001: sematary

IT HAD ACTUALLY taken him more than two months to screw up the courage to come here. Although given the weird things that had been happening lately, one would think that visiting this place would have logically seemed like the natural next course of action. But there was one universal constant that wasn't quite known— Larry Gowan had grown quite adept at avoidance over the years.

Despite both Chauncy and his own medical doctor assuring him that this phenomenon was all in his head, he wasn't convinced. It wasn't just the fact that he'd actually touched something solid on the pier— it was the fact that he knew he wasn't going crazy. He KNEW it because he felt perfectly sane in every other way.

They'd both told him that once he pulled out of IWF, the sightings would stop. They told him that once the stress of being back in the limelight, or living with that 10-0 record, or dealing with a place that had become more burden than blessing was removed, he'd be fine. But the truth was, his life hadn't been any more stressful than it had always been over the course of his career. Sure, winning so many matches in a row had kinda freaked him out, but he'd been seeing Shawn since before he won the Undisputed Panda Championship in CPW. It wasn't stress. Or a brain injury. Or a tumor.

The pills he'd been given by his doctor back in September did nothing but make him lethargic and he couldn't afford to sacrifice energy when he was still wrestling. He'd flushed the rest of the bottle and had refused to get a refill. It didn't matter. He'd seen Shawn when he was on them. He'd seen Shawn half a dozen times since he'd tossed the pills— the most recent when he was shopping with Ryann in Raleigh, North Carolina on the day after Christmas. Like usual he'd vanished before Gowan had gotten close enough to make contact.

So here he was in this village of the dead, hoping to find that grave undisturbed. Swallowing hard, he drew his jacket closed with one hand, glancing back over his shoulder past the pool of light at the gates to where Chauncy waited, leaning on the bumper of the rental car. He twiddled his fingers in a wave and Gowan nodded before turning away, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

As his feet crunched over the dying grass, he kept trying not to think about zombie movies. His lips quirked in a sad smile, but he didn't slow his pace. He didn't need to think to do this, and he knew precisely where he was going. On the western side of the graveyard the headstones were smaller, less ornate; some completely overgrown and forgotten. Cemeteries had always given him the creeps, and he'd always vowed never to visit one after dark— something that had stuck until today, thanks to their flight being delayed.

He could almost picture decaying zombie hands reaching for him. The wind started to sound like moaning. He shook his head, annoyed at his own cowardice. Night of the Living Dead was just a movie that had scared him as a kid; The Walking Dead was just a wicked awesome TV show. Both were works of fiction and nothing more.

Gowan hesitated again, whispering to himself, "do I really want to do this?" He shuddered, chilled by more than the breeze. The clouds were gathering overhead, making him nervous. His eyes were equally as troubled as the skies, a stormy blue-gray as they lifted to the heavens. "Hold off long enough for me to see," he whispered, hoping someone up there was listening.

He shivered and hastened towards his destination, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring an umbrella with him. It might have served as a weapon if the weather held. His gaze was fixed on a point in the distance, his eyes blinking rapidly to banish the tears that were already forming. "Aw, geez," he muttered under his breath, hunching his shoulders against the wind. He risked one last look back at his partner, drawing solace from his presence even though he looked more like a hulking shadowy monster in the gloom.

Clouds covered most of the sky now, forcing him to grope in his pocket for the flashlight he kept on his keyring. It was quiet back here; even the wind seemed muted as it whispered through the vegetation. It wasn't completely quiet, however. The highway was nearby; the steady drone of traffic could be heard on the breeze, reminding him of that scene in Pet Sematary when the father buried his kid in the evil Indian burial ground.

Don't go there, he cautioned himself and then stopped short so suddenly he almost stumbled over his brother's grave marker. It was just a flat piece of limestone, flush against the ground, half-buried in dead creeper weeds. For a long moment, he said nothing, surprised to find the place as untouched as the caretaker had assured him it would be.

"Shawn," he began, pausing only to slick his hair back from his brow, wiping away the clammy sweat there, "I don't know what I was expecting. The caretaker back there told me that there hadn't been any disturbances here but I had to come and check for myself. You know me. I've never been a blind faith sorta person. So, I kinda have to ask," his voice dropped to a whisper, "are you still in there?"

Hunkering down and leaning forward, he brushed the debris aside with his hand. The shadows lengthened, making the engraved words more visible. Shawn Stevens. September 12, 1980 to May 6, 2007. He shivered, chilled suddenly as he looked at those words. Such a waste. "So, I'm cracking up. There's a shock, eh?" He chuckled, halfheartedly, "I was starting to think maybe this was all an elaborate stunt. Just another joke you pulled on all of us."

He bowed his head, "if you're alive, give me a sign. I mean, I keep seeing you and it's always right before these important moments and now I'm starting to wonder if you're my guardian angel or something. Are you my conscience like Jiminy Cricket? I can see that, you know. I mean, you always had so much to teach me. Funny since I'm the older brother." He sighed, looking up at the cloud-choked sky. "I've been sober for a year this week. I know I promised you I would get clean ages ago. I kept falling into that same old weakness, over and over. It stuck because of him. Because... I finally found what I was looking for all these years. That's... that's why I'm here."

The grass was withered and dry, long dead. It stabbed into his palms as he rested them against the ground and bit his lip to keep his emotions in check. The sky was almost entirely dark now— the storm about to break.

"I came out, Shawn. Not wholly public, but enough people know now that I don't have to tiptoe around. And, I…" he sighed, shaking his head, "remember Chauncy? I married him. I bailed on the last place I was working in because I couldn't stand the gay bashing. I know it's pathetic, but I just… you know? It's hard. There's always something these days, from that screwy tournament in Catholic Panda Wrestling to the guy who was supposed to be my friend cutting a promo that should have had GLAAD banging on his door. And I know what they say about me in the industry. I'm the fluke. The guy who proves that even losers get lucky sometimes. That's me, Shawn. Remember when you had me pin you in the hallway of that hotel for the hardcore title, and had me hide in the closet until the Pay-Per-View was over? Remember how I managed to keep that belt for another month because everyone forgot you'd given it to me? Maybe that's why you keep coming back to haunt me. Maybe you're trying to tell me that I need to just give up on all this spotlight nonsense before I kill myself in the process. What are you trying to tell me, Shawn? Do you want me to retire? Do you want me find a place that makes me truly happy? Because if that's the case, I think I already have. SVW is…"

Thunder rumbled overhead, cutting him off— jagged lightning flashed along the clouds. "It's not that simple anymore. It's not like it was when it was you and me teaming in WCWF. Back then you thought I was weak. The guy with the crutches. The coward who always took the easy way out. Drinking. Jobbing. Taking the falls without rocking the boat. And now it's all changed. When the day comes to an end, I can look in the mirror and be happy at what I see. I don't need to get wasted to feel like a human being. I don't need that anymore. I'm happy, Shawn. For the first time in years, I really am."

The cloud cover broke, the moon shining through, bathing the entire graveyard in an ethereal glow. It was almost like the sign he'd been looking for. Expectantly, he looked up, his face streaked with tear tracks.

BONG! BONG! BONG!

"ACK!" He screamed, nearly jumping out of his skin as the bell in the old chapel began to toll, echoing across the sculpted lawn. He glanced back to the gate, hoping to see the caretaker there, but the man was gone.

BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!

He flinched, and looked around furtively, suddenly feeling very alone and isolated. His heart stopped. Ice water slid through his veins, making him shiver.

Shawn!

Or his doppelganger. Or his damned spirit, standing beneath that same lamp where the caretaker had stood, caught in the long twilight shadow of the chapel. Disbelief clanging in his head, as loud as the sound of the bells that reverberated in his ears, he straightened up, keeping his eyes on the spectre. He raked a hand through his soggy, tangled hair, wincing as his fingers caught in the knots as he swept it back from his eyes. "Don't leave," he murmured, heart pounding in his throat as he dashed down the flagstone path, "don't you dare cut and run on me again."

His toe caught on the edge of a stone. He didn't go down, but he rolled his ankle. The twinge of pain slowed his pace and the next time his eyes drifted to the cone of light, the gateway was empty. No Shawn. No ghostly visitor stood in the silent gloom.

Damn it!

He turned in a circle, looking all around; cursing himself as the doubts came crashing back to the forefront. Maybe he'd imagined it, yet again. Maybe it had been nothing more than the power of suggestion thanks to the locale.

"No," he muttered, reaching the light, "I know what I saw. I am not crazy."

The chapel door banged in the wind. Had that been ajar before? "Darn it!" He hissed under his breath, moving towards the small building on his already stiffening ankle, forcing himself to run. He'd need to ice that down or it would be unless come morning. Right now he didn't care. Right now he needed to prove that he wasn't insane.

Slow down. That patient voice in his head whispered, think this through. It could be an elaborate trap.

Carefully, he pushed the door open, flinching when the hinges squeaked. "H-hello?" His voice faltered, forcing him to clear his throat. "Shawn? Is there someone here?" Sweating like a pig, he eased inside, looking around at the stacked chairs in the corner. He took another step and then froze when a voice spoke from behind him.

"What the hell are you doin' creeping around in here?" The rough tones of the caretaker almost made him leap out of his own skin.

"I..." he swallowed hard, knowing better than to tell the man that he was looking for a ghost, "I was looking for you. You..." he cleared his throat, looking over the old man's shoulder, "you scared me."

"You find what you need out there?" The caretaker peered at him suspiciously.

"Yeah, I think so. I was looking for… an answer. Closure, I guess." A single tear slipped from his eye, tracing a path down his cheek as he turned back towards the door. "You can lock up now, sir."

He turned away, his expression crumbling as he made his way blindly back towards the parking lot and his waiting rental, his vision blurred by tears. He stumbled awkwardly and fell headlong, slamming to the rough cement with a tooth-rattling impact. He tasted the stale iron of blood in his mouth; his hands burned from taking the fall. Pain was good, it took his mind off his heartache and the grim certainty that either someone was messing with him or he actually was cracking up. Neither one was a welcome prospect. Hastily, he got back up and made his way to his car, oblivious to the man who watched him from the shadows of the chapel.

As Gowan got into the passenger side of the waiting rental car, the man put a cell phone to his ear. "It's done," he listened for a moment, nodding, "of course he did— had a meltdown just like I predicted." He snickered, moving out of the shadows towards the light, "yeah my guy definitely earned his pay tonight. There's no way he'll last ten seconds in that match now. No need to thank me. I'd do this for free. Hell, I have."

Mission accomplished. There was no way Larry Gowan was going to make a splash in his SVW debut— not when he was ten seconds away from ending up in a padded room.