'The Strength' or: Strange Days, Vast Nights

I. Funeral

Quick as a cricket and soft as a pillow. I got the news standin’ right smackdab in the middle of Spokane International Airport and it felt like I got suckerpunched. Whole flight back home, my mind was racin', tryna rectify the way I was feelin’ with the years of livin’ ‘neath that man’s shadow. He was still my daddy. Ain’t nothin’ could change that.

For the first time in my life, I was walkin’ the world with no parents left. Funny how a thought like that can weasel its way into your brain and really fuck you up, ain’t it?

Week later, we had the funeral. I drove up to Carson City and got Cora and Natalie to come along with me. Way I figured it, I needed the support and Natalie needed to meet her papaw, even if it were a bit late. He’d already been cremated, so there was just an urn up on top of an altar. The whole funeral home was crawlin’ with folks; family I ain’t seen in years, friends I ain’t never been too friendly with, my daddy’s old wrasslin’ pals from the glory days, muscles and might reduced to wrinkles and wheelchairs.

I ain’t gonna waste no time tellin’ all ‘bout how it went. I cried. I ain’t ashamed to say that much. Cora sat there with her arm ‘cross my shoulders, Frankie tried to put on a brave face but it weren't no use, and Natalie sat all somber with her hands in her lap, lookin’ down at the floor. I ain’t never been no good contendin’ with death. Not when my mama died, not when my dog died. Always just felt like the last prank of a trickster god.

On the drive back to Vegas, Natalie was sleepin’ in the backseat and Waylon was singin’ on the radio. Cora sat there in the passenger seat and, ‘fore too long, she reached one hand over to take mine. I didn’t say nothin’ and neither did she. I ain’t know if it was 'sposed to be romantic or just a simple act of kindness, but it didn’t matter. I held her hand and we drove through the night.

The next day, I was alone in my suite at The Golden Nugget, starin’. Just sat there, lettin’ my thoughts flood my brain and drag me down; I’m talkin’ guilt and regret and all them other prickly emotions we ain’t too keen to deal with. Let it fester. Let it eat you alive. Ain’t no reason to keep pushin’ that boulder up no hill; just let it roll on back and squash you into the dirt.

It’s always after tragedy that the real trauma sets in. Vultures from the past come to feast on the present.

'Round my seventeenth or eighteenth intrusive thought, I reckon I came up with a plan on what I needed to do.

“So, wait,” Jimmy Knuckles said, sittin’ ‘cross from me in one of them flashy, neon-fucked bars you got all along Fremont Street. “You want me to… drive you into the desert and just leave you there?”

“Just ‘bout sums it up,” I said. “I ain’t been alright these last few months, Jimmy. Whole lotta shit done went and changed.  I’m just tryna find myself again. Find that balance.”

“And what’s wandering around alone in the desert gonna do for you?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, it’s a vision quest, ain’t it?” I said. “Y’know. The Indians came up with it. Plop you down out in the middle of nowhere, go wanderin’ ‘round tryna find the spirits of your ancestors, and then you come back with a better understandin’ of your purpose in the whole universal scheme of things. It’s sacred shit, Jimmy. Real fuckin’ heavy.”

“Why can't you just drive yourself?" Jimmy asked.

“‘Well, hell,” I said. “I ain’t known for my ability to finish the shit I start. You drive me out there and drop me off, I ain’t got no choice in the matter. Can’t get back into my car and drive away the second the goin’ gets tough. You're keepin' me honest.”

“Fair enough,” Jimmy said. “And why aren’t you asking someone else to drive you out there?”

“Who else I got?” I asked. “Cora ain’t gonna do it. Frankie’s still in mournin’. Hugo’d sooner shoot me. Vera and Ol’ Jorgensen… well…”

“I still work for them, you know,” Jimmy said. “Ms. Venturi and Mr. Jorgensen, I mean. They aren’t happy with you, Daytona.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t happy with them neither,” I said. “So, I guess that makes us even.”

“...hmph. Alright then,” Jimmy said. “I’ll do it."

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" I shouted. "Knew I could count on you, Jimmy!"

"Don't get it twisted," Jimmy said. "You owe me. You already packed?"

"Sure am," I said, pattin' the bag sittin' next to me in the booth. "I'm ready when you are."

"Then let's go," Jimmy said. "Before I change my mind."

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

II. Visions

It was roundabout noon. Cacti danced on the horizon, turned into squiggly lines by the heat. Sunwshed sand and nothin' for miles. A burial ground for assholes who’d pissed off the wrong sorts of people. The Mojave ain’t the sorta place you wanna spend much time, but there I was plottin' to spend the night.

My bag was in the backseat and, in that bag, I had a few things: A tent; easy pop-up ‘cause fuck tents. A sleepin’ bag; lightweight, nothin’ too fancy. Eighteen protein bars; one half-eaten. A headlamp; rhinestone-bedazzled strap included. Sunglasses; cheap aviators, silver tinted. Bottle of Banana Boat SPF100 sunscreen; coconut scented. Water; lots of it, in bladders and canteens. Four packs of Marlboro Reds; unlit. A Zippo; refueled and rewicked for the occasion.

Oh, and a sheet of blotter acid.

“Y'know,” Jimmy said. “I think, just to keep my conscience clear, I've gotta tell you to reconsider this.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, lookin’ over at him. “Why’s that, Jimmy?”

“Because you’re probably gonna die,” Jimmy said. “And I don’t wanna waste time trying to find your corpse. We can turn around. You can go home. You’ve got a match to get ready for anyway, don’t you?”

“Aw hell’s bells, I ain’t gonna die,” I said. “I’ve been fuckin’ ‘round in these deserts most my life. ‘Sides all that, maybe this is how I’m preppin’ for my match. Didja think of that?”

Jimmy scoffed. “And how’s this count as 'prepping'?”

“Way I figure it, I ain’t just fightin’ ol’ Anna Daniels. She’s got a goddang multitude livin’ in her. We’re talkin’ future and past selves, cosmic entities from beyond the fuckin’ void, real spooky quantum bullshit,” I said. “So, it ain’t a fair fight from the get go. I’m up against Annie and a buncha incorporeal peckerwoods. Figure I gotta find me some ancestral spirits and get them ghosts to help me put a fuckin’ asswhoopin’ on her.”

“...that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” Jimmy said.

“Yeah, well, s'what I'm doin'” I said. “Pull over up there. I’ll hop on out.”

Jimmy pulled off on the side of the road and I climbed out, grabbin' my bag from the back.

“Ain’t got no cell service out here, so… just meet me here tomorrow ‘round the same time, alright?” I said. “Reckon one night oughta be enough to commune with whatever’s out here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jimmy said. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

I watched as Jimmy drove away. Soon as he was out of sight, I started rummagin’ through my bag ‘til I found that aforementioned blotter acid.

“Welp,” I said, pluckin’ a tab off the sheet. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road.”

I stuck it on my tongue and we were off to the races.

Hour 1

That first hour, I just started walkin’. Didn’t have no destination in mind. No place to be, no place to go, just an ol’ soul cowboy communin’ with nature. Standin’ there in the middle of the desert, I started wonderin’ where I’d be hidin’ if I was an ancestral spirit. Wondered if my daddy'd be among 'em.

I ain’t the religious sort and I ain’t too sure how these sorts of transitions ‘tween life and death work, but I was hopin’ he’d had enough time to pass to the other side. We never saw eye to eye in life, so I figured maybe we might be able to hash it out in death. If nothin’ else, maybe he'd offer a couple hints on what I should do with myself.

Life’s a fuckin’ mess, ain’t it? The second you think you’re goin’ the right way, you look down at your feet and realize you’re trudgin’ through mud. ‘Tween Cora and Natalie, Vera and Jorgensen, my daddy dyin’, all the bullshit I gotta deal with in PRIME, the ebb and flow of addiction… Hell, I had a lotta weight on my shoulders. I was hopin' this little trip would act as a reset.

Forty-five minutes into the walk, I could hear birds singin’, but I didn’t see none. Sky looked brighter. Clouds started movin’ just a little bit faster. I couldn't stop smilin'.

Hour 2

I reckoned it was a good idea to go 'head and get a campsite setup ‘fore I really started blastin’ off, so I found a good spot far 'nough away from the road and plopped down my bag. There weren't no use takin' it easy, so I went 'head and took a second hit of acid too.

By the time the tent was standin’ upright, my soul was levitatin' outta my body. Heart beatin’ like a wardrum, head spinnin' circles, my whole world comin’ off its axis. I fished out a pack of cigarettes and squeezed one ‘tween my lips. When the lighter flickered to life, I could see the a sparks bouncin' off each other in slow motion. I took a long draw in and let the smoke fill my lungs ‘fore exhalin’ and watchin’ it all come out in spirals.

A vulture flew overhead.

Hour 3

And then, my thoughts turned to anger.

Anna Daniels.

How can someone with such a borin' name be so goddang fuckin’ weird?

Annie Dannie.

Wonder how many times the BBC’s threatened to sue her for copyright infringement?

Danna Aniels

I can't tell if she's outta her mind or if she's the only one that's got it right. I’ve been in the ring with her before; back when Ol’ Mother Troy thought it’d be a funny haha to team me up with Donny "Sticks Live In My Ass” Winters… but this time, it’s just me and her, mano a mano, tryna figure out which one of us has the quicker draw. Won't end in no crucifixion, at least.

Anal Dangle.

Look at me. Undefeated in 2024. Longest winnin’ streak in PRIME right now and that ain’t no joke; look it up. The second longest reignin’ Intense Champion of the ReVival era. What’ve I gotta be scared of? Some fuckin’ Doctor Who cosplayer in a furcoat with a pretty face? Fuck that. I’m Daytona Diamonds. King of the Rodeo! The Rhinestone Cowboy!  The goddang bes--

I looked out over the desert and saw a tree burnin’ in the distance; cinder and smoke, ash and ember, hellfire and damnation. Those flames grew high, scrapin’ the sky and settin’ clouds ablaze and, within that fire, I saw somethin’ contained within all men, our longin’ and our frenzy, our souls set alight for no reason but to burn, burn, burn, our thoughts our wicks and our minds our wax, rampant and savage, a perpetual storm. I stared, wide-eyed and tongue-tied and quakin’ at the core, fallin’ to my knees there and then 'fore tears started pourin’ down my cheeks, each one congregatin’ into a flood ‘til I was weepin’, overwhelmed and whiplashed by tidal waves of pure, unleashed emotion.

All at once, I was one with the world or maybe the world was one with me.

My daddy was gone and there weren’t no bringin’ him back.

Somewhere in New Jersey, there was a baby with his head on my ex-wife’s shoulder, gettin’ rocked to sleep without ever havin’ met me.

Somewhere else, a younger me was snortin’ that first line, sealin’ his fate, decidin’ his future there and then, all future selves tied to that one simple moment.

Shoo lord, that acid sure was kickin’ in somethin’ fierce.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

III. Bottomless Pit

I didn’t know what time it was.

The sun was startin’ to go down.

I’d sat crosslegged, starin’ at the tree ‘til it stopped burnin’, if it was ever burnin’ at all.

My lips were dry, so I staggered back to my campsite.

I clawed at my bag ‘til I found a canteen, fumblin’ with the cap ‘fore I took a big sip and kept drinkin’ ‘til I drained it dry.

And that was when I heard a voice.

It was distant, floatin’ and driftin’ cross the desolation, tanglin’ itself with the buzzin’ in my brain.

Barely a whisper, just a word.

“Daytona.”

I looked up. Out there, ‘cross the dust, resplendent ‘gainst a poisoned sky, I saw the silhouette of a rider approachin’ on horseback.

“Oh fuck,” I murmured. “...it’s a… goddang spirit.”

On ragged legs with blistered feet, I lurched towards the rider.

“I gotta…” I muttered, tryna stand and stumblin’ on the way up. “…getchu to help me.”

I swayed side to side in a brainfucked waltz.

“Daddy…? S’that you…?” I muttered. “...knew… you’d come... see me…”

The rider stopped in front of me, pullin’ the reins and makin’ the horse rear up on its hindlegs ‘fore the sky filled with thunder and roar, lightnin’ and flash. A bandana was up over his mouth and he stared down at me with familiar eyes.

When he pulled the bandana down, I was expectin’ to see my daddy.

But it weren’t him.

It was Larry fuckin’ Lawson.

A slow grin curled at the corners of his lips. He was translucent, see-through, flickerin’ in and out of existence.

“Well howdy, Daytona,” He said. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“What… are you doin’ here?” I asked, words comin’ out all crooked.

“You wanted to talk to the dead, didn’t you? Well, I’m your man,” He said. “Besides, let’s be honest. I always looked out for you more than your daddy ever did.”

“…you… piece of…” I was slurrin’, tryna not pass out. “…leave me alone.”

“No can do, compadre,” Larry said. “You’ve got a match to win and a life to untangle. I’m here to help with both. C’mon, get on the horse. I have something to show you.”

Right on cue, the horse knelt down, bowin' its head. I started to say no and walk away, but in the blink of an eye, I found myself on its back, ridin’ further into the desert with Larry Lawson holdin’ the reins.

The sky was blood red, clouds all mangled and full of static. I saw destruction in every direction, bodies strewn ‘round in decay, some faces I recognized and others I'd never seen. The horse was knee deep in blood, that constant slosh-slosh-slosh as it moved through the viscera the only sound.

Me and Larry, we didn’t talk. We just waded through the wreckage ‘til we came to a clearin’ and, at the center of it all, there was a hole.

Not a gopher hole. Weren’t even a sinkhole. This thing was massive, sprawlin’, like cut from God's own knife.

Larry got down off the horse and so did I. He walked towards the hole and I followed. When we got to the edge, we both peered over and all I saw was a swirlin’ infinity.

“What’s… down there?” I asked.

“Who knows?” Larry said. “Salvation, maybe. A chance to be reborn. You should dive in.”

“I ain’t… jumpin’ into that,” I said. “Ain’t… no way.”

“Look, Daytona. You wanted a vision quest? Well, this is it,” He said. “You’ve been hurtling towards rock bottom for years. What’s a little more falling gonna hurt?”

My mouth moved, but no words came out.

“The spirits are watching, Daytona,” Larry said. “You want their help beating Anna Daniels? You want them to help you get your life back together? Well, they wanna make sure you’re committed this time. Don’t worry. A jump like that ain’t gonna hurt any worse than all the things you’ve already done to yourself. If I were you, I’d do a cannonball.”

I felt Larry’s hand restin’ on my shoulder.

“Alright,” I said. “Do I just... jump?

“That's right,” Larry said. “On the count of three. One… two…”

Before 'three' left his lips, I felt a shove from behind as Larry pushed me forward. I lost my footin’ on the ledge, graspin’ for some sort of handhold and findin’ thin air. I don’t remember screamin', but my mouth went wide, all shock and awe 'fore I nosedived into the pit, fallin' and fallin’ and fallin’, eyes lookin’ up to see the sky above and growin’ smaller and smaller ‘til they were just a pinprick of light in a veil of darkness.

I fell fast, body careenin’ and bouncin’ off the walls like a pinball, turned bloody by the jagged rocks carvin' my skin, grittin’ my teeth and gaspin’ for air and knowin’ I’d be fallin’ for all eternity, until the end of time, for all and evermore.

And then, it just went black.

Hour 24

I felt somethin’ hard hit my ribcage ‘fore I pulled my face up from the dirt.

“Urgggghhh,” I half-mumbled, half-groaned. “...the… fuck’s goin’... on?”

I looked up and saw a massive figure standin’ there ‘gainst the sunlight, lookin' down at me, arms crossed over his chest.

“You alive?” Jimmy asked.

It took a couple seconds to get my bearings. I was layin’ there on the ground, my tent just a few feet away, my clothes all caked in dust and dirt.

“I… think so?” I coughed.

“What a miracle,” Jimmy said. “C’mon. Get up.”

Jimmy reached down and grabbed me by the collar, pullin’ me to my feet as I tried in vain to stand on two limp legs, knees bucklin’ and body nearly fallin’ back over. I grabbed onto Jimmy’s shoulder to steady myself, but the world was all topsy-turvy.

“Fuck,” I said. “I saw… Larry and I was… fallin’ down this hole and…”

"Le me guess," Jimmy said. "You got high and hallucinated some dumb shit that was supposed to be profound. Right?"

I didn’t say nothin’. I just stood there, slackjawed and tryna stay upright.

“Well, congratulations,” Jimmy said. “You made it through the night. Hope it was worth it. Fucking idiot...”

I let go of Jimmy and sat back down. He grabbed a canteen of water from my bag and chucked it over at me. I sat there sippin’ on it while he packed up the campsite, my eyes set on the horizon. When it was all packed up, he helped me get back up to unsteady feet, the bag slung over one shoulder and me balancin’ ‘gainst the other as we walked towards his Jeep in the distance.

“Be honest,” He said. “Did you find what you were looking for or was this just another waste of time?”

I didn’t say nothin’ at first. None of my thoughts were makin’ no sense; just a cacophony of noise and sensation, little tingles workin’ their way ‘neath my skin.

“I… dunno what I was ‘sposed to find,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m doin’ anymore, Jimmy.”

“Well, maybe don’t go on a spirit journey next time you feel like fixing your problems,” Jimmy said. “Instead, maybe you should just try to actually fucking fix them.”

“...how am I ‘sposed to do that?” I asked.

“That’s for you to figure out,” Jimmy said. “But my advice? The first step is to stop lying to yourself.”

We didn’t say nothin’ else the whole drive back to Vegas. I just sat there, starin’ out the window, watchin’ the world go by, thinkin’ ‘bout the night before and all those other nights ahead. Jimmy was right. I knew he was right and I felt like a fuckin’ idiot, so I pulled out my phone. There was barely a signal and just a little bit of battery left. I started scrollin’ through my contacts and textin ‘em one by one.

To Vera and Jorgensen, I said, “I want out of my contract.”

To Frankie, I said, “I want us to be brothers again.”

To Cora, I said, “I love you so much. I want you to know that.”

To Bambi, I said, “I’m so sorry, Bambi. Can we talk? Please?”

And finally, to Larry's long disconnected number, I said, "Thanks for always lookin' out for me, you fuckin' asshole."

I just hoped the afterlife came with a text messagin' plan.