A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Once again, I apologize for the delay, but then again, my schedule is crap. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter; I've been looking forward to writing this chapter (and the one that follows) ever since I started the story. Enjoy! Peace!
Thank you to Souless666, -Nero-Moore-, xDarexToxDream, ShannonxMoore'sxLoverx, CerebralPrincess, iluvmycena, alethea293, Ashleymassarophan1, justbornawsome, Batista Addicts, MissMikkiMouse, xxxMusicPassionxxx, and Menaji for reviewing! You are AWESOME! Love yas!
Chapter 28: Take Me Away
Ashley wrapped the hotel blanket tighter around her shoulders, shivering. Even after a scalding hot shower, and even with the heater running full blast, the rookie Diva still couldn't get warm. Maybe after what she had witnessed tonight, she never would be able to get warm again. The Deadman's touch seemed to have drained all the warmth from her body, and she felt hollow, as though some vital essence had been drained from her as well.
How stupid, how foolish she'd been, not to realize until now that it had been the Undertaker stalking her all this time. The extreme cold, the weird noises, the dead flowers, and above all, that voice—all of these fell within the Deadman's traditional modus operendi of intimidation. After all, hadn't she witnessed just a small facet of his powers while visiting Smackdown; when he'd been behind her one moment and then gone the next…
THIS…is only the beginning…
The Diva Search winner closed her eyes as the Undertaker's threat floated, unbidden, back into her conscious mind. At the memory of those icy fingers caressing her skin, the emotionless inflection of those words, Ashley began shaking, trembling so violently that her teeth were practically chattering.
She had no doubt that the Deadman meant every word that he had uttered. But if this was only the beginning…then what additional horrors could possibly await her?
Ashley opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. The hotel room was small but cozy, decorated in soft pastel colors. Warm golden light emanated from a floor lamp in the corner, illuminating the space. The cheery atmosphere of the room, however, did nothing to settle the rookie Diva's disquiet. Nor did the presence of the three other Divas surrounding her.
Maria and Mickie sat on either side of Ashley on one of the double beds; Trish sat opposite them on the other. All three of them were staring at the Diva Search winner with a mixture of sympathy and skepticism. Ashley didn't blame them; she had just finished relating the story of her various encounters with the Undertaker, beginning with the first one back at SummerSlam. Somehow, even hearing the events in her own words didn't make them any less incredible…or insane.
Trish was the first one to react, rising to her feet and clasping her hands behind her back. Turning her back on the other three Divas, she slowly paced across the room toward the other side. Mickie must have interpreted this response as her cue to speak, because the brunette Diva abruptly cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "No offense, Ash…but it sounds a little…crazy."
You're one to talk, psycho…Ashley though sourly to herself, but said nothing.
Mickie continued, her hyperactive demeanor subdued for once. "I mean…the Undertaker, here—"
From across the room, Trish's voice drifted over to them, her tone quiet but no less authoritative: "Be quiet, Mickie." The Raw Diva immediately complied, snapping her mouth shut in mid-sentence.
For a few awkward seconds, stillness once again reigned. Then, Maria spoke up, reaching over to touch Ashley's shoulder. "What…what're you going to do now?"
Ashley shook her head, her blond tresses falling over her face. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and shut out the rest of the world. "I don't know," the Diva Search winner whispered.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Trish interrupted, turning around to face them. Both Ashley and Maria looked up, shocked by the brusqueness of her tone. The Women's Champion strode toward them, her gaze fixed on Ashley. "You're going to go to sleep, you're going to forget about this—and in the morning, you're going to stay as far away from Randy Orton as you possibly can."
The Canadian beauty paused, shooting a glare at both Mickie and Maria. "No offense to any of you—but you have no idea how bad this is. There is one person in this business that you do not, under any circumstances, fuck with—and that's the Undertaker."
"But what about Randy?" Ashley surprised herself by speaking. The rookie Diva pulled the blanket even tighter around her body, staring up at her mentor.
Trish, too, seemed stunned at Ashley's sudden interjection, but she quickly recovered, her expression hardening at the mention of the Legend Killer's name. "What about him?" the Women's Champion replied indifferently, crossing her arms over her chest.
Ashley finger-combed her black-streaked locks back from her face. Her voice sounded small, hesitant, in her own ears; she felt like she had to shout to make herself heard. "He still thinks that he burned the Undertaker alive at No Mercy; he deserves to know—"
"Deserves?" Trish repeated, her tone both incredulous and sarcastic. "Randy brought this on himself. The only thing he deserves is to have 'Taker do the same thing to him." Trish shook her head. "Ash, how many times do I have to explain it to you? Randy Orton is a cold-hearted bastard. He doesn't care about you; he doesn't care about anyone—"
"Don't you understand?" Now Ashley was shouting, her indignant cry bursting from deep within her. Hot anger ripped through her body, scorching her insides, driving away the cold. Because she was angry, not just because of the Undertaker or Randy, not just because of her friends' doubtful pity at her situation, but also at Trish's inability to change her own stubborn opinions. The rookie Diva rose to her feet, still clutching the blanket around her. "The way Randy's been acting, the way he's treated me…he did it to protect me!"
"Protect you?" Trish shot back. "He's the reason you're even in this mess! He dragged you into this shit; for all we know, he's just using you as bait. And the more—" She saw Ashley start to open her mouth, and quickly raised her voice, cutting the Diva Search winner off. "—the more you keep defending him, the deeper you're going to sink." The Women's Champion let out a sigh. "Look, whatever Randy's got planned, whatever big scheme he has to destroy the Undertaker for good—it's not going to work. And do you know why? Because in the end…the Deadman always wins."
Trish stepped forward, reaching out to tentatively grasp Ashley's shoulders. Her expression softened just a little. "Look, Ash, I like you, okay? But trust me when I say that you have no idea how bad it can get in this business. Candice, Torrie, Victoria—that's nothing compared to what could happen if the Undertaker ever gets hold of you." The Canadian beauty leaned forward a little, peering into Ashley's face. "Take my advice: call Matt, work things out…and forget all about Randy Orton."
For a moment, Ashley stared back at her, her expression unreadable. Then, with an abrupt motion, she pushed the blanket off her shoulders, shrugging away Trish's hands. She averted her gaze from the Woman's Champion, focusing instead on the nightstand between the two beds.
Trish looked over as well, her eyes growing wide when the rookie Diva snatched her cell phone off the wooden bedside table. "Ash…" Trish asked, her tone wary. "What are you doing—"
Ashley didn't seem to hear her. She instead elbowed her mentor aside, heading for the door. Just as she grasped the knob, however, Trish caught up with her, grabbing onto the Diva Search winner's wrist with both hands. "Ash," the Canadian beauty implored, her voice somewhere between reprimanding and pleading. "Listen to me—"
"Leave me alone," Ashley's reply was so frigid, so terse, and so completely unlike her that the Women's Champion froze, her mouth hanging agape. The rookie Diva wrenched her arm free of Trish's grip, throwing the door open and storming out into the hall. Trish was able to catch her final muttered remark just before the door slammed shut behind her: "I'm so fucking sick of this—"
She was sick of this.
Ashley stomped down the hall, fuming. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt rage like this before: blank helpless rage that boiled up inside her without a person or object to direct itself on. All she knew, all she was certain of, was that she was angry.
So, so angry.
The Diva Search winner glared at the printed wallpaper, imagining for a second that she saw the handsome features of Randy Orton within its pattern. Her fingers curled tight against her palm, and she swung her hand up, her knuckles connecting with the wall. Immediately, pain flared up her hand and arm, but Ashley ignored the sensation.
Instead, she snapped her head to the side, eying the opposite wall. Now it was Candice Michelle who stared back at her from the wallpaper, her beautiful features twisted in a haughty smirk. Without breaking stride, Ashley stepped to the side, slamming her other fist into that wall. The same physical response followed, but once again, the rookie Diva disregarded it. The pain was there, she could feel it—and yet, at the same time, it didn't really seem to matter.
The only thing that mattered was this fury welling up inside her.
The Diva Search winner began talking to herself, weaving a promo that no one would ever hear, every other word punctuated by a punch to one of the two walls as she made her way down the hall: "I'm so sick—so sick—of everybody thinking they can just push me around, that they can just tell me how to feel!"
Ashley stopped, letting out a harsh laugh. "Do this, Ash, do this!" she whined, adopting a parody of Trish's voice. "Hit this clothesline, nail that dropkick…love this guy! Love him because he's nice, and he's sweet, and he's safe, and because everyone else on the roster approves of him—but what about what I want?"
This last question was in her normal tone of voice. Ashley rolled her eyes heavenward, looking for answers even though she knew that none would be forthcoming. "I didn't ask for this, okay?" she whispered. "I didn't ask for any of this—but whenever something happens or something goes wrong, everyone always looks at me as though it's my fault. Whenever Matt loses his mind and throws me against the wall, he's entitled—but when I have second thoughts, I'm just a whore."
By now, Ashley had come to the end of the corridor. Just ahead of her was a steel door leading to the stairwell. The rookie Diva shoved the door open, her voice rising to a shout within the confines of the smaller space. "It was just a stupid dare! Why doesn't anyone understand that? It was just a dare—it wasn't supposed to mean anything! I didn't know—"
At this, Ashley felt her anger abruptly drain out of her, as though someone had punctured a hole in her skin, and she slumped against the adjacent wall, sinking down to the floor. Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely audible: "—I didn't know that I would really care for him…or that he would feel the same way about me."
The Diva Search winner drew her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her arms. She didn't know how long she remained like that—curled up against the wall, shutting out the light—before she became aware of something gripped in her hand, and realized that she was still holding her cell phone.
Ashley held the small piece of electronic equipment up, studying it. It appeared to be undamaged—amazing, considering all those wall punches. With numb fingers, the rookie Diva flipped it open, locating her list of phone numbers and scrolling through until she landed on one number in particular.
Ashley stared at Randy's number, feeling an emotion that she could not identify. She had returned the shirt, the note; the flowers were in a landfill by now—but yet, this number remained; this string of ten ordinary digits that formed her last tenuous connection to the Legend Killer. Every time she encountered this number, the Diva Search winner told herself that she needed to erase it—but every time she attempted to do so, she found that she couldn't.
She couldn't erase Randy's number from her phone any more than she could eradicate him from her heart.
Ashley brought the cell phone up to her face until her nose was almost grazing the screen. "Tell me what to do," the rookie Diva pleaded. "You got me into this—you're the reason I'm in the middle of something that isn't even my fault."
She closed her eyes, feeling a tear work its way down her cheek. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. "What should I do?"
But there was no answer.
As always—there was no answer.
Ashley gripped her suitcase behind her with both hands as she trudged across the parking area of the Joe Louis Arena, Maria and Mickie keeping pace on either side of her. All three Divas were silent, though the latter two were keeping quiet out of respect for the Diva Search winner more than anything else.
By all rights, they should have been celebrating: just as she'd promised, Trish had successfully defended her Women's Championship against SmackDown's paparazzi princess. Additionally, their interpromotional match—one of three that night—had been Raw's sole victory. But Ashley really didn't care. The brand war meant nothing to her, her relationship with Trish had been strained since last week—and in terms of Survivor Series, the only image that stood out in her mind with any clarity was the pay-per-view's conclusion.
Randy Orton, the sole survivor of the SmackDown team, balanced on the shoulders of his celebrating roster, his handsome face effused with pride and elation—an expression that immediately vanished at the sound of an all-too-familiar church bell.
Ashley could still remember it, could recall those few minutes far better than the entire pay-per-view. The ring bathed in darkness as the lights cut out. The chanting of the cloaked druids as they wheeled out the casket. A crack of lightning, flames—and then the Undertaker, emerging from the fire like some kind of demonic specter.
The rookie Diva couldn't describe the stark terror that had seized her at that moment, or the screams she'd had to swallow with difficulty. At that moment, she'd reverted to being five years old ago, terrified of the monster underneath the bed.
Only this time…the monster was real.
More than the fear, more even than the memory of the Undertaker, the Diva Search winner remembered the look on Randy's face; it was as though he was looking at a ghost—or perhaps, more accurately, at his fate. It was a countenance that Ashley recognized—because she had worn it as well.
What would have happened, if she had warned him? If she had told him that his nemesis was still alive? Would it have really changed anything?
Would it have made this moment any less horrifying?
Ashley hear her name being called from a great distance, but she ignored it. It wasn't until she saw, out of the corner of her eyes, Maria and Mickie stop and look over at her that the rookie Diva realized that the voice was real this time. She paused as well, looking up. Her blue-green irises widened with astonishment at Dave Batista striding toward her, his sharply-featured face fixed in an expression of impatient concern.
The Animal halted in front of the trio, and without so much as a greeting, he jabbed his index finger at Ashley. "You—come with me."
The Diva Search winner involuntarily backed up a pace or two, her countenance twisting into one of mild disdain. "What? With you?" Ashley rapidly shook her head. "No way—"
"You don't understand," The World Heavyweight Champion's tone was brusque, and left no room for negotiation. "It's Randy."
Ashley felt her heart flutter to a stop inside her chest, the irritation draining from her face. Batista took this as a sign that she was listening and went on. "He's messed up—has been ever since he stumbled backstage. He keeps mumbling a lot of shit that doesn't make sense, most of it about 'Taker—but one thing he keeps repeating is your name."
By now, both Maria and Mickie were staring at the rookie Diva with obvious interest; Ashley could feel their gazes pressing against her skin. It took an extraordinary amount of effort to block them out and focus only on the Animal. The World Heavyweight Champion continued. "Look, between you and me—the last place you need to be is in the middle of this Deadman shit. But this…this is serious, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't think that you're the only one who can get through to him."
Ashley didn't even hesitate; she just marched forward without even glancing back at her two companions. Batista followed her--not before shooting the other two Divas an appreciative glance, that is. Both Maria and Mickie blinked, their mouths dropping open in shock. Too stunned to move, they watched as Ashley and the Animal walked out into the outer parking area, fading into the night.
At this, Maria's paralysis snapped and she left go of her suitcase, twisting her hands together in front of her. "Oh shit, oh shit!" the backstage reporter wailed, her pretty face panicked. "What're we going to do? What's Trish going to say?"
Mickie opened her mouth to answer, when a new voice interrupted them. "What am I going to say about what?"
Both Divas spun around, gulping visibly at the sight of the Women's Champion. Trish looked from one to the other, her amiable expression slowly growing suspicious. "What's…going on?" she asked cautiously.
Maria tried to think of something to say, but words failed her; for once, she truly felt as dumb as the persona she portrayed on television. "Um…" the backstage reporter stammered. "Um—"
To her surprise, Mickie answered the question, her voice full of its usual effervescence and betraying none of her nervousness. "We were just wondering how you'd feel about the two of us taking you out for drinks. I mean, hello!" The brunette Diva rolled her eyes as though the reason was obvious. "You won tonight! You're still the Champion! You whipped that bitch's butt!"
The Women's Champion laughed, pushing her blond hair back from her face. "I guess you're right. Okay: you're on—just as soon as I find Ash." The Canadian beauty looked around the parking area, her smile fading. "Where…where is Ash, anyway?"
Maria felt panic take hold of her once more, and was about a half-second away from giving up and blurting out the truth when Mickie surprised her once again: "Ash? I think—no, I definitely saw her leave with Matt." The Raw Diva tilted her head to the side, biting her lip. "They looked like they were having a pretty serious conversation."
Trish's face relaxed, and she grinned once again. "Thank God!" she exclaimed. "I've been so worried about those two. After what happened at Halloween—" The Women's Champion's voice trailed off, and for just an instant, her smile faltered. But just as quickly, the Canadian beauty recovered her former elation. "Well, what're we waiting for, then? I won the match tonight, so…" She pointed at the other two Divas. "You two are buying."
With that, Trish sidled past them, heading toward their rental car. Mickie turned to follow, but as she did, she winked at Maria, a mischievous grin touching her lips.
Maria stared at her for a moment, unable to keep a similar smile from curving up the corners of her own mouth. Not so crazy after all…the backstage reporter thought to herself as the two of them ran to catch up with Trish.
Batista didn't move particularly fast, but he did possess an enormous stride, making it extremely difficult to keep pace with him. Ashley almost had to run to keep up. However, as she kept her gaze focused on the broad back of the World Heavyweight Champion, her mind was not on him…but rather, on Randy.
Randy…as well as the man now after them both.
She understood now that the Undertaker had to have been watching them on that first day, that first encounter back at Summerstam. He had seen Randy with her—and somehow, he had known even then that she was different. A man with no conscience, no soul, a man who maybe wasn't even human—and yet he had seen what she and Randy couldn't even admit to themselves, let alone each other.
She also realized that her terrifying encounter with the Deadman back then hadn't been a threat, or even a warning—it had been a chance. A chance to escape, to walk away unscathed. 'Taker had given her the opportunity back then to get away… and every weird occurrence since then, every strange event that had scared the shit out of her—those had been chances, too.
But Ashley had refused. Just like everyone else, she had ignored the Undertaker's warnings and barreled on ahead, until now, there was no chance of turning back. So what was the point, really, of staying away; of going back to Matt and forgetting all this? Why bother when it was too late—too late for any of them?
They were lost. She, Randy, and the Undertaker—they were all lost.
The Animal cleared his throat, jarring Ashley out of her reverie. The rookie Diva jumped a little. They had arrived at the rental car; Batista—in a show of chivalry he had probably never shown any woman—had grudgingly opened the back door for her. Ashley brushed past him, sliding into the backseat, leaving the World Heavyweight Champion to stow her suitcase in the trunk.
The first thing she saw was Randy, huddled in the far corner of the back seat. The second was the passenger in the front seat, who turned and offered her a warm smile. "So you must be Ashley," Cowboy Bob Orton drawled. "Can't say I've heard a lot about you—but then again, I think my son had his reasons for doing that." He cast a concerned look in Randy's direction. The Legend Killer was indeed "messed up", to quote Batista. He seemed to be in the throes of a horrific nightmare: his eyes were closed, and he kept tossing and turning in his seat, mumbling to himself.
Ashley blushed, reaching down to smooth her skirt with both hands. If she had known that she would be in the same car as a Hall of Famer—more than that, Randy's father—she would have tried not to show up still clad in her usual Diva attire of short skirt and low-cut top.
But then again, she hadn't planned on any of this happening—and right now, her concern was for Randy, not what his father might be thinking of her.
Ashley inched closer to the Legend Killer. Hesitantly, she reached out, her fingers grazing Randy's face. "Randy?" the Diva Search winner whispered. When there was no response, she moved even nearer, resting her palm against his cheek. "Randy?" she repeated, a little louder this time.
The Legend Killer's eyes flew open, and it unnerved Ashley to see those azure irises so full of pure terror. For a few seconds, he looked around wildly, as though unsure of his surroundings. Then, his gaze finally fell on the rookie Diva, and Ashley saw his muscular frame visibly relax. "Ash?" the former World Heavyweight Champion murmured.
Ashley smiled, feeling tears sting her eyes. "I'm here, Randy," she replied. "I'm here."
With a sudden swift motion, Randy sat up, wrapping his arms around the Diva Search winner and pulling her against him. As soon as her head hit his chest, Ashley felt an extraordinary sense of peace fall over her. This…this was where she belonged. Wrapped in Randy's embrace—this was where she was meant to be.
She heard a deliberate cough from the driver's seat, followed by Batista's impatient: "Where to?"
Ashley let her eyes drift closed, lulled by the security she felt in Randy's arms. "Away..." the rookie Diva murmured. "Take us away from here…"
