by Todd Russell
They wanted him to believe that they'd confined him on a small island in the middle of nowhere. That they'd cut off the world from the greatest champion in professional wrestling since Andre The Giant. That they'd banished him from the ring forever.
But it was all lies. Clever lies.
Jumping Bat had been at in the Garden when it happened. He was battling the Fearless Forenza, a jelly-bellied Mexican with more talk than rock. Forenza had traveled from the Kingdome to the Superdome to the Astrodome breaching FORENZA DOMINATION the supposed Mexican wrestling takeover. He had the nerve to play Led Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love as his ring song. Forenza told the world that number one contender Jumping Bat Jackson was, in no uncertain terms, another "incredibly dumb nigger from the south." Bat was absolutely furious and could not wait to destroy him at the Garden.
Of course Forenza had not really called him racist names—such atrocities were not sanctioned—but Forenza had casually hinted it (and in that day and age, that was all you had to do). Still, Bat wanted to totally annihilate that Mexican poser at The Garden, and planned on it.
Wrestling had become something more real that fateful night in Madison Square Garden. Before the match, Forenza told Bat to make it look good. Bat nodded, but if Forenza would have looked closely he would have seen the razor eyes of a pit bull. He would kill the Mexican as a deterrent for future insults to his creed and color.
And even more so because Forenza was, after all, a fat, lazy, greasy Mexican. And so with a full house at The Garden, the Fearless Forenza and Jumping Bat Jackson collided. Being the wrestling profession was a very predictable sport, Bat knew in advance (and had even practiced with Forenza) that he was supposed to be the loser and Forenza the winner.
But not so tonight. Not this time.
When the match had finally begun, he sent demolishing blows with his fists that were exactly what they weren't supposed to be: real. He kicked Forenza's flab like it was a football and a sixty-yard punt was needed to win the game. He body-slammed Forenza with the ease of a pillow, grounding the Mexican grease machine into the mat. He threw Forenza against the ropes so hard the posts shook in trepidation. He punished and tortured Forenza as if he was not a man, but an experiment. Forenza's blood was not fake, as it should have been, it was real. Coppery-scented, slick, real blood. The pain, the anguish and degradation, everything was real. But somehow, perhaps an act of the God Bat didn't believe in, Forenza landed a lucky blow. A blow somewhere at the base of Jumping Bat Jackson's skull. A blow which changed the world, the future and life of Bat Jackson. Because following that auspicious blow, he was never his true self again. Bat Jackson left The Garden, wrestling, the crowd, on a stretcher. The wrestling commission banned him indefinitely for the crippling of the not-so Fearless Forenza.
But Bat Jackson soon found revenge. He sought out certain members of the wrestling committee and they found themselves no longer legislating.
No longer living.
He murdered seven people with his bare hands before the law caught up with him. It took twelve police officers, several billy clubs, and great motivation to slap the cuffs on him. But they never shackled the hatred in Jumping Bat Jackson's heart.
Never because the place they sent him to promised another match. The final match. The perfect rematch. And the man he was chasing now was not Richard Templin, no, it was the crippled Fearless Forenza in disguise.
Bat was running down the aisles toward the match. The crowd was reaching for him with hungry, appreciative hands that felt like tree branches. Their applause drowned out the claustrophobic, warm air. The smell of salt and perspiration clung to the air like a bad omen. The lights had been killed, save for a small wedge far, far above that looked like a three-quarter moon. The match would soon begin.
Except this scheduled match was tag-team. Jumping Bat Jackson was not running down the aisle alone, and neither was Forenza. There was a big Indian with Bat that he didn't like. A red man with a bad smell.
Bat suddenly stopped. He grabbed the Indian's arm. "Let's get something straight," Bat said.
"What?" Butch Smith replied.
"You and me, we aren't no tag-team."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"If you jump in the ring, red man, I'll kill you. Forenza is mine."
By light of the torch the Indian was carrying, Bat could see the fear. The Indian was afraid, and that was all Bat needed to know.
"We go," Bat said, and they continued on, eastbound, closer to the match.
The Indian gave Bat an odd stare, as if he didn't know who Forenza was.
* * *
Jessica urged Richard to stop. Her lungs felt like the ground beneath a football team as they rushed out onto the field. "I can't. . .go. . .on. . .stop, please."
Richard let go of her hand and looked behind them. He turned back quickly. "We can't stop yet, Jessica. They're following us. And not far back there. We must keep going."
"Just. . .one. . .minute. . ." she forced through deep, heavy breaths.
He tugged her hand. "Come on, we must not stop until we put some distance between us."
She took several more deep breaths while her heart trio-hammered her chest. She looked up and around. They were running along the south shoreline of the island. With sharp, agonizing fear she thought: we're working our way to the east side of the island.
The bad side of the island.
In the dark.
Richard tugged her hand again, this time with more force, and they moved on.
But before she started running, she heard someone else's footsteps from behind.
Getting closer.
CHAPTER 20
Kyle had waited too long for a night like this. Soon, very soon he would have Templin. The woman would be his for the taking. To have, hold, use and abuse. To love in his own twisted way. He would show her a new world.
The wind purred softly outside the cave Roberts now staked as his. He left himself unguarded in hopes that Templin might return. Kyle didn't think Templin was that stupid. That was the one obstacle in the game that Kyle would have to overcome. Templin had been wise enough to stay out of the way all these years, and any man capable of doing that deserved some sort of respect.
And out of respect Kyle would make sure that tiny pieces of Templin's body would be scattered, not buried, all over the west side of the island.
"C is for Cremation," he said, laughing.
Laughing echoed inside the cave walls.
And Kyle Roberts, the leader, was once again alone.
He searched through the cave, trying to find anything Templin might have left behind. Almost immediately he discovered the secret niche in the cave wall. Kyle held up the torch and peered inside.
The light from the torch shone back at him.
Kyle reached in and pulled out something he hadn't seen for a very long time.
A mirror.
At first he did not look at his reflection. He held the mirror at an angle and saw his dirt-black fingernails clutching the torch. Playfully, he tilted the mirror to see a different angle. He didn't realize how much he looked like a child. He didn't care. He was, in fact, smiling contently when he brought the mirror to face him. Feeling happy for the first true time in years. There was something majestic about the mirror in his hands. He remembered how girls had thought he was handsome, how his looks had been part of the trap.
For the first time since he'd parachuted to the island, he saw his reflection.
He saw what the island, what power struggles with other cons over the years, had done to him.
The mirror felt as hot as the glowing embers in the fire.
He screamed with newly-found rage, horror, disgust, hurling the mirror against the cave wall where it shattered into dozens of pieces. His beautiful face was gone.
He had seen the butterfly killer. He'd seen a monster.
* * *
It seemed hours, but was only fifteen minutes before Richard put an end to their running. Her once
rugged, well-conditioned legs were aching.
Her heart had beaten so fast it must have taken a year off her life. She collapsed.
Richard was there, catching her fall. "Whoa, Jessica. You okay?"
". . .Tired. . .so. . .very tired. . ." She huffed and puffed.
"I thought you said you had weekly aerobics classes and they were the equivalent of a two-mile run?" Richard said, barely breathing hard.
"I did. . ..but. . .they were. . .nothing. . .like this. . ."
"Well, anyway," he said, righting her, "I think we're safe for the moment."
"We. . .lost them?"
"About a half-mile back. It's too dark, even with torches, to navigate the island in the dark. We are lucky."
"Why's that?"
"Because I think I know this part of the island better than any of them. Maybe even Roberts, I think, I mean, look at it. It's dark. I thought at first the darkness would hinder us, but it may be the one thing that's on our side."
She looked up at the evil three-quarter moon and the black ravine surrounding them like the electrified fence of a prison. She'd never concede the darkness was on their side.
She shivered. "I'm scared."
Richard didn't have a confident answer for that.
She felt her wind returning, painfully slow. The human body was a vengeful machine: if you hurt it, overworked it, abused it—in one striking way or another—it got back at you. You had to treat it well, maintain a steady diet, keep it away from stress, or suffer its payback.
She studied the bushes that surrounded her and grabbed one. It was one of the poisonous plants that Richard said were all over the island. She showed him.
"Poison hemlock," he said.
"I figured when you told me that if I ate it, I wouldn't be coming home for dinner, it was probably poisonous," she said with a smirk.
"Remember asking where I learned about these things? Remember the survival school in Kentucky that I told you about? I read over a dozen books on every subject I thought would help me here."
Jessica dropped the plant and ground it in with her heel the same way she had the day Bobby attacked her. The more she thought about the government's experiment, the more nauseated she became.
Although she had not formed a position on capital punishment, others in her life had. Edward thought the criminal, if possible, should be executed in the same manner they took the innocent person's life. Ron believed no human being should be denied life, no matter what crime was committed. Jessica wondered if Ron would think differently if he was the one running for his life?
Jessica found her father's view the most curious: Just do what the Bible says.
Her father's thoughts were not uncommon. On issues like capital punishment, she felt by taking a position she was drawing sides. Similar of abortion, existence of God, and life after death. Jessica fitted into the unwilling to commit to either side group.
"Jessica?" Richard whispered. "This may be a funny place to ask but. . .do you miss Edward?"
"It is a funny place," she said, and then began to wonder.
"I mean. . .well, you wouldn't have ever come to this island if you hadn't married Edward."
"That's a strange way to look at our predicament."
"I would never have been lucky enough to have gotten to know you." He strained for the right words. "I. . .1 was just wondering how you felt about him?"
"Why is this so important? Why right now?"
He answered after a small, thoughtful pause, "Just curious."
"That's all?"
"Yeah."
"Then, yes. Of course I miss him."
'You do miss him?" he quickly replied.
"Of course."
"Would it be too personal of me to ask what he did to make you love him?"
She was beginning to understand what Richard was getting at, but she decided to play it out anyway. "Edward could be very warm and reassuring. I need that in a relationship."
As she spoke some of the bitter past seeped through her tone and inflection, "But Edward couldn't be faithful. From the start, yes. But after that. . .there were other women."
"Why would he cheat on you? You've got a wonderful disposition. You're beautiful, charming—what else could he ask for?"
She looked closely at Richard and realized that he didn't understand that he was speaking from his heart. Expressing his feelings. He was trying to speak through someone else. A very cunning, coy way to disguise his feelings for her.
"Edward had his money," was her answer. "He always had his money. That was the way he wanted it. He wanted to be buried inside Fort Knox. Kind of like Jimi Hendrix being buried with his guitar."
"So, you're saying that the storm, when it took your boat and Edward down, it was kind of like burying him with his money?"
"In a sense," she replied. She wished that was how it had happened, instead of the sea spitting up his hand with the added bonus of his memory-filled wedding ring. If she hadn't seen that, perhaps she would have better accepted his death.
Instead of letting it haunt her mind.
A strong, shrill wind curled in, silencing both of them. By the time it died, Jessica realized that Richard had done it again. He'd diverted pending terror by using romance. Sly devil.
"Do you think we've lost them, Richard?"
"For the night, yes."
"Where exactly are we?"
"We're on the southeast corner of the island. If we go another mile north, we'll be at their camp."
She felt a chill. "Are we too close?"
"I don't think so. Nobody's probably there anyway. They're all out searching for us."
"What about Roberts?"
"I don't think even he realized how dark this island gets at night. There are too many places for us to hide at night. The best way to capture us will be during the day. We're safe for now."
"We can't run forever," Jessica said.
"No," He snuck a peek at the three-quarter moon, then back down at her. "But I have something in mind that might help."
"Really?" she said, thinking: here goes the mystery again.
"Not now, but soon. For now, you must get some sleep."
"I don't think I can sleep with them out there looking for us."
"I'm here, I'll stand guard tonight."
"You need sleep too."
His reply came from the deepest region in his heart. "I'll survive."
And she knew with frightened certainty if he didn't, neither would she.
* * *
One by one, the disappointed hunters returned to the cave with faces drawn in defeat. Some of them walked into the cave with their heads hung, others shaking their heads, only one came back looking undisturbed. And that one, Walkins, was standing before him now.
"We lost them, Kyle."
"I can see that. What happened?"
"Too dark. Even with the torches, we're searching blind."
"Everson! That incompetent fuck. This should have been over before starting. Now. . .now it looks like it's going to be a fight."
"We're going to have to get them during daylight," Walkins said.
"Dammit!" Roberts kicked the dirt. "I should have gone myself instead of sending Seth."
Walkins stood his ground, still expressionless.
"Why aren't you like the others, Walkins. Why aren't you disappointed?"
"Because, I'm waiting."
"Waiting?"
"Yes, when the others fail, I will have his head. And the woman's flesh."
"You will, will you?" Kyle said with a smile, turning to pace the cave. Had he discovered a problem child?
C is for Child.
"Yes. You know I'm not like the others."
C is for Courage.
"What, you mean you're not crazy?"
"No, I'm not."
Kyle turned, still smiling. He drew his knife.
"Listen to me Walkins. I'm in charge of this place and don't ever forget it."
"Sure, Kyle, of course you are."
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"So if I tell you to cut your throat right now, you'd do it, right?"
Hesitantly, "I. . .I. . ."
"Would you?"
Fear. Fear in Walkins' eyes. Roberts held fear at his grasp and loved it.
C is for Coward.
Kyle ordered him to draw his knife.
He did.
"Put it to your neck."
He raised the blade to his neck.
"Now if I told you to kill yourself you'd do it?"
The two men stared at each other like hungry tigers. And stared.
Stared.
C is for Conniving.
"Liar. You wouldn't cut your own throat for me."
Walkins lowered his head.
"Listen you son of a bitch, if you disobey me, if you try to take charge, I'll cut you into a thousand pieces and feed you to the ocean. Got it?"
"Yes."
"Now get out of my sight. And tell the others that the hunt begins again at sunrise. If they aren't caught by tomorrow night, Walkins, I'll hold you personally responsible."
"Yes, Kyle."
"Go."
Walkins left like the others. Roberts was pleased.
* * *
Roberts plotted and planned in the cave by himself. Even if Templin and the woman weren't caught by tomorrow, he'd have to work with one less man. It was the way of his island. Problem children must always be eliminated.
Yes, his island. Roberts reminded himself that the island was only his. He believed that he would be the only one left someday. Maybe that had been Sar's secret? He'd found a place somewhere on the island that showed him the future? A future when Kyle Kollector Roberts had collected everyone and everything.
Soon. Very soon, it would all be his. Kyle Roberts could feel it.