During Nicey's internal, self-inflicted paranoid meltdown, two nebulous characters drove by the gate for the seventh time.
One is the brains, the other the brawn.
"So far we have seen two dudes leave the property."
The Brains oily voice oozed.
"Hell yeah brotha!"
There was no real reason as to why he had chosen the property with the metal gate. He and his companion where simply driving through another set of country roads.
As they did.
See if they could "debrief," as they called it.
"Release the tension." "Give some conviction to the friction."
The Brawn adored The Brains, valued his friendship, known each other for thirty seven years, bonded over a number of shared interests.
One interest was professional wrestling.
The retro shit.
None of this model GQ stuff that was airing on the TV these days. Nah, that shit was corny as hell. For these two it was back in the day when wrestlers were 'fat', 'ugly' and terrorizing. It was the point. Then it got John Travolta-ed, pretty- boyed up and sanitized.
They found it boring, despised the fact that wrestling fans were now privy to backstage gripes and drama.
Ruined the illusion, ruined everything.
See.
For these two guys, their entire public facing faces was Kay Fabe, the ancient secret, a golden code. When the audience use to believe that the wrestlers were not just embodying a character, but actually were the character they portrayed.
It was not a soap opera, but reality TV (when people believed it was real).
Sworn enemies, best friends, all true.
No no.
Who they were to their co-workers, was their Kay Fabe.
To their family.
"Friends."
Neighbors.
All Kay Fabe.
Here on their bi-annual sojourn was them returning to their truest of forms.
"Boys trip," of kindred spirits.
"So there is the guy with the glasses that came with the young tan guy...then the low cut blonde one."
They had been driving by, then back again yesterday.
The Brains let The Brawn choose, this time, which car to follow, as Brains chose the last time.
"I am so amped!"
Brawn's moist turquoise eyes, wide with wild desire.
"Settle down, we are still in the stalking faze."
Brains knows Brawn, he too is teetering on the edge of the roller coaster drop, but for their hobby they needed focus and patience.
"We need to stick to the choreography of this ballet."
Cracking his thick tree trunk and roots neck by leaning his plump head to each shoulder.
"Calm yourself."
He smiled.
So fond he was on Brawn.
Realest of lads.
He did not find Brawn's incessant panting or watering of the mouth, disgusting.
Not one bit.
Because he was honest.
Genuine about his glee, not trying to suck up, not a tag along. He had his own comfortable life in the suburbs where he masked his degeneracy.
Well read, had many unique interests, besides this one, a beautiful wife and three well raised accomplished children.
Pillar of the community.
He did his part for society, as far as he was concerned he could have this one flaw.
Unbothered and unapologetic.
If he ever felt any guilt, he would stop.
He was not much for words unless discussing the weekend's itinerary .
When they met as teens in the early nineties, Brains was a an thin, but cute nerd, who dated cute nerd girls or pretty girl next door types.
As long as they liked something in common it was easy to branch into other topics. He was polite, opened doors, engaging with parents , gentle, and willing to fawn over his dates.
Perfect, on paper.
Norm-core enough where someone would say,
"Oh yeah, Donovan, yeah, smart guy, he's cool."
No one would bother to extract anymore information about Donovan, nor would anyone consider contesting his descriptors.
He was cool and smart, what else was there to know?
Of course, there was lots to know about Donovan, even boring people could have interesting quirks if one observed them long enough.
But most people, whether in high school or on the PTA, tended to notice the "living their life out loud" types, even if they could barely stomach the individual they would still pay attention to them.
Mysterious people stood out. Emotional people too. Quirky people, weird people, annoying people, devastatingly attractive people, stylish people, tragically unattractive people, accomplished people.
All walked with flashing sirens on their heads.
Donovan could see some of the advantages of being someone of note, being a showstopping character like in WWF.
Loved or hated.
But he never got a rush from any of that external stuff, if he was on the receiving end of praise he understood the good will behind it. The concept of support and praise of others, sure, he could intellectually understand why some people either thrived on accolades or shrunk from lack of praise.
Not him. He was not like "other people," but he suspected many people were not either.
Acting on 'ID', he would not recommend that for the emotionally or mentally dishonest.
Dreamers need not apply ever.
Never.
Even if they never act...at least admit that it existed, the taboo desire.
Unassuming people possess an otherworldly key to life.
A potential lifestyle no one who is not vengeful, hired, street involved or murderous can ever truly reach.
Brawn is napping as they return to their hotel an hour away from the site.
The do not check in together, arriving in separate cars days earlier.
Only a text will be sent.
Someone, today it was Brawn, walks a few blocks away meeting Brains in a convenience store. They leave; staggered.
Neither man interact as they enjoy the hotel amenities.
Brawn wakes.
"Welcome back to the land of the walking sleepers."
"Gotta sleep when I can, I get so worked up."
Pulling over into the parking lot of a plaza, Brains drops Brawn off for his walk back to the hotel.
Now pulling out of the parking, Brain continues his ride back to the hotel.
Every two years he felt this way.
Eternally grateful to the universe, that he would meet someone who could read his mind and he could read theirs.
A cerebral connection.
A love story between synapses and currents.
Pen pals of the mind.
"Walkie Talkie Stalkies,"
They had named it.
Meaning that they could communicate at a certain distance of range, otherwise the connection became harder to feel, the reception would become hazy as they were out of range.
Breaking into the property tomorrow night would be easy, they had already hacked into the alarm and camera system.
Like small ants slipping through the tiniest of space under a door, they had infiltrated the premise.
Brains would check the daily footage of the camera now and then to monitor the premise throughout the night.
Maximum terror would ensue soon.
Maximum terror.
They were ready.
And whatever else incurred would happen.
The choreography part was the penetration of the property, surveillance then physical.
Once the targets were tracked and later subdued, the structure would loosen, free jazz.
Always expanding before returning to its original theme.
Maximum terror.
Brawn walks to the hotel after exiting Brain's car.
He cools from the high that stalking provides.
Though he cannot say why he choose the car that he wanted to follow, there was something there.
It was not the make of the car, as expensive as it was.
Parked at the gas station, he noticed two men, clearly from the city, he could tell, he had lived in cities before.
One slightly taller than the other, likely in their early to thirties to forties. The one pale, one tanned both with dark hair.
Donned in their high end but plain shorts , t-shirts, and ball caps.
White, navy, beige, he liked how they looked; unassuming, carefree, relaxed, as if they expected nothing to bad would ever happen.
So much potential to change their lives, to learn and grow, through life, but now, also by force.
Life could get out of control, Brawn knew this, sometimes too out of control, which is why he exercised so much discernment in his Kay Fabe life with the civilians.
Taking great care to conduct himself in a calm and measured fashion. Using logic, but also made sure he was seen being logical and fair publicly.
Remaining firm, yet mild in speaking tone.
As John Luxton, he was athletic , toned and lean with broad shoulders.
Brawn.
Raised not overly wealthy, not impoverished, he had been middle of the pack and comfortable.
Good student, model son. The girls flocked to him, other boys wanted to be in good or neutral standing with him.
Jonh Luxton wanted to kill them all.
Not because there was anything wrong with any of them per se, he just found them draining and superficial.
No real connections.
John was fighting an internal battle, he so wanted to subdue the masses around him.
To this day he still could not understand why?
Why did he need to dominate others so?
Up-keeping such restraint, occupied the majority of his energy.
He tried sports, being tidy, he set goals...
But these were just what was expected of him, as these actions were not necessarily for him.
Just a coping mechanism that cloaked him from question.
Helped him to blend in, play the role of the "well adjusted," teenager, then later as the "well adjusted" man.
Because, when the world saw him, that is what they expected.
So he played along.
Doing what was expected when you did not know what you wanted or know what there is to want was torture.
There was something to receive out of life, an intangible force, controlled by no earthly being.
Without Brains, Brawn would have gone on a murderous spree decades ago. He would have approached it impulsively, in the messiest of form, he would be incarcerated by now.
Instead, the universe had gifted him with his true other half, the universe had birthed him his true brother and only friend.
Even with his "so called," legacy friends, they never really talked about anything he found meaningful.
They bonded over beer, golf, trips and barbecues.
Only sharing feelings if they got sick, a family member died, they were going through a divorce.
They only got deep, when they had too, not because they wanted to.
Of course on his search for "true friends,"he had come across men who were well attuned to their feelings.
They had no problem performing the duties of emotional labor that a true imitate friendship requires.
But there was nothing he could tell them, to lift his burden, his wants and needs would only burden them, plus he could admit that he was not too interested in hearing about any of their trauma either.
As a quietly misanthropic person, he was only willing to listen to a kindred spirit.
The day he was drinking by the ravine behind his house, he thought he heard someone screaming.
Running over to the sound of the source, he found Donovan Mercer.
What the hell was this?
He could hear that these dark ideas radiating out from this guy.
A husky flannel shirt, jean wearing teen around the same age as him.
Just sat there staring out into the trees directly across from the creek.
Still he could hear him.
"How do I survive with these thoughts, I want to hurt so badly, but I can't. I can't get this out. But I am going to ...so fuck."
Without a mental hesitation, John Luxton, surprised himself by answering, the thought.
"Me too."
Startled, Donovan turns to face John.
"Yeah, I heard you, and I want to fucking smash everyone's head in, just for funs...but I don't."
A calming presence soothed both men, after at least ten years of anguish, finally comfort.
For a few minutes they stood in silence, what was there to say that could be spoken into the world, if the other person could access your truth through thoughts?
Donovan quietly asked in his mind.
"Who are you."
"I' m John."
"Donovan or Brians, I'm in the IB program...it's suppose to be a joke..."
John laughs into the world before looking right into the eyes of the man he would always refer to as Brains.
"Well, I guess as long as Donovan and John do what they need to do, then Brains and Brawn can do whatever the fuck they want."