Tuesday, November 2, 2004. Trent came creeping through the door in the wee hours of the morning, after taking a nonstop flight from Mexico City. He found me there waiting for him. I had watched Day of the Dead mere hours earlier. I had seen the stellar match he had with Mal. I had seen him use a submission maneuver very well known to me, as it was the finisher of choice used by my brother-in-law back in his heyday.

"Hey, babe. I'm home."

I had seen him lose.

"Did you see me out there?"

Again.

"I was amazing. I mean, I'm always amazing, but there was just something special about what I did last night."

Yet, somehow, there seemed to be something different. I could see it in his eyes when he returned home. In the past, every major loss, every setback like this one had sent him into a spiral of depression that took him weeks to crawl out of.

"Oh, wait. I know what it is now. I put poor Malcolm behind bars."

But not this time.

"It's where he deserves to be. And I'm sure that he's taken to the showers like a fish to... well, water. That's a little redundant, isn't it?"

This time, he could... and still can... feel that what he had done is the right thing, that it was all he could do and then some.

"What I don't believe is that they're already talking about a work release for him for next Monday. Now, I'm all for getting another chance to prove my superiority to him, and hopefully snagging up a long-deserved fourth title reign in the process... but really, you can't let someone make a run for it when they've done what he has."

I'm not really so sure. Trent may be a lot of things, but if anyone knows him, it should be me. I personally think he could have done more in the ring. I believe he was a bit too concerned with what he wanted to happen outside of it. At that, he had succeeded. But there was still one thing weighing heavily upon my mind...

"And that is?"

Just what HAD Mal done? I always knew my husband to be good at keeping secrets, but this was the first one he'd kept from even me. I doubt Tyler knew, either. Tracer looked me up and down, apparently deliberating whether or not he should tell me what was going on just yet.

"Hmm... I guess there's no real harm in letting you know now. After all, I'll be revealing it to the world come Meltdown. Mal's big secret is..."

And so he told me. I was flabbergasted. Surely that couldn't be right... could it? The beginning of the story did sound an awful lot like something Mal would do. But having an odd prank go so horribly awry... and for him to go on with his life so calmly afterward... it sent shivers down my spine.

"That's horrible!"

"Isn't it? And yet it's turned into something so wonderful for me. After everyone learns the truth about their hero and I take his belt from him... who are they going to have to cheer for? Kash? Grunge? Moore? Not a chance. They're all going to come crawling back to me, realizing that I've been the real good guy all along."

That was the point in our conversations where I always imagine Trent as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. You know... the fading film noir actress. The one who is oft-quoted as saying, "I am big. It's the pictures that got smaller." The difference is that every once in awhile, I still see that old spark of determination. I saw it leading up to Day of the Dead, and I still saw it upon his return. Nothing can stand in his way mentally when he has all his cylinders firing.

"But I'm not going to accept their apologies this time. I know better than that now. I still remember the first time they came crawling back to me, when I was defending Mark Harrington's innocence a few years ago."

He did have a point. This was not the first time Trent had viewed what he was doing as right, even if no one else believed it to be. And last time, he had actually been on the right side the whole time. This time, I wasn't so sure... thievery, psychological warfare... how was he being misunderstood here?

"They apologized, and they apologized profusely. And I buckled. I allowed them to blame their ignorance on the overwhelming evidence against Harrington. This time, they have no excuse. When they finally come to repeat their actions from that time, I will not take them back happily. I refuse to make the same mistake twice. Further, I will take everything that they hold dear. So I will not only take Mal's belt from HIM, I will take Mal himself away from THEM."

This was starting to get eerie. He was talking as if he had a way to make sure Mal not only lost the belt, but was never heard from again. And it couldn't be getting him in prison. He'd already done that, and he was getting out to do the match.

"And you're going to help me, Melissa."

I was taken aback.

"What?"

"I said, you're going to help me."

How could I possibly be of any help to him in this? Did he honestly think I could do something so vile and underhanded?

"No. I'm not going to have any part of this."

With that, Tracer clasped my hands in his and looked deeply into my eyes. I hate it when he does that... because it usually gets him what he wants.

"Melissa... dear... think about it. I have already told you what our champion has done. Do you not think he deserves retribution of some kind?"

"Well yes, but..."

"The police are unwilling to keep him locked up. The WWA staff are unwilling to keep him off of our shows. And divine intervention will not occur. You've heard the phrase 'God helps those who help themselves'? I am going to help myself. But I cannot do this alone. I have already enlisted Tyler's aid, but I need more. I need you. You have always been an inspiration to me. Remember my Wrestler of the Year WWAmmy from 2000? Remember who I said half of it belonged to?"

"... Me."

"That's right. Wouldn't you like to share in something great again? Come with me to Meltdown. Support me in this. I'm not asking much of you... just show up, and bring what I ask. You can do that for me, can't you?"

*sigh* It was going to happen again. That damn smooth talk of his. I hesitantly, and very reluctantly, agreed.

"All right. I'll do it, but I'm not going to like it."

And he let go of my hands, pulling me toward him and hugging me close.

"Fair enough. I never asked you to like it. So thank you. I promise you will not regret this."

I'd better not...

I'd really better not. I really prefer living a life with...

... no regrets.