Baggage Claim

Logan International Airport Boston, MA March 15, 2024, 9:15am

Don Winters sighed as he thumbed through his phone, waiting for his bags to come around the claim carousel. Logan was as typically cramped and crowded as it always was, throngs of people moving gate to gate, incomprehensible announcements blaring over the tannoy every 30 seconds. It was too much for Winters himself, since relocating to Guyana, the Mobile Ministry wasn’t quite as convenient as simply flying.

After what felt like close to an eternity, the suitcase finally rolled around and Winters plucked it off the carousel, extended the handle, and began wheeling away from the area. Before he was able to get very far, the phone went off in his hand, he slid it unlocked to read the text.

He’s waiting for you now. Will bring you to the hotel.

OK. Thank you mother. xo

The Revelator slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued his way through Terminal C toward the taxi ranks out of Terminal E. It had been close to 20 years since Donovan had last been in the city of Boston. He wrestled for a small indie promotion, after the fWo days, but before things started turning out for the worse. Much had changed about the city in that time, but he'd soon find the city 'grid' was still among the worst in the country, and trying to drive anywhere within the city limits was a nightmare. He briefly dreamed of being a box truck going down Storrow Drive, his head being ripped off like the lid to a tuna can. That'd make the traffic more tolerable in a kind of permanent way.

Winters turned his mind to the task at hand tonight. He was meant to give his first in-ring promo since he’d arrived in PRIME, and though he wouldn’t admit it to anybody, he was incredibly nervous. Considering how he had been last seen from the PRIME fanbase, broken, bloodied, and beaten beyond his comprehension, strapped to the cross, and made to watch.

He shook his head, trying to conjure different images, but he was stuck on it. Williams and Daniels. Avalon and Sykes. The cross looms above and beyond the rest of it. Was Avalon doing it out of actual concern? Or War Games self-preservation? Why Sykes? There were too many questions in his head and too many people inside the airport. The anxiety was beginning to choke at his throat and he reflexively tugged at the collar of his shirt to try and find relief.

It wouldn’t come. His brain was now in overdrive, pumping out all the bad chemicals as he trudged from Terminal C into Terminal E. Winters was so trapped in his head, that he almost didn’t hear his name being called out from behind him. He spun on his heel to see a small child jogging after him, maybe nine years old at most. Winters gave the boy a cursory smile as he approached.

“Aren’t you Father Don?” The boy asked inquisitively.

“I am indeed,” Winters replied. “I’ve got to say that you’re the first kid who ever stopped me. What can I do for you, pal?”

“Would it be okay if my dad took a picture of us?”

“Absolutely,” Winters replied. “As long as your dad is okay with it!”

Winters looked up and noticed what he presumed was the child’s father nodding in response. Don knelt beside the child and smiled and let a couple of photos be taken. When they were finished, he shook the father’s hand and offered some words of encouragement. He then set down his carry-on, opened it up, and produced a small Pious Penguin plush doll. The child’s eyes went as wide as saucers as Winters handed it over.

“Oh my gosh, thank you!” The child was exasperated and Winters was happy. He stood up, gave the father and son a wave, and turned to head back for the taxi ranks.

Winters thought to himself what a strange sensation that was. When was the last time he had been approached in public by wrestling fans? The fWo was 22 years ago. Had it been that long? He stepped through the automatic doors into the gray din of a Boston sky that wasn’t sure whether it wanted to rain or not. He looked up and down the taxi ranks, but didn’t see anyone that outright stuck out to him as his ride around.

“Excuse me, Father Don?” A thick, but young voice came from behind him. Winters turned to see a man with shaggy black hair cascaded around his shoulders and a fairly thick, but well-cropped beard fixed on a very broad jaw. The man’s smile was friendly and Winters took in his height, a few inches taller, and 35-40lbs heavier. He was broad and built like a linebacker. His eyes had a familiar blue hue and Winters thought they smiled a bit like his own. The man reached out a massive hand and Winters replied with his own.

“Oh good it is you!” The man laughed, there was a little nervousness there. “I’m Jeremiah, but you can call me Jerry.”