Funambulisme

“You have four new messages. First new message, received on March 30th, 2024 at one forty-five a.m.”

“Donovan, congratulations buddy we knew you could do it! You were incredible out there tonight! Unreal perfor-”

“Message deleted. Next new message, received on April 3rd, 2024 at two thirty-two p.m.”

“Donovan, I should have reached out sooner. This is your Mother. I’m proud of you for the Culture Shock win, but there is no time to rest on your laurels. Call me back as soon as you receive this, we need you back in Winter’s Port.”

“Message saved. Next new message, received on April 3rd, 2024 at four fifteen p.m.”

“What kind of pansy-ass motherfucker who calls himself a priest crucifies a man without even us-”

“Message deleted. Next new message, received on April 3, 2024 at eight nineteen p.m.”

“Donovan, it’s Jess. Why didn’t you reach out while you were in Boston? You said you would last time. Congratulations on winning last weekend. I know how much work you’ve put into this, but I’d like to catch up in person soon. I miss you.”

“Message saved. No new messages.”

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The House of His Word and Light Winter’s Port, Guyana April 7, 2024

Mother Superior strode confidently to her son and embraced him in the center of the church. The parishioners cheered loudly as they pulled apart, he kissed his mother on the cheek and walked arm and arm with her to the dais. The Sunday morning service was wrapping up and had been a massive success, but the appearance of the church leader and new PRIME Five Star champion simply put proceedings over the top.

Standing beside them at the dais was Jeremiah Saint (true devotees to His Word and Light will remember his first appearance in Baggage Claim), resplendent in the same white and crimson Father Don wore. His hulking frame tested the seams of his suit, while shaggy burgundy hair fell to his shoulders and familiar blue eyes twinkled.

Father Don took his place at the altar, motioning for his adherents to be seated. He was positively beaming as he watched over the flock.

“Good morning everyone.”

“Good morning Father Don.” Their response was total, not a single member was left out. Winters thought to himself about how much louder this was than the chapel in Michigan. He thought about how this could be real power and how it could be wielded. He also thought about their love for him, of him, for God, for His Word and Light.

“I am not here to proselytize this morning. I’m simply here to say thank you.” Winters stated. “I want to thank every one of you for helping make Winter’s Port possible. For helping build Footprints from the ground up. None of this could have been done without you. Your belief in our cause, our mission, His Word and Light is undeniable, as is your service. Mother Superior and myself, we are eternally indebted to what you have helped achieve here over the last few months. God bless you all.”

The crowd cheered.

“I stand here before you an ever-changing man,” Father Don continued. “I have been empowered by your belief in me. Without it, I would have never been able to seek acceptance from God to forgive my sins, allowing me to defeat Rob Williams at Culture Shock. That Five Star title isn’t just mine, it belongs to His Word and Light. With your support, I will steadfastly defend this title from all comers. With your support, we will spread the Good Word across this world and folks will seek us out. They will want to be part of this movement. With God on our side, we can accomplish anything we desire in this world. Thank you again.”

Winters stepped away from the altar as the churchgoers erupted in cheers once more.

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Le Café de Musées Paris, France 21 Avril, 2024

Father Winters watched as his newest charge, Jeremiah tore a croissant apart with the massive ham hocks the young man called hands. Winters looked down at his oeufs en cocotte and felt his stomach turn slightly. He tenuously poked at the plate with his fork while briefly considering why he still insisted on ordering eggs everywhere he went.

“How’d you find this place?” Don asked. “It’s quiet, there’s no…”

Saint interjected while chewing down a bite of pastry, flecks spilling out of his mouth. “Tourists? Yeah man, Google. I just searched ‘cafés in France where tourists don’t go’ and this place popped right up.”

Don nodded along, a minuscule bite of egg passing into his mouth. “That’s fair enough, I guess I’m still a little old school and don’t always immediately think of using the internet. It’s a good spot, you’ve found a nice little place here Jeremiah. Good work.”

“Thanks, Father,” Jeremiah replied, tearing off another piece of pastry as he chewed through words and bread. “I was curious ‘bout something, as far as French food goes. Have you ever heard of Ortolan?”

“It’s a bird, right?” Winters leaned back in his chair, the eggs weren’t doing it for him.

Jeremiah smiled, the chance to impart knowledge to his teacher was too good to pass up. “Yeah, but they’re also a delicacy in France, or they used to be. Illegal now. Shit, the way they…”

Father Don cut Jeremiah off with a stern glance. “Language.” Winters reminded him.

Saint smiled and looked down at his plate, nothing but crumbs. He reached across the table with his fork and stabbed at Father Don’s baked egg dish and stole, some might even say bandited, a large bite away from it.

“I’m sorry, Father.” He apologized and watched as Winters pushed the egg plate across the table. Jeremiah eagerly dug in. “Mmm, thanks! Anyway, I think the birds, they like force feed the little guys and then drown them in some sort of liquor, Armagnac or something. Once they’re cooked, baked, I dunno, I can’t remember exactly, folks sit at the table with a napkin draped over their head before they put the entire dang bird into their mouths first! Freakin’ weird.”

Winters thought about this for a moment. “Why do they have napkins over their heads to eat a bird?”

Jeremiah hesitated for a second, swallowing hard. “To hide their shame from God. Or so they say. Now why do you think they would feel like eating one-a His creatures is such a shameful act?”

“Probably because they’re eating them to extinction.” Winters sensibly chuckled at his crude humor. “Enough about French cuisine, Jeremiah. I want to know how things have been going for you abroad. I apologize for not being around enough for proper training but this international schedule PRIME has us on is doing a number on Old Fathers Winters.”

Saint laughed with the Five Star champion. “It’s been an incredible learning experience. Everybody at Bang! has been nice and helpful in getting me settled in. Touring to Bora Bora was great too, I’m sorry I’ve let His Word and Light down with all these losses though. I know that’s not why I’m here.”

“Don’t worry about wins or losses,” Winters said, thinking he could probably stand to take his own advice. “This is about getting in the reps, becoming a better and smoother wrestler. You’re a big kid, chiseled out of granite. You’ve got talent, but you’re still a little rough, and we smooth out those edges with reps. Wins or losses won’t matter until it’s time for them to.”

Saint nodded an affirmative. “I read ya, Father. I just really want to win. And I ‘appreciate you and Mother Superior being so willing to fly me around the world, the opportunity is incredible. Almost can’t believe I lucked into something like this.”

“We see something exceptional in you.” The Revelator said. “Not just as a person, or as a wrestler, but as someone who can help lead His Word and Light, Winter’s Port, Footprints, everything we’re building together, into the future.”

Jeremiah sat back and exhaled. “I gotta be real honest with ya Father Don, that’s a lot to drop on me all at once.”

“That’s fair,” Winters replied. “Let’s not dwell on it, anything else on your mind?”

Saint leaned back forward. “How are you doing, Father? The brand new Five Star champion, doing all these product commercials, the work for the church. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m always tired,” Don said. “But I’m blessed. I’m sure you saw the Rev 44 footage like everybody else, but Jeremiah, that’s not even five percent of my story. Being here, walking free and in His Light? I can’t imagine a better thing than that.”

Don paused momentarily to reflect and sip from a coffee cup. “I didn’t even expect to come across someone like Rob Williams. A man who would so strongly test the conviction of my faith, how he went about it still makes me uneasy. However, needs must and what was done had to be done for Rob’s good and my own.”

“And now you’re at the top of the mountain.” Jeremiah nudged Winters playfully.

“It’s more like…” Winters trailed off, his gaze fixed on something far off. Jeremiah turned his huge frame to see his mentor staring at a blinking red light down the street.

“Father Don?” Saint asked.

The Revelator blinked twice and turned his attention back to Jeremiah. “... walking a tightrope. The Five Star championship is an amazing achievement. I’m incredibly blessed and thankful for the opportunity to represent real professional wrestling within PRIME. However, it weighs on me heavily, just as His Word and Light does the same. It means that I can’t make any missteps. Not anymore.”

Saint looked to interject, but Winters kept talking. “D’you know what it is to be nine miles high, standing on a sixteenth of an inch of taut wire, delicately stepping your way across, being mindful of the chasm below?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Not yet you don’t.” Don shot back. “The trials will come in good time and you will endure them. We will find out what you’re made of Jeremiah Saint. Falling is not failing, even though they will probably feel the same to you, but God has a plan for each of us. His Word and Light will always lead us out of the darkness. Trust in me Jeremiah, trust in us, and have faith. Faith is what keeps me on the wire. It will keep you there too.”

“So what about the match at Rev 47? TAL is a hell of a wrestler.” Jeremiah was hankering to change the subject.

Don’s stomach had returned and he studied the table for his dish of oeufs en cocotte. Jeremiah’s stomach was always there and had long devoured them. He considered The Anglo Luchador and what the opportunity meant for the masked man. Winters studied the robust young man in front of him. “He will be impossible to overcome if we do this right,” he thought to himself.

“He’s an incredible wrestler,” Don replied steadily. “He’s got more experience, he’s younger, and he knows what it means to win and defend championship titles in PRIME. That’s a Goliathan task for a first defense. If you consider what I’ve laid out, I could be looked at as the underdog. Not in terms of size, of course, but everything else? That makes me a bit of David to TAL.”

The logic didn’t immediately click with Saint. “He just got completely mauled by Ivan at Culture Shock though.”

“That's meaningless,” Winters was sharp. “Ivan’s is TAL’s white whale. Even I’m not fool enough to think I’m a more imposing task than Stanislav. I represent an entirely different challenge to TAL. Something obtainable and within his grasp. He’ll no doubt engage me in the ring with the same intensity he went at Ivan with. Whether or not I can match or surpass his intensity in His Word and Light’s hands. I can only prepare myself as best I know how.”

“And now this is where wins matter,” Saint was starting to get it.

“The highwire act continues apace,” Winters agreed. “If I win - I retain, I continue on the path, right?” Jeremiah nodded. “If I lose, the title is gone - and what becomes of believers in the church? Believers in me? Do they desert? Does their faith see them through? I’ve lost the core of them once before. I don’t believe I can afford to lose them again.”

“They believe in you Father,” Jeremiah responded reflexively. “I believe in you.”

“Not all members of the church are as devout as you,” Winters smiled and turned his attention to a passing server. “Vérifiez, s'il vous plaît.”

Jeremiah reached for his wallet and Don stopped him. “There’s no need. I’ve got it.” Don handed him a folded wad of euros. “Remember what we’ve talked about. I’ll see you soon and good luck at the Madhouse next week.”

“Where are you headed?” Saint asked.

“I’ve got an old friend to meet, a wrestler from the old days. A real flyer. I’ll show you some of his tape the next time we're training together.”

✞✟✞✟✞

Solitary Confinement Room 47 Observation Camera Patient: Donovan J. Winters Kalamazoo Psychiatric Hospital Kalamazoo, MI Recording Date: Unknown

“D’you know what it is to be nine miles high, standing on a sixteenth of an inch of taut wire, delicately stepping your way across, being mindful of the chasm below?”

He rocked himself back and forth. Long, stringy, and greasy dyed black hair fell in loose tangles around his cheeks and obscured his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to tell you the last time he saw another light outside the small blinking red reminder of the camera in the top right corner of the confinement cell.

“I’ve walked that line,” The words are hurried, and slurred, nearly creating a traffic accident among each other as they piled out of Donovan’s mouth. “Lost my balance once or twice. Remember now that I even fell once, just about. Damn lucky I got my hands on that wire, pulled myself back up, and kept on keeping on. You know what they say, don’t you?”

Stale air suspended those last words, and they hung with menace. Winters cocked his head to the left, then to the right, and nodded as if he were listening along.

“That’s right!” He grinned, grinding his teeth back and forth. “That’s exactly right Delilah, we have to keep going. Keep walking that line, we have to make sure Mother is happy, don’t we Delilah?”

His head twisted and contorted again, his neck cracking in concert popped off like thunderclaps in his austere abode.

“Mary! Joseph!” He shouted and fought meekly against the jacket he was encapsulated within. “Why must you fight? Constant bickering all the time. You can both be right! When we get across we will be there, we can be proud. We can be humble, all at once all together!”

Winters rolled himself up against one of the room’s padded walls and shimmied his body until he stood at full height. He slowly turned his body to the wall and rested his forehead against the cool surface. Donovan’s breathing was ragged and desperate from the effort.

“Please stop fighting!” He cried out, lightly rearing his head back before contacting the padding. “It’s just like mom and dad, ALWAYS fighting!”

Light whimpering replaced his rapid breaths as his frustration grew. He threw an enfeebled fist at the wall in his manic protest.

“You have to get along, not just the two of you, but all of you!” Donovan pleaded, rocking his head slowly into the wall. “If you can’t get along we don’t get to see Mother. We don’t get to see… we don’t get to see… we don’t get to see the light.”

He spotted the blinking light from the camera and fixed his gaze. He shuffled his feet toward that corner of the room and craned his neck upward. His mouth dropped open slightly, his breathing leveled out.

“Across… the… wire.” Don whispered, almost as a mantra. He didn’t break eye contact with the indicator. “Into… His… Word… and… Light.”

Winters slumped to the floor and sat cross-legged, his head lolling around on his gyroscope of a neck.

“To be outside, bathing in His Light. If only we could get along. If only you would all listen.” Defeat crept deeper and deeper within his voice. We just need to behave. We can do that. We can do this for Mother, yes?”

Again, his head fired first to one side, then the other, a thousand-yard stare on either side. The man wasn’t feral, but one wouldn’t glean that from observing his actions.

“But what is there to be proud of, Mary?” He snapped, venom dripping from the name. “We have nothing. We are alone here with His Light. All I do is listen!”

He struggled back to his feet and rammed his head into the wall. The padding dulled the din of contact, and Winters staggered back a step, dazed.

“To all your yelling!”

The pitch of his voice had turned into a shriek, his head smashed into the wall a second time. He struggled to steady himself until his back contacted the opposite wall. Don’s eyes rolled back briefly before righting the ship.

“MAKE! IT! STOP!”

The urge to bring his hands to his ears to block out the noise was palpable, but he remained steadfastly secure in his jacket. He did the only thing he could think of to create silence. He bent over and shuffled his feet as rapidly as they would take him into the opposite wall. He rounded with another dull thud and fell back to the floor. A hidden loudspeaker hummed to life and Don’s desperation turned into a pained grin. He mouthed the words “Mother”, looking as hopeful as a dog searching for a milk bone.

“Donovan.” Mother Superior’s voice crackled and whined through the loudspeaker. “You need to relax. Remember what we talked about. You need to relax or you can’t come back out, and we all want to see you again. Please think about what you’ve done and how you’re going to rectify it. I would hate to see you in here for another week… or month.”

“But, but Mother.” He started to plead. She would never respond and kept talking right over him.

“You’ve done some terrible, sinful things, Donovan.” She scolded him in her most motherly tone. “You need to atone for what you’ve done. You need to ask for absolution. Most importantly, you need to get along with yourself. Are we clear?”

Donovan shook his head no vigorously but whimpered out the affirmative. “Yes, Mother.”

“Walk that tightrope, Donovan.” She said, “Your faith demands it.”

The intercom went dead and Winters slumped back down to the floor, tears filling the corners of his eyes and voices creeping into the corners of his mind.

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Reconciliation Room The House of His Word and Light Winter’s Port, Guayana April 18, 2024

Father Don bundled himself into the reconciliation room and bowed his head, crossed his chest, a small prayer uttered secretly from his lips to himself as he did. He sighed heavily and scratched errantly at his brow.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Not in the typical ways that most men do, or are capable of, but in the ways that I have in the past. The ways that ended with me being in places I didn’t want to be, places I couldn’t escape.”

Winters nodded his head.

“The last few months I’ve started to hear the voices again. It’s been a long time, but they are slowly starting to find their way back. They usually get along, but when they don’t, I can’t stand the cacophony. I want to tear my hair out and peel myself out of this skin. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Father Don continued listening.

“I can hear them right now, they don’t want me here. Can you hear them too? Can you hear what they are saying? Can you help me make them stop? Mary says we’re not proud enough about being the champion. Joseph says we are handling it just right. The back-and-forth shouting between them is tearing me apart. How do I walk this tightrope?”

Father Don looked up from his chest and to the small red blinking light that hovered above his head. He blinked twice and stood up, exiting the reconciliation chamber. After a moment, he turned around and entered the other side.

“What can I do for you, my child?”

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