Jay tested the cords that held his hands together,
barely working up enough strength to move his arms.
He was tied just tight enough to render him immobile,
but loose enough to prevent his circulation from being
cut off.  Someone had known what they were doing when
they restrained him.  That was what scared him so
much.

Most of what had happened to him was a blur.  He
remembered the show at the Garden and planning to meet
Chris for dinner.  He'd only gone back into the locker
room for a moment, just long enough to retrieve the
shirt he'd left.  After that, there was only
confusion, fading consciousness and the dimly lit room
he was confined to.

And there was the pain. 

He couldn't remember parts of it, while others were
amazingly vivid.  It was like the time he'd had his
wisdom teeth pulled - he remembered bits and pieces of
the process and felt twinges of discomfort, but for
the most part he'd been allowed to drift comfortably
on a cloud of apathy.  It wasn't that it didn't hurt;
he just didn't care.

The parts he could remember were foggy, images and
sounds surfacing and fading again before he could
fully grasp them.  All he knew was that his body
ached, not just muscles and joints, but every inch of
him from his skin down to the bone.  He had no idea
why he was so weak, but his only attempt to free
himself had resulted in him passing out, waking
moments or hours later feeling exhausted.  The voice
in the dark had spoken to him then, cold and empty,
with a vague familiarity.

"You should try to hold still.  You'll open your cuts
if you flail around like that too much."

He'd talked back, pleading at first, crying
incoherently, then screaming until he was sure his
lungs bled.  Bribes and threats had no effect on the
voice.  It was completely unconcerned with his fear.

"The more you fight it the worse it will be, you
know," was all it said before disappearing into the
dark.  So he had stopped fighting whatever came in the
lost moments.  He slept, and ate whatever was offered
to him, and prayed that Chris was looking for him.

"If you love me, come for me," he whispered, shutting
his eyes against the dark and forcing back a scream as
he heard the door creak open, a sliver of light nearly
blinding him.  "Come before there isn't anything left
to bring back."

"The more you fight, the worse it will be," the voice
said, slicing through him.  "Not that I mind."

____________________________________________________________________________________

Chris stared at the phone in disgust.  He should've
known he'd never get anywhere with Matt - whatever
friendship they had shared in the past meant nothing
now.  And he'd always been fairly sure that Matt
despised him.  He couldn't stand anything that took
one scrap of his brother's attention off of himself.

He laid back on the bed, closing his eyes and wishing
he could somehow fall into a fairytale sleep and never
wake up.  That would at least be painless.

"Why did you ever let that bastard anywhere near him,
you moron?" he asked himself. 

Because more than anything else, he was afraid of Jeff
Hardy.  Of what he was capable of, and of what he
could make those in his grasp do.  He tried to stuff
the memories down, but they came like unbidden guests,
taking over his mind and refusing to leave.  In the
end, it was easier just to let them come.

When he first met Jeff, he'd been fascinated with him.
 He was almost ethereally beautiful, and it seemed
that the entire locker room was either part of his
entourage or dying to be.  Chris rarely heard him
speak to anyone other than his brother and Amy Dumas,
and he knew he would never work up the courage to
approach him.  Instead he watched in amazement as Jeff
moved through the world almost as if he weren't really
in it, but somewhere on the fringes of reality.  The
first time Jeff spoke to him, he thought he would pass
out.

"I've seen you watching me," he'd said, in a voice
that seemed to be a thousand miles away, hinting at
untapped possibilities.  "Why don't you ever say
anything?"

"I don't know," Chris answered honestly.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked, resting
his hand on the larger man's shoulder and slowly
tracing a line down his arm. 

"Maybe a little," he said, only realizing later that
he hadn't been kidding.  He met the infamous green
eyes with his blue ones and smiled shyly.  "Should I
be?"

"Maybe just a little." Matt had come into the locker
room then, glaring at them.  "I'll see you around,
Chris."  He retreated to stand by his brother, leaving
Chris feeling like he'd been hit by a train. 

Over the next few weeks, he'd begun to see more and
more of Jeff.  They would sit up all night, talking
about stupid things, or earth-movingly important
things, or just sitting in silence, staring out at the
stars.  In Jeff's presence everything was new, whether
they where wandering the streets of a strange city at
four in the morning or having hushed sex in the men's
room at an airport.  It was Jeff who introduced him to
drugs and taught him that pain could be the most
delicious pleasure on earth.  There was always an
element of danger when they were together, a lingering
suspicion that they were doing something wrong and
were about to be caught.  Part of him wished they had
been - it would have saved him a lot of pain and guilt
in the long run.

"Chris, do you trust me?" he asked him one night as
they lay in bed, tangled up in each other.  For once
he sounded as if he were right there next to him, his
usually unfocused eyes intent on his face.

"Yes," he said, almost without thinking.  He'd just
let Jeff feed him more coke than he thought he could
survive, tie him down, and whip him  until his back
bled, then practically fuck him through the mattress.
There was no one he trusted more.

"I want you to come someplace with me."  He fixed a
serious stare on him, and Chris felt a shiver run
through him. 

Half an hour later he found himself lost somewhere in
the city, led away from the nice part of town into an
area of mostly abandoned buildings.  Jeff stopped in
front of a crumbling brick wreck  and went in,
beckoning for Chris to follow him.  Music and
indistinguishable voices came from upstairs, but the
dark room they stood in was entirely empty.

 "Chris, are you sure you trust me?" Jeff reached out
and stroked his cheek  in an uncharacteristically
tender gesture.  Chris nodded, never more sure of
anything in his life.  "If I take you upstairs, you're
going to see things you may not like.  And if you
don't like them, I can't let you leave.  So if you
don't want to do this, tell me now."  He held out his
hand.

Chris took it and smiled at him.  "I want to."

Jeff led him up a winding metal staircase for what
seemed like an eternity.  At the top was another
door, and this time he didn't hesitate.  He gestured
for Chris to follow him in.  The room was lit only by
a few clusters of candles, painting the walls with
shadows.  Chris's eyes took a moment to adjust to the
dimness.  When they finally did, all he could do was
stare.

It was like something out of a movie, was all he could
think.  He'd always been impressed with Jeff's arsenal
of sex toys and restraints, but this place put them to
shame.  The walls were like some kind of perverse
store offering objects to inflict every kind of pain
imaginable.  People milled around them, all in varying
degrees of fetish wear.  He thought his jaw might drop
to the floor when he saw Hunter lead a tall, elegant
boy past them on a leash, completely naked.  Hunter
flashed them a smile and yanked the boy's leash,
making him stumble.

"I had no idea.." he began, and wasn't sure how to
finish.  Somehow the things he and Jeff did in private
seemed amazingly indecent when put on display for a
roomful of people.

"Come on." Jeff took his hand again and they wove
their way through the mass of bodies, through a bead
curtain, and into another, smaller room.  This one was
outfitted in the same way as the outer chamber, but
seemed a lot more attractive and much less crowded. 

They stopped in front of a small group of people, all
apparently consumed with the scene they where
watching.  Chris started as he realized he stood
between Dwayne Johnson and Kurt Angle, but that was
nothing compared with what he saw before him. 

His first thought was, I never knew Matt was gay.  The
boy kneeling in front of him was heartbreakingly
beautiful, with long black hair and skin the color of
ivory.  Bruises and cuts marked his entire body,
standing out against the pale smoothness of his skin
in livid purple and red.  His hands were tied behind
his back with what looked like nylon cord, cutting
into his flesh.  Matt gripped him by his hair, holding
him still as he thrust in and out of his mouth.  His
eyes were closed and the look on his face was one of
intense rapture.  Jeff smiled and left Chris standing
in the crowd, going to his brother.

He slid an arm around Matt's waist and pulled him down
to kiss him.  They locked eyes as Matt reached his
peak, his release spilling out of the boy's mouth and
over his bruised, bloodied face.  The boy gasped for
air and collapsed into a heap on the floor, whimpering
softly.

Jeff yanked him back up by his hair and punched him
hard in the mouth, making him spit out a mouthful of
blood mingled with the remains of Matt's cum.  He
squatted in front of the boy and stared into his face
for a moment, then kissed him roughly before shoving
him back down.  "Never waste even a drop of that," he
said sternly.  He stepped away from the boy and came
back to Chris, smiling at him with crimson stained
lips.  "Are you sorry your trusted me?"

Stephanie McMahon appeared out of the shadows, tugging
at Jeff's sleeve.  "Can I finish him?  Please?"  Jeff
dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she went to
the unconscious form lying on the floor, nudging him
with the toe of her shoe.

"Is.is this real?" Chris asked, watching in rapt
attention as Stephanie drew a tiny blade from her
pocket and ran it over the tracery of veins in her
victim's wrists, not quite breaking his skin.

"Sometimes," he said, watching them disinterestedly,
"I think it might be the only thing that is."

"Is she going to kill him?"

Jeff nodded.  "Yes.  And tomorrow night, in the next
city, she'll probably do the same.  Or he will," he
said, gesturing to Scott Levy.  "Or I will."  He
brushed a few strands of blonde hair away from Chris's
paling face.  "Or you will.  Steph, hold up," he
called, and she withdrew, a pouting look on her face.
"I asked you to trust me Chris.  If you do, you won't
be sorry."  He pressed something hard and smooth into
Chris's hand. 

The knife was small and its handle was intricately
carved silver done in a rambling Celtic design.  All
his conceptions of right and wrong flashed through his
mind, and he wondered where he had learned them.  "Is
it wrong?" he asked, still in a daze.

"Depends on your perspective," Jeff said, still
stroking his hair.  "From his, yeah, I'd say it's
wrong.  But Chris," he said, making him look him in
the eye, "when you have the power, wrong doesn't
matter.  It comes down to can and can't.  You can.  If
you want it, take it."  He kissed him lightly, and
Chris tasted the coppery tang of blood and the faint
flavor of Matt's come.  It didn't disgust him like he
thought it would.  It made him hungry.

Chris nodded slowly.  They all watched him like cats
ready to pounce if he made the wrong choice.  Little
did they know he was no more capable of walking away
than of going without air and water.  He ran a finger
over the blade of the knife; it was smooth and cold,
and for a moment it reminded him of nothing more than
the curve of Jeff's jaw. 

"What if I hurt him too much?" he asked, stepping to
the center of the group and joining Stephanie.

"No such thing," Jeff called, watching him proudly.
"Take it, baby."

Chris smiled apologetically at the boy, stroking his
sweat-drenched hair.  The knife slid through his skin
like butter, the slight resistance the most satisfying
sensation he ever felt in his life.  Warming to his
task he carved intricate designs in the boys back,
curling lines of red that twisted around each other
and never ended.  The boy began to cry, softly at
first, then in a ragged howl.

"Can I open him up now?" Stephanie asked, holding his
limp wrist to her heart.  "Pretty please?"

Chris nodded.  She ran her blade slowly up his inner
arms and across his throat, neatly slicing him open
inch by inch, watching in childlike fascination as the
blood flowed freely.  Satisfied, she let him fall back
against Chris and smiled as his blood drained out of
him, flooding over the floor.  She raised her hands
and looked at them quizzically before licking them
clean.  "Thank you."

"Anytime," Chris said, returning to Jeff's side. 

"Are you sorry you trusted me?" he asked, smiling at
him as if he had just passed some kind of test.

"I'm only sorry you waited so long," he replied.
"You'll have to help me make up for lost time."

And from that night on, Jeff had helped him.  Helped
him corrupt himself so far beyond recovery that when
he finally began to wonder about what he was doing
with his life, it was almost too late for him to get
away.  It seemed that there was a place in every city
where Jeff and his entourage could go to wreak havoc.
They varied from night to night, and Jeff was fickle
in his affections with them.  The only ones that could
hold his interest longer than a few days were Matt,
Amy, and Stephanie.  And Chris.  He never tired of
him, always looking for some new way to shock him or
some new taboo to break.  Eventually, Chris became
almost as jaded and indifferent to the world as Jeff.
Cruelty  no longer seemed poetic or romantic; it
became just another part of his life, like brushing
his teeth or paying his bills.  And that was when he
began to lose Jeff. 

"Sometimes I think you enjoy it more than I do,
Christopher."  Jeff sat next to him on an overstuffed
leather couch, watching Kurt fucking a girl who
couldn't have been more than seventeen. 

"Maybe I do," he said, absorbed in  Amy pierce the
girl's nipples with a pair of Jeff's earrings.  "Or
maybe it's just become all there is anymore.  At first
it was something I wanted and now.now it's something
I'm used to.  It's a habit." 

Jeff had only smiled at him somewhat sadly.  "And it's
not as good anymore, is it?"

It had been at that moment that he realized it wasn't.
Instead of the intense rush he'd grown accustomed to,
he saw only blood and flesh.  He began to have
nightmares, horrible dreams of being tortured to
within an inch of his life by some hidden attacker,
begging for mercy and realizing he deserved none.
Realizing the monster in his dreams was himself.  More
and more he found reasons to fight with Jeff, the
violence in their bed no longer in the name of
pleasure.  Every tiny wound was one more reason to
move on, and those he inflicted on Jeff gave him no
satisfaction.  He knew he could never really make him
feel anything.

He remembered the day he left Jeff more clearly than
any other event in his life.  They where in
California, getting ready to run a house show.  He
managed to find his lover alone, sitting in the locker
room staring into space.  "Jeff, I need to talk to
you."

"You don't want me anymore, do you Christopher?"  He
never looked at him or made any other indication that
he recognized his presence. 

"I can't do it anymore.  I can't go out night after
night and hurt people."

"There was a time when you thanked me for making you
do it."

"I know.  But things change, Jeff-"

"No," he said, his voice distant but hard.  He looked
at Chris for the first time, and the dullness of his
eyes scared him.  It was like there was nothing behind
the emerald irises, like looking through a stained
glass window and seeing only empty space.  "The things
I gave you are never going to leave you.  You can't
leave me Chris.  You can walk away, you can avoid me.
But I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life."

"Jeff, I'm sorry," was all he could say.  "I just
can't anymore."

"Then you never really could. I should've known you
couldn't handle it."  He stood abruptly, not giving
Chris a second look.  "So long, lover," he called, his
slow, southern voice drifting heavy on the air.  "But
not goodbye."

Chris watched him go, intense relief washing over him.
 "Goodbye Jeff."

He realized he wasn't alone, and turned to see a tall,
slender blonde standing nervously behind him.  "Am I
interrupting anything?"

Chris stared at him open mouthed.  He looked like an
angel, wide blue eyes shining, obscured slightly by
his golden hair.  A warm smile dominated his face, and
he tossed his gear bag carelessly onto the bench.
"No, you're not.  Don't worry about it."

"Great."  He pulled his shirt over his head and began
changing, apparently unconcerned with Chris's blatant
stare.  This was the kind of boy they had tormented
and dissected, a beautiful sweet faced innocent.
Everything about him shouted goodness, and Chris was
amazed that rather than wanting to hurt him, he was
overcome with a desire to protect him.

"I'm Chris," he said, extending his hand tentatively.

"Jay," the other man responded, his smile widening.
"Jay Reso."
_____________________________________________________________________________________

"I guess I'm just not sure what you want me to do for
you," Shane said, leaning back in his chair, his feet
elevated on his desk.  Chris felt his blood boil as
Shane casually sipped his drink.  The ice clinked
against the glass, and he realized just how silent it
was in the room.  After his wholly unsatisfying
conversation with Matt and a miserable stroll down
memory lane, he had dragged himself together and
bullied his way into Shane's New York office, hoping
he could force him into finding Jeff.

"I want you to tell me where I can find Jeff Hardy.
You're his boss." 

He shook his head, his expression blank.  "I'm not his
boss.  My father is.  And even if I were, Christopher,
I'm not his keeper."  He swished the amber liquid
around his glass.  "I'm sorry."

"I don't think you understand.  Jay has been gone for
two days, and we're only in the city for another two
days.  The longer we wait to find him-" He cut off
brokenly, clenching his fists.  "Shane, I'm going to
be blunt with you.  I'm not asking you to say you
understand, or to act like you care.  Jay and I are
lovers.  We've been together two years.  He means the
world to me, and I know him better than anybody.
Something's happened, and it has to be something bad
for him to go AWOL like this."

"And you're sure that Jeff was the last person to see
him?"  Shane peered at him over his glass, his eyes
flat and unresponsive. 

"Jeff and whoever was with him that night.  Could've
been any of a dozen people who play the kind of games
he does."  Chris leaned threateningly over the desk,
his face inches from Shane's. "Could've been you."

Shane set his drink down and stared back at him, his
eyes as cold as ever.  "I'm going to forget you
mentioned that Chris, because we used to be friends."
He sat back, and Chris turned away, cursing himself
for pushing his hand too soon.  "Did it ever occur to
you that Jay doesn't want to be found?  Maybe this is
his way of leaving you."

"No," he said, miserably.  "We were happy.  And he's
not that kind of man, Shane."

He drained his glass and set it aside.  "All right.  I
don't know why I'm doing this."  He reached for his
phone and punched in a few numbers.

"You're going to track down Jeff?"

Shane's neck snapped up and he stared at him wide
eyed.  Chris couldn't put a name on the emotion in his
eyes, but it wasn't one he ever wanted to feel.  "Fuck
no.  But I'm going to do the next best thing."  He
held up one hand, gesturing Chris to stay quiet.
"Sheryl, get me the phone number for Matt Hardy's
hotel room.  ASAP, all right?"  He hung up, and looked
back to his visitor.  "There.  I'll see what I can get
out of his sycophant.  I'll try to put the fear of God
into him.  That's the best I can do."

"The best you can do, or the best you're willing to
do?"

"One in the same."  He stood, and Chris realized his
appointment was over.  "Look, it's not that I don't
get where you're coming from.  I do.  I really do get
it.  But you're going down a road you're not going to
want to follow."  He put his hand on the blonde's
shoulder.  "Remember how you used to say that we were
all going to be karma's bitches some day?"  Chris
nodded, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.  "Well,
maybe this is your day."

"I don't accept that, Shane."  He shrugged his hand
away.  "He's not going to pay for my sins."

"Somebody's got to, man.  Maybe you should just let
yourself get off light with this one."  He held Chris'
eye, refusing to let him look away.  "There are worse
ways to pay up than this."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the shrill
peal of the phone cut him off.  "I believe that's the
sycophant," Chris said, opening the door.  "Thank you
Shane."

Shane nodded, his expression stern.  "You get too
involved with this, you may not thank me."  He went to
his desk as Chris left his office  "Thanks Sheryl," he
said, scribbling the number on his desk pad.

The phone on the other end rang four times before the
familiar voice answered.  "Yeah?"

"Your little pet is getting out of hand, Matthew," he
snarled, pouring himself another drink one handed.
"Chris Irvine just left my office and he's pissed as
all hell."

Matt sighed on the other end of the phone.  "Shane,
I-"

"Don't give me any of your bullshit."  He choked down
most of the glass at once, the liquid burning his
throat and doing nothing to ease his mind.  "I could
let it go when he was being careful.  But you've lost
control of him completely, haven't you?"

"I don't think I ever had control of him at all.
Don't let yourself believe you can contain him Shane.
Nobody can."

"Do you have any idea what he's done?" Shane shrieked
before he realized just how upset he was.  He breathed
deeply and counted to ten before speaking again.
"Chris knows, Matt.  And we'll be lucky if we don't
all go down because of this."

"I'll see what I can do."

Shane gripped the phone tighter, hurting his hand.  "I
swear to God, if this ruins me there will be hell to
pay."

"You don't believe in God."  Matt's voice grew sharp
and angry.  "I'll clean up his mess; I always do.
Believe me Shane, you don't want  to talk about hell
to pay.  You know I can show you hell."

The line went dead, and Shane stared dumbly at the
phone.  He calmly replaced the phone  into its cradle,
and finished his second drink.  Then he hurled the
glass against the wall, the sound of it shattering
ringing in his ears.

next chapter godless chapter 3
back to godless chapter 1