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Chris Chaos · (06-16-2021)

It was a ghost town now. Quiet, the eerie kind, not the peaceful kind. The breeze made the trees whistle, the branches clicking together--many of the trees stayed dead most of the year despite the sunlight and frequent rains.

He remembered when they were kids, they would play in the water. It always smelled like eggs and they hated it, but it was all they had in dry, hot, inland Florida. They didn't complain.

Sitting in the AC now, the car idling with its gentle hum beneath him, he stared through the tinted windows at the now abandoned resort. The AC hit his face, on setting 6, making the front of his hair blow just the slightest bit--or so said the reflection of himself in the dark window.

There were some animals scurrying about, in and out of the wood-line. They seemed to stay away from the water, however. That seemed to be reserved for the sins of the human. Hell, they used to jump into that water without hesitation but the chipmunks wouldn't come within 50 yards.

"Maybe that's why I'm so fucked up" he chuckled to himself. "Damn rodents won't even go in there."

The fan from his AC was the only noise around. It was as quiet as a damn funeral there.

The old bathhouse was still intact. In fact, the balcony looked just as good as it did when he was a child. Just as white, as vibrant. The wood paneling below it without the slightest imperfection, as if it was preserved in time. Wood usually doesn't last in Florida, but even the termites wouldn't come close to this place.

There was a bridge in the distance, the only road in and out of the compound. Seldom used, even when in its prime, the bridge was still just as pristine as when he dared Tommy Adams to jump off it in 8th grade. In front of all the kids, and the girl he liked, did he have a choice?

Tommy Adams broke damn near every bone in his body and had to wear a full body cast for what seemed like a year, but when you're a kid, the popularity is worth it. Here he was, 40 years later, and he still remembered it like it was yesterday. Tommy Adams put his well being on the line for the approval of others, and all he got out of the deal was a kiss on the cheek and the burden of suffocating medical debt.

The clay looked as untouched as it always had. For some reason, even still toed boots didn't leave a print in that tainted clay.

He sighed to himself. Pressing the START button on his car (which, ironically, also turned the car off), he opened the door. Instantly the smell hit him. He took a large whiff and exhaled.

It reminded him of the best and worst moments of his life.

He walked up the ramp way to the top level of the bathhouse. When his dress shoes hit the wood paneling, the click of the soles echoed like a gun shot in the forgotten wilderness. It wasn't long before he came to the sign, the original staple of the tourist trap this place was when Mr. Sheffield owned it.

People came from not just all over Florida but all over the country to experience the "Fountain of Health". A place that many people believed in their heart of hearts truly worked.

The biggest scam on the planet, or so Daniel Rose thought to himself. He read the sign under his breath.

That was it for that sign. There would be another one along the "tour" line, and when he got to it he would read that one too. It was nostalgic to him, and it made him smile.

Lord knows he needed a smile right now.

A few days before

Charles Henry called a meeting for the entire office. He wanted everyone on payroll there to see his big announcement. These promotion meetings were always a big deal. They were designed to stroke his ego by showing the entire company that he had the power to control their futures...

...and he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

It turned him on more than any of his (ex) wives did.

As the entire office jammed into the now seemingly tiny conference room, Daniel Rose had his eyes locked on Inman Rodriguez. The man was straightening his tie with a shit-eating grin, his cuff links sparkling in the florescent lighting.

It was like he already knew.

"Ladies, Gentlemen.....I am glad you all could make it here today."

(Like they were going to go anywhere else before 6 pm? The firm had a food court and he was a slave driver.)

"I am happy to inform all of you that there are going to be some changes in the office. I have decided to promote a team member among you to Senior Accounts Coordinator. As you all may know, this is the highest position you can have here until ol' Mr. Barnes here cleans out his desk!" He slaps his associate Timothy Barnes on the back with a smile, but harder than necessary. This draws an awkward cough from the man.

"The team member I am giving this great honor too has been a dedicated worker, the first to arrive, the last to leave, and has scored many-if not all-of the major financial contracts in recent months...."

The truth? Inman Rodriguez had been hoarding old cases. He went into the database and looked at calls that had already been made and marked "NO SALE", then took down the info. Reading the notes as to why the sale was not made (which was required), he would then create a back story in which to spin against the client. Couldn't afford? Offer for marginally less with more benefits. Not a good time? How about a small percentage down now to hold the spot, and the rest when it was a good time. Had a bad experience? Well he apologizes for that but he is here now, controlling the account, and will do everything in his power to make sure that the client has the best and easiest buying experience possible. You name it, he had an excuse for it.

Disgusting.

But it worked. Cases that hadn't been called in YEARS, he dug through and re-called. Sometimes, even going below the firm minimum just to get the check mark n the SOLD column.

Less money is still money, and money got Charles Henry off.

"....but the longer you all stand here and stare at me, the less you work to keep paying my mortgage.." he chuckled again, slapping Timothy on the back again. This time his cohort had a lip curl expression on his face.

The entire office was looking at Daniel. He had been there for quite some time, longer than most of them, and was widely considered as the mentor of the office.

".....so that being said, I have decided to promote one Iman Rodriguez to the position."

Office wide gasps.

Iman walked up to Mr. Henry, shaking his hand with a bright smile. Big white teeth. The world slowed down around Daniel Rose, as if their hand shake were in slo-mo, and his heart hit the soles of his designer shoes.

Even when the entire office, including Mr. Henry and his new protégé, had cleared out, Daniel was still standing there......

As he walked, his shoes click-clacking on the wood below him, he sighed. The smell of egg was strong in the air, and this place of "healing" was a place that had caused so many so much pain. Funny how that works.

He came upon the next sign.

"In 1835, after purchasing land along the Suwanee River, Bryant and Elizabeth Sheffield discovered the spring. Despite the fact that the sulfur-laden spring water stunk of rotten eggs, Mr. Sheffield claimed that upon drinking it his nerves were calmed, his kidney troubles appeased, and his rheumatism cured."

Though he was far too young to know the original Mr. Sheffield, the "Mr. Sheffield" he did know was a nice man. He would hand out candy to them, and provide towels and Gatorade--he even put them out on days they weren't there, just in case they came--and would always offer the kids rides home if need be.

But there was something dark about Mr. Sheffield. Something that not too many people got to see, especially the children. Daniel had caught him one day, covered in sand and mud, at the end of the sulfur flats with a shovel in his hand. He immediately stopped what he was doing when he saw young Daniel staring at him, and asked him what he was doing out there. Daniel had forgotten his sneakers, and was coming back to get them so his momma didn't give him a whoopin'.

He never asked what Mr. Sheffield was doing that day, but as he walked down the barren porch he realized......this would be the perfect place.

Fuckin' mint.

The next sign read:

"The Sheffields built a hotel and a bathhouse and marketed the White Sulfur Springs as a cure-all health spa. Guests seeking treatment for everything from rashes to cancer arrived via the Suwannee River ferry. By the late 19th century the town had 14 luxury hotels and numerous boarding houses to accommodate the visitors, including some famous visitors such as Teddy Roosevelt and Henry Ford."

He needed to be cured all-right. He never believed in shrinks. They were like psychic's. They got paid to tell you what they think you want to hear, and you're too fucked to even know what you want to hear. That's why you go to those places. So Daniel came back here, to the only true source of his happiness from his past, as a "cure-all". If he didn't feel better after this, he wasn't sure he ever would.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Twice.

"Visitors to the area today can view the ruins of the old coquina bathhouse, which still stands as a reminder of White Springs’ days as Florida’s first tourist attraction."

Standing and still as pristine as ever. Sulfur had a funny way of preserving things.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket and he checked it.

"Yes, come now" he replied before returning it to his pocket.

As he walked back down the path the car pulled up and idled to a stop. The engine cut.

Getting out of the car was Timothy Barnes. He was wearing an apron and rain boots instead of his typical Banana Republic garb (he was a much simpler man than Charles Henry).

The two nodded at each other as they popped the trunk. Daniel grabbed the shovel and put it under his arm. He then helped Timothy pull out what could only be described as a body, wrapped in a black trash bag. It landed on the ground with a dull thud as he shut the trunk.

The two dragged the body to the back of the sulfur flats, and Daniel began to dig. Timothy looked around at the landscape.

"You sure we're alone?"

"Man nobody has been here since the 1970's."

"Smells"

"That's why its perfect....." he said as Mr. Sheffield's words came racing like NASCAR back into his head...."what better place than somewhere nobody would ever think to look."

Of course, Mr. Sheffield was describing his place as somewhere the kids could hide from bullies, abusive families, school you name it.

Today, it had a different meaning.

"Put him in". He lit a cigarette.

"Alias,

How does it feel to be a champion? Pretty nice, isn't it? How does it feel to be on top of the world and coming in through the back door to do it? To not actually BEAT a champion, but to get all the notoriety of being one? Pretty nice, huh?

I'll be honest, the last person I expected to walk out of Leap of Faith with the Universal Title around their waist was you. I think everyone was shocked by it. Gasp-filled. Awe struck. They felt a sense of bewilderment. A sense of confusion. They felt cheated.

Ripped off.

Bamboozled.

Scammed.

Since day one I have been actively outspoken against the brief-case cash in idea. I have always thought it rewarded someone for being lucky. It always gave someone that get out of jail free card to swoop in and take a title that someone else put the work in for. Its a scavenger tool.

Vulchers.

Sounds crazy, I know. The most chaotic aspect of our title picture, naturally I reject. Maybe it is because I got cashed in on before? Maybe it is because I have never had a briefcase and the salt is real? Or maybe it is because as much work as you have put in here, you STOLE the top prize in the game from someone who, lets be real here, is a better champion on his worst day than you will EVER be on your best.

You rose to fame here, skyrocketed through the ranks of our business, by being a catchy and fresh gimmick. You rose through the ranks by being something we haven't seen before and it intrigued us. You became a conductor of pain, and were involved in some of the most brutal matches we have had in recent years. It is like you enjoy pain.

You have all the qualities of the greatest cult leader of all time, but seem to prefer being a loner......

You're new alias should be Jesus of Methlehem. It's fitting. Problem is, Jesus actually did something worthwhile in his life.

You?

You look like an abortion a homeless woman found in the trash and then dressed it up like Tom Petty, while masquerading around as a top superstar because you beat down a band of misfits who liked playing with fire. The Left Hand was never a serious threat to XWF, despite what Baphomet claimed. If they were, Theo would have asked for my help a long time ago to exterminate the problem. Instead, he let you put your body on the line week after wee to drive up ratings, and let them fizzle out on their own. Hell, Jenny Myst did more to dismember the Left Hand than you did.

It's your legacy.

It's what you're known for.

You're a gimmick, Alias. Nothing more, nothing less. Every once in a while, a gimmick gets to be champion (and gets to be President too, I guess, just look at our last four years), and every once in a while that champion becomes the top story. Not just the top champion. But the top story. Everyone wants to talk about is the quirky gimmick that walked out of the company's largest Pay Per View with the title.

You flaunt that hideous hand around like a trophy, like we're supposed to be impressed by your charred flesh. I lit Muddy Waters and Mystica on fire, and did they think to come back in a full body cast, dripping lotion everywhere and leaving flakes of epidermis for us to step over? No. Instead we are stuck with you parading that thing around for all to see. It's like the dueling banjo's scene in Deliverance. First time its cool and intriguing, but by the tenth time its monotonous and boring. We don't care if we see it again. Instead, you like Skrillex and Kristen Stewart's unwanted son and we're supposed to smile and clap and dap you up and pretend we're impressed by you. In reality, that acne makes you look like a shitty version of The Hound.

When you step into that ring Wednesday Night, you're stepping into the ring with one of the best to ever do this. I know, all challengers welcomed. Such bravado!

But Chris Chaos is a whole different animal. Chris Chaos is something that you have never seen before. Chris Chaos is the title wave, the tornado, the perfect storm. The dreamcrusher. I've crippled more people than polio. I am going to step into the ring and teach you a lesson, boy. I am going to show you what it takes to be a champion here, and what it takes to outlast perhaps the biggest Apex predator this company has ever seen.

Shine that title up nice for me, because it will be the last time you get to.

You do realize that Corey has a briefcase as well? You get by me, and he is going to pick your bones just like you picked the bones of Page and this whole victory lap is all for naught.

I'm just speeding up the process for you.

You're welcome."

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