Her brow furrowed as she tossed about restlessly in her unnatural half-slumber, soft mewling sounds escaping her.
'You hate Chris Jericho...' a voice spoke softly in her head, and she reacted physically to the statement, for it was not true. In fact, it could not be further from the truth. 'Chris Jericho is your enemy... You hate Chris Jericho... hate... Chris... Jericho...'
The young woman's subconscious mind would not accept the words, and she felt as though there were shackles on her brain. She did *not* hate Chris - she *couldn't*...
"No..." That single word left her lips in a mere whisper, her brow breaking out into a sweat as she continued struggling restlessly in the bed upon which she lay. Why was she hearing the strange masculine voice? She *didn't* hate Chris... She *loved* him!
Images rushed through her mind, ones that were frightening in their clarity. She saw herself, naked and straddled atop a nude man, riding him with a fierce intensity - her body taught and stiffening above the as yet faceless man, as she couldn't grasp his identity. The sound of her cries of ecstasy, intermingled with his own moans of pleasure nearly deafened her.
She saw herself and the man stopping to change positions, and she turned somewhat to get on her hands and knees. Hastily, her partner, whose identity was still a mystery, knelt behind her, and she felt his length and hardness as he once again plunged into her, his thrusts hard and fast in urgency.
A soft moan found its way from her lips as she scene shifted. Now, she was strapped to a chair, her wrists and ankles secured to the piece of furniture. She tried to scream as rough hands pulled at her obscenely, her long sleeve shoved up to expose one pale arm. Then, the cotton swab, the syringe... Oh, dear God, she needed help. Someone had to come here, find her in this place and save her.
She opened her mouth to release the scream she'd felt building inside of her as the needle suddenly pierced her flesh - only to have a mere squeak escape instead. Her eyes wide, she watched as the clear liquid from the syringe was squeezed into her vein. No... Not again... She couldn't take anymore of this...
In moments, her entire aura had transformed due to the substance now freely running through her bloodstream. Now calm and placid, she sat up straight, her head up and facing forward. She didn't even blink as a myriad of images and words flashed over the large screen before her.
Her brain, calm yet rapt, concentrated on what was laying, her ears also pricked for the spoken words.
'Not your friend... Your enemy...'
She instantly recognized Chris Jericho's image on the screen, the words he'd spoken that night having cut her to the quick when she'd heard them that fateful night...
'If you thought the Paris Hilton sex tape was hot, just wait till next week's Highlight Reel...'
Some new images quickly shot past before her wide, unblinking eyes, so fast a conscious mind wouldn't notice them. But the woman's subconscious was not missing a single thing, and these as well absorbed in her brain.
In her semi-conscious state, her body stiffened again as she willed herself to awaken. She was in deep trouble, that much she knew - and she was in desperate need of help.
'Wake up!' she screamed inside of herself. Her eyelids fluttered as though she were in REM sleep. After the struggle lasted a good few more minutes that seemed more like an eternity, she got her wish - she woke up.
She glanced quickly around the room, her eyes wide with the fright of the dream. Oh, God... Her breathing heavy, she was unconsciously, instinctively clutching the blanket up to her chest as though for protection... But protection against what, or whom?
As she rose from the bed warily, her gaze sweeping over everything in the room, she began to calm down. Her heartbeat returned to normal, as did her pulse and breathing. She damn near sighed with relief at the knowledge that everything looked normal, not insane and unthinkable as she'd expected. No syringes or brainwashing materials were in sight.
But why would she expect to see such things?
She was alone in the room. Chris' handsome face flashed through her head as she noted the suitcase that was not her own...
She laughed aloud at her own fears. she was being silly. Chris was probably out, perhaps getting her some breakfast or flowers.
She crossed the room to the bag, then bent to sort through his things. Her hope was to come up with one of his shirts to wear, just to feel him close to her, to inhale that special masculine scent that was purely Chris.
Smiling, the young woman reached into the bag...
Her smile vanished. These garments did not belong to him...
A quick vision flashed through her mind, nearly giving her a migraine in the process. There was a face - she saw it.
Trish Stratus began to scream uncontrollably, her sanity seemingly
trickling away with an unfathomable knowledge.