunshot in the quiet chamber.

”-you will gain a third defeat. One moment is all it took for TJ; he ended the night slapping the canvas for fear I’d rip his leg off. You claim such tactics are your bread-and-butter and in the same breath expound your virtues in the air, the same as he did before we clashed, preparing to outmatch me as though I have no other weapons at my disposal. Short-sighted, Chelsea. Foolish. Unimaginative. Unbecoming of someone desiring proper glory. You want so much to be the antithesis of the Excellence Champion, to rise above your past as an exemplar of all that is right in the same breath that you expound your unabashed gold lust.

But idealism is the quickest path to an ignominious end. It is time you learned this.”

He lowers his hand, shaking his head.

”I do not deal in flowery wordplay and supernatural imagery, Chelsea. I deal in facts. Cold, hard, unquestionable. You are no angel, young lady, and you are most certainly not nightmare material. My little friends in this room invade more dreams than you ever will. The only person that your soliloquy impresses is Ross Hanson-”

Nathaniel retrieves a $20 bill from his pocket.

”-and I have twenty bucks that says he’s just humoring you.”

Okay, that was pretty harsh. Perhaps his anger at the Aylas is getting the better of him? He puts the bill back in his jeans pocket and runs the same hand through his hair, glaring at the camera.

”Harshness is the only way you’ll learn. You should know by now that I do not mind taking that road to teach others, to better them, to aid their chances of survival once they awaken from the effects of stepping into the ring with me. So far, Chelsea, all you have said to me mirrors the bulk of what Alexander tried to hurl in my general direction. I will not be so bold as to promise victory for myself, but I will swear to you that even if you DO manage to score the victory?

You will neither look nor feel like a winner. And you will think twice before disrespecting someone like me so cavalierly.”

Still near the cage with the tiny frog, Nathaniel strokes the glass again while the creature stares at him placidly.

”The stories scarred into my flesh are a warning. The chase I give when someone enters my territory is proof of my dedication to bringing my prey down. And to lay hands upon me, figuratively or literally, without the utmost care is to invite suffering and loss.

I am PWE’s preeminent predator, Chelsea, a borderline force of nature. By the time you see me coming, it is already too late. You want to be the exception? Then settle yourself on the fact that there is no beating me; there is only surviving me.

And even then, such only happens at my whim. See you soon, young lady.”

And just like that, he shuts the camera off...