Post by Harmony on Oct 1, 2022 20:12:43 GMT -5
TWO YEARS AGO
The lights and music within the club were a siren’s song, not beckoning one towards an untimely death, but towards breaking a pact with decency and life. And as I stood there, before those nightclub doors, with a mountain for a bouncer impatiently waiting on my identification, I closed my eyes and came to terms with one immutable fact.
Harmon, you will leave a piece of yourself in this place.
Damn son, I don’t got all day.
The bouncer’s gruff tone brought me back to the present, and I handed him my ID. Forged, of course. I could pass for 21 at a stretch, but if he settled for 18 I’d certainly be content. As he jabbed the ID back at me, I breathed a sigh of relief. In my mind’s eye, I could see one barrier crumbling down before me. The last one…the last one before the beating black heart of the matter.
I entered.
Red. Of course it was red.
The entire floor was bathed in a crimson light, something deep and primordial. It rendered the scene fantastic, nigh ethereal. I actually took a step back as I entered, catching myself settling on an unsettling thought.
They know.
Who’s they?
Would it be He knows? Or She?
Someone knows. Someone knows I’m here to do the Devil’s work and they’ve decorated accordingly. My stomach lurched and I pressed the errant notion out of my head. It was beyond absurd. But there was no denying how apropos it all was.
I waded into the crowd, searching. The man who once called himself The Poison shouldn’t be hard to find. The man never knew a party he wouldn’t go to, a line he wouldn’t snort, or a piece of flesh he wouldn’t fuck. His debauchery had aged him prematurely, etching fine lines and crags into a once handsome face, and turning once buoyant hair into something long and perpetually filthy looking.
No, it didn’t take long at all before I laid eyes on the shirtless vagrant looking bastard. He was seated in a booth, a woman young enough to be his daughter, or perhaps even grandaughter, on either arm. The bubbly was flowing, and based on The Poison’s flushed countenance and manic mien, the cocaine was doing it’s dirty work.
It was at that point that I realized how exposed I was, standing there dumbstruck at the sight of one of my mother’s five killers. The dance floor had opened around me. And I knew I needed to plunge back in before I was ready. So plunge I did. I had dressed the part. Black slacks and a tight black tee. Thrift store finds that were passably chic after some ironing and a bit of tailoring.
The party engulfed me, hands started probing my chest, the taste of lust and excitement and sweat was on the air. But I wasn’t here for that of course. No, I wasn’t here for any of that.
It was easier said than done to keep my eyes on the prize through the gyrations of the passing masses. With some expenditure of effort, I was successful at keeping watch of him without him noticing. But I needed him alone. Unguarded. Another man with a large jacket seated at the far end of The Poison’s table sat with that characteristic swagger that screamed “I’m packing”. The Poison was no doubt armed too. But his tastes tended to run more towards bladed fare.
And just like that I was a boy, regressed all the way back to the night of my mother’s murder. Poison, that proverbial Judas, had landed the first blow, gouging a switchblade into her forearm. I still remember the freefall of that first trickle of blood, dropping in slow motion in step with my mounting panic. I…
…no. NO. I need to be HERE.
That moment of recollection almost cost me dearly. I looked up and he was no longer in his seat. Frantically, I scanned the crowd, and just caught sight of him as he made his way around a couple making out to slide into the men’s rest room. I broke from the revelry, making my way towards the bathroom. And my mind buzzed incessantly.
Would he remember me?
Can I really take this guy?
Could I go through with it?
That final question being the most vital of course. With a man like him, any hesitation on my part would surely spell disaster. I would have to do it quickly.
Stopping a moment to draw a deep and satisfying breath, I pushed the bathroom door open. He had sidled up to a urinal and let out a small pleasured gasp as the urine started flowing. I could tell he was drunk or high from the slight sway to his stance. That might make it easier. I quickly took an assessment of the situation. Another person at the sink. Shoes could be made out in the furthest stall. Two potential bystanders.
The door opened behind me and another man stepped through, reeking of vodka and heading right to the sink.
Make that three.
Great.
The latest comer started puking into the sink, drawing a look of surprise and disgust from the man just across from him. He made his way out of the bathroom in a hurry. The man who vomited was now gasping and running an undone cuff across his mouth, spitting and wincing into the sink. I was reasonably sure he was too drunk to have even seen me.
I had to do it. Now.
Just behind me, I could hear the final patters of The Poison’s urine hitting the porcelain. He let out another sigh and started hiking up his pants.
I made my move.
Standing at the stall just beside him, I looked over at him. He returned my gaze. I searched for recognition, for malice, for anything, in him. But there was only mirth.
Hey buddy, you gotta take the stall right next to me? You some kinda f-...
It was as though I was watching a highlight reel from outside my body, dissociating myself from the horrific violence I was in the process of inflicting. My hand wrapped itself in his hair, and I drove his face down and into the top of the urinal. I felt something give in him, and instantaneously the porcelain was flush with blood. He howled in anger and pain, throwing a hand up towards my face to push me away. But I was undeterred, and I had the advantage of surprise. I drove his face into the porcelain again. More give. More blood. Teeth clattered into the urinal. He screamed again, turning towards me, dazed and in pain, trying to push me away. But in so doing, he stumbled and fell to his knees before me. I took hold of him again, driving him once more into the base of the urinal. He went quiet and limp now.
Hey, what the fuck is going on out there? The man in the stall called out. I ignored him.
I picked up The Poison’s head and looked at it, looked at his broken crimson covered face. He was still breathing, but it was a hollow death rattle wheeze now. I knew then that I still wasn’t done.
Crack. Again.
Crack. Bone rearranged behind flesh, more teeth clattering into the bowl.
Crack. His nose disappeared inside his face.
Holy shit! Someone called out behind me. I hadn’t even heard the door open. Whipping my head around I saw two more standing in the doorway to the bathroom, faces rapt in horror. But it didn't matter. The Poison was dead. I dropped him to the floor and pushed past the men, who were too stunned to intervene. Before long, I had escaped into the night, the metaphorical mark of Cain blazing firmly on my chest as a testament to my shame.
Harmon’s Journal: Entry 5
I start with this for two reasons. Number one, there is a lot that you, the rest of the boys in the back, and hell even the fans haven’t the foggiest about. It’s for the best.
Number two, I’m sure you’ve devised all sorts of reasons for why I chose you. “Harmon’s been pullin’ cards”, as they say, and you were the second person I flat out chose to face. And seeing as how I keep winning, management must see fit to allow me to continue to set the table.
But anyway, I’m sure you THINK you know why. And you’d be wrong. Because the reason I’m fighting you can be summed up in one word: Frankie.
I can hear it now, what the fuck does Harmon Egan have to do with all of that? Well, technically nothing. Aside from the fact that what I saw made me want to puke.
So let me get this straight asshole, to settle a dispute with a grown man, you opted to take that man’s son? You opted to kidnap a child?
Fuck right off. Fuck right off with any explanations or justifications you want to proffer. Just fuck them preemptively.
You wanna know what this has to do with me? Because I was once that scared child at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger than me! I was once that scared child bearing the brunt of my parent’s actions! I WAS THAT CHILD! And I’m not going to sit here and pout about you triggering my PTSD or unraveling years of therapy or any of that shit. No, it’s just straight up “you pissed me off.” What you did was cowardly, grotesque, and completely unwarranted.
Now that I have that out of the way, we can talk about your record. Which is mediocre. So yeah, I chose you because I think I can beat you. But then again, I think I can beat just about anyone on the roster so you’re not all that special. And that’s not to say I dont’t think I can be beaten. I’m no fool. I just don’t think I’m going to be beaten by YOU.
So yeah, you’re the prized hog I picked out to slaughter and consume because you’re the kind of son of a bitch who’ll threaten a child to get your way and because I’m pretty sure I can get you so twisted you can kiss your own ass. As far as I’m concerned, win number five is a foregone conclusion. And it’ll be my final win before I go on to challenge for the Craze Championship.
But Easton, I have one final request of you. When I’m torturing you in that ring, I want you to keep the image of that scared little boy front and center in your head. And I want you to know that everything I dish out this Monday is PUNISHMENT for what you did to him. It won’t ease my own pain, but it’ll sure as shit bring a smile to my face.
Folks, Massacre is going to mark 5-0. And I dare say, the writing is on the wall. Newcomer of the Month. Cracking number two on the Heat Check before I’ve even had a championship match. Yeah…I’m thinking the sky’s the limit from here. Now remind me what Killa Kali done lately.
Heh.