The Chain

9:42 AM

There was no preamble of snoozed alarms, of slumber microbursts annoyingly wedged between five minute intervals. A rise brought about naturally. Brandon couldn’t remember the last time he’d afforded himself such a treat. The blackout curtains helped. Gingerly, he swung himself to the edge of he and Amy’s bed, bracing against the top rail of the wooden footboard with his palm, the fingers of his free hand skimming along the stitch glaze seamed from his lower forehead down to the bridge of his nose.  Snow's head was a battering ram; the welts, the blood bruises, the strained tendons making up Brandon's body would argue The Original Villain's skull was the least dangerous of his weapons.

Fourteen years.

One of The Two Unconquerable taken down.

Celebration would come in treatment. The tension in his neck from the turnbuckle brainbuster needed a chiropractor’s touch. That was his one o’clock. He’d follow it up with physiotherapy. Afterwards, cardio, and then, an ice bath. Maybe by the middle of the week, he could dedicate himself to training; with FLAMBERGE and Max Kael, he didn’t have time to waste.

He planted his feet on the texture doeskin, his steps chary. In the doorway, he considered Amy, all bundled with their lavender comforter, small snores emanating from underneath. The bacon he was about to cook would be a more welcome alarm. The carpet from the bedroom gave way to the maple hardwood in the hallway, footfalls sounding as he made his way into the bathroom, relieving himself, grabbing a washcloth and running it under hot water before dabbing it over his eyelids to clear out the rheum. The flooring of the kitchen matched the hallway, and as he entered, he opened the refrigerator, pulling out a pound packet of thick cut bacon and tossing it onto the island. The carton of eggs was treated more carefully. Out came the kitchen knife, and he sliced it open, pulling the bacon out across a cutting board before cutting the strips in half. A stainless steel pain placed on a burner under medium heat, some oil to start. No shirt. He was doing this without a shirt.

Couldn’t possibly hurt worse than what Snow had done to him.

Layering some paper towels on a plate, he waited for the bacon to release from the steel. There would be plenty of grease to baste the yolks of the eggs. Upon release, he flipped the first batch before reaching into the fridge, pulling out some orange juice. While he was at it, he ran the faucet, filling Cheddar’s bowl with cold water. He lifted the first batch of bacon from the pan, putting it out on the paper towel before eating the first piece. It was important for the chef to taste while they cooked, after all.

The second would go to his assistant, still absent from his station. Oh well; it was a perfect day to sleep in. He palmed the piece of bacon as he walked from the kitchen into the living room, stepping onto the off-white carpet toward the kennel pad near the front windows. Splayed out on his side, the good boy faced the wall.

Scent hit before sight.

“Oh! Cheddar!” The closer Brandon came, the clearer it was that the poor pup had suffered an accident during the night. Some of it, unfortunately, even had dribbled onto the carpet. “Come on, let’s get you up outside and hosed off.” The sound of his father’s voice, much like the cooking of fresh bacon, had yet to raise him. “Boy.” He reached down, giving Cheddar a nudge.

His muscles were stiff and cold.

“Boy?”

Eight years ago, and after attending the grave of Raven Snow in vain, Brandon left Saint Ambrose to trek back home; a remote cabin in the woods of Klamath Falls. The bare essentials. Spartan living had been his custom for so long when in the States that he knew no other way. Acclimatizing was proving to be a challenge, the bustle and the density of people in Lyari hard to shake.

Pocatello. He didn’t need to drive back to Klamath Falls, but what was the rush? Nobody knew he was in the US again, not even Lindsay. The reason he came here was recent, minted somewhere over the Atlantic, between Doha and Boston. Under slate sky, he drove his truck, making a right off of I-15BL onto Avenue of the Chiefs, rounding the bend of white pines and fescue to a gravel lot for a small building whose vertical siding was sunwashed teal. Parking up close, he turned the ignition, opening his door before trudging inside, his peacoat wrapped around him. Even with an unseasonably warm winter, he couldn’t stave off the shivers.

Nervousness lilted up his belly under the soft fluorescent glow within. The volunteer at reception was young, her stitched sweater of kittens hanging two sizes too large off her tiny frame. She looked pale, frail, but her cheeks lit up with a cheery smile, her hand reaching out to greet him, the purple varnish of her nails chipped. Extended pleasantries. Clipboards with forms and documents to sign. “Well I’m glad we could find Chester a nice home. And such a long way too. What brings you all the way out here?”

“Don’t know. Something about him just...”

“Spoke to you?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s crazy how much much better things have gotten in the last few years. When we signed up to use more databases...”

“Can I meet him?”

“Oh! Yes! Yes of course!” If there was any offense from his interruption, she didn’t show it, her hands fluttering together in rapid fire claps. “Follow me.” She led the way leftward, down the tiled hallway, opening the heavy metal door with the number pad. Behind it were fences on both sides of the kennel. The floor was concrete, each holding area having its own bed and toys to keep the occupants inside active. It was midway down the aisle, on the right, that Brandon first met him. Tan coat. Black muzzle. Big brown eyes. Panting. And as they drew close, the poor boy crashed his head against the metal mesh. He was undeterred, his paws attacking the steel, trying to climb it. “Chester is very excitable. Very personable. Think the only reason he’s been around so long is because of his age. Sort of caught in the middle, you know?”

After opening the door, the pug made a beeline for Brandon, trying to climb up the legs of his jeans. Overwhelming bursts of energy. Inquisitive barks and howls aplenty. His tail was wagging out of control.

For Brandon, It felt good to have someone be excited to meet him.

“Amy?” His tone was gravel thanks to the ring rope garroting Snow had inflicted upon him. “Hey...Amy?”

She groaned from under the comforter. “Wha...”

The bacon hadn’t caused her to rise; he was thankful. “Do we have another pack of gloves? The nitrile ones?”

“...aren’t there some in the pantry?”

“No...I...I think I used that one up last night. Thought we ordered another box.”

For a moment, silence. Cocooned, she turned from her side, a hand reaching for her eyes, a deep exhale to get through the fog. “I mean...maybe we have another box in the garage. I think I ordered some more. Want me to go–”

“No.” Quick. Terse.

She drew her head upward, her brow furrowing.

“It’s okay...” he stammered, palms outstretched. “I just...I’ll go look. You can keep sleeping–”

“Well I’m awake now–”

“Amy–”

“Brandon, what is–”

“Just...go back to sleep. Okay? Please?”

He died in his sleep and I wasn’t there for him.

He was all alone in the dark and I wasn’t there for him and I know this because of what the phone said because I looked it up, as I cleaned him and the kennel pad and him and every movement made while I wiped him down a little more came out but he couldn’t help it how could he help it it’s okay boy, I’m not mad at you, we’re not mad at you, it’s not your fault, you are good boy and you always did so good, even from the start, always waiting to go outside, you were such a good boy and when I was done I knew it was deep at night because the smell wasn’t from the accident but because it doesn’t take long six hours maybe seven that’s what the phone said but it doesn’t matter because it was dark then it was dark then and maybe if I hadn’t called it an early night it wouldn’t have been that way but I was really tired boy so tired from the fight and I’m sorry I just wish you could’ve waited just a little while not for me not for me please don’t think it’s for me but because it’s because I didn’t want you to be alone and frightened and scared in those last moments before you closed your eyes because I love you and I love you and thats what friends do when one of their own passes they want to be there for them so they’re not alone no matter what they think please don’t blame me for not being there I’m sorry boy I’m so sorry.

Don’t worry. Even if he could, he wouldn’t hate you in his heart. Such a shame the same cannot be said of others more fortunate. Then again, they would have had to have a heart in the first place.

Portland was over half continent away from Eau Claire, but on the side streets outside Legacy Emmanuel Medical Center, the notion of calling his son was far greater than that. Seeing Blake Colton in that hospital bed, visualizing Cody suffering the same fate, the threat of the world rushing in and hurting his child...

Not even that could bring him to make the call. To press the send button. To do anything but wallow as he dealt with the wake of a year’s worth of rage melting down. What gave him pause? Was it the threat from a year prior? The complications from the love for his child mixing with the violence caused, the reaction between them?

Brandon couldn’t hide it forever. Not from Amy, who caught him as he wiped their puppy down with cloth. He was so focused he didn’t notice her presence until he rose from the floor to grab a blanket to wrap him in. He’s okay with the cold, he told her after she realized what he meant, after she started crying. He was there for her, holding her, rocking her back and forth. And then, he carried him into the kitchen, gently laying him on the top shelf of the emptied refrigerator while they waited for the Celebration of Life Center of Chippewa Valley to come over to cremate him.

No, he couldn’t call because doing so was guided by self preservation. Those intrusive, venomous thoughts. The grabbing of his arm. The tearing of his tricep. The punches and blows to the head. Just putting Brandon in that position, after all he’d done for Cody, after all he’d given to him? Until that day, he never raised a hand to his son. How could he? He wanted to break the chain and give his son a chance to be free from the abuse he himself had suffered. And that ungrateful piece of shit...he...he helped take the Universal Championship from him and…

No. That was the grievance voice and its invasiveness. A lizard unaware of the nematode festering inside, thinking it offered direction. Collection for power.

And you’ve tried, for so long, to take umbrage toward him. Indignation of what he denied you. Yank of the arm. A pull of the rope. The resultant business neverending. So neverending that you find yourself here, now, finally, letting go, pressing that call button.

“Cody...it’s your dad. When you get this, give me a call. Cheddar passed away last night and I wanted you to know.”

Seven years in the past. Klamath Falls was still home, yet after Failure and a Breakfast of Champions, perhaps this trip to Eau Claire would make it sojourn. Wishful thinking. Sunshine. He parked his pickup truck across from Melissa and Travis’s home in East Hill. Brandon’s second time in the neighborhood.

They didn’t need to know about the first.

Spring. His appetite was still in recovery, but his cheeks had begun filling in the further he got from his initial return to the west, so much so that he had no more need for the peacoat. “You ready for this?” He wasn’t alone on the trip; Chester was seated shotgun in the cabin of the pickup truck, panting, his eyes glancing at his owner. “I’m not.” So silly, this conversation, as though his pup was people. Youngblood untangled the kinks of a nylon leash before fixing the clip to his pup’s black mesh harness. “I don’t even know what my son sounds like.”

Had he earned the right to be here? Chester licked his lips, rising up from his perch, his tail wagging. No answer. Perhaps he was exhausted from the tottering of his old man.

Fair enough. “Watch your step, bud.” Brandon opened the door and stepped out of the cabin, picking up his pup and helping him onto the floor as he did so. From there, Chester took a mighty leap onto the street, and with it, started leading the way across the road, to the grass. Brandon couldn’t help but laugh. “Got to go again? Alright, buddy.” The delay was welcome; once he knocked on the door to their home, he’d start receiving answers to questions he’d been constantly fretting upon. What if his son wanted nothing to do with him? What if he scared him? What if...he was just indifferent to his presence? In his past life, indifference was near impossible to achieve; all he needed was a wrestling ring or a microphone. Those days were gone.

They weren’t the only thing behind him. “Brandon,” Melissa smiled as she stood there, dressed in a simple violet blouse.

A hand extended from the man standing beside her. Eye to eye. He and Brandon were the same height. “I’m Travis. Nice to meet you.” While he didn’t share her expression, his presence was just as warm. Pepper splashed throughout the crewcut of his sandy blonde hair, his olive henley conforming well enough to show he was active.

It was who stood between Melissa and Travis that Brandon had been so worried about. Not yet ten years old, wiry, his limbs growing at a faster rate than he could possibly fill them. A wild mess of dirty blonde puffed from the boy’s head like a lion’s mane. He was chewing, his hand filled with cubes of cheese cut from a cheddar block. There was no shirking away. “Hey...”

Brandon stooped slightly to meet his glance. Green eyes. Like father, like son, face to face truly for the first time. “Hey, you’re Cody, right? I’m–” An interruption. Chester swung around from the patch of grass, barking before making a beeline for Cody, his paws frantically climbing at his pant leg, licking at him. The whole burst of energy caused all those gathered around to laugh. Chester was on a mission, trying to climb up, and as he did, Cody dropped a bit of cheese for him. The pug snatched it from the air, loudly chomping away. Another cheese cube followed, this one hitting the sidewalk. It made no difference to him if it was floor cheese. Brandon couldn’t help but beam. “I think he likes you.”

Cody sat in the evening sun, his iguana green NECK COLLECTOR performance raglan left unzipped. The hood wasn’t drawn. A buzzcut, down near to the scalp. He didn’t look the same without his long locks. His hands were buried in his pockets, his back slouched into the lawn chair, his eyes focused on the pool cover. It was the first time he’d been here since picking up his things, back when he’d made it clear he wanted to only stay with his mother. One year. Another state championship in wrestling. Runner up at Nationals in his weight class. He was entering his Senior year as the number one ranked recruit in his class at heavyweight. Football was back too. Eau Claire Memorial was undefeated through its first three games. Wisconsin, Iowa,  Penn State, Ohio State had offered him scholarships and packets about NIL.

A Celebration of Life, days after the fact. The other residents living on Pamela Place held one when the Laird's basset, Amelia Barkhart, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The Pug Army. Now, only Charlie, Woofers, and Captain Serious remained. But they, and their parents, had gone home. It was the Covingtons who remained inside, occupying the kitchen and making dinner with Amy.

Brandon had been watching him from the window, the black matte box clutched in his hands shaking ever so slightly. He’d wanted his relationship with his son to be built on a foundation of trust. Melissa didn’t think he should know about the darkness, about the sins of the past. He was too young to understand. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to her son she reasoned. To her. He opened the back patio door, making his way forward, through the bluegrass, saying nothing as arrived at the pool patio, dragging over a neighboring chair so he could be close to his son. In his lap, he cradled the box, eyes surveying the sugar maples at the end of the yard.

Cody refused to acknowledge his presence, at least until the box was offered. He glowered toward his father, disgusted, yet he took the box all the same, easing back into his seat.

One year ago and the brewing of everything that led to it. There would never be a perfect time or circumstances in which to attempt to engage. It was better to simply rip the bandaid off. “I’m sorry, Cody.”

“Don’t.”

He didn’t.

Tense silence. His fingertips rapped against the lid of the box. “This is your fault.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Poison dripped from every syllable. “I didn’t even say goodbye to him the last time I was here. Know why? Because I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Because of you. ”

We share blood. He doesn’t need to care about me.  I will protect him at all costs. No one will darken my son’s door. Anyone who tries, they won’t be made example of with my hate; that’s too susceptible, too prone to fail. No...what will be done will be guided by something far stronger. Something deeper. Brandon nodded. “This is for you.”

His son’s eyes narrowed. He pulled at the top of the box, looking inside for a moment before pulling out the plush pug inside. Tan coat. Black muzzle. On the underside of his tummy, ‘Cheddar’, embroidered in black cursive.

“It’s an...it’s an urn. Inside...there’s a piece of him, so he’ll always be there with you. You and he were always so close.”

He was shaking. “Don’t use him to try and manipulate me. Don’t you fucking dare.” He took the plush, the box falling onto the pool deck’s stenciled concrete. “I know you. The real you.” A hitch in his voice. Sundered rage. “I’ll never forgive you.”

Strike your father. Aim all and unload, because they are so omnipresent, so rooted in all, that they transcend surveillance. And it feels good, doesn’t it? After all they did to you, it relieves the pressure wadded up inside. Gives a sense of self determination. Yours has disappeared and I have scoured mine from the Earth as though he never existed. But the voice inside...it never stops. It seeks more, be it pity, be it dominion, be it something, anything, to fill the absence. But those blows we struck...they’re vengeance. They relieve... but they don’t free. 

“You hear me? I said I’ll never forgive you!”

The chain continues. What we seek isn’t blood upon our knuckles, but, as lost children...we want them to acknowledge what they did to us in full. I will never have the opportunity to get this from my father; I refuse to deny it from my son. “It’s okay if you hate me. You have the right to feel how you do. But I want you to know...it doesn’t change the fact that, no matter what happens, no matter what you do...I will always love you.”

Cody tried and tried, but the tears spitting forth from his eyes were hot, burning across his cheeks. Trembling, he held the pug in his hands, looking deep into its eyes. Shuddered breaths. Several minutes passed. He rested the plush urn against his thigh. His hand softly reached out from his arm rest.

His father showed no hesitation in taking it into his own.