I was sitting back in a deep outdoor chair on the edge of a
crop field. The colors had faded from the trees, and brown
was the dominant color of the once vibrant fields, but the
chilly, fresh crisp air still felt so good to be out in. It
also felt good to be away from Ethan, for better or worse.
His toughness had surprised and impressed me; I was sure his
career should have ended months ago. Somehow he kept
pulling through. All the while it didn't make him any more
pleasant a person to be around.

This...this was pleasant, right here. A hundred feet or so
away, Eddie was flying a kite through the brown corn stalks,
while Helen was inside, probably talking to her sister, who
owned the farm. The more the years went by, the more he
convinced himself that if he didn't feel like he owed Blake
Dashery, he'd move out here all the time. Maybe him and
Helen could make things work better living together this
time. Work wouldn't be difficult. He could help on the
farm, and Spokane was only another dozen or so miles away,
something like. There was work to be found within an easy
commute. He'd never have to be too far from Couer d'Alene,
Eddie, and Helen.

'Ah, stop it now George.' I didn't often talk to myself,
but sometimes it was called for. Just a few more years of
working for the Dasherys and his mind would be at
considerable ease with stepping away. For now, though, it
was just moments here and there, an occasional oasis in the
desert of interacting with Ethan Dashery.

Even as I spoke to myself, it was a happy admonishment.
Cheerful, and lighthearted. I kept telling myself that,
even as my mood darkened. Ultimately, the secret was
finally out. I couldn't expect things to remain comfortably
in the shadows from Ethan forever. The kite danced wildly
in the breeze. I couldn't see Eddie, but I could tell his
location by following the kite line.

Who would have thought, that after all this time it'd be
someone like Roxy Erikson to finally put two and two
together? God, he was so stupid. How could he even have
let her get that close? How did she know where to find him?
A thousand questions tormented me, but not as much as the
ultimate solution. I could pay Roxy off, buy her silence
and hope for the best. It didn't help that she seemed the
type who really didn't need the money. I could bury my head
in the sand and simply hope that it never came up. I wasn't
naive, though.

I could just let it come to light and face things as they
are.

My expression hardened. And take the chance that Ethan
could take Eddie away? Even to have to...share...the word
mentally tasted like bitter mold. To share Eddie with that
deviant silver spoon brat?

No, I could be realistic, and prepare for the day when I
killed Roxy Erikson. I prayed there was another way, but
the bottom line was that no matter what I thought of, I
didn't trust either Ethan or Roxy to not be stupid.

On second though, I could kill Ethan, I supposed. I didn't
let myself entertain that thought for too long, but really,
I suppose one murder is better than two. It was just a
matter of deciding who, though the world would be better
with both gone, I was fairly sure. I'm not a murderer, at
least so far...but facts are facts.

--- --- ---

The large room echoed with the sounds of grunting and
exertion. A good third of the room was set up like a gym,
with the usual equipment. Only two or three guys were over
there, working out. In the middle of the room was a
wrestling ring, where what appeared to be a tag team match
was going on, with an older gentleman in a referee's shirt
apparently officiating the bout. Two men were outside the
ring, watching the action within. Ethan snorted softly to
himself as he shut the door behind him as he entered.
Looked like a slow night, apparently. That or the place was
finally tapering down to finally die out.

Space heaters were in a few spots, keeping the chill
outside, but Ethan still found himself shivering as he stood
there in the doorway. He cleared his throat loudly, as he
stepped to the side and hung up his coat.

The action quickly slowed, before stopping completely, as
one by one, the men inside turned to face him. Most of the
crew weren't even regulars, as Ethan only recognized two of
them. He presumed the rest of the regular crew had either
finally given up on the dream, or improbably made it...or
possibly just taken the night off. He wiped the last
thought from his mind with a smile. Nah, not the guys here.
They didn't take nights off, they were fanatics.

'I thought you said you were never coming back, Dashery.'
The older man in the ring spoke. Ethan knew him to be Billy
Badson, an old time wrestler who'd become a trainer in this
out-of-the-way wrestling school.

'You don't need to play dumb, Billy. You know why I'm here.
I need to up my style a bit. I'm slipping. Injuries have
grounded me pretty badly, and I need more to fall back on
than just throwing myself around.'

Billy smiled slightly to himself, while a younger man who
had been wrestling stepped out of the ring and marched up to
Ethan. Ethan unconsciously winced, remembering clearly that
Tim Marshall had very little sense of humor and had
personally trained him. Tim was very small as wrestlers go,
somewhere around the mid-five foot mark, and weighed less
than Ethan himself, last he knew. But Ethan remembered
training with him. Tim struck harder than perhaps anyone
he'd faced so far.

Sure enough, Tim got right in his face. 'You came to the
right place, but I thought you disagreed with our training.
Hmm?'

Ethan grunted to himself more than anyone else, before
responding. 'I did at the time. But things clearly worked,
didn't they?'

'You were ready to give up. Apparently no one could train
you until you found us.'

'I didn't give up though. And now I've got a contract with
a major company. I'd say things worked out all right.'

Billy shook his head, which Ethan just noticed with his
peripheral vision. Tim made sure to almost get nose-to-nose
with him, which much to his dismay, Ethan found himself
backing down from. He never lacked spine, or attitude, or
fierce...superiority, even in defeat. But he simply
couldn't hold Tim Marshall's stare.

'It wasn't wrestling training you needed. The basic skill
is there, minus some polishing. No, what we did that no one
else did was break you down. We made you into a wrestler
who happened to be a spoiled brat, as opposed to a spoiled
brat trying to be a wrestler.'

Ethan nodded swiftly, obviously mentally occupied as he
swatted away images of his previous training here.

'That all doesn't matter. I need you and you.' He gestured
to Tim and then Billy, still in the ring. 'I'm not looking
to be an expert, but I need some takedowns, some strikes,
the works.'

'The works...'

Tim sneered, as Billy again shook his head dismissively.
Ethan wanted to bark out at Billy. Remind him that Billy
thought Ethan would never amount to anything. Tim was the
one who told Billy otherwise. He told Billy that he'd
personally break Ethan and make him into something. And he
did. But he didn't dare snap at Billy, not with Tim staring
holes through his head.

'...well we can review some basics. The works...as you say.
But nothing changes. In between mat work, you will be
reminded of how you became what you are today.'

Ethan froze. He tried mightily for once to steadily hold
Tim's glare, but he couldn't. He tried to nod, to give some
sense of confidence, but he couldn't give even the slightest
there either. Everything kept coming back to him.

Before training at this godforsaken place, he never knew
what mud and snow tasted like, when they mix together in a
slurry melted by sweat beneath you. He remembered doing
pushups until everything burned. Until he finally collapsed
into the mud and snow. But only for a minute, before Tim
would drag him back up, kicking him in the ribs until he was
back in the pushup position ready for another...hundred.

Billy's lips curled as Ethan shuddered slightly. Ethan
could see it, but he still couldn't react.

He remembered first practicing his precious long-distance
flying dropkick. One of the very first times, apparently
his form was bad and his legs came apart before the moment
of contact. Before he could even rise from the mat, Tim was
on him. He grabbed each of Ethan's hands, pulling his arms
taut, before putting a boot to his face and more or less
curb-stomping him in the middle of the ring. His technique
was flawless after that. He still felt the stinging of the
broken nose that resulted, though.

'Yes. I'm ready.' The words came out shaky and through
shuddery breaths. Billy nodded grimly to Tim, who patted
Ethan on the shoulder.

'Ethan Dashery, back for more. Who would have thought,
Billy?'