For Love

The quiet grunt of effort, the faint swish of an object swung through the air… and the heavy, crackling thump of the strike. Like assailed towers the split halves of wood topple off the well-scarred stump. Through the sheen of sweat on his mostly-bare arms, Nathaniel stares blankly at the fruits of his efforts, the piles of neatly-stacked wood ready for the hearth and the growing pile around the stump. His fur-lined jacket is draped over the porch railing nearby; clearly this sort of work brings on the heat, even in the midst of a Canadian winter. Straightening for a moment, Nathaniel dusts his hands off and catches himself staring out into the distance. To the eyes of any other, he would appear peaceful.

But since when is what we see the whole truth?

“It isn’t the same without you.

Once upon a time, I was a man who adored his solitude. Oh, there were lonely moments, sure, but there was also peace. A peace that could not be compensated for or replicated.

And then… there was you.

Suddenly, all I thought I knew about what life was about was flipped over, turned upside-down. All it took was a smile, a sweet comment or two, a little time together with or without prying eyes breaking down our every word and move.

Life became something different altogether. Solitude was not the same unless you were joining me in it. Oh, it took time…”

The voice is Nate’s, spoken as an observer of these moments displayed before us all. He’s going for dispassionate here, or perhaps neutrality is the better word. But there’s no mistaking his sadness.

In the somewhat fuzzy background, someone comes out onto the porch, the tell-tale opening and closing of a door giving this away. A broad figure, tall and thick, comes up to the railing. Nathaniel, if he knows they are there at all, does not respond. Instead, he spits into his palm and rubs his hands together, hefting the axe and with his other hand gathering another log from the cart to split.

“...you were tentative and I was inexperienced. For everything we had in common, there was something else that set us apart. Yet that only made me want to learn more about you. And somewhere along the way, before it crumbled, you seemed to appreciate that. Even if I never really ‘got you’, I still appreciated and encouraged you.

I should have known right there, that very first time, that there was more behind those pretty eyes. A flickering shadow at first. Then an incomprehensible abyss…”

The new arrival comes up to Nathaniel, a few inches taller and wider, with an aged, winter-burned face made for smiling. Nate splits another log before turning to acknowledge his patient observer.

“Almost done.”

“Need a hand, son?”

Nathaniel shakes his head, forcing a small smile.

“You’re a guest, dad. I won’t have you toiling when you should be relaxing.”

“Or are you just afraid of being shown up by an old man?”

In any other tone, the man’s comment would have sounded like a challenge. Here, it was a good-natured jab and, despite his mood, Nate couldn’t help but chuckle. He shrugs and passes the axe to the older man.

“Show me how it’s done, then.”

A stout fellow, Nathaniel’s father hefts the axe with ease as the younger man puts a log on the stump. One perfect, arcing swing later and said log is cleanly split down the middle. Granted, this is only splitting wood for the fire, but still… it is impressive. Nathaniel cracks a slightly wider smile.

“Staying in shape, huh?”

“Always. Never know when the world’s gonna cave in on itself, son. That’s why I taught you the way I did. So that when the end does come, you’ll be able to make a living still.”

“Speaking of, do you feel up for a hunt?”

The twinkle in the older man’s eyes could put Santa Claus to shame.

“Thought you’d never ask. I trust you’ve been staying in practice?”

Nathaniel takes the older man on a short walk around the side of the house, nature all around them, and shows him, in the distance, a painted wooden target pocked with innumerable holes in it. The grand majority are in the center of a crude bullseye… to the point where there is almost no color to see in that area. The older man strokes his chin and nods.

“Good. Let’s go, then. I’m sure your mother can find something to keep her busy while we’re out.”

“Meaning we’ll come home and I won’t be able to find a thing.”

Nathaniel’s father claps him on the shoulder firmly.

“Welcome to the joys of marriage!”

Both men laugh a bit, Nathaniel feeling better in the presence of his parents.

“I’m not trying to put my recent failures at your feet. Coming up short in trying to unseat Damian Ayla and finding myself toppled by La Andalucera… those stung. More than I would like to admit. Maybe I got too full of myself. Or maybe I let my emotions get the better of me. Either way, I have to live with the results.

But not since you walked out of my life have I felt proper. Solitude used to be nice. Even fulfilling.

Now I just want it to stop.”

Cutting away from the family time, the next we see of Nathaniel is little more than a silhouette of his form beneath a layer or two of hand-woven blankets. Moonlight flows in through the window, but that’s all the illumination to speak of besides a few red numbers on the nightstand… two, three, seven… in that order. And another, followed by an insistent buzzing that causes a low rumbling against the wooden surface. A light sleeper by default, Nathaniel turns and reaches for the phone creating the ‘silent’ ruckus and sweeps his thumb tiredly against the screen.

“Yeah?”

”Nate… I found her.”

Sitting bolt upright, the blanket dropping away from his bare, tattooed torso, Nathaniel clutches the phone tightly.

”This isn’t another false alarm, is it?!”

”Not even a little. I suggest you move fast, though. I’m texting you the location.”

A swift tap or two puts the call on speaker, at a low volume, and allows Nathaniel to set the phone back down while he swiftly slides out of bed. Only bare to the waist, there’s no danger of seeing anything racy… but it’s still Nathaniel Cartwright without a shirt, WITH bedhead, and tense enough to cause his body to look well-defined in the silvery light of late evening. If ladies could see this, they’d swoon. It is known.

Out of sight, he dresses swiftly, a muted beep coming from the phone in the process. Nathaniel moves back into view, picking it up and checking the text. He mutters a low curse… or at least that’s how it sounds. It must be in his native tongue. The tone, though, proves that the comment is not a nice one.

”I know, I know… it’s kinda far. But don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I can keep her here so long as she doesn’t spot me. You’re gonna want to hurry, though.”

”Already preparing. Need to leave a message for my folks, then I’m heading out. Do I need to bring anything or-”

”I mean, some stuff for comfort wouldn’t be amiss. But… look. You’re not gonna like what you see, Nate. I’m telling you this as a friend and because I’ve seen this before. It’s… gonna be a shock.”

Pausing in his preparations just shy of pulling his coat on, Nathaniel stares at the phone for a few moments, suddenly unsure.

”How bad could it be, I asked myself? This is still Melissa, isn’t it? Whatever it is, I can help her get through it. That letter that she left for me said she would explain when she got back, didn’t it?

Except, by the time I got there, seeing what Sybil warned me about, I realized that that was just bullshit. She had no intention of ever coming back. That letter? It was a placebo. A temporary salve. Something to make me think it wasn’t my fault, which it wasn’t, but not taking into account that I would blame myself anyway.

That thought, nibbling at the back of my brain? Now it was chomping down on me like an alligator on some moron with a stick who thought they were being funny not three seconds ago. Tearing holes in me, in my soul. Dirty water rushes in to replace blood gushing out. The telltale rushing in the ears, the warmth that precedes the end. I could feel myself being rolled even before I could recognize what was going on.

How else do you say it? I had been fucking ditched.”

He shakes it off, though. There’s no time to ruminate. He has to bring her home.

”I’ll figure things out once she’s safe. Just keep an eye on her.”

”What about your folks? They’re there right now, aren’t they? Hell, at first they thought I was her!”

Faintly, Nathaniel smiles.

”Leave them to me.”

”Fair enough. I trust you, big guy. Don’t worry about that.”

”Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

”I’ll make sure she’s still here when you arrive.”

The call ends and Nate leaves his bedroom, moving down the hall and into the kitchen. His gaze shifts back to the hallway, in the direction of the guest room where his parents comfortably slumber.

Again, that faint smile.

He takes up the notepad on the table, flipping to a clean page. The moonlight is more than enough to let him see what he’s doing, and he hastily scribbles out a note. Probably a precaution more than anything else; they know of his nature, after all. But Nate is a slightly different person these days. Finishing, he leaves the pen on the pad and takes a deep breath.

”I’m a fool. I realize this now. And there’s no one but myself to blame for it. A thousand times I have asked myself if this is worth it. If SHE is worth it.

And, gods and spirits help me, the answer is always yes.

Have you ever been in a situation like this, Brenna? Then you know why I am the way I am in this moment, and why you won’t be getting the best of me at Victory.”

Snatching up his keys, Nate is out the door. Moments later the Jeep is started up and he’s off down the graveled, rutted path to civilization… except that what we see next is Nathaniel back in bed, sitting cross-legged on the rumpled sheets and blankets.

Yes, he’s clothed. Minds out of the gutter, please.

The camera is stationary and the man himself is… well, calm is not the best word here. Stoic, perhaps? Grim? It is hard to find an adjective to properly describe the chaos percolating beneath a thin layer of manufactured affability. Let us say that Nathaniel, the Winter Wraith, is functional. That is the best we can hope for.

”You… probably have some idea of what to expect from me, Brenna Gordon. A few hours on the Internet would give you a fair picture; PWE has little in the way of archives yet, but in the short time that it has existed, a space that mirrors my own existence in the wrestling business, indelible footprints have been made. Memories have been created. The world knows who we are and what we can do.

Damian Ayla, the dominant champion who has turned aside each and every challenge, including a bloody one from yours truly. Zoey Madigan-Star, another champion and a young veteran, magical in every way, who each and every day finds herself under more and more pressure, most of it undue in my opinion. Finn Whealan, a stand-up fellow who fights like a demon with an angel’s soul, the final of our three champions and one that I expect to remain so for some time despite my limited experience in wrestling. That says nothing of people like Allen Cheney and Lewis Chad Pinkston, two men who grate on the nerves but entertain like few others can, both physically and verbally. And truly, who does not love little Ollie?

I could go on. But… I simply don’t have the strength.”

There is more than moonlight this time around. Candles are lit elsewhere in the room. They at least give the Winter Wraith’s profile a sort of glow, but whether by design or luck, most of his face is shadowed right now. Only from just below his nose is his face visible. Somehow, without those piercing eyes in plain sight, Nathaniel is like a different person.

”And then… there is me. Nathaniel Cartwright. The Winter Wraith. Don’t worry if you have never heard of me before now. I do not carry a grudge. Having yet to achieve anything of note, it honestly would not surprise me if you did not know me from Adam. Unlike most, I don’t thirst all over social media and prefer to keep my life private. Or as private as possible-”

Realizing that he is starting to ramble, Nathaniel silences himself. His jaw sets and his teeth grind a little. The sort of expression and body language one gives off when a bolt of extreme pain shoots through them. A bowstring drawn to full breadth could not be as tense.

”Poor timing.”

He says it in response to something that does not occur until after the words leave his lips. As though he could sense it. Voices, in another room, rising to a point of near screaming, before dying down again. Nathaniel’s head turns in that direction and, where they rest upon his knees, his hands clench, fingers clutching tight to his own body. The desire to rise and investigate is strong.

Yet he forces himself to remain. Business before… whatever this might be.

”A warrior distracted is a warrior lost. It does not matter what kind of animal you are, for the moment your attention is not upon survival, that is when you will be snatched away… just like that.”

He snaps his fingers sharply.

”But even someone at their best can fall. Every intention was within me to put down Damian Ayla and take his title, inexperience and instability be damned. It did not come to pass. He will not forget me, nor will those who watched our war. But what is that worth in this business? In the natural world, scars are a reminder that you are strong, that predators have tried and failed to end you, yet you still stand and stalk and fight. In wrestling? Scars are just scars or, worse, a source of ridicule. I will carry mine with me forever, some willingly and some not. You will earn some of your own in time, Brenna. Perhaps even at Victory VIII. Don’t take that as a threat, though. It’s just the nature of the beast.

Admittedly, I do not know much about you, nor do I feel that that matters. Not to sound blase, but if I am being honest? Neither my mind nor my heart are in this. Losing to Damian was one thing; he is the champion for a reason and his experience dwarfs mine. That much I could reconcile. Losing to Andalucera, however, sticks in my craw. At first I thought that that was because I found myself not liking her attitude, but personal feelings had nothing to do with it as I came to learn after some contemplation.

Distraction.

And I should fucking know better because I was taught better.”

Anger seeps into his words now. The fracas elsewhere in his humble abode has died down some, but there are still noises… just not voices. Honestly, it sounds a little violent. Heavy thumps and swishes. Nathaniel does not like the sound of it.

”Yours was an impressive victory, Brenna. You deserve praise for it. You will deserve it if you get past me as well, for even a damaged warrior is still a warrior…”

Then, just like that, he trails off. His head lowers while his shoulders rise and fall deeply. Several eternities pass before he lifts his head again. Oddly enough, there’s a smile on what’s visible of his face… framed swiftly on both sides by dripping moisture. Definitely NOT sweat.

”...we’re done here. Brenna, you’re owed an apology for this… lackluster address. You’ll get it in the form of a hard-hitting match which will let you test yourself properly and show PWE what you can do. No bullshit promises of victory or veiled threats are necessary. I will do what I am paid to do and hopefully make something proper of the time given.

Until then.”

Rising, he walks from the bed to the stationary camera and shuts it off without pretense.

A moment later, we’re watching the Jeep pull into the lot of an old, abandoned warehouse. Nathaniel parks well away from it, and no sooner does he step out of the vehicle than does Sybil all but appear at his side, like a shadow emerging from the fog. A single streetlamp offers light in this place, the rest being moonlit shadows.

”Left side of the building. Near the dumpster. She hasn’t moved in some time.”

Nathaniel looks off in that direction, seeing nothing but darkness. Then, a shadow moves against a shadow. His eyes narrow, the hunter’s instinct kicking in.

”She knows we’re here.”

Sybil is not quite used to how sharp Nathaniel can be at times. She squints, staring into the darkness, then sees what he sees. She looks up at Nate, who looks back at her. He nods and gestures for her to go around to the other side. Meanwhile, he’s going directly for the shadows.

”Be gentle. But don’t let her get away. Otherwise we might not find her again.”

The words hit like a fist to the jaw. To be so close only to lose again. Nathaniel knew he could not weather that.

”Right…”

”I would give everything I have to bring you back, Melissa. As it stands, I may have to. What has become of you, of us, is not something that will heal easily, if at all. I love you more than life itself, but you hurt me like nothing and no one else ever could. Even if everything were on the line, though? It may not even be enough. I have to ask myself if the life I have built… wrestling, acting, building and maintaining a home, creating art… is worth this.

Except that I already know the answer.”

Like a tiny, cute ninja, Sybil vanishes into the darkness, moving about to head off a possibly-retreating Melissa. Nathaniel, meanwhile, moves in to make the direct approach. Last chance, she had said. Or something to that effect.

One could only hope.

Fade to black.