Be warned, there's some offensive language and some graphic scenes. I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I'll make it up to you with the next one :)

It couldn't end like this; I know it sounded selfish considering John's death but there was so much I wanted to do with my life, so much my friends and I had left to accomplish. This couldn't be real, and yet deep down inside of me I knew this was beyond that. Why? What did we do to deserve this?

I didn't have an answer, but I knew this couldn't be the end. I couldn't just give up, not like this. Despite his firm grip on my hair, I managed to turn my head slightly and reaching out I picked a fallen branch off the ground. Trying to pry his hand off me, I was unsuccessful, so I brought the branch up and whacked it down awkwardly on his arm. Repeating the action once again, a slight scream escaping my lips, he finally released me and I didn't lie there and wait to see what would happen. I was on my feet quicker than I ever thought possible and I was running.

I didn't know where, and at this point I didn't care, but I had to get away. Not having thought ahead, instead of sticking to the path, I barged into the trees and now I had to stop every so often to scramble over fallen trees, and choose which way to go. I only hoped somehow I would make it to a road, but I knew how unlikely that was.

I was surprised that he hadn't yet caught me again, but I knew he hadn't given up, and that meant he was either confident I wasn't going to make it very far, or that he had a plan. I stopped and whirled around, the darkness making it harder for me to see. The moonlight cast shadows all over the forest floor, creating an impossibly more eerie feel.

I was lost. I didn't know where to go and I knew he was going to find me. A new thought coming to me, I dug in my pocket and extracted my cell phone. Pulling it out I almost let out a cry of relief when I found that I had a signal. Ignoring the fact that that meant I was near the house, I dialled the emergency number but before I could even place the call he came at me out of nowhere knocking me to the ground. A screech escaped my lips when I landed on my hand and a sharp pain shot up my arm. Looking down, I saw my little finger on my right hand was bent at an awkward angle. It was the first time I had ever broken a finger and it didn't have anything to do with being in the ring. The irony, even in this moment, was not lost on me.

A light on the ground too far out of reach alerted me as to where my cell phone had dropped, and I knew I had just wasted my last chance for help. He gripped me around the ankle and pulled me along, once again ignoring my protests.

He dragged me along the forest floor for what felt like hours, ignoring me every time I begged him to let me go. I don't know why but it frightened me that I hadn't once heard this man speak. But what tore at me every single minute that passed was the fact that Randy was dead. It was the only way to explain how this murderer had gotten to me. And the anguish at the thought of Randy's lifeless body tore, and clawed at me to the very point that I wished he would just do away with me. It was obvious that my friends were dead – why couldn't they extend me the same courtesy and get it over with.

I had gone limp, no longer struggling because there was no point, and if pulling my dead weight was difficult for him, he showed no sign of it. He didn't slow his pace, or even look down at me, he just continued pulling me along. To be honest by this point, I could no longer feel anything, and for that I was thankful. But by the time he got me to his house the fear in my chest had expanded twofold and I was sobbing uncontrollably at my awaiting fate.

He finally released me on the floor in front of two sets of feet before exiting the room and when I finally got the strength to look up, I found myself looking into two very familiar faces – Rita and Jim. I laid my head back on the ground, weakened by everything I had experienced tonight, but surveyed the room from my position. There was a sofa and a television and various other pieces of furniture that made it obvious I was in their living room. I hadn't enjoyed my first visit to this house, and I had a feeling this one was going to be much more horrible. This building had an awful feeling to it, one that chilled me to my bone when I had entered it earlier. The walls had seen terrible happenings done by its owners, and I knew tonight wasn't going to be any different.

Jim was the first to break the silence, "Awfully pretty ain't she, same as the others. It's as if they stepped off the pages of a magazine."

"So perfect with her fake breasts and who knows what other plastic surgeries. It's unnatural," Rita responded, disdain dripping from her tone, "The kind of thing I've despised my entire life."

Something inside me powered up, perhaps it was my will to live, but deep down I knew it was more profound than that. These monsters had killed my friends; I wasn't going down without a little attitude.

I pushed myself to a sitting position, wiping away the lingering tears, "Why? Because you've looked like that your entire life? I guess I don't blame you–" I just barely felt the sting of the slap that collided with my cheek, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Is that the best you've got?"

"You've certainly put up more of a fight than the others."

The voice was so familiar and when I looked up at the man who stepped into the room, anger surged through my veins at the betrayal.

"You fucking bastard!" I shot up and lunged for Joe, "This is your entire fault!" I hit him in the face with my fist, and dug my nails into his arm until finally he shoved me to the ground in front of the sofa.

He knelt down in front of me, a sick smirk on his face, "You've got some fire in you – I like that."

The spit that landed on his face was a sign of my anger, humiliation and pain. "You fucked with the wrong people. We're public figures you dumb hicks. We go missing, people ask questions. I guess it's just your luck that I talked to my boss a few hours ago and gave him the general area of where we broke down. I bet you never counted on that."

Joe pondered my words for a moment, "You're lying," he said, but I could sense the uncertainty.

I forced a smile on my face, "My name is Mickie James. That first man you killed earlier, behind this house, his name is John Cena. He's the face of a billion dollar corporation. You fucked yourselves over. Go look it up, if you've even heard of the internet."

"You lie!" Jim shouted, jumping to his feet and coming into my line of view. His face was red, clearly bothered at my words.

"You willing to take that risk?" I challenged.

He nodded once at Joe, as the young man exited the room, no doubt to check the truth behind my words. The only good thing that could possibly come out of this was the McMahon's and the rest of the company looking into our disappearance and these psychopaths being taken down.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I looked up at Rita who had a knife in her hand, picking at the dirt under her nails, humming a tune I couldn't quite place. She leaned down in front of me and gestured to my chest.

"How much did those cost you anyhow?" she gestured to my chest.

I clenched my teeth, "More than you'd ever be able to afford," I avoided eye contact, tilting my head up in defiance.

"You think you're better than us?"

A quick movement from her and I was crying out in pain. She had dug the tip of the knife into the right area of my chest, and dragged the tip along creating a huge gash just under my collar bone. Jim was holding my hands so I had no way to defend myself.

"Not so deep dear, we wouldn't want her to bleed out before the fun begins."

Finally it was over, but the fiery sensation was hard to ignore. After Jim released me, I clutched at the area, hoping to stop the bleeding as I breathed heavily, trying my hardest not to show any emotion.

"She's right, she's a professional wrestler. They all are," Joe announced, re-entering the room hastily, a look of fury on his face.

"Son of a bitch," Jim spat at me, "You whore!" he yelled in my face, grabbing a fistful of my hair causing me to cry out in pain just before he slammed my head into the ground.

"What are we gonna do, they'll lead the police right to us!" Rita exclaimed, gesturing wildly and looking back and forth between the two men standing in the room.

"No, not if we clean up well," Jim said thoughtfully.

"You're never going to get away with this," I spoke in between deep gasps, the pain making my eyes water, my vision slightly blurry.

Rita approached me slowly once more, not taking her eyes off my face. "You'd be surprised at what we've gotten away with."

"You're nothing but a bunch of dumb, certifiable rednecks. You shouldn't be worried about how you're going to pull this off as much as you should be worried about checking yourselves into an insane asylum!" I hissed.

She paused mid stride, angling her head and surveying me intently, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "Dumb? I think our little operation here is proof of how smart we really are," she knelt down in front of me once more, "We know people like you. This town, the reason there is nothing left, is because of people like you. All those years ago, those teenagers got drunk in the forest and burned this town down – our family, friends, and the town's history along with it. They ruined our lives, because of their childish ways."

"So you send this psycho to wrangle people up and bring them here so you can play a game of cat and mouse?" I half-shouted.

"Well... it's something new we're trying. We don't usually go looking, but lately we've gotten slightly bored. You see it's become a sport to us. But more than that it's a way to punish the selfish," she explained, and the matter of fact tone to her voice, made me realize just how far gone these people were. They had deluded themselves into thinking they were justified in murdering those strangers who passed through on occasion.

"So you kill people who don't share the same idea of life as you?"

"No, we kill people that think they're better than us; you need to be taught a lesson. Why do you think you're better than us?" she asked softly.

"Maybe because I don't murder people," I spoke angrily through gritted teeth, horrified and angry that she was actually trying to condone their actions.

"We'll see about that," she said, seemingly more to herself than me, before climbing to her feet and turning towards Joe, who was standing in the corner, arms folded across his chest. "Go get the male," she ordered.

I glanced around the room as Joe left, trying to see if there was any way out of this. The windows were always a good shot at escaping but I didn't know for certain that my friends were dead. If they weren't and I ran to save my own neck, they would surely die. My only chance, their only chance was for me to stick this out and hopefully they allowed me to see them and a I was given a chance for me to plot our escape.

The silence in the room gave me time to assess my injuries. My head was throbbing, understandably so considering the damage it had suffered and I knew for certain my little finger was broken. My knees were skinned up, raw and bleeding. But the worst was the laceration across my chest that I couldn't seem to ignore no matter how hard I tried. The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before, including every injury I had suffered throughout my career.

But above and beyond anything else, the worst was the fear that had embedded itself into and become a part of me. Fear not only for myself but for my friends. It pained me that I didn't know where they were or what their fates were – if they were dead or alive.

Hearing a scuffling sound, I looked up and watched as Joe dragged in a bound and gagged Mike Mizanin.

"Mike!" I gasped, trying to crawl across the floor, but was cut off when Joe stepped in front of me. "Oh Mike," I whispered, taking in his appearance.

His face was bloody and bruised; there was a large gash just above his eyebrow as if the area in question had been rammed against the corner of a table or something similar. He clutched his leg and it didn't take me long to notice the bone jutting out and his leg bent at an awkward angle. But it was the knife protruding from his abdomen that triggered the emotion in me once more.

"What did you do to him?" I screamed, "You monsters! What do you want from us?" I looked up at Joe, and then Jim before my eyes finally rested on Rita, "Just let us go!" I pleaded, hoping desperately that they weren't completely heartless and inhumane.

Rita and Jim, one could tell almost instantly that there was something off with them. The look in their eyes scared me the moment I looked into them but it was different with Joe. At first meeting he seemed normal, and innocent. Not once would I have ever guessed that he led this double life.

Which led me to one conclusion, Rita and Jim had lived here their entire lives, that much was obvious, but Joe on the other hand, he had experience in the outside world. It was the reason he had been able to fool us so easily; the reason he had gained our trust almost immediately with his easy going persona. If we had only listened to Randy, perhaps things would have been different.

"Go on," she gestured to Mike, her southern accent as thick as ever, "Check on your friend."

Joe stepped out of my way and I desperately crawled over to the fallen superstar, "Mike, hey look at me." I removed the gag and untied his hands, the other three figures silently watching.

"Mickie?" he croaked.

"Yeah it's me," I brushed away a tear, "How you doing?"

He choked up a bit of blood before he could respond, "Awesome."

I laughed slightly, despite the tears, "You're gonna be okay," I whispered, scanning his body and assessing his leg. He let out a cry of pain when I gently rested my hand on it. "Sorry, sorry. We're gonna get through this," I assured him, the uncertainty obvious to my own ears.

He lifted his head slightly, "No," he breathed in sharply and rested his head on my lap again, "I can't hold on much longer Micks," I could just barely hear what he was saying, "Kelly is dead."

I tilted my head to the side, his words piercing me like a knife, "No..." I whimpered closing my eyes and bowing my head.

I let out a cry of frustration, a symbol of the pain that had consumed me ever since John's death mere hours ago. I was too late. It was my stupid idea to come on this road trip. It was my fault we were in this godforsaken town, and it was my fault that he and Kelly were dead.

"It's not your fault Mickie," he said quietly. His breathing was uneven and every so often he gasped sharply no doubt due to the pain.

"Of course it's my fault," I clutched his hand in mine, "I'm the reason behind this entire thing."

"We all wanted to come Mickie. It's not our fault these people are unbalanced and insane."

"Enough!" Jim ordered and a second later a pair of hands clamped around my arms and dragged me away from Mike despite my protests.

"I'm sorry Mike!" I sobbed, "I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault," he choked out, doubling over in pain.

Jim stepped into my line of view, "We didn't bring him out here for you to socialize!" he shouted, grabbing my hair and earning a cry of pain from me.

"Leave her alone!" Mike shouted.

"Do something about it stud. Save your little girlfriend if you have the balls!"

To Mike's credit, considering his current condition, he did his best to try to get to his feet, but he didn't make it very far before he fell into another fit of cries, his injuries slowly breaking him down right in front of us.

Jim laughed maniacally, "That's what I thought tough guy. But let's see how much more you can put up with!"

He ambled over to Mike and in one swift movement he withdrew the knife from Mike's abdomen, the superstar screaming and writhing in agony. He grabbed Mike by the hair and pulled him into a sitting position, ignoring the shrieks of pain, as he looked into my eyes.

"You want to act superior? I'm going to show you what it's like to lose all the people you love. And when I'm through, I'm going to kill you too."

In a lightning quick movement, faster than I thought the old man to be capable of, he seized Mike's hand, spread his fingers out on the floor and he cut off Mike's thumb. Rita had to hold Mike back as he was thrashing around violently. Twice he knocked the old woman backwards, and twice she got right back up and forced him back down. Joe was holding me back despite my best protests, screams escaping my lips as one by one he cut off the other four fingers.

"NO! NO! MIKE!" I flailed around, my fist connecting with Joe's face, not once but twice. I clawed at his face until he wrapped his arms around me, trapping my body against his own.

One look at Mike whimpering on the ground and the fingers lying motionless in a pool of blood, and I was doubled over and vomiting onto the wooden floor. Joe released me, protests of disgust coming from him as he shoved me viciously to the ground. The vomit kept coming, as a sign of everything that I had witnessed tonight – John's death, learning that Kelly was also dead, knowing that Randy was probably right there along with them, coming face to face with a family of serial killers and now this – watching a man I had been friends with for years, a man I had grown to know and love as a member of my family, tortured in front of me like an animal.

"Ugh that's disgusting. You're cleaning that up!" Jim shouted, as I was bowled over when his foot collided with my midsection.

I crawled into the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably once more wondering how someone could be capable of these actions. It sickened me that these people could torture an innocent man for their own sick idea of revenge. Every ounce of fear, anger, sadness and pain, I cried away in that very moment.

Hearing movement next to me, I turned my head slightly to see that Rita had crouched down next to me. "Now dear, you may think we're wicked, but we're gonna give you the opportunity to do your friend here a favour."

Lifting my head slightly, I realized she was holding the knife out to me, Mike's fresh blood still on the blade. "Kill him," she whispered, "Put an end to his pain. Maybe then you'll understand us better. Why we do this, and why we enjoy punishing those for their sinful actions. But maybe you'll also understand that we aren't the bad guys here, we are giving you this opportunity."

"Fuck you! I will never be like you," I spat.

"You wanna live? You'll do what I say!" she raised her voice slightly, but her tone was suggestive of speaking to a child.

"Go ahead and kill me, I don't care anymore."

"Mickie..."

It was Mike who had spoken this time; his voice strained and impossibly weaker sounding. "It's okay. I'm dead anyway. Save yourself."

I looked up at Rita who smiled slightly, unsurprising that she was missing several teeth, and nodded holding the knife out once more, "Go ahead child."

Hesitating for a brief moment, I finally took the knife and slowly crawled over to the fallen Mike Mizanin. Twenty four hours ago, I could never have even in my wildest nightmares imagined him lying here in this bloody heap on the verge of death. But now this was my reality, and I was about to lose another friend.

"It's okay Micks. I'd rather it be you than them."

"You can't ask me to do this," I sobbed.

I saw the tears in his eyes, something I had never seen before from the man lying in front of me, "It hurts Mickie, the pain... unimaginable. Please," he pleaded, "Please Mickie, I need you to do this."

"I can't..."

"Please Mickie!"

"Do it!" Jim screamed from his position next to me.

"No!" I sobbed.

"Do it now!" he screamed again.

All the frustration that had been bubbling finally boiled over and I drew my arm back, looked Mike in the eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry!" before bringing the knife down.

Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I think that was a good place to end it. The next chapter could quite possibly be the last one, but I haven't quite figured that out for sure yet. Very short story, but there are only so many characters to kill off ;) Anyway, hope you liked it. Please let me know with a review!