::Shane::
It wasn't bravery that brought me to the locker room that day. I'm still not entirely sure what
it was, but it wasn't anything brave or noble. Maybe it was nothing more than morbid curiosity.
The kind that makes you want to see what's going on with that accident on the side of the road.
I was standing near one of the backstage exit doors talking with a couple of friends. Rodney and
Pete were two of my closest friends and I hadn't seen them in ages. They were in the area for
something and had been hanging around the arena for over an hour waiting for me. I'd finally
managed to get away from the show and catch a few minutes with them in the very back of the
building which was pretty much deserted when I heard the screaming. It had to be coming from
the secondary locker room which was all the way down the hall and around a corner. Rodney and
Pete were ignoring it, pretending not to notice. I tried to, but there was just something about that
voice-- the rage, the...disdain. It bothered me.
There was a loud thud then a short, muffled cry of either pain or surprise, I couldn't tell which.
I started towards the room but Pete grabbed my arm.
"I'd stay out of it, Shane," he said, frowning slightly.
"Who's in there?" I demanded.
Rodney and Pete exchanged a look before Pete spoke up again.
"Helmsley and his old man. The old guy is pissed about something. It's family stuff, man, we
should just leave."
'Family stuff'. I knew all about 'family stuff'. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe we should leave.
But I couldn't. Something compelled me to go closer.
I told my friends that I'd catch up to them later. Rodney was gone almost before I'd gotten the
words out, but Pete shot me one last warning look before leaving himself. I walked to the locker
room.
For a moment I could only stand there, listening to the voice rage on the other side of the
door.
"You look at me when I talk to you, you pathetic son-of-a-bitch!"
I cringed. I knew that tone. Knew it well.
"You see where being a wise-ass gets you? How stupid are you, you fucking moron?! Did you
really think your so-called friends would stand up for your pathetic ass or did you think your boss
was going to let that stunt go? Wait a minute; that's right- You don't know how to think!"
He was talking about the Kliq incident. That had been a real scandal- in my father's eyes, at
least. I'll never forget the look on his face when they did that. It was great. I really thought his
eyes were going to pop right out of his head.
There was nothing he could do to the others. Kevin, Scott and Sean had left for WCW and
Shawn Michaels was one of, if not the most popular wrestler we had. So Helmsley ended up as
the scapegoat. My father absolutely buried him, Had him jobbing to every no-name in the fed. He
was still paying for it months later. It wasn't fair, but it was typically Vince.
"Get your stuff," the voice in the locker room rasped, "You're going to tell your boss that
you're bringing your pathetic ass back home to work in the shop."
There was a mumble which I couldn't make out.
"What did you say?!"
"I'm staying here." Hunter's voice was soft but dogged.
'Good for you,' I cheered silently.
There was a crash and this time a definite gasp of pain. Before I could even register what I was
doing, the door flew open crashing against the wall. The older Helmsley had pinned his son
against a locker with a vice-like choke hold. Hunter was clawing desperately at the hand clamped
around his throat. His face was turning purple.
Now that I was in there, it occurred to me that I was not exactly a threat. What the hell could I
do that Hunter couldn't?
It wasn't a conscious thought. If I had actually stopped to think about it, it probably would
have rattled me to see how quickly, how instinctively I could turn into my father. Before I could
realized what I was doing or why, I had straightened up to my full height and put on my most
haughty tone.
"I'm sorry. Visitors are not allowed in the locker rooms."
It was bullshit but my voice smacked of self-importance, practically daring the man to
contradict me. It was a pretty bang-on imitation of ol' Vince. Then again, it ought to have been.
I'd been on the receiving end of his scorn more times than I cared to count.
The elder Helmsley finally let go of his son who dropped to the floor almost hyperventilating.
He turned on me in a rage, words that had, from my fathers mouth, left me quaking in their wake.
Maybe it was because it wasn't Vince saying them. Maybe it was because I was too angry at what
I had just seen him put his son through. Then again, maybe it was nothing more than how into my
Vince imitation I was, but he didn't scare me. I just held the door open and after a few more
choice words he finally left.
I looked at Hunter. He was leaning back against the locker, his arms wrapped around his body
and his knees up to his chest.
"I hate him," he whispered, tears starting to slide silently down his cheeks.
Nodding silently, I joined him on the floor. I knew the feeling. You didn't just hate him for the
physical pain of fist on flesh, or the cutting, hateful words. You hated him for the way he made yo
feel like you deserved it; like you were less than human. More than that, you hated him for the
way he made you weak.
* * * *