"I know you and Matt know what happened to Amy..." she began.  "I know how close you two have been with her, and for so long...What...what exactly happened?"

The rainbow-haired young man stared into the diva's warm, concerned brown eyes for a beat, then ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh, lord...I really shouldn't be the one to tell this story..." Jeff muttered.  "It's not mine to tell, first of all, and-"

"Jeff, you know I'm not interested in it for gossip!" Trish cried as she winced.  She didn't like raising her voice to him, but at the same time, she hated what had happened to her friend - and, even more so, she despised the disgusting monster that had done it to her - whoever he was.

"I know that, Trish..." the younger Hardy replied in a soft voice.  "I'm sorry..."

"No, don't-"

"You're right," Jeff interrupted her.  "Amy was raped nearly four years ago...She was in Queens, New York with ECW for some shows at the Elk's Lodge...and she never made it past the first one - because some guy grabbed her..."

The blonde diva's eyes widened in horror, and her heart nearly stopped its beating.

"She was reported missing for nine days," he continued.  "She was traveling with Rob Van Dam, and when she didn't turn up for the show, he got worried and called the police...but they wouldn't do anything until Amy was missing for twenty-four hours since she was an adult...And-"

Trish was listening, rapt, full of horror - and revulsion against whomever had snatched her dear friend - when suddenly, the locker room door opened.  Matt had returned, and now Jeff was all clammed up.

"What's goin' on?" the dark-haired man asked, then frowned when he caught the look on Trish's face.  "What's wrong?"

The little blonde met his brown eyes.  "N-nothing..."  She shook her head.

Matt appeared skeptical as he arched a brow and eyed her strangely, almost warily.  However, he didn't press the issue any further.

Jeff glanced from his older brother to meet the young woman's eyes.  Trish appeared to be near tears.  He made a mental note to speak to her again - somewhere more private - after they were through here for the night.

*

Adam sat up in the hotel room bed, his hand palm-down on the small nightstand at his left side.

He drummed his fingers on the top of the meager piece of furniture, deeply lost in thought.

He was trying to think of a way to broach the subject of counseling to Amy - but he didn't know where to begin.  It was such an awfully touchy subject.  The redhead had obviously been through a lot - and had seen far too much trauma and heartache in her life - and the tall blond man only wanted to help.

Amy came into the room from the bathroom, where she had been preparing for bed.  Although all she'd done was pretty much stand in the Canadian's corner during his match earlier that night, she was exhausted.

Adam gazed up at the redheaded diva with concern, his eyes never leaving her face as she climbed into the bed beside him.

"Baby..."

She turned her head to meet his emerald eyes almost curiously.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure..." she replied, nodding.

Adam lowered his gaze to her hands, which were lying loosely in her lap.  Slowly, he placed his left hand on them, grasping her right firmly, gently.  Then, raising his eyes back to meet hers, he spoke again.

"This Angelica in your nightmares...What does she look like?"

The diva frowned at the question, her brow marred by minor lines.  She remained silent and still as a stone as she thought, with the exception of her hazel eyes, which blinked rapidly.

"She..."  The redhead's eyes widened as she gazed into Adam's eyes with evident terror.  "She looks like me...Except for her brown hair, she looks like me..."

The blond man's heart nearly stopped as he felt chilled to the very bone...