CHAPTER ONE
Barry slowly opened his eyes, painfully. His gaze met the plain and very white sheets on him. The room was dark but he coud see sunlight trying to make its way through the window. He noticed the shining metal railings of the bed and concluded that he was in a hospital.
He closed his eyes again, which sent a wave of pain through him. Then he opened them slowly, and for a string of long silent minutes, he kept his eyes open as he focused on the cloudy world around him. There was a tube that dangled at his left, running down his hand to somewhere behind him. He could hear a voice at a distance, out in the hallway. Them he made the mistake of moving his head to move, he was faced with hot bolts of pain from his skull and neck causing him to groan loudly.
"Allen. Are you awake?"
The voice seemed familiar but yet it was far away. A face quickly followed the voice, it was Ralph.
"Ralph?" he manage to say in a weak, scratchy voice.
"I'm here for you Allen. Thank God you're awake."
Ralph the agent, always there for him at the important moments.
"What is this place, Ralph?"
"Allen, you're in a hospital."
"I know. What I want to know is why?"
"When did you wake up?" Ralph asked, finding a switch as a light came on beside the bed.
"Can't say. Minutes ago, maybe." It was difficult to piece together the environment with his brain all fuzzy.
"How do you feel?"
"Like my skull has been crushed."
"Close. But you'll be fine, trust me."
Trust me, trust me. How many times had he heard that from Ralph? Truth was, he'd never completely trust his agent and there seemed no reason to start now. What did he know about traumatic head injuries and concussions or injuries from the MLS?
Barry closed his eyes as he breathed deeply. "What happened?" he asked softly.
Ralph hesitated as he removed his glasses. He checked the time, 4:22pm, meaning that his client had been knocked out for almost twenty-four hours. I wish it had been longer, he thought sadly.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked as he carefully put his hands on the bed's railing and leaned forward.
After a couple of minutes, Barry managed to say, "I remember Prometheus coming at me."
Ralph shaked his head and said, "Nope. That was the first concussion, four years ago in Star City, when you were in your last season with the Arrows." Barry groaned at the memory, and it wasn't a pleasant one for Ralph either, because his client had been looking at a certain cheerleader on the sideline when the ball came his way and he was headed, by a two flying bodies. Allen had been fortunate for being one of the team's key players and being the star performer in that game.
"Last year you joined Gotham Knights from Blue Valley Stars, remember?
Barry remembered and groaned a bit louder. "What day is it?" he asked, eyes open now.
"Monday. The game was yesterday. Do you recall any of it?" Not if you are lucky, Ralph added mentally. "I'll get a nurse They've been waiting."
"Not yet, Ralph. Talk to me. What happened?"
"You attempted a header and crashed into Kent. You got a yellow card but I don't think you remember that."
"Why was I in the game?"
Now, that was an excellent question, one that was raging every sports radio and TV show in Gotham and Upper Illinios. The super right-back who was praised by every media post was now Gotham's biggest disgrace. Why was HE in the game? Why was HE on the team? Why did HE play so poor and cost his team a vital trophy? A match that he had began so perfectly had ended like a nightmare with the most poorest play that had ever been seen in a final.
"Let's talk about it later," Ralph said, and Barry was too weak to argue. After a battle with his mind, his fractured mind slowly stirred up the events of the game, shaking itself from a coma and trying to awaken. The Gotham Knights. The Bat Cave Stadium, on a very cold Sunday afternoon before a record crowd. The MLS finals.
The ground was frozen, hard as concrete and just as cold.
A blonde nurse entered the room, and Ralph was announcing, "I think he's snapped out of it."
"That's great," she said, feeling sad for the patient. "I'll go find a doctor."
Barry watched her leave the room without moving his head. Ralph cracked his knuckles and was ready to bolt. "Look, Allen, I need to get going."
"Sure, Ralph. Thanks."
"No problem. Look, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just be blunt. The Knights called this morning - Gordon - and, well, they've released you." Barry sighed, it was expected. After such a terrible performance, it would have been a miracle if they had kept him.
"I'm sorry kid," Ralph said, but only because he had to say it.
"Call the other teams," Barry said, hoping that there would be a team asking for him.
"Evidently I won't have to. They're are already calling me."
"That's great."
"Not really. They're calling to warn me not to call them. They don't want you. And you coudn't make it to the National Team Squad. I'm afraid this might be the end of the line for you kid."
There was no doubt that this was the end of the line, but Ralph couldn't find the candor. Maybe tomorrow. Barry Allen, the once most hailed right-back in the MLS a few years ago, was now the biggest disappointment in the history of the MLS. The Barry Allen who was one of the MLS best players four years ago after a stunning season in Star City for the Arrows was now the most unwanted player in the league.
"Gotta run," Ralph said, glancing at his watch again. "And listen, do yourself a favour and keep the television turned off. It's brutal, especially ESPN." He patted his knee and darted from the room. Outside the door there were two security guards sitting in folding chairs trying to stay awake.
A moment later, a doctor came into the room. He went through Barry's chart and records with him. Barry could tell that he was a bit angry at Barry but he didn't want to pry on it.
"Have you thought of finding another job?" the docotor asked.
"No. I've played soccer all my life and it's my passion."
"So what can you do apart from playing soccer, Mr Allen?"
"I have a degree in Forensics as well as Criminology. Got a PhD in Chemistry and Physics."
The doctor nodded his head. Then after some few more checkups, he left Barry alone in the room. Barry laid his head on the pillow, he was bored and tired. He had tried searching for the remote and when he found it, the television was already unplugged.
A few moments later, the nurse returned with a tray of pills. "How are you doing Mr Allen?"
"My body hurts like hell."
The nurse smiled and came towards him. "By tomorrow you'll be fine."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." she said as she tinkered with a rather large needle.
"What's that?" Barry asked confused.
"Vicodin. It'll help you sleep."
"But I'm tired of sleeping."
"Doctor's orders, okay. You need rest, and lots of it." She drained the Vicodin into his IV bag and watched the clear liquids for a moment.
"Are you a Gotham Knights fan?" Barry asked curiously.
"The doctor who came in, he is."
"Was he at the game yesterday?"
"Yes."
"How bad was it?"
"Believe me, you don't want to know."
When he awoke, Ralph was there again, sitting in the chair beside the bed and reading The Daily Planet, Gotham Edition. At the bottom of the page, fans could barely make out the headline "Fans Storm Hospital."
"What!" Barry exclaimed as forcefully as possible.
Ralph snatched the paper down and bolted to his feet. "Are you okay kid?"
"Amazing, Ralph. What day is today?"
"Tuesday, early Tuesday morning. How are you doing kid?"
"Give me that paper."
"What do you want to know?"
"What is going on, Ralph?
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"Have you watched the television?"
"No. You pulled the plug. Talk to me Ralph."
Ralph cracked his knuckles, then walked slowly to the window, where he barely opened the blinds. He peered through them, as if trouble was out there waiting. "Some drunk fans, about twenty, came here yesterday and made a scene. Cops took care of it, arrested about a dozen of them. Gotham Knights fans."
"Why did they come here, Ralph? Come on, tell me, it's you and I - agent and player. The doors are closed. Please fill me in."
"Fans found out where you were and wanted to take their revenge on you. You've gotten more than a thousand death threats. Folks are upset. They're even threatening me." Ralph leaned against the wall, a flash of smugness because his life had been threatened. "You still don't remember?" he asked.
"No."
"Gotham Knights are up by 3-0 over the Super Metropolitans with ten minutes to go after three stunning assists by Barry Allen to give Dick Grayson a perfect hat-trick. Still don't remember?"
"No."
"Tim Drake has just recovered from injury and is in the starting line up, alongside you in a 3-4-3 formation."
"I remember that."
"Ten minutes to go, Drake comes off after a nasty tackle from Jones and is replaced by Damian. No one is worried because the Knights defense is as tough as steel. After he leaves the pitch, you make a poor pass to Grayson and the Super Metropolitans make a fantastic counter-attack to give them a consolation goal. Still, no one is bothered because with five minutes to go and a two goal lead, nothing could go wrong. Or so we thought. Five minutes later, and to everyone's shock and surprise, the game is level after an additional two poor passes to Dick Grayson and two unbelievable counter-attack goals. Coach Gordon is yelling like a madman at his players for a poor performance."
Barry winced as he recalled the events of what had happened. He had done very well until the last minutes of the game when he had 'given' the title to the Super Metropolitans. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered how the last two minutes of the game had panned out.
The Super Metopolitans had gotten a corner kick, and they were going to convert it into a header when Barry had crashed heads with their captain, Clark Kent, in the 18-yard box. Both of them fell down to the ground in pain and agony. Barry remembered the blurry image of a yellow card shown at him.
His rivals had been given a penalty.
That was what he could remember before he passed out. And guessing from the way things were, it was obvious that the Super Metropolitans had scored their penalty, in turn, they won the game and were the champions.
The Champions.
A title that could have belonged to Gotham Knights if Barry hadn't played so poorly in the last ten minutes of the game. He could have accepted the suggestion that Coach Gordon had given him, to be taken off the pitch. That would have been better and things would have panned out into a new direction.
He closed his eyes as his breathing became ragged. The headches were back along with the sharp pains in his neck and body. He wished that there were drugs to silent the pains and put him to a long, quiet sleep. What was he going to do from here on? What point in life was he headed?
Ralph stared quietly at his client. He felt sorry for him. A career which had been so promising was about to end with a nightmare. "I'm sorry, kid." he said sincerely. He walked to the windo and closed the blinds. The room was nicer in the darkness and he felt that the lights were not doing justice to his client's headaches.
The doctors were ready to release Barry, but Ralph had argued strongly that he needed a few more days of rest and protection. The Knights were paying for Barry's security guards, and they were not happy about it. His teammates were paying for his medicals, and it wouldn't be long before they complained.
And Ralph was fed up too. Barry's career, if you could call it that at the moment, was over. Ralph got 5 percent, and 5 percent of Barry's salary wasn't enough to cover expenses. He checked his watch, he stlill had about two hours left before his plane to Vegas, his home, took off.
At the moment, and not including Barry Allen, Ralph had twenty-two players in the MLS and twenty-five who played in Europe. Eight Spanish La Liga players, twelve English Premier League players and five players in the German Bundesliga. He was a renowned agent who, of course, had bigger ambitions. And making phone calls for Barry Allen, would not help increase his credibility. Because of that, he needed to cut ties off with him, and he needed to do it as soon as possible.
"Are you awake, Barry?"
"Yes," Barry answered, his eyes still closed.
"Listen to me, okay."
"I'm listening."
"The hardest part of my job is telling a player that it's time to quit. You've played all your life, it's all your focus is on, all you dream about. No one is ever ready to quit. But, Barry, ole buddy, it's time to call it quits. There are no other options."
Barry stared at the ceiling, his eyes now open. They were full of sadness. They were empty. He had lost his dreams. Then he furrowed his eyebrows.
There are no other options.
"Ralph, what aren't you telling me?" Barry asked. Ralph remained silent, inwardly debating if he should answer or not. "Ralph, answer me, what aren't you telling me?"
Ralph sighed, before getting up and to stand at the doorway. As much as it felt wrong, he needed to do it, not for Barry's sake, but himself. He had offered a lot for Barry Allen, but sadly, their road of work ended here. Barry was dragging him into a risky situation, a situation that would be the end of his career. If he remained Barry's agent, it would be difficult getting clients, especially if they knew that he was the agent of the black-listed player in MLS. Should he tell Barry that their road ended here? Or should he leave him in the hospital without a word?
He turned to face Barry, a sad smile on his face. "I'm going to get you something to eat, Allen. I promise I'll explain everything when I come back."
Barry stared at Ralph for a while before finally, nodding his head. Ralph turned on the TV and gave Barry the remote to keep him busy before leaving the room. He took out his phone, before sending a text to Patty.
"Ready to leave, sugar?"
A few minutes later, he received a reply. "Everything's packed, dearest."
"I'll be there in thirty."
"I'll be waiting."
He put the phone back in his pocket as he sighed. Patty was Barry's girlfriend that Ralph had been sleeping with. They had been having sex with each other for the past six years, going back to when Barry had been with Starling's Arrows.
During their time together, he and Patty had fallen in love with each other. They had confessed their feelings to each other in a hotel in New York, when Barry had been all the way at Texas playing a football game. He had been happy that they were in ove and had a chance to be together. They had initially thought of letting Ralph give Barry a tight schedule to give Patty a reason to break up with him, but after his performance and the seemingly 'end of his career' situation Barry was in, now was the best time to leave the player.
He turned to look at Barry one last time, before leaving the room, nonchalantly leaving tossing the newspaper on his bed. He had promised to come back, but sadly, he never did. He left his client, putting him in the worse moment of his life.
Barry stared at the paper with sadness in his face. Before Ralph had left the room, he had left the newspaper on Barry's bed without knowing, and the moment he had closed the door behind him, Barry grabbed it, and soon wished he had not. The newspaper had an article on the crowd of about fifty, according to the police, that had tried to storm the hospital. Things got ugly when a TV news crew showed up and began filming. A window was smashed, and a few of the drunker fans stormed the ER check-in, supposedly looking for Barry Allen. Eight were arrested. A large photo - front page beneath the fold - captured the crowd before the arrests. Two crude signs could be read clearly: "Pull the Plug Now!" and "Legalize Euthanasia."
It got worse as he read the paper. The Daily Planet had a notorious sportswriter named Mason Bridge, a nasty hack whose speciality was attack journalism. Just clever enough to be credible, Bridge was widely read because he delighted in the missteps and foibles of professional athletes who earned millions yet were not perfect. He vas an expert on everything and never missed a chance for a cheap shot. His Tuesday column - front-page sports - began with the headline:
"Could Barry Allen Top All-Time Goat List?"
Knowing Bridge, there was no doubt Barry Allen would top the list.
The column, well researched and savagely written, was structured around Bridge's opinions about the greatest individual chokes, screwups, collapses and falilures in the history of sports. There was Bill Buckner's booted ground ball in the '86 World Series. Gonzalo Higuain's poor performance in the 2014 World Cup. Jackie Smith's dropped TD pass in the Super Bowl XIII, and so on. But as Bridge screamed at his readers, those were only single plays.
"Mr Allen, on the other hand, managed three - Count Them! - three horrible passes in only eight minutes. He added sugar to his taste for misery by giving a non-sensical head tackle. A Head Tackle! Is he a bull to do such a thing a cruel thing in a football game, especially in the finals?
Clearly, therefore, Barry Allen is the unquestioned Greatest Goat in the history of professional sports. It's make sense why his agent, Ralph Dibney, would terminate his contract with his client after such a terrible display of performance."
He looked at the last part of the article again and again.
...It's make sense why his agent, Ralph Dibney, would terminate his contract with his client after such a terrible display of performance...
What on earth was Bridge talking about? What did he mean by that? He turned the newspaper and found a headline which cut his heart immediately.
"Soccer Agent, Ralph Dibney, Terminates Contract With Soccer Player, Barry Allen."
He read the headline over and over again to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Was this a joke? Possibly, it was a mistake that the Planet made. But then, the Daily Planet never makes mistakes. After about a minute of inwardly debating, he read the article:
"Soccer agent, Ralph Dibney, terminated his contract with long-time client Barry Allen few days after the player's terrible perfomance in the MLS finals on Sunday. According to the renowned agent, he and his client had not been seeing eye-to-eye after they had a contract argument. Mr Dibney claims that his now former client, Barry Allen, demanded that..."
Barry flung the paper against the window in anger and called for another pill. He stared at his almost darkened room alone in silence. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to escape from it all, and the only solution was sleep, a sleep he wished could take him forever. Tears escaped his eyes at the thought of his best friend deserting him, his friends and everything that he had done.
Some few minutes later, a nurse came in, gave him his pills and left as soon as she came. Now, staring at the darkened room, alone with the door closed, he waited for the drug to work its magic, to knock him out clean, then, hopefully, to take him away forever. He slipped lower in the bed, pulled the sheet over his head, letting more tears flow.