===============
Kiss at Death:
Shane McMahon
===============

"You're an A-Bomb with Novocain."
- Artificial Joyclub (Sick and Beautiful)



	A few feet away from me, Shawn Micheals is dying.  Pink foam bubbles
come out of his mouth as he gurgles for breath, and his hands are stiff claws 
that try to reach out to grab me.  The look in his eyes is fury, accusation,
and fear.  A look I've seen many times before.

	Sometimes I talk to my victims as they die, sometimes I just watch.
Most of the time, I don't have time for neither, I like making their deaths
swift and short.  Painless.  I couldn't this time though, nothing personal
Shawn - but I had to make you suffer, babe.

	The knife in my hand feels heavy, it's covered in the good
commissioner's blood, and the drops flow down the steel of the knife and
onto my hand and the sleeve of my jacket.  I'll have to change soon, clean 
up a little so I don't attract attention.  But not yet.  I have to wait for 
a little while longer because Shawn's not quite dead.  Yet.

	"Grraaghh..."

	Curiosity breaks through my numbness like a light through shadow
and I glance up from the weapon to cast a look at my one time friend.  He's
staring at me, his blue eyes dull but focused.  His mouth moves and forms
words that I don't hear, so I walk over to get closer, lean down to catch
what he's saying.

	"Shawn?"

	More gurgling and gagging, I sigh, a little impatiently because he
would save me a lot of trouble if he'd just *die* already.  I lean in closer.

	Oops, my mistake.  There's some spunk left in the old boy yet.

	His hand grabs my collar, tugs with a strength the dying shouldn't
have.  I stumble a little, my hand lands in the pool of blood to stop myself
from falling and I grimace as it sinks in up to my knuckles.

	"K-k-ill y-youuu..." Hisses.  Agony.  I don't smile, but I let him
know he doesn't worry me by slapping his hand away.  I let the knife dangle
over his heart, the point dances over his wounds.

	"No, Shawn, sorry.  Not this time."  It's odd.  I have to wonder why
Vince wanted Shawn's death taken care of this way.  Normally, he's like me:
quick, efficient, done by dinner time.  I usually strangle, that leaves no
blood, or snap a neck.  Then, I either burn or bury the body where it will
never be found again.

	But Vince was very specific this time, he wanted Shawn's body found.
He wanted him killed slowly and painfully so that it wouldn't appear to be
any sort of professional hit.  See, I'm a professional now.  The thought
makes me sick, but I'm also a little proud I think.

	I start to stand, ready to start cleaning up because it is very
obvious, Shawn is gonna go any minute now.  I'm just getting to my feet when
I hear a knock at the door.

	"Shawn?" Knock, knock, knock.  "It's Sean."

	I curse under my breath, look down at my bloody clothes and my
bloody hand, then look down at Shawn.  He's smiling at me, a bloody, dirty
smile that I can't help but turn away from.

	Shit, well.  Looks like I'm in for a busy night.  I can get out
through the fire-escape, walk down to my room and be changed and cleaned up
before the real circus starts.

	"Kill.  You."  Shawn's voice is calm, unslurred, and he continues
to look up at me with a silent fire in his eyes.  His hands are slowly
starting to unclench, and I stare down at him with what I know is not a
very nice expression.

	"Wrong," I tell him softly.  I kneel down next to him, touch his
cheek and whisper my words.  "Kill *him*."  My eyes flick up to the door and
the knock and the voice comes again.  Shawn has stopped smiling.

	"N-no..."

	I shake my head, sadly.  And I *am* sad.  I didn't want to kill
Shawn, and I certainly don't want to kill X-Pac.  Neither of them have done
anything that bad to me, but this isn't about me.

	Wiping the blade on my pants, I tuck it into my pocket and lean down
to take off my shoes so I don't leave any tracks on the carpet.  In my
socked feet I walk over to the window and crawl out, and consider cutting out
Shawn's throat so he can't tell X-Pac anything about me.  But I don't, I'll 
have to take my chances.

	The door is already opening.



	I find Sean sitting in the back of an ambulance, looking cold and
scared and a little shell shocked.  A reporter and cameraman are bearing
down on him, barking out questions and for a moment I sit back and watch, wait
for him to handle it.  He doesn't, he just sits and stares.

	Guess it's up to me then.  Imagine that, playing rescuer to a man I'm
about to kill.  And I'm already thinking about how I'm going to do it, where
I can take him.  His death will be painless, he won't feel a thing.

	The reporter and the cameraman leave without a fight when I give them
my 'I'm Fucking Serious' face.  Smart people.  I look up, see Sean staring
back at me with confusion in his eyes.  And there's pain there too, but it's 
not directed towards me.  Not yet anyways.  I stare at him for a bit, wondering
if I should offer some sort of condolences, realize that it'd just be 
hypocritical so I don't.

	"Hey."

	He nods, goes back to shaking like a leaf.  I pull myself up onto the
ambulance, stare down at him before ripping the thin blanket away from him.
His arms are wrapped tightly around himself, and he jerks stiffly at my sudden
movement.  Well, shit.  Don't I just feel like a jerk?  If I'm gonna kill him,
I mine as well make him comfortable.  So I give him my jacket like the fucking
gentleman that I am and take a seat next to him. 

	I light up a cigarette and offer good ol'Sean Waltman one.  Kinda A-
Typical when you think about it:  your last smoke from your executioner.  He
turns it down.

	For a moment, I'm happy to just smoke and think.  Which is odd, because 
I've never really been a smoker.  I guess it's just a thing I picked up somewhere 
between murder number one and murder number four.  That's a lot of blood on my 
hands, but I've grown numb to it.  I'm not enjoying it, yet.  But I feel it coming.  
Hopefully, I'll be dead by then.  I don't ever want to like this.

	I have to do it though, it's too late now.  I can't let Sean live, he 
saw the body before I had a chance to clean up, Shawn might of told him something.  
I kinda doubt the later though, if Shawn had, then X-Pac sure as hell wouldn't be 
sitting next to me now.  Still, you never know, so I gotta cover all the bases.

	There are a lot of people around, a lot of people are gonna see him
leave with me.  That's risky, that'll at least place me as one of the last
people to have seen him alive.  The onlookers, some could be wrestling fans,
they'll definitely remember.  We could get caught on tape, that could really
fuck me over.  But I can't kill the sorry bastard here, and I can't let him
live long enough to really say anything too important.

	Fuck.  The cigarette's wasted, I flick it away and take once last
look around, turn to see him staring at me expectantly.  Inwardly, I shrug.
"Need a lift?"

	I can tell he wants to say 'no', and I think a part of me wants him
to.  Come on, Sean, don't make this easy for me.  You can still get away,
don't fucking *trust* me now.

	"Yeah."

	So I stand, give him a nod and gesture for him to follow me as I step
down from the ambulance.  "Come on then."





	The deal with Micheals was he had started to get greedy.  I don't think
he fully realized how good he was getting it when my dad gave him a second
chance, let him be commissioner.  Shit, the bastard almost makes more money
then I do.  But Shawn didn't realize that once you got big from Vince, you don't
come back to ask for more.  I, actually, find it surprising that my father
let him live this long - he must of had a soft spot for ol'HBK.  But I don't
really want to think about that.

	Sean seems to be having a hard time of it, talk about the wrong place
at the wrong time.  I never would of killed Shawn then if I knew he'd be
coming to visit.  But now I just gotta swing with the pitches, ain't nothing
I can do about it.

	"Pull over."

	"What?" Shit - does he know?

	"Pull the FUCK over!"  I toss him a look and notice that Sean's a
little green around the edges.  Fuck, he's going to lose it my car!  I pull
over and he's out and puking his guts up before I even fully stop.

	It must be a PTSD thing, he looks to be in bad shape.  Hunched over,
back to me, his breathing's hard and he's wobbling.

	I look up and down the street, no cars for a while yet - this is a
good time to do it and get it over with.

	The knife I tucked into the back of my jeans comes out, the blade
shiny new and clean.  A quick slice across his neck, no stabbing, this will
be nice and quick.

	I pull his hair back, put a hand on his back, ready to cut, ready to
kill...but I stop.  Shit, I'm an idiot.  If I kill him here, it'll be
fucking hard to get rid of the body without being seen.  I can't transport him 
in the car because he'll leave evidence, and if I ditch the body here it'll be
found in no time.  So I put the knife away.  Okay, not now.  Later.

	After a while, he stops.  The stench of vomit is heavy, even in the
night air, and he still looks a little green but otherwise all right.  I
don't think he'll be sick again, and I take a step back, let him get under
control.

	"You good?"

	He looks up at me, scorn and sarcasm on his face, "Just fucking peachy."

	Prick.  "Then get the fuck back in the car, it's cold out here."

	I get back in the car, and after a moment, he gets in too, I can tell
he's wondering why I'm 'helping' him.  The way he looks at me, it's like he
doesn't know me, and he's right.  He doesn't.  He has no idea I'm about to
kill him, that I'm planning out the details in my head as I watch him shuffle
around in his seat.  Just like Shawn, Shawn didn't know either.  Shawn, who 
invited me into his hotel room with a smile and a handshake.  None of 'em ever 
knew.  I guess that's what makes me good.  I'm unassuming that way.

	But when I do get caught, when someone does get the better of me - 
it'll be interesting to see if I die like the people I've killed:  with fear.


	


	When we get to the Four Seasons hotel where I know Sean's staying
because I have the room right underneath him, I got another plan forming.  I
tip the valet big, so he'll remember me.  Remember who I'm with.  He doesn't
know it but I'm already making him my alibi.  I just gotta time it right, be
remembered by the right people, be the in the right place at the right time.
They can't find his body.

	We take the elevator up to his room, and he's getting impatient with
me, I can tell.  He's starting to get sick of Good Buddy Shane.

	"I can take it from here."

	Not unless you plan on taking that thin red highway outta town you
can't I think.  I reach into his pants, feel around for his keys.

	"Gee, Shane, you taking advantage of me?"

	The quip is flat, not funny because - well, it just isn't.  I open
the door for him, let him walk in ahead of me.  Notice that he's still cold.

	"You're in shock."  I tell him, and he is, and I'm gonna use it
towards my advantage.  I go into the bathroom, take a quick look around
before running the water as hot as I can without it being scalding.  I'll
wait for him to get in there, get a little sleepy, and then slit his throat.
The blood'll wash down the drain, no big mess, he won't have time to
struggle.

	I come back out, I'm concerned, I'm nice.  I'm such a fucking
considerate guy.  "Jump in, it'll warm you up."

	"I don't *need* a fucking shower!"

	No shit, but you sure as hell are gonna take one.  "Get in by
yourself, or I *throw* you in."  And I will too, he's getting in there, one
way or another.  I hope he takes my anger as 'tough love'.

	He wants to laugh at me, but I got my 'bad boy' face on and he stops
himself.  Smart child, you get a cookie.  "You just want to see me naked."

	The sex jokes just don't stop with this guy, do they?  It's starting
to get boring, I have other things to do tonight.  Like worry about how I'm
going to live to see tomorrow when dad finds out I messed up with Micheals
and had to cut through the roaster.  Truthfully though, I don't think he'll
be too heartbroken, he never liked Sean.  Or any of the other WCW
deflecters.  Which is probably why he had me off Nash.

	"Sean, your skinny ass is the last thing I want to see.  Get in there
or I leave now."

	He's remembering Shawn, I see it in his eyes.  And for a moment, I
see what he saw.  What it must of looked like to someone who had never seen
death, never seen pain like that.  And my heart pinches painfully for him,
I want to comfort him, but I won't.

	I just take my jacket back as he goes to take his shower.



	I've been sitting here for a few minutes now, listening to the shower
run and going through his drawers.  Later, I'll pack up his clothes, and
anything else I find.  I'll throw it in the back of my car and burn it with
his body.  Hopefully, people will think he broke down after finding Shawn
and skipped town.  They'll question me, of course, but I'm a great actor - I'll
tell them I was worried about him and gave him a ride home.  The valet will
confirm the time I brought him back.  After I kill him, I'll come back out
to the front, ask the valet if he's seen Sean.  He'll, of course, say no, and
I'll tell him I'm going to go out and look for him.  That I'm worried about
him.

	Because, I'm just that nice a guy you see.

	I take out the knife, pick up some sweats and shirt just in case
Sean sees me first, and walk into the steam filled bathroom.

	A sudden, crystal clear, image of the shower scene from "Psycho" comes
to mind and I stifle a chuckle.  Shit, I hope I'm not losing it.

	I put the clothes down on the toilet, raise the knife and reach out
to pull back the curtain when something makes me stop.  It's a sob.  Stifled
and painful sounding, muffled by the currents of water.

	Sean's crying, I can see his body shake from the harshness of it.
The sobs sound choked and painful, and as he struggles to hold it in, I
lower the knife.

	It's so strange.

	I'm standing here, ready to kill again, ready to take a life, and I
feel something odd come over me.  As I listen to his cries over his dead
friend, it's almost as if I'm remembering something.  Recalling a part of me
that I thought was dead a long time ago.

	Maybe it's my conscience, maybe it's my soul.  Whatever it is, it's
crying and hurting and dying too, and I almost drop the knife which seems
suddenly heavy and clumsy in my hand.  This knife.  I've killed with this
knife, and without warning, the knowledge is abruptly revolting to me.

	It had sunk into his skin so easily.

	I leave Sean to his misery.




	Watching Vince McMahon bullshit is like what watching Beethoven
perform "Fur Elise" must of been like.  It's a work of art, poetry in
motion.  He's sincere, he's confident, he *believes* his own shit which is 
just a masterpiece in itself.  Vince is a born politician, his ruthlessness 
is a tangible thing that's like an aura around him.  When he talks, it's like
watching flowers and perfume spring from his mouth.

	God, I hate the bastard.

	That newslady that I drove away earlier seems to be dominating the
interview, and only I can see the way Vince loves soaking up the attention.
Forget the fact that two of the WWF's biggest draws are now dead, that Sean
Waltman is abut to join them - Vince is cool and calm.  It all rolls off
his back because he knows that nothing can touch him.  If any McMahon falls,
it's going to be me.

	At least that's what he thinks.

	Sean comes out of the shower, steam curling around him and his hair
damp and limp around his shoulders.  I don't look right at him, at least
not when he notices, and I don't look at him when he comes to stand next to
me.  He turns up the volume to hear Vince speak, and for a moment, Daddy
Dearest is the only sound in the room."

	"...the police are investigating the matter and will be keeping us
updated.  Our deepest sympathies and condolences go out to the Micheals'
family and his friends.  He will be sorely missed.  He was a wonderful man,
a first-class athlete..."

	He probably wrote that bit while taking a crap in the bathroom at
Titan Towers.  Fuck.

	The TV goes off and Sean is left standing there looking like a
broken toy or kicked puppy.  His eyes are red from crying but I pretend not
to notice, I won't spare him his life, but I'll spare him some dignaty.

	"Jesse and Billy are on the way over, I called 'em."  The lie
slides easily off my tongue, and Sean seems to tense and relax respectively
at it.  This is what I call the 'lulling them into a false sense of safety'
part of the murder.  "Don't know where Chyna or Hunter are - I think maybe
Frenso.  They had a publicity thing." The cigarette's burned down to nearly
the filter and I suck in fire and heat before putting it out in an ashtray.
"I'll leave when they get here."  And that last part's true enough.  I'll be
gone before anybody gets here.

	"You don't have to."

	"Yeah, I do."  Sean wants to tell me I'm wrong, but he doesn't.  He
makes up his own reasons in his head and then goes over to the minibar where
he throws me a coke and takes one for himself.

	The cold can is oddly comforting in my hand, and I pause.  I'll empty
this out in the sink, throw it in the garbage can so it looks like me and
Sean had a nice talk before I left him.  The police'll dust it and know I
was here.  It's risky, it's all risky, but it'll work.  I've never been this
close to getting caught before and it's all sort of...thrilling.  Sickening.  
I'm just grateful that Sean's room has wood paneling instead of carpeting.
That'll make the blood easier to clean up.

	But that's risky too if the cops decide to probe too closely, the blood
will adhere to the wood.

	"This - we were suppose to be okay again.  We were gonna talk and
stuff was gonna be forgotten."

	Oh shit, is he going to spill all to me?  Fuck, I don't need to hear
this.  I *can't* hear this.

	Sean looks just as surprised as I am that he's suddenly talking, but
that doesn't stop him.  "He'd called me, told me that - that he was in town,
and wanted to see all of us.  But mostly me because he knew that me, more
then the other guys, would be willing to give him a second chance.  We were
gonna go drinking, maybe pick up some fun."

	It hurts.  I killed someone, I took away Sean's fun and hope and it
hurts.  The guilt smacks me, twists inside me and soon I can't tell it apart
from the hate.  Hate for my father, hate for what I have become.  Shit,
Sean - I'd apologize but I don't know *how*.

	"Sean..."  I don't know what I'm going to say, it doesn't matter.

	"I found him, in there.  Dying, but not dead.  He had...holes, all
over.  In his chest, on his arms and legs.  But the worst was on his
stomach, it wasn't a hole, it was a...slit."  He chokes on the words, his eyes 
fill with wetness and he can't stand to look anywhere but down anymore.

	I remember making that cut, remember the way it felt.  Shawn's blood
had scalded like acid.

	"He couldn't talk, blood just kept coming out, and I was holding him
so *tight* because I was afraid if I let go, he'd die.  He died anyway."

	Couldn't talk.  Shawn couldn't talk.  I looked at his face, saw the
grief and pain, and realized - it didn't matter.  I'd have to kill Sean
anyway.  He *could* of saw something.  Saw something that could incriminate me, 
that I didn't have time to take care of in my rush to get out.  Sure, he might 
not realize it now, but he was all fucked up now.  But when he calmed down...

	I'm sorry, Sean, I wished it didn't have to be this way.  I'm sorry
I killed your friend.  But I wish I could make it up to you, I wish I could
do something...

	I stand, walk over, put my hand on his arm.  Keep it there for a moment
just so he can feel me and remember I'm there.  You want to fuck me Sean?
Want to hurt me?  Go for it, I'll let you do it, pal.  Consider it the last
request of a dying man.

	"They'll catch who did it." Fuck, but that sounds so *bad*.

	"No they won't."

	Maybe, maybe not Sean.

	I squeeze his arm and he looks up at me, I let him see just a little
bit of the Real Me.  And fuck if I know what he sees, but I guess it can't
be too bad because he seems comforted by it.  It scares me that whatever the
Real Me is can make him feel better, while the person that I Really Am is getting
ready to kill him.

	His cheeks are wet with his tears, I don't think he even realizes that
he's crying.  I touch him there, touch his grief, and I let my fingers move
down to his chin.  He closes his eyes and for one, unguarded moment, is
totally vulnerable to me.  I can't help but wonder:  Have I ever known trust like
this?

	Shawn...I'll miss him.  And I realize I must of said that out loud
because Sean looks up at me, "Such a waste."  A waste of life, a waste of
blood.  I'm sorry.  I really am.  Does that make *any* difference?

	When he kisses me, I let him.  It does catch me a little off guard
because I was so far away when he did, but his lips bring me back.  I don't
get a chance to return it before he breaks away, reddens.

	"Shit, Shane - I - shit."  He stumbles away, and can't seem to look at
me.  I won't let him stumble again, he won't get the chance.  "I'm sorry, I
shouldn't of done that, I - "

	Now I'm close to him again, he's stopped talking and I let my hand
wander over his face and jaw.  His neck.  I kiss him.  I feel him respond
almost immediately, his lips open and I feel his tongue brush mine.  I feel
his hands work underneath my shirt as they stroke and rub.

	This is it, so close now.  I have to look at him and see in his eyes,
one last time, trust and need.  "Shawn...was a great man.  And so are you."
I think that's about the first bit of real truth I've told him all evening.
Maybe even the whole time we've known each other.

	He nods as if he understands.  Who knows, maybe he does.

	I kiss him again, and he's a really good kisser so it makes me feel
guilty.  I try not to take anything from it, I try to make it all about him
as I let my lips move and my hands go down.

	The sweat pants hang off his hips loosely and I let them fall to the
ground, he smells like soap and salt, his body is hard against mine.  I
think I could explore it forever, if only I had time.  If only he hadn't found
Shawn.

	He's moaning and bucking against me, so hard already and so *needy*.
I touch his aching cock, stroke and pull until he pants my name and grips me
hard.  I pull again and his hold turns painful, and I know he's ready.  I
kiss and nibble my way down, lick and suck.  He wants this bad, and it's
good to be giving pleasure instead of pain for the first time in so long.

	I don't mind giving head, kinda like it actually.  It's the whole
oral fixation thing I think.  His erection is jutting forward into my face
and I taste the tip, lick and suck and kiss before finally taking him all
the way in.

	My throat hurts as he thrusts, violently, but I let him.  I take
each push of his hips, each grunt and groan, I just suck harder.  I can feel
he's close, I taste him in my mouth and I let out a soft moan that I don't
think he hears.

	And despite this only having to of been for him, I feel myself
responding to his arousal, his groans of pleasure and the feel of him in my
mouth getting harder and getting ready to come.  I have to touch myself, I
touch myself the way I touched him, and soon - we're both moaning.

	He thrusts sharply again and I almost gag, almost push him away, but
I don't.  I just go down on him harder.  And when I feel him nearing the
edge, I pull back, lick, and then go down again.

	A shudder rushes through his body, one that I feel inside my mouth, and
he comes and I'm left swallowing and breathing hard through my nose.  I
haven't come and I won't, I know.  It doesn't matter, this was all about him.
Because, Sean, I'm sorry - but this is where you die.

	I reach back and take out the knife while he's still basking in the
after-glow.  The light *swish* gets his attention though, and by the time he
looks down, I already have the blade against his thigh.

	The fear in his eyes gives me the confidence I need to stand, being
careful to never let the blade leave his skin but without cutting him.
"Don't look so surprised," I tell him.  "I promise - no pain."

	I see him choke on my name and I put the knife to his throat.  Don't
give him any time to think about it.  I slice.  For a second, there's
nothing - then, the skin parts before my eyes and he's bleeding.

	He falls forward into my waiting arms and I lower him to the ground,
he's already so cold as the blood oozes out of him and onto the floor, onto
me.  I feel the need to explain, I feel the need to tell him *why*.  "I
didn't want to kill you.  I didn't want to kill Shawn either."  I hear my own 
voice and flinch inwardly at its calm.  Already, I don't care about this life in
my arms, about Shawn Micheals.  "I certainly didn't want to kill him that
way - but I had to make it look like a crime of passion."

	Hair falls onto his face and I brush it away because that must be
very annoying.  The light in his eyes is slowly fading, he doesn't make as
much noise as Shawn did - no death rattle.  I just feel him, slowly slipping
away.

	"I'm sorry it had to end this way, Sean.  I am.  But you showed up
before I could get rid of the body..."  I don't know why I feel compelled to
explain, to tell, especially to a man who hardly seems to hear me anymore.

	I kiss him, one last time.  Something to take to the grave.  He dies in
my arms and, for him, the night ends.





**end