Chapter 10 notes: This is really more part of a chapter... But in the interest of keeping others interested, I am posting it anyways. No, I have not lost interest in this story. No, I have not forgotten about it... I am currently suffering some mild to moderate issues with my back, and it is preventing me from sitting at my computer for overly long periods. In a couple of weeks, with a couple more massages and a continuing self-induced program of Yoga, I am hoping to get control of all this and get back on track. Meanwhile I will continue to do what I can.

Once again, this is a loose interpretation of the Taker/Kane story... Just go with me on it. And for WWE fans, I'm tossing in a couple more of the Ministry characters, but they will be fairly brief appearances.

Chapter 10

Once safely back in Jersey, Mark was carefully ushered into one of the larger and very secure 'observation' rooms. The room was still far too small for him, but he managed to get himself inside of it without complaint.

Glen was placed in the same fireproof room that had been created for Liz, and was almost directly across from Mark. As requested, the mask had been left on him. There was a closed circuit television system watching them both silently from an upper corner of each room. Mark was given a monitor in his room to watch Glen when he was being 'interviewed' at his request. "You either give me a monitor, I watch him with my brain. Save me the energy would you?" Mark had reasoned. Hellboy decided then and there that arguing with a psychic as intelligent as Mark was impossible and pointless.

Mark, Hellboy, and Professor Bruttenholm hunkered down and made for a tight fit in the room to watch these meetings between Liz and Glen. Mark sat silently and entranced through these meetings. He listened as Glen explained that he was simply working as nightshift security when he was approached by Paul, and had as little to do with other people as possible. He'd grown to distrust others as a general rule, because without fail other people would end up leaving him, one way or another.

Glenn didn't want to sit and talk to this woman, but he couldn't react to his displeasure without Mark's say so. The fucker. And still the woman kept on coming back, and Glen was forced to reveal more and more.

"Mind if I smoke?" Liz asked Glen on her third day of coming to his room. Glen sat huddled in a corner of the room. A muffled sound came out from under the mask, which Liz had to assume was a kind of laughter.

"Now there's irony for you." Glen muttered.

"I'll take that as the okay to go ahead." Liz said dryly and lit her cigarette. "You're aware this conversation is being recorded, correct?"

"Yes, and I know where I am... And I know that I haven't been read my rights, so none of it is admissible in court." Glen said.

"Who said anything about criminal charges?" Liz asked and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"I've been interviewed by plenty of people trying to get into my head in my younger days. I know how it goes." Glen retorted.

"I'm not trying to figure you out, Glen. I'm here to facilitate you figuring yourself out." Liz said gently. "I don't believe I can make you better, or stop hating yourself and what you're capable of... However, I do know that it's possible for you to live with all of that, because I learned to do it myself. It is possible." She took another puff and continued. "I'll even be perfectly honest and admit that I still struggle with it sometimes, but one can live with it."

"When did you first find out?" Glen asked quietly, looking past her to the corner of the room.

"Neighbourhood kid teasing me... Burned down the whole block, including my house and took my family with it." Liz said while exhaling and flicking the ash of her cigarette into the ashtray she'd brought with her. "You?"

"Lying in the burn ward about a month after I woke up... Which would be about six weeks after the fire... I was just so angry and confused and caught up in my memories that it happened. I didn't take out much more then the mattress I was strapped to though... The hospital staff never did find an explanation. I fucked up a bunch of skin grafts in the process too." Glen said. He wasn't quite sure why he was talking, other then Mark had told him to do what the lady said... If he had to come up with a reason why he would choose to tell her on his own, it would have to be that Miss Sherman already knew so much about him and he'd never have to explain that to her.

"Tell me about Mark if you can." She said.

"Fuck Mark." Glen barked suddenly and looked Liz straight in the eye. "He's got me tied up like a dog right now. So tight I wouldn't be able to shit if he told me not to."

"He says it's for all our safety, including yours. And you have to face it, you haven't given him any reason to trust you... Besides, he's caught up in his own shit right now, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Do you think I care that he bit off more than he could chew and got caught with the consequences? Think again. He should have learned to handle himself a long time ago and apparently hasn't." Glen said. His voice was as clear as it could be; even though it had a permanent roughness that Liz had to assume was leftover from his childhood injuries.

"Couldn't you accuse yourself of the same thing?" Liz asked mildly. "You're refusing to open your mind to there being another reality of how that night went. Besides, consider that Paul had recently been dropped by Mark when he found you, and had every reason in the world to lie to you to manipulate you into wanting to hurt Mark." Liz took another drag on her smoke, and Glen was silent for a long time afterwards.

"I... I don't know." Glen spoke softly when he finally did. "It's like part of me is screaming inside my head that "MARK DID IT!" and I can't shut it up or ignore it."

"That might be part of the spell Paul worked over you talking." Liz offered. There was another period of silence. "Tell me about the fire in the Bronx." She said in an effort to get him speaking again. Glen took a long, deep breath, much in the same manner that Mark did.

"Paul had me fucking riled that night. I may have even been frothing at the mouth under this mask, I don't know... I don't know that you've ever had a need for vengeance Miss Sherman, but this was something I felt I was living my life for. I was finally getting my little taste of revenge as we went along... And when Paul set me to starting that fire, I had no thought other then hurting Mark in any way possible. I simply didn't care about anything else. Paul didn't so much exaggerate, as continually reiterate the importance of any of the places I destroyed... I didn't mean to take out the entire block. I got carried away. I do so easily. And I know that people died... But I have yet to determine whether I care about that or not, or if I am remorseful for it." Glen said dutifully, doing what Miss Sherman asked, as Mark had ordered him to.

The whole length of Mark's body shifted uncomfortably upon hearing this. He looked vaguely ill and upset at the entire situation. He considered perhaps Glen had truly lost the gentle nature Mark remembered him having. It had been a damn long time since the fire, and life might have gotten to him and made him into a remorseless killer. His elbow nudged one of the various old books lying around the room. The pages were open to spells about mind control and releasing someone affected by it. He looked long and hard at the book and sighed audibly. Hellboy noticed this and spoke up.

"So, if you think you've got it, why not release him like you've been going on about wanting to?" He asked.

"I guess I like to think I'm sort of forcing him through some kind of therapy or catharsis. If he talks about it to someone now, then hopefully he'll realize that it will be okay to continue to do so after I've released him... I'm just praying that he doesn't feel too violated by it." Mark replied. Once again he shifted his body uncomfortably because of the confined space.

"You have to know that there is a very good chance of exactly that happening." Hellboy said.

"I do... But after all he's been through we're probably going to have to force him to trust people. If he comes out of all of this knowing that he can trust Liz; that might make him a little more open to trusting others if not me." Mark reasoned and Hellboy nodded.

"And how are you feeling, Mark?" Bruttenholm asked, assuming that no one had had the time to ask him in the last while. Most everyone had just been amazed at what he'd turned into and his physical, not mental state.

"Cramped, hungry, agitated, frustrated..." Mark answered honestly. "Perhaps even plagued somewhat... Normally the tail starts to turn rather ashen looking after a few days of not eating, and starts to consume itself to survive. I'm just hoping that absorbing the power from a bunch of perennially lusting goat men has given me an extra kick and soon this will all start wearing off." Mark said, and looked over the tail with mild distain on his face. He sighed again loudly. "I just want to be able to go home, and hopefully take Glen with me." He concluded.

"Hate to play devil's advocate, but that might not be for awhile yet." Hellboy said. Mark nodded, because he did understand why that was the case.

"I know... I just would prefer to be in New Orleans drinking an enormous bottle of witch-worked red wine with Jacqueline." Mark mused. "While standing on her porch, not crawling on my belly, and we could make fun of passerby tourists who are looking for the 'spooky' part of New Orleans."

"You're making me jealous." Hellboy said with a smirk.

"I'm making myself jealous." Mark replied wryly. "Because I've had it that good."

"Well, when this is all done and over with, I'd say you deserve it."

"Thanks, man." Mark said quietly.

Mark was left alone soon after that for the day. Hellboy was trying to keep Mark company as often as possible, but had other things that needed attending, such as his perpetual mountain of backed up paperwork that needed to be done. He was also in the midst of sifting through various reports of several different weird happenings world wide, and helping his superiors in the Bureau with deciding which would need priority treatment.

So the next day, he was finally getting some 'real' work done when he was called into Professor Bruttenholm's office for something 'urgent'. Urgent meant two football player sized men standing in the office, outright demanding to see "The Undertaker". Trevor Bruttenholm, in his gentle manner at least had the men calmed down by the time Hellboy got there to avoid any violent conflict. Still Bruttenholm was relieved when Hellboy did walk through the door as extra insurance in case these men became more demanding then he could handle alone. They gave Hellboy a long look when he came in, and Bruttenhom immediately noticed that the taller and leaner of the two, who'd been doing the talking, immediately became much more polite towards their aging host.

"Who the hell are these clowns?" Hellboy asked Professor Bruttenholm and deliberately ignored their 'guests'. "And why do they want to see Mark?"

"This is Mr. Bradshaw" Bruttenholm said, pointing out the taller man. "and I'm afraid I haven't caught your name yet, Mister?" His eyes resting on the thicker set black man.

"Farooq" He grumbled, responding to Bruttenholm's polite manner but clearly not wanting to. "Just Farooq."

"And this is Farooq." Bruttenholm said and gave Hellboy a boyish smirk. Hellboy returned it. He'd seen this many times over. His father was the best he'd ever seen at killing someone with kindness. "Now, I know they want to see our guest, but they haven't illuminated me as to why." He turned back to 'Bradshaw' and spoke again. "Mark has become a friend to many of us around here, so naturally we value him and have become a bit protective of him. So, if you can tell us why you need to see him so badly, perhaps we can arrange something, gentlemen." Bradshaw took a deep breath, and was clearly unused to such polite company.

"Sir," He started, though it was a strained use of the word. It seemed as if he was in a great hurry and was only attempting to keep his patience because he figured it might get him where he needed to be more quickly. "Mark, as you've taken to calling him, has become a very important man to many people over the last little while. I mean, we've only heard rumours, but the rumours are so out there that they have to be true... Paul is dead, and the Undertaker killed him, and that means 'Taker's got some explaining to do and some responsibilities to assume."

"Mark didn't kill him." Hellboy defended perhaps too quickly, a lot of anger simmered in his tone. Mark had merely finished what a wayward goat man's cloven hoof had started. Bradshaw gave him another one of those long looks.

"So Paul is dead." Bradshaw concluded. Farooq let out an audible breath.

"Fuck do we do now, man?" Farooq asked Bradshaw quietly.

"It means that there is a new Lord of the Manor, so to speak, and that we have to have an audience with him." Bradshaw replied, and looked at Bruttenholm again.

"But Paul's gone... The hell are we supposed to do without him?" Farooq insisted.

"Ya know what, fuck Paul. Taker was always the 'power' behind him anyways. Let the Lord assume his proper place." Bradshaw said, but kept his gaze on Bruttenholm.

Hellboy only partially understood this conversation. While Mark had told him that there were others under Paul's control, he hadn't realized that they were such a tight knit bunch, let alone there being a structure and order to them. "Kane and Mideon, did they survive?" Bradshaw asked carefully.

"Who the hell is Kane?" Hellboy asked.

"I believe they are referring to Glen," Bruttenholm said. "Kane was the maiden name of Glen and Mark's mother after all." Hellboy snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Father, answer me a question, why do all societies associated with the occult and dark arts have to rename all those associated with it by using exotic and vaguely dangerous sounding names?" Hellboy asked.

"A sign of spiritual conversion and devotion is usually the idea behind most name changes of this nature." Bruttenholm explained.

"Sounds like an excuse some Goth teenager would use." Hellboy muttered. Bradshaw's brow furrowed.

"You know nothing of what we do, so I suggest you learn something about it before you mock it." He said, looking extremely pissed off and only keeping his temper just barely.

"What don't I know? I've beaten down uglies and seen things that'd make you shit your pants." Hellboy barked back.

"Son, please refrain from starting a brawl in my office." Bruttenholm interrupted. Hellboy simmered, but only a little bit. "To answer your question Mr. Bradshaw, Glen and Mideon did survive, are in excellent health, and are also being held here in safety."

"Kane and 'Taker made nice yet?" Bradshaw asked.

"Both are resolving certain issues before a reconciliation will be possible." Bruttenholm said diplomatically. Hellboy kept his mouth shut and instead chose to glare and Bradshaw and Farooq menacingly. While apparently intimidated by him, they did not back off from their purpose. Hellboy had to credit them that at least.

"You have to let us see him, sir... There is much at stake which he needs to attend to, no matter how protective you've become over him." Bradshaw said.

"Mark gets final say." Hellboy grumbled, and Bradshaw nodded. He couldn't argue with that.

TBC... When I can once again sit here without going bug eyed from muscle tension...