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Chapter 8
Jenna tells me I've been in a daze for hours. I don't remember her dragging me home from the fair, I almost don't remember us going, although I remember the pink heart-wearing teddy bear that knocked my mind out of whack. I mumble to her that I'm okay but she crossed her arms and looks down at my slouching mass severely. I often trick myself into believing I can pull the wool over her eyes but she knows me too well and she sees through my guises like I'm hiding in a house of glass. I think she has known for a long time, even before I noticed, that something is happening to me. How I have let this sickening thing, whatever it may be, seep its way into my life and being is a mystery to me. It has to be more than this act I put on for my job, it has to be more than the alter-ego of Kane, because now I have physical things aligning themselves with these images and memories I had classified as delusions dredged up by just being tired and over worked. As I rest my head in my hands that scenario seems almost laughable. Here is another possibility: I am losing my fucking mind. That seems highly plausible given recent happenings. I can feel my wife still staring at me. I guess she is waiting for me to speak. She is trying to pry something out of me but even I don't have any answers. What does she want from me? I slump back into the couch pillows and look at her from beneath my heavy brow. I hope she will break the silence or maybe ask me a question to prod things along but she just presses her lips into a thin, almost non-existent, line and she studies me with her dazzling blue orbs. Occasionally her fair lashes flash and her nose beneath its spattering of freckles twitches.
"All I know is…well I don't know…it started out with…" I throw my hands up as if to prove to her. See, I really don't get it either. "What do you want me to do? Do you want me to visit a shrink?"
"I love you. I want you to know that I love you no matter what, Glen." She sits next to me and wraps her arms around my big shoulders best she can. I take a deep, shuddery, breath. "What happened at the fair? It…scared me Glen…I don't want anything to happen to you. I want to know what's going on up here." She taps her finger to my bare head. How do I begin to tell her? I've never put any of this into words. The closest I ever got was that brief and awkward conversation with John Layfield in my hotel room. God, that seems like so long ago. I grunt as though that should explain everything. I try to think of what I should say and how to say it and instead I just growl, frustrated.
"Just tell me." Her voice is sweet and comforting and eases me onward. Her hand rubs soft circles on my back. I feel so needy for her right now it is almost embarrassing. If I didn't have her next to me I think I would be hopelessly and helplessly lost. I would be stumbling around with a blind heart running into things and never being able to feel anything at all, but emptiness, darkness. That was strange, it was almost a Kane-like though. No, not exactly. It was more of a hybrid Glen-Kane thought. Just the notion that such a thought may be possible sends chills through my body and I shudder and try to erase that contemplation from my mind which seems to have trouble keeping itself straightened out. "Glen…"
"Those things you found the other day, in the box with the carved "R" on it, I have no idea where they came from…yet they're mine. I feel some connection to them but I don't know what it is. But then they can't be mine can they? I don't know where they came from or what significance they are…except the button. That's what happened at the fair." My stomach starts to churn and I swallow back the feeling of wanting to throw up. Jenna must notice because she urges me to slow down and take my time. I swallow a couple more times trying to settle the nauseating tumble of my gut. You killed him, you killed Jake! My brothers' small, angry, voice echoes through the wrinkles and crevasses in my mind…but not my brother, Kane's brother…I shake my head and try to get back on track. Glen, go toward the light, back toward reality! I look down at my knees which I just now notice are trembling and I will them to be still.
"Anyway, the teddy bear at the fair had eyes like my brother's teddy bear."
Jenna stops rubbing circles on my back and cocks her head at me looking confused.
"You don't have a brother."
Now it is my turn to look bewildered. What does that have to do with what I just said?
"I know."
"You just said 'the teddy bear at the fair had eyes like my brother's teddy bear'." She tells me what I said and I shrug it away.
"Not my brother, Kane's brother." I try to clarify, but what's the point? None of this is clear, not even murky.
"But…you mean Mark…"
"No, I mean The Undertaker." I correct her. "Mark is Mark."
"I don't understand…you're telling me you had a flashback to a non-existent childhood? Well there is this thing I've heard of where actors and people sometimes get too much into their character and they develop a kind of alter ego. Maybe Kane is more than an in-ring gimmick, maybe he's becoming your alter-ego." She cringes at the thought. "Glen…what are we going to do?"
"I don't know if that's it. That's the most rationale explanation and I would be ready to agree with it if it wasn't for those things you found the other day. The blue button with the black threads is real. It came from Mar-The Undertaker's teddy bear." I stop and consider just how much of a lunatic I am sounding. I stand up and start to pace. My wife must think I am losing it. "Look, I had this flashback to where me and—Kane and The Undertaker are kids. I feel so angry, I mean Jen it's not a dream, it's more I can't tell you how much I felt what he was feeling just like I was there. It's so fucking weird…anyway…I snuck into his room and I was going over all these ways I could off him and it felt…" I decided to omit how it felt or specifics of how The Undertaker was going to be dispatched. That would be far too much to reveal to her. Even these things I have shared with her seem so far over the top I'm surprised she's not on the floor rolling around in tears or picking up the phone to ring the men with the white coats to haul me off to some padded room. I look back at her as I pace back and forth in our living room. She neither laughs nor regards me with doubt. She simply listens to what I have to say. "So I grab his teddy bear and I pull off the eye. I tear off the button eye and it is that same button blue with black threads!"
She shakes her head at the floor. Her forehead creases and her eye brows pull further together.
"It just can't be Glen. Maybe the button just kind of conjured that up. I mean it's like when you watch t.v. before going to bed and then you have a dream with the whole cast of Friends in it."
"No it isn't, it's not like that at all!" I snap a bit at her and immediately feel ashamed for being short with her. She's just trying to help. "Sorry." I mumble.
"It's okay…I know this is hard. Maybe there's something you've repressed and this is some strange way that you're trying to deal with it."
I consider this and stop mid-pace. There's really a lot I don't remember about my childhood. It's like a minimalist painting. There are a few things here and there but most is just wide open canvas and I'm not sure what it means. I have always assumed things weren't so great growing up and I hid all of those things away. It never seemed to matter a whole lot. Things were great now. I went through college at Quincy University and Northeast Missouri State where I was successful in basketball, football, and academics and graduated with a degree in English. Then I did some teaching, and after that teachers have my greatest respect. During my teaching years I met Jenna the love of my life and we were married shortly after I got involved with wrestling and the various gigs which led to Kane in which I have been very successful. If you would have asked me not long ago I would have said my life was at its peak and that I loved my life and the people in it very much. Somehow and for some reason all of that had been turned on its ear. But before all of that I really don't remember a lot. I had become used to that fact and it didn't really bother me. But maybe Jenna was on to something. Maybe some of these things are not all fiction. Maybe they are exotic mangled blends of fantasy and reality. Somewhere within these things lies some truth that I need to find I suppose. How else will I get these things to end so I can have my normal life back?
"I think you should go."
I am pulled out of my thoughts by Jenna's voice. She has come to where I still stand in the middle of a pace. She looks down at her hands and in her hands is that charred picture which is still keeping its secrets mum.
"Go…where?"
She turns the picture over. There is the address 6774 N. Marshall St., Vicksburg, Tennessee.
"It obviously means something if you wrote it here. Maybe there's something or someone there you need to find." She takes my big hand and places the old photo into my palm and then curls my fingers around it.
"I…I don't know…" On one hand I know she's right. I need to dig down to whatever the core of this crap is. However, I'm filled with all kinds of anxieties. In some part of me I feel that this is bigger than either of us could imagine, and in a way I don't even want to scratch the surface. I just want to shove it all under the bed or cram it into the closet and lock the door. You've tried that buddy, and how's that working for ya? Well, do I even need to answer that question? I sigh and walk past my wife. I find the box up on the closet shelf and pull it down. I am almost afraid to open it, my emotions and my thoughts have became unpredictable and with the opening of this lid and the viewing of the objects therein I could lose my self in another bizarre psychological mish-mash of kayfabe and what…something real? Maybe. I open the box with my eyes closed. I feel like a little kid at a horror movie, I want to close my eyes and at the same time open them. Maybe I'll just cover my eyes with my hands and then peek through the fingers. I crack my eyes open and see the objects. "Fuck you!" I tell the inanimate things and lay the picture over them, close the lid, and replace my very own Pandora's box back onto the closet shelf.
Jenna doesn't bring up the matter the rest of the day. She mostly just lets me keep to myself and hang out on the couch because I feel wiped out from these things. I surf channels and listen to her hum in the kitchen as she cooks something. It doesn't even smell good to me but I know my wife is a wonderful cook, I just don't feel like eating. She comes in later to offer me a plate but I just shake my head so she wraps it up and puts it in the fridge incase I change my mind. Around eight she comes in and sits on my feet and we both watch Smackdown even though I already know what is going to happen. I watch as The Undertaker threatens to take the souls of Hawkins and Ryder. He has already thrown Edge to hell in their Hell in a Cell match, followed by Vickie, and then Chavo and Bam. I laugh as I get a funny image of La Familia in hell hoping from toe to toe as flames like them and the devil pokes Edge in the rear with a pitchfork. I laugh and Jenna looks at me funny, wondering what now is going through my head. The Undertaker flashes his gray-green squinty eyes and uses his famous stare to strike fear into the hearts of Hawkins and Ryder. They start to tremble a bit by try to act all macho. Of course as they go to take him on 'Taker grabs them both around the throats and prepares to double-chokeslam them, possibly to hell. The camera zooms in for a close up of The Undertaker as he draws his lips away in a snarl that almost looks as though he is enjoying what he is doing. Before I can almost realize I have done it I have grabbed the remote and switched the channel. My heart thuds against my sternum. That look, something was in there that I have never quite recognized before and it struck some sort of chord it has never before touched in me. Jenna glances over at me.
"You're pale…" She sits regarding me concerned and silent for a few moments. "Please go Glen…I love you." She stands from the couch and presses a kiss to my bald head. "Goodnight Baby." She wraps her robe around her small form and saunters off to the bedroom. I have decided I will sleep out here tonight to keep from bugging her with my restlessness. However it's not very comfortable as big man using couch as bed doesn't really work out as well as I had hoped. I'm kind of squished up and if I stretch out I have to have my feet hang over the couch arm. I do this and look down at my ugly toes and wiggle them. Feet are disgusting creatures. I lay my head back and think it's going to be another long night. As if to shore up my thought the neighbor's dog starts to yap. Goody…I think about getting up and popping some Tylenol PM but remember I have done that many nights and used them all. Maybe a drink would help. I plod into the kitchen, my bare feet slapping the cool tiles as I go. Up in the cabinet over the refrigerator are a couple of bottles. I take the one down that is whiskey and take a nip. I like the feel of the alcoholic burn that floods my mouth and nose and makes my eyes water up just a bit. I swallow and feel it slide down slowly leaving a trail of blossoming heat and blooming like a flower once it gets to my belly. Nice, now make me sleep. I replace the bottle. I'm not a really big drinker just an occasional swig. Most people would probably imagine me getting aggressive when soused but that's not the case. Unlike Shawn Michael's I do not get hopelessly droopy eyed. I don't get silly or courageous or flirtatious…I get depressed and I blubber like a big bald baby. Thus I try very hard not to do this in public for fear I would make a huge fool of myself. I wander to the French doors which lead to our deck. I look out at the dark woods behind our home. They seem somehow like this "Kane" thing that has came upon me. It is like a dark forest with glowing, strange, eyes peeking out at me. If I really go in, far in to the woods, I may get devoured by hideous unknown creatures. I shiver. I step back from the doors suddenly and bump into the table giving it a good rattle, along with my nerves. I thought I saw two mismatched eyes blinking from the darkness of the edge of the woods. I look once more and find nothing but the shadowy outlines of trees and leaves prickled by the occasional flicker of a lazy firefly. Yap-yap-arf-yap-yap-yap-YAP! That dog…I could kill it.
I sigh loudly and cram my fingers into my ears and make my way back to the couch. I'm not used to spending my nights here. I flop down again and try to sleep. Evasive, it hides from me. A few hours in to my attempt to gain rest I find that I am making shadow animals on the ceiling. I start to laugh as that damn dog keeps up its hoarse cries. I make my left hand into a similarity of a dog and watch as the shadow casts onto the ceiling. I move my fingers up and down with each bark the dog makes so it looks like my shadow dog is doing the talking. Stupid dog, shut up! Yap-yap-yap-yap-bark-bark-bark! Over and over it continues in the same strain barking at what, a stray cat creeping around with its glimmering eyes catching the moonlight? The blinking fireflies? The croak of frogs and the whine of locusts? The breeze? A hair cross-ways over it's ass hole? Yap-yap-yap-yap-yip-yip-yap-yap-arf! My left had which has morphed into a dog barks on the ceiling. Shut up, shut the fuck up! Did you hear me? I'm trying to go to sleep and be sane and shut up this crap that keeps running around in my head over and over and over like a mentally impaired dog that doesn't know how to shut…the…fuck…up! I snarl at my shadow yapping on the ceiling and I just can't stand that dog anymore. I grab my left wrist with my right and squeeze. The shadow dog starts to choke. I shake my left aka the canines head and watch it flop violently like a dead limp fish. I sneer at the sight and start to laugh, a loud, booming, sound that should wake my wife but doesn't. She must be in a deep sleep. I imagine the dog's eyes bulge as it struggles to breathe but my vice-clamp fist will not allow such an act. It snorts and croaks hoarsely trying to breath. I squeeze with all of my strength and feel things crackle beneath my grasp. Blood oozes from its mouth and nose and then it is still. It is quiet, it doesn't bark. All I can hear is my own raucous laughter filling my ears and the giddy, insane, tears that spill form my eyes and wash my cheeks.
I wake up with a crick in my neck and my feet asleep and tingly with pins and needles. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the couch and wince as my fit hit the floor and throb with slivers of glass.
"Wake up boys." I say to them and wiggle my toes. I turn my head side to side and hear my neck pop and sigh as it does so. After my feet are awake I trudge to the door and down my steps and out to the sidewalk where I bend to get the newspaper. I find my neighbor leaning against his fist, a cigarette burns idly between his fingers, and he regards the street with a serious stone look on his face. I send him a cautious smile and wave and he is distracted from whatever he was thinking about. He waves at me reluctantly and goes back to glaring with his crinkled brow and down turned lips. I turn to go and he stops me by calling my name.
"Glen?"
"Yeah?"
He taps ash from his cigarette then brings it to his lips for a deep drag. He holds the smoke for a moment and then blows it out in a long gray stream.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." He says and takes a few steps toward me. "I'm just a little rattled. The boy's all upset. Went out to feed Buddy this morning and found him…" He gulps as though swallowing something caught in his throat. "Shit Glen, he was dead!"
"I'm sorry Dale…" I feel a little guilty at the thoughts I was thinking about their four-legged friend last night. How ironic that they found the dog this morning. But, it was geriatric. Dale shrugs.
"My boy really loved that old mutt." Dale shakes his head and knocks more ash to the sidewalk.
"I'm sorry." I say again and head back to the house. I scan the paper and then plop it onto the table where Jenna will probably want to read 'Dear Abby' over coffee. I go into the bathroom to wash my hands, because I have found my fingers are now black with newsprint. My heart jumps into my throat as my hand stops and hovers over the 'hot' knob on the sink. I blink at what I have seen there, trying to take it in. A red smear glares up at me, on the towel hanging rumpled over the towel rack are a few more smudges. They are bloody fingerprints. Shit Glen, he was dead! I collapse to the floor and clutch the porcelain toilet bowl, sickened.
Jenna wakes because I rummage around the bedroom like a man possessed. I go to get that box from the closet but fumble it and it crashes to the floor. One hinge on the lid breaks and the wood splinters at the back of the box. The button rolls across the floor and disappears under the bed. The top of the lighter falls open, the silver chains falls to the floor in a little "S" curl like a tiny metallic snake. The picture flutters to the floor and a blackened corner flakes off. This is what I wanted. I grab the picture and I half stomp half stumble out of the room my feet clomping on the wood floor like sporadic thunder. I leave the disheveled box and its scattered contents where they are littering the bedroom floor. I can hear Jenna's small feet pattering quickly after me.
"Glen, what are you doing?"
I look at her face. She looks scared. I must look like a wreck to her. I am still in my clothes I have slept in and they are all crumpled up. I can't say that I have bed head though. My hands quiver as I hold that picture and when I looked in the mirror after heaving everything out of my guts my face looked as white as the visage of a weathered tombstone.
"I'm going to find out what this is." I tap my quaking finger to the mystery address. "It will only take me a few hours to get there, I'm going. You're right, this has to stop!"
I watch her amazing eyes and her face which is so beautiful to me. She holds my heart, and I am hers. I love her to no end, but Kane, whatever this whole thing is, I don't know how it feels about her. I am not myself, I have to admit this. I am not Glen. Glen doesn't snap at people, Glen doesn't have flashbacks to an unknown childhood, he doesn't want to hurt, or maim, or…kill. Tears start to sting at my eyes. Most of all, I do not want to harm this jewel of a woman who stands with me through everything. I can not risk her. I will not risk her. I reach out to touch her precious strawberry locks but I stop. My fingertips barely brush her messy curls before I draw my hand away and look at it, the large shape, the long fingers, the lines, the calluses, I can no longer trust these hands. I stick it into my pocket and give her a weary smile.
"I love you Glen." She whispers. Her own eyes brim with tears. I turn to leave. As I open the door to my truck, I see Dale's son Mikey sitting on his porch steps. His small shoulders are slumped and they are shaking with sobs. I see the top of his blonde head as he looks down at what he holds in his hands. It is the leather collar and dangling tags of his friend, Buddy, who perished in by my hands.
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