Chapter 4

The sound of the urn clattering across the hallway floor bounced around inside his large head as he held the small figure against the wall. The relatively small neck caused his leather fingers to twitch in curiosity as he observed just who it was that was now in his possession. When he looked down, he was a bit surprised to find a pair of icy blue eyes staring up at him through strands of raven black hair. They were full of both fear and anger, emotions that fueled the animosity pumping through his veins. But there was another factor he discovered that caused his head to tilt sideways.

It's a woman, he had to tell himself in order to loosen his grip on the figure's throat. And a beautiful one at that – with flawless, ivory skin and plush, red lips, and cheeks that blossomed like roses. The way she gripped onto his arm and was fighting to wrench him away let him know that she was a strong woman. He'd never seen her before, but he was impressed with her looks. Nevertheless, he wanted to know just what in the hell she was doing with his brother's urn.

Straightening his neck, the Big Red Machine, Kane, decided not to hurt the little one. When he released her neck, he heard a thud from her feet hitting the floor and watched as she crumpled to her knees, panting and coughing as if she had been closer to death than either of them realized. As she grabbed at her throat, red from his deathly grip, Kane stood still and more closely observed her, one milky blue and one deep green eye wandering up and down her body. She had a look about her that was rather...dark and a bit gothic. He could see that she had a thing for chokers and tattooes, which made her even more intriguing to him. He noticed the tattoo sitting boldly on the side of her neck. Anya...that must be her name.

The second the thought crossed his mind, she shot him a look that nearly burned a hole through his face. A look so full of venom it was frightening. She scooted herself back away from Kane, cursing him with her gaze, then glanced down the hall at the urn that he'd knocked from her grasp. But instead of going after it, she focused her attention back on Kane. Now, she looked confused,wondering why he had released her.

He continued to watch her as she slowly rose to her feet, keeping her gaze on him, her back against the wall. He was surprised she hadn't run yet. He always managed to frighten women just from standing still, but for some reason, she was just standing there looking at him as if he'd suddenly turned to gold. He could see her lunging to attack him at any moment now, but after a moment or two, she didn't even do that. Instead, she tilted her head sideways and Kane did the same at the exact same time, both squinting their eyes at each other.

He could see her expression change from anger and fear to hidden interest and wonder like a pot of gold soaked in blood had fallen from the sky and landed right in front of her. In exchange, the urge he felt when he first saw her, the urge to choke her until her neck snapped, slowly faded from him. He began walking toward her, very slowly as not to frighten her. On the first two steps, she stayed where she was, her gaze never breaking from his. He wanted to test her and see just how far he could go before she freaked out and ran. Even if he had to get physical with her again.

Within seconds, he was towering over her again. Her eyes widened very slightly and Kane could hear the back of her head hit the wall gently. It was the smallest sign of fear, but enough to make him grin behind his mask.

"Kane!" A sudden shout broke the silence in the hallway, causing both Kane and Anya to jump with a start. "Kane what are you doing?"

Kane instantly recognized the masculine voice, the controlling tone and even the pace of the footsteps coming toward him as he turned his head. It was his so-called "bestfriend" Sean Waltman who didn't look too happy to see him with a girl. "Come on, Kane! We gotta hit the gym tonight! No sleep until we're soaked in sweat."

Rolling his eyes, Kane turned his head back around to face Anya...only to find that she was no longer before him. Alarm coming to him for some reason, his head snapped sideways to look down the hall. She was nowhere to be found and neither was Taker's urn. Shit. He's gonna be pissed. He thought, also wondering why he couldn't have just grabbed it for himself.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" Sean asked, following his gaze down the hall as if hoping to see what had Kane's attention so much. "What're you looking at, Kane? I don't see anything."

For a moment, Kane simply stood there, continuing to stare down the hall. Then tore his gaze away as if disappointed, shaking his head to let his companion know that it was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maybe the girl was just another hallucination of his, another mental illusion. He had those a lot. Which was probably what made him so dangerous in the World Wrestling Federation.

"Alright." Sean said with hidden concern in his voice. "Well, let's get goin'. We have a lot to get done before morning." He turned to leave, heading back up the hall where he'd come.

Kane looked down the hall once more before following his partner, the image of that peculiar woman still haunting his mind. For some reason, she had intrigued him so much that he was determined to meet her again. Just once more so he could once again look into that dark soul of hers.


"I can't believe she fucking rejected me." The Undertaker growled as he stood against the wall in the shower room, his massive arms crossed over his bare chest. A few feet away, The Big Show ripped the curtain back from his shower to give his mentor a look of pure astonishment.

"She what!" He exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

Taker fired him a venomous glare. "Were you not watching? I thought you were in my room with the TV." His tone was murderous.

"Oh...well...I mean, I got up to go get something..." Show answered guiltily, worried that his mentor would attack him at any given moment.

"You fucking-" Take r started to say, but then closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He wasn't into beating men while they were naked. It just wasn't comfortable. "I told her she had a darkness about her that intrigued me. And that she had a killer instinct that deserved to be unleashed to the fullest."

Show blinked, still trying to register the fact that the little newbie had rejected the Phenom. THE FUCKING PHENOM! "It's just because she's knew." He said to help calm Taker down. The Deadman wasn't showing much emotion at the moment, but anyone who knew him well would've been able to tell that he was livid. Everyone who witnessed the rejection was surprised that The Undertaker hadn't grabbed the wench by her neck and choke-slammed her straight through the damned ring. But something about her just wouldn't let him.

"If it was anyone else, whether or not they wanted to, they would've given you the answer you wanted." Show continued, closing the shower curtain so he could continue lathering himself in Old Spice bodywash. "But give it some time. Maybe she just needs to warm up to you."

"I don't need her to fucking warm up to me!" The Undertaker yelled suddenly, feeling the blood rush to his face. "I need her to help me get rid of Vince fucking McMahon and take over this shithole called the World Wrestling Federation! I'd simply use her to get what I want and then I'd kick her to the curb where she belongs!"

Show cringed at the fury in Taker's voice, swallowing dryly. Taker could be so heartless at times. Nowadays more than ever to even begin to speak of a woman that way. Where was the respect? "Do you think taking a different approach would help?"

"I don't conform for anybody, Show. I don't need to make a different approach. Either she does the smart thing and joins the Alliance or suffer the consequences."

The way he dragged out the last word in an animal-like growl made Show's spine quiver. "Well, let me talk her into it." Show suggested. "I can be convincing when I put forth the effort."

Taker narrowed his eyes at the shower curtain which Show stood behind, recalling earlier how he was practically drooling all over his television over the woman while she was fighting with Chyna. He could hear the devious intent in Show's voice when he made the statement and didn't like it. It was all too obvious that he would try to romance her into the alliance and that just wasn't what Taker was about. Besides, because of his possessive attitude, in his mind, that woman was his to take. "No." He said quietly, then stood up straight, dropping one hand to his hip and raising the other to his chin, glancing down at the floor in deep thought. "I have a better idea. What am I best at, Show?"

"Hmm, let's see." Show reached for the shower faucet and shut off the water. "Scaring the living hell out of people?"

"Besides that." Taker smirked, taking the first answer as a compliment.

"Hell in a Cell matches?"

"No, dumbass." He looked up just as Show wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. "Mind games."

The Big Show froze with a look of apprehension. He'd known Taker long enough to know that if there was one thing that could scar a human being for life, it was The Deadman's mind games. "Mind games?" He repeated a bit quietly, after swallowing to wet his throat.

"Yes...mind games. She'll never see them coming."

"And just what exactly do you plan to do?

At that question, a shadow of mischief darkened the Undertaker's eyes and a devilish grin slowly formed across his features, causing Show to look on as if the Devil himself with horns and a tail now stood before him. Taker didn't even have to answer in words for Show to know that whatever he had planned would be the keys to the gates of Hell. "I plan on consulting the spirits of the dark side, since you asked." He answered in a deep, dark tone, remembering that he had left his urn in his locker room. "I'll be back."

He left the community shower, chuckling to himself as he made his way through the hall. Just about everyone had left already, leaving him and the Big Show practically by themselves in the building. The only people left besides them were probably the clean-up crew.

The lights flickered above as the Lord of Darkness passed beneath them, not diverting his attention from the walkway ahead, however. He was basically used to the environment reacting to his phenomenal, dark essence. And speaking of reactions, he was still a bit thrown by the night's events. Offering a reigning hand to that Anya Mikhailvisch, only to have her slap the hand away in rejection. It was simply unacceptable! As he thought back to what'd happened, even reminiscing on how beautiful and shapely she was, he felt his blood boil, but not for long. He knew exactly what he was going to do about the situation.

Arriving at his locker room, he pushed open the door to reveal pitch blackness. The room carried a lemon scent, much different than the smell it had earlier, which meant that the janitors had been by. Taker inhaled his favorite clean scent as he walked in, powering on the lights without having to reach for the switch. But then he froze in his tracks, the relief he felt from walking into a clean room had suddenly vanished from him and now he was staring straight ahead with expressionless eyes. Expressionless eyes that soon narrowed into dangerous slits as his perfect eyebrows wormed into a deep frown. A small vein bulged along his temple now as anger suddenly ignited inside him, causing his teeth to clench behind his lips.

No. It can't be. He thought to himself. The card table where he had placed his urn was completely cleared. The urn was gone!

Bolting forward like a vicious animal lunging at its prey, he stormed straight toward the table and with one hand, sent it flying across the room. The loud crash it made as it struck the wall several feet away seemed to anger him more as he looked around with wide, infuriated eyes. It hadn't fallen under the table. It was spotted nowhere near the table. He swore in his mind, whirled around, and speedily headed for the couch on the other side of the room, snatching cushions and tossing them to the floor, then flipping over the entire couch. The urn was still nowhere to be found.

While he was practically ruining the work of the janitors, throwing whatever he possibly could across the room and shredding whatever his hands could grip, The Big Show walked in, rubbing his towel over the back of his neck where a few drops of water dripped down from his long, brown hair. "Hey, Taker." He called. "I'm gonna go start up the hearse if you're ready to-"

"It's gone!" Taker shouted suddenly, cutting Show off as he spun to face the man, his hair lashing about like furious waves.

"What? What're you-"

"The urn! It's gone!" He repeated, hissing loudly between his teeth as his chest bounded up and down with heavy breaths.

"Oh shit." Show's eyes went wide momentarily. Seeing Taker this livid scared the hell out of him. "Okay, okay. Let's just calm down and think things through here. Maybe it's not really gone. You probably just misplaced it." He spoke calmly, hoping that his tone would somehow calm the Deadman, as well. Did it work? Not at all.

"Why would I misplace...MY. FUCKING. URN!" Taker bellowed, his eyes flashing dangerously, causing Show to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I left it right on that table and its been there all night!"

"Are you sure? We went straight from the ring to the showers and you didn't come in to check on it, did you?" Show asked.

At that, Taker's face suddenly melted from its expression of fury. He looked around the room once more, inhaled slowly through his nostrils. Pondered. Then looked back up at the Big Show. "Do you smell that?" He asked.

Show frowned. "Well now that you ask, it does smell like somebody set something on fire in h-" He stopped himself just as the thought dawned on him. Looking Taker in the eyes, it seemed that both of them had shared the exact same thought in the exact same moment. There was only one person they knew of who could leave that lingering scent of used coal behind and that person had to be guilty of this crime.