"things we lost in the fire"

I had been putting it off long enough, but here it was.

This home I spent part of my life in was finally getting cleaned out and put on market. After all the memories good and bad, all the scents of stale beer and all the cigarette burns on the carpet, it was time for me to put this behind me once and for all. The house was not something I could even have emotional attachment to anymore, it wasn't a home that I could find myself caring about, which is why it seemed like most of the stuff emptied out was being thrown away or moved into boxes that I was going to lock up in the warehouse never to be seen again. The only thing staying with me was the American flag draped over my dad's coffin in addition to a few pictures. With the Galeckis with me and the rest of my boys (along with Siobhan for whatever that's worth), I was ready to close a chapter of my life that wasn't just about what it did to my head with the death of my father, but the repercussions of my encounter with NoVaK.

"All that's left is some pictures and what not, Carey," my dude Starfish tells me. It's been a weird reaction to me asking Starfish to join our little band of merry men here, especially since it seems that Starfish isn't the most popular person lately. Then again, I've never been the most liked person on the planet, so I guess that's one of those things that works out. At the end of the day, you go with your gut. The people that know you know who you really are deep down inside and you can say fuck it to the rest of the world. At the end of the day, like my boy Black Jones says, real recognize real.

"Thanks, 'Fish. I appreciate it," I tell him, and I look at him after tossing him a beer. I bought a keg and a few six packs to show everyone how much I appreciate them helping tie up a couple of the last few loose ends in in my life, and as much as I feel like I'm burying my own past (pun intended), maybe it's time that I finally start putting the past away. The past involving an alcoholic father and the shitty things I've done.

"Hey Carey, it's not like I don't appreciate what you're doing, giving me a shot at being in the War Machines, but...why? I'm not a wrestler. I'm not some dude like Gunnar, Naiser, or Chris. What's the angle here?" he asks me, and I look at him while I grab a beer of my own.

"Lemme ask you something, 'Fish. You hear what they say about me?" I ask.

"Yeah. Naiser, Chris, Gunnar...they think you're a solid guy. So do I, Siobhan, and the Galeckis," he responds.

"No, I'm talking about everyone not in this circle. Nobody exactly wants to give me an opportunity to prove I'm this nice guy. They talk about the shitty way things with Cailey and me went down and nobody wants to talk about how I've opened my life to other people. Nobody wants to talk about the things that don't do them any favors. You? I know you. You've sold my pot for me, you've drank my beer, you were there for me with the seizures and everything. I've always said I don't ask for a lot except for a bit of royalty...and you're loyal. This is my way of thanking you for that. Don't make me regret giving you membership," I tell him. "Everyone needs someone to give them a chance for the future. This is me doing that for you lik--" I say before he cuts me off.

"Like Jon Collins did for you," he tells me, and we both remain exceptionally quiet. The idea of what's going on hasn't exactly been lost on me, but I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about those things, because I want to believe. I want to believe this is a bad dream and that it didn't happen. Or maybe I want to believe Jon Collins is holding on something to tell us in a few days and we'll find out he's right all along. I don't want to believe Jon is the enemy, because maybe I relate. And it's starting to hit me that maybe no matter how hard I try to be the good guy, I'm always going to be the villain.

And if you can't change your stripes, then is it really worth trying to be anything else than who you really are?

"Yeah...like Jon did for me," I say quietly. "Start taking the stuff I'm junking to Goodwill," I tell him, shifting my gaze from Starfish to somewhere else. I don't need to think about all of this right now, because right now I'm trying to just put some distance between my dad and me.



In the last couple of boxes to be moved to Siobhan's, I see the Gibson acoustic sitting in the box. She looks at me, and I shake my head with a sigh.

"Were you gonna be a rock star, rebel? Drop those panties with riffs to shake the heavens above?" she asks me, and I laugh as I pull it from the box she's carrying before trying to even remember a chord or two I can play.

"I wanted to be, but my dad wasn't having any of that. He didn't want his little boy to grow up and chase skirts while being the devil's avatar. Instead, I grew up, sold drugs, and became the devil himself in his eyes. I got into pro wrestling and his response was...unique," I say with a chortle.

"And what was that?" she asks.

"He called me a faggot and we got into a fist fight. To nobody's surprise, he was drunk," I say dismissively. And for a moment, I remember that night.

"Dad, I got a job and I'm goin' legit," I tell him like he's going to be proud of me. "I'm kind of a pro wrestler right now. I'm working for this place here in San Diego," I tell him and he spits on the ground.

"What? My son's a fucking fairy in tights now? I always knew you were a nancy," he tells me and I grimace. It's all coming back and I look down. I love my dad, he's all I got in this world, but he knows how to defeat me.

"I just want you to know I'm tryin' to do good, pop," I tell him and I'm looking down at the ground, and he lifts my face up and slaps me.

"DON'T MUMBLE! Stand up straight and talk to me like a man!" he shouts at me and tears are welling in my eyes. I'm trying not to ball up my fist, but it's coming. Tonight's been fucking hell for me with what happened to Tommy and seeing Cassidy again under the control of Rachel Foxx. Watching her fight with Collins and being so close to the Deacon but not finishing it off...and poor Evie, Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm a professional wrestler, sir!" I say as I straighten my posture and stand up like a soldier, but it's so half-hearted, and he slaps me again. "I just want you to be proud."

"I'll be proud when you're a man, Carey Linus Caldwell!" he shouts at me and slaps me upside the head again. "How can you be a wrestler when you can't take a hit?" he asks, hitting me again. And again. And again. "How can you expect people to think you're a man when I'm pushing you around like you're a fucking queer?" he says and I stand up and look at him, knowing that if I swing, I'm gonna connect.

"I AM NOT! And nothing's wrong with gay people, pops. They're human beings!" I scream at him.

"Gonna defend them like you're one of them?" he says, slapping me across the face, and I've had it. I try to walk away and I can already hear his footsteps and feel him right behind me.

"Fucking fa--" he starts and I turn around and punch him in the mouth.

"I ain't a bad person, daddy," I say and my eyes are watering. "I ain't a bad person! I AIN'T A BAD PERSON!" I scream. "I CAN BE FIXED! I CAN BE A GOOD MAN!" I shout and I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or him, but he's reeling and he looks at me. I duck his punch and get him one in the gut as I'm hoping he stays down. "I ain't perfect, pop, but I'm trying. I'm sorry I was never good enough for you, but I know someone who thinks I'm just right. And my teacher thinks I'm just right. And my friends think I'm worth somethin' even if you don't think it."

"Ye okay there, Rebel?" she asks me while I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing as she comes over and cups my cheeks while she looks in my eyes. "Ye ain't getting sentimental about saying goodby to this place, are ye?" she asks before I look at her and I frown only slightly.

"Too many memories, good and bad. They're not distorting me like a few weeks ago. Basically, I'm telling you I'm over the interstellar crabs," I laugh before I look at her. "Thanks, Irish. I don't know what I'd do without you guys tonight."

"Well don't think about it, arse," she tells me, tapping my nose with her finger. "We're yer family. Yer stupid, drunken, dysfunctional family."

The truth is I don't ever think I've had a family. My dad was a presence that was more of a passenger than a participant. My mother is a spectre hanging over me that I've long put behind me. People who abandon me are dead to me, and isn't that how it should be? Don't let those things stick in your craw, put them in your rear view mirror and move on, and that's how it's been.

Maybe that's why Danno's abandonment hasn't exactly shaken me like I thought I would. It hurts that a friend of mine wouldn't let me in like he did. It hurts that he opted for money over friendship, because when you go to war with someone, you share a bond with them that doesn't just go away. Daniel Lanning made his choice, and Jackie Fowler made his choices.

But here? There's a line in a song that says "I go to war with the brothers I trust" and these are those brothers, that family of mine. For better or for worse, this mixed bag of misfits and castoffs have become everything I could have possibly asked for. Whether I like to admit it or not, I've missed the presence of family in my life, and being able to call these bastards family has been more than enough for me. So maybe that's why I need them in my life. The War Machines don't need to fight my battles, but when times are dire, we're family.

Whether anyone wants it or not, we need family in our lives. It's what we thrive on whether we want to admit it or not. NoVaK touched the minds and lives of people with his madness because he was looking for someone to reach out to, to communicate with. Everyone needs someone, because the more that I walk through professional wrestling, the more I realize that no man is an island. We don't exist to be alone or walk this earth to be alone. Even if it's our tendency to want to be alone and broken in all of this, we find those people we cling to.

And these are my last thoughts before a giant black man taps me on the shoulder.

"Hey chief, we got an issue here. Someone wants to know why we're cleaning out the house," Naiser tells me before I look at him.

"The fuck?" I ask before I walk out to the front door where a cop and a woman are.

"Sir, we'd like to know what you're doing removing these items from the premise," the policeman says to me and I look at him. He knows me, boy does he know me, and I know him. He even knows exactly why I'm here.

"My father died, and considering the house is in his name, I'd kind of like to start cleaning it out to sell it. I'm not planning on living here," I tell them before he shakes his head.

"Well I'm not sure how to tell you this, but that isn't your call to make," he tells me.

"Well whose is it?" I ask.

The woman answers in a snap. "It's mine. James Caldwell was my father, and he left it to me in his will."