A/N: NEW CHAPTER! Think of this as a belated X-mas present. I swear, though, me and vocabulary were not friends during the composition of this chapter. I spent hours staring at the screen, screaming: "I know what I want to say; why can't I SAY it?" But we all know how THAT goes, lol. By the way, the end of this chapter came to me while I was halfway through; I just scribbled some notes down quick and banged it out, so hopefully, y'all will like it, along with the rest of the chapter. Am I babbling yet? I don't mean to; it's just that it's very late over here and my brain is officially fried. So, on that note, ENJOY! PEACE!

Thank you to Aliel Yevrah, SLSheartsRKO, rockmyworldx3, DiivaLover, Animal-Viper-Cena Fan, beautifultragedyxxx, BigRedMachineUK, Menaji, and MissMikkiMouse for reviewing the last chapter! Thank you so much, and you know that I love you ALL! A lot! *hugs*

Chapter 37: Lost Without You

You look lost, boy...

Randy ran both hands through his short spiky hair, the gleeful drawl of the Undertaker reverberating in his skull as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. The Legend Killer wasn't exactly lost, per se; he had just ceased to pay attention to his surroundings, and now everything was blurring together, losing its distinguishing features, stretching out into one long unending corridor.

He felt like a rat trapped in a maze; bumping blindly into walls while some faceless scientist observed him from afar, watching his every movement with a cold and clinical eye...one who didn't hesitate to place any kind of obstacle in his test subject's path. Like tonight, for example; the eerie events that had been plaguing him for the past several hours...

The hands of the clock, spinning out of control...

The blood streaming down his father's face-there one moment and gone the next...

Their rental car, speeding out of the parking lot with no one behind the wheel...and the slack look of dull passivity on backstage reporter Josh Matthew's features as his eyes rolled back into his head, the toneless voice emerging from his lips most assuredly not his own...

You really think that you can escape me, boy?...You're in the fast lane now...on the HIGHWAY TO HELL!...

Randy halted, swaying unsteadily, his sense of balance ebbing away with each passing second. He could no longer feel anything below the knee; it was as though his feet had lost their substance, along with their ability to support him.

With trembling fingers, the third-generation Superstar reached out, grabbing onto the wall to steady himself. The textured surface of the cinderblock felt cool beneath his fingertips-but the sensation gave him no comfort. If anything, it was nothing more than a cruel wake-up call; a reminder that he was still mired in reality.

And if he was still here...then that meant...the nightmare would continue.

Randy tilted his face up toward the ceiling, the sickly brilliance of the fluorescent bulbs washing over him like sunshine. The Legend Killer blinked stupidly in the light, wondering vaguely how he had ended up here; how he had been reduced from the youngest World Heavyweight Champion in history to a scared little boy, quivering and gibbering in the corner.

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?

Randy wasn't stupid; he had never harbored any delusions about what doing battle with the Deadman would entail. In the back of his mind, perhaps even before Wrestlemania 21, he had always known that it would come down to this, that he and 'Taker would reach a point where there was no turning back; where victory would be impossible without something being irretrievably lost in exchange.

It was a steep price...but one which the Legend Killer had always been willing to pay, because a win over the Deadman in his own yard, in his own playground, meant eternal glory. He would rule the SmackDown roster, his name would be etched in the history books, and he would no longer be known as Legend Killer, but simply Legend.

Those dreams, those golden possibilities...they had persisted even after his disastrous loss at Wrestlemania. During the four long months he had been out with a shoulder injury, they had been his constant companion; the only thing that had sustained him during that dark time. And when the Draft Lottery had rolled around and he had been shuffled over to SmackDown, his first act had been to RKO the Undertaker, to remind the Phenom that the business they had begun on the grandest stage of them all was far from over...

Randy had always told himself that he was different; that he would succeed where so many other Superstars had failed because unlike them, he had nothing left to lose. No girlfriend, no friends-the only people that seemed to tolerate his company anymore were his father and the Animal. The Undertaker always boasted about taking souls, but Randy wasn't even sure he possessed one of those, because no matter how despicable or vicious his actions were nowadays, he couldn't feel the slightest flicker of remorse or conscience.

In some ways, he was always destined to go the distance with the Deadman..because inside, he was dead already.

The Legend Killer had anticipated this, planned for this, as though his feud with the Phenom was nothing more than a neatly ordered math equation on a chalkboard. He had spent hours, days, weeks, conditioning himself for the physical warfare, steeling himself against the psychological...

And then, the unexpected had occurred. Something he had never counted on; a variable he had never factored into his original calculations...

I'm Ashley, by the way...

Randy groaned quietly in the back of his throat, the sound of it almost like a sob. Covering his face with his hands, he turned away from the light, shrinking from it like a vampire recoiling from sunlight. Tears climbed up his throat and it took everything he had not to relinquish himself to them; to swallow them back down as though nothing was wrong.

His heart had died a long time ago; he was fairly certain of that fact. What other reason was there for why he was such a bastard; for why he felt no other sensation except emptiness and cold?

But then, one warm August afternoon in Washington D.C., he had strolled out into the parking garage...and felt the warm softness of lips pressed against his. It hadn't been the kiss that had surprised him so much as the frantic pounding in his ears-a sound which he gradually recognized, with some astonishment, as that of his own heartbeat.

It was as though it had known, even before he had, that Ashley Massaro was different; that she was the one capable of bringing him back to life.

She had made him feel. Somehow, the Diva Search winner had broken through the layers of insensitivity surrounding him, reminding him that he was still alive, that he still had a soul, when even he was starting to believe otherwise. He was in love with her; so in love that it was almost too much to bear...but at what cost?

What cost...when now he couldn't even protect her from his own demons?

Randy had always believed (foolishly, he now understood) that when you loved someone; really, truly loved them, you would be able to do whatever was necessary to protect them-even if it meant pushing them away, even if it meant making them hate you.

Instead, he'd realized only too late that love was nothing more than one big Catch-22; that the same overwhelming emotion that would drive him to push the rookie Diva away would also keep him from letting her go.

And now...now it was too late. Now they were both lost; trapped like flies in an enormous web, and the events that had befallen them-the attack on Ashley, the strange occurrences this evening...well, they were the first faint vibrations, the first indicators that the spider was approaching.

And the spider...was hungry.

Guilt ripped through Randy's insides, the sensation so acute that the third-generation Superstar almost doubled over. The Legend Killer grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the pain. These pangs of conscience...they seemed to be all he felt anymore-along with uncertainty, apprehension, fear. His heart, formerly an empty vessel, was now filled to the brim with emotions that could neither be eradicated or ignored. And with each new feeling, each dawning sentiment, Randy could feel himself weakening; could feel the protective shield he had built around himself evaporating, leaving him naked and vulnerable.

It was this weakness that terrified him more than anything; more than any of the Phenom's mind games, more even than the match that awaited him in twelve days. If he was weak, if he possessed even the slightest doubt about his own abilities, then the Undertaker would drag them both down into the darkness.

And then...what would happen to Ashley?

All of the misfortune that had befallen the Diva Search winner...it was his fault. He had treated her like shit, destroyed her relationship with a man far better than him, and pulled her right into the crossfire of a war-all because he had been too much of a chickenshit to do the right thing and let her go. He had dragged her into this mess-and now he didn't even have the guts to tell her the truth: that he was a fraud, a failure; that he wasn't capable of saving anyone...least of all himself.

The Legend Killer stiffened as Ashley's voice drifted across his consciousness yet again, her tone faintly accusing:

I don't understand how you can choose this...emptiness...

He hadn't known why then, but he did now; knew with the sort of painful comprehension that comes too late to be of any use...the emptiness was the only thing that could have saved them both.

Someone bumped into him, almost hard enough to knock him over, jarring the third-generation Superstar from his self-pitying reverie. Randy spun around, his lean frame tensing almost immediately as his blue eyes locked onto Matt Hardy's hate-filled dark ones.

Ever since last week, the elder Hardy brother had gone out of his way to make the Legend Killer's life miserable. The majority of it was inconsequential-wordless glares, verbal barbs, the occasional shove-and so far, Randy had tolerated it without comment, without complaint.

Partly because he knew Matt's hostility toward him was justified...but mostly because he just didn't care.

The elder Hardy brother tilted his chin up a little as he eyed the former World Heavyweight Champion, a derisive smirk touching the corners of his mouth. "What's the matter, Randy?" he taunted. "You don't look so good. In fact..."

Matt moved closer, lowering his voice to a volume only the two of them could hear: "...you look like hell." the SmackDown Superstar finished.

If this particular conversation had been taking place a few months ago, Randy would have slapped Matt for such a display of insolence. But instead, the Legend Killer merely stared dumbly back at the elder Hardy brother, unable to react, unable to speak, his azure irises as flat and broken as shattered glass.

Apparently, this response-or rather, lack thereof-was not what Matt had hoped to see, because the elder Hardy brother's sneer abruptly vanished and he shoved his face into Randy's, his voice dripping with loathing. "You pathetic sack of shit-"

Normally, Matt's insults rolled right off the Legend Killer, like water coming into contact with water. But for some reason, as the words drifted from Matt's lips into the air between them, the third-generation Superstar felt a flame of indignation flicker to life within him, burning brighter with each passing second.

It wasn't what the elder Hardy brother had said-Randy had heard and absorbed far worse. No...it was the fact that Matt was choosing to channel all of his anger, all of his raw emotion, into childish acts of petty animosity toward the Legend Killer...instead of focusing on the one person who was truly a victim in this entire situation; the rookie Diva who the elder Hardy brother was clearly still crazy about, despite everything that had happened.

Ashley's nothing like Lita...Randy found himself thinking. She never wanted to hurt you-she'd still be with you if it wasn't for me...

Right now...the Deadman's after her...because of me. She's alone, she's terrified...and if you loved her as much as you claim to, you'd be with her right now instead of in my face. If you felt ANYTHING at all for her...you'd be trying to protect her...instead of punishing me...

That's what I would do...because if anything ever happened to her...I'd never forgive myself...

Remember, Randy...as long as I can get to her...I can get to you...

The Legend Killer flinched as the Undertaker's voice thundered in his head, the sound of it almost triumphant. His legs involuntarily buckled beneath him, and he locked his knees in place, lest he collapse in a heap on the floor. He swallowed hard, trying to force back down the scream that was climbing up his throat. He could sense a sparkling blackness hovering at the edges of his vision, causing things to swim in and out of focus, and he remembered thinking dimly that he would be all right if everything would just stop spinning; that he would be all right if everything would just stop spinning-

"Randy?"

For the third-generation Superstar, the tentative utterance of his name was the mental equivalent of a bucket of cold water. It slammed into him, clearing his head, forcing himself back into total awareness. Across from him, he could see that Matt had been similarly affected; the anger had drained from his expression, leaving behind an unreadable amalgamation of emotions.

Both men turned, almost in perfect unison, and Randy felt something inside him lurch sickeningly when he saw Ashley standing only a few feet away. The Diva Search winner looked dazed, and was holding onto the edge of an adjacent equipment crate for support, her knuckles actually flushing white with the effort. She looked smaller than usual; her shoulders were hunched and her clothes seemed to hang on her already-petite frame. Her skin was drawn tight against the bones of her face, throwing her beautiful features into sharp relief; making her look gaunt and haggard.

It was the look in her eyes, however, that sent Randy's heart hurtling up into his throat. Ashley's blue-green irises were calm, but it was the dulling glaze of shock, rather than the clear lucidity of true serenity...and in their depths, the Legend Killer could still glimpse the unmistakable glitter of fear.

Fear...and panic.

The former World Heavyweight Champion pushed past Matt, the elder Hardy brother already all but forgotten. He moved toward the rookie Diva hesitantly, on legs that threatened to give way beneath him, afraid that she would melt away into nothing like a mirage...or worse, that the Undertaker would suddenly materialize behind her, clamp his gloved hand over her mouth and yank her back into the darkness.

Randy slowly licked his lips; his tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. "Ash?" he whispered. His voice sounded alien in his own eyes; unsteady, hoarse, and thick with unshed tears. "What're you doing here?" A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he forced it back, stumbling doggedly toward Ashley. "It's not...safe...here; Taker...he-"

"What's he going to do?" the Diva Search winner interjected softly. "Come after me?" A ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth, a shrill giggle emerging from her throat. The sound of it was harsh and jarring; laced with barely contained hysteria.

Ashley must have heard it as well; must have sensed how close she was to the breaking point, because she quickly snapped her mouth closed, cutting off her frenzied laughter. Her eyes were bright now, gleaming with unshed tears, and her full lips quivered. "Randy..." the rookie Diva whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm so scared..."

In a flash, the Legend Killer closed the distance between them, pulling Ashley to him and holding her tight against his chest. The Diva Search winner tensed at first, but a second later, Randy felt the tips of her fingers digging into his back as she returned the embrace; felt her slender body shake as she began to cry.

The Legend Killer squeezed his eyes closed, his breath escaping his lungs in one long shuddering exhale. Dipping his head down, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring quietly into her hair, his tone just as agonized and broken as hers:

"So am I, Ash...so am I..."

From his position a few feet away, Matt watched the two of them embrace one another; the girl who had stolen his heart...and the man who had stolen her away from him. His expression was both miserable and furious, and a tiny muscle in his jaw throbbed as he clenched his teeth.

Pressing his lips together in a thin line, the elder Hardy brother turned his back on the hated tableau, striding down the hall and disappearing out of sight.

Ashley pressed her cheek against Randy's chest, the heat of his skin radiating up through the fabric of his t-shirt, enveloping her. She gently trailed her fingers over the sculpted contour of his pectoral, her pulse instantly quickening as her explorations evoked a soft pleasurable moan from the third-generation Superstar.

The two of them had been lying here in Randy's hotel room, safely ensconced under the bedcovers, for almost two hours now. Nothing sexual had occurred; they were both still fully clothed and hadn't gone any further than the occasional kiss or caress. The physical desire was still there-Ashley could feel its warmth tingling in the pit of her stomach-but right now, it was inconsequential, compared with her newfound feeling of emotional tranquility.

Ever since last night, since the match between her and Candice and those few stolen minutes when some strange entity had taken control of her body-the rookie Diva had felt like she was trapped in perpetual freefall; like she was spinning out of control, faster and faster, with no hope of stopping. But the moment that she had felt the Legend Killer's arms around her...everything had ground to a halt and an extraordinary stillness had fallen over her, silencing even the alien voice in the depths of her mind.

Ashley could feel her eyes drifting closed; could feel sleep-something that had eluded her for the past week-taking hold of her mind, gently but firmly tugging her away from consciousness. But instead of relinquishing herself to slumber, the Diva Search winner fought against the feeling, forcing herself to stay awake, to stay lucid. She needed to sleep...and she would, eventually...but not yet.

There was something that she needed to know first.

Ashley tilted her head up, squinting as she tried to make out Randy's features in the dim light. "Randy?" she whispered. There was no verbal response to her query; only a slight increase in pressure as the Legend Killer tightened his arms around her.

The rookie Diva bit her lip, taking a deep breath and steeling herself mentally before uttering her next question: "What...really...happened? Between you...and Stacy Keibler?"

Almost instantly, she felt Randy stiffen, and heard a sharp hiss as he sucked air in through his teeth. His voice broke the silence; flat and dull...but barely masking the rasp of long-buried pain: "Why? Why do you want to know...about that?"

Ashley ducked her head, burying her face in his chest. She could hear the Legend Killer's heartbeat-previously so slow and steady-thudding rapidly and hollowly against his ribs. "Because everyone thinks that you did it to send a message," she replied after a few moments. "And so do I...but not for the same reasons that everyone else does." She let her breath out slowly before continuing. "Everyone thinks that you don't care...but I know that you do...more than they ever will. Please...I want to know the truth." A pause. "I need to know the truth."

A second crawled by, then another, and the Diva Search winner wondered if Randy was even going to answer her. But then, all of a sudden, she heard the words tumble from his mouth, rapid and forced, like he was tearing the bandage off a still-seeping wound: "I cared about Stacy, all right? I don't know if I loved her or not-but I cared about her...and I know-" A deep breath, almost a sob. "-I know...that she loved me."

The former World Heavyweight Champion disentangled one of his arms, reaching up to massage his temples as he went on. "After Hunter booted me out of Evolution, most of the Raw roster didn't want anything to do with me." Even though she couldn't see his face, Ashley could glimpse the flash of a bitter half-smile in his voice. "I don't blame them...I was pretty much a world-class douche. But Stace...she was different. It was like...she saw something in me...something that was worth giving a second chance."

Randy rolled over onto his back, pulling Ashley on top of him and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. "When I decided...to go after 'Taker's Wrestlemania streak...everyone thought I was crazy; Dave, my dad...even Stacy thought I was nuts. They all begged me not to...but I-I went ahead anyway...because-" The third-generation Superstar paused as he struggled to find the right words. "If you beat the Deadman at Wrestlemania, then people will remember you forever...and I wanted them to remember me. I thought that I could handle it."

The Legend Killer laughed bitterly; the sound of it so choked that it was more like a deeply-lodged cough. "I was wrong...and stupid. So fucking stupid."

Without warning, Randy balled his hand up into a fist, slamming it down onto the mattress. Ashley jumped at this sudden show of aggression, but the Legend Killer didn't seem to notice; he was fully ensnared in the past. "Damn it!" he blurted out. "Why didn't he come after me? Why didn't he come after me? I was ready for that smoke and mirrors shit; why-" Randy paused, his anger evaporating just as swiftly as it had emerged; his voice faltering, tinged with regret and bitterness. "-why did he have to go after her?"

As he spoke, Ashley felt a chill rip through her, as though her internal air conditioner had been turned on full-blast. The former World Heavyweight Champion continued. "She called me one night...Stacy...she was hysterical. It took a while-she couldn't stop crying-but eventually she told me that she was seeing things, hearing things; that she'd be all alone in a room and still feel like there was someone there-"

"What did you tell her?" The rookie Diva hadn't meant to interrupt, but the words popped out of her mouth before she could check them.

Randy licked his lips. "I told her that it was nothing...nothing to worry about...but deep down...I was lying, because I knew. I knew that it was him; that he was going after Stacy because she meant something to me...just like I knew that he wasn't going to stop until she went crazy or got hurt..." Another pause. "...or until...I did something about it."

The Legend Killer turned his head to the side, away from her, another harsh laugh escaping his throat. "I didn't sleep at all that night; just paced back and forth until I thought my head was going to explode. I knew that if 'Taker ever went after Stacy, I'd never be able to live with it on my conscience...but I also knew that she'd never be safe as long as she was with me. The only way..."

Randy's voice broke, and he stopped to compose himself. When he spoke again, it was with obvious effort. "The only way...that she'd ever be safe...was if 'Taker believed that she meant nothing to me. And the only way that he'd believe it-" The former World Heavyweight Champion's voice cracked again, but this time, he barreled on ahead, disregarding the tears that were threatening to burst from him: "-was if she believed it, too."

As soon as the Legend Killer verbalized those last six words, Ashley felt everything-all of her disconnected notions and thoughts and feelings-come together and solidify with an nearly audible CLICK. The rookie Diva gasped, jolting a little as though she had just been slapped.

Randy was still talking, and Ashley wondered how she could have ever thought him heartless; just listening to the misery in his tone was enough to make her want to weep. "When I showed up the next day for the Raw broadcast...no one guessed that there was something different about me, that everything was about to change. Stacy...she didn't even blink when I asked her to come to the ring with me for my promo."

The third-generation Superstar hesitated again, and Ashley felt his chest rise and fall as he gulped down breath. He wasn't crying-not openly, at least-but in the faint light, the Diva Search winner could see the moist trails of tears staining his cheeks. Randy went on, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper at this point: "I remember...holding her hand as we walked down to the ring. I remember kissing her. I remember saying that I had a message for anyone who thought I was afraid of the Undertaker..." Another pause, another choked breath. "And then...the next thing I remember...she was lying unconscious on the canvas...and I was standing over her."

The Legend Killer sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "The minute I saw her lying there...I wanted to die. I wanted to fall down next to her and never wake up. But instead...I walked away. I turned my back on her and I walked away." Bitterness crept into Randy's tone, coating his words. "And with every step I took...the pain got less and less. By the time I got backstage...I couldn't feel anything at all."

Randy paused, and Ashley would always remember his next words: "Part of me died that night...and the day it came back to life was the day I met you."

The former World Heavyweight Champion abruptly pushed himself up, his fingers latching around Ashley's wrist with a suddenness that startled her. His eyes were barely visible pools of pain, his voice almost frantic. "I never wanted this to happen, Ash. You have to know that I never wanted to put you through any of this. It's just that...I love you-"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Randy's voice trailed away into silence, as though he could not believe that he had just uttered them. Ashley couldn't move; her chest had locked up and she was finding it difficult to breath.

Slowly, with a hand that was visibly shaking, Randy reached over, touching her face, resting his palm against her cheek. "I love you," he repeated softly. "I love you so much...and without you...I'm lost." Somehow, they had drawn closer together; his lips were practically grazing hers. "Without you...I'm nothing."

He started to add more, but Ashley quickly silenced him, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was far more fierce and passionate than their previous ones had been. Randy buried his hands in her gold-and-black tresses as he returned the kiss.

The two of them embraced in the darkness, their fatigue giving way (at least temporarily) to their ardor.

Matt took a huge swig from his beer can, savoring the flavor of the malted brew as it flowed down his throat. It was not his first of the evening; he was two cans away from finishing off the six-pack, and there were another six waiting in the trunk of his car should that eventuality occur-which, considering the rate he was going, was a definite possibility.

The elder Hardy brother set the can down on the hood, leaning back and taking in his surroundings. It was almost two in the morning, and he was parked at the far edge of a deserted parking lot, where even the sickly pools of light from the streetlamps couldn't reach.

Matt didn't really mind; the mood he was in, darkness suited him more than any other ambience. Besides, the less chance he ran of getting spotted by the cops, the better...because he planned on getting good and obliterated tonight.

Picking up his can, the SmackDown Superstar downed another generous swallow, wondering vaguely why he had chosen to settle for beer; why he hadn't grabbed something stronger at the liquor store. Right now, he was pretty drunk-but not drunk enough.

Not drunk enough to blot out the past...and not drunk enough to prevent Ashley Massaro from completely invading his thoughts.

The elder Hardy brother groaned, pressing the can against his forehead. It was like the worst kind of hell: he could recall every nuance of the Diva Search winner-her face, her eyes, the way she smelled, the way she tasted-but instead of all the good memories they had shared, all he saw were the bad ones.

Ashley...her arms wrapped around Randy Orton, their lips locked in a passionate kiss...

...the way her eyes lit up at the sight of the Legend Killer...

...the way she'd been unable to look him in the eye, her voice flat and devoid of emotion as she told him the truth...

I can't act like I don't love Randy and want to be with him...more than...I want to be with you...

Matt quickly chugged the remainder of his beer, crushing the can in his fist, but it wasn't enough to banish Ashley's face from his mind-

It was real...it just wasn't enough...

-or to prevent it from suddenly morphing into Amy's countenance, her brown irises flashing with scorn-

You're pathetic...you're not even a man anymore...

"Shut up, you bitch!" With a roar, Matt hurled the empty beer can away from him. It struck the curb, bouncing once, glittering briefly in the dimness before descending in a slow arc and disappearing in the tall grass.

The elder Hardy brother watched its journey with the bewildered consternation of the inebriated. The corner of his lip twisted downward in a scowl. "Shit..." he remarked to no one in particular, his voice slurred. Sliding awkwardly off the hood of the car and taking a few seconds to find his footing, he staggered toward the location of his projectile, falling to his knees and pushing aside the weeds with both hands.

As he did so, he felt the prickling sensation of his hair standing on end, as though his body-intoxicated as it might be-somehow knew already that he was no longer alone-

Matt...

Matt's head shot up as quickly as his delayed reflexes would allow, his unfocused eyes scanning the darkness. "Hello?" he called out uncertainly. "Who's there?"

Silence greeted his query. Seconds creeped by, and gradually, the elder Hardy brother relaxed, satisfied that the phantom voice had been nothing more than the product of an alcohol-fueled imagination.

That is...until he heard the laugh. Hollow and rasping, there was something dark and sinister about its sound that sent a shiver ricocheting down Matt's spine.

The elder Hardy brother stood so rapidly that he almost fell back down. He peered into the blackness, swaying back and forth unsteadily. "Who's there?" he demanded. "What'd you want?"

Poor boy...you love her...don't you?...

"How'd you-" Matt started to ask, then stopped, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. "That's none of your fuckin' business," he snarled.

The voice seemed unaffected. You love her...and yet she chose HIM...

"Shut up," the elder Hardy brother muttered hotly, but the voice took no notice.

She chose HIM over YOU...

Matt spat contemptuously, the glob of saliva arcing up and down in very much the same trajectory as the beer can. He jabbed his finger toward the source of the voice...or at least, where he imagined it to be. "Fuck you," the elder Hardy brother shot back, and whirling around shakily, headed back toward his car.

He only made it a few steps, however, before the voice spoke again, freezing him in place with its next comment:

So...what would you be willing to do...to get her back?

Matt slowly turned around, the words spilling out before he could stop to think about them. "Anything..." the elder Hardy brother whispered.

He heard the laugh again; a low ominous chuckle. Come closer, then...

Matt obeyed, his gait stumbling as he moved toward the voice's owner.

The darkness swallowed him up.