What Lies Beneath, Chapter 2
Title: What Lies Beneath
Pairing: None, as of yet.
Characters: Wade Barrett, Randy Orton, Cody Rhodes, Kelly Kelly, Daniel Bryan
Rating: T for now...
Summary: A series of strange events in Hartford, Maine sees a psychologist become dragged into the underworld where things of nightmares threaten to destroy the world of the living. AU.
Warnings: Mentions of mythical creatures, torture, death etc.
Word count: 2633
Previous Chapters : Chapter 1
Jordan Cemetery, just off Great Moose Drive, was largely overcrowded though no one could remember the last time anyone had been buried there. For the past forty years people had been refused plots there and, for the past ten - at least - visitors to the graves within had been few and far between. The inhabitants of Great Moose Creek had long since given up chasing young teenagers away from the site - ever since the large, rusty padlock and chain which held the gate together had been broken off, it had become a regular drinking spot for teenagers. As it was, the cemetery was unkempt, many empty beer bottles stashed behind large gravestones, the huge, stone angels staring down disapprovingly as the students of Great Moose High School made it their meeting point.
Almost every gravestone was thick with moss, the weather having destroyed many of the cenotaphs and, between the crypts and tombs of yesteryear, lay large chunks of rock, occasionally in the shape of an arm or a wing. Not that the teenagers cared, though... They were more than comfortable with lazing amongst the monuments of the dead, drinking and hiding from their parents in a place no sane adult would venture alone. The older generation of Great Moose Creek had been warned many a time in their youth of the horrors and creatures which had been known to live in a graveyard and knew to steer clear of the infamous Jordan Cemetery leaving the reportedly haunted cemetery in the hands of the younger generation.
Near the back of the cemetery, where the very first plots had been placed, stood a stone family crypt bearing the name 'McMahon' between two carved roses. It had, according to legend, been there since even before the cemetery itself after a Connecticut-native built it with his own two hands. Of course, this was mere legend but, regardless of how it had come to be, it had definitely been made ahead of its time. The decorative metal knocker had been expertly moulded into the shape of a lion who's face grotesquely stood out from the otherwise elegant carving of stone. It was this lion, they said, which guarded the crypt and anyone who dared cross would meet an untimely death at it's hands. But these days, it was not so much a lion which guarded the crypt but moss, weeds and boulders which almost entirely shielded it from the untrained eye. For hundreds of years the McMahon crypt had stood proud and prominent, a focal point of the cemetery if such thing were to exist. But, in the past century or so, it had taken the toll of weather beatings and, where once people would stop and stare, the crypt was now hidden, preventing any wrongdoings which went on from being seen. The wrongdoings which went on in the McMahon crypt, however, were not caused by drunken teenagers. The McMahon crypt housed much more serious dangers within...
*****
For the most part, Bryan Danielson's move had gone well - save for the strange outburst from the removal van driver, things had gone as was expected - and, now, he (along with his ever-faithful dog, Asparagus) was a not-quite-proud civilian of 'Great Moose Creek' where he rented a small one bed-room flat. The flat itself was nondescript with its magnolia coloured walls, its one book shelf and single bed which creaked at the first sign of weight. But - for now at least - it was home. He had been a Great Moose Creek citizen for almost four weeks when he finally decided to move the old, oak book shelf. The shelves were thin, many of which had fallen under the weight of many a hardback book and, if truth be told, it stood no match for Bryan's extensive book collection.
On his own, the bearded psychologist hauled the book case from the wall, coughing loudly as puffs of dust clouded his face. He had been determined to get rid of it since the day he moved in and, now that his new, Dorsey bookshelf had been delivered, it was time to get rid of the only non-electrical piece of furniture he had been left in the house. Once the fragile wood had been pulled from the wall, Bryan began to dismantle the bookshelf, removing the remaining shelves before dismantling the wood; the most manual job he had done in a long time. Once all the wood had been broken down into small enough pieces to fit in the large garbage bin outside his house, Bryan took a breather; removing any wood chips from his hand and making a cup of coffee before returning to his living room.
While the bookshelf itself had not been particularly large, the room seemed vast and empty without it and, knowing he would need a place to house his books, comics and work related textbooks sooner or later, Bryan thought it best to fill the huge gap before the day was over. It was much quicker work to build an easy-pack bookshelf than it had been to dismantle one which had stood for at least three decades and, in next to no time, Bryan was the owner of a rather modest home for his books and comics. Pushing the currently empty bookshelf against the wall, the Washington-native came across a small wedge of paper, just thick enough to prevent the piece of furniture from being flat against the wall and, after tugging it from between the baseboard and the wall, threw it aside, fitting his handiwork to his wall, a proud grin stretching across his face.
“What do you say, Asparagus?” he grinned, placing his first book - a battered copy of J.R.R Tolkein's 'The Hobbit' - on the middle shelf. “I'd say that's a job well done!” The Golden Labrador tilted his head to the side, letting out a light whine before leaning down, thrusting the wedge of paper at his owner with his nose. “What's that, boy?” he asked, noting the look in his dog's eyes. They said a dog was a man's best friend and, in Bryan's case, this was true. He and Asparagus had been together since he was just a young pup and, while some people saw dogs as little more than pets, Bryan saw his as a friend. A friend who looked rather reproachful, even scared... Bending down, Bryan picked up the paper, Asparagus letting out a howl of pain the second his owner's fingers touched the wedge. “Calm down, Jeeeze.” He muttered, ruffling the dog's fur before throwing himself down on his old arm chair, still grinning at his job well done.
For a moment, he ignored the wedge of paper he held in his hand, just glad of his day's task having been finished. Tonight, he decided, he would watch an episode of Criminal Minds before applying for jobs. It would be a productive night. He could feel it. But, had he planned to go into more detail about the evenings plans, he would have been cut short as Asparagus nudged his hand, trying to knock the wedge of paper from his hand. The psychologist frowned at his dog - best friend or not, the lab was a big softie who ran away in the face of danger but, as far as Bryan could see, there was no danger here... He playfully shoved his dog from his side, causing the dog to sit down, shielding his eyes with his paws as Bryan unfolded the small wedge.
The writing was small and slanted, the handwriting looking like it had been done using an old calligraphy set but Bryan's inquisitive mind caused him to inspect it heavily. He stood up, taking it to the small desk he had built beside the original bookshelf and laid it flat, turning on his lamp and taking a seat. Once in the right light, he could easily make out the perfectly written note. As his eyes scanned over the perfect calligraphy, Bryan rubbed his beard in thought. According to this note, some man - named only as Doctor Regal, who he presumed had been a previous occupant of the house - had been very concerned about the events which would take place precisely 37 days from the day of reading. According to this Doctor Regal, the world would cease to exist as they knew it as of the 29th of March, when a Motley Crew of the undead would rise up and enslave the living.
According to Bryan Danielson, Doctor Regal was quite the storyteller...
*****
The three thick, cylindrical candles which had once been found in the local church flickered as a light breeze entered the cavernous room. Save for the small chinks of light from the top of the staircase, the candles atop the roughly carved stone table were the only source of light and he couldn't afford them going out. Not while he was entertaining at least...
“And you're saying that you don't want him, ah, dealt with?” said the first of his three guests. Dressed all in black, with their long blond hair slicked back from their grotesque and deformed faces, the three looked just like family. For centuries they had worked closely together, gaining them quite the reputation and the name of 'The Brothers'. But even they had been no match for their new leader. No, not with his powers... He was the master of the underworld, the epitome of evil and, when he asked you to join him, there was no refusing.
“That,” he began, in his slow English drawl, his hand closing around a bronze goblet.”Is exactly what I'm saying. I want him back here in one piece... I'd like to have a word with our little...vengeance demon.”
“With all due respect Master Barrett,” began the brother with the least scars and battle-wounds adorning his neck and arms. “Vengeance demons are all female. So I don't think he's one of them.”
“And with all due respect, Ryder,” Barrett said, his hand twisting into a contorted fist as he did his best to maintain control. He needed this...this boy on his team. He couldn't waste time and risk the chance of Copeland and Hawkins deserting him, should he kill their brother. “You obviously have not done your research. When he was living; he was a model. He made a living from his appearance and then that was taken away from him. And now, as a member of the undead, he takes others' appearance and good looks away from them. Starting with his old agency... If that isnt seeking vengeance, I don't know what is.” Barrett's voice was near a whisper, each syllable filled with condescending hatred. He was a dangerous one, even by the standards of a vampire, and the Three Brothers would have done well to recognise this before hand. “Now,” continued Barrett, as though he had not just stared through each of his guests with a look of pure evil. “Drink up - it's almost as good as fresh.” The Three Brothers looked at each other, the deep grooves above and around their eyes becoming more prominent as they frowned.
“Forgive me, sir,” said the Brother to the right of Ryder. He looked to be around Ryder's age, though age was irrelevant when it came to vampires. Preserved and everlasting, they remained the same age they had been when they died for the rest of their lives. Or rather, for the rest of their deaths. When Barrett lowered his eyes to turn his attention to him, Copeland began to speak. “But why would you enlist us for this particular job? We are, ah, known to specialize in the removal of his type. We do not fetch and carry...”
“You've dealt with his type before?” asked the Master, ignoring the question he had been posed. Standing at almost seven foot tall, with shoulders as wide as an Ox, Wade Barrett was a terrifying figure and, as he took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, the so-far-silent Brother shrunk in his chair.
“N-Not exactly,” he said, swallowing hard. “He is very different to anything anyone has ever seen...He...He is not a vampire. Nor a zombie. He's not a born demon and he's not a ghoul. No one knows what he is or how to deal with him...”
“But that's not to say that we can't!” added Copeland, hastily, keen to retrieve his friend from the hole he was so clearly digging. “He is no match for the Three Brothers. No match at all.”
A sinister smile played across Barrett's face, his lip curling and exposing one elongated fang as he raised his goblet to his lips, taking a long drink. The imposing demon placed his goblet back on the stone table before dabbing at the corners of his lips - after all, he was a vampire, not a commoner. “I want Rhodes brought back to me in one piece. He would be a valuable member of our family - would you not say?” A chorus of 'yes, Master' came as a reply, to which Barrett grinned, exposing blood-stained lips. “Now - be gone. I have work to do!”
*****
The lights from Great Moose Creek illuminated the graveyard, casting shadows across his face as it beat down on the gravestones. His face was handsome - or at least, it had been - with bright blue eyes and full lips. He was of a good build, with strong arms and high cheekbones. He was, according to his mother, God's gift to women. Until the light hit the left side of his face. He had been a vain boy - always fussing about his looks and always finding insecurities. He had, in his twenty-six years of living, received botox on no less than four occasions and so it had seemed a natural progression to move onto cosmetic surgery. His nose, which had always bothered him, was first to be seen to.
Three weeks after his twenty-sixth birthday, he had checked himself into the Gladstone Surgery for Cosmetic Procedures and, just two days later he had left the clinic, sporting a clear, protective face-mask. It had been, according to him, a great shame that he would have to hide his face under such a horrid mask but, nevertheless, he wore it dutifully for four weeks. On the last day of wearing his mask, however, his home had been set alight due to a pair of hair straighteners catching fire. The house had gone up in flames, the left side of Cody's body being caught in the heat, while thick, black smoked invaded his lungs, twisting around his windpipes like coiling snakes, choking him to death. He had always said he'd leave a good looking corpse but, a week later at his funeral, the model's parents refused to have an open casket. They knew their son would have been so ashamed if anyone saw him - covered in burns, one half of his protective face mask welded to his face.
Slowly, he moved towards the McMahon crypt, the evening breeze ruffling his hair as he moved noiselessly. He grimaced when the heavy doors of the crypt groaned as they opened but did not let this deter him. Rather, he entered instantly, pulling the door closed behind him before making his way across the candle-lit crypt to where the stone staircase leading downwards began. He moved slowly, carefully and full of caution as he moved down onto the first few steps, his target slowly coming into sight, the further into the cavern he moved. The man was occupied, a thick, leather bound book clutched tightly in his hands. “Barrett,” he said, smug arrogance lacing every syllable. “A little vampire-bat told me you were looking for me...”
Pairing: None, as of yet.
Characters: Wade Barrett, Randy Orton, Cody Rhodes, Kelly Kelly, Daniel Bryan
Rating: T for now...
Summary: A series of strange events in Hartford, Maine sees a psychologist become dragged into the underworld where things of nightmares threaten to destroy the world of the living. AU.
Warnings: Mentions of mythical creatures, torture, death etc.
Word count: 2633
Previous Chapters : Chapter 1
Jordan Cemetery, just off Great Moose Drive, was largely overcrowded though no one could remember the last time anyone had been buried there. For the past forty years people had been refused plots there and, for the past ten - at least - visitors to the graves within had been few and far between. The inhabitants of Great Moose Creek had long since given up chasing young teenagers away from the site - ever since the large, rusty padlock and chain which held the gate together had been broken off, it had become a regular drinking spot for teenagers. As it was, the cemetery was unkempt, many empty beer bottles stashed behind large gravestones, the huge, stone angels staring down disapprovingly as the students of Great Moose High School made it their meeting point.
Almost every gravestone was thick with moss, the weather having destroyed many of the cenotaphs and, between the crypts and tombs of yesteryear, lay large chunks of rock, occasionally in the shape of an arm or a wing. Not that the teenagers cared, though... They were more than comfortable with lazing amongst the monuments of the dead, drinking and hiding from their parents in a place no sane adult would venture alone. The older generation of Great Moose Creek had been warned many a time in their youth of the horrors and creatures which had been known to live in a graveyard and knew to steer clear of the infamous Jordan Cemetery leaving the reportedly haunted cemetery in the hands of the younger generation.
Near the back of the cemetery, where the very first plots had been placed, stood a stone family crypt bearing the name 'McMahon' between two carved roses. It had, according to legend, been there since even before the cemetery itself after a Connecticut-native built it with his own two hands. Of course, this was mere legend but, regardless of how it had come to be, it had definitely been made ahead of its time. The decorative metal knocker had been expertly moulded into the shape of a lion who's face grotesquely stood out from the otherwise elegant carving of stone. It was this lion, they said, which guarded the crypt and anyone who dared cross would meet an untimely death at it's hands. But these days, it was not so much a lion which guarded the crypt but moss, weeds and boulders which almost entirely shielded it from the untrained eye. For hundreds of years the McMahon crypt had stood proud and prominent, a focal point of the cemetery if such thing were to exist. But, in the past century or so, it had taken the toll of weather beatings and, where once people would stop and stare, the crypt was now hidden, preventing any wrongdoings which went on from being seen. The wrongdoings which went on in the McMahon crypt, however, were not caused by drunken teenagers. The McMahon crypt housed much more serious dangers within...
*****
For the most part, Bryan Danielson's move had gone well - save for the strange outburst from the removal van driver, things had gone as was expected - and, now, he (along with his ever-faithful dog, Asparagus) was a not-quite-proud civilian of 'Great Moose Creek' where he rented a small one bed-room flat. The flat itself was nondescript with its magnolia coloured walls, its one book shelf and single bed which creaked at the first sign of weight. But - for now at least - it was home. He had been a Great Moose Creek citizen for almost four weeks when he finally decided to move the old, oak book shelf. The shelves were thin, many of which had fallen under the weight of many a hardback book and, if truth be told, it stood no match for Bryan's extensive book collection.
On his own, the bearded psychologist hauled the book case from the wall, coughing loudly as puffs of dust clouded his face. He had been determined to get rid of it since the day he moved in and, now that his new, Dorsey bookshelf had been delivered, it was time to get rid of the only non-electrical piece of furniture he had been left in the house. Once the fragile wood had been pulled from the wall, Bryan began to dismantle the bookshelf, removing the remaining shelves before dismantling the wood; the most manual job he had done in a long time. Once all the wood had been broken down into small enough pieces to fit in the large garbage bin outside his house, Bryan took a breather; removing any wood chips from his hand and making a cup of coffee before returning to his living room.
While the bookshelf itself had not been particularly large, the room seemed vast and empty without it and, knowing he would need a place to house his books, comics and work related textbooks sooner or later, Bryan thought it best to fill the huge gap before the day was over. It was much quicker work to build an easy-pack bookshelf than it had been to dismantle one which had stood for at least three decades and, in next to no time, Bryan was the owner of a rather modest home for his books and comics. Pushing the currently empty bookshelf against the wall, the Washington-native came across a small wedge of paper, just thick enough to prevent the piece of furniture from being flat against the wall and, after tugging it from between the baseboard and the wall, threw it aside, fitting his handiwork to his wall, a proud grin stretching across his face.
“What do you say, Asparagus?” he grinned, placing his first book - a battered copy of J.R.R Tolkein's 'The Hobbit' - on the middle shelf. “I'd say that's a job well done!” The Golden Labrador tilted his head to the side, letting out a light whine before leaning down, thrusting the wedge of paper at his owner with his nose. “What's that, boy?” he asked, noting the look in his dog's eyes. They said a dog was a man's best friend and, in Bryan's case, this was true. He and Asparagus had been together since he was just a young pup and, while some people saw dogs as little more than pets, Bryan saw his as a friend. A friend who looked rather reproachful, even scared... Bending down, Bryan picked up the paper, Asparagus letting out a howl of pain the second his owner's fingers touched the wedge. “Calm down, Jeeeze.” He muttered, ruffling the dog's fur before throwing himself down on his old arm chair, still grinning at his job well done.
For a moment, he ignored the wedge of paper he held in his hand, just glad of his day's task having been finished. Tonight, he decided, he would watch an episode of Criminal Minds before applying for jobs. It would be a productive night. He could feel it. But, had he planned to go into more detail about the evenings plans, he would have been cut short as Asparagus nudged his hand, trying to knock the wedge of paper from his hand. The psychologist frowned at his dog - best friend or not, the lab was a big softie who ran away in the face of danger but, as far as Bryan could see, there was no danger here... He playfully shoved his dog from his side, causing the dog to sit down, shielding his eyes with his paws as Bryan unfolded the small wedge.
The writing was small and slanted, the handwriting looking like it had been done using an old calligraphy set but Bryan's inquisitive mind caused him to inspect it heavily. He stood up, taking it to the small desk he had built beside the original bookshelf and laid it flat, turning on his lamp and taking a seat. Once in the right light, he could easily make out the perfectly written note. As his eyes scanned over the perfect calligraphy, Bryan rubbed his beard in thought. According to this note, some man - named only as Doctor Regal, who he presumed had been a previous occupant of the house - had been very concerned about the events which would take place precisely 37 days from the day of reading. According to this Doctor Regal, the world would cease to exist as they knew it as of the 29th of March, when a Motley Crew of the undead would rise up and enslave the living.
According to Bryan Danielson, Doctor Regal was quite the storyteller...
*****
The three thick, cylindrical candles which had once been found in the local church flickered as a light breeze entered the cavernous room. Save for the small chinks of light from the top of the staircase, the candles atop the roughly carved stone table were the only source of light and he couldn't afford them going out. Not while he was entertaining at least...
“And you're saying that you don't want him, ah, dealt with?” said the first of his three guests. Dressed all in black, with their long blond hair slicked back from their grotesque and deformed faces, the three looked just like family. For centuries they had worked closely together, gaining them quite the reputation and the name of 'The Brothers'. But even they had been no match for their new leader. No, not with his powers... He was the master of the underworld, the epitome of evil and, when he asked you to join him, there was no refusing.
“That,” he began, in his slow English drawl, his hand closing around a bronze goblet.”Is exactly what I'm saying. I want him back here in one piece... I'd like to have a word with our little...vengeance demon.”
“With all due respect Master Barrett,” began the brother with the least scars and battle-wounds adorning his neck and arms. “Vengeance demons are all female. So I don't think he's one of them.”
“And with all due respect, Ryder,” Barrett said, his hand twisting into a contorted fist as he did his best to maintain control. He needed this...this boy on his team. He couldn't waste time and risk the chance of Copeland and Hawkins deserting him, should he kill their brother. “You obviously have not done your research. When he was living; he was a model. He made a living from his appearance and then that was taken away from him. And now, as a member of the undead, he takes others' appearance and good looks away from them. Starting with his old agency... If that isnt seeking vengeance, I don't know what is.” Barrett's voice was near a whisper, each syllable filled with condescending hatred. He was a dangerous one, even by the standards of a vampire, and the Three Brothers would have done well to recognise this before hand. “Now,” continued Barrett, as though he had not just stared through each of his guests with a look of pure evil. “Drink up - it's almost as good as fresh.” The Three Brothers looked at each other, the deep grooves above and around their eyes becoming more prominent as they frowned.
“Forgive me, sir,” said the Brother to the right of Ryder. He looked to be around Ryder's age, though age was irrelevant when it came to vampires. Preserved and everlasting, they remained the same age they had been when they died for the rest of their lives. Or rather, for the rest of their deaths. When Barrett lowered his eyes to turn his attention to him, Copeland began to speak. “But why would you enlist us for this particular job? We are, ah, known to specialize in the removal of his type. We do not fetch and carry...”
“You've dealt with his type before?” asked the Master, ignoring the question he had been posed. Standing at almost seven foot tall, with shoulders as wide as an Ox, Wade Barrett was a terrifying figure and, as he took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, the so-far-silent Brother shrunk in his chair.
“N-Not exactly,” he said, swallowing hard. “He is very different to anything anyone has ever seen...He...He is not a vampire. Nor a zombie. He's not a born demon and he's not a ghoul. No one knows what he is or how to deal with him...”
“But that's not to say that we can't!” added Copeland, hastily, keen to retrieve his friend from the hole he was so clearly digging. “He is no match for the Three Brothers. No match at all.”
A sinister smile played across Barrett's face, his lip curling and exposing one elongated fang as he raised his goblet to his lips, taking a long drink. The imposing demon placed his goblet back on the stone table before dabbing at the corners of his lips - after all, he was a vampire, not a commoner. “I want Rhodes brought back to me in one piece. He would be a valuable member of our family - would you not say?” A chorus of 'yes, Master' came as a reply, to which Barrett grinned, exposing blood-stained lips. “Now - be gone. I have work to do!”
*****
The lights from Great Moose Creek illuminated the graveyard, casting shadows across his face as it beat down on the gravestones. His face was handsome - or at least, it had been - with bright blue eyes and full lips. He was of a good build, with strong arms and high cheekbones. He was, according to his mother, God's gift to women. Until the light hit the left side of his face. He had been a vain boy - always fussing about his looks and always finding insecurities. He had, in his twenty-six years of living, received botox on no less than four occasions and so it had seemed a natural progression to move onto cosmetic surgery. His nose, which had always bothered him, was first to be seen to.
Three weeks after his twenty-sixth birthday, he had checked himself into the Gladstone Surgery for Cosmetic Procedures and, just two days later he had left the clinic, sporting a clear, protective face-mask. It had been, according to him, a great shame that he would have to hide his face under such a horrid mask but, nevertheless, he wore it dutifully for four weeks. On the last day of wearing his mask, however, his home had been set alight due to a pair of hair straighteners catching fire. The house had gone up in flames, the left side of Cody's body being caught in the heat, while thick, black smoked invaded his lungs, twisting around his windpipes like coiling snakes, choking him to death. He had always said he'd leave a good looking corpse but, a week later at his funeral, the model's parents refused to have an open casket. They knew their son would have been so ashamed if anyone saw him - covered in burns, one half of his protective face mask welded to his face.
Slowly, he moved towards the McMahon crypt, the evening breeze ruffling his hair as he moved noiselessly. He grimaced when the heavy doors of the crypt groaned as they opened but did not let this deter him. Rather, he entered instantly, pulling the door closed behind him before making his way across the candle-lit crypt to where the stone staircase leading downwards began. He moved slowly, carefully and full of caution as he moved down onto the first few steps, his target slowly coming into sight, the further into the cavern he moved. The man was occupied, a thick, leather bound book clutched tightly in his hands. “Barrett,” he said, smug arrogance lacing every syllable. “A little vampire-bat told me you were looking for me...”