Shoot 008: Reasons

The last box from New York was sitting unopened on the bed; Lex's messy scrawl across the taped-up flaps simply said: RANDO BR, giving no indication of what was inside. Humming to herself along with the radio, Jana pulled off the tape and started opening it. Inside she found a few very old punk concert tees, still in perfect condition, as if Lex had saved them from various shows over the years. Sandwiched between those were some punk records still in the shrink-wrap. She couldn't help the smile, seeing the things that he'd been sentimentally saving over the years.

Under all that were some dog-eared paperbacks and then at the very bottom a battered and rusty metal box. As she pulled it out, the lid fell askew, the lock and one of the hinges apparently broken. Something fell out at her feet – a Ziploc baggie with what looked like a passport in it. When she bent down to pick it up after setting the broken box on the bed, she could see there were two inside.

I remember losing mine, she thought, where were we? Bucharest, Sofia? Mom and Dad had a devil of a time…

She shook the bag, looking at the covers – one looked very worn, the other still glossy, almost new. Tossing them back in the box, she tucked it under her arm and went outside where Lex was tinkering with his classic El Camino.

"Baby, I unpacked that last box," she held up the box, "and I found this. Did you mean-"

"Ow – fuck!" Lex straightened up so quickly he bashed his head on the opened hood. The look on his face was strange, as though he'd completely disconnected, retreating behind a wall of ice. "Last box I packed," he murmured finally, wiping his hands on the rag before hooking it back in his pocket. "Did you look inside?" He wouldn't fault her for it. His first wife had. That's why the box was so busted-up. When Jana didn't immediately reply, he asked again. "Did you?"

She seemed startled as she shook her head, stammering, "um, n-n-n-no. It's your stuff. I just saw the bag with the extra passport covers but I didn't look at them," that look on his face shook her, "I swear." Her heart was racing as she held it out to him. "It fell out and I remember I lost my passport when I was little-"

"Jana." He stared down at the box in his hands, his expression still unreadable as he opened the lid, stirring the contents around with a little shake. "I'm not mad."

She relaxed slightly, "I just didn't want you to think I was snooping. I saw your mementos and I was just happy to see parts I didn't know. I thought there mighta been something important-"

"There was," his voice came out hollow as he took a few steps away from her, setting the box down on the top of his tool chest. He reached inside, pulling out that little baggie, which he tossed in her direction. "Look at them. Please?"

She pulled out the faded one first, opened it to see his birth name. "It's you." She smiled, looking up. He nodded, waiting. She took out the other one, eyes narrowing as she studied it. "Lex? Who's this?"

He'd hoped she would understand. He didn't answer immediately, instead kneeling to open the bottom drawer on his tool chest. She heard ripping and when he turned around, he had a knife in his hand that he dropped on the ground at her feet. A thick envelope followed, a few stacks of hundreds peeking out as it landed next to the knife. "The guy exists. On paper. It's… my exit strategy."

"Most wrestlers ARE someone else," she said slowly, "Todd's not Armageddon 24/7...but why the second guise? For safety or sanity or," she looked concerned, "is someone after you?"

He wanted to tell her about the things Clay had done, the games that felt like they were being played out again inside The Lair. He wanted to tell her about coming home from a fight early to find Clay standing over Hannah in his bedroom – to say how satisfying it had been to shoot him in the back, even if it was cowardly. "Nobody's after me," he said, "shoulda burned that junk years ago." His dark eyes were locked on hers, "I'd never cut an' run on you. On us. Too many reasons I need to be Lex Collins now."

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she jumped up, trusting him to catch her. He did, leaning back against the El Camino's fender. "I'm glad I'm one of those reasons."

Not one. All.

"I'm ready to get down on my knees, pray... beg for more time – just a few more days, weeks 'fore it all goes to shit. Won't happen.

I can throw good punches. I'm fast. I get up when others can't. I have faith in my skills. Don't get me wrong. They've got me this far. I don't think I'm the greatest thing since individually-wrapped cheese slices. I'm not legendary. Most days I'm thrilled if they 'member to ask if I want fries with that. My girl calls me her champion... how do you reconcile that when you never feel like you're good enough?

You earn it. Simple concept, right?

I know you're out there watchin' to see how much the cage's been rattled – yeah, it has. My words'll get twisted, thrown back at me. Always have. I'll be clear: you fucked up. There's no room for uncertainty. This' a killin', an' I'm unafraid. Fists clenched, I'm angry. Continued success beckons an' the waves of courage took my fears. Your handpicked assassin's gonna feel my wrath. That belt's mine. Means somethin' – means GAME OVER. I'm done playin'.

Toying with me's one thing. This' different – you're next.

It ends now."