Post by Rated R on Mar 28, 2012 17:51:13 GMT -5
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.
< *** >
I’ve never really thought about burying my mother before. It’s like this. When I was younger I was definitely consumed with a deep, silent and not that subconscious desire to bury my father, no doubt about that. And then after he topped himself I ran off and got so involved with drink and drugs that I got to a point where I was certain that my mother was going to end up having to bury me, but thankfully that never happened. And then after I finally got my life sorted out I had my daughter and Alexa to think about, so the idea about what I would feel like when my mother did eventually pass just kinda... slipped my mind.
But that’s the way things go, right? I mean just when everything seems to be going okay something else jumps right out in front of you and royally screws things up. Which is exactly how I ended up right back here in Hamilton, preparing for my mother’s funeral and obsessing over the final words that she ever said to me.
Axel Demon: She probably wasn’t even being serious.
Axel has always been an expert at denial. He’s the youngest of the three of us and was always better at pretending the world outside his window was as shiny as it appeared on his television. Now you might now want to believe this because it’s a scary thought for those all tucked up nice and snug in their denial filled lives, but things are a hell of a lot worse in real life that they appear on television. And I’m not just talking about those lovely little teenage girl filled shows where everybody finds the love of their life by the end of it. No, I’m talking about the news. I’m talking about the really crappy news, like Fox.
Faith Demon: Because it makes a lot of sense for her final words to be a joke.
Faith is probably the most sensible of the three of us, the stereotypical middle child who has had to raise herself amidst a scene of drunken and delusional parents and ritualistic beatings to her eldest brother (for those not keeping track, that would be me). Faith can be sarcastic and witty and cutting, but she always seems to know what she is talking about. For the longest time she was my safety net, the one person I could rely on to pick me up from whatever alleyway I’d passed in that night. Life shouldn’t be like that, she shouldn’t have had to keep me propped up. What’s worse is I still think part of her still looks up to me.
And I’m not really role model material.
Trace Demon: Well she spent most of her life lying to me, why break the habit of a lifetime?
And then there’s me, having travelled back and forth between Los Angeles, Tokyo and Hamilton and Iowa in the space of two weeks. Sorry, I think I’m coming off as bitter over my own mother’s death, which really doesn’t sound like me. Oh wait, yes it does, it sounds exactly like me, but I’m trying to be a better person so let’s just strike that bit from the record. I’m the eldest of the three of us and the one with the most mental, and physical, scars from our lives growing up with a sociopathic drunk for a father.
I’m currently obsessing over the fact that my mother told me on her deathbed that we had a secret sister that we never knew about. You can guess what threw me off about that because we don’t live inside a bloody soap opera.
Faith Demon: Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the best mother in the world...
Trace Demon: Can we say understatement of the century?
She shoots a glare my way and I shut my mouth. I keep forgetting that I am not the only one who lost a mother this month. I might be okay with that, I might be capable of getting over it with the minimum amount of grieving, but that doesn’t mean Faith or Axel can. Axel is too much of a smartass to say otherwise and Faith is too buttoned up, too concerned over my welfare to worry about her own.
Faith Demon: I’m just saying it sounds like the truth to me.
Axel Demon: So you’re saying that dad had an affair, which let me add isn’t likely because what other crazy woman would go near him? And from that affair he had some illegitimate daughter and mom never thought to say anything about it?
Faith Demon: Well she isn’t about to go and shout it from the rooftops, is she? I mean the fact that her husband had some daughter and...
Trace Demon: Her name’s Emily.
I say it without thinking, like some family loyalty to a person that I have never even met.
Axel Demon: What?
Trace Demon: Emily, that’s the girl’s name. Neither of you have been able to say it since I told you. You just keep saying ‘her’, ‘she’ and, the most delightful of them all, ‘that girl’. I mean, she’s a person, she’s blood, let’s treat her with a little respect.
Axel Demon: Alright man, since when did you get all emotional about... well, anything?
I don’t know, really I don’t. This is all new territory for me. Trying to be the responsible one. Sure, I manage it fine when it comes to Alexa and Eliza. When I’m with them all of the anger and selfishness that I am usually filled with washes away. It’s the one time I feel pure and easy and simple. With everyone else there’s usually that little feeling in the back of my head. That feeling that things don’t feel quite right, that I don’t really belong there. But now I need to be the responsible one, I need to take control of my life. I need to find a way to release that feeling, to finally find a way to belong.
Trace Demon: I think it was that moment where I found out my mother had been lying to me and that somewhere out there I had a sister who didn’t even know she had a family.
Faith Demon: We’re not going to get anything done right now, okay. And plus we’re meant to be getting ready, have you forgotten why we’re here?
She’s right. The car will be around to pick us up and head for the cemetery in a few hours and we haven’t even started preparing. Instead we’re sat in the living room of our old house, all of the bad memories flowing around us like one of those nightmares you can’t wake up from however much you try.
There’s one question that I have kept answering myself every since I found out about Emily. One question that is constantly running through my mind.
Does she have somewhere she belongs?
< *** >
I don’t belong here.
I mean what fifteen year old girl has ever wanted to live with her grandmother in some grotty bungalow in the middle of some small crappy suburb in Canada? It wasn’t until I moved in that I managed to convince her to buy a television. Who wants to listen to old person radio anymore? It just isn’t cool and it sure doesn’t create the kind of atmosphere that lets you bring people back home for whatever reason. The past two years have just been one day after another of going along with the motions, trying to find anything fun to take your mind of the fact that you have to go back to a house that smells of mothballs.
And now here comes the funeral.
Sheila Hall: We’ve only got an hour.
You’ve gotta give it to my old grandmother, even in her old age she can still tell the time.
Emily Hall: So?
I don’t think I’ve really got a bad attitude, not normally. It’s just when you live in a house like this, with a grandmother like this and then you have to spend your precious spare time at a funeral for somebody you never even said a word to.
Sheila Hall: You need to wash and put your dress on.
Emily Hall: Why do I even need to wear a dress? It’s a funeral, not a fashion show.
Sheila Hall: To show a little respect.
Emily Hall: We don’t even need to be there, it’s not like we knew her.
Sheila Hall: Mrs. Demon was a member of this community, and we show respect in times like these.
It’s strange when old women lie. I think it’s because you just don’t expect it, right? I mean old women are meant to be the salt of the earth, meant to be the nice old lady that goes around town just being sweet and telling old stories that nobody really cares about. Then you forget that they’re actually just the same as you with a little bit of age on them and more velvety skin (I’ve always found that term disgusting – velvety, barf!). They’ve done all the same things you’ve done, had all the salacious sex that you REALLY don’t want to hear about and told lies time and time again.
But I should really explain exactly what I’m on about. You see, this woman that died, Mrs. Demon or whatever you want to call her, well she has a little bit of history with my dearly departed mother. Or rather, her husband did. My mom never did really have the best taste in men (I guess that might be why I don’t find them the last bit attractive), and going out and sleeping with the town’s drunk probably tops most of the scumbags she was with after I was born. But from that I was conceived. My mom never thought I figured it out, neither does my grandmother, but it wasn’t that hard of a leap to make. Gossip gets around in this town, even years after it happened.
So now Mrs. Demon is dead, cancer they say, and we’re going to the funeral to pretend that the entire street doesn’t know that my mother had it off with her husband back in the day. We’re going to pretend that I’m not their secret love child, although I’m pretty sure that there was no love involved in what happened. We’re going to pretend that Mrs. Demon didn’t know what had happened and that she didn’t pretend that I didn’t exist for all these years.
Let’s just pretend, shall we?
Emily Hall: Whatever.
Sure, it’s the most cliché of terms in the world, but sometimes (and only sometimes), it still proves useful.
Sheila Hall: And put on the dress!
I only just hear the last sentence as I close the bedroom door behind me. Well, more like slam the door behind me. Every time you slam a door in this house it feels like the entire building rattles. It isn’t just the inside that feels old, it’s the entire bloody structure. One of these days somebody is going to close a door and the entire house is just going to fall apart around them. All I can hope is that I’m not still living here when that happens.
I make a quick move to the shower, one of the only technologically updated things in the entire house, and begin getting ready. I’m not really sure what I’m meant to look like for a funeral. The only other funeral I went to was when my mother died and that entire day was just a massive blur. We didn’t even go to my father’s. Calling him that really doesn’t seem right. He wasn’t a father to me. He never came around to see me, he never tried to talk to me when he passed me and my mother in the street. He didn’t come to my birthdays or send me a present at Christmas. He wasn’t my father, he wasn’t anything.
And neither is this woman, or her family. Oh, I know all about her kids. Three of them. Some young immature student called Axel, a trainee lawyer named Faith (girl power, woo!) and a professional wrestler called Trace. Yes, a professional wrestler, because that is actually a job. From what I’ve heard he got the rough end of the stick. Daily beatings from our mutually absent drunk father and a completely negligent mother who never even tried to help him. And then he went and ran away after said drunk father topped himself.
I guess I shouldn’t complain too much about not knowing my father from the sounds of it, but I’m kind of jealous that I never really got a family out of it. Especially when this Trace character sounds so interesting, so weird and... soooo non-suburban. I guess he’ll be at the funeral though, that should be interesting. I wonder if he’ll have to make a speech?
But anyway, well I’ve been telling you all this the shower water’s finally gotten hot, and you aren’t getting a private show out of me.
Out!
< *** >
Alexa Monroe: Your tie is lopsided.
I’m about to come out with some quick witted retort when I realize that she is right and quickly fix the problem without another word. The thought of Emily is still running through my mind, and then there’s the fact that I’m going to have to read a eulogy about a woman that I never truly knew and hadn’t spoken to in about six years. It seems like I can never really catch a break, like when one problem disappears another one magically takes its place.
Sometimes I wonder if there is actually a God, and he’s just chosen me as his little project: how bad can I make one person’s life before they go completely mental. Well let me tell you God, you’ve got a sick sense of humour, but so have I. And I’m really stubborn.
Alexa Monroe: What’s wrong?
When I came down to see my mother on her death bed I convinced Alexa not to come out with me, even though she was worried about me doing something stupid. Which was understandable, because I’m really good at doing stupid things. But this time there was no arguing with her. I probably could have gotten away with it if I hadn’t told her about this secret little lovechild but no, I had to go ahead and bring it up when she asked, didn’t I? Well, if I hadn’t Faith would have just told her when Alexa inevitably rang her to check how I was coping.
Trace Demon: Nothing.
She shoots me a look that says she knows not everything is okay. It’s that look that only women are capable of pulling. You know the one, the one that has subtle implications that you aren’t ever getting sex again if you don’t tell the truth. God, women, they’d withhold all of the sex.
Trace Demon: It’s just stuff, nothing to worry about.
Alexa Monroe: Is it about this new sister of yours?
Trace Demon: It’s nothing.
She shoots me the look again. I’m fighting a battle that I’ve already lost.
Trace Demon: I just... I don’t know what it is. I just don’t feel right.
Alexa Monroe: It’s your mother’s funeral. You aren’t meant to feel right.
I’ve told Alexa almost everything there is worth telling, from the moment we got back together to this very moment. I lost her once before because I was stupid and I would never let that happen again, so I tell her everything. But I’ve never found a moment like this before. A moment where there is something that I just can’t tell her, a moment where the world is suddenly not spinning properly. A moment where everything just seems... off.
Trace Demon: That isn’t what I mean...
It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, it’s that I can’t. Because I don’t understand it myself.
Alexa Monroe: Then what is it? You know you can tell me.
Trace Demon: I know...
But I know I can’t, so I try to explain as best as I can without having to actually say anything.
Trace Demon: It’s my mother’s funeral, so I should feel something, right? I mean, I should feel upset, or depressed, or... just something. But I don’t. I don’t feel anything. I just feel cold.
Alexa Monroe: Cold?
And this is why I didn’t want to explain things to her, because when I go through it in my head it just sounds wrong, and I know it’s going to make Alexa worry about me, worry about what is going through my head and what I might do. I can’t just explain that I’m capable of working through things like this now because that isn’t what people hear when they know that you used to be an addict. Even the ones closest to you always have that worry that you aren’t going to get through the day.
The worst thing is, you never really get used to it.
Trace Demon: I shouldn’t have said anything.
She takes my hands in hers and looks into my eyes. It’s sweet and all, but I’ve always found that particular comforting move to be a little bit creepy. Don’t tell Alexa.
Alexa Demon: Trace, you know you can tell me anything.
Trace Demon: I know, it’s just me being ridiculous, okay. You know how things were between me and my mother, and her trying to make things better on her death bed didn’t really make me feel better.
She’s about to say something when Eliza’s crying in the other room takes her attention.
Alexa Demon: It’s going to be fine.
I nod and put on a happy face as she walks out of the room and into the sitting room which we’ve turned into a really bad makeshift nursery. Her words echo in my mind. Is it going to be fine? Something feels different now. Something about the way I’m living just doesn’t seem right and I can’t figure out what it is. This time two weeks ago everything was perfect. I had the girl of my dreams and a beautiful daughter. I was finally settling down with my life and my work was better than ever.
I felt complete.
Now I feel broken.
< *** >
I don’t like graveyards.
Wait, I should amend that.
Who the f**k likes graveyards?
But today that is exactly where I get to spend my day, mourning for a woman who I never knew. And do you want to know the bonus? I get to see the family that doesn’t even know I exist as they mourn a woman who everybody in town knows allowed our mutual father to beat them.
But first, the serious stuff.
Emily Hall: Hi mom.
I don’t want to sound like some pathetic emo because honestly, they stopped being cool about twenty seconds after the first emo put on a eyeliner, but the only place in this town I feel even remotely better about my life is at the grave of my mother. I know that it sounds weird because she’s dead and I don’t think she’s listening in or anything, but it just makes me feel a little bit better to talk to her. It helps that I know she isn’t going to talk back to me anymore.
Emily Hall: So, old missus Demon died and all the family is back in town. Well, whatever family actually gives a crap about her.
It’s a good thing that I don’t believe in heaven or any of that, because if I did I’d be seriously worried that mom would smite me for the language. Small mercies, eh?
Emily Hall: I think her kids are here... my half brothers and sister... wonder what they’re like in real life. Why didn’t you ever tell me mom?
In a small town like this, people talk, and you hear things whether you want to or not. When I was a kid I didn’t pay any attention to it when kids made jokes about me not having a dad. Kids are cruel mom would say, and I just took it at that. It wasn’t until years later when I found a copy of my birth certificate in with a load of other paperwork that I found out what she had been hiding from me. The name of my father.
Emily Hall: I mean, I get that he was a drunk or whatever but you still should have told me. You still should have let me make the decision. You shouldn’t have taken it out of my hands.
I was going to confront her, find out why she had been lying to me. Find out what was so wrong with the idea of me having a father, having brothers and a sister, having more than I had. I just wanted to know. I had to know.
Emily Hall: And now they’re back. What am I meant to do mom? Do I just let them come and go and not say a word? But... what if I say something?
So I finally decided to bring it up. I finally found the courage to tell her what I knew. And, for a thirteen year old girl, that seemed like a pretty big deal.
Emily Hall: What would I say?
I waited for her to come home from work that day. My mother was a nurse who usually worked the late shifts. On those days my grandmother would come around and ‘look after me’ because the way you look after a thirteen year old girl is fall asleep at about seven in the afternoon and not notice your granddaughter sneaking out of the house. I can’t complain, it’s a lot easier sneaking out of the house with a half deaf grandmother than a fully hearing mother.
Emily Hall: Do I just walk up to them and say hey, I’m your half sister? Because I really don’t think that is going to work, do you?! Come on mom, tell me what to do.
I waited for her to come home and she never did. We got a call the next day.
Car crash.
She never came home.
Emily Hall: What am I meant to do?
I haven’t cried since that day.
Maybe I’m broken.
< *** >
I’ve got this talent for blanking out just about every sound that I don’t want to hear. You can test me if you want but I probably won’t know, because I’ll be too busy blanking you out completely. See what I did there? The minister is delivering whatever speech that they deliver at these things (believe it or not but I haven’t actually been to that many funerals. I know, crazy right?) and I’m far too caught up in my own head to pay any attention to whatever it was he was saying. I don’t really believe in funerals as a whole, they’re far too depressing to be a ‘celebration’ of somebody’s life, plus I felt very out of place being near a church.
I should explain that I’m not really into religion all that much. I don’t really care whether other people do or don’t either, because I never ask about it and if you just come out and start talking about religion to someone who didn’t ask you to, then you are quite clearly a massive ass. Like seriously, learn some proper decorum already.
But as I was saying, I wasn’t paying any attention to whatever was being said, my mind was drifting. I peered around at the other people sitting there; listening at the minister went on about stuff that I’m not even going to start explaining. There weren’t a lot of people here, just a few friends and the odd family member that actually cared enough to make the journey down. I felt bad for mom, thinking about how her life was over and all she had to show for it was this, two dozen people sitting by as the minister went on. I wonder what will happen when I die. Will there be more people? Will people actually care? God, funerals are so morbid.
Emily is still on my mind. Is she here? I can see about three teenage girls sitting down, none of them I recognise but then, I have no idea what Emily even looks like. One catches my eye, a girl with black hair with electric blue highlights. Could that be her? I avert my eyes as she looks over at me. What would I even do if it were her? All that I know about teenage girls are things that I certainly wouldn’t be telling any family member of mine.
Minister: And now, Harriet’s son Trace will say a few words.
All eyes turn to me and I’m caught off guard. I probably should have been listening. Alexa grips my hands, one of those ‘you will do fine’ kind of gestures. I smile at her. It’s false and I’m sure she knows it, but it’s all I can offer right now. As I stand up and slowly make my way to the stage I start to wonder about how I can really deliver a eulogy for a woman that I really didn’t know. I spent the better part of this week just trying to find some words that didn’t make her out to be a monster, but the ones I have just seem hollow.
They don’t mean anything.
I reach the stage and look out at the people who actually decided to attend. I recognise a few people as ones who dropped by the house to offer their condolences, but others are just completely blank faces. I have no idea how they knew my mother, because I didn’t really know my mother.
Trace Demon: Um...
I look down at the sheet of paper that I pulled from my suit pocket. And then, I screw it up. The worlds are hollow because they are, they don’t mean a thing.
Trace Demon: I had a big speech planned out, but it just didn’t seem right, so... excuse me if this doesn’t sound as smooth as it could.
Hushed whispers fill the room before I continue. I wonder if some of these people just turned up today to see whether something would go wrong.
Trace Demon: Harriet was my mother...
< *** >
Trace Demon: I had a big speech planned out, but it just didn’t seem right, so... excuse me if this doesn’t sound as smooth as it could.
I feel like I’m trespassing, like I’m watching this really intimate moment that shouldn’t be seen by anyone outside of those actually involved. It’s like I’m suddenly a stranger in somebody else’s life. It comes to quickly that I feel that way because I am. Because I don’t know these people, because I don’t know Harriet or Trace or half of the people here. There are two other girls here around my age that I recognise from school, and I can tell that they’re only here because they’ve been dragged here as well. Just like me.
Unlike me, they’re not secretly watching their half brother as he seems to crack apart and become something more than he even knew he was.
Trace seems different to the way I imagined him. When I found out what he did I looked him up online, found all of these pictures and half a dozen information pages on him, but none of them really tell you anything about who he actually is. They just tell you about what he’s done in wrestling. The pictures just show this character that he plays on screen. They don’t tell you about him or his life. They don’t tell you that he has a daughter... that I have a niece...
Trace Demon: Harriet was my mother, but I didn’t really know her that well. I don’t think any of you will really be surprised by me saying that.
He still has that red tint in his fringe which surprises me; I thought that would be the first thing he would have gotten rid of before coming to his mother’s funeral. It’s not as nice as my highlights of course but it makes him seem a little different. It reminds me that he’s still young himself I guess, that this must actually feel like the second time he has lost his mother.
Trace Demon: There were a lot of things I would have liked to have said to her when she was alive. Little things that don’t seem to matter anymore, they just seem kind of pointless.
I thought I’d be able to tell what he was feeling since I’ve been exactly where he is right now, but I can’t. He seems mixed up, like he doesn’t even know how he feels himself. He pauses and I can almost see the gears inside his head working overtime to try and work out what the hell he is meant to say. Then he lets out a breath, and just goes for it.
Trace Demon: I didn’t know my mother that well, not as well as mother and son should know each other. But I’m not here to try placing blame on anybody, because there isn’t any blame. My mother never did anything wrong, she only ever did what she felt was right for her family. And sometimes it didn’t work, but that didn’t stop her trying.
Does he believe what he’s saying? I can’t tell. He seems sincere, but there is that little tickle in his voice, that tone that tells you things aren’t quite right or that they’re twisting the truth a little bit. But I guess you can’t really badmouth somebody at their funeral, even if part of you wants to. It would just be rude.
Trace Demon: She cared about her family, and even when things were hard I don’t think she ever stopped caring. She wasn’t the type of person who would just... give up on the people that she loves.
A tug in his voice. Regret?
Trace Demon: If I have learnt anything from my life it’s the lessons I learnt from my mother, the lessons that even when things get tough that you just have to keep fighting. That when things are difficult you just don’t give up because that isn’t what family is about.
I catch him glancing down at the front row of chairs where his family sit. At his sister, sweet but tough, and his brother, the youngest but most care free. At his daughter and... girlfriend? Wife? I’m not sure, but there is something in the way they look at each other in that moment that tells me they had to fight to reach other and that they are never going to let each other go again. I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone like that?
Trace Demon: My mother loved her family... love us. I may not have known her as well in the past few years as I should have, but I have no doubt that she loved us, and that is the most important thing in this world.
His eyes catch mine and I turn away. Does he know who I am? How could he know?
Trace Demon: Mom, I will always, always, remember you as the woman who tried to keep us safe, who tried to look after us, who loved us. I will always remember you for the woman you were, and I will always regret not being the son that I should have been.
I feel something on my face and wipe it away. A tear. I’m crying, and I can’t explain why.
< *** >
Everybody has gathered around the grave as my mother’s coffin is slowly lowered into the ground. Her death seems a lot more final now than it did this morning. Alexa is grasping my hand, still worried about how I am coping. No smile from me this time though, I’m still thinking about the eulogy and how fake I must have sounded, even though I tried to speak the truth without really speaking the truth. Alexa, Faith and Axel told me that it went fine, but I don’t really believe them.
It’s weird how quiet everybody is as the coffin is lowered down into the ground. It’s like they’ve only just realized that this woman is dead. My grandmother stands beside me, looking tearful even though she never even knew the woman and probably felt nothing but pity for her when she was alive. It’s strange how people grieve for other people’s loss. Me? I’m not going to pretend that I will grieve for a woman that I didn’t know, even if she is linked to me in the most messed up of ways. It just isn’t right.
Axel waits until the coffin is fully lowered before he leans over to me and tries to whisper something into my ear. I spot Faith shooting him a glare out of the corner of my eye telling him that this isn’t the time. Whatever he is trying to tell me she obviously already knows. He waves her off. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do such a thing which immediately makes this something of interest.
Axel Demon: I did a bit of asking around, about Emily.
I don’t ask when he found the time or who he spoke to. Axel has always had this skill of walking a fine line between sneaky, rude and idiotic. It’s gotten him in plenty of trouble in the past but compared to me the kid is a boy scout.
Trace Demon: Can’t this wait?
Trace’s younger brother, Axel I believe, leans over to speak with him and it doesn’t seem like anything to do with the funeral of grief which makes it really inappropriate right now. Axel’s eyes seem to dart over to me and I’m suddenly interested in whatever it is they are talking about. And then suddenly, Trace’s eyes seem to light up, like he’s being told something really important.
Axel Demon: Not if you want to know what Emily looks like.
I try not to look too surprised or taken aback. I can see Faith still glaring, clearly thinking that this was the wrong time to bring this up. I kind of agree with her. As if I didn’t already have enough on my mind.
Trace Demon: What are you talking about?
Axel Demon: She’s here.
This time I can’t stop myself looking at him, gaining Alexa’s attention.
Alexa Monroe: Trace?
Trace Demon: It’s nothing.
His girlfriend (they don’t seem like a married couple despite the kid) seems to take note of whatever is going on. She’s seemed worried about him all day, more than just that usual kind of worry you feel about people at funerals. No, it’s something else. Maybe those rumours about Trace being a former drug fiend are true.
Trace Demon: Where?
Axel nods towards somebody at the back of the crowd. I look across and see the girl that I’d spotted. The one with the highlights.
Trace Demon: That’s Emily?
Suddenly he’s looking right at me. I think he knows who I am. And then...
Axel Demon: That’s Emily.
Eye Contact.
Eye Contact.
< *** >
The screen is static, and then it suddenly flickers to life. A black screen, then the words ‘A message from Trace Demon’ appears on the screen, and then just as quickly disappears. Then, right in front of our eyes, the camera pulls out and we see that the screen we were just watching is in fact a cinema screen. The camera pulls out more to reveal an empty cinema. But wait, it isn’t empty, a single man sits in the fifth row, his feet propped up on the chair in front of him. It’s Trace Demon. In his hand he holds a clicker.
He presses it, and the cinema screen flickers onto a wrestling match. Trace Demon vs. Hutton Brown from XWA’s A Night Of Appreciation For Mr. West. We enter towards the end of the match but the focus here clearly isn’t on the match but the man watching it. He seems like he’s seen better days. His hair is unkempt but then that’s nothing new. The black bags under his eyes tell us that his sleeping pattern isn’t exactly stable. Is the kid keeping him up at night, or is this something else? Has the mania once again gotten to him? He’s suited up to the nines even though it doesn’t suit the situation. He doesn’t care though. He’s Trace f*****g Demon and he does what he wants.
Trace Demon: The first time we met Hutton, it was because you were waging some crazy one man war against the Legion, this ragtag group of sociopaths that I had spent the better part of six months stringing along simply because I could. I could see it then Hutton, I could see that fire in your eyes that makes you so dangerous. That undeniable focus that makes you such a threat to every single man you step into the ring with. It was then that I decided that you were going on my list. My list of men who I just wanted to beat just so in the years that followed I could say that I had. Usually... usually I’m not one to brag but being able to say that I’ve beaten Hutton Brown, well that would just be swell.
The match on the screen reaches its conclusion as Trace Demon lifts Hutton Brown up and plants him to the match with the Hellfire Overdose before making the pinfall. In his seat the present day Trace Demon lets a little smile slip. It’s rare we see him display any kind of positive emotion that the smile seems almost wrong as it rests on his face.
Trace Demon: I wanted to beat you Hutton, and so I did. I picked you up and then I put you straight back down and my god did it feel good. Not just to beat you Hutton, but the make that point that I could, to cement myself as a force in the XWA. There and then I thought we were done. I thought that I’d put you down and shown you exactly why you shouldn’t come messing with me again. But no, I wasn’t that lucky, because just when I put you down in the XWA you turned up in my backyard.
Trace presses the clicker in his hand and the screen turns to static for a moment before moving onto a second match. It’s once again Trace Demon and Hutton brown only this time it is inside a WFWF ring at Hybrid. Once again we’re towards the end of the match. The smile on Trace’s face vanishes almost as quickly as it had appeared. He moves his feet off of the top of the chair, taking on a more serious approach as he crouches forwards slightly, his hands tightly grasped together as he stares at the overly sized screen.
Trace Demon: So we met again, at a time when I was at the bottom of the WFWF trying to work my way back up to the top. You see, I’d made it perfectly clear that I had some problems with the way Kraig was running things and I guess he thought if there was one man who could take me, it’d be you. Can’t blame the guys logic I suppose, it would be impossible for anybody to have missed that ferocity that you present yourself with, even somebody as stupid as Kraig couldn’t miss that. So we met again. I didn’t have a problem with that; I looked forward to the opportunity to beat you again, to add insult to injury...
The match comes to a close as Hutton Brown locks in The Shut Down and chokes the air out of Trace Demon’s lungs, an action that Trace himself has become consistently famous for in the past months over in the XWA. Trace remains silent as he watches the referee raise and drop his arm three times.
Trace Demon: But it didn’t go the way I hoped, did it Hutton. You bested me; you choked me out like I was nothing but a rookie. I must admit I was highly disappointed... hell, who are we kidding, I was pissed off!
Trace shouts this, his words echoing around the empty cinema as his foot kicks against the back of the seat in front of him, but then calms himself down as he continues on.
Trace Demon: But I can admit that I wasn’t at my best then. It was as much my shortcoming as it was your skill. But don’t for a second think I am trying to take that victory away from you Hutton. You deserved it. You were the better man on that night, and I accepted my defeat as... respectfully as I could. But then after that, I kind of became... obsessed, with getting a third match. I needed to prove that I could beat you again, needed to prove that the first time round wasn’t just some fluke. People were talking you see, they thought I’d lost my edge, they thought that I’d become nothing more than a has-been. And I couldn’t take that. But I had to wait Hutton... I had to wait oh so long...
Trace again presses the clicker in his hand as the screen switches again, this time from the raised hand of a victorious Hutton Brown to a third match between the two. This time at an edition of WFWF Loaded in the first round of the WFWF International Championship tournament. You should know that by now we’re towards the end of the match. If you hadn’t been expecting that line, then obviously you haven’t been paying too much attention. Trace’s expression becomes even more focused and manic as he stares at the screen.
Trace Demon: But then, then I finally got my rematch. And my god it was a glorious opportunity. You see, it was a dual opportunity... a chance not only to beat you and prove to everybody that I deserve to be the f*****g man! But also to show that I don’t who you are, that I will hurt you. And I’m sorry Hutton that it had to be you, I really am. I mean I wanted to beat you, sure, but I didn’t have any real problem with you. You were just... in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.
The screen shows Trace Demon exiting the ring and going for a steel chair. The smile returns to Trace’s face, only this time it’s a lot more twisted than it was before. This time it belongs. His face doesn’t budge from the screen as he watches himself begin wailing on Hutton with the chair. This was the last time Hutton was seen prior to his big return.
Trace Demon: And now you’re back, and somehow it’s me against you. Only this time Hutton, this time it isn’t the wrong place at the wrong time. This time I am not going to feel bad about what I am about to do because this time... this time I’m just there to hurt you. I’m not stepping into that ring looking for a victory, I’m not stepping into that ring looking to prove myself, I’m just stepping into that ring to hurt you. I’m stepping into that ring because I’m angry, I’m pissed off Hutton, and you are the person that I’m going to take it out on. I think you should be booking a meeting with your agent, because you came back from what I did to you and then they put you right back into the ring with me, and I have every intention of making sure that your return is very... very... short.
Trace pauses for a moment, and then presses the clicker again. This time it switches to a silent video of Drakz and David Brennan. For those who can’t read lips they’re talking about Trace Demon. Or rather, Drakz is ranting while Brennan listens patiently.
Trace Demon: And then there is you Drakz. You know what I found?
He pauses, and his expression turns into one that is very recognizable. It’s the kind of look that you would see on the face of a psychopath or a murder just before the kill.
Trace Demon: You came into my house Drakz, and you planted a videotape in my daughter’s room. You dared to come into my house and come anywhere near my daughter Drakz? You honestly thought that would be a good idea?!
He’s screaming now, staring straight at the camera, and there’s no stopping him.
Trace Demon: You see Drakz, I don’t particularly care about losing to you. Sure, it pissed me off, but then I found your little video tape and I... just... snapped. You crossed a line Drakz, you crossed a line and you came near my family! And I’m not having that Drakz... not a f*****g chance in hell am I letting you get away with that! You see, before, I just wanted to prove that people need to keep their mouths shut, and now I want to slit your throat... now I want to cut your tongue out and shove it up your...
He takes a few short breaths before he finishes that sentence, and then he stares into the camera again. This time his expression is more focused, blood thirsty, ready to kill.
Trace Demon: Drakz, you crossed a line. You declared war. Words aren’t going to be enough anymore Drakz. I’m going to have to show you what you’ve done.
He pauses.
Trace Demon: I’m going to have to show you how easily a man can bleed to death.
He grins.
Trace Demon: Cut.
Static.
< *** >
I’ve never really thought about burying my mother before. It’s like this. When I was younger I was definitely consumed with a deep, silent and not that subconscious desire to bury my father, no doubt about that. And then after he topped himself I ran off and got so involved with drink and drugs that I got to a point where I was certain that my mother was going to end up having to bury me, but thankfully that never happened. And then after I finally got my life sorted out I had my daughter and Alexa to think about, so the idea about what I would feel like when my mother did eventually pass just kinda... slipped my mind.
But that’s the way things go, right? I mean just when everything seems to be going okay something else jumps right out in front of you and royally screws things up. Which is exactly how I ended up right back here in Hamilton, preparing for my mother’s funeral and obsessing over the final words that she ever said to me.
Axel Demon: She probably wasn’t even being serious.
Axel has always been an expert at denial. He’s the youngest of the three of us and was always better at pretending the world outside his window was as shiny as it appeared on his television. Now you might now want to believe this because it’s a scary thought for those all tucked up nice and snug in their denial filled lives, but things are a hell of a lot worse in real life that they appear on television. And I’m not just talking about those lovely little teenage girl filled shows where everybody finds the love of their life by the end of it. No, I’m talking about the news. I’m talking about the really crappy news, like Fox.
Faith Demon: Because it makes a lot of sense for her final words to be a joke.
Faith is probably the most sensible of the three of us, the stereotypical middle child who has had to raise herself amidst a scene of drunken and delusional parents and ritualistic beatings to her eldest brother (for those not keeping track, that would be me). Faith can be sarcastic and witty and cutting, but she always seems to know what she is talking about. For the longest time she was my safety net, the one person I could rely on to pick me up from whatever alleyway I’d passed in that night. Life shouldn’t be like that, she shouldn’t have had to keep me propped up. What’s worse is I still think part of her still looks up to me.
And I’m not really role model material.
Trace Demon: Well she spent most of her life lying to me, why break the habit of a lifetime?
And then there’s me, having travelled back and forth between Los Angeles, Tokyo and Hamilton and Iowa in the space of two weeks. Sorry, I think I’m coming off as bitter over my own mother’s death, which really doesn’t sound like me. Oh wait, yes it does, it sounds exactly like me, but I’m trying to be a better person so let’s just strike that bit from the record. I’m the eldest of the three of us and the one with the most mental, and physical, scars from our lives growing up with a sociopathic drunk for a father.
I’m currently obsessing over the fact that my mother told me on her deathbed that we had a secret sister that we never knew about. You can guess what threw me off about that because we don’t live inside a bloody soap opera.
Faith Demon: Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the best mother in the world...
Trace Demon: Can we say understatement of the century?
She shoots a glare my way and I shut my mouth. I keep forgetting that I am not the only one who lost a mother this month. I might be okay with that, I might be capable of getting over it with the minimum amount of grieving, but that doesn’t mean Faith or Axel can. Axel is too much of a smartass to say otherwise and Faith is too buttoned up, too concerned over my welfare to worry about her own.
Faith Demon: I’m just saying it sounds like the truth to me.
Axel Demon: So you’re saying that dad had an affair, which let me add isn’t likely because what other crazy woman would go near him? And from that affair he had some illegitimate daughter and mom never thought to say anything about it?
Faith Demon: Well she isn’t about to go and shout it from the rooftops, is she? I mean the fact that her husband had some daughter and...
Trace Demon: Her name’s Emily.
I say it without thinking, like some family loyalty to a person that I have never even met.
Axel Demon: What?
Trace Demon: Emily, that’s the girl’s name. Neither of you have been able to say it since I told you. You just keep saying ‘her’, ‘she’ and, the most delightful of them all, ‘that girl’. I mean, she’s a person, she’s blood, let’s treat her with a little respect.
Axel Demon: Alright man, since when did you get all emotional about... well, anything?
I don’t know, really I don’t. This is all new territory for me. Trying to be the responsible one. Sure, I manage it fine when it comes to Alexa and Eliza. When I’m with them all of the anger and selfishness that I am usually filled with washes away. It’s the one time I feel pure and easy and simple. With everyone else there’s usually that little feeling in the back of my head. That feeling that things don’t feel quite right, that I don’t really belong there. But now I need to be the responsible one, I need to take control of my life. I need to find a way to release that feeling, to finally find a way to belong.
Trace Demon: I think it was that moment where I found out my mother had been lying to me and that somewhere out there I had a sister who didn’t even know she had a family.
Faith Demon: We’re not going to get anything done right now, okay. And plus we’re meant to be getting ready, have you forgotten why we’re here?
She’s right. The car will be around to pick us up and head for the cemetery in a few hours and we haven’t even started preparing. Instead we’re sat in the living room of our old house, all of the bad memories flowing around us like one of those nightmares you can’t wake up from however much you try.
There’s one question that I have kept answering myself every since I found out about Emily. One question that is constantly running through my mind.
Does she have somewhere she belongs?
< *** >
I don’t belong here.
I mean what fifteen year old girl has ever wanted to live with her grandmother in some grotty bungalow in the middle of some small crappy suburb in Canada? It wasn’t until I moved in that I managed to convince her to buy a television. Who wants to listen to old person radio anymore? It just isn’t cool and it sure doesn’t create the kind of atmosphere that lets you bring people back home for whatever reason. The past two years have just been one day after another of going along with the motions, trying to find anything fun to take your mind of the fact that you have to go back to a house that smells of mothballs.
And now here comes the funeral.
Sheila Hall: We’ve only got an hour.
You’ve gotta give it to my old grandmother, even in her old age she can still tell the time.
Emily Hall: So?
I don’t think I’ve really got a bad attitude, not normally. It’s just when you live in a house like this, with a grandmother like this and then you have to spend your precious spare time at a funeral for somebody you never even said a word to.
Sheila Hall: You need to wash and put your dress on.
Emily Hall: Why do I even need to wear a dress? It’s a funeral, not a fashion show.
Sheila Hall: To show a little respect.
Emily Hall: We don’t even need to be there, it’s not like we knew her.
Sheila Hall: Mrs. Demon was a member of this community, and we show respect in times like these.
It’s strange when old women lie. I think it’s because you just don’t expect it, right? I mean old women are meant to be the salt of the earth, meant to be the nice old lady that goes around town just being sweet and telling old stories that nobody really cares about. Then you forget that they’re actually just the same as you with a little bit of age on them and more velvety skin (I’ve always found that term disgusting – velvety, barf!). They’ve done all the same things you’ve done, had all the salacious sex that you REALLY don’t want to hear about and told lies time and time again.
But I should really explain exactly what I’m on about. You see, this woman that died, Mrs. Demon or whatever you want to call her, well she has a little bit of history with my dearly departed mother. Or rather, her husband did. My mom never did really have the best taste in men (I guess that might be why I don’t find them the last bit attractive), and going out and sleeping with the town’s drunk probably tops most of the scumbags she was with after I was born. But from that I was conceived. My mom never thought I figured it out, neither does my grandmother, but it wasn’t that hard of a leap to make. Gossip gets around in this town, even years after it happened.
So now Mrs. Demon is dead, cancer they say, and we’re going to the funeral to pretend that the entire street doesn’t know that my mother had it off with her husband back in the day. We’re going to pretend that I’m not their secret love child, although I’m pretty sure that there was no love involved in what happened. We’re going to pretend that Mrs. Demon didn’t know what had happened and that she didn’t pretend that I didn’t exist for all these years.
Let’s just pretend, shall we?
Emily Hall: Whatever.
Sure, it’s the most cliché of terms in the world, but sometimes (and only sometimes), it still proves useful.
Sheila Hall: And put on the dress!
I only just hear the last sentence as I close the bedroom door behind me. Well, more like slam the door behind me. Every time you slam a door in this house it feels like the entire building rattles. It isn’t just the inside that feels old, it’s the entire bloody structure. One of these days somebody is going to close a door and the entire house is just going to fall apart around them. All I can hope is that I’m not still living here when that happens.
I make a quick move to the shower, one of the only technologically updated things in the entire house, and begin getting ready. I’m not really sure what I’m meant to look like for a funeral. The only other funeral I went to was when my mother died and that entire day was just a massive blur. We didn’t even go to my father’s. Calling him that really doesn’t seem right. He wasn’t a father to me. He never came around to see me, he never tried to talk to me when he passed me and my mother in the street. He didn’t come to my birthdays or send me a present at Christmas. He wasn’t my father, he wasn’t anything.
And neither is this woman, or her family. Oh, I know all about her kids. Three of them. Some young immature student called Axel, a trainee lawyer named Faith (girl power, woo!) and a professional wrestler called Trace. Yes, a professional wrestler, because that is actually a job. From what I’ve heard he got the rough end of the stick. Daily beatings from our mutually absent drunk father and a completely negligent mother who never even tried to help him. And then he went and ran away after said drunk father topped himself.
I guess I shouldn’t complain too much about not knowing my father from the sounds of it, but I’m kind of jealous that I never really got a family out of it. Especially when this Trace character sounds so interesting, so weird and... soooo non-suburban. I guess he’ll be at the funeral though, that should be interesting. I wonder if he’ll have to make a speech?
But anyway, well I’ve been telling you all this the shower water’s finally gotten hot, and you aren’t getting a private show out of me.
Out!
< *** >
Alexa Monroe: Your tie is lopsided.
I’m about to come out with some quick witted retort when I realize that she is right and quickly fix the problem without another word. The thought of Emily is still running through my mind, and then there’s the fact that I’m going to have to read a eulogy about a woman that I never truly knew and hadn’t spoken to in about six years. It seems like I can never really catch a break, like when one problem disappears another one magically takes its place.
Sometimes I wonder if there is actually a God, and he’s just chosen me as his little project: how bad can I make one person’s life before they go completely mental. Well let me tell you God, you’ve got a sick sense of humour, but so have I. And I’m really stubborn.
Alexa Monroe: What’s wrong?
When I came down to see my mother on her death bed I convinced Alexa not to come out with me, even though she was worried about me doing something stupid. Which was understandable, because I’m really good at doing stupid things. But this time there was no arguing with her. I probably could have gotten away with it if I hadn’t told her about this secret little lovechild but no, I had to go ahead and bring it up when she asked, didn’t I? Well, if I hadn’t Faith would have just told her when Alexa inevitably rang her to check how I was coping.
Trace Demon: Nothing.
She shoots me a look that says she knows not everything is okay. It’s that look that only women are capable of pulling. You know the one, the one that has subtle implications that you aren’t ever getting sex again if you don’t tell the truth. God, women, they’d withhold all of the sex.
Trace Demon: It’s just stuff, nothing to worry about.
Alexa Monroe: Is it about this new sister of yours?
Trace Demon: It’s nothing.
She shoots me the look again. I’m fighting a battle that I’ve already lost.
Trace Demon: I just... I don’t know what it is. I just don’t feel right.
Alexa Monroe: It’s your mother’s funeral. You aren’t meant to feel right.
I’ve told Alexa almost everything there is worth telling, from the moment we got back together to this very moment. I lost her once before because I was stupid and I would never let that happen again, so I tell her everything. But I’ve never found a moment like this before. A moment where there is something that I just can’t tell her, a moment where the world is suddenly not spinning properly. A moment where everything just seems... off.
Trace Demon: That isn’t what I mean...
It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, it’s that I can’t. Because I don’t understand it myself.
Alexa Monroe: Then what is it? You know you can tell me.
Trace Demon: I know...
But I know I can’t, so I try to explain as best as I can without having to actually say anything.
Trace Demon: It’s my mother’s funeral, so I should feel something, right? I mean, I should feel upset, or depressed, or... just something. But I don’t. I don’t feel anything. I just feel cold.
Alexa Monroe: Cold?
And this is why I didn’t want to explain things to her, because when I go through it in my head it just sounds wrong, and I know it’s going to make Alexa worry about me, worry about what is going through my head and what I might do. I can’t just explain that I’m capable of working through things like this now because that isn’t what people hear when they know that you used to be an addict. Even the ones closest to you always have that worry that you aren’t going to get through the day.
The worst thing is, you never really get used to it.
Trace Demon: I shouldn’t have said anything.
She takes my hands in hers and looks into my eyes. It’s sweet and all, but I’ve always found that particular comforting move to be a little bit creepy. Don’t tell Alexa.
Alexa Demon: Trace, you know you can tell me anything.
Trace Demon: I know, it’s just me being ridiculous, okay. You know how things were between me and my mother, and her trying to make things better on her death bed didn’t really make me feel better.
She’s about to say something when Eliza’s crying in the other room takes her attention.
Alexa Demon: It’s going to be fine.
I nod and put on a happy face as she walks out of the room and into the sitting room which we’ve turned into a really bad makeshift nursery. Her words echo in my mind. Is it going to be fine? Something feels different now. Something about the way I’m living just doesn’t seem right and I can’t figure out what it is. This time two weeks ago everything was perfect. I had the girl of my dreams and a beautiful daughter. I was finally settling down with my life and my work was better than ever.
I felt complete.
Now I feel broken.
< *** >
I don’t like graveyards.
Wait, I should amend that.
Who the f**k likes graveyards?
But today that is exactly where I get to spend my day, mourning for a woman who I never knew. And do you want to know the bonus? I get to see the family that doesn’t even know I exist as they mourn a woman who everybody in town knows allowed our mutual father to beat them.
But first, the serious stuff.
Emily Hall: Hi mom.
I don’t want to sound like some pathetic emo because honestly, they stopped being cool about twenty seconds after the first emo put on a eyeliner, but the only place in this town I feel even remotely better about my life is at the grave of my mother. I know that it sounds weird because she’s dead and I don’t think she’s listening in or anything, but it just makes me feel a little bit better to talk to her. It helps that I know she isn’t going to talk back to me anymore.
Emily Hall: So, old missus Demon died and all the family is back in town. Well, whatever family actually gives a crap about her.
It’s a good thing that I don’t believe in heaven or any of that, because if I did I’d be seriously worried that mom would smite me for the language. Small mercies, eh?
Emily Hall: I think her kids are here... my half brothers and sister... wonder what they’re like in real life. Why didn’t you ever tell me mom?
In a small town like this, people talk, and you hear things whether you want to or not. When I was a kid I didn’t pay any attention to it when kids made jokes about me not having a dad. Kids are cruel mom would say, and I just took it at that. It wasn’t until years later when I found a copy of my birth certificate in with a load of other paperwork that I found out what she had been hiding from me. The name of my father.
Emily Hall: I mean, I get that he was a drunk or whatever but you still should have told me. You still should have let me make the decision. You shouldn’t have taken it out of my hands.
I was going to confront her, find out why she had been lying to me. Find out what was so wrong with the idea of me having a father, having brothers and a sister, having more than I had. I just wanted to know. I had to know.
Emily Hall: And now they’re back. What am I meant to do mom? Do I just let them come and go and not say a word? But... what if I say something?
So I finally decided to bring it up. I finally found the courage to tell her what I knew. And, for a thirteen year old girl, that seemed like a pretty big deal.
Emily Hall: What would I say?
I waited for her to come home from work that day. My mother was a nurse who usually worked the late shifts. On those days my grandmother would come around and ‘look after me’ because the way you look after a thirteen year old girl is fall asleep at about seven in the afternoon and not notice your granddaughter sneaking out of the house. I can’t complain, it’s a lot easier sneaking out of the house with a half deaf grandmother than a fully hearing mother.
Emily Hall: Do I just walk up to them and say hey, I’m your half sister? Because I really don’t think that is going to work, do you?! Come on mom, tell me what to do.
I waited for her to come home and she never did. We got a call the next day.
Car crash.
She never came home.
Emily Hall: What am I meant to do?
I haven’t cried since that day.
Maybe I’m broken.
< *** >
I’ve got this talent for blanking out just about every sound that I don’t want to hear. You can test me if you want but I probably won’t know, because I’ll be too busy blanking you out completely. See what I did there? The minister is delivering whatever speech that they deliver at these things (believe it or not but I haven’t actually been to that many funerals. I know, crazy right?) and I’m far too caught up in my own head to pay any attention to whatever it was he was saying. I don’t really believe in funerals as a whole, they’re far too depressing to be a ‘celebration’ of somebody’s life, plus I felt very out of place being near a church.
I should explain that I’m not really into religion all that much. I don’t really care whether other people do or don’t either, because I never ask about it and if you just come out and start talking about religion to someone who didn’t ask you to, then you are quite clearly a massive ass. Like seriously, learn some proper decorum already.
But as I was saying, I wasn’t paying any attention to whatever was being said, my mind was drifting. I peered around at the other people sitting there; listening at the minister went on about stuff that I’m not even going to start explaining. There weren’t a lot of people here, just a few friends and the odd family member that actually cared enough to make the journey down. I felt bad for mom, thinking about how her life was over and all she had to show for it was this, two dozen people sitting by as the minister went on. I wonder what will happen when I die. Will there be more people? Will people actually care? God, funerals are so morbid.
Emily is still on my mind. Is she here? I can see about three teenage girls sitting down, none of them I recognise but then, I have no idea what Emily even looks like. One catches my eye, a girl with black hair with electric blue highlights. Could that be her? I avert my eyes as she looks over at me. What would I even do if it were her? All that I know about teenage girls are things that I certainly wouldn’t be telling any family member of mine.
Minister: And now, Harriet’s son Trace will say a few words.
All eyes turn to me and I’m caught off guard. I probably should have been listening. Alexa grips my hands, one of those ‘you will do fine’ kind of gestures. I smile at her. It’s false and I’m sure she knows it, but it’s all I can offer right now. As I stand up and slowly make my way to the stage I start to wonder about how I can really deliver a eulogy for a woman that I really didn’t know. I spent the better part of this week just trying to find some words that didn’t make her out to be a monster, but the ones I have just seem hollow.
They don’t mean anything.
I reach the stage and look out at the people who actually decided to attend. I recognise a few people as ones who dropped by the house to offer their condolences, but others are just completely blank faces. I have no idea how they knew my mother, because I didn’t really know my mother.
Trace Demon: Um...
I look down at the sheet of paper that I pulled from my suit pocket. And then, I screw it up. The worlds are hollow because they are, they don’t mean a thing.
Trace Demon: I had a big speech planned out, but it just didn’t seem right, so... excuse me if this doesn’t sound as smooth as it could.
Hushed whispers fill the room before I continue. I wonder if some of these people just turned up today to see whether something would go wrong.
Trace Demon: Harriet was my mother...
< *** >
Trace Demon: I had a big speech planned out, but it just didn’t seem right, so... excuse me if this doesn’t sound as smooth as it could.
I feel like I’m trespassing, like I’m watching this really intimate moment that shouldn’t be seen by anyone outside of those actually involved. It’s like I’m suddenly a stranger in somebody else’s life. It comes to quickly that I feel that way because I am. Because I don’t know these people, because I don’t know Harriet or Trace or half of the people here. There are two other girls here around my age that I recognise from school, and I can tell that they’re only here because they’ve been dragged here as well. Just like me.
Unlike me, they’re not secretly watching their half brother as he seems to crack apart and become something more than he even knew he was.
Trace seems different to the way I imagined him. When I found out what he did I looked him up online, found all of these pictures and half a dozen information pages on him, but none of them really tell you anything about who he actually is. They just tell you about what he’s done in wrestling. The pictures just show this character that he plays on screen. They don’t tell you about him or his life. They don’t tell you that he has a daughter... that I have a niece...
Trace Demon: Harriet was my mother, but I didn’t really know her that well. I don’t think any of you will really be surprised by me saying that.
He still has that red tint in his fringe which surprises me; I thought that would be the first thing he would have gotten rid of before coming to his mother’s funeral. It’s not as nice as my highlights of course but it makes him seem a little different. It reminds me that he’s still young himself I guess, that this must actually feel like the second time he has lost his mother.
Trace Demon: There were a lot of things I would have liked to have said to her when she was alive. Little things that don’t seem to matter anymore, they just seem kind of pointless.
I thought I’d be able to tell what he was feeling since I’ve been exactly where he is right now, but I can’t. He seems mixed up, like he doesn’t even know how he feels himself. He pauses and I can almost see the gears inside his head working overtime to try and work out what the hell he is meant to say. Then he lets out a breath, and just goes for it.
Trace Demon: I didn’t know my mother that well, not as well as mother and son should know each other. But I’m not here to try placing blame on anybody, because there isn’t any blame. My mother never did anything wrong, she only ever did what she felt was right for her family. And sometimes it didn’t work, but that didn’t stop her trying.
Does he believe what he’s saying? I can’t tell. He seems sincere, but there is that little tickle in his voice, that tone that tells you things aren’t quite right or that they’re twisting the truth a little bit. But I guess you can’t really badmouth somebody at their funeral, even if part of you wants to. It would just be rude.
Trace Demon: She cared about her family, and even when things were hard I don’t think she ever stopped caring. She wasn’t the type of person who would just... give up on the people that she loves.
A tug in his voice. Regret?
Trace Demon: If I have learnt anything from my life it’s the lessons I learnt from my mother, the lessons that even when things get tough that you just have to keep fighting. That when things are difficult you just don’t give up because that isn’t what family is about.
I catch him glancing down at the front row of chairs where his family sit. At his sister, sweet but tough, and his brother, the youngest but most care free. At his daughter and... girlfriend? Wife? I’m not sure, but there is something in the way they look at each other in that moment that tells me they had to fight to reach other and that they are never going to let each other go again. I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone like that?
Trace Demon: My mother loved her family... love us. I may not have known her as well in the past few years as I should have, but I have no doubt that she loved us, and that is the most important thing in this world.
His eyes catch mine and I turn away. Does he know who I am? How could he know?
Trace Demon: Mom, I will always, always, remember you as the woman who tried to keep us safe, who tried to look after us, who loved us. I will always remember you for the woman you were, and I will always regret not being the son that I should have been.
I feel something on my face and wipe it away. A tear. I’m crying, and I can’t explain why.
< *** >
Everybody has gathered around the grave as my mother’s coffin is slowly lowered into the ground. Her death seems a lot more final now than it did this morning. Alexa is grasping my hand, still worried about how I am coping. No smile from me this time though, I’m still thinking about the eulogy and how fake I must have sounded, even though I tried to speak the truth without really speaking the truth. Alexa, Faith and Axel told me that it went fine, but I don’t really believe them.
It’s weird how quiet everybody is as the coffin is lowered down into the ground. It’s like they’ve only just realized that this woman is dead. My grandmother stands beside me, looking tearful even though she never even knew the woman and probably felt nothing but pity for her when she was alive. It’s strange how people grieve for other people’s loss. Me? I’m not going to pretend that I will grieve for a woman that I didn’t know, even if she is linked to me in the most messed up of ways. It just isn’t right.
Axel waits until the coffin is fully lowered before he leans over to me and tries to whisper something into my ear. I spot Faith shooting him a glare out of the corner of my eye telling him that this isn’t the time. Whatever he is trying to tell me she obviously already knows. He waves her off. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do such a thing which immediately makes this something of interest.
Axel Demon: I did a bit of asking around, about Emily.
I don’t ask when he found the time or who he spoke to. Axel has always had this skill of walking a fine line between sneaky, rude and idiotic. It’s gotten him in plenty of trouble in the past but compared to me the kid is a boy scout.
Trace Demon: Can’t this wait?
Trace’s younger brother, Axel I believe, leans over to speak with him and it doesn’t seem like anything to do with the funeral of grief which makes it really inappropriate right now. Axel’s eyes seem to dart over to me and I’m suddenly interested in whatever it is they are talking about. And then suddenly, Trace’s eyes seem to light up, like he’s being told something really important.
Axel Demon: Not if you want to know what Emily looks like.
I try not to look too surprised or taken aback. I can see Faith still glaring, clearly thinking that this was the wrong time to bring this up. I kind of agree with her. As if I didn’t already have enough on my mind.
Trace Demon: What are you talking about?
Axel Demon: She’s here.
This time I can’t stop myself looking at him, gaining Alexa’s attention.
Alexa Monroe: Trace?
Trace Demon: It’s nothing.
His girlfriend (they don’t seem like a married couple despite the kid) seems to take note of whatever is going on. She’s seemed worried about him all day, more than just that usual kind of worry you feel about people at funerals. No, it’s something else. Maybe those rumours about Trace being a former drug fiend are true.
Trace Demon: Where?
Axel nods towards somebody at the back of the crowd. I look across and see the girl that I’d spotted. The one with the highlights.
Trace Demon: That’s Emily?
Suddenly he’s looking right at me. I think he knows who I am. And then...
Axel Demon: That’s Emily.
Eye Contact.
Eye Contact.
< *** >
The screen is static, and then it suddenly flickers to life. A black screen, then the words ‘A message from Trace Demon’ appears on the screen, and then just as quickly disappears. Then, right in front of our eyes, the camera pulls out and we see that the screen we were just watching is in fact a cinema screen. The camera pulls out more to reveal an empty cinema. But wait, it isn’t empty, a single man sits in the fifth row, his feet propped up on the chair in front of him. It’s Trace Demon. In his hand he holds a clicker.
He presses it, and the cinema screen flickers onto a wrestling match. Trace Demon vs. Hutton Brown from XWA’s A Night Of Appreciation For Mr. West. We enter towards the end of the match but the focus here clearly isn’t on the match but the man watching it. He seems like he’s seen better days. His hair is unkempt but then that’s nothing new. The black bags under his eyes tell us that his sleeping pattern isn’t exactly stable. Is the kid keeping him up at night, or is this something else? Has the mania once again gotten to him? He’s suited up to the nines even though it doesn’t suit the situation. He doesn’t care though. He’s Trace f*****g Demon and he does what he wants.
Trace Demon: The first time we met Hutton, it was because you were waging some crazy one man war against the Legion, this ragtag group of sociopaths that I had spent the better part of six months stringing along simply because I could. I could see it then Hutton, I could see that fire in your eyes that makes you so dangerous. That undeniable focus that makes you such a threat to every single man you step into the ring with. It was then that I decided that you were going on my list. My list of men who I just wanted to beat just so in the years that followed I could say that I had. Usually... usually I’m not one to brag but being able to say that I’ve beaten Hutton Brown, well that would just be swell.
The match on the screen reaches its conclusion as Trace Demon lifts Hutton Brown up and plants him to the match with the Hellfire Overdose before making the pinfall. In his seat the present day Trace Demon lets a little smile slip. It’s rare we see him display any kind of positive emotion that the smile seems almost wrong as it rests on his face.
Trace Demon: I wanted to beat you Hutton, and so I did. I picked you up and then I put you straight back down and my god did it feel good. Not just to beat you Hutton, but the make that point that I could, to cement myself as a force in the XWA. There and then I thought we were done. I thought that I’d put you down and shown you exactly why you shouldn’t come messing with me again. But no, I wasn’t that lucky, because just when I put you down in the XWA you turned up in my backyard.
Trace presses the clicker in his hand and the screen turns to static for a moment before moving onto a second match. It’s once again Trace Demon and Hutton brown only this time it is inside a WFWF ring at Hybrid. Once again we’re towards the end of the match. The smile on Trace’s face vanishes almost as quickly as it had appeared. He moves his feet off of the top of the chair, taking on a more serious approach as he crouches forwards slightly, his hands tightly grasped together as he stares at the overly sized screen.
Trace Demon: So we met again, at a time when I was at the bottom of the WFWF trying to work my way back up to the top. You see, I’d made it perfectly clear that I had some problems with the way Kraig was running things and I guess he thought if there was one man who could take me, it’d be you. Can’t blame the guys logic I suppose, it would be impossible for anybody to have missed that ferocity that you present yourself with, even somebody as stupid as Kraig couldn’t miss that. So we met again. I didn’t have a problem with that; I looked forward to the opportunity to beat you again, to add insult to injury...
The match comes to a close as Hutton Brown locks in The Shut Down and chokes the air out of Trace Demon’s lungs, an action that Trace himself has become consistently famous for in the past months over in the XWA. Trace remains silent as he watches the referee raise and drop his arm three times.
Trace Demon: But it didn’t go the way I hoped, did it Hutton. You bested me; you choked me out like I was nothing but a rookie. I must admit I was highly disappointed... hell, who are we kidding, I was pissed off!
Trace shouts this, his words echoing around the empty cinema as his foot kicks against the back of the seat in front of him, but then calms himself down as he continues on.
Trace Demon: But I can admit that I wasn’t at my best then. It was as much my shortcoming as it was your skill. But don’t for a second think I am trying to take that victory away from you Hutton. You deserved it. You were the better man on that night, and I accepted my defeat as... respectfully as I could. But then after that, I kind of became... obsessed, with getting a third match. I needed to prove that I could beat you again, needed to prove that the first time round wasn’t just some fluke. People were talking you see, they thought I’d lost my edge, they thought that I’d become nothing more than a has-been. And I couldn’t take that. But I had to wait Hutton... I had to wait oh so long...
Trace again presses the clicker in his hand as the screen switches again, this time from the raised hand of a victorious Hutton Brown to a third match between the two. This time at an edition of WFWF Loaded in the first round of the WFWF International Championship tournament. You should know that by now we’re towards the end of the match. If you hadn’t been expecting that line, then obviously you haven’t been paying too much attention. Trace’s expression becomes even more focused and manic as he stares at the screen.
Trace Demon: But then, then I finally got my rematch. And my god it was a glorious opportunity. You see, it was a dual opportunity... a chance not only to beat you and prove to everybody that I deserve to be the f*****g man! But also to show that I don’t who you are, that I will hurt you. And I’m sorry Hutton that it had to be you, I really am. I mean I wanted to beat you, sure, but I didn’t have any real problem with you. You were just... in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.
The screen shows Trace Demon exiting the ring and going for a steel chair. The smile returns to Trace’s face, only this time it’s a lot more twisted than it was before. This time it belongs. His face doesn’t budge from the screen as he watches himself begin wailing on Hutton with the chair. This was the last time Hutton was seen prior to his big return.
Trace Demon: And now you’re back, and somehow it’s me against you. Only this time Hutton, this time it isn’t the wrong place at the wrong time. This time I am not going to feel bad about what I am about to do because this time... this time I’m just there to hurt you. I’m not stepping into that ring looking for a victory, I’m not stepping into that ring looking to prove myself, I’m just stepping into that ring to hurt you. I’m stepping into that ring because I’m angry, I’m pissed off Hutton, and you are the person that I’m going to take it out on. I think you should be booking a meeting with your agent, because you came back from what I did to you and then they put you right back into the ring with me, and I have every intention of making sure that your return is very... very... short.
Trace pauses for a moment, and then presses the clicker again. This time it switches to a silent video of Drakz and David Brennan. For those who can’t read lips they’re talking about Trace Demon. Or rather, Drakz is ranting while Brennan listens patiently.
Trace Demon: And then there is you Drakz. You know what I found?
He pauses, and his expression turns into one that is very recognizable. It’s the kind of look that you would see on the face of a psychopath or a murder just before the kill.
Trace Demon: You came into my house Drakz, and you planted a videotape in my daughter’s room. You dared to come into my house and come anywhere near my daughter Drakz? You honestly thought that would be a good idea?!
He’s screaming now, staring straight at the camera, and there’s no stopping him.
Trace Demon: You see Drakz, I don’t particularly care about losing to you. Sure, it pissed me off, but then I found your little video tape and I... just... snapped. You crossed a line Drakz, you crossed a line and you came near my family! And I’m not having that Drakz... not a f*****g chance in hell am I letting you get away with that! You see, before, I just wanted to prove that people need to keep their mouths shut, and now I want to slit your throat... now I want to cut your tongue out and shove it up your...
He takes a few short breaths before he finishes that sentence, and then he stares into the camera again. This time his expression is more focused, blood thirsty, ready to kill.
Trace Demon: Drakz, you crossed a line. You declared war. Words aren’t going to be enough anymore Drakz. I’m going to have to show you what you’ve done.
He pauses.
Trace Demon: I’m going to have to show you how easily a man can bleed to death.
He grins.
Trace Demon: Cut.
Static.
