PREVIOUSLY ON ‘BASKING IN HIS AURA – THE CHRONICLES OF A WIZARD’

But I needed to investigate. Carefully sliding down the hill, I reached the comet’s point of entry. It was smoldering. Heat billowing out and into my face. I coughed, swatting it away.

“You’re not going to…” Mof tried to urge away my intent.

But, I reached in, “OW!” Okay, so that was dumb. Should have known the thing was really freakin hot. But I continued to feel around, growing resistant to the heat, “It feels like feet, Eddie. I think…” I turned, staring at him, “I think it’s a person.”

His mouth fell agape with shock.

----

SEVERAL MOMENTS LATER

Tires tearing against the pavement belonging to the parking lot outside the gas station neighboring The Woods of Elderdom, I had only one thing in mind, ‘speed’.

“Easy!” Mof’s frantic voice begged. Taking a moment to check his pulse, he reached over and grabbed my right arm before I had a chance to perform a diabolical right turn, “I’m no expert when it comes to dead bodies but I think you’d want to act as normal as possible.”

Closing my eyes, internal efforts were made to slow my heart rate – minimize my reaction.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Mof screamed.

My eyes opened. Everything looked fine so, I turned to him, “What?”

“Keep your eyes open AND on the road, man! Cops finding a dead body in the trunk of your car after swerving off the road and hitting a tree wouldn’t be a good look.”

He had a point.

I’d never really driven drunk. I’d never taken the wheel with outstanding tickets. I’d never meandered public roads with existing warrants. Avoiding the police was a completely foreign concept. My hands tightened around the wheel. Every street sign, every maneuver felt like a balancing act. Teetering on a beam separating freedom from imprisonment.

How did I get here? Why did I have to be so damn curious?

---

Donovan Blackwater. What the hell, man? I thought you WANTED this match. That punchable face of yours was plastered on the XWF bulletin board backstage under the label, “I WANT A MATCH.”

I merely granted your wish. I gave you what you wanted.

Sure, you’re pretty fuckin weird...but who isn’t? It’s pro wrestling. We’re all fucked up in our own, unique way. I was looking forward to experiencing whatever weird niche you brought to the party, further increasing my knowledge and experience inside the squared circle.

Alas...it appears as though you are refusing to RSVP a spot to this party. You’re MIA. Perhaps your alien spacecraft never quite breached the Earth’s atmosphere. Or, maybe a member of the Blackwater clan decided that facing THE WIZARD just wasn’t the right spot for your eventual return.

Whatever the case, you’re making this extremely difficult on me, guy. Savage is a prime time, marquee wrestling program where only the best compete. Spots on the card are difficult to snag. It takes two to put on a decent, let alone, good performance. And yet, here I am, carrying dead weight.

You’re more useless than the carcass in the trunk of my car. At least there’s some intrigue surrounding whatever it is I’m carrying around. There’s no underlying secret masked by your refusal to come out and play. It’s all too obvious. You’re an addict.

What’s your addiction?

Indolence.

---

I took a left. “Why are we going left?”

Why was Mof questioning my driving? I figured it was pretty damn logical.

“I’m going to the hospital.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No!” he shouted. “We can’t just drag a dead body into the hospital.”

“Why not?” It seemed like the most logical place to take a dead body.

“What are they gonna do for it? Bring it back to life? All they’ll do is ask questions.”

Hm...I hadn’t thought of that. It just seemed natural – you find a dead body, you take it to a local medical facility. Or, ya know, the nearest hospital. Suddenly, the danger in my pursuit was fully revealed. No longer the tip of an iceberg. I was balls deep inside a psychotic whore.

“Shit.”

“Yea, shit. I told you not to pull that damn thing out of the ground.” He wasn’t lying. Mof’s instinct pleaded with me to leave it alone. If it weren’t for the man’s impressive loyalty, he would have walked away. But, there he was, forever by my side. For better and...well, as it appeared was on the horizon, worse.

---

Mic check: one, two.

Is this thing on?

Donovan, yo...you out there? You got a pulse? That isn’t you in the trunk of my car, is it?

Should I contact the local authorities? Release a massive manhunt for your sorry ass? What’s the deal, man?

I mean, I’m trying to get a dialogue going but it takes two to tango. People want to bag on Mastermind like its some type of fantastical hobby. But at least that guy shows up. At least that guy holds up his end of the bargain. He’s worth SOMETHING.

Right now, you’re fucking worthless. As useless as a condom in the ghetto.

---

Given the realization hanging over the nature of my chosen endeavor, options became limited. Hospitals were out. Police stations were out. Family and friends were out. Anything ground level and above board was out.

We had to dive deep, into the underground. The dirty, ignored blight of society. A place where the questionable is allowed and the illegal is tolerated – for a price.

Unsure over where and how to start, I felt that sharp, ringing pain creeping in my head. Snapping my fingers, Mof acted like the pro that he is, snaring my pill bottle and depositing two tablets into my quivering hand. Throwing them back, I used an increased amount of saliva to wash them down.

“Uh oh,” Ed uttered, for some reason. Coming to rest at a stop sign, I looked his way. The pill bottle, open and hanging upside down, revealed a hollow interior.

“No big deal, we’ll get some more.”

“I don’t think so. You went through these in record time. Nobody with a license to lose is going to refill your script.”

That made sense. “So, what do we do?”

It appeared my physical and moral dilemmas had joined paths at a treacherous intersection. We took a left instead of a right, sending my car bounding over a set of tracks, taking us to that other side. That dark side, where the underbelly of society conducts business.

---

I know I’m supposed to talk shit about you, Donovan. But it’s like screaming into a void. Trees falling in a forest. Playing tennis against a wall. There’s nothing to gain.

Opening a Where’s Waldo book without the titular character inside. Fruitless. Useless. A total waste of time.

---

I tried to play it cool. Cruising the streets for drugs had never been my thing. I was more of a pharmaceutical hunter, perusing the aisles of the local CVS in search of a cure to whatever ailed. Don’t hate. Just the way this creeping-upon-middle-aged Wizard was raised.

“Hey! Is that one?” I asked, pointing at the first man walking the streets.

Mof appeared horrified. “That’s literally the first black person we’ve seen.”

Now I felt on the defensive, “Hey. Don’t paint me like that, Ed. I pointed him out because his hands are in his pockets.” They were. Guys walking around with their hands in their pockets always threw up red flags.

“Right…” Mof wasn’t completely buying it. But, it was late, so he gave me permission to seek this guy out.

“Excuse me,” I announced, bringing the car to a slow roll, window down.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” the young man shouted, eyes wide before taking off in a full sprint.

Instinctively, I hit the gas, speeding ahead. Mof yelled for me to hit the brakes. I did.

“What was his problem?” my panting voice begged for an explanation.

Mof surveyed my appearance. “Might want to get rid of The Wizard garb. Tends to freak people out in normal situations...especially at night.”

He had a point.

---

Acting like a broke-ass Clark Kent, I emerged from a nearby port-o-potty fully transformed into pedestrian mode. Upon stepping out, Mof whistled with two fingers, indicating it was now time for the camera to BLUR MY FACE.



“You okay?” Mof asked, noticing the look on my face (no, not the BLURRY look).

My eyes were a bit watery. I coughed a time or two, “Yea, I’m fine. Just sort of a terrible experience in there.” Port-o-potties are never, ever a good idea especially strangely placed ones in the ghetto after sundown.

“Hey!” a voice broke through the darkness followed by the image of a man who looked more suited for a 9-5 office job than the dilapidated streets belonging to the neglected part of town.

---

“Sorry we can’t come to the phone at this time, but please leave your name, number, and a brief message and we’ll be sure to get back with you” BEEP

Radio silence.

Why won’t you answer the phone, Donovan? What’s the problem? Is it pure laziness or are you afraid? Who or what is preventing you from participating?

How am I supposed to get ready for Robert Main if my competition leading up to our epic clash is about as violent as a roller coaster in the Magic Kingdom? Don’t give me edited for TV...I want the good stuff, the hard stuff...I want somebody who will punch back.

I’m begging you, Donovan. Answer the fucking phone. Fight back. SHOW SOME SIGNS OF FUCKING LIFE

---

After a brief conversation that teetered on the edge of evacuation due to extreme suspicion, Mof and I found ourselves following this gentleman into a local pawn shop. It’s strange, had the guy appeared disheveled, shifty...ya know, fit the stereotype, I would have followed him with a lot less caution.

However, you put a well dressed, articulate individual in that situation and suddenly suspicion arises. Unexpected encounters in atypical surroundings.

Oh, and we brought along the body from the back of the car. It was lighter than I remembered...didn’t feel like there was much to it. We had wrapped it in a blanket.

The man eyed it with a wary gaze but bypassed any sort of interrogation. Questions most likely lead to devastating situations in the realm of underground business.

We made our way through a pawn shop past a clerk who never made eye contact and through a door. A skinny staircase met our feet as we descended into a basement unknown to almost the entirety of human civilization.

“There he is, the power that bes.” That was our introduction. It took me a minute to evaluate the room. Five individuals, outside of the man who brought us down there. All dressed in a manner that screamed middle-working-class. Not what one would expect. I’d go so far as to call them geeks, if it weren’t for the mass amounts of drugs in front of them, along with stacks of cash.

“The power that bes?” I asked.

One of them stepped forward. He looked just like the rest, save for a bow tie wrapped tightly around the collar of his button-up shirt. He extended his hand, “That’s me.”

There were a ton of questions rattling inside my damaged head...most of which I bypassed. His name, I assumed, was some mutated version of the term ‘powers that be’.

In order to shake the offered appendage, I had to toss the body draped over my shoulder down, onto a table. The three men seated at the table all jumped back, after protectively snaring the cash and drugs they were handling.

My hand shook the Power that Bes hand, “Nice to meet you. This is my friend, Edward Mof.”

“IS THAT A BODY?!” one of the men yelled, spotting a portion of the corpse’s head which had been revealed after the slipshod manner in which I threw it down.

Up to that moment, the place had felt like a wild-ass sausage fest. A bunch of vanilla complexioned individuals handling money and drugs. The mood changed. Toss a dead body into the mix and shit gets super real.

Guns were drawn, all in our direction. The Power that Bes raised both hands, indicating he had total control. The right movement...the right signal, and bullets would not be spared in an effort to riddle the two of us into oblivion.

“What the hell is this?” The Power that Bes asked in a far calmer tone than I was expecting.

Before I could answer, someone threw me an unintended lifeline, “What the shit? That looks like plastic to me.”

The guns lowered. The group of caucasian drug lords closed in on the body I’d tossed on their table. Leaning in, they poked and prodded. One managed to wrangle a clump of singed hair free.

The Power that Bes tore the blanket wide open, revealing the charred corpse of what I assumed to be a dead human.

“Where did you find this?” he asked.

“It fell from the sky…”

Snaring the foot, he scraped, scratched, and swiped at the heel. I glanced at Mof, anxious to see where this was going...curious to find out if I was going to have to open up a can of whiz-ass on these guys in a dire act of self-preservation. The Power that Bes waved me forward.

“Look at that shit, man. That’s a fuckin serial number.”

Leaning in, my eyes verified his spoken truth. It wasn’t a person at all. It was a life-sized doll.

---

Sad truths can really dampen enthusiasm. I was excited to face you, Donovan. I expected a necessary challenge to further sharpen my skills in an effort to prepare for Robert Main.

But, you let me down.

The depressing truth is you’re a big, fat zero. A waste of time and energy. My abilities will most likely take a hit as a result of facing you. Mistake on my end.

So, I’m going to cease wasting my breath on a person who doesn’t deserve it and turn my focus toward The Omega. Toward Robert Main.

Rob, can I call you Rob? Okay, Rob...you made your intentions very clear at Warfare. You’re not going to play around. There are no games. You’re a bull that only sees red. Fair enough.

But do we really have to go to such lengths? Do things really have to get that violent? I say we take the high road, Rob. I say we show the entire XWF organization that two of its top competitors can wage war without crossing unnecessary lines of violence.

You’re wild. You’re feral. You’re violent. You’re dangerous. I look forward to taming that animal inside you, Rob. I look forward to showing everyone watching and yourself, most importantly of all, that you’re capable of harnessing that rage within. And, in doing so, I will bring the best version of Robert Main out into the light.

No more head injuries. No more attempts at murder.

This Saturday, when I’m done with Donovan, I will be offering you an invitation to the ring so that we can yank this feud out of the sewer, cleanse it of all its grime, and show off something to be proud of. A feud for all ages. An example of what pro wrestling can and should be.

---

“A...WHAT?” I asked for the fifth time. The entire concept was foreign. No matter how lonely I got during my ‘depressed’ years, I never once ventured into this realm.

“A real doll. A life-like doll created for guys to have sex with.”

“A blow-up doll.” Mof attempted to confirm.

“No. It’s so much more than a blow-up doll,” The Power that Bes clarified. “You can’t tell now, considering how mangled and burned she is, but once upon a time this doll was a solid 10/10...totally fuckable.”

The rest of his crew nodded...half impressed, half melancholy over her once beautiful aesthetics that were now no longer tangible.

“Well,” I leaned back against a wall, allowing the last bit of anxiety that remained safe passage into the aura of another, “that’s kind of disappointing.”

Everyone in the room agreed, for a variety of reasons. There was one detail that continued to plague, “But why the heck was it falling from the sky?”

Nobody had a viable answer. “Yo, D...look up this serial number for our friend here. It’s the least we can do.”

“But I’m in the middle of a Minecraft game.”

The Power that Bes wasn’t fucking around, “I said do it, D!”

‘D’...their apparent computer geek closed out his game and researched the serial number.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” The Power that Bes replied, “the least we could do for drawing those guns on you. Not exactly the way I like to do business...if ya know what I’m sayin.”

Afraid of pushing things too far and, thus, becoming the object of aggression, Mof poked me in the arm with the empty pill bottle. “Oh, yea, I almost forgot...you got any of these?”

His eyes lit up, “Oh you know it, man! I’ll cut ya a discount.”

A bargain was struck and my bottle was overflowing with necessary medication to dull the sharp pain that housed itself within my cranium ever since Robert Main decided to go for the head.

TEAR

The bottom portion of a sheet of paper was severed and handed over.

“There it is...the address to the owner of the,” he swallowed some emotion, “the former real doll known compassionately as Sharon.”

Everyone bowed their head in memory of Sharon. Furtively, I stuffed the number in my pocket.

“I appreciate this guys. We’ll see ourselves out. You guys umm...ya know, keep doing your thing.”

“Right on,” The Power that Bes held up a solitary fist meant to symbolize unity, “if you need anything else, just holler.”

My hope was that his aid would never be necessary.

Upon emerging from the pawnshop, we walked twice as fast to the car, eager to return to our friendly confines.

“We really gonna chase this down?” Mof asked, sounding hopeful I’d say no.

“Maybe,” I was entertaining the idea. It sounded like a fun mission, “But not until after my match against Blackwater.”

For the moment, Mof was satisfied.