Title: Book 3 Chapter 10: The Last Chapter
Featuring: Dorian Hawkhurst
Date: January 12th, 2019
Location: A hotel room in an unnamed location
Show: Frozen Over 1/15/2019

The unusually well dressed Dorian Hawkhurst sits at the small desk inside of his hotel room. His hair hangs down in front of his face, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. The dark strands of his mane are stark contrast to the charcoal gray suit he is wearing. Behind him, Chloe is passed out in one of the two twin beds inside of the room, clutching Lynk against her cheek. The fact that Jace Valentine’s blood is still on Lynk is a slightly disturbing thought. Still, Dorian sits, just staring out the window. He is deep in thought, watching the raindrops fall underneath the gentle glow of a street lamp.

Dorian begins musing aloud.

“Rain… it feels to me like it’s a way for God to show his emotion to the world. I don’t know. I feel that he is sad about something towards his own kids. I mean, I don’t want to sound arrogant, but it is something that I’m really considering with the path Jimmy and I are on. I mean, yeah, we got the sun. So, for God to tell us all that He is happy about the way we are living our lives. Bah, that can’t be true. I doubt He’s going to adjust the weather based on what we are doing. Beyond anything else… does he really care?“

Dorian pauses, breaking the fourth wall as he turns to whatever is recording?

“Well. Does he?”

Dorian reaches over and takes a sip out of an amber colored liquid that had been poured into a small, plastic cup. Dorian’s sip turns into a gulp and just like that, the drink is gone.

“Don’t fuckin’ judge me. The kid’s asleep and I’m not wrestling tonight. I just gotta be clean on game day.”

Dorian crushed the cup in his hand and tosses the cup across the room. It hits the side of the basket, bounces to the side and hits the dresser, then falls almost soundlessly into the garbage can.

“All day, all I’ve heard is all these people’s voice ringing in my ears. The rain… it was like each drop was a tiny little knife slicing me up as it came crashing down against the back of my neck and face. The winds wouldn’t let up. It was like each gust was a scythe, cutting through each layer of clothing and slicing my skin. I could see each and every looming face that stood around me, watching my reactions like I was some outcast that was trying to fit in. I guess that’s because I was. I walked through the crowd of people that I didn’t know and forever would never know not because I chose to stay away, but for the simple reason is HE choose to stay away from me.”

Dorian takes a deep breath

“With every step I took, I was dragging my feet roughly through the grass that laid beneath my heavy feet. I kept feeling the emotions running through my veins, like poison trying to kill me once over again. I ain’t much of a crier. We know this. Even through all the abuse, I was always the strong one. I was the brick that held the building up. When my father threw me out back when I was at sixteen, I didn’t chase after him or his approval. Yeah, I was fucked up. I was trouble. But it was because of my old man that I was that way. I could have, hell, probably should have gone to my mother. He was just as much of a bastard to her as he was to me. I would always hear her up in her room screaming and tossing things, wondering if she was just trying to change the look of the room. It wasn’t until I was older that I knew what he was doing to her.”

Dorian reaches over and grabs a bottle from off screen, grabbing another little plastic cup with his other hand, and pours himself another drink. He raises he cup, still back first to the camera.

“Tonight’s presentation of Dorian Hawkhurst has been brought to you by Jim Beam. Thank you, Jimmy, for all your support.”

Dorian pounds the bourbon and slams the cup down on the desk.

“Getting back to my mother, she was fucked up, too. But, she stayed, man. She stayed. She dealt with the original demon so that my sisters and I would be protected, at least as much as she could protect us. She was strong, man. I could feel that same strength running through my body as I eased through the crowd of people standing in my way. As I made it to the front of the crowd I could see what drew me to this point. It’s sadness, it’s masterful look of hate, but most of all I could see what every son should never have to see in his life…”

Dorian sobs a bit. It seems he’s riding some kind of emotional roller coaster without being buckled in.

“The grave!”

“I’m sitting there, having one of those “Can this be real” moments. I’m standing there hoping to wake up any second. Chloe was sitting there, but I really couldn’t see her under her umbrella. She help my hand, though. At least I had the one comfort left in my life. I guess Morgan could have been there. Maybe I should have told her about it. I don’t know.”

Dorian’s tone is somber.

“Then, I was looking over to my right. There was a man standing with his back to me. His clothing, covered with the very same rain water as all these other people. He wore all black as he stood there, looking down at something that I felt the need to find out what. My heart sank and for the first time in my life, I was stuck with no way of making my feet move. They felt as if they had nails pierced through them all the way to the depths of hell. I tried so hard to jerk them up off the ground but it was as if something was holding me back from walking. I could see the man starting to raise his head up a little from what he was looking at, watching his body beginning to twist a little to the right with little effort before my eyes caught something in his hand. It was black as well, writing on the front of it but that wasn’t what made my eyes lock on to it. I felt a force pressing me backwards like two hands were on my chest pushing against me. I tried to stand there but my knees began to feel weak. I could feel my lungs starting to give out and before I knew it I was sitting down on to a chair behind me as if someone had sat me right down on it. My eyes felt heavy and before I even knew what was going on my cheeks had a sudden wetness on them. Not like wet from the rain. It was warm, salty. I was crying. Looking up to see that same man standing there with his weapon in hand all I could do was watch along like everyone else, helpless to stop this feeling, yet more helpless to figure out what was going on with me. For the first time in almost ten years, I was face to face with my father.”

“Then, you know what that asshole had the nerve to do? He gave the eulogy. He gave the eulogy like he loved her when his actions, when 40 someodd years of marriage, showed she was nothing but a slave to him.”

Dorian changes his voice to one that we can only assume is one closer to his father’s.

“Hello, friends… family. We are here today to grieve the loss of one Pamela Althea Hawkhurst. A loving wife…”

Dorian’s voice returns to normal, at least as close to normal as his anger would allow.

“I heard those words and I felt a rush of terror and rage running through my body, like a war was raging within me for full control of what would or could happen next. My blood began to boil inside of my hands. My eyes froze up with nothing more than red. With each word that came out of his mouth I felt even angrier with not only him, but a world that gave me more and more reason to hate. My body began to shake a little more as I could hear the men beginning to get up out of their chairs and walking through the wet grass that was under their feet as they made their way towards the front.”

“It was like a light switch came on causing me to raise my head up as they lowered theirs. I watched as each and everyone bowed their heads in silence as he had asked them to. My blood was racing through my body like a raging river. Prayer or not, I wasn’t about to take an order from that monster. Fuck that.”

A loud thunk interrupts Dorian. He turns around and sees that Chloe has rolled over and dropped Lynk on the floor. Dorian gets up, somewhat unsteadily, and picks Lynk up again, placing it carefully next to Chloe before walking over to the desk. He mutters something under his breath and you see the now empty bottle of Jim Beam fly across the room, landing on the floor in front of the garbage can with a loud thud. Dorian mindlessly takes a small coffee pot from off the desk and fill it with water, going on like he’s forgotten what he was doing. After pouring the water in the coffee pot, Dorian starts the pot. He sits down, looking back out the window. We can see the coffee pot dripping clear water as Dorian never put the coffee in.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah, so the old man asks us all to bow our heads and pray. Now, you all know I believe in God, flawed as I am. But I’ll be damned if I am going to bow my head in prayer when commanded to do so by Satan himself. Fuck. That. Shit.”

“This was for my mother, so I did the respectful thing and let that bastard finish. My feet moved towards the white casket that was sitting right in front of me. It shined even through the rain waters that came down from heaven. I felt their eyes looking on me with wonder, wondering why I could be walking towards her even after the words that were just spoken. I wasn’t listen and I sure as hell didn’t care that they were watching. With every step I took I came closer and closer to my fear. I could hear them whispering behind me throughout the mass of people as I laid my hands against the cold wet coffin. It didn’t matter to me what all my father’s friends had to say about me, I wasn’t here for them.”

Dorian turns around towards the camera.

“So, how was your day, Jimmy?”

“I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I ain't angry. You know how I roll, man. We told this story a hundred times, you and I we go way back. Now, we got to put ourselves through hell in this doomsday Massacre match. After all the shit you pulled, if you think I'm upset about what I have to do, you are sorely mistaken, my friend. I already put one person in the ground this I already put one person in the ground this week. What's one more?”

“Real Talk for you. It should have been you that was standing next to me at my mother's funeral. It shouldn't be my nine-year-old daughter that's the one holding me up. It should have been you and I against the World, not you and I against each other. I don't know how you did what you did to me without your father smacking you so far in the next week you didn't know what day you landed on, but you done fucked up and you know it.”

Dorian paused, trying to think of what to say next, but it is obvious that the words are coming to him very slowly.

“I ain't going to sit here and tear you down, man. Despite all this bad shit, I still think of you like a brother. So, brother, I'm going to make you a few promises.”

Dorian stands up and stumbles as he goes to grab the empty Jim Bean bottle off the floor. He catches himself on the dresser, and uses it to steady himself as he finally picks up the bottle and waves it at the camera.

“First of all, I'm done with drinking,” Dorian tosses the bottle in the garbage, but manages to miss again. He continues on, ignoring it. ...at least till after this match. You deserve me at my best. From this point on, you will be getting my full and undivided attention. Don’t make any mistakes, there Jimmy. I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing this for me. This all started because for once in my life, I was better than you. For once in my life, for one moment, you were number two. I did what was unexpected. Then, I did exactly what was expected, and I gave you a show of respect that I felt you, at least at the time, deserved. You literally spat in my face.”

“Most people would see that as a bad thing. I don't. The way I look at it, that moment was very freeing. That yellow mist or whatever it was you used, open my eyes. It made me feel free, man. Maybe I felt handcuffed by our friendship. Now I can say ‘Okay, I'm taking off these chains because the only person bringing me down right now is you.’ Nah, man, that ain't right. I'm also to blame. I allowed it to happen. Now, I ain't got to worry about that. And that's promise number two.

Dorian holds up two fingers.

“I refuse to hold back in this match. I am going to do everything I'm supposed to do. Like Sensei used to say, ‘Strike when the opportunity presents itself.’ That's what you did at WrestleFest. You saw an opening. You took it. That's what I'm doing at Frozen Over. I see an opportunity to end all of this bullshit between you and I. Win or lose, I am putting this behind me when it's over. If you are the better man, I will shake your hand. But, in order to be the better man, you need to beat me. And, you know, you had the advantage. That's no longer a certainty for you. I'm no longer guaranteed a silver medal while you stand atop the podium.”

Dorian smiles for just a brief second. But as quick as a shooting star, it is gone.

“So, what's it going to be, Jimmy? You going to face me like a man? Are you? Or will you choose to skulk around in the shadows like the cockroach you've been showing yourself to be?”

Dorian scoffs audibly.

“Either way, it doesn't matter to me. I will beat you like a man or I'll Crush you under my boot like a cockroach. Either way, you're getting hammered.”

Dorian walks over to the side of the room and picks up the coffee pot to pour himself a drink, and the realization he never put the coffee in hits him.



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