"Where am I?"
"Jerry! He's coming around again!"
"I swear, man, next time I see Shelley, I'm punching his teeth down his throat."
"Get in line."
"This isn't a playground rumble by the flagpole, boys. I don't want either of you giving Nash or Shelley a reason to target you."
"But the guy seriously needs his face rearranged, Jerry!"
"And do you really want to end up with your brains scrambled too? There's no point in thinning our ranks by letting them pick us off one by one! Do you hear me?"
The response was mumbled.
"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that."
"Yes, sir."
The voices were recognizable enough as Jerry Lynn, Sonjay Dutt and Jay Lethal, but Sabin had long since lost the thread of the conversation. His primary concern was that, no matter how hard he tried, his eyes seemingly refused to open. Panic set in and he reached up to touch his face, but instead found something cold and hard.
"Hold on, kid," Jerry's voice said, uncharacteristically soft, and then the cold object was lifted away to allow harsh light into his eyes. But even now they wouldn't fully open, caught in a painful squint.
"Holy shit," Lethal gaped at him.
"What?" Sabin asked groggily, his head beginning to throb at the base of his skull.
Dutt, who was leaning against the wall, arms tightly folded, grunted. "Must be one bitch of a concussion if you don't remember Nash liquefying your nose with his boot. Your face is swollen all to hell, dude."
Trying to remember only increased the headache, and Sabin leaned forward, convinced that his brain was two seconds from exploding out of his eye sockets. A comforting hand touched his shoulder.
"Guys, go take a walk," Lynn told Dutt and Lethal. They complied without an argument, leaving behind an awkward silence that now filled the room. Lynn seemed not to know how to word what he wanted to say, and began pacing, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded jeans. Sabin went to speak but stopped before a word was formed; a wave of nausea washed over him and he was tentative to open his mouth.
"I don't want you to beat yourself up over this," Lynn finally said after exhaling a deep breath. "What happened out there – it wasn't your fault."
Sabin frowned and immediately wished that he hadn't; the pain increased considerably and he put his head into his hands. He knew that what Lynn was saying would probably make more sense if he could remember what had happened out there. But as he now touched his tender, swollen face, pieces of some rather unpleasant moments were beginning to come back to him.
"I pushed you too hard," Lynn continued. "Everything Nash was saying about and doing to the X-Division really struck a nerve with me, but unfortunately, these days, there's not much I can do about it.
"But you – and hell, it's no secret that you remind me a whole lot of me – and when you stepped up…" he trailed off, trying to reform his sentence. "I wanted so badly for you to beat him – for me to beat him through you – and I ended up putting all of that pressure on your shoulders because nobody else could or would stand up to him. That wasn't fair on you."
The image of Lynn standing on the entrance ramp, watching with such overwhelming disappointment in his eyes was suddenly clear as day in Sabin's mind, and he felt his stomach drop. I let him down, he thought angrily. After everything he's done for me, I let him down. Big time.
He now vividly remembered a conversation from two years ago, when Lynn, then captain of Team NWA in the 2004 World X Cup, had asked Sabin to take his place in the final round of the tournament: the Ultimate X match. It had been a huge honour and a tremendous opportunity for Sabin to show the wrestling world what he could do, that he was capable of such responsibility. And in that most dangerous of matches, he hadn't disappointed. Fighting off both Hector Garza – captain of Team Mexico – and Petey Williams – freshly-named captain of Team Canada – Sabin had swung his battered body across the fifteen-plus-foot high steel cables to claim the prize at their intersection and secure the win for his team.
The thought should have made him feel better, but instead he felt even more the failure. That day his challenge had been purely X-Division; it was a style that he had learned quickly and, in his love for it, was arguably dominant. Ultimate X was a match in which he had now competed an unprecedented seven times and had won three times. His second reign as X-Division champion had been cut short by injury, and many believed that, if not for that stroke of bad luck, he would still have been champion today.
But all of that now meant nothing. When the challenge had been issued outside of the X-Division, away from his comfort zone, he had been knocked back, beaten down and defeated. For all of his accomplishments, he was nothing more than a kid dreaming outside of his league.
Nash was right.
Size does matter.
Lynn was still talking but Sabin was no longer listening. The last thought hurt worse than the pain in his head or the aching of his swollen face. Now that he understood that he had just lost the match (and had evidently lost badly), he began to get angry.
The angrier he got, the more upset he became.
The more upset he became, the more his head throbbed.
The more his head throbbed, the more the nausea returned.
And the more the nausea returned…
"Calm down, kid, just take it easy. Take this. Wash your mouth out," Jerry instructed after Sabin finished being sick all over the locker room floor. He looked up at Lynn with glazed eyes and accepted the offered bottle of water. "My fault. It's the concussion. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't be telling you all this now, anyway."
Telling me all what? Sabin wondered, genuinely confused, but when he tried to voice the question it came out slurred. Lynn just shook his head, patted him once on the back, and went to the door to let Dutt and Lethal back in. Quietly, he told them both to take Sabin back to the hotel and look after him; with so severe a concussion, it was in fact dangerous for him sleep. He would have to be woken up every couple of hours.
"And guys," Lynn glanced over his shoulder at Sabin, who was sitting, legs bent, with his forehead resting on his knees, "just keep an eye on him."
Lethal made a face. "It's not like he's in any shape to sneak off in the middle of the night, Jerry."
"I have a bad feeling," Lynn replied, absently scratching the back of his head.
Dutt raised an eyebrow as Lynn met his questioning stare. He opened his mouth to ask if it was an attack from Nash that the other was expecting, but stopped himself before a word was spoken. He knew as well as Lynn did that Nash wouldn't bother with Sabin again tonight; the next round would come when Sabin was healed enough to 'appreciate' the abuse. But if it wasn't Nash that Lynn was worried about, that meant it was some kind of veteran's intuition worrying him now. And that meant it was better not to ask questions.
"No worries, Jerry. We've got it covered."
Lynn nodded his thanks and then left to continue his duties and inform someone of the mess that needed cleaning in the locker room. Dutt and Lethal moved over to Sabin and slowly helped him to his feet, an arm draped around each of them in case he should black out again. When they got outside, Dutt stopped and cautiously looked around. There was nobody in sight.
"I'll bring the car around. Stay here with him. No point making him walk more than he has to."
Lethal readily agreed, not having been overly keen on the prospect of carrying Sabin across the parking lot. After helping his friend slowly sit on the pavement, he leaned back against the building, folded his arms and looked up into the night sky. The bright city lights would have made it difficult to see any stars in the best conditions, but dark, murky clouds were rolling in, blocking out everything save for the brilliant full moon. A sudden fluttering of wings made him look up at the roof in surprise; Pigeons, he figured, though he could have sworn the bird looked black, even considering the dimness.
"Jay?"
The sweet voice snapped Lethal out of his musings and he lowered his gaze to find Traci Brooks and SoCal Val watching him with big, doe-like eyes. He must have looked startled (they had appeared out of nowhere, after all), for both women immediately became apologetic.
"Sorry. We didn't mean to bother you," Val said, twirling a lock of her radiant red hair around her finger.
"No!" Lethal stopped her, slapping on his most charming of smiles. Startled I may be; stupid I am not. "No worries. What can I do for you gorgeous ladies?"
Val giggled and Traci clasped her hands behind her back, giving him something to look at while she spoke. "We were wondering if you could give us a hand. Our car won't start, and it looks like it might start raining." They batted their eyelashes in unison.
Lethal's knees nearly gave out from under him, and he had to take extra care not to let his voice crack. "It would be my pleasure. Lead the way."
Val pointed a perfectly-manicured finger at Sabin. "What about him? Is he okay? He looked pretty nasty after the match."
"Yeah, but Sonjay's bringing the car over as we speak. He'll be fine for a couple minutes." Lethal hadn't even looked away. "Now, let's go see if I can't fix your problem."
The girls beamed at him and linked his arms in theirs, leading him away from Sabin, who sat motionless on the hard concrete. He didn't even react to Lethal's departure.
Oh, Jay, you're the best!
Sabin was only vaguely aware of other voices around him. He was close to blacking out and was desperately concentrating what little energy he had on not throwing up again. He silently wished the noises would stop, as all they were doing was worsening his already-agonizing headache. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, willing the stillness to prevail.
And then all was quiet.
Confused, he opened his eyes and peered around the parking lot. The last thing that he remembered clearly was talking – or trying to talk – to Jerry Lynn, and then tossing his cookies all over the floor. He thought that he had left with Dutt and Lethal afterward, but how he had ended up on his own in the parking lot was a complete mystery to him.
"Poor boy. All alone. Nobody to care for him. We wouldn't do that to him, would we?"
"Not in a million years. But then, I do tend to spoil the cherished members of my deranged surrogate family, if only they would accept the rightful place to which they belong. Tell me: do you think that perhaps he is ready to reconsider the offer that you extended – the offer that he so ungratefully spurned?"
Sabin focused on the shadows that loomed over him; they seemed to have formed out of thin air, but so much was confusing him that he didn't bother to wonder at it. He could see Jackie's face clearly; her gaze held a sympathetic, motherly quality that seemed meant to console him while hiding her secret amusement at his situation, as if he had been victim to some cruel prank. She kneeled down and gently caressed his cheek.
"Are you ready to admit that you were wrong?"
Raven's face, in contrast, was almost entirely hidden by the darkness, save for his eyes. The meaningful glimmer that Sabin had seen during his match was still there, and he found himself once again unable to look away. Strange images began to float before his mind's eye: himself walking down the corridor backstage past both peers and veterans alike, all of them averting their gaze; him standing darkly in the centre of the ring looking down at a bloody and fallen Kevin Nash; his own body and face stained crimson as he raised the X-Division title high above his head. He could feel their respect mingled with unmistakable fear; he could taste sweet revenge; he fed off the pain that he had absorbed to achieve ultimate victory.
"Yes. I want that."
A delighted smile crawled across Jackie's beautiful face and Raven acknowledged the statement with the slightest of nods, barely noticeable but for the abrupt cessation of the prophetic gleam in his eyes. Jackie reached out to take Sabin's hands in hers, gently pulled him to his feet, and, together with Raven, led him into the welcoming cover of the shadowy night.