Cavington Chronicles, Part IV: Masterpiece

I stare at the painting up on the wall. It's a masterpiece, a beautiful work depicting a girl in a silk pink dress. Her face is young, a pretty face that stares out into space, seemingly lost in thought.

???: "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I turn to see a young woman, staring up at the painting.

Chad Mason: "It is...did you paint it?"

She laughs.

Woman: "I wish. No, I didn't paint it...but I knew the artist."

I nod. I extend my hand.

Chad Mason: "Chester Mason. Private investigator."

She smiles.

Woman: "Ashley Borden. I suppose you could call me an artist."

Her name stops me for a moment. This was the woman I'd been trying to find.

Chad Mason: "Do you have any works in the museum?"

She huffs.

Ashley Borden: "I wish. No, they refuse to let my work have its place. They say its too...unique, I think was the word they used."

Chad Mason: "Is that right? I'd love to see it sometime."

Her face softens.

Ashley Borden: "Really? Perhaps we'll have to get together sometime."

She smiles at me, and looks back to the painting.

Ashley Borden: "I've painted works twice as good as this...and yet, here it is, sitting in Cavington Museum, while mine fades away in some rundown apartment..."

Chad Mason: "You'll get one, I'm sure."

Ashley Borden: "You seem like a man who enjoys the finer things, Mr. Mason."

Chad Mason: "Is that so?"

Ashley Borden: "Your suit and tie tell me you are fashionable, and wealthy...and here I find you in Cavington Museum, admiring the artwork. Your interest is piqued by possibly one of the most underrated works in the building. You must enjoy the finer pleasure? Otherwise what would bring you here?"

Chad Mason: "Would you believe me if I said I was searching for you?"

Ashley's face turns a faint shade of pink.

Ashley Borden: "I'm flattered, Mr. Mason, but what would anyone want with a poor artist?"

Chad Mason: "Well, if she might be able to help with an investigation..."

Ashley raises an eyebrow.

Chad Mason: "Craig Hemming sent me."

Her smile vanishes immediately.

Ashley Borden: "Come with me."

She grabs me by the wrist, and I'm surprised by the strength in her grip. She pulls me from the museum, out the front door, and shoves me against the marble pillar on the front steps.

Ashley Borden: "What do you want with me? Why did Hemming send you?"

Chad Mason: "He said you might know the whereabouts of the man they called Kryptic."

Ashley smirks, and releases her hold on me, breathing a sigh of relief. She calls for a taxi.

Ashley Borden: "Come on, then."

I eye her suspiciously, but slowly slide into the car. She slides in after him.

Ashley Borden: "Corner of Wilshire and Central, if you would?"

The driver nods, and we're off.

Ashley Borden: "So...Craig told you where to find me."

Chad Mason: "He told me you can tell me where to find Kryptic."

Ashley Borden: "Figures. He used to be Kryptic's hired thug."

Chad Mason: "You two had a running deal of some sort."

Ashley smirks.

Ashley Borden: "He was a brilliant man. His methods were beautiful. I can do amazing things with a brush...but what I could do on a canvas, he did with his words...all across the city."

Chad Mason: "Leaving clues to his crimes for the police to try to figure out?"

Ashley Borden: "And he was never caught."

Chad Mason: "Was he killed?"

Ashley huffs again.

Ashley Borden: "I shouldn't think so. Someone would have figured it out by now. A powerful figure like that, killed in the streets? Someone would have taken credit for it...or at least procured a body to confirm it. I think he's still out there."

Chad Mason: "What exactly was the deal you two had going?"

Ashley Borden: "He offered protection."

Chad Mason: "From what?"

Ashley Borden: "The Cavinton police. If they couldn't be bought off, Kryptic ensured they could never find me, or that evidence was destroyed, or that the police or witnesses never made it to the stand. Tell me, Inspector...do you know what they called me?"

Chad Mason: "Masterpiece."

She smiles.

Ashley Borden: "And do you know why?"

Chad Mason: "I couldn't fathom a guess."

Ashley Borden: "I used to paint crime scenes. Every minute detail, every tiny hint of color, perfectly portrayed in one of my paintings. Always a crime scene. A robbed bank...a murdered couple...a house fire..."

Chad Mason: "You're an artist. It makes sense, I suppose."

Ashley Borden: "And then, I would make my paintings a reality. I would paint a house fire, then find that house and set it alight. I would paint a deceased couple...then find them and kill them."

Chad Mason: "And you would leave your art behind for the police to find."

Ashley Borden: "Call it my calling card, I guess. Eventually, they knew who was doing it. They still called me by my...theatrical name, I guess you could call it. But thanks to Kryptic, they couldn't come near me. They could arrest me, put me on trial...but something always went wrong, and I'd be let free."

Chad Mason: "And what did he get in return?"

Ashley Borden: "I provided intel that he needed. He hated to show his face...but me? I was known and accepted among the social elites of this city. I heard things you could never hear wandering the streets. I provided that information to Kryptic. He provided me with leverage in court."

Chad Mason: "But you never saw his face?”

Ashley pauses.

Ashley Borden: “I saw it a few times...when he sent Killbane off to do another task.”

Chad Mason: “You’d recognize him if you saw him?”

Ashley Borden: “There are rumors that whenever Kryptic is spotted in public, he has surgeons on his payroll who can reconstruct his face, make him a completely different person. The man is a ghost, Inspector. You’ll never find him.”

I smile.

Chad Mason: “I haven’t lost a case yet, Miss. I don’t think this one will be any different.”

Ashley Borden: “Right...”

Chad Mason: “So, if you don’t mind me asking...why did you do it? What you did with the paintings, I mean?”

Ashley sighs.

Ashley Borden: “For years, I stared at that museum, hoping one day, I would get my own artwork hung up for all to see...but whenever I painted something beautiful, those critic bastards at the museum would turn me away. ‘The nose is just off there,’ they’d say. ‘I think a little more blue would have really made this work a thing of beauty.’ So quick to criticize, yet they’ll put trash like Jasmine Lereux’s work the first chance they can.”

Chad Mason: “So it was an act of vengeance?”

Ashley Borden: “Part vengeance, I suppose...but more than anything, I wanted my work to be appreciated. I wanted it to be looked at, examined, seen the meaning behind every stroke of my brush, every color splashed across the canvas...and when I began painting pictures of crimes, and then making those paintings all too real...”

Chad Mason: “They studied your paintings for clues.”

Ashley Borden: “My work was examined by all, everyone trying to crack the case, to figure out who the mystery artist was. Once they figured out it was me, it was time to change the game. Then they tried to have me arrested. When that failed, they tried to stop me before I could act out the scenes I painted.”

Chad Mason: “Anything to get your work noticed.”

Ashley Borden: “And it was noticed by the entire Cavington police force.”

Chad Mason: “But why did-”

I’m not able to finish my sentence, as the car suddenly lurches to the side.

Chad Mason: “Christ!”

It slams into a guard rail, pitching itself over the escarpment. The car rolls down the hill, and I hear nothing but Ashley’s screams and the crunch of the car as it skids sideways, and flips over, rolling down the edge, plummeting towards the trees below...

And then it stops. A crash, and we no longer move. The passenger side is smashed, wrapped around a tree. The car is torn apart, the worst of the damage just in front of where I sit. The passenger seat has been pushed back, so it crushes my legs, preventing me from moving. Next to me, Ashley is pinned in place, the car door crunched around her, and the driver’s seat holding her in place. The driver kicks open the driver’s side door, pulling a six-shooter out of his belt as he does. He opens the passenger door next to me, pulling me from the car and throwing me to the ground. I try to get up, but I hear the click of a gun, and turn to see the driver, standing over me.

Ashley Borden: “Redentor...”

Redentor turns to Ashley, and crawls into the car, pulling her from the wreck. She scrambles to her feet, but he whips her across the face with the gun. He kneels next to me, opening the chamber, and pulling a small box of ammunition from his belt. He smirks as he carefully picks out the bullets.

Redentor: “A crooked cop...”

Chad Mason: “What-”

Redentor: “Listening to a woman confess her crimes...and does nothing to stop it...Poor form, Inspector. This looks bad.”

I look at him. He smiles as he carefully loads a bullet into his gun.

Redentor: “We’re going to play a game, Inspector...we’re going to decide exactly what we should do about this...problem. Let’s break this down, shall we? Conspiring with a felon? Not good.”

Redentor loads the first bullet into the chamber.

Redentor: “And allowing a criminal to walk free, both with Miss Borden and Mr. Killbane, if I understand correctly.”

He drops the second bullet into the chamber, and spins it before loading it back into the gun. He twirls the gun around his finger, smirking.

Redentor: “The game is simple, Inspector. Two bullets in the gun. I fire off one shot. If you win, I let you walk...and you better hope I don’t catch you doing any wrong in this city again.”

Chad Mason: “And if I lose?”

Redentor grins.

Redentor: “Then Cavington police scrape your brains off the pavement.”

I stare at him, helpless as he pushes the gun to my forehead. He slowly pulls the trigger...

*Click*

He frowns.

Redentor: “Get out of here.”

I slowly back away, retreating from him. I watch as he moves towards Ashley, crouching next to her.

Redentor: “Your turn.”

I shake my head. I think for a moment to try and stop him...but I decide it’s best not to get in his way again.

Redentor: “Murder...arson...robbery...well, Masterpiece...that’s three right there.”

He loads a third bullet into his gun.

Redentor: “Not to mention conspiring with Kryptic...and your little love affair with Killbane.”

He loads two more into the chamber, and readies the weapon again.

Redentor: “I’ve waited a long time to finally catch you, Miss Borden...I really should have thanked the kind Inspector for bringing you to me.”

Ashley spits in Redentor’s face.

Ashley Borden: “Fuck you.”

Redentor: “Oh, Ashley...you always were a fiery one, weren’t you? No doubt the reason for Killbane’s intrigue. I’ll catch him soon enough.”

Ashley Borden: “If you touch him-”

Redentor: “You won’t be around to see it happen.”

Redentor aims the gun, pointing it right between Masterpiece’s eyes. Five of six chambers filled...and Redentor pulls the trigger.

Some things will never be unseen.

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Chad Mason: “You can call me arrogant, Skull. You can call me an egomaniac. You can call me a young buck, not ready for the main event scene...but here’s a name that the whole world can call me:

The IWF Champion.

I think there are some of you who still can’t get this fact into your heads. Guess what? I had a plan, and I carried it out to perfection...and now, here I am, the IWF Champion. The best this company has to offer.

That is what the IWF Champion does. He is the man recognized as the best. He is the man who has beaten all comers, and has taken his place in the spotlight as the top of the company.

Why, then, am I still being doubted? Why do you refuse to acknowledge my success? My talent?

Why do you continue to believe in this fairy-tale world where Chad Mason sucks, and can’t win a match, simply because ‘That’s how it’s supposed to be?’

Forgive me, then, for raining all over your happy little parade. I don’t give a fuck how things are supposed to be. I don’t deal in what-ifs, or what could-have-beens. I deal in reality. I deal in the here-and-now. You keep passing me off as no threat, because you believe than in a perfect world, I really am no threat.

I’m here to tell you that this is not a perfect world. As an old mentor of mine used to say? This ain’t a fucking fairy tale. Sometimes, the bad guy wins.

I just won. I have turned your entire world on its head, and you people are too stupid to see. You’re still living in the past, where I couldn’t win a match to save my life. Now that I’ve won the IWF Championship, what do I hear? ‘He’ll never defend it.’ ‘He’ll go back to losing soon enough.’

OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES. Did you not notice this past month? Did you not notice the fact that NOBODY that you’ve thrown at me has been able to stop me? Did you not notice this freight train of momentum I’ve built, which has only gotten faster, heavier, more forceful with each passing week?

Ask yourselves: Why? Why is it, that if I’m as talentless and overrated as you claim I am, have I been able to take your company by storm, bend it over the table, and have my way with it? Why is it that your champions, your legends, your hall of famers have not been able to stop me? Why can’t you beat me?

Skull? Do you have an answer? You should know by now. I’ve already beaten you once. Why did I do it? Because you weren’t trying? Because you needed to find yourself? Shut the fuck up.

I win because I know what it takes to win. I win because I can play my cards exactly right, and I can emerge victorious. I know exactly where this will go. It’ll go the same way half my matches this month have gone. Skull will say something along the lines of, ‘You can’t win without your cronies backing you up.’

As if that means anything to me? I’ve heard this all month. Whether it’s true or not is another story...but let me humor you for a moment. If I’m winning my matches because Natural Law keeps interfering...and it keeps working...

What makes you think I’m going to stop, just because you say I can’t win without them?

This is why I laugh when you call me arrogant. You mean to attack my ego. I think I’m the best, and you’re going to try and make me question that. You’ll try and tell me that if I’m using other people to help me win, it’s because I know I can’t win myself.

Do you think that affects me? Do you think that’s going to stop me?

Goodness, Skull! Look at that, up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No...wait...It’s the last fuck I had to give, and it just flew away. Aww, what a bummer.

If I want Natural Law to come to the ring mid-match and beat you from pillar to post for me, your saying ‘You can’t beat me one on one’ isn’t going to do a damn thing to stop me. Maybe for someone like Shark, who feeds on his own ego, or Chuck, who is convinced that he never needed anyone but himself to succeed, those tactics would work. But me? I keep my eyes on the prize at all times. I know what I’m after, and there is nothing that is going to stop me from achieving it.

Not even your half-witted attempts to get inside my head.

I am quickly establishing myself as a master of psychological warfare, surpassing the likes of Death-Angel, Chuck Matthews, and Corey Casey put together. You think you’re going to be the man to stop me, Skull? You, a guy that just three weeks ago, I proved was just a man?

That eats away at you, doesn’t it? You’ve had three weeks to let that wound fester. I proved the thing that you refuse to admit yourself...you’re just a man. You bleed. You feel. You lose. You can be stopped. You have your advantages...and in this match, I’ve beaten you at the biggest advantage you’ve been able to hold over your opponents:

Fear.

You win because you scare people. People fear your mask. People fear your size. Your battle tactics. Your disregard for other’s well-being.

I don’t fear you. And, if anything...I think there’s a part of you that fears me. You fear that I am becoming more powerful than you ever were. You fear that I can outdo anything you’ve done, that I can take your greatest, shining achievements, and I can do them better.

You hate me for that.

You fear me for that.

My question is: Do you respect me for that?

That is what this game...what this match...is all about. Respect. I don’t have any respect for anyone else, because once upon a time, everyone else decided they had no respect for me. One day, I was on top of the world. The next, I was beaten in a match for a briefcase, I was unceremoniously fired, and there wasn’t a soul who protested this gross injustice.

I’ve gotten my revenge. You left me to fend for myself. You threw me out on the streets, with nothing more than a “good luck” and a gift basket. What did I do? I didn’t sulk, or cry, or get a pack of well-dressed lawyers. I planned. I waited...and when the time came to strike...I did it when the iron was hot.

And just as you took what meant the most to me...I took what meant the most to you. Now here I stand, IWF Championship in hand.

And whether you all like it or not? That’s EXACTLY how it’s going to stay.”