"King," I said. "Don't you have any dirty little comments for the fans at home?" He shook his head and still didn't say anything. I looked back to Cole. "What's wrong with him?"

"Vince said you were a corporate asset of the highest value and were off limits to make jokes about. The implications of that stunned his dirty little mind to silence." Cole said.

"Ha," I replied. "It won't last the match, I'm sure."

"Speaking of the match..." Cole trailed off as the lights went out. All the hairs on my arms stood up. "As JR would say, business is about to pick up," he finished.

The bell tolled and Taker made his way to the ring alone. Pyros went off and the spooky fog drifted out from under the ring. I watched it all silently. I had always wanted to see that entrance live. At that moment, I thought I could have done without it. My skin crawled and my hair felt like it was standing straight up. Hell, my teeth ached. I was feeling power like I had never felt before. The guy was just mega-creepy.

"Any thoughts?" Cole asked.

"None I'm sharing," I answered.

"Ditto," said King.

Cole rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the help guys."

Taker stood on the steps and raised the lights then stepped into the ring. He walked to the side of the ring closest to us and smiled at me. It wasn't a good smile.

"Could you tell us more about this situation?" Cole asked. "Mr. McMahon was sort of vague."

"The Undertaker is interested in me because, as Shane puts it, I have an affinity with the dead."

"The dead seem to like you, too," King added.

"Yeah, but it's never been this much of a problem before," I said.

The lights went out again and this time it was Kane's music that played. "Well if you have any hope at all, there it comes," Cole said dramatically. I was wondering if this had been his first job choice. He always sounds like such a serious journalist, sometimes it's kind of sad.

Kane walked down the ramp with purpose in his stride. He jumped onto the ring apron and stepped over the ropes. He stood nose to nose with his brother and cued the ring pyros. His entrance would have been more impressive if Taker hadn't just came out, but it was pretty good in its own right.

All of us at the announce table jumped. "Was that louder that usual?" Cole asked King.

"I think so," King answered. "I almost wet my tights."

Kane crossed the ring and stepped over the ropes. "Is he coming over here?" King asked.

"It sure looks that way," Cole answered.

Kane jumped off the ring apron and leaned over the table in front of me. He winked his blue eye and the whispered, "It will be all right, trust me." For some reason, I did.

"Did he just say some thing to her?" Cole asked King.

"I couldn't hear what," King replied.

"Get in the ring and quit stalling, Kane," Taker yelled. He sounded a little more impatient than he usually did.

Kane got back in the ring. Earl Hebner, the ref, called for the bell. The two began to circle each other, looking for openings in the other's defenses.

"The Taker seems a little bothered tonight," Cole said.

"He does seem a little hot under the collar," King snickered.

I watched the men in the ring without saying a word. I didn't want to miss a thing. Kane seemed to be doing well. The fact that his mask made him as blind as a bat didn't seem to be a factor, yet.

"An Irish whip," Cole called. I flinched as Kane's back slammed into the turnbuckle. Then, �Kane with a boot to Taker's face," he added a moment later.

I watched every move in the ring as if my life depended on it. OK, so it did. I hardly heard Cole and King calling the shots through most of the match. It was hard to say who would win. The action would go one way for a few minutes, and then the other. They fought all over the place: the ring, the apron, the Spanish announce table, and on the ramp. It was brutal.

"What exactly is an affinity with the dead?" King asked as Cole continued to call the action.

"Until today, I thought it was a harmless talent," I said, eyes still glued to the action. "I could tell you things about ghosts or spirits or whatever. I could stand on their grave and tell you things, like their hobbies or whatever. It was never anything predictable."

"You mean you could talk to them?" King asked, totally freaked out.

"No," I answered, still absorbed in the match. "Well, I did talk to them, but they never really talked back. I could feel their presence and I just knew things."

"Kane's down for a count," Cole yelled. "But he's out at two."

"So, what did you feel when you were with the Ministry?" King prodded.

"Plenty weird," I replied. "Most of those boys aren't right with the world, but they aren't all like Taker."

"You mean dead?" King said.

"I don't really know exactly what I mean except Taker and the Brood aren't like anything else I've ever encountered," I said.

"Kane has a metal pipe out from under the ring," Cole said, leaning forward in his chair.

"Kane either for that matter," I added.

"So, are they like your ghosts?" King persisted.

"Yes and no," I said. "It's a little different. They are a lot stronger than the ghosts I've come across. They are a lot stronger, more vital, sort of like Jon only they have bodies."

"Huh?" King asked.

"Never mind," I said.

"Kane has hit Taker in the head with that pipe," Cole exclaimed.

"My God," King yelled, "look at Taker bleed. I've never seen him busted like that."

Kane shoved the bleeding Taker back in the ring and stepped over the ropes. When Taker staggered to his feet, Kane grabbed and choke slammed him. Taker sat up after a few seconds. Kane jerked him to his feet and then tombstoned him. He went for the cover.

"And that's the three count," Michael Cole sighed with relief. "Call this one over."

Kane raised his arms once again and the ring pyros ignited. He stepped over the ropes and jumped down in front of the table.

"Um, the Undertaker isn't moving. Should someone call the medical personnel?" King asked.

"Here come the Ministry to ringside," Cole replied. "Let them take care of it."

Kane stood by my chair. I took off my headset and stood next to him. I wasn't sure what would happen next, and close to Kane seemed like a good place to be.

The Brood and Midian went to Taker in the ring, while Viscera and the Acolytes waited at the ramp. Paul Bearer continued around the ring to us.

Kane put his hand on my shoulder. I flinched. Both my shoulders were bruised from the Acolytes' rough handling. Kane moved his hand to my waist. It was less painful.

"You may have won for the moment, son," Bearer wailed, "but your day of reckoning will come."

Something about the way he said son bothered me. I narrowed my eyes and looked at him closely.

Bearer took a step back. "What are you looking at?" he asked me.

"A big fat liar," I said. I wasn't sure how I knew he'd lied about something. "I have a feeling you still have secrets from both brothers." Kane cocked his head and looked at Bearer.

"And I think you and my son are well suited," Bearer said. "You're both crazy." He looked nervous and left in a hurry. Kane and I stood back and watched as Taker limped off from ringside with the help of the Acolytes. The rest of the Ministry trailed along behind. When they had left, I sighed in relief.

Leaving sounded real good. I took a couple of wobbly steps and then grabbed the ring post for support. It seemed that since all the excitement was over, my adrenaline had deserted me.

Kane scooped me up and carried me to the back. I was glad. It was a long walk from the curtain to the ring. Somehow, TV makes it look shorter.

Back stage, the Corporate team was waiting for us. Vince patted Kane on the back and told him �well done�. Kane set me on my feet and tossed back his hair. Chyna caught him by the arm and led him off. That left me to face Vince alone.

"If I should ever complain about your security," I said, "Please, take it personally."

"I'm sorry all this happened. I hope this means that you haven't changed you mind about the contract you signed," Vince said sincerely.

"I haven't," I replied, "but I do have some demands."

"Like what?" he asked warily.

"I want to know everything you know about Taker and Kane," I said, "and I want fact separated from the fiction. I need to know what is the real life stuff and what's for the show."

"Done," he said. "I can have that information faxed from the tower and have it for you on the jet when we fly in an hour."

"Sure," I muttered. "That's plenty of time to reorganize my life."

I called Carol. She wasn't home yet, so I left her a message. I told her I had a new job that would take me out of town for a while. I asked her to call my boss and feed my lizard. I also promised her the money for rent and stuff when I got my first check. When she got home and watched the VCR tape of Heat from that night, she would know the rest. She would be majorly pissed, but I couldn't help that.

Chapter Two

The next thing I knew, I was on the corporate jet, headed for California. I was sitting out in the main cabin with the wrestlers. Vince, Shane and the Stooges were up in the private lounge that Vince used as his office.

As promised, I had the files to read. They sort of read backwards from what I had always thought. Mark Calloway wasn't anything but a legal name. It didn't even exist until his job application with Titan sports. There was nothing to his so-called real life. There was no wife, no kids. It was all a fiction created at Titan tower.

As for Kane, it was the same story. Legal name: Glen Jacobs. First spotted on a job application at Titan Sports. No one knew much about him except it was NOT the same Glen Jacobs that had previously been employed.

As to who they really were, I had the file that listed their real names. There were copies of the birth certificates and everything. The fire was the real deal, too. I had the newspaper clipping complete with a picture of the charred foundation of the house. They had been presumed dead. So there again, dead-end. Really, they could be anybody.

There were plenty of accounts in both Taker and Kane's files of them doing all sorts of weird stuff: setting off the pyros without touching the controls, the lights going out, that sort of thing. It seemed that they both had some sort of mind control thing going. I couldn't find anything as cool as Taker's teleportation trick listed in the files, though.

I closed the folders and rubbed my eyes. What had I learned? That I knew less than I thought about this whole mess. I had hoped that the files would confirm that there was a really big joke being played on me. No such luck.

I let my gaze wander around the cabin. The whole Corporate team was flying together. Bossman and Test were sitting together playing 'Go Fish'. The Rock was polishing his title belt and muttering something about monkeys. Paul Wight was snoring softly. Chyna was doing her nails. Ken Shamrock was playing his Gameboy with the same intensity he did everything else. Kane was listening to music on his Walkman. I was tempted to ask what he was listening to, but didn't.

I was still wearing the red dress. I had meant to find something to change into before the jet had taken off, but there hadn't been time. I was stuck in it unless I could borrow something. "Does anyone have a pair of sweat pants I could borrow?" I asked.

Kenny looked up from his game. "I do," he answered as he dug a green pair out of his bag.

"Thanks," I said. "Now does anyone have a T-shirt?"

The Rock tossed me the one he had been polishing his belt with. "Here, have one of the 'Great One's' shirts. You won't look so much like trailer trash in it."

I thought about throwing it back in his face, but at this point, I was willing to live with it. I went to the tiny bathroom and changed. While I was there, I couldn't help but let out the giggle I had been holding back since I boarded the jet.

My first sight of the Corporate team out of their wrestling attire had been shocking, and a little funny. Test and Rock had been no surprise. They dressed like that all the time. Paul Wight dressed normal, you know, jeans and T-shirts. Bossman in his Hawaiian shirt had been scary, but I'd live. Chyna in a pink T-shirt dress was down right weird looking, but I must say that Kane in a bright eggplant-purple sweat suit and fingerless glove took the prize.

After I got the giggles out of my system, I padded back to my seat bare footed and stuffed the dress and slippers in a Piggly Wiggly bag I found under the seat. I looked across the aisle at Chyna's feet. "What size shoes do you wear?" I asked.

"Ten and a half," She answered. I wear a ten. Close enough. "Can I borrow some shoes?" I asked.

She tossed me her gym bag. "Nikes in the bottom."

"Great," I said. "Now does anyone have any socks I can borrow?"

Silence met my question. Even Big Show woke up to stare at me. "What?" I asked.

"Hell girl," he said. "There isn't a matched pair of socks on this plane."

"Why not?" I asked.

"That damned jabroni, Mankind, steals them," the Rock answered.

"Just one, mind you," Paul Wight added.

"It doesn't matter how you hide your bag, either," Shamrock shouted.

"You guys are pulling my leg," I laughed. Everyone pulled up their pants legs. Sure enough, no two socks were alike. Even Kane's were badly mismatched.

I shrugged. "So, does anyone have a sock I could borrow?" Four were thrown at me. I kept the two smallest. Even they came up to my knees, but with them and the shoes on, I felt better prepared to handle whatever came up next.

I walked to the front of the cabin and knocked on the door. I was playing on a hunch. Shane opened the door and gestured me into the McMahon private domain. I sat down on the couch between Pat Patterson and Gerald Brisco.

"Would you like a drink?" Brisco asked.

"Soda, diet, straight up," I answered. Then I turned to Vince. "Your files told an interesting story."

"I know," he replied. "The truth is a lot stranger than anything I could ever make up."

"I need the file on Bearer," I told him.

He clenched his jaw. "Look," I said. "I need to know this crap. These guys aren't going to give up. I happen to know the fat rat is holding out, so I need to know what everybody else knows."

"How do you know that?" Patterson asked. I ignored him and watched Vince.

Vince sighed and tossed a file on the table between us. "There's not much more there."

I opened it and thumbed through it. "So, you couldn't prove if any of them were related or not?"

"All we have is their word and what little evidence is there," Vince said. "What difference does it actually make?"

I wasn't sure. Something about the past of the three of them was nagging at my mind. I felt like I was trying to add two and two and get the square root of eighty-one. "I don't know. I'll take this and read it. After that I'll probably ask Kane a few questions," I said.

"You can't believe him," Brisco said. "He's loony."

"He's not really crazy," I said. "Is he?"

"Bearer raised him. If he's not crazy, he could still be brainwashed," Vince answered.

That was true. Hell, I didn't know that he wasn't in fact certifiable.

I went back to my seat and reopened the file on Bearer. I loved the picture in the front. It was grainy, probably taken with a telephoto lens. It was of Bearer sitting in the front seat of a hearse, wearing sunglasses and eating a Big Mac. The rest of the file didn't tell me much more than I already knew. Same song third verse. What I wanted to know was where and when Taker and Bearer had hooked back up after the fire. Where and why had he kept Kane a secret all those years?

I knew there wasn't a file around with those answers in it. I sorted through the files and pulled out the legal pad and pen someone had thoughtfully included. I stuck the pen behind my ear and went to sit in the seat next to Kane.

He turned off his Walkman and carefully pulled out his earphones. He waited for me to say something. His dual colored eyes were a little unnerving, but I thought they were gorgeous. My uncle has a sort of variation on them, not so dramatic as Kane's.

I wondered if he knew just how bad his mask clashed with the purple sweat suit. I wasn't going to be the one to tell him. Giving fashion advice to the emotionally challenged wasn't high on my to do list.

"You aren't going to talk are you?" I asked softly. He shook his head. His hair fell down across his mask. I resisted the urge to brush it back. Instead I handed him the pad and pen. "Tell me why."

He pulled down the tray table. Why should I? he wrote.

"Because you helped me twice when I needed it," I said. "And I'd like to be your friend."

He thought about it for a moment. I don't talk around them, because they laughed at me. They said it sounds creepy, he wrote.

"Idiots," I muttered. "You are this way because of an accident." He didn't write anything else. He just fiddled with the edge of the paper. "So why did you talk to me?" I asked.

I took a chance. You're the creepiest person I've met in a long time, he answered.

"I'm creepy?" I asked. I don't think complete strangers had ever considered me creepy before, but I could be wrong.

Do Taker and I feel creepy to you? he wrote.

"I guess."

You can spot us, we can spot you.

I guess he had a point. "So what is this whole deadman thing with him?"

The darkness has claimed him. He's evil to the core, he wrote.

"But, that isn't the same as dead. Everybody calls him dead," I pointed out. He shrugged, unwilling to answer. "Then, can you tell me why you feel almost the same as him to me? Are you the same?" I asked.

I wonder that myself sometimes.

God, I swear the guy had a gene for cryptic answers. "So this talent, or whatever it is I have, is the same thing you and Taker have?"

It started the same. It's all in what you do with it. He went to the dark willingly. I don't. Stay away from him and the darkness and you'll live much happier.

"What if you don't know whether something is dark or not?" I asked. I was thinking about some local spirits that had 'called' me from time to time.

You learn fast or it becomes a moot point. He answered.

Well that was helpful... not. "I see," I said, although I didn't. "It would seem the darkness is getting the better of me today at least."

You're holding your own, he wrote.

I pulled up the left sleeve of my shirt. It was the arm Edge and Bradshaw had both mangled. It hurt worse than the right. The bruises had turned nearly the same purple as Kane's sweat suit. I could see the finger marks standing out in relief.

How are the bruises? he asked.

"All the way to the neck," I answered.

Hurt?

"Yeah, they do, but I'll live. They're worse when they get touched. I remember who gave me each one. I'd like to return the favor someday," I said.

You're already up on Bradshaw, he wrote.

"How?"

That bite needed stitches.

I was shocked. I guess I had bitten him harder than I thought. Was I sorry? I didn't really think so. "Gee, do you think I should send him a sympathy card?"

Kane just snorted and handed me back the pen and paper. Discussion over. It wasn't until I got back to my seat that I realized I hadn't asked him a thing about Paul Bearer. I had gotten sidetracked. I wondered if that had been an accident or if he had done it on purpose.

Everyone else was asleep or close to it. I was pretty tired myself, so I joined the chorus of snoring. What did I see of Anaheim? The airport, the corporate limo, and the Arrowhead Pond. I went straight to the arena. Vince didn't think I was up to much else yet, and I had to agree with him.

My first stop was the wardrobe department. I harassed the wardrobe girl until she agreed to do a bit of quick shopping for me. She left with a list of my sizes and what I wanted. It was a quick list of things I couldn't do without, you know, clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing. The best part was that Vince was picking up my tab. All I had to do in return was watch the costumes until she returned. That's how I met Steve Austin. I was sitting on a stool, still in my mis-matched borrowed clothes, when he came stomping in and threw his vest at my head. "This f@*%ing vest is falling apart again," he yelled. He was standing there with nothing between him and the Lord but those little black panties, yelling at me.

"I'm sorry," I said pulling the vest off my head.

"Yeah, well, you damn well should be," he said. "Just fix it right this time."

I found a needle and thread and tacked the 3 back down where it had come loose. "Here," I said, handing it back. "It's as good as new."

"I wish," he snorted.

"By the way," I said. "I'm not with wardrobe."

He did a double take. "You're not, are you? You're that girl the big bastards fought over last night. What's your name?"

"Tarah," I supplied. At least he'd heard about it.

"Well, good to know ya, Tarah," he said, "and thanks for fixing my vest. They're a bunch of jackasses down here. What are you down here for, anyway? I heard you were Vince's pet."

"I'm waiting for some clothes." I was going to let the pet remark slide.

"Good luck," he said turning for the door. "And watch your damned socks."

It wasn't long after he left that the wardrobe girl returned. She was dragging several shopping bags and the suitcase I had requested. "It's all here," she said dropping it at my feet, "just about everything you asked for."

I opened a few of the bags. Everything seemed to be in order. "Anything happen while I was gone?" she asked.

"Just Stone Cold and his vest," I replied.

"Oh God," she said looking around wildly, "where is it?"

"Relax," I said. "I took care of it." I opened another bag. "Are these pants leather? I distinctly remember asking for jeans."

"The leather will look better on camera," she said, waving me away as her cell phone rang. I wanted to tell her I had no wish to be on camera, but didn't get the chance. It made me wonder if she had been responsible for the red dress. Nah. I found the women's dressing room. I quickly changed clothes. I looked in the mirror with apprehension. I had asked for a nice shirt and jeans. What I had gotten was a pair of black leather pants that fit like a coat of paint. With that was a black sports bra and a see-through neon blue puffy shirt. I looked like a Gothic hooker. The only thing she had gotten right were the black Nike Airs. Some things you just couldn't screw up. The rest was livable. I spent a few minutes dividing the rest of the stuff between the suitcase and the carryall bag. The borrowed clothes and some junk and magazines went in the carryall. The rest of the clothes and the Piggly Wiggly bag went in the suitcase. When I was done, I stashed them both with Chyna's bags. After that, I didn't really know what to do, so I sat on a crate in the hall and watched the wrestlers arrive. That's where Brisco and Patterson found me.

"Mr. McMahon thought you might like to sit in the owner's box tonight, since he won't be using it," Brisco said.

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Not really," I replied, "The view from up there must suck worse than the cheap seats."

They shared a look I didn't get. "Well, you can't just sit in the halls," Patterson said.

"You could just park me in the stands somewhere," I suggested.

"Security, Tarah," Brisco reminded me. "You have to be somewhere that you can be kept an eye on."

I sighed. "Wherever, then."

I wound up in the sound booth. The sound techs were really nice guys. They made me feel right at home, and we had monitors, so we could see all the action. They even let me cue the DX music. I was talking to a guy named Harvey when one of the other guys yelled, "Holy shit."

We all leaned towards the monitors to see what had happened. "Kane just shot a freaking fireball out of his finger," Harvey said, watching the replay.

"Crap," I muttered as I watched the aftermath. "I've got to get down there." Nobody tried to stop me.

By the time I found out where Kane had holed up with Chyna, there was a crowd at the door. Triple H was right in the front with X-Pac. I pushed through the crowd and put my hand on the doorknob. I thought I might be able to talk to Kane. After all, he had spoken to me before. Hey, he'd called me creepy, like him. I was betting he didn't do that often. "Hey," X-Pac said. "You can't go in there. The last dude who tried nearly got an arm torn off."

I ignored him and opened the door a crack. "Kane," I called out, "it's Tarah and I'm going to come in." I didn't hear anything, so I opened the door wide enough to slip in. I closed it behind me and slipped the lock.

The room looked just like it had on the monitor. I was guessing the guy that nearly lost the arm was the camera man that had shot the footage. Kane was holding a wet towel to Chyna�s eyes and rocking her back and forth. He looked up at me from where he was sitting on the floor, holding her. "I didn't mean to hurt her," he whispered brokenly.

"I know," I said reassuringly, "but you can't help her like the doctors can. Let them do their jobs and help her."

I pulled his hands away from her. He let me. "Come on," I said to her as I pulled her to her feet. She seemed reluctant to move. "Let's get you some help."

"But, Kane..." she said. I wondered if she could actually be more worried about him than her injury.

"I'll take care of him as soon as we get you some help." I said.

I led her to the door and unlocked it. There was a pair of EMT's waiting on the other side. I wasn't sure if they were expecting to help Chyna, or pick up the little pieces of me, but they got Chyna. I closed the door again and locked it. Kane was kneeling on the floor still, holding his head with his hands. I didn't know what to say or do for him. "Turn off the light," he said.

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