~The impulsiveness of the subjects actions are the most dangerous and umpredictable side effect~
The lights of the city speed by in a surreal blur, making Ichabod's head spin. He has drunk more tonight than he usually does on a good night. For some reason, Steve had prescribed the binge for tonight, and Ichy had been only too happy to oblige. Now as his truck barrelled down the interstate Ichabod almost felt resentful of Steve's idea. But only almost.
Ichabod takes exit 37 to Roper Mountain Rd. and drives until he sees the church. It looms over the road like a behemoth dragon guarding some lost treasure, and Ichabod parks near the graveyard. He walks up amid the headstones noticing the names, Moore, Campbell, Lopez, Hall, Millonzi, Lawrence, Jones, Palmer. They stretch on across the rolling hill as Ichabod steps onto the front porch and opens a door. He steps inside and sees nothing but candles lining the foyer. The sanctuary is empty, and Ichabod walks to a side door near the podium. The door opens into a corridor lined with doors. Each door has the name of some patron saint and two numbers, like Saint Mary Magdalene's 4-7. Ichabod realizes these are age group classes designated by Saints. How cute.
Ichabod gets to the end of the hallway and a door opens. Steve stands in the doorway. He invites Ichabod in. Ichabod notices that Steve is wearing a priests uniform, with the black outfit and white collar.
Is there anything you don't do Steve?
There is nothing more we can do for her tonight.
The old priest stands and leads Steve and Ichy out of the room and back up to the sanctuary. On the way, Steve explains to Ichabod, who by this time is becoming oddly sober.
She is stigmatic, Ichabod. She is experiencing the ecstacy, the divine wounds of Christ.
I know what stigmata is, Steve. Apparantly they are only granted to the most devout followers of God.
Yes. This man here is Father Alomeda. He is very experienced in investigating and remedying authentic paranormal phenomenon for the church. As you know, many things in the world that are considered supernatural, the Vatican has an explanation for. This man knows all of them and then some. I have brought him here to speak with you. The drink was to open you up to his form of hypnosis--
What the hell are you getting at Steve?
Mr. Parke here has told me of your recent episodes, and following the reversion to a female of your minds image of a former love, he has decided to have me investigate your case and give my diagnosis, and to see if we may find you some answers. If you will just step inside the confessional...
My case?! What the hell is this Steve? I'm not going to let this guy dig around in my head.
Ichabod, if you are so adamant about competing at Gladiator, we need to find out how to help you.
If you want to help me, then tell me how Brimstone floats in the air. Tell me how he does half the shit he does. Tell me how a guy like him became world champion. Explain the unexplainable.
I'm sorry, I'm not a fan of wrestling. I want to help you determine what is going on inside your head. Help you to purge the evil that has begun to take over your life. We must do this now, for in such cases, waiting too long may be damaging.
Look, I don't have time for this. You want to know what is going on in my head, I'll tell you. The thoughts from my mind command my lips to spout hate at these men. The thoughts from my mind command my hands to cut their silky flesh. The thoughts from my mind command my feet to stomp their heads. The thoughts from my mind have one question, when will I make it to the top. There isn't much to the life I live, same four ringposts. At Gladiator I'll give all I have to give, and no one will take that away. The thoughts from my mind feel the pain as I rip at my veins in the ring. The thoughts from my mind feel the joyous burn as the alcohol hits my liver. The thoughts from my mind smell the stench of the bullshit that they and you spew. The thoughts from my mind beg for insanity. That is my mind, Father. No one can help me. There is nothing left for me after Gladiator. I can feel that. If I don't take this title, what will I do after that? I am at the top in this event, and there is nowhere to go after that but down. I refuse to go down here. Thanks for your help, but now I see that the only thing you have shown me is how much bullshit you preacher types are. Now I know what kind of man Brimstone is. Like you he makes mountains out of molehills. He pulls drama and poetry, tells his stories, and really its all bullshit. Just like you. He must have some skills though, he is the world champion. But dammit, I'm tired of people pulling cracker box gimmicks out of their asses and trying to make this job an acting job. No one is real anymore. You have people like him pretending to be a preacher or satan or god or damien or who the hell knows what. You got B-pac saying the same shit everyone says, no one will stop me, it will be me and Brimstone, i know it will, blah blah blah. Then you got the Nasty Dickhead Experience wanting to pour protein blast on the fans from a blimp piloted by midgets. Where the hell do they get this shit? I really don't think anyone takes this shit seriously. Am I the only man in this entire federation who really wants this title enough to really take it seriously? I have yet to see any of these guys in a gym, any of them training, any of them even doing the research on each other to learn exactly how to take them down. how do they expect to win when all they do is act out like some perverted freshmen college students? Maybe they don't expect to win. But God help them if they expect to get past me.
Ichabod I want you to win, but how can you expect to win when you don't even know where you are 3 out of 7 days a week. You aren't going to win, you are going to flip out and lose track and start grabbing people left and right. All you want when you are like this is to hurt. You don't want to win. What is to stop you from just climbing out of the ring and into that mass of people and getting the hell beat out of you? How are you going to win then?
You stupid fuck, only the guy in the ring can eliminate me. You want to take away this shit I am going through? To be honest, I like it, it gives me an extra edge. I would be content to flip out at Gladiator and take that gold from around the waist of that hypocrite. Even if it wasn't the me you see here, it is still me, and either way I'll wear the gold. Fu--
Ichabod suddenly grabs his head in the middle of his tirade. Steves eyes get really big. This is the first time he's seen this in person. Ichabod's eyes flash open, and they are no longer green. They are pitch black. Father Alomeda takes hold of his cross and begins to pray, and Ichabod stalks toward him. He grabs the metal cross in his own fist, turns it upside down, and forces it into the soft flesh behind Alomeda's chin. Blood pours onto Ichabod's hand, and Father Alomeda chokes on it. He falls backward clutching at the cross. His arms suddenly go limp at his side, as his eyes cloud over. A large gory bubble issues from his mouth, and pops as death takes him. Steve runs and jumps on Ichabod's back, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Ichabod reaches back and takes hold of Steve's collar, and flips him onto the ground. Ichabod turns and walks away. Steve jumps up and runs after him--and right into a Bitch Thump. Ichabod watches Steve laying there with a broken nose for a moment, then walks out through the sanctuary. As he passes by the table of candles, he kicks out at one of the legs, causing it to splinter, and fall. Candles roll in every direction as Ichabod closes the doors behind him. He stalks back through the graveyard, past the names, to the truck, as flames dance in bizarre colors behind the stained glass windows of the church.
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Steve signs for silence as Ichabod grins in his inebrience. Steve walks to the center of the room and lights a candle.
Ichabod looks around and the first thing he notices is a small woman with very short hair sitting on a bed. She is covered in blood. Her hands have wounds on them, as well as her head, and her feet. A dark red stain marks her side. Ichabod looks at her with reproach wondering what the hell Steve has done this time.
The second thing Ichy notices is a man that looks very venerable kneeled in front of a crucifix. The man holds a rosary up to his face and closes his eyes. He mumbles phrases and lines from the Lords Prayer, interjected with invocations of various saints and angels, and finally calls upon the divine name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Ichabod watches with interest until the priest finishes. He stands.
