Myth

Lady Takersangel's Domain | home

Rating: NC-17, sex, and you guessed it, loads of angst.

But, another happy ending.

I'm living in your dreams

I'm where you cannot be

I'm way out of your reach

I'm living in your dreams

I'm where you cannot see

Is it you or is it me?

The song was coming to an end and Molly took the Undertaker by the shoulders, compelling him to bend down, and whispered to his ear, "Just 'cause you're big, it doesn't mean you're bad."

The Undertaker tied his bandana around his forehead, put on his dark glasses and glanced at himself in the mirror. His lips tightened, and he left his dressing room. He strode down the halls, looking straight ahead, his eyes wandering neither to the right nor left of him. Anyone who happened to be in his path veered to the side, hurrying out of his way.

Then, despite all of his best efforts to avoid running into her, there she was -coming in the opposite direction, with that rainbow haired kid by her side... walking towards him.

Every muscles in the Undertaker's body seemed to harden, except his heart, which still bled from what had been a self-inflicted wound. He hadn't removed the arrow that punctured the pulsing, fist-sized muscle inside his chest; he hadn't been able to pull it out, perhaps because it served as a reminder of the love he'd once known... or perhaps because pain was the only thing he could truly feel, the only sensation he didn't doubt.

It was fer the best, he repeated to himself for the thousandth time. I never should've let it go as far as it did. Just wasn't meant to be.

Lita's eyes darted upwards for a second as she and Jeff Hardy walked past the Undertaker. "Taker," she quietly acknowledged.

"Red," Taker intoned, maintaining his pace and cursing the tenacious, irksome part of him that was grateful his eyes were shielded by dark sunglasses. He pursed his lips in disgust, his steps quickening. A black mist seemed to cling to him and swirl around him like smoke, obscuring his thoughts. Wasn't meant to be. Only a matter of time... 'fore I hurt her.

The turmoil in her voice rang sharply inside his mind again as, despite himself, he recalled the day he'd told her he had decided they couldn't see each other anymore.

"What are you talking about, Taker?" she'd cried in confusion. "I don't understand... Where is this coming from? What's going on with you?"

"I was wrong to let this happen," he answered evenly. "I'm not the man for you. I'm not the man for anyone."

Lita shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. "That's bullshit, Taker! You better come up with something better than this-" She gasped when she felt his hands close around her wrists.

"I used to take little girls like you and strap them to crosses," the Undertaker whispered, allowing her to feel a fraction of his bone crushing strength, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Stop it, Taker... stop this," Lita sobbed, whimpering with pain and struggling in vain against him.

The Undertaker abruptly released her from his grip and she stared at him, tears dripping from her eyelashes, as she rubbed the angry red marks where his large fingers had been.

"It's better you know the truth now than later," he said, turning his back to her. "It's beyond my control."

More tears rolled down Lita's cheeks, and she said, "I love you, Taker... And I know you love me too. Whatever you've done before, it doesn't matter now, you're not the man you used to be-"

"You know NOTHING about me, child!" the Undertaker roared, spinning around and stalking her like a wild, raging beast, his lips stretched over his teeth.

Lita tried to shriek but her voice died in her throat and she scrambled to the other end of the room, sliding down the wall and clutching her knees to her chest as the tall man loomed over her.

"I can't change the way I am," he growled, breathing violently. "I tried to, but it's useless. I'll just keep doing what I've always done... and you know what that is?"

Lita shook her head, unable to answer, her eyes wide and frightened and filled with grief.

"It's destroying people," the Undertaker said, lowering his voice. "Breaking their limbs, and making them bleed. That's all I know and all I'll ever know. I'm on the devil's side, and there's a price to pay. I got no soul."

"Taker..." Lita whispered.

"A while back, I told you I'd never hurt you," he said, going down on one knee in front of her. "I'm afraid of the day I break my promise, little girl. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow... But it'll come. Someday you'll wake up and you won't recognize me." He hesitated and reached out, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "I can't let that happen."

Lita closed her eyes and her chest hitched painfully. "Taker, please..."

"I don't know if I ever loved you, angel... 'cause I don't know if I can," he said, rising to his feet once more. "I let you play with fire, but I won't let you get burnt."

Lita hid her face in her hands and wept. "Don't... don't go... please, don't... do this..."

"Goodbye, little girl," the Undertaker said, without looking back. He turned the doornob. "Forget about me." The door had closed behind him, and the last thing he'd heard was a muffled sob, a sound that had haunted him ever since, especially at night when he lay awake and alone.

He squared his shoulders and pushed the thoughts from his mind. The time had come to fight, and crush yet another enemy. He straddled his bike and gunned the motor.

The Undertaker smiled, drunk on the taste of his own blood. He tightened his hold upon Haku's throat; his muscles tensed; he hoisted the island man high in the air. This was when he could think clearly and knew exactly who he was.

Haku's body crashed upon the mat and cheers resounded in the Undertaker's ears, the tumultuous applause drowning out his memories, silencing his regrets. Suddenly, there was an uproar in the auditorium as Rikishi came charging down the ramp and climbed inside the ring; Taker was waiting for him, an evil grin distorting his features. He ran his tongue over his upper lip and said, "Oh, good. Come on over here, fat boy... Come on. I'm gonna getcha."

Rikishi lunged at the Undertaker, delivering blow after devastating blow, but the Dead Man hardly flinched.

"Is that the best you got? Give me yer best shot!" Taker said, a savage fire burning in his eyes. "Hit me, goddamn it! Hit me like you mean it!"

Rikishi snarled; he struck the Undertaker with a swift kick to the head and Taker went down, hard, hitting the mat with a thud. Rikishi strut around him triumphantly before positioning himself above the Undertaker, his thick legs on either side of the prone man's chest.

"Here, you crazy son of a bitch!" Rikishi yelled, looking down at the Phenom.

"Don't do me any favors, fat man," Taker said softly, his lips curved in a mocking smile.

Rikishi's face contorted with fury and he fell butt-first on the Undertaker's chest, crushing his rib cage.

The Undertaker grunted, his eyes squeezing shut for an instant. Then he stared at Rikishi who still sat upon his chest and said, "It'll take more than that."

"Oh yeah? Hungry for an ass kickin', are you?" Rikishi hissed. "Comin' right up, you stupid bastard!" He got to his feet and slammed his massive weight against the Undertaker's body again.

The Undertaker groaned, grimacing with pain.

"Like that, asshole?" Rikishi asked, glaring at the Undertaker.

After a moment, Taker opened his eyes and rasped, "Lovin' it."

Rikishi frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's true what they've been sayin' -you gone nuts, Dead Man."

A terrible, ghastly chuckle bubbled up the Undertaker's throat.

"Shut the hell up!" Rikishi bellowed, standing again, the Undertaker's evil laughter sending chills up his spine. "Shut up or I'm gonna shut you up!"

The Undertaker ignored Rikishi's warning; he narrowed his eyes at the fat islander and laughed, a dreadful, eerie sound that tumbled from his lips like a dark poison.

Rikishi scowled and once more the Undertaker felt the fat man's colossal weight squash his already bruised ribs. He drew in a sharp breath and clenched his teeth, relishing the pain that coursed through his body. He let his head loll to the side and lay still.

A satisfied smile crept upon Rikishi's sweat-streaked features and he rose, visciously kicking the Undertaker's abdomen before walking away.

Rikishi had only taken a few steps when the Undertaker opened his eyes.

"I can't believe it!" J.R. blurted, shaking his head in astonishment. "After all that Rikishi's done to him, the Undertaker is getting up again!"

The Undertaker was in fact slowly rising to his feet, holding his side with one arm. "Get back here, you fat son of a bitch," he told Rikishi, straightening to his full height. "I ain't through with you yet."

Rikishi's head snapped back and he gaped at his oponent, who was pointing downwards at the ring. But the enormous man regained his composure almost right away and, his eyes locking with the Undertaker's, he slapped his buttocks.

"That's it," the Undertaker goaded. "Bring it on, asshole."

"It's your funeral, Dead Man," Rikishi mocked; he hunched his shoulders and bolted towards the Undertaker, his fingers twisted into claws as he launched his attack.

Instead of delivering the final coup de grace, however, Rikishi gagged and his eyes widened as his throat was clamped by the Undertaker's steel grip with a defeaning smack.

The Undertaker's ferocious gaze bore into the island man, his fingers gouging Rikishi's neck. "Any last requests?" he said, shaking Rikishi back and forth.

Rikishi choked in response, the deep red that colored his face gradually turning into a deadly shade of purple. The fat man's vision blurred and his heart grew cold as the Undertaker's red hair was seemingly transformed into tongues of fire that crested his head like an unholy crown. Again Rikishi attempted to speak, but the only sound to leave his lips was a garbled moan.

The Undertaker lifted Rikishi in the air as he'd done with Haku. He was impervious to pain and numb to the broken rib that pierced his lung when he hurled Rikishi onto the ring with monstrous, devastating force. He no longer saw the crowd that filled the stadium around him; the ropes that lined the ring were fading away; sights and colors were merging into a familiar, welcome landscape, devoid of life, a raging inferno that devoured and destroyed everything in its path. The furnace was consumming the Undertaker's mind and claiming his body until the pain that scorched his side was barely distinguishable.

The few officials that had been foolish enough to approach him were being knocked down left and right like pins. The Undertaker's breath whistled past his lips but he was beyond reach. Someone managed to evade his brutal punches long enough to get close to him, a fleeting shadow whose features he couldn't perceive -his hand closed around one more neck and he administered another unforgiving chokeslam.

A flash of red went by the corner of his eye and somewhere inside of him, through the mad, chaotic swirl his thoughts had become, he heard her voice, he recognized the small, high pitched cry that was released from her throat when his fingers latched around it. He looked down and images started to emerge from the hellish glare that had blinded him.

He squinted and blinked. The shape of a woman materialized at his feet, her hair splayed above her head... The Undertaker clutched his side, the agonizing stab of pain that sliced through him making his eyes water and his legs cave in.

"Lita," he whispered, falling to his knees before her battered body, his features washed by a pale green hue. With each ragged breath he felt himself grow weaker and a biting, ice cold sensation spread across his limbs like frost, reaching inside his chest and infiltrating his heart.

She didn't answer and he slowly sank to the mat, fighting to breathe, his eyes becoming unfocused. The remaining shred of strength he possessed vanished and he collapsed, his cheek pressed against the ring; the last thing he saw was a bunch of black leather shoes swarming around him.

Flying... a red wing grazing his cheek. He felt himself being held up by gentle hands -though he only wished to resist, he could not... Or would not?

Rising higher, higher, past strange light purple clouds. Arms had closed around his chest and waist, and the wind blew in his hair... his limbs felt heavy and light at the same time. 'Who are you,' he wanted to ask, but he couldn't speak; with a sudden rush he was being swept even higher and he gasped, the exhiliration of this incredible, magical ascent taking his breath away.

He turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the person who was supporting him.

"Lita..." the Undertaker whispered.

She was smiling down at him, two great red wings stretching over her head and coming down again as she carried him across the sky. The wind was throwing her fiery mane around her face, but the long strands began moving slower, and then slower still, dancing like the graceful tentacles of an octopus, and the Undertaker felt as though he and Lita were swimming beneath the ocean's surface, suspended in water, instead of flying in the air.

He opened his mouth and took a breath; his eyes widened, his body writhed, his fingers clawed at his throat.

"It's all right," Lita said. "I will help you to breathe."

The Undertaker choked, shaking his head, his features stretched in distress.

"Don't panic," Lita said, her face becoming a soft watercolor blur.

He reached out to her, but she had disappeared.

The Undertaker's eyelids fluttered. He gulped for breath and groaned in agony as pain tightened around his chest like a spiked clamp.

"100% oxygen," a voice said.

Hands touched his face, trying to secure something over his mouth and nose; the Undertaker's back arched and his limbs flailed as he thrashed against the stretcher.

"Strap him down!" another voice called out. "We've got to get an I.V. into him, now!"

In an instant, it seemed like a dozen more hands were upon the Dead Man, struggling to subdue him; thick, padded leather buckles fastened his arms and wrists to the metal bars on either side of the stretcher.

"Relax." It was the voice he'd first heard upon waking, a woman's voice. "I'm putting an oxygen mask over your face. Relax, try to breathe. We're going to give you a local anasthetic. Your lung has collapsed, you have to stay calm. Do you understand?"

The Undertaker squinted but could barely make out the woman's features. He focused on the dark indistinct waves that framed her face and nodded. A large needle was inserted inside his chest and he was powerless to stop the tears of pain that filled his eyes. He moaned softly, the complaint muffled by his oxygen mask.

"We're giving you a lidocaine injection," the woman said. "In a minute, you won't feel any more pain."

The Undertaker's face twisted and his hands compulsively gripped the metal bars to which his wrists were anchored. He'd been injured countless times in the past, but this was more painful than anything he could remember; it was as though his insides had been torn out of him. "Lita..." A long, low moan surged from his throat and he was shaken by a succession of grating sobs as grisly images of her contorted body lying in the middle of the ring flooded his mind.

"It'll be all right," the dark haired woman said, her face coming closer to his. "I need you to calm down and breathe slowly, okay?" she continued, putting a hand on his forehead. "We can't help you unless you calm down."

The Dead Man opened his eyes half-way, and found that he could now see her more clearly; with a beseeching gaze he pleaded, "Tell me... where... where is..."

"Breathe slowly," she repeated.

"Can you feel this?" the surgeon asked as he scrubbed the Undertaker's side with Betadine.

"No," the tall man croaked, faintly aware that the throbbing in his chest had been significantly reduced.

"Make an incision over the sixth rib in midaxillary line," the surgeon instructed the nurse who'd been speaking to the Undertaker. As soon as the nurse had accomplished her task, the surgeon carefully pushed a finger inside the incision, creating an opening.

The surgeon then began inserting a tube inside the Undertaker's chest. Once this was done, he attached the tube to a water seal and vacuum device; almost immediately, blood and air bubbled through the seal, emptying the Undertaker's lung from fluid and gas.

"Good," the surgeon said, assessing his patient's response to the treatment. "Let's sew him up. I want him in for a CXR to confirm lung re-expansion and to see if there's blunt trauma. It looks like his lung's been punctured by a broken rib."

The incision was quickly sutured and the tube secured as fluid continued to drain from the Undertaker's chest. As the nurse applied vaseline saturated gauze and dressing against the wound, the Undertaker again tried to speak.

"I... I need to... know..." the Dead Man stammered between clenched teeth. "Lita..."

"Take it easy," the nurse said, glancing at the head surgeon.

"Benzodiazepine," he said.

She nodded and drew the narcotic into a seringe.

Shortly after, the Undertaker's vision blurred and he slid into a semi-conscious haze where he was shielded from his suffering and anguish.

The Dead Man sighed. A noise... He was pretty sure he'd heard something. Sounds familiar... But his eyelids felt terribly heavy; he was so tired; his body ached.

"Taker, please, talk to us."

A small hand closed around his. "Taker, don't you recognize me?"

The Undertaker swallowed and frowned -he'd felt some foreign object lodged inside his throat, and although it wasn't suffocating him, the sensation wasn't very pleasant. He stirred and moved his head from side to side; reaching up, he touched the tubes that came out of his nose and ran on either side of his face.

"No ya don't," the soft voice chided gently. "Be good... That's there to help you breathe."

The Undertaker opened his eyes and groaned, waiting for his sight to adjust to the light. "Who..."

"It's me, ya big silly just like your brother."

At last the Undertaker saw the large blue eyes staring into his and his eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "M -Molly?"

"Hey there, big guy," she said, caressing his head. "We leave you alone for a couple of weeks, and this is what happens?"

"We?" the Undertaker said faintly.

"Brother," Kane said, coming into view and stepping closer to the bed.

"When we found out you'd been hurt, we returned from our honeymoon," Kane said, his deep voice filled with a mixture of worry and reproach.

"You didn't... have to do that," the Undertaker replied tersely, his features drawn.

"Yes, we did," Kane said. "You have some explaining to do, big brother. What exactly has gotten into you lately?"

The Undertaker shrugged almost imperceptibly and said nothing. He wanted to tell his brother to mind his own business, that he was the last person in the world who should be lecturing anyone about their puzzling behavior, and that there was no use bothering with an irreparable situation, but the Dead Man couldn't summon the strength to argue or justify his actions. He simply closed his eyes again and sighed.

"He's too exhausted to answer questions like that now," Molly countered, shaking her head. "Besides, it's obvious what's wrong with him. But you scared your brother, Taker."

"He's supposed to be the reasonable one," Kane grumbled.

Molly smiled and stroked the Undertaker's face. His mouth tightened but her touch soothed him in a way he couldn't describe; his hardness began to melt away, exposing the tender recesses he'd fought so desperately to conceal... the humanity he'd vowed to annihilate.

"I don't know about reasonable," Molly said. "I think 'pigheaded' would be more appropriate. That, and broken-hearted."

The Undertaker stiffened.

"We're going to fix it," Molly whispered, delicately placing her hand upon his chest. "But first, we'll have to dig it up, won't we?"

The Undertaker's throat constricted.

"Don't be afraid," Molly said, brushing his hair back with her fingers. "You've got to rest and get better... and then we'll do a bit of shoveling together, okay? I bet we'll find things you'd forgotten all about."

"Leave me... leave..." Taker muttered, a frown creasing his forehead. He could feel tears threatening to seep from his eyelids and abruptly turned his face away from Molly.

She continued to stroke his head and the Undertaker's breathing quickened as he struggled to squelch his torment and sadness.

"She's all right," Molly whispered. Bending down so that her lips almost touched the Undertaker's ear, she continued, "And she'll always love you, Taker. There's nothing you can do to change that."

The tears that had been brimming just beneath his eyelashes began to flow down his cheeks.

"Let it out," Molly said, stroking the Undertaker's head. "It's okay to let it out."

Kane looked away, unable to watch his older brother topple like a fortress in ruins.

"I... told her... I warned her... but she didn't... didn't listen..." the Undertaker said, words stumbling from his mouth as more tears streaked his face. "I knew I'd hurt her... sooner or-"

"Shhhh, shhh shhh," Molly admonished, pressing a finger against his lips. "It wasn't your fault."

The Undertaker's chest hitched and he groaned, sweat beading on his forehead.

"It's time to rest now," Molly said, patting his face with a moist cloth that had been left on the bedside table. "Go to sleep, Taker."

The Undertaker succumbed to his exhaustion and drifted into slumber.

Many hours later, the Undertaker awoke with a sharp intake of breath. He grit his teeth, shivered, and slowly opened his eyes. Looking down, he saw that several tubes, half filled with some yellowish liquid, were snaking out of his chest.

Hospital, he thought. Then his eye caught sight of something unusual and he furrowed his brow. Right next to him, on the bed, was a small, brown, stuffed animal. He picked it up and gaped at it, confusion etched upon his features.

He lifted his gaze and saw that all around him, on the window sill, on the chairs, on every available piece of furniture, teddy bears of every size, color and description were staring back at him cheerfully.

"What the hell?" he whispered. He turned his attention to the bear he was holding and noticed that there was a note attached to its neck with a ribbon. He pulled the little piece of paper free and unfolded it.

To someone who should've had a teddy bear when he was a little Deadman.

A smile twitched on the Undertaker's lips. He leaned back upon the pillows and took the bear in his hands again, looking in its dark chocolate brown eyes. Hell, he thought, but he didn't put it down. Instead, his green eyes watered. "Goddamn tubes... makin' me nuts," he mumbled irritably and let the bear fall to the floor.

He never dwelled upon his childhood years. Often it seemed like he'd never been a child. He didn't know why, but instinctively he felt it was better not to remember. He had more important things to worry about, such as making it clear to Molly and his brother that he didn't have time for fairy tales, nor did he believe in them.

He believed in pain. Pain and smoke and... darkness. He'd allowed himself to forget this once, he'd let someone come close, and it was as it had been before: he hurt the ones he loved.

He gripped the sheets, trying to push back the troubling images that threatened to surface. He couldn't. He was too tired to fight this time; too dejected to fend off the attack. He released a long, trembling breath. An unwelcome figure was emerging from the shadows of the past... A menacing, faceless figure that had subconsciously haunted him since he was a child and this time, it would not retreat. It approached him, reaching out from his lost memories, and leered at him.

Do as I say, you nasty little cocksucker.

The color drained from the Undertaker's face. No, he thought, his heart thudding inside his chest. He sat up sharply and then clutched his head with a low moan, overwhelmed by dizziness and nausea, the shrill voice still reverberating inside his head. Growing louder.

On your knees, apprentice. Don't make me repeat myself.

The Undertaker pressed his hands against his ears, sweat dripping from the red locks that fell in front of his face. No no no, he thought, unable to silence the mocking commands. Not now. His eyes darting frantically around the room, he tumbled off the bed and cried out as the tubes were torn from his nose, chest and arm.

Molly and Kane were a few steps away from the Undertaker's room when they heard his cry. Molly gasped and they both rushed to the door, Kane getting there first. He yanked the door open and his blood grew cold at the sight that awaited him.

The Undertaker was lying on the floor, a thick liquid oozing from his side. His face was covered with sweat and his teeth were chattering.

"Undertaker!" Kane hollered, hurrying towards his brother and lifting his limp body off the ground. "Molly, get the nurse!"

Molly ran out of the room as Kane eased the Undertaker back upon the bed. "Brother, speak to me," Kane said, brushing his brother's hair out of his eyes. "It's Kane. Can you hear me? What happened?"

"Kane..." The Undertaker's eyes locked with his brother's. "Kane..." he repeated, a whistling sound escaping his lips with each breath.

"Molly has gone to get help," Kane reassured his older brother. "Try not to move."

"Kane... he made me do it..." the Undertaker rasped. "He made... made me do it."

"Brother, you are not making sense," Kane said, putting a hand upon Taker's shoulder. "Please-"

"He forced me... to set it on... fire."

"He didn't want... anyone to... know what he was doing to..." the Undertaker said, gulping for air.

Kane's mouth had gone dry. "Who are you talking about, Undertaker?"

A group of doctors and nurses burst into the room; Kane swirled around and roared, "STAND BACK!"

Their eyes widened and they stopped in their tracks.

Kane turned to the Undertaker and, his face inches away from his brother's, he persisted, "Who forced you to set the fire, Undertaker? Who."

The Undertaker's fingers fumbled for his younger brother's shirt. At last he grasped the cotton material and whispered, "Bearer."

Kane's teeth clenched with a snap. Bearer. Kane didn't doubt his brother's words for a second, not after all the Undertaker had done for him and all they'd been through together. "He always lied to us, brother," he snarled. "Drove us against each other... and used us. He only used us."

The Undertaker frowned. "Little brother... he didn't... didn't do it to you, too? Jesus Christ, tell me... he didn't."

"What did he do to you?" Kane said, his voice strained.

The Undertaker closed his eyes. "He shoved his cock down my throat."

Kane shook his head and swallowed, numb with shock. "No," he said, taking his brother in his arms.

The Undertaker coughed weakly a few times, his head fell back and he lost consciousness.

"I'm going to kill him," Kane said, his vision blurred by tears of grief and rage. "I swear it, my brother."

Kane stormed down the hospital halls, Molly scrambling after him.

"Kane, wait, wait! What happened? What did Taker tell you?" she said with a frightened voice. She had never seen Kane so furious and distraught. When the doctors entered the Undertaker's room minutes earlier, she'd heard Kane yelling at them to keep their distance and stayed outside, watching through a crack in the door as the Undertaker whispered words she hadn't been able to understand. Kane had then cradled his brother, speaking to him softly.

Taker's dying, she'd thought, tears swimming in her clear blue eyes.

But Kane rose from the bed, snapping, "See to him," as the doctors and nurses parted to let him pass.

Molly had stepped back just in time to avoid being hit by the door that flew open as Kane stalked out of the room, eyes blazing. She stared as he walked down to the end of the hall and drove his fist through the wall once, twice, three times, and stood panting, his knuckles covered with white powder and debris.

"YOU-FAT-BASTARD!" Kane had screamed, slamming his fists against the wall, and it seemed like the entire floor was shaking with the force of his blows. "I'm gonna find you, and I'm gonna kill you, you sick son of a bitch!" Then he'd straigthened and marched around the corner, which is when Molly had started moving and she raced after him.

"Kane," she called out, finally catching up to him. "Please, Kane, tell me what's going on-"

The tall man stopped when he felt Molly's little hands pushing against his abdomen in an effort to slow him down; he looked down, jolted from his blind fury, his eyes meeting her frantic gaze.

"What did Taker tell you?" she asked.

"We have to call Lita," Kane said urgently. "I want her to come here and look after him."

"I'll call her," Molly said.

"No, I need to speak with her," Kane replied. "When she knows what was done to him, many things will be explained."

"What was done to him?" Molly said, her chest tightening. "What do you mean?"

Kane took Molly by the wrist. "Let's go somewhere quiet," he said. "I must tell you... about my father."

"Hang on, I'm coming, damn it," Lita said, hobbling towards the telephone. Her neck still hurt like hell, but she'd live. Besides, it kept her mind occupied... gave her something to think about besides the dark, colossal man who invaded her dreams and whose troubled passion had eroded her heart until it was raw.

Focus on the pain, she thought. It works for him...

She lowered herself to the couch with a grunt and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Kane," Lita said, a spark of anguish shooting through her limbs. And before she could prevent it, the words spilled out of her: "Do you... have news about Taker? How is he?"

"You have to come to the hospital right away," Kane said.

A chill ran down Lita's spine. "Did he get worse?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"If you love him, get here as fast as you can. When he wakes, he will need you by his side."

Lita hid her face in her hand. "Kane... He doesn't need me."

"My father abused him as a child," Kane said.

Lita's eyes widened and her fingers tensed around the receiver. "Abused?"

To be continued in Myth Part Two!