So, here we have another chapter of What She Left Behind. We have about 3/4 more chapters left, depending on how I want to end it. I only own Abigail, and I must say that I am extremely appreciative of all of you who have read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc., thus far. You guys are a big part of my motivation. I may do some side oneshots in correlation, because there are just so many ideas swimming in my head that it would be impossible to put them in one story. So, yeah, I think that's pretty much it. Oh, and, just for fun, who do you think the Tenth is?

Please read, review, and enjoy.

Love lots,

Kiwi

Mike frowned. He stood at a corner, eavesdropping on the men around it. The other was talking.

"I miss her, Hunter."

Matt. Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Hardy had collapsed over the death of his friend, and Mike understood that it was hard to lose a friend. However, he had seen the recent strife between Abigail and Matt. They had a falling out over a month ago, some argument distanced them. As far as he knew, if people noticed it, they didn't acknowledge it. When Matt was bitter, it was best to leave him be. Abigail – she never showed it.

"I understand, Matt. It's hard to lose friends."

"I wish she would've come to me. She knew she could trust me. We had our arguments, but what made her think she couldn't go to anybody?"

"I don't know, Matt. I can't read minds and she never talked to me about it. If you don't mind my asking, when's the funeral?"

"In a couple of weeks. Her parents wanted a small memorial service in Alaska, then we're putting her to rest in North Carolina. It'll be a small service, just her closest friends."

Mike could imagine Hunter nodding his head and giving the elder Hardy a reassuring smile. When he thought of the impact Abigail's death made on her actual friends, he could admit it must have been terrible. The thought that, even as one's closest friend, you couldn't save them was mind-wracking. It probably didn't help that people kept asking you about it. To him, it made sense to talk to the Hardy if he came to somebody for it, not intrude on the man's privacy. What happened between Abigail and Matt wasn't his business, and how he handled it wasn't his business either. The more he thought about it, he realized he wouldn't want people asking him how he was doing, 'taking it', every time they spoke.

He heard the two depart and before he could move, Hunter came around the corner. The older man's eyebrows knit forward. "Miz?"

"Hey, uh... Hunter."

"Eavesdropping?"

"What? No... no. I wasn't... I wasn't eavesdropping."

Hunter gave an unconvinced nod. "Whatever." He slid his bag off his shoulder and opened a side pocket. Pulling out a manila envelope, and handing it to Mike, he gave a sigh. "This is for you. It was in the mail, must've gotten mixed up."

Mike took it. "Thanks, Hunter." he pivoted to put the envelope in his own bag. "Um, Hunter..." Mike began, turning back around. He stood alone in the hallway, Hunter disappearing down the hall. "Hunter?" He shrugged and went on his way.

Mike walked down the hall, rubbing his neck with his hand. He had landed hard in his match and his body ached. A tension strung through his muscles and it seemed that no matter how he stretched, cracked his back and neck, it never went away. Groaning, he leaned against a wall and shut his eyes.

"Ted, are you okay?" He heard a voice that sounded like Randy.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

"Randy, I'm just... I got a letter a couple days ago." Ted explained fleetingly. "It just, it was just a letter and it sort of freaked me out."

"From who?"

"Abigail."

Randy laughed, although Mike could hear a slight nervous twang. "Abigail's dead, Ted. She didn't send you a letter. Someone forged it to freak you out. Where did you get it?"

"Paul..."

"Hunter, eh?" The nervousness in Randy's voice grew more evident and this time, it was Ted that was concerned.

"Are you alright, Randy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, we're on." The two walked out the door and Mike opened his eyes. So, Ted had received a letter from a dead girl. He laughed at the absurdity. Dead girls didn't send letters. He walked into his locker room and locked the door behind him.

The entire thing made him uncomfortable. Abigail shouldn't have died, he rationalized. If she hadn't, people wouldn't be so awkward and he could have actual conversations with people. He was tired of the same monotonic 'how are you holding up?' and 'if you need to talk...'. He knew of Abigail, and he did talk to her on several occasions, but for the most part she didn't mean much to him. She ignored him, so he didn't see the problem. There were several others who knew her far better than he did and it didn't make sense for people to ask if he was okay.

Mike sat on the bench and opened his bag. Fishing around inside, he took out the envelope. The anonymity startled him. No return address. Either the person was certain of the envelope's fate, or it didn't have anywhere to go back to.

Like a dead person. A voice in his head mused and he blinked several times. He didn't need to get himself riled up over something so simple. Tearing open the envelope, he barely caught the slip of paper that fluttered down. Mike unfolded it and nearly dropped it again as he read.

Dear Mike,

Didn't expect to hear from me, did you, Mike? Yeah, this one will be hard to rationalize, won't it? Today is June 20th, 2010 and by the time the clock strikes midnight, I'll be dead. They'll investigate, but it'll be ruled suicide. Everyone will be sullen and time will start to pass slowly. To some, it will be a great loss, to others, a mere wave of the hand. I'm categorizing you as the latter. Do you mind?

I remember you, Mike. Which is surprising considering there wasn't much to remember.

Mike scoffed. "I'm not easy to forget."

You ignored me. I ignored you. Perfect relationship, right? Wrong. You didn't hurt me the way the others did, Mike. Some were silent, some were boisterous. You just weren't. You weren't a friend, you weren't an enemy. You were just Mike. You lived in your own world, and separated yourself from those you deemed inferior to yourself. This is where things get interesting. You didn't treat me as an inferior, or an equal. You treated me like I wasn't even there. The most interaction you and I got was your bouts of sexual harassment. Yes, grabbing my ass is sexual harassment. That is how you killed me. Confused? Thought so. There's a DVD in the envelope. Watch it, and you'll figure it out.

Abigail Whitaker

Mike rolled his eyes. "Alright, come out now. You got me, I'm spooked." A dry chuckle rattled his throat. The envelope slipped from the bench and clattered to the floor. His hands clenched around the paper. A part of him didn't want to know what was on the DVD. Another thought that the DVD would only confirm his fear that it was really Abigail who sent the letter.

"It got lost in the mail." He stated. "That's it." A chortle passed his lips as he set the letter down beside him and ran a hand through his hair. The letter confused him. He was just joking around with her when he said those things. It wasn't like he was serious. Besides, what did it matter to him why she committed suicide?

That is how you killed me.

That single line reverberated in his mind and he tried to clear his throat. Something he did was important enough to cause her to do this.

As he bent down, he picked up the envelope and withdrew the DVD case. His eyebrow rose. "And how do I suppose I watch this?" Mike glanced around the room and his eyes fell on Alex's bag in the corner. "Alex always brings his laptop." He whispered as he made sure the door was locked. Walking over to the bag, he opened it and searched for the device. Soon, he found it and sat back down on the bench.

Minutes later, the screen faded into a hotel room with a woman. "Abigail." He said.

"Hey, Mike. Guess this was important enough. I have video clips for you, as well as an explanation. Why did I send you a video and letter? Well, you had a part in my death. You're not the only one. What did you do? You gave me unwanted attention. The uncomfortable kind of attention that makes you wonder if there is any hope for mankind. Don't get me wrong, there are some great guys out there. There are. I've met quite a few of them," a small smile spread across her lips. Her smile dissipated as soon as it came, "Then there are the middle ones. Then there are the bad ones. You, my...friend would be a lie, my coworker, reside in the tiny gray area between the latter two sections."

Abigail dragged her hands through her hair before clasping them together in front of her. "I didn't think this through. How are you all supposed to find each other, when you don't even know who the others are? Some of you have big mouths, some like to eavesdrop, others simply have the fortune of puzzle solving skills. Either way, you're all linked, and in more ways than one. One person's actions triggered this, another triggered that. So and so is friends with so and so. It goes on, Mike, it really does. And, from what I've gathered, you can't keep your conquests to yourself. Alright. Off topic. Moving on. Where were we? Oh, yeah, sexual harassment."

Mike scowled. He was just having fun with her. He wasn't serious, and he never thought she'd take him seriously. To him, she was just another girl. She was just another Diva.

"You do remember what you did, don't you, Mike? Well, if you don't, here's a few reminders."

The screen flashed to the hallway, he couldn't remember which arena it was. Abigail walked forward, angling the camera as she went. "Good afternoon." He saw two people at the end of the hallway. One had a head of curly, blond hair. And the other was him. The Mike in the video looked up, recognized Abigail, and left the other in the hall. He jogged to catch up with her, and a grin was spread across his face.

"Hey, baby girl."

She snorted, "Good afternoon, Mike." He remembered this. It was faint, but he could recall the day.

"You look hot today."

"Uh, thanks?" She twisted her hands together, muttering something else under her breath.

"And I'm hot."

"If you say so." Abigail murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he spoke. "I...forgive me, I'm not usually this rude, but you do know you're overly confident, right?"

"What?"

"Mike. You're egotistical. Every conversation somehow turns to you, and your abilities." She stated and his face contorted.

"Yeah, well..." His voice dropped off and she put a hand on his arm.

"I have to go, and I'm sorry for having to cut this conversation short. Have a nice day, Mike." Abigail waved and was about to walk away when Mike grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and pinned her to the wall. Her voice escaped her throat in a squeak, "Mike." Her camera fell, landing on an equipment box.

"Who put your panties in a twist?" He chuckled, leaning in closer to her. "I could undo that twist for ya." He whispered, lips brushing against hers as his hand dropped to her hips. Abigail jolted to reality and pushed him away, her shoulders shaking as she distanced herself from the older man.

"Leave me alone, Mike."

The screen cut back to Abigail. "I know you couldn't really see faces, and I was lucky that the camera caught what it did. What part of 'Leave me alone' didn't sink in for you? I didn't do anything to you. I had just gotten out of a relationship, and that was when you chose to strike. You're unlike a predator hunting its prey. You were a hyena, only seeking for a victim it could hold on to. I was the poor, sick wildebeest straggling behind the herd. I had already been left to die, wounded by the actions of others, and I was easy prey for you. I was vulnerable, and you were able.

"Alright, maybe the sexual harassment wasn't the only thing you did to me. You have a knack for believing everyone is expendable. I was expendable to you, after all, I did nothing to you, or for you. I didn't help you, and I didn't hurt you. I was just there, and you treated me as such. You treated me as if I were a toy, something you could play with or leave on a shelf, gathering dust as it remained untouched for years." As Abigail spoke, Mike buried his face in his hands. They were words he didn't want to hear, words he had been told before, but never really thought about them.

"I could go on and on about you, Mike, but that would defeat the purpose I'm trying to point out. You are not very complex, Mike. I figured you out quite easily, might I add. You love, and sometimes objectify women. You don't have very many close friends because you never get close to anybody. And I hope that changes. Are you one of the people who are walking around, minding your own business about the situation?" Mike nodded, even though she couldn't see him. She was right, he'd acknowledge it. "I thought so. You seem like the person who'd do that. Shit." Abigail shook her head, her waves of hair tossing over her shoulders. "I'm being judgmental again." She bit her lip and rested her head in her hand.

"Enough about that. What did you do to me? In words. I need to say it in clean, blunt, and painfully descriptive words. Anything to get the point drilled into your head. You slapped my ass, copped a feel on one too many occasions," Abigail counted off on her fingers, "you said the most vulgar things to me, all of them generally sexual. Oh you had a way with words."

Mike drew in a breath. He didn't want to face this, not now, and not ever. These events, these things she was describing, didn't seem real. He knew they happened, and he didn't see anything wrong with it. He wasn't even sure why he started talking to her. She was single, and he did find her attractive, but he didn't know her. Not like Matt did, or Phil. She wasn't especially alluring, or seductive, she just reminded him of people at home; the people perfectly happy in jeans and t-shirts, running around in a unperturbed aura of simplicity.

"We were in catering, in the line, and you leaned in really close to me. I could feel your breath on my neck, and you whispered into my ear about how you could make me forget about Phil. You told me you'd be the best I ever had. In the halls you'd touch me, little touches that made my skin crawl. You'd do it when people weren't watching, that way I'd never have a case against you, not that you were worried about getting caught. Although, you did do a catcall on more than one occasion." Abigail added. "You get the picture. Am I making myself clear? I'm getting the feeling that you're going to say 'You killed yourself over that?' It was how the actions made me feel, Mike, is what the problem was. I felt uncomfortable, like I wasn't safe anywhere. It was like my body wasn't mine anymore. And that was the last thing I couldn't afford to lose. I had just lost my heart, then my mind. My body was the last thing I truly had a hold of. Then you came, and you took it away. Now, I sit here, and I'm not Abigail anymore. And you had a part in that."

The screen faded to black and Mike shook his head. He didn't think he was affecting her, not that much. She was just another girl to him, and he didn't think twice about messing with her. They were just words, weren't they? He wasn't bullying her, it's not like he was shoving insults down her throat.

But seeing her there, talking about it and explaining it to him, made him feel differently. The main thing was, he remembered her telling him to stop, and he remembered brushing it off completely. He hadn't stopped, he didn't know his limits, or when he crossed the line. All he remembered was seeing her react, see the heated flare flash in her hazel eyes before it faded.

He remembered, in brief, stormy flashes, some of the things he said. Catcalls, the occasional 'Hey, Sexy', horrible pick-up lines that were better left unsaid. And, in the back of his mind, he realized that none of it really should have been said, and, sitting here alone in the locker room, he could feel the guilt start to set in.

But he couldn't dwell on it. It was the past, and it would stay in the past. Mike stood and shrugged on his jacket. He would be too busy to deal with it tonight, and he surmised that it would be the same for many nights to come. He would let it fester in the far recesses of his memory, and it would slowly eat at him. That's how it always went with negativity. He pushed it away as far as he could, and in time, he'd make himself think he was alright.

Mike pushed open the door, and let it slam shut behind him. His phone rang, and he answered it, promising the caller he'd see her soon. He couldn't deal with it tonight, he had a date.

With Maryse Oullet.