Lost and Found

“Mr. Ray, you’re needed on the gym floor, please.”

Paxton heard the stilted voice of Bertrand Ward ring behind him, but he continued rummaging through his locker. Through trainer and name changes, this locker had always belonged to Paxton, and as a result he had all sorts of items stuffed in there, but clearly not what he was currently looking for.

The short director of MESSIAH Wrestling Academy walked up to Paxton and hovered a hand above his shoulder. “I do not mean to be insistent, Mr. Ray, but punctuality is very important in my gym. I do hope that…” he stopped, realizing his words were merely mingling with the shirts and elbow pads that Paxton was tossing about. “Trying to find something?”

“Damn, Bertie, ya should be a fuckin’ detective,” Paxton growled, sending a pile of Fighting For Nora shirts to the ground. “Get ya one’a them Sherlock hats and big ol’ pipe.”

“I am quite partial to my bowler, though I do have a similar pipe at home. Is there anything I can do to help you with your search?”

Paxton spared a quick glance over his shoulder. “Well I’m leavin’ for Wales…”

“Ah, yes, going to Cardiff for the big Wargames event,” Bertrand interrupted. “You know, Wales is a magical place. Some people actually believe that there are magical spirits who help you when you’re in need.”

Paxton raised his eyebrows. “Uh…huh. Anyway, I’m leavin’ after my class today an’ I had my bag all packed but I can’t find my anger journal.”

“I am confused, Mr. Ray. I thought that Culture Shock was not until the weekend after next.”

“Yeah, but Cecilworth wants us to have a team bonding trip up in the North’a Wales. Says we’re not close enough to win. He booked some big fuckin’ castle and everythin’.” Paxton was too busy in his locker to notice Bertrand Ward stand a little straighter.

“A…a castle in Wales, you say? Do you know what castle?”

“Uh…no, hold on.” Paxton pushed himself out of the locker, grumbling as he fished for his phone inside his pocket. “Let’s see…uh…Gw…Gwer…jus’ look at the fuckin' text.”

He held his phone out for the shorter man to read, and this time there was no way Paxton could miss Bertrand’s reaction. The director shifted and reached out for the locker, using it to sit himself down in a nearby chair.

“Uh…ya all right, Bertie?”

The director looked up at Paxton with a look so intense it caused the Bayou Butcher to take a step backwards. “I must advise against this bonding trip, Paxton.”

“Why?”

“Well…” Bertrand’s eyes shifted left and right. “This team is full of ruffians and outcasts. Time Lords, unbathed men in dreadlocks…a frenchman. Their influences are widespread and toxic. And I do not believe having some greater understanding of your teammates will help you much in this Wargames match.”

“No offense, but ya ain’t really much of a wrestlin’ mind, so I’m not sure how ya know what’ll help and what won’t.”

After a few moments, Bertrand composed himself and stood, taking off his bowler hat and resting it in front of his stomach. “Very well. But please listen to me when I say that this is a very bad idea. Now then, your class awaits. Please resume your search for your book after your class is done.” Bertrand waddled away.

“What the hell was that?” Paxton asked.

_________

Paxton barely registered the class as he taught it. At this point he could run a course on autopilot: individual weight sets, run the ropes, pair off for suplexes, then come back in for a spar or two. He kept thinking about Wales, and about why Bertrand was so weird about him leaving early.

Before long he dismissed the group, then turned to go back to his locker to resume the search when he felt a tap on his shoulder. “I said y’all can go, if ya wanna get some work in do some…” he stopped as he turned around and saw Petra Brandt holding a book. “My journal!”

“I found it in the weight room. You should be more careful with your things.” She looked up at him as he grabbed it and started turning the pages. “I did not look through it.”

“I wouldn’t care if ya did, it’s jus’ my angry thoughts. Ya ain’t no stranger to ‘em.”

“All the same. Journals are private.” Petra looked down at her feet. “Did I hear you tell Director Ward that you are leaving early?”

“Uh, yeah,” Paxton answered, putting the journal in the back pocket of his jeans. “Don’t worry, one a’the goons are gonna run the class so ya don’t miss any training.”

“I am not worried about training. I train plenty without help from useless teachers. I am worried about…” she stopped, then looked down again.

“Damn, Petra, if I didn’t know any better I’d say ya sound concerned ‘bout me.”

“Well, I am European. I know Europe. And I know you. You and Europe…are not a good fit.”

“Well that O’Neill cat told me I could find a fight in any bar in the UK, so that kinda sounds like my place.”

“It is about more than fighting. There are things in Wales you are not ready for.”

“Oh, like the fairies? Bertie tol’ me there were magical creatures there.”

Petra shook her head. “Those are silly children's tales. But I do not think going early is a good idea..”

“This shit again,” Paxton said, shaking his head. “Why are all y’all so against this? Whatcha got against Glue? Some sorta cult jealousy thing goin’ on?”

“I am not part of…you do not under…” Petra balled up her fists, and Paxton instinctively raised his own. She moved towards him, and he raised his hands higher before she grabbed his head and pulled him down in a long kiss.

When she finally released, Paxton stood up, blinking rapidly. Petra snarled and said, “Just be careful, okay? And if you start to get angry…stop and think. Don’t rush in.” She turned and walked towards the locker rooms.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, rubbing his face.

_______

Anger Journal

I’m so fuckin lost.

I know the gym is weird. Bertie is weird. Petra’s a fuckin box of weird. I should be used to it, but as I sit here on this big plane to go to a weird fuckin country I know nothin about, I ain’t used to shit.

They’re both focused on this match for Wargames, and I should be too if I wanna be ready, but I don’t know why they’re against the team. To be fair, though, I ain’t the biggest fan of some of em. Daniels kicked my head in, FLAMBERGE is a prick, I ain’t even said a fuckin word to Hayes and the leader of our team keeps himself so separated from us he may as well be on another planet.

But somethin I learned over the years is that if you got a goal, and someone else has the same goal or somethin similar, then you can work together even if they annoy you a little bit. It’s how me and Jon almost won the belts. 

I’m still here in PRIME tryin to be a force. They put me on a team with a bunch of people tryin to do the same thing. And one thing about this group of people? Hell, I might like all of em. No one does. But it's because they all get the job done however they have to. Two Uni champs. Two Intense champs. A Five Star, Almasy runner up. Nobody likes us, but we prove that we belong.

Sage is different than the rest, though. He's about the only one I like – hell, maybe on the whole damn roster. He helped me with my thoughts about Julie. Guess I’m gonna have him help with Petra too, cause I don’t know what the fuck just happened there. 

All I know is this country better not be weird.

_______

Okay, this place fuckin sucks already.

I was gettin food with the team, but I wasn’t even hungry. I was feelin confused, lost, angry, and I really wanted to talk to Sage about it. About Petra kissin me, about Bertrand’s weird warnin, about whether there are any goddamn magical beasts in this country.

But before I can even open my mouth, some hooligans with somethin to prove came up on all of us. I wanted to ignore em but they were just askin for a fight. We gave it to em, but the moment was gone.

It’s O’Neill’s fault. Bringin me near a bunch of assholes is like bringin a dog to a damn dog park. Course I’m gonna sniff around and do my business.

When we reach this stupid castle I’m gonna talk to Sage and hopefully I won’t feel so goddamn lost anymore.

_______

“I don’t understand a thing anybody says in this fuckin’ place,” Paxton muttered as he dragged his bag into the enormous castle that would be his home for the next few days. He used his fingernail to get some dried blood from the corner of his eye. “Can’t even stop for a bite without some assholes tryin’ t’scrap.”

Paxton put his bags away and walked downstairs, looking for a familiar face. He found Anna Daniels standing near the entrance. “Seen Sage?”

The Muse played around with a knitting needle as she smirked. "He babbled something about mushrooms and the countryside. Probably getting some pre-murder enlightenment." They reached down and grabbed something, then handed it to him. “We made you this.”

Paxton grabbed the large camouflage scarf and stared at it. “Uh, thanks,” Paxton said, wrapping it around his head like a bandana. “Kinda thick, but I’ll take it.”

“There's a joke we can make but we're choosing to ignore it.” There was a pat to Paxton's back as they walked off. “Have fun, swamp rat.”

He exited the doors, shielding his eyes from the bright sun hanging overhead. He looked to the right at the massive forest, and started to walk in that direction.

Paxton was about half a mile in when he realized he left his phone at the grounds. “Jus’ as well,” he said to himself. “Not like I could get calls out here anyway.” He continued to trudge through the forest.

Of course, the problem with not having a phone is that Paxton was unable to tell how long he had been walking through the forest. This realization came about twenty minutes, or thirty, or two hours later. He didn’t know how long he had been walking, or where he was going, but he knew he was lost.

“This fuckin’ country,” Paxton grumbled, punching his own hand. He looked at a nearby tree and saw a marking that he swore he had already seen ten or forty minutes ago. Sighing, he leaned against the tree and closed his eyes.

“Talk ‘bout an embarrassin’ way to go out.” Paxton looked up and saw traces of the sun, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before it set. “Never gonna find my daughter. Never gonna fight in Wargames. Never gonna find out what the fuck that kiss meant. Jus’ gonna die in a fuckin’ Welsh forest where all the fairies can laugh at my dead body.”

The last sentence made him stand up a little straighter. “Hell, why not try. Hey, Welsh magical creatures. I…uh…I need help. I’m tryin’ to find somethin’ here. Sage, my way home. Hell, I’m tryin’ t’find anythin’. So, uh…I don’t know any Welsh words. France is close enough…merci?”

He waited for a few seconds, positive that there would be no sign. And he was right: a few seconds passed with no movement except the wind. After a moment, he pushed himself off the tree and began walking.

After another five or fifty minutes he saw the trees ahead start to thin out. There was a building ahead, and he smiled, thinking he had made it back to the castle grounds. As he grew closer, he realized that this was a more modern building.

“What the hell is this…”

He slowed down and looked up at the structure, large and imposing. It felt intimidating, but after a second Paxton felt the hair stand up on his neck, because it felt familiar too.

The gray brick, the white watchtower, all the way up to the barbed wire.

Paxton’s fists clenched.

_______

That’s why that fat British fuck didn’t want me comin to this castle. He didn’t care about Glue. He didn’t care about who I was trainin with. He just didn’t want me to see this.

I guess I gotta thank Lindsay Troy and Cecilworth, cause if she hadn’t booked a world tour for our PRIME event, I probably never would have visited Wales in my entire life. And without Cecilworth realizin this crew needed a little more bondin time, I never would have been in this part of the country. 

And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found the MESSIAH complex where my daughter might be.

_______

Paxton started to round the building, keeping a few feet back and hiding behind the trees as he looked for the entrance.

After an unexpectedly long walk, he found it: not exactly a door, but an opening in the brick. Two large men stood outside the opening, trading a cigarette and speaking loudly in a language Paxton didn’t recognize.

Gripping the branch in front of him so tight it began to creak, he took two steps towards them before a thought struck his head so suddenly it felt like lightning.

“If you start to get angry…stop and think. Don’t rush in.”

“She knew,” Paxton said under his breath. He stared at the men for another moment, then turned around and started walking away. “Fine, Petra, I won’t rush in. But I better find the castle quick, or I’m comin’ back here and bustin’ some heads.”

He didn’t find the castle, but within an hour he was somewhere else in the forest, and thankfully he smelled something that made him grin.

“I never thought I’d be so happy t’know my buddy would toke up after doin’ a buncha shrooms,”  Paxton said as he approached Sage Pontiff.  The Bodhisattva was chiefing up a raw cone, considering a line of ants marching along on the ground.

“You ever considered generational knowledge?  Like think of it, we aren’t just the accumulation of our life experiences, not really.  We’re an accumulation of every experience that went into who raised us, too.  They’re an accumulation of the experiences of who raised them.  On and on, we pass this shit down, so that you standing before me has the echo of the you that ran the grasslands naked and slaughtered mammoths with stone and stick.”

Paxton stared at his friend, his arms that had been up for a hug dropping to his sides. He opened his mouth for a moment, then shook his head. “I understood that less than the fuckin’ Welsh people.” He looked behind him. “Listen buddy, I jus’ saw somethin’. ‘Bout a mile or so back there…there’s a huge buildin’. I think…I think my daughter is bein’ held there.”

Sage stood up straight; it’s like a flip was switched.  He was just another flower child in his element, content to consider the larger implications of mosses, tree growth, and the pattern of all good things in nature.  That man disappeared as soon as Paxton said those words–in his place is a Pict of the olden times, a warrior of Gaul, ready to wade into battle with his dick out and blue paint on his face. The Bodhisattva’s joint was tossed to the ground and snuffed.  He cracked both sides of his neck.  He clambered over and grasped Ray by his shoulders, locking heterochromatic dilated eyes with him.  “Point me.”

Smiling, Paxton nodded his head and they walked towards the complex. The emotions swirling in his head were similar to before: confusion, anger, a tiny bit of apprehension. But now as he was reunited with the Crunch to his Punch, Paxton felt a new emotion: excitement for a potential fight.

They were halfway there when Paxton broke the determined silence. “So, uh…before I left home…ya know how I brought Julie t’Boston an’ said that there were two girls I was thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yeah, man.  Julie is nice, I like her.”

“Yeah…the other one kissed me right before I went t’the airport. Kinda fucked my head up.”

“Was this like one of those ‘I secretly love you’ kisses or was it more like ‘you’re heading off to break into a place and commit many crimes so maybe this is the last chance I’ll have to do it’ type kisses?”

Paxton furrowed his brow as he pushed a tree branch out of the way, holding it to make sure it didn’t snap Sage in the face. “I dunno. Maybe the second one. She definitely knew ‘bout this place, ‘cause she told me not to go rushin’ in if I got angry. I’m jus’ so damn lost.”

“You’ve been lost.  I think you’re starting to find.  Spiritually, physically.  But new knowledge is like boots that need to be broken in.”  He holds an arm out, stopping their walk.  “Gotta deal with a few blisters before it’s comfortable.  Check it.”  Sage nodded his head towards the distance, where Paxton saw gray brick and barbed wire.

“There it is. Let’s check the back.” They moved around the perimeter of the building, staying among the trees until they reached the rear. There was another opening in the brick, but instead of two large guards, there was one smaller one. Paxton and Sage looked at each other and nodded before they split up, coming from either side.

The young man saw Paxton first and opened his mouth to scream, but Sage reached him and cupped a hand over his mouth. “Shh.  Shh.  We’re going to embrace some truth together, you and I, but if you alert your fascist pig fuck buddies, then my esteemed associate over there is going to turn you into rent-a-cop sauce.  N'est-ce pas?”

The man slowly nodded, then relaxed as Sage removed his hand. Their captive looked left, then right, then began speaking in a language that sounded to Paxton as if every consonant in the alphabet were in a trampoline crashing against each other. The Bayou Butcher held up a hand and said, “English. What’s your name?”

After a moment, the young man looked down at the grass. “Creighton. Please don’t hurt me.”

“We ain’t gonna do nothin’ t’ya, jus’ come here.” Paxton grabbed Creighton’s arm and led him to a tree, where he took the scarf off his head and tied it around the man’s hands. “Now tell me. Where’s Nora Ray? Where’s my daughter?”

If Creighton recognized the name, his eyes didn’t show it. “No one here by that name.”

“Bullshit!” Paxton said, punching the tree. “I Facetimed her. I seen this same buildin’ with this same barbed wire and the same watchtower. I know this is the MESSIAH complex.”

“Speaking of the watchtower, my friend,” Sage said, nodding towards it. Paxton looked and nodded, then led the two deeper into the woods.

When they had reached another stopping point, Paxton realized Creighton was chuckling to himself. “What’s so funny, kid?”

“The MESSIAH complex? There is no the complex. This is just one.”

“There are more?”

The young man continued to look more confident than a man bound by a scarf should. “Dozens more. All over the world. If your daughter is in one, she isn’t here. She could be anywhere.”

Paxton looked at his knuckles, which had cracked slightly from the contact with the tree. He leaned against his hand, breathing heavily. “She ain’t here?”

“No.”

“Goddammit! I thought I had found her. I thought I’d found…” Paxton slumped as Sage came over to him.

“Hey, hey.  Are you familiar with the Koan of the coin and the river?”  Paxton shot him a look that was pure ‘are ya shittin’ me, dude?’ underneath his despair.  Pontiff smiled softly, gathering wisdom from his direct psilocybin conduit.  “‘The coin that is lost in the river is found in the river’.  She’s not here–but you know more now than you did.  That’s advancement.  Look…I’m not qualified, here.  I can’t contextualize how you’re feeling, even if I can see the pain in your psychic aura.  But steps forward are better than standing in place.  She’s lost in the river–but that means you can find her in the river.”

Paxton looked from his buddy to their new unwilling friend, then grabbed the scarf and began to lead him away from the complex. “What are you doing?” Creighton asked.

“You an’ me are gonna go have a talk ‘bout rivers,” Paxton said, smiling.