Post by Xavier Cross on Aug 24, 2014 16:53:43 GMT
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
I can feel my blood boiling over, the tides are turning. Do you feel it Alex? It feels like fire. Like a pot of Pasta, boiling over, hitting the hotplate. Steam rises, setting the fire alarm off, putting everyone on notice....The house is burning down.
Speaking of cheap Italians, apparently that bastard Roberto Verona has a problem. I break a few things, say a few things, give him the two bird special, and tackle him off the stage. Next thing I know I'm in a three on one handicap match, then I'm taking on the queen of hearts Jake Conway. Now, I'm looking across the ring at you Alex Jones. Whoever spills their opponents blood first is the victor.
But if Verona has a bone to pick with me, I'll do him a favor. How about I rip my fucking chest open and let him pick a rib, any rib.
The last few weeks, as I said before, the perverbial deck has been stacked against me. Screw it right? Shuffle the cards up, shove an Ace up ol' Bobby V's ass, and call it a day. I guess since you're the Joker in the Pack, that makes me the fucking Wildcard right?
I mean, I am the one who joined the Age of X, only to tee off on damn near everyone's heads with a steal chair, before doing what I did to Verona, as I stated earlier.
But I'll play my role, Verona will sit there like Caesar and we shall be his gladiators. Though you'd think, First Blood isn't the right match. If he wants punishment, shouldn't I bleed a lot, shouldn't I hurt a lot? Wouldn't a Steel Cage, or a No-DQ match be even better? Again, fuck it. But for you and me, it's just another day at the Office right? It seems over the years, one thing we have been consistently good at, is hurting each other. It's a talent we share Alex...So here we go, another chapter of our Legacy written in Blood.
I mean, hell, I got my first big break at NCW when you gave me a good ass-kicking.
I said a few weeks ago, and I still stick with it...We are two sides, of the same coin.
Speaking of cheap Italians, apparently that bastard Roberto Verona has a problem. I break a few things, say a few things, give him the two bird special, and tackle him off the stage. Next thing I know I'm in a three on one handicap match, then I'm taking on the queen of hearts Jake Conway. Now, I'm looking across the ring at you Alex Jones. Whoever spills their opponents blood first is the victor.
But if Verona has a bone to pick with me, I'll do him a favor. How about I rip my fucking chest open and let him pick a rib, any rib.
The last few weeks, as I said before, the perverbial deck has been stacked against me. Screw it right? Shuffle the cards up, shove an Ace up ol' Bobby V's ass, and call it a day. I guess since you're the Joker in the Pack, that makes me the fucking Wildcard right?
I mean, I am the one who joined the Age of X, only to tee off on damn near everyone's heads with a steal chair, before doing what I did to Verona, as I stated earlier.
But I'll play my role, Verona will sit there like Caesar and we shall be his gladiators. Though you'd think, First Blood isn't the right match. If he wants punishment, shouldn't I bleed a lot, shouldn't I hurt a lot? Wouldn't a Steel Cage, or a No-DQ match be even better? Again, fuck it. But for you and me, it's just another day at the Office right? It seems over the years, one thing we have been consistently good at, is hurting each other. It's a talent we share Alex...So here we go, another chapter of our Legacy written in Blood.
I mean, hell, I got my first big break at NCW when you gave me a good ass-kicking.
I said a few weeks ago, and I still stick with it...We are two sides, of the same coin.
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
Stumbling out of the bathroom, Xavier Cross clutches a bottle of Maker's Mark whisky, his eyes glazed over in a drunken stupor. His tank top, dripping with water, clenching against his chest. His jeans, ripped, and dirty. His feet bare, skin pressing against the wooden floor. He stumbles forward, reaching his hand out to balance himself with the wall. His hair a mess, dripping with water as he just washed his face.
He squints his eyes, as he sees a shadow figure, leaning against the door of his children's room. He doesn't immediately panic, as the kids are staying with their grandparents, as they have done a lot in the last few months with Xavier's work schedule. Though he makes time to see the little ones. But things had been different, with him. He tilts his head, looking at the shadow.
"Let it go sweetheart...Let it go..."
"N-Natalie?!"
Stepping forward, the red-orange fiery hair of Natalie Tyson reaches out, grabbing Cross in a huge, burying her face into his chest as she had always done. Natalie Tyson, the daughter of Drake Tyson, for those who need a history lesson, Drake was the ass kissing management guy from NCW, Natalie was his daughter who Cross fell for shortly after the death of his wife, Cari Cross. Though they had gotten back together years ago, their work schedules were too far apart, and they eventually split. The last he had heard of her, she was away in Europe on a tour with her band, she had just got married to the lead guitarist, which drew confusion from Xavier, as of why she was standing in his house in the middle of the night, especially on a night like tonight.
But before he can say anything, his arms close around her, as she disappears into the darkness, a figment of his imagination. He looks down at the bottle, shaking his head with a laugh. Before stumbling forward through the dark hallway, he pays no attention to the ghost of his past. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, as he navigated his way through the house, taking a long swig from the bottle. The cinnamon burned down his throat, raising the hairs on his arms. Letting out a cough, he runs his hand across his mouth to wipe away the access.
Stepping forward, he doesn't notice the next shadow figure waiting for him. Catching him off guard, he falls back, shattering the bottle on the ground. A shard of glass cuts his hand, blood beginning to drip from it. Before he can look at it, the shadow steps forward, taking his hand. Looking up, he sees the light brown hair, and then the smile of Dianna Von-Darwin, a widow of a wrestler, a former lover, and the mother of his protege down at the Cross Roads Foundation. Another ghost to haunt him. They split when Cross's career started to consume his life.
"It'll be okay dear....Just let it go..."
"I-I can't."
She shakes her head, leaning forward to kiss Xavier's forehead, but before he can feel the warmth of her lips. She disappears into the shadows, just like the ghost before her. Cross presses his wounded hand against the wall, picking himself up. A tear falls from his cheek. Looking down at the broken glass, he grunts in annoyance, as he stumbles forward making his way to the basement steps. He was on a mission to go to his recluse cavern, the basement. Standing in the doorway, he looks down the steps, before stumbling forward, ignoring the rail. His feet soon touch the cold basement cement.
Looking around, trophies, awards, newspaper clippings, and title belts all adorn the walls. But he only takes a quick look, before stumbling forward a voice calls out to him.
"Really? The guy I fall in love with is gonna do this? Pathetic!"
Cross turns his head, his face looking lost. The black haired, blue eyed girl tilts her head, looking at him. It's Zelda Knite.
"Another ghost...I got a good guess...let it go right?"
"More like suck it up!"
"Even as a ghost, you're a bitch..."
He tries to muster a smile, but his lip is quivering, as she walks towards him, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek. Closing his eyes he waits for the warmth and soft touch. But nothing comes. When he opens his eyes, Xavier Cross is once again alone. Tears sliding down his cheeks a little faster as he stumbles forward, a pool of blood collecting in his hand, leaving a trail through the house.
He stops at the center of his little Wall of Fame. A large photograph, we see Cari Cross, in a wedding dress smiling ear from ear. His eyes move around, faces of various wrestlers from his past in the photograph. But a man, he doesn't recognize. Cross leans forward, his eyes squinted blurred with alcohol. Standing next to this unknown man is Steve Awesome, but then it hits him. The happy face, full of life and energy, standing next to Cari Cross...
It was him.
It was Xavier Cross...
He couldn't recognize himself...
Reaching out with his hand, covered in blood he smudges his photographs face, in some kind of act of defiance to the past. Before leaning his head against the wall, beating it short before stumbling backwards into the liquor cabinet. His next destination, as he reaches inside grabbing another bottle of whiskey, ripping the cork away he turns the bottle up, draining it as quickly as he can. Coughing a bit, he spits up some of it onto himself and the floor below, coughing he laughs, the tears still rolling down his face. Pouring the whiskey across his hand, washing some of the blood away, he lets the sting run through his spine from pain, letting him feel something once again.
Stepping forward, he flops on the couch. Taking another long drink from the bottle before setting it down on the table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a pack of cigars, and a lighter, pulling one out, lighting it up, he presses it against his lips taking a long drag.
"B-Because I.....I w-want to...stop the p-pain..."
He takes another long drag from the cigar, before putting it out in an ashtray, he looks down at the table, before his hand moves outwards, wrapping his fingers around a silver revolver.
He squints his eyes, as he sees a shadow figure, leaning against the door of his children's room. He doesn't immediately panic, as the kids are staying with their grandparents, as they have done a lot in the last few months with Xavier's work schedule. Though he makes time to see the little ones. But things had been different, with him. He tilts his head, looking at the shadow.
"Let it go sweetheart...Let it go..."
"N-Natalie?!"
Stepping forward, the red-orange fiery hair of Natalie Tyson reaches out, grabbing Cross in a huge, burying her face into his chest as she had always done. Natalie Tyson, the daughter of Drake Tyson, for those who need a history lesson, Drake was the ass kissing management guy from NCW, Natalie was his daughter who Cross fell for shortly after the death of his wife, Cari Cross. Though they had gotten back together years ago, their work schedules were too far apart, and they eventually split. The last he had heard of her, she was away in Europe on a tour with her band, she had just got married to the lead guitarist, which drew confusion from Xavier, as of why she was standing in his house in the middle of the night, especially on a night like tonight.
But before he can say anything, his arms close around her, as she disappears into the darkness, a figment of his imagination. He looks down at the bottle, shaking his head with a laugh. Before stumbling forward through the dark hallway, he pays no attention to the ghost of his past. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, as he navigated his way through the house, taking a long swig from the bottle. The cinnamon burned down his throat, raising the hairs on his arms. Letting out a cough, he runs his hand across his mouth to wipe away the access.
Stepping forward, he doesn't notice the next shadow figure waiting for him. Catching him off guard, he falls back, shattering the bottle on the ground. A shard of glass cuts his hand, blood beginning to drip from it. Before he can look at it, the shadow steps forward, taking his hand. Looking up, he sees the light brown hair, and then the smile of Dianna Von-Darwin, a widow of a wrestler, a former lover, and the mother of his protege down at the Cross Roads Foundation. Another ghost to haunt him. They split when Cross's career started to consume his life.
"It'll be okay dear....Just let it go..."
"I-I can't."
She shakes her head, leaning forward to kiss Xavier's forehead, but before he can feel the warmth of her lips. She disappears into the shadows, just like the ghost before her. Cross presses his wounded hand against the wall, picking himself up. A tear falls from his cheek. Looking down at the broken glass, he grunts in annoyance, as he stumbles forward making his way to the basement steps. He was on a mission to go to his recluse cavern, the basement. Standing in the doorway, he looks down the steps, before stumbling forward, ignoring the rail. His feet soon touch the cold basement cement.
Looking around, trophies, awards, newspaper clippings, and title belts all adorn the walls. But he only takes a quick look, before stumbling forward a voice calls out to him.
"Really? The guy I fall in love with is gonna do this? Pathetic!"
Cross turns his head, his face looking lost. The black haired, blue eyed girl tilts her head, looking at him. It's Zelda Knite.
"Another ghost...I got a good guess...let it go right?"
"More like suck it up!"
"Even as a ghost, you're a bitch..."
He tries to muster a smile, but his lip is quivering, as she walks towards him, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek. Closing his eyes he waits for the warmth and soft touch. But nothing comes. When he opens his eyes, Xavier Cross is once again alone. Tears sliding down his cheeks a little faster as he stumbles forward, a pool of blood collecting in his hand, leaving a trail through the house.
He stops at the center of his little Wall of Fame. A large photograph, we see Cari Cross, in a wedding dress smiling ear from ear. His eyes move around, faces of various wrestlers from his past in the photograph. But a man, he doesn't recognize. Cross leans forward, his eyes squinted blurred with alcohol. Standing next to this unknown man is Steve Awesome, but then it hits him. The happy face, full of life and energy, standing next to Cari Cross...
It was him.
It was Xavier Cross...
He couldn't recognize himself...
Reaching out with his hand, covered in blood he smudges his photographs face, in some kind of act of defiance to the past. Before leaning his head against the wall, beating it short before stumbling backwards into the liquor cabinet. His next destination, as he reaches inside grabbing another bottle of whiskey, ripping the cork away he turns the bottle up, draining it as quickly as he can. Coughing a bit, he spits up some of it onto himself and the floor below, coughing he laughs, the tears still rolling down his face. Pouring the whiskey across his hand, washing some of the blood away, he lets the sting run through his spine from pain, letting him feel something once again.
Stepping forward, he flops on the couch. Taking another long drink from the bottle before setting it down on the table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a pack of cigars, and a lighter, pulling one out, lighting it up, he presses it against his lips taking a long drag.
"B-Because I.....I w-want to...stop the p-pain..."
He takes another long drag from the cigar, before putting it out in an ashtray, he looks down at the table, before his hand moves outwards, wrapping his fingers around a silver revolver.
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
Imagine a world where Alex "El Negro de Dragon" Jones, Rob "Ol Nine Fingers McGee" Diamond, and Captain Crazy Xavier Cross formed a holy trinity to take on The God of Xtreme and his Empire of drones? Sounds like a bad star wars rip off right? Though think about it Alex. If the three of us would have waged war against Spike as a unit, we may have beat him...yes, but we would have been exhausted, and it would have been that much easier for Angel in all his megalomaniac-ness to take over. What are we doing now? We aren't laying down for anyone. Though I've chosen to spit in Verona's eye, and you have chose your target, that contract is your bullet...
Heck, I hope ol Nine Fingers comes back...
Hashtag: SaveUsDiamond
But thing about it. If Spike wouldn't have systematically taken us out. Nailing me to that cross, putting me out. Sending you on the med. We came back, stronger than ever. Able to handle the current threat. Like Batman and Superman.
Now, I'm about to do something that is greatly frowned upon in this business, and management may have a bone to pick with me afterwards, but fuck it right? In Wrestling, when someone responds to their opponents promo, in their promo, it's considered cheap, and not that creative, a lazy tactic. But when a man asks me questions, I will answer them. Also, as an athlete, when someone pitches me a slow ball, I'm gonna hit a home fucking run. So Alex, you had some questions for me, let's go ahead and address them now shall we?
First, why didn't I have your back with Spike? Even though I was the only one who said you could change, that you could be a better person?
That is a complicated answer Alex. When the evidence is there, and we only have your word to take, do you really expect me to open my pocket and pull out a delicious and nutritious bar of trust, and just hand it to you? In this business, you know what trust is Alex? It's handing a man a sharp, pointy knife, and saying, "Hey, let's be friends, and when you're ready and my career is going strong, go ahead and just stab me in the back and steal my momentum, k?"
That's what trust is. You want examples. I got 'em
Look at you and me, how could you trust me after the shittiest thing someone could do to another person. Let's be honest, I fucked you harder than Renee fucks Amber. There you were, standing tall after defeating Robert Verona for the NCW World Title. Ending the final show, or so we thought. You had that special moment, that once in a lifetime moment. Then I ruined it, I let Zelda Knite pin you...1,2,3. I took your moment away. How do you not want to end my life right now? I mean heck, doesn't it seem fishy that Verona bounced A-S-A-P after the match? How I was ready to come out with a contract from over a year past that time? Kind of sounds like it was all planned right?
How could you trust anyone after that?
Then there's me. When I first broke into this business, it was Global Wrestling Coalition, led by Danny "The Vagrant" Vice. A man, I hated. Seems I have a problem with authority figures right? Well I busted in quickly, having some classic matches against Jamal Carter, he was a good kid, like a black version of you. We put on some show stealers. But I wanted to move up, and move up fast. So I joined up with some guys.
It's been so long, I can't even remember what the T.H.U.G meant, but I took my past, and I turned it into the fuel for my future. We had a self proclaimed leader, kind of reminds of me of Angel, putting people around him just strong enough to keep himself safe, but the dude was just as big of a threat, and even to this day I consider him one of the hall of fame type guys, his name was T-Money. Big ol' black dude, lived the street life, successfully. World Champion.
It worked well, I was the Television Champ, and we ran that town. But Danny Vice had it out for me, and next thing I knew I was in a fatal fourway for the World Title. I had T-Money's back, but paranoia can kill a man, and it damn near killed me.
I left THUG and that title behind me with thirteen staples in my head, and my first knife in the back.
A few months later, I was back in the spotlight. I had another World Title Shot. I think you're seeing the pattern here aren't you? I got approached by a veteran. Michael "Thunder" Knight, another guy I consider to be a top tier guy. He took me under his wings, tried to hone my abilities, and skills. Next thing I know, I get put through a catering table, and have a match with him later that night for my title shot. MY TITLE SHOT....
I earned it...
But I came out, broken, and hurt, and fought my hardest....
I still lost....
I've been stabbed, and I've done stabbing. It's the game of thrones in this bitch, you win, or you die, there is no middle ground. But I refuse to die, not to Angel, not to Bobby-V, and not to you Alex Jones. I know you're trying the whole good guy thing, but the simple fact is. You really think you can beat Angel, if you can't beat me? I'm no slouch, though I've been in a bit of a well losing streak lately. But you really think if you can't draw blood on me first, that Angel will have any problem picking you apart....
I kind of feel bad though, this makes it sound like I'm assuming Laszlo is gonna lose. and Fuck, people say I'm crazy so why not...
Hashtag: Lazslo'sLegacy
I hope the kid can pull it off, I mean, how funny would it be for Angel to lose to Lazzy. I support that. Ship it.
Now, there was a second question you had for me. How's my son?
We manage, each day is a struggle, but we take it for what it is. He's alive, and I love him. But you know how this life is, the spotlight is shining...So I'll reveal my greatest trick, and ultimately my greatest sacrifice.
A kid with disabilities, isn't a burden, it's a special kind of blessing. The kid will struggle, but he's a Cross, and he will fight. The kid has so much heart, and is the kindest soul I've had the pleasure of meeting. But with his disability comes a lot of things, and with my life, that brings attention. So when the light of my life, my kids, are in the spotlight. I can't handle what people may say about them. They're just kids....
So I move the spotlight to me. Call it selfish, call it selfless. But they're just kids, and little James....he doesn't deserve hatred cast his way, even that one internet troll who calls him the R-Word, I just want to track 'em down and beat them senseless....but hate doesn't fix hate does it....
So I came up with an idea...Let me go crazy, focus the camera's and the attention on me. Let it all sink in that I'm a nutjob. Try to fuck a sock, break some shit, systematically fuck everyone over that I can...Crazy right, say some fucked up shit, let it all hang out....Become a social pariah...
But I found out, much like Heath Ledger, once you tip top on the edge of the pool, you may fall in...you ever play the sims...This pit of insanity I am drowning in, it's like when you put one of those characters in the pool, and then remove the later...They try to float, they try to climb out, but eventually....
they drown...
I'm drowning Alex...
Heck, I hope ol Nine Fingers comes back...
Hashtag: SaveUsDiamond
But thing about it. If Spike wouldn't have systematically taken us out. Nailing me to that cross, putting me out. Sending you on the med. We came back, stronger than ever. Able to handle the current threat. Like Batman and Superman.
Now, I'm about to do something that is greatly frowned upon in this business, and management may have a bone to pick with me afterwards, but fuck it right? In Wrestling, when someone responds to their opponents promo, in their promo, it's considered cheap, and not that creative, a lazy tactic. But when a man asks me questions, I will answer them. Also, as an athlete, when someone pitches me a slow ball, I'm gonna hit a home fucking run. So Alex, you had some questions for me, let's go ahead and address them now shall we?
First, why didn't I have your back with Spike? Even though I was the only one who said you could change, that you could be a better person?
That is a complicated answer Alex. When the evidence is there, and we only have your word to take, do you really expect me to open my pocket and pull out a delicious and nutritious bar of trust, and just hand it to you? In this business, you know what trust is Alex? It's handing a man a sharp, pointy knife, and saying, "Hey, let's be friends, and when you're ready and my career is going strong, go ahead and just stab me in the back and steal my momentum, k?"
That's what trust is. You want examples. I got 'em
Look at you and me, how could you trust me after the shittiest thing someone could do to another person. Let's be honest, I fucked you harder than Renee fucks Amber. There you were, standing tall after defeating Robert Verona for the NCW World Title. Ending the final show, or so we thought. You had that special moment, that once in a lifetime moment. Then I ruined it, I let Zelda Knite pin you...1,2,3. I took your moment away. How do you not want to end my life right now? I mean heck, doesn't it seem fishy that Verona bounced A-S-A-P after the match? How I was ready to come out with a contract from over a year past that time? Kind of sounds like it was all planned right?
How could you trust anyone after that?
Then there's me. When I first broke into this business, it was Global Wrestling Coalition, led by Danny "The Vagrant" Vice. A man, I hated. Seems I have a problem with authority figures right? Well I busted in quickly, having some classic matches against Jamal Carter, he was a good kid, like a black version of you. We put on some show stealers. But I wanted to move up, and move up fast. So I joined up with some guys.
It's been so long, I can't even remember what the T.H.U.G meant, but I took my past, and I turned it into the fuel for my future. We had a self proclaimed leader, kind of reminds of me of Angel, putting people around him just strong enough to keep himself safe, but the dude was just as big of a threat, and even to this day I consider him one of the hall of fame type guys, his name was T-Money. Big ol' black dude, lived the street life, successfully. World Champion.
It worked well, I was the Television Champ, and we ran that town. But Danny Vice had it out for me, and next thing I knew I was in a fatal fourway for the World Title. I had T-Money's back, but paranoia can kill a man, and it damn near killed me.
I left THUG and that title behind me with thirteen staples in my head, and my first knife in the back.
A few months later, I was back in the spotlight. I had another World Title Shot. I think you're seeing the pattern here aren't you? I got approached by a veteran. Michael "Thunder" Knight, another guy I consider to be a top tier guy. He took me under his wings, tried to hone my abilities, and skills. Next thing I know, I get put through a catering table, and have a match with him later that night for my title shot. MY TITLE SHOT....
I earned it...
But I came out, broken, and hurt, and fought my hardest....
I still lost....
I've been stabbed, and I've done stabbing. It's the game of thrones in this bitch, you win, or you die, there is no middle ground. But I refuse to die, not to Angel, not to Bobby-V, and not to you Alex Jones. I know you're trying the whole good guy thing, but the simple fact is. You really think you can beat Angel, if you can't beat me? I'm no slouch, though I've been in a bit of a well losing streak lately. But you really think if you can't draw blood on me first, that Angel will have any problem picking you apart....
I kind of feel bad though, this makes it sound like I'm assuming Laszlo is gonna lose. and Fuck, people say I'm crazy so why not...
Hashtag: Lazslo'sLegacy
I hope the kid can pull it off, I mean, how funny would it be for Angel to lose to Lazzy. I support that. Ship it.
Now, there was a second question you had for me. How's my son?
We manage, each day is a struggle, but we take it for what it is. He's alive, and I love him. But you know how this life is, the spotlight is shining...So I'll reveal my greatest trick, and ultimately my greatest sacrifice.
A kid with disabilities, isn't a burden, it's a special kind of blessing. The kid will struggle, but he's a Cross, and he will fight. The kid has so much heart, and is the kindest soul I've had the pleasure of meeting. But with his disability comes a lot of things, and with my life, that brings attention. So when the light of my life, my kids, are in the spotlight. I can't handle what people may say about them. They're just kids....
So I move the spotlight to me. Call it selfish, call it selfless. But they're just kids, and little James....he doesn't deserve hatred cast his way, even that one internet troll who calls him the R-Word, I just want to track 'em down and beat them senseless....but hate doesn't fix hate does it....
So I came up with an idea...Let me go crazy, focus the camera's and the attention on me. Let it all sink in that I'm a nutjob. Try to fuck a sock, break some shit, systematically fuck everyone over that I can...Crazy right, say some fucked up shit, let it all hang out....Become a social pariah...
But I found out, much like Heath Ledger, once you tip top on the edge of the pool, you may fall in...you ever play the sims...This pit of insanity I am drowning in, it's like when you put one of those characters in the pool, and then remove the later...They try to float, they try to climb out, but eventually....
they drown...
I'm drowning Alex...
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
"Please...darling, don't do it...Just let it go..."
The voice peaks Cross's attention, as he looks up, seeing his late wife. Cari Cross, her light brown hair, blue eyes, and smile replaced with a look of concern.
"One more ghost...go away..."
Placing the barrel of the gun underneath his chin, Cross closes his eyes.
"Please Xavier, I love you...Our kids need you...you can't take away both their parents..."
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO! YOU LEFT ME! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HANDLE THIS?! I JUST WANT THE PAIN TO STOP! MAKE THE VOICES GO AWAY!"
Leaping from the couch, clutching the gun, Xavier backs away like a wounded animal. Another voice enters the room.
"Knock it off Cross..."
He turns, pointing the gun at the voice. It's Brad Kane, who shakes his head.
"Really? I knew you were a bitch, but this?"
Turning to the voice, he sees Gib.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Awe, is Cross just being a little cry baby?"
Spinning his body to the voice, he seems Adam Knite.
"GO AWAY! LET ME DIE IN PEACE!"
"If you think we're just gonna go away, and let you die...you're wrong..."
Alex Jones stands there, looking at Cross.
"Let it go...."
A hand is placed on Cross's arm, it's Steve Awesome, smiling ear to ear.
"It'll be alright buddy...."
Mike Machado gives him a thumbs up, going through the liquor cabinet.
"It's not the end, just a fresh start...You gotta go through the rabbit hole right?"
Phillip Burns is sitting on the couch, giving Cross a thumbs up.
"C'mon....you're my best friend...Don't quit on me now..."
Will Washington is standing in front of Cross, the gun remaining underneath his chin.
"Please...please leave me alone..."
Cross drops to his knees, as the room is empty once again.
The room fills with the sound of a gun shot, followed by a thud.
The voice peaks Cross's attention, as he looks up, seeing his late wife. Cari Cross, her light brown hair, blue eyes, and smile replaced with a look of concern.
"One more ghost...go away..."
Placing the barrel of the gun underneath his chin, Cross closes his eyes.
"Please Xavier, I love you...Our kids need you...you can't take away both their parents..."
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO! YOU LEFT ME! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HANDLE THIS?! I JUST WANT THE PAIN TO STOP! MAKE THE VOICES GO AWAY!"
Leaping from the couch, clutching the gun, Xavier backs away like a wounded animal. Another voice enters the room.
"Knock it off Cross..."
He turns, pointing the gun at the voice. It's Brad Kane, who shakes his head.
"Really? I knew you were a bitch, but this?"
Turning to the voice, he sees Gib.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Awe, is Cross just being a little cry baby?"
Spinning his body to the voice, he seems Adam Knite.
"GO AWAY! LET ME DIE IN PEACE!"
"If you think we're just gonna go away, and let you die...you're wrong..."
Alex Jones stands there, looking at Cross.
"Let it go...."
A hand is placed on Cross's arm, it's Steve Awesome, smiling ear to ear.
"It'll be alright buddy...."
Mike Machado gives him a thumbs up, going through the liquor cabinet.
"It's not the end, just a fresh start...You gotta go through the rabbit hole right?"
Phillip Burns is sitting on the couch, giving Cross a thumbs up.
"C'mon....you're my best friend...Don't quit on me now..."
Will Washington is standing in front of Cross, the gun remaining underneath his chin.
"Please...please leave me alone..."
Cross drops to his knees, as the room is empty once again.
The room fills with the sound of a gun shot, followed by a thud.
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
Well howdy there pardner.