Joyce Doyle

As Walter drove in silence Joyce sat next to him in the passenger side looking out the window. Her mind was racing with fear and worry over the things Hank had mentioned at their dinner. Did he know? If so, what did he know? How could he know? Was he playing with her?

Mind games were not her forte and with each turn in the road she shuddered knowing they were one turn closer to home. Deep down she felt that Hank knew everything about her, Walter, her family, everything. She could only take comfort in the fact that whatever Hank had in store for them their children were safely at the movies. It had been Hank’s idea which made her shudder at the thought of him planning something for them. The questions he had posed them at dinner hit close to home. Not only were Joyce and Walter having marital difficulties, but they hadn’t been intimate in quite some time, more time than they truly realized as she thought about it. The sick smile on Hank’s face as he sat in the backseat told her the night would be one she would never be able to forget.

She now felt truly alone as she sat in silence. Hank was sneering in the back and most likely imaging the torture he could put her through and her coward of a husband was driving home with no intentions of fighting back or standing up for himself. Joyce still blamed Walter for bringing Hank into her life and now it seemed that Hank would be the end of it. The end of everything she had worked for and established all torn down by the monstrous nature of one man; one man that wouldn’t have had an opportunity to do so if her husband had been there to protect his family. For the first time in years she truly felt something for her husband. Hate.

As Walter pulled into the driveway and pressed the button for the garage, Joyce peered out her window at the house that she had raised a family in. Her nice and cozy house full of bright and cheerful memories now stood like a specter of its former self. Instead of inviting her in like it normally did it now screamed for her to run away. She felt chills as Walter pulled into the garage and closed the door behind them effectively sealing them inside the house. There was nowhere for Joyce to run to now.

Hank led Joyce and Walter into the living room and told them to have a seat on the sofa. Joyce looked over to Walter who meekly obeyed and sat down. She sighed as she sat down next to him. Hank took a seat on the coffee table in front of them, the table screaming out from the weight being applied.

Hank sat in front of them with his hands clasped together as if he were deep in thought. Joyce wondered about what could possibly running through that head of his. She wondered how he could do the things he did and was still going to do and then she wondered what those things could be.

Joyce put her head in her hands as she felt a headache forming. Her migraines were back which probably meant it was going to rain soon. Little things picked at her mind tempting to drive her crazy under the strain of her fears and doubts. She wished the heavens would open up and rain like they’d never rained before so that this wicked man could be washed away from her. Joyce didn’t give that prayer much hope; it seemed God had abandoned her years ago. She didn’t need him then and he didn’t want her now. Her words were destined to fall on deaf ears.

Clapping his hands together as if he’d just reached an epiphany Hank looked up with a smile.

"Okay I’ve got it. You two fucking hate each other now don’t you? Well maybe hate is a strong word, but you guys aren’t exactly getting along right?"

Hate seemed like a fine word for Joyce. Actually it seemed like the most appropriate word. She could now truly say it. Joyce Doyle hated her husband of 17 years Walter Doyle. She nodded in response to Hank’s question as Walter looked on in grief. He seemed like a stupid, scared, and sad little man and she now felt sick that’d she’d ever laid with the man.

"Right, as I figured. I think I may have a solution. You two need to spice things up. Reinvigorate your sex life and put some passion into it and I’ve got the perfect solution. I’ll sit here and watch you two. Don’t you think it’ll be kinky?"

Sex? In front of Hank? With Walter? All of those things seemed repulsive to Joyce as she frowned showing her displeasure. Walter didn’t seem too eager either, not because he didn’t want to have sex, but because he didn’t want to be watched. Joyce remembered when they were still having the same boring old sex day in and day out. Walter never even wanted to leave the light on or try anything different. He was an old fashioned and boring man that Joyce couldn’t understand marrying. What was it about Walter that attracted her in the first place? Whatever it was there was nothing left of it now.

Hank looked displeased with their lack of enthusiasm, "I’m afraid that wasn’t so much a request as a fucking demand. So let me phrase it another way. Why don’t you two start fucking or I’ll blow your fucking heads off."

Joyce yelped as Hank pulled out a gun and grabbed her hair with his giant paw. He placed the gun to her temple in a threatening manner, "Be a shame for your kids to come home and see their parents with their brains scattered all over the walls now wouldn’t it? Come on now, this should be easy. All I’m asking is for you two to fuck. Unless you’d rather I fuck you Mrs. Doyle."

That thought nearly caused Joyce to vomit. She felt nauseous as Hank petted her like she used to pet her dog.

"You know I usually prefer them young. Of course I wouldn’t turn down an older woman like you. You’ve still got your looks even though you’re not all there upstairs. How bout it, want me to rock your world?"

Joyce anxiously shook her head as Hank leaned in close and took a sniff of her shampoo. She shuddered as his hands began to caress her neck. They were so large that he could fully enclose his hand around her slender neck. Joyce stared at her husband begging him to stand up for her and stop Hank.

"Stop it, please! We’ll do it!"

She was surprised to hear her husband finally yell out. His voice was shrill and lacked any sort of intimidation, but it was something. Hank smiled and released Joyce as he leaned back onto the coffee table.

"Well then, get on with it. Kiss her."

Walter drew nearer his wife and looked into her eyes.

"We’ve got to do this. We’ll get through it, I promise."

She took strength in him even though she still hated him. He was at least taking charge and doing something and she agreed that they had no choice. They would have to get through this and move on. He reached over and cupped her chin in his hand as he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. It was a quick and fairly passionless kiss and the slight feelings that Joyce felt for her husband in the seconds leading up the kiss were no gone once again.

Hank didn’t seem impressed, "You call that a kiss? Please, I’ve seen Walter kiss ass at work with more passion than that. What’s wrong? You two not attracted to each other anymore? Would it help if I took Walter’s spot? Maybe someone else like Jackson Peterson. I’m sure he’s around, maybe I should go get him?"

Hank mentioned their young neighbors again and especially Jackson Peterson. Joyce looked around nervously and tried touching her husband to get his mind off of Hank’s words, but it was no use. The questioning look in his eyes told her his head was spinning.

"Joyce, what’s he talking about?"

"It’s nothing Walter, let’s just do this and get it over with."

Joyce quickly leaned over to Walter and started kissing him and reaching for his shirt, but he was not responding.

"You know what; let’s go upstairs to your bedroom. Maybe you two can get into the mood there."

Hank waved his gun and Joyce and Walter reluctantly stood and began to head for their bedroom upstairs. To Joyce’s horror she heard a noise coming from upstairs.

Shawn Christopher

Journal Entry #9 – November 21, 2009

"I always find it interesting to see what people can take. What kind of physical pain can they take? What kind of emotion pain can they take? These are things that I seek to explore. Is it morbid? Maybe, but what isn’t? Walter’s had himself a good life and hasn’t truly appreciated it. He goes about thinking everything he has is owed to him. Life is not a right it’s a privilege and I’m going to take his from him. Am I going to kill him? In a way yes, technically he’ll still be alive, but there are many ways to kill a man. I wonder how much Walter can take?"

Walter Doyle

She was hiding something that much was clear and Walter prayed it wasn’t what he thought it was. As he and his ascended the stairs he looked over to her. Her eyes were cast down on the ground never looking up. She looked like she was being led to the gallows and was making her peace with God. Was it just his imagination? If it was then she truly didn’t want to have sex with him. They used to be so affectionate and close, but as the years went on that love faded.

Walter reached the door and pushed it open. His eyes immediately shot open as he saw a naked man tied to his bed. The man was struggling and blindfolded, but he heard the door squeak open.

"Hello? Is someone there? Please help me?"

Walter’s heart sunk as he clearly recognized the voice of his neighbor Jackson Peterson. He looked as his wife as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"What did you do Joyce?"

At hearing her name Jackson stirred and strained against the binds holding him, "Joyce? Walter? Untie me, please! What’s going on?"

Walter sighed and walked over to Jackson to untie him.

"Whoa there Walter, I think we’ll leave him tied up for now. In fact, don’t touch him."

Walter looked back at Hank and then his wife who sat down on the edge of the bed. She placed her head in her hands and began audibly weeping.

"Now Hank, doesn’t this get you in the mood? Look at your fucking whore of a wife. You want to know why you haven’t been sleeping together lately? Why would she need you when she can walk across the street? How long do you think she’s been doing him eh? He’s lived across the street for a few years now and she’s been fucking him ever since I’ve been watching. Maybe if you would have kept her eyes open you could’ve seen the signs. Oh Walter, what a fool you are."

Walter could take some abuse and wasn’t someone to get angry easy, but he could take no more. He lunged at Hank and tried to throw a fist, but it was easily side stepped by Hank who quickly grabbed Walter by the neck and tossed him onto the bed.

"You know Walter; you coming at me like that makes me think that you don’t truly care for your son. I mean the longer I have to be here the longer he has to stay hungry. Now look at that fucking pig and fuck the shit out of her. Put her on top of that son of a bitch and fuck her. Don’t make love to her, don’t have sex with her, and don’t pleasure her. I want you to fuck her so hard that she’ll never be tempted to go across the street again. Walter, show her what kind of a man you can be."

Walter just remained motionless on the bed and didn’t move.

"You know I’ve got all night, but your son doesn’t. Take your time, no problem on my end."

He smiled like a devil as he leaned against a wall. His gun remained waving in his hand as Walter’s head filled with thoughts. Suddenly he grabbed Joyce and flung her onto Jackson Peterson. It was clear he was mad, but he still remained under control. He hesitated again as his wife cried on top of Jackson’s naked body as he continued to beg. Hank sighed, grabbed some duct tape, and taped up Jackson’s mouth.

"Proceed."

Walter sighed and slowly reached for his wife’s backside. As his hand touched her she jumped and cried audibly. Walter felt sorry for her. He just found out that his wife had been cheating on him and yet he felt sorry for her. Still deep down he wanted to punish her, he wanted to treat her like she’d been treating him, and he wanted to show her that he truly was a man.

He grabbed her and pulled her pants off of her. In an instant he grabbed her shirt and pulled it off as well leaving his sobbing wife in her bra and panties. She couldn’t stop crying as Walter stopped and looked over towards Hank who shrugged his shoulders in a non-caring manner.

Walter reached for her bra and just as he was about to un-strap it Hank walked over and stopped him, "You know what Walter this just isn’t doing it for me. This isn’t really turning me on like I thought it would. I think there’s something else I’d rather see."

Hank put the gun down on the bed and walked back to wall where he was standing earlier. He motioned for Hank to pick up the gun. Walter looked on nervously and finally grabbed the gun. In an instant he pointed it at Hank.

"Now now Walter, you kill me and it’s the same thing as putting a bullet in your son. Cops will never find him in time and you’ll be out a son. So why don’t you turn and aim that gun at him. He’s the one you should want to kill anyway. He’s the one fucking your wife. He’s the one that stole her from you. So why don’t you get some payback? Why don’t you be a fucking man and kill that son of a bitch where he stands? Well actually where he lies. Kill him Walter, kill him."

Walter turned and pointed the gun towards Jackson. His hands shook as he took aim, but then they fell down. He simply could not do it.

"You disappoint me Walter. Any real man would’ve pulled the trigger if not for revenge but for his pride and honor. No wonder your wife is fucking around on you. You’ve got a bigger pussy than she does after three kids. Now fucking shoot him."

Walter shook his head, "I…I can’t."

"Okay I’ll make it easy for you Walter. Either you kill him right now, or I kill that bitch of a wife you have. I’ll strangle her to death and then I’ll go back to your son, put him on the ground, and crush his skull underfoot. Got it, either he dies or your loved ones die."

Walter wept as he reluctantly pulled the gun back up and aimed it at Jackson’s head. Jackson shook his head in a plea for mercy, but Walter had no choice.

"I’m sorry Jackson," he said as he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

To his surprise there was no loud bang or pop and when he opened his eyes Jackson was still alive and no worse for wear except for a urine stain on the sheets. Hank walked over and grabbed the gun out of Walter’s hand.

He laughed, "Oh Walter, what a fucking riot you are. You think I’m going to solve your problems for you like that? Fucking dream on Walter. Oh, but it’s been a good night you two. I think I’ll be heading out now. See you later killer."

He laughed heartily as he left the room. Walter collapsed on the floor unable to move as his whole body shook and he felt his sanity slowly slipping from him.

The following promotion is brought to you by the man who Rage hates that he isn't better than.. Shawn Christopher.

"Excuse you?

Some people never learn, do they?

I turn on my computer to check out XWF TV, and lo and behold I find Rage up to his same antics. You would think after the past couple of verbal thrashings that I've given him, he would learn his lesson and shut the fuck up and go after someone else his own speed.. but alas, he hasn't.

He is truly a victim of his own hype. I truly believes everything that he hears on dirt sheets or backstage rumblings, instead of just sticking to the facts.

For instance, all you can hang your hat on is that your were World champion ONE time. That's it. I was World champion TWO times. And one of those times, I was holding the Television title. So please stop trying to justify yourself being better because of your fluke title reign. It's rather embarrassing for you.

But what's really funny is the anger I detact from you. It seems as though the truth is hitting home for you and it's hurting you. All the name calling you doing, trying be cool.. it's not working. It just makes you look like upset, bitter little bitch whose throwing a tantrum.

So since you seem to have a problem with listening and comprehending.. here's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

As far as you being a good trash talker, at times you are. And at others, your an unoriginal piece of shit, who needs lines from myself and others to get yourself over.

How long are you gonna ride that victory over K-Money? I mean, he's great and all, but if you're trying to claim that you're better than me, you need a bigger victory on your resume. And for the record.. I've faced K-Money long before you ever have. Hell, I've faced him and T-Money. So what are you saying?

The PWE card you're trying to pull didn't work for Centurion and it's not working for you. I said in the beginning that I'm not here for PWE, I'm not trying to represent them. So I really don't care what you have to say about that. I'm focused on the XWF, and what I've done here. Like you've said, anything I've done anywhere else is worthless. So why you keep bringing it up? Obviously, you need more material, since what you're already bringing to the table is worthless.

Zach Rizza ran me off.. that's the funniest line you've ever said. I mean, you're bragging about beating Zach Rizza like it bothers me. Then you brag about beating Eric Anderson. And I'm supposed to take you seriously?

So you've only had two big matches and you're 1-1? And I'm supposed to be scared of that. Why don't you bring up my big XWF matches? Don't wanna make yourself look bad, huh? You barely have any big match experience. I will give you a shred of credit because you've been in this match before, so you do what it takes to participate. But you don't know what it takes to win. So we're both in the same boat.

I don't need to keep going, because if I disprove everything you've said, then you won't have a reason to respond. And I'm starting to have fun with this. Cause you obviously don't get the fucking point.

You know who you’re going up against, at least I’m hoping you do. Do what other children do. Pull out that old Video Cassette, and do what many of you consider “scouting”. I love when people do that. It’s almost like writing ‘sticky notes’ for nothing. Watching tapes and remembering maneuver does nothing but knock you off track. Since you’ve claimed yourself as the next Lord of the Ring here in XWF ... this should be a cakewalk for you.

Walk ... Walk it out ...

Or are you timid to take that step towards the edge of the cliff. Putting yourself in harm’s way. God’s fists. Ironman’s strength. Are you seriously up to putting yourself and your career on the line, just to prove a point. I’m back on focus. I’m wanting something I deserved. I want it real, real soon.

I’m wanting my time to shine, I'm close to gaining gold... real close.

See Rage, I have something real to fight for, something I want more then life! While you play tug-a-war for a identity, I'm fighting my way to the Universal picture. So go ahead and toast, party it up. Live the party life, because in due time, the clock will strike and the end will drop you with a left uppercut to the throat.

You know something ... there are too many ‘kings’ here in this company. Three is a crowd. Two is bad enough. There only needs to be one. One fucking King of the squared-circle. It’s not Ranma Saotome nor you, Rage. It’s become somewhat of abusive. I’ve been the only one crowned as a king. Knockout King. Knocking punk ass bitches out since nineteen ninety-six.

You can’t dare touch greatness ...

As much as you are hoping that your dream of beating me comes full circule Sunday night, it won’t be long before you drop onto your knees and get into the profession of polishing knobs. You can then become the ‘King’ of that, or better yet ... ‘Queen’. You will get another up close and personal look, and within the blink of an eye, your hopes and dreams of declaring yourself as the staple of this organization will be shattered. You’ll then become the next evolution of Flava Flav’ ... doing stupid reality shoes and a below-average comedy show.

You’ll become nothing but a waste of time, space, and breath ...

I’m nothing to joke or kid about. When I’m on mode, I will destroy every part of you until you become boneless. My confidence hasn’t dropped, only risen. I walked away from this place once before, but my confidence never drops. It doesn’t have that feature. Only up. Rage knows. Everyone who have witnessed me knows the deal. You feel yourself leaping from mountain to mountain, bounded for greatness. When in reality, you’re a rabbit being throttled to death, hangman’s choke hold, gasping for air. I appreciate your effort of trying to be dominate, but please leave that up to a professional before you hurt your fucking self."

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