21st May, 2010
The joy of his closing victory on Just Wrestling's prestigious tenth tour, "Tour X", had faded away long ago, leaving Anathkash Dakari to stew in his already dour mood.
His head rested against his fist as he sat at the rotten old desk under the sloping roof if his loft apartment, pen spinning in his left hand in time with the cogs in his head. For one who had written dozens of pages each day, the measly half-paragraph he'd scrawled in his unique runic script was terribly demoralizing. The writing made the chaos in his head bearable. Some would prefer talking to someone, but not Dakari. He had no friends to speak of, nor the urge to seek professional help. Nobody had ever believed him anyway, excluding Mister Ravion and Mister Nihilus, though Dakari hadn't seen the elusive Nihilus since Ravion died in March.
The biro pen slipped free of its spinning in Dakari's hand and skittered across the old desk and onto the floor, landing on his Just Wrestling gear bag. He hadn't laid eyes on the small duffel bag for over a fortnight, the sense of impending doom fashioned by Benedict Ravion's letter had long ago drowned out the desire to wrestle again.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
The strange little noise in the silent attic felt as loud as a tree falling down with only Dakari there to hear it. He almost leapt out of his skin.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
It was his cell phone from inside the bag. He hadn't thought the charge would last that long.
Brrrrrr. Brrrrrr.
With that in mind, he ignored it. Who would be calling him at this time on a Friday night? Or, more accurately, why was Jody Monroe calling him at this time on a Friday night?
Brrrrrr.
She was the only one with his number, after all.
He waited.
The vibrating had ceased, so that was that.
He reached down for his pen.
BRRRRRR! BRRRRRRR!
The vibrations seemed louder, startling Dakari again. He scowled and pulled the zip open, his hand plunging into the packed duffel bag to seek the phone.
His hand closed on it, withdrew it, accidentally tearing the bag in his zeal to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Dakari, I need you," Jody said.
"What?! But I, er, I mean, we... um, er--" he stammered.
"How'd you like to visit Canada?" the JUST boss interrupted, mercifully halting his stammering.
"Canada?!"
"Yes. For the Just Wrestling Canadian Dream tour - I've been trying to reach you for days, where have you been?"
"Um, nowhere?"
"Nowhere with your cell, you mean. Are you in or not?"
"No."
"Great, I'll -- wait, what? Did you just say 'no'?"
"I've got some personal stuff I need to do first. Sorry Jody," he sighed, genuinely wishing he could help. With Benedict Ravion's business to attend to there was no way he could concentrate on wrestling right now.
"What kind of stuff?"
"I have a lot on my mind, I can't really say."
"Canada is a beautiful and restful place. A change of scenery will make you feel better, I know it."
"No thanks, I'd rather just stay here."
"You're one win away from the JWC! One win! Then another for the absolute glory of the Just Wrestling Championship. How can you turn that down?" she argued, not pulling any punches.
Pity she was wearing the wrong colour gloves.
"Maybe next tour," Dakari muttered flatly.
Jody sighed in frustration. "Come on Dakari, I really need you in on this! Just Wrestling needs you."
Dakari said nothing for a few seconds. He could really use the break... but then gathering his thoughts was just as impossible in his dingy apartment as it would likely be in Canada.
He sighed.
"In."
-#-
Date unknown
Gone, just like that.
The wanderer's sworn enemy, his chance to escape this world, had vanished without even so much as a puff of smoke to mark his escape. He had been within his reach and yet he'd let him slip away... gone without a trace, while he was left without a hope.
Head hung low, the wanderer knelt on the asphalt and considered his options. The deserted road offered little by way of inspiration to the troubled spirit as he argued with himself over his next course of action.
Dust rolled across the road, carried on an unfelt breeze. The wanderer followed the swirl with his eyes until the dirt particles washed against the bottoms of pinstripe dress pants and black loafers. Looking up, the wanderer saw a well-dressed man grinning at him beneath a wide-brim hat, with vibrant green eyes that had locked onto his own.
"Ah, I see things did not go so well between you two, then. Such a shame," he chuckled. "But there's always next time."
The wanderer's eyes narrowed on the apparition. "Next time?"
"I forget, this was the 'next time' for you. Your second chance. You blew it, by the way. He he."
There were days when the wanderer would have sooner torn this creature's head from its shoulders than accept its words as truth. But then, what did he know? He had walked all this way and been presented with a most obvious and simple task to accomplish and he had failed. To exact revenge on those who contributed to his presence here. That was the end goal and he had fallen at the first hurdle.
Now what?
Seeing the impact his words were having on the wanderer, the stranger struggled to contain his glee. "Oh well, time to go back," he said off-handedly.
"Back?"
"Mmm, indeed. Back through those doors you passed through to enter this stretch of road. Back to where I like to call the 'waiting room'. He he."
"Waiting room? Waiting for what?"
"Oh, nothing much, just for eternity to end. You'll love it."
"What if I want to stay here? To unravel this... mystery?"
The man barked a laugh. "You mean this?" he asked, indicating the smouldering car wreck at his back. "That's hardly a mystery."
"Enlighten me," growled the wanderer, much to the stranger's amusement.
"Very well," he managed between chuckles. "This is the scene of a road accident that occurred a little over twenty-three years ago. You wouldn't remember, you were only a year and a half-old at the time. Let's see... well, there was this new car here, it belonged to a man a lot like yourself, actually. He was twenty-five years old, young and strong... his whole life ahead of him. Beside him there was his pregnant young wife, a real beauty to behold."
"Get to the point."
"No rush, Crusader. You have plenty of time, trust me."
Crusader... a moniker he hadn't worn for a long time.
"As I was saying, the couple were with child; one in the womb and one in the back seat. One twenty-nine weeks old and one eighteen months. Now, there was also a driver on the other side of the road and for some reason he lost complete control of his lorry, crashed it through the barrier and straight into the path of our... happy little family. He he..."
"Then what?"
"Why, it appears I greatly underestimated your stupidity. The doting husband and father died. The beautiful wife and soon-to-be mother of two died. But the boys... they went on to surprise us. Oh, how you surprised us, Draeden Darksky. The other too. He he."
"What do you mean, boys? I was the only one to survive that wreck!"
"So you believe. Miraculously, your unborn baby brother survived. But the surprises stopped there as he stumbled unwittingly onto the strange path of destiny while you... you made your own way. Fate's claws grip not your flesh, Draeden, your being here is testament to that. But that never meant that you wouldn't fail, and fail you have," cackled the smartly-dressed apparition, turning to walk away. "Nice try, though. Come, it's time to go."
Draeden climbed to his feet and dusted himself down. "No. I'm not coming with you, Duriel."
Duriel turned back to Draeden. "Ah, you know my name. Then I suppose Daroth told you all about me?"
"Just enough," the wanderer said. "I don't have to listen to you."
"But what if I ask nicely?"
Draeden simply stared at him.
"Or if I insist?" Duriel growled.
"It's clear to me now," Draeden began, ignoring Duriel. "In this place you have no strength, no power over me. I'm sure if you were able to force me then you wouldn't have bothered trying to convince me."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that."
"I am. Because now I finally see the truth."
"Which is what?"
The first genuine smile he'd had in what felt like decades of solitude literally cracked Draeden's bone-dry lips. "I'm free now."
-#-
22nd May, 2010
Anathkash Dakari tipped the contents of his first Just Wrestling gear bag onto his loft bedroom floor, adding plain black pleather pants and matching sleeveless shirt to the myriad debris beneath his feet. Following the clothing came a small plastic bag containing various pieces of paper. Curiosity won over the dark-haired hoarder, beckoning him to investigate the writings in the bag. Mostly notes, it appeared. Dakari had tried to continue writing while touring with Just, but recent events had been... distracting.
Dakari rifled through the folded pieces of paper, unfolding some, ignoring others. He found the scrap paper he'd written Jody Monroe's phone number on, before he'd learnt how to use his cell phone's contact list, smiling faintly at the memory before crushing the paper in his hand and throwing it at the overflowing waste basket beside his desk. As his search continued, he happened across another telephone number he had yet to save in his phone.
Shyana's.
He'd forgotten all about the psychic he'd encountered in England. Dakari took the folded sheet of paper he'd rewritten Benedict Ravion's letter on from his pocket, opening it out to look it over once again. He already knew the outcome of future events; reading about them over and over again was merely an exercise in acceptance, an effort to come to terms with what would be a difficult but unavoidable solution to an unimaginable evil.
Mister Ravion's instructions were simple, the execution had been left entirely up to Dakari...
Nowhere did they say he couldn't seek outside help.
The phone was in his hand and dialling out before his nerves could stop him. Knowing more about his task was not something he could pass on. Anything and everything he could find out about his target would aid him, he knew.
"Hello? Who is this?" a tired voice demanded.
"Um, hi, it's--"
Shyana gasped in surprise. "Anathkash?!"
"Wow, you can do that over the phone..?"
"No, you bloody plum, I recognised your voice! How are you? More importantly, why are you ringing me at this time of night?"
"It's only... Oh."
"Yeah. We're about five hours ahead in our neck of the woods, love."
It was after midnight in Albany. Oops.
"Shit, I'm sorry. I, uh I'll call in the morning, sorry to--"
"Nevermind that; I'm awake now, you may as well tell me what's going on. I'd been wondering what'd happened to you, actually."
"What'd happened to me..?" he asked slowly. "Why..?"
"We had a run-in with your friend... the ghost you saw. Well, he's a bit more than that," she said, talking through a yawn.
"How so..?"
"There's far too much for me to go through with you on the phone. Especially at this hour," she said, then laughed sleepily. "Probably too much to explain in one lifetime! Just be content in the knowledge that you don't want to see him again. Ever."
Dakari sighed. "Fair enough," he grumbled. "I haven't seen him since."
"Me neither. But that's not why you called, is it?"
"No... What can you tell me about a man named Arthus Andarion?"
Shyana fell silent, her breath held. A sinking feeling gripped Dakari as he realised that the information she was to provide would not fill him with confidence.
"Why do you ask?" the woman asked slowly.
"It's important."
"That's not a reason."
"Do I need one?"
Shyana chuckled. "Only if it's important."
His palm met his face; finger and thumb closed around the bridge of his nose while he strained to think as quickly as he could. Shyana obviously knew something; whatever it was he could do with knowing about it too, regardless of what he had to reveal to her to fnd out.
Dakari took a deep breath.
"I'm going to kill him," he said plainly. She could just read his mind, after all.
"Okay," Shyana murmured, "I wasn't expecting you to say that."
The young man smiled a little.
"Why?"
"Er, to fulfill a dead man's wishes?"
"Whose?"
"Benedict Ravion."
Again the psychic fell silent, leaving Dakari to wonder whether he'd said too much. "I see," she eventually muttered. "Then I suppose I'm bound to help you."
-#-
