I killed his brother and now I'm falling in love with him... what the hell is going on...?
The character of Eric Stryker belongs to me... all others are copyright WWE inc. I make no claims regarding the lifestyles of any characters portrayed here, except my oc.
Chapter one:
All my life I have been a fan of pro wrestling. Ever since I saw Hulk Hogan slam Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania 3, I 've been hooked. So when the chance to become like the men I idolized growing up presented itself, I jumped at it. I paid my dues in the minor leagues for a couple years, and then I received a phone call that changed my life...
Saturday, November 29, 2008 5:20 pm
"Hello?" I picked up the receiver. Not recognizing the number, I assumed it was either a telemarketer or a wrong number. How wrong I was.
"I have Vince McMahon for Eric Stryker. Please hold." My first inclination was to hang up, figuring that someone was playing a joke on me. It wouldn't have been the first time that ole Eric was fooled. Around the CPW locker room, I had the reputation of being somewhat gullible, but that was my way of not letting people get too close to me. I had always lived by the credo "the less they know, the less they can hurt me" and so far it had worked.
"Mr. Stryker?" A voice I had grown up listening to snapped me out of my daydream. It was him.
"Uh Vin... Mr McMahon..." I had to check myself. After all, this was my future employer (or so I hoped) that I was talking to. Can't get too familiar right away. "It's a pleasure to talk to you..." I knew it sounded cheesy, but how do you start a conversation with someone when you already know why they are calling??? I still haven't figured that one out folks.
A slight chuckle at the other end. Apparently he'd heard this before.
"Mr. Stryker... Before I go on, is that your real name or a gimmick?"
"I assure you, Sir, it's real." (Like I'd change my name to something that sounded like I made adult films!)
"Interesting. Anyway, the reason I am calling is, as you know, WWE is always looking for talent. Our ECW brand is not doing as well as we had hoped and we figure that maybe bringing in some new blood might pick things up."
"Understandable, sir." I had watched the "new" ECW a bit and I was not impressed. "But why me... surely there are some more proven names out there." Images of Rob Van Dam, the Dudley boys, among others danced across my brain.
"Agreed. But we want something fresh... bring some new fans to the game or bring back some of the die-hard ECW fans..."
"And where do I fit in to this?" I asked. My reputation as a hardcore wrestler was, to put it briefly, non-existant. I specialized in a more grounded attack. I can take a chair shot no problem, but barbed-wire matches were not exactly why I became a wrestler in the first place.
"Our creative department has a few ideas and I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming to our headquarters and meeting with us."
"Sure." I answered, like a meeting with Vince McMahon was something I did in my spare time. In reality, my heart was beating so fast, I'm sure he could've heard it all the way in Connecticut. "I'm not promising anything though."
"I expect no less. If there's a fit, fine. If not today, maybe another time. When would be convenient for you?"
"My schedule is a little open right now." I wondered if he knew that I was on hiatus from my promotion for calling the promoter a cheap fuck.
"Oh...?"
I hoped I hadn't blown it. "I took some time off for, um, personal reasons..."
"I believe the expression was a cheap fuck." Damn, Vince had talked to my boss!
"Well..."
"I assure you that I am not a cheap fuck..." Vince chuckled "Can you make tomorrow at around five o'clock?"
"Sure, Mr. McMahon. I will be there."
"Thank-you Mr Stryker. We look forward to meeting with you."
I hung up the phone, my heart still racing. This was my chance to prove everyone who said I was making a mistake wrong. I called the airport and immediately started making flight plans.
***
Sunday, November 30: 4:30 p.m.
Arriving half-an-hour early for my appointment, I had time to scope out Titan towers, the offices of World Wrestling Entertainment. Despite it being a Sunday, there was much activity going on. I guess since the wrestlers don't have off-seasons, why would the office staff, eh?
While I waited, I looked around the lobby, with it's myriad of posters of WWE stars, past and present, and wondered if someday I might rate mention in the same sentence as the Rock, Stone Cold, or even the Immortal Hulk.
I pulled a copy of the New York Times out of my bag and was just starting to flip through it, when I heard "Mr Stryker? Mr McMahon will see you now."
Trying to seem nonchalant, even though my heart and my adam's apple had just changed positions, I followed the scretary deep into the inner offices. I'm sure everyone I passed figured I was just another dumb wrestler looking for a job, but I was determined to make a good impression. Okay, so I was wearing blue jeans with a tuxedo-style jacket, but I never claimed to know anything about fashion.
"Just go on in."
"Don't worry. He can't fire you... he hasn't hired you yet." My brain kept telling me while my feet told me to turn and flee. Fortunately, the head won out and I entered the private office of Mr. Vincent Kennedy McMahon.
"Mr. McMahon?" My voice cracked. Dammit... of all the time to go through puberty again, it had to be now!
He looked up, probably wondering who this guy who looked like an out-of-work bingo caller was.
"Eric Stryker. We talked yesterday." Thankfully, my voice dropped down two octaves.
"Mr Stryker... thank-you for coming on such short notice. I think you'll like what we have in mind for you."
The rest of the meeting was (and still is) a blur. I nodded in what I hoped were all the right places, and said what I hoped were all the right things.
"So what we'd like to do is send you down to Ohio Valley for a couple weeks, just to get you back on track since you have been out of the ring for a while."
I wondered what else my soon-to-be ex-boss had told him.
"Whatever you think is appropriate, sir." I replied
"Here's a contract for you. Have a lawyer look it over, and if you have any problems, please call the office. If not, I'll call Tom (Pritchard) and tell him to expect you on Monday. Any questions?:"
"Not on my end."
"There is one other thing. while we do consider ourselves a family, we'd prefer it if you didn't hit on your co-workers right away. That goes for the women as well."
I was in the process of reminding myself to do some emergency dental work on my former promoter when I realized that this was Vince's idea of a joke.
"I'll try, sir, but that Jeff Hardy is just too damn cute." I answered
We both laughed and I knew that I was going to enjoy working here.
Monday, December 15 Noon.
I just got a call from Vince today. Seems like the refresher course I was taking in Ohio Valley was just that. According to what I remember... talking to Vince seems to give me acute amnesia, I must remember to have that checked out sometime. Apparently, they want me to fly to Philadelphia right away for an ECW house show. They don't want me to wrestle, but they do want to meet the guys and get a feel for how, according to the faxes I got from creative, my character development is going to begin.
Driving up to the arena, I'll be damned if I wasn't met by the aformentioned damn cutie himself.
"Eric?"
He was even better-looking in person. I'll be the first to admit, I always considered myself straight, but I also believed that there was nothing wrong with window shopping as long as I kept my Visa in my pants.
"That's my name, don't wear it out." Not the nicest way to greet a member of the brotherhood, but what the hell.
"Vince asked me to meet you."
Amazing how the formality goes out the window when the boss isn't around, isn't it?
"Cool." I grabbed my luggage from the trunk. Even though I wasn't wrestling, I still brought my ring gear with me just in case. "I didn't know you'd been swapped over."
"I'm not. I got a couple days off so I'm spending some time with my bro." he replied
"Oh." Keeping track of who was on what brand was proving to be more of a challenge that I'd originally thought.
"Yeah, you're gonna be working a program with him once you get started." Jeff said
I nodded. I was back in my own world, the excitement of the past two weeks was sending me into sensory overload. Like my earlier meeting with Vince, I nodded serenely in the right spots until we reached the arena.
"Do you really think I'm cute?" Jeff asked suddenly
"I see the grapevine is alive and well in this company too." I tried not to look embarrassed.
"No big whoop."
"I'm straight if it means anything." I covered my ass quickly, but apparently not convincingly.
"Who you trying to convince... me or yourself." The rainbow-haired warrior looked over at me, a grin I recognized from years of watching him on Raw adorning his face.
"I only have two rules Jeff. I don't fuck my friends and I don't fish off the company dock."
Jeff nodded.
"If I wanted to get ahead quickly, I'd fuck Triple H, not you."
We both laughed. I was definitely going to enjoy working here.
Eight p.m.
So, I just finished by unofficial first night with the company. Unofficial in the sense that I wasn't on the roster, but I still ended up in the ring. As it turned out, CM Punk missed his flight, so they needed someone to fill in. Which basically meant that by the time they realized he wasn't going to make his match with Big Daddy V, I had five minutes to get ready. There are a lot of things I can do in five minutes, but changing and putting together a decent match was not one of them. So, I ended up doing two things out of character... one was wrestling in my street clothes (sans jacket) and two, letting a big black man have his way with me. The correct term is "talent enhancement", but that night, "bump dummy" was more appropriate. I got maybe one or two moves in before getting slammed, squashed, and summarily defeated.
While I showered, I did some thinking, which is not something I do very often. In fact, I avoid it whenever possible.
Not wanting to have to drive back to my hotel in my wrestling gear, I hoped that my civvies didn't smell too badly, which they didn't. Not that I minded being seen in public in my trunks. Hell, I'd done it before and with the exception of one night in Tijuana which I won't go into, nothing bad had ever happened.
"Nice match."
I did my impression of the people's eyebrow at the speaker. "You still here?"
"Matt wants a word when you've changed."
"Five minutes."
"Cool." Jeff's gaze lingered on me before he walked away. Was the guy sizing me up or was there something more to it? From what I knew about him, he was a free spirit, but hopefully he wasn't that free. Thankfully my Visa was maxed.
Tuesday Dec 16, 3:00 a.m.
"Oh, man, why did I drink so much?" I groaned. Some of the guys had gone to a club after the show and had invited me. I did not want to alienate my new co-workers right away so, against my better judgement, I joined them. I know what you're thinking... "What a lightweight!' It's true... I've never been one to pound back the drinks, just ask my two ex-wives, but sometimes a guy's gotta go what a guy's gotta do and hope he doesn't make a spectacle of himself.
"I told you to stop after twelve." Getting reprimanded by Tommy Dreamer was not something I had planned to do before I died, but I mentally crossed it off my bucket list anyway.
"Listen you," I slurred "I can handle my liquor." And promptly threw up on the pavement, my shoes, and a nearby fire hydrant. Hey, if dogs can mark their territory, so can I.
"You sure you're gonna be okay. You gotta plane to catch tomorrow. Big Debut." He said
"You wanna tell me why I'm doing a TLC match against Matt Hardy. Seems like overkill to start our feud that way." I slurred. Even drunk, it didn't make too much sense.
."Beats the shit outta me. You agreed to it." Dreamer answered, propping me against the door to my hotel room. "You gonna be okay?"
"I can handle it." I answered, lying my ass off. "See ya later."
9:24 a.m.
So, reader, after that last entry, you've learned two things about me... one; I CAN'T hold my liquor and two, I can't lie very well. I guess I couldn't fool Tommy either 'coz the fool just woke me up. So here I am, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering what the hell I was thinking getting into the sauce with guys last night.
Anyhow, I'm off to the arena.
10:25 p.m.
Crappy flight, crappy movie, crappy seat companions. This was one part of the job I was not going to like if this continued. Was there something about a disheveled, bleary-eyed, hungover person that made everyone want to be my friend? Even worse that that was the girl sitting next to me recognized me from the show last night and felt the need to go over my match blow by blow. When I told her that I was just filling in for Punk, she went off on another tangent and went into graphic detail about what she'd like to do to him if she ever got him alone. Some of them did sound interesting, but when whips and whipped cream came into the picture, I had to shudder.
"I don't think straight-edge includes that." I answered. My headache was back.
"That's just a gimmick." She replied "I'll just bet he drinks, and smokes like the rest of you."
"Couldn't tell you." I replied, looking for the flight attendant for some aspirin. "Never met the guy."
Fortunately I was able to get some aspirin and tried to get some rest, but my dreams were haunted by both the turbulence and visions of a naked CM Punk covered in whipped cream. I told you I'm straight, right?
Wednesday December 17 1 p.m.
Thankfully, I got some sleep back at my hotel once the flight landed and no, there were no dreams about CM Punk. What I really should've done is waited until I got to the arena to go over the match with Matt. But here he is, banging on my hotel room door. Please God, no little brother. I have enough questions about my sanity without questioning my sexuality too.
When I opened the door, Matt was alone. "Halleluia" I sighed
"Did I interrupt your prayers?" I realized Matt had heard me and tried to come up with some excuse. Nothing came to mind so a simple "No big." was my response.
"C'mon in, Matt. Don't mind the mess."
"This is clean compared to livin' with my brother. You should see how he kept his place."
"I guess the fire was a good thing???" Out of place, yes. I hoped Matt didn't take offense easily.
He snickered, to my relief, "Dude's livin' with me while they rebuild."
"I hope you have a good maid."
"So how do you see this match going?" Matt asked, after refusing my offer of a drink or ordering room service.
"I was hoping you could maybe tell me." I answered, "This sort of match is new to me."
"Okay." Matt answered "Maybe I will take you up on that drink. We got a lot of work to do."
8 p.m.
Matt and I arrived at the arena together after stopping to grab Jeff at his hotel. I rode in the back seat, hoping that Jeff would take the hint and sit up front with his big brother. I really needed to relax before my first match. It all seemed so surreal, but little did I know how surreal things would become. Unfortunately, my surreality was shattered when Jeff decided to sprawl out in the back seat. I'm sot sure how to describe how it feels having a twenty-something use your lap for a pillow. (No Visa reference here, folks!)
"If you don't move your head, I'm gonna sic Stryker version 2.0 on you." Obvious copyright infringement, but what the hell. Matt wasn't saying nothing.
"Sorry." He moved slightly, but not slightly enough for my tastes. While his head no longer rested on my nether regions, it was cutting off the flow of blood to my leg.
"How do you get him off your lap?" I asked the driver
He didn't bat an eyelash. "Punch him in the groin." Matt replied
"Cool." I balled up my fist and swung downward, hoping that Jeff would take the hint. I'm not sure if Jeff thought I was fooling him or what, but he didn't move until after my fist made contact with his balls. He was off me like a shot.
"What the fuck was that for?" He groaned, cupping his bruised manhood.
"I told you to move." I smirked
"That hurt!" He continued to whine.
"We're almost there. Get someone to kiss it better when we get to the arena." I leaned back in the seat, trying to focus on my match.
"You volunteering?" Jeff had a way of completely derailing my train of thought and it was starting to get on my nerves.
At that moment, part of me wanted to pound the smile off of his face and part of me wanted to, indeed, kiss it better.
"Jeffro, leave him alone." Matt chided him.
I sniggered at the use of Jeff's pet name. More ammunition for me.
"We're here."
"Finally." I pushed Jeff out of the car ahead of me and swung my legs over the other side. By the way, did I mention I was hard? Freakin' rainbow-haired twerp!
Thursday December 18, 2 a.m.
I have been pacing back and forth for hours in the corridor of the hospital, still trying to comprehend what the hell went wrong just a few hours ago. One minute, Matt Hardy and I are in the middle of an awesome tables, ladders, and chairs match, and the next thing I remember is.... what?
Okay, brain, try to remember what happened. According to the carefully rehearsed plan, Matt was supposed to attempt a Twist of Fate, which I was supposed to block, which I did and flung Matt on top of a ladder. Okay, so Matt's lying on the ladder, doing his best impression of a wounded duck and I think I grabbed one of the chairs provided to us. Can't have a TLC match without the C, right?
Anyway, I line him up to "nail" his face into the ladder with the chair or so that's how it was supposed to go. I didn't count on the little fucker moving his head at the last minute! Instead of bouncing the chair off the side of the ladder (and making it look like I just hit him flush), I nailed him right in the face. Normally, this would not be a problem, but the way the ladder was positioned, his head whiplashed against the top of the ladder. I swear the entire arena heard the snap. I looked over at refereee Scott Armstrong who assumed this was part of the show.
I don't remember a whole lot after that and now I'm walking the corridor of the hospital, praying to whatever Gods I can that Matt's gonna be alright. I stop outside the door to his room and listen carefully. I can hear several voices, the only recognizable one being Matt's frantic brother. Christ, he's the last person I want to deal with right now. Not having any siblings of my own, I can only imagine what the guy is going through. I figure the best thing for me is to get the hell out of dodge ASAP and hope things are gonna work out.
Monday December 21, 7 p.m.
I guess you may be wondering what I'm doing at a taping of RAW. If it were up to me, I would be anywhere else right now. The last four days have been stressful for everyone at WWE, especially me. First match and I cripple a guy. What else could go wrong??? Well, I'll tell you. I thought that we were all being assembled for an update on Matt, but the second Vince McMahon entered our locker room, I knew the worst was coming.
"Could I have your attention please?"
Even when he was not "Mr. McMahon", he could still silence a room with his presence.
Everyone quieted down, though some of us (me) hadn't said two words since the accident.
"On behalf of the Hardy family, I'd like to thank you all for your letters and E-Mails of concern. However, it is with a deep heart that I have to inform you that at 1:45 a.m. today, the decision was made to take Matt off of life support. He passed away shortly thereafter. All of this week's shows will be dedicated to Matt and anyone who wishes to say a few words will be able to do so. Thank-you."
So Vince leaves, and it seemed like hours before any sound was heard, despite the locker room containing over 100 bodies. You know how it feels when you get hit in the stomach and all the air rushes out of you? Multiply that by ten thousand and you are close to how I felt after hearing that Matt was gone. Eventually, I look up to see that many of the Divas and some of the guys are crying. I wanted to be anywhere at that moment, but I was sitting in the back corner of the changing room. Leaving would just be in bad taste. Fortunately, most of the guys had the sense to just leave me alone. I guess nobody wanted to deal with a broody wrestler who had just killed one of his coworkers.
Thank God Jeff wasn't here.
Monday January 7, 2009
It's been three weeks since the tragedy. At Vince's urging I accompanied my fellow WWE-ers to the funeral in Cameron, NC, but the whole time I feel like I have been watching things through someone else's eyes. The company was nice enough to give me time off, but that did little for my psyche. I can't eat, I don't sleep much and when I do I'm haunted by that night over and over again. I've always dealt with tragedy by shutting myself off, but this time time it isn't working.
The funeral itself was nice, but the whole time I hid behind Batista. One of the advantages of having an almost-seven foot coworker is he provided a good shield. I don't know what would've happened if Matt's father or brother had seen me, but thankfully that didn't happen until later.
I hung in the back while the casket was wheeled into the hearse. Edge, Christian, Shannon Moore, and Shane Helms made excellent pallbearers. I heard a rumour that my name was brought up as well, but you know how that would've flied with the family, eh? From what I've read on-line, I've gotten a royal lambasting from the press, the fans, and some of Matt's close friends over my handling of the situation. How was I to know that Matt was seriously hurt? Like I said, I was in a trance. Vince has kindly offered to show me the tape, but that's the last thing I want. Seriously, would anyone want to see themselves causing a fatal injury to another person?
Anyway, I'm off track. The hearse drives off to the funeral and the Superstars begin to climb aboard the bus to follow. I try, but I can't get my legs to cooperate.
"You coming?" John Cena is the first to notice that I am having a hard time getting my wheels in motion.
"Trying." I mutter, hoping that will get him to leave me alone. I have never been comfortable in these situations and have been known to lash out.
"Let me help you." John reached over.
"I'm fine." I replied, hoping he'd believe the lie.
"You don't look fine to me."
"Cena, I know what you're thinking..."
'Yeah, what am I thinking?" John answered. I'm assuming he's trying to be nice.
"You're thinking... I don't know what you're thinking and frankly I don't give a rip!" Willing my legs to work, I pushed past him and took off down the street. Fuck the internment, fuck the bus, fuck everything. If I had my way, I'd slit my wrists on the spot!
Thursday, January 17
4 a.m.
Well, folks, another sleepless night for ole Eric. As you can tell by reading this, I did not slit my wrists after the funeral, but I have yet to return to the WWE in any form. I'm still on what the company calls "personal leave", but "emotional breakdown" would be more appropriate. "Recluse" would be even better since I have not returned any calls from the office, or had any contact with anyone since the funeral.
There's only one person who I'd even want to talk to, but, despite the fact that he sent me an Email with his number, I can't bring myself to call him. Even then, what would I say to him. "Hi. It's me... sorry for killing your brother." just doesn't seem right.
Maybe I'll drown myself in a bottle of scotch and try to fall asleep. It hasn't worked yet, but oh well...
7:30 a.m.
I passed out on the couch, that much I seem to recall. The three or so hours of unconsciousness was probable the most peace I've had in weeks. Regrettable, that peace was being shattered by someone banging on my door. If there's one thing I hate, it's being aroused at 7:30 in the morning after a night of too much booze, too little sleep. Not caring who it was, all I knew is that they were going to get an earful.
"What the..." I slammed the door as soon as I opened it. Or at least I tried to. Unfortunately, my visitor got his body wedged between the door and the jamb and forced his way in with a shove that sent me on my butt.
"Please... don't hurt me." I whined (or was it the booze again?), trying to shimmy away from my assailant.
"I'm not gonna hurt you if you get your ass off the floor, okay?"
Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was something else, but I just sat there looking stupid until he reached out his hand. I withdrew.
"I said I wasn't gonna hurt you. Now get up."
Keeping my good hand balled up, I let him pull me upright. Only when I was finally standing, did I see who it was who had accosted me.
"What the hell do you want?" I asked
"Same things you do. Lots of money, a new car, women..."
"Not funny." I growled "Either start making some sense or get the fuck out of my room."
"Chill, dude. You haven't been returning anyone's calls. The company's worried."
"Like the company cares. All I am now is a liability." Hey, it made sense to me.
"After you gave Cena the brush off at the funeral, everyone was worried. Come on, you made a couple friends in the locker room."
"Don't try to make me feel any worse than I already do." I wasn't buying his BS and I think he knew it.
"Don't be so hard on yourself. Adam, John, myself..."
"I know what you are trying to do, but don't lie to me and say that I'm your friend. I fuckin' killed your brother!" I guess now you figured out who had interrupted my stupor.
"Look... shit happens. I actually watched the tape. I don't know why Matt moved his head, but there was nothing you could've done. I've accepted it, now it's time for you to."
"Whatever. Just leave me alone."
"No chance. If I have to, I'll carry your ass to the arena. McMahon wants to see you tomorrow morning ten a.m."
"Tell him I quit..."
"and he also said that if you didn't come to him, he'd come to you. The last time he went to a wrestler's hotel room, the wrestler in question ended up in the hospital."
"I know. Matt told me about you."
"See you tomorrow, E." Jeff closed the door behind him, thankfully, 'coz my empty bottle hit it seconds later.
Friday January 18 10:15 a.m.
Okay, so I'm sitting in McMahon's office, waiting for him. Here he is telling me to show up or else and the old guy is late. I'm just about to leave when I hear the door open and both Vince and Shane McMahon walk in.
"Oh boy, now I'm gonna get it." I think. Thankfully my letter of resignation is already written and nestled carefully in my back pocket. As of this moment, I have every intention of using it the first opportunity I get.
"I see Jeff convinced you to show." Vince said
"I guess you didn't want to pull a WCW act and fire me over the phone. That's why I'm here, right?" I reached for my pocket when Vince stopped me.
"Why would you think that?"
My expression turned from one of anger to one of shock. "Usually, my boss doesn't call me into the office for nothing."
"Listen, Mr. Stryker... Eric..."
Now he really had my attention. To my knowledge, he'd never used my first name before.
"let me explain something to you... Shane, would you mind getting a couple of coffees?"
"Sure Dad, black?"
"Please."
"Eric?"
It took a second for me to clue in. "Same." I replied
"As I was saying, let me explain things to you. One, while we are a Fortune 500 company, we do tend to think of ourselves as an extended family, as I explained to you earlier...
To Be Continued
Feel free to read and critique. I'm a big boy, I can handle it, but keep in mind this is my maiden voyage! TY!