Wrecked – By Cordelia50

Chapter 1

“Eric! Sami! Mrs. Tweed is waiting on you! Get your things. I’ve got your lunches.” Roman hollered up at the older twinners.

“Coming!” Sami called back just before she and her brother pounded down the worn staircase. They both got a quick peck from their dad, who also managed to rebutton Eric’s misaligned jacket as they rushed out the door. 

“Tell Mom bye,” Eric piped, looking back for a second before he jumped into the back of the carpool ride and slammed the door. 

Roman chuckled, shaking his head at the chaos that nearly always accompanied early weekday mornings. He waved to Shirley Tweed as her station wagon full of active little seven- and eight-year- olds pulled away from the curb. 

Making sure the front door closed completely to keep in the heat, he took the stairs two at a time and cut a beeline for the little ones’ room where Marlena struggled to get Maddie and Linc into their outfits. “Need some help?” he asked, and before she could answer, immediately took over dressing his son. 

“Thanks,” Marlena muttered, intent on shoeing her antsy little girl. The four-year-olds were heading to pre-school and daycare so she could meet her first patient on time, and Roman could get to the station.

The two children chattered at their parents and each other, and then both of them abruptly looked at the doorway, and Maddie grinned and pointed. Sure enough, Chelsea, their daytime housekeeper and nanny, had arrived right on time. After the usual morning greetings and Marlena and Roman kissing the kids, the friendly young woman efficiently gathered up the twins, who sported darker hair than their older siblings, and whisked them down to her car to deliver them to their school. She would return to the house after she dropped them off.

“Whew,” Marlena said. She turned to Roman and stretched up to kiss him. “Hi,” she said, her face losing its tension and smiling at him.

“Hey,” he replied, wrapping her in his arms and deepening the kiss. But after a moment he reluctantly broke it off and dropped a feather kiss on her nose. He sighed and said huskily. “Wish we had time to go back to bed for a while, but it’ll have to wait until tonight.” He suggestively bumped her hip with his.

“Mmm,” Marlena said dreamily. But then she nodded and looked at her watch. “We’ve got to go, honey.”

Grunting in agreement, Roman let her lead the way, and they both automatically craned a peek into Carrie’s room since she’d left the door ajar. For a high school senior’s room, it did look uncommonly clean. But then, like many teenagers, she spent a lot of time away from home.

Before locking the house and getting into their respective cars, Roman donned his trusty leather jacket and Marlena put on a long coat. March weather in Salem still carried a bite.

In the garage, as the automatic door powered up, Roman kissed his wife again and said, “Have a good day, Doc. See ya around six.”

Reaching up to touch his handsome, freshly shaved face, Marlena answered, “Be safe, honey.”

Roman gave a nod. “You know it.” 

As soon as she maneuvered her Lexus out into the street, Roman backed his Jeep out and tapped the remote to close up the garage. He took a different route to the police station than Marlena did to Salem University Hospital.

Once at the cop shop, Roman headed for his office. He’d been a commander for several years, and the scuttlebutt had the city council members considering him to succeed the current chief of police when he retired next year. The possible promotion felt like a two-edged sword to Roman. Part of him desired the chance to be in charge and shape the department because he chafed sometimes at some of its current policies and training priorities. The additional salary wouldn’t hurt either with five kids to feed. But Roman already spent more time behind his desk than he’d like, and, as chief, that would only increase. Roman loved field work best about being a cop. Whenever he could, he still got involved in active cases. And, occasionally, in cold cases.

Before he actually reached his own door, he noticed Abe filling a mug at the coffee machine. He veered over thataway. “Morning, Abe. How’s it going?

“Not bad, partner. Again, no big emergencies in the last twelve hours, so that’s a plus.” 

The two shot the breeze for a few minutes, and then Abe headed for the watch commander’s office to brief him while Roman remembered he had a meeting with Chief Bell. 

“Morning, Chief,” he greeted after knocking and entering Bell’s quite prestigious office. 

“Sit down, Roman. Good to see you.” Bell had been away at a national police chiefs’ conference for nearly a week. The chief proceeded to tell Roman about some ideas he’d picked up at the meeting. Roman listened attentively, but privately he didn’t think the Salem police needed a tank or a new uniform design for the officers on the beat.

After a while, Bell ran out of steam, and Roman decided to say something noncommittal when the chief’s phone rang. Impatiently, Bell snatched the receiver off its cradle and snapped, “I told you no calls.” He listened and then his irritation faded into a more enigmatic expression, and he said, “Alright, I’ll tell him.” Hanging up, he looked at Roman quizzically, “Shane Donovan is trying to get in touch with you. They’re ringing your office now.”

Roman excused himself hastily. On the way, he reflected that one, he hadn’t even taken off his jacket yet this morning, two, he’d watched Abe drink coffee, but hadn’t poured himself any yet, and three, Bell hadn’t covered up his insecurity about Shane asking for Roman instead of him well at all. Bell, who became chief three years ago, had moved from another, comparably sized city up north, and he hadn’t gained Shane’s trust yet. Shane had worked with Roman for years and didn’t want to “change horses,” so Shane refused to read Bell into any confidential ISA business.

Turning his key efficiently in the lock, Roman closed the door to his own smaller, more utilitarian office and grabbed the ringing phone. “Shane?”

“Hi, uh, Roman. How’re things?”

“You know how it is, Shane. They’re going.” Roman sat on the edge of his desk. Wondering why Shane’s familiar British accent sounded a little strained and distracted, he asked, “What’s up, my friend?”

“Yeah. Uh, listen, I don’t want to do this on the phone. Would you mind meeting me at the usual safe house location? I can be there in about two hours.”

“Sure, I can do that. See you then.”

Still puzzled by that brief exchange that had told him exactly nothing, Roman took off his jacket, fetched himself coffee, and seated himself to actually tackle some of his paperwork. 

An hour and a half later, he drove out of the cop shop parking lot and out of Salem. Winding along an isolated, heavily wooded road, he arrived at the little, out-of-the-way, unremarkable house shortly before the meet-up time. He parked but stayed in the Jeep. Within two minutes, a black Ford Bronco pulled up. As Roman exited his vehicle, Shane hopped agilely out of the backseat of his, carrying a briefcase. His driver stayed in the Bronco. 

Shaking hands, and again saying hello, Shane walked briskly to the front door of the faded-yellow frame house and unlocked it. Inside, they closed the door, and Shane disabled the alarm. 

Roman noticed that Shane appeared to be all business today. Usually when they met, he seemed more relaxed – even when the topic of discussion was deadly serious.

As they had done in the past, they sat at the dining table. Before he sat, Shane drank a glass of water from the kitchen tap. The usually gentlemanly Shane gulped, suggesting to Roman some nervousness in him. Roman didn’t drink anything. 

Once both were seated at right angles to each other, Shane opened his briefcase on the table in front of him and took out a tape recorder, a folder, and some stapled papers that could have been a transcript.

Roman quirked his eyebrow. “What’s happening, Shane?” 

Clearing his throat, Shane didn’t meet Roman’s eyes. “One of our listeners picked up a conversation. It’s Andre DiMera –”

“Andre,” Roman cut in. They hadn’t picked up that particular DiMera’s trail since he’d last shown himself in Salem in 1987 – over five years ago.

“Yes, Andre.” Shane did look at Roman now. “He seems to be staging a comeback in the underworld.”

“Really? He tried that already and nearly met the same fate as Stefano did in ‘86 when he kidnapped Marlena.”

Shane nodded in agreement but eyed Roman speculatively, “Damn good that you weren’t killed in that trap Stefano set for you when you found his lair.”

“Damn good I found Doc. That SOB nearly got away with her.” Roman set his jaw remembering Stefano’s attempt to kill him and escape with her.

Both of them recalled quite vividly how Roman, with the help of Shane, Orpheus (another long-time ISA agent), and a few others had tracked Stefano down on an island near Crete. Orpheus and Roman had both nearly died when a particularly clever booby trap exploded. If they had been ten feet closer to detonation, there wouldn’t have been anything left of either of them. 

As it was, Orpheus sustained multiple third-degree burns and as a result had to retire from ISA missions. Fortunately, his loving wife and children had supported his eventual recovery, and, after many skin graft surgeries, he had regained a reasonable facsimile of his original, princely good looks. But he also lost a leg up to the knee, and so now he made his living as a lawyer in Canada.

Roman had fared better. He’d sustained a few second degree burns and some broken ribs when struck in the chest by oversized shrapnel. But he hadn’t been as disabled by the blast and had pursued and found Stefano and Marlena. Just as there had been a showdown between Roman and Stefano on a cliff in 1984, so history tried to repeat itself as Stefano and Roman faced off on another precipice two years later. In a duel of sorts, both men shot at one another virtually simultaneously. This time, Stefano only winged Roman, causing a flesh wound to his left bicep. But Roman’s shot flew true, and Stefano tumbled a hundred feet into the ocean. His lifeless body, unlike Roman’s in 1984, was recovered.

Andre attempted to take control of Stefano’s criminal organization a year later, and because Roman and the Salem police had a “no tolerance” policy for any reinstatement of DiMera organized crime, Andre cooked up a crazy scheme to frame Roman (who headed the task force against him) for corruption to destroy his credibility and force him off the police force and into prison. 

Instead, Roman, Abe, Roman’s brother Bo, and others foiled the plan, and Roman cornered Andre in a warehouse on the outskirts of Salem. There, Andre took a bullet from Roman’s gun, and he nearly died. After he recovered sufficiently in the hospital – the same one where Marlena worked – he was scheduled to be moved to county jail to await trial. But he managed to escape. 

Considering all this history, Roman wasn’t surprised the ISA sought to keep tabs on Andre. But he hadn’t known they’d found him. “So,” he said, “you’ve got Andre on tape? What’s he say?”

Shane fiddled with the tape recorder, at the same time telling Roman, “He is conversing with a Doctor Rolf. It appears that Andre has occupied his time since we last saw him by diligently digging up every secret of Stefano’s he can.”

“Who is Doctor Rolf?”

“We’re not sure, but from the tape he may be a medical doctor and scientist who assisted Stefano with some very bizarre plots.”

Roman frowned, but he just said, “Okay. Can I hear it?”

Shane nodded slowly, “Yes, that’s why we’re here. But I’ve got to warn you. It’s pretty shocking.”

Chapter 2

Driving back to Salem, Roman understood now why Shane had acted oddly. Terribly preoccupied, he felt as roiled and unsettled as he could ever recall being. A couple of times his absent-minded steering nearly took him over the centerline, and only irate horn blasts jerked him back to safety. If another cop had been behind him, he might have been pulled over for suspected driving under the influence.

What he needed was to get to the hospital as fast as possible – in one piece. He had to talk to Doc.

Finding a parking space, he set the brake with uncharacteristic force.  Practically running into the building, he jabbed repeatedly at the elevator button. As the door opened on Marlena’s floor, he prayed she wasn’t in the middle of a patient consult. His prayers were answered. He saw his beautiful wife standing at the nurse’s station writing instructions in a patient file. Roman strode over to her and as he reached her, his hand went to her elbow and he said urgently, “Doc. I need to talk to you. Now.”

Startled, Marlena’s breath hitched, and she looked up at him in surprise taking off her reading glasses, the better to see him. “Roman.” Seeing his face, which could only be described as “shaken”, she immediately blanched. “What’s wrong? Is it one of the children?”

Roman, pulling her toward her office, quickly answered, “No, they’re fine. Please. Come on.” As they passed her assistant in the outer office, Marlena said breathlessly, “No interruptions, please. I’ll let you know when we’re done.” It crossed Marlena’s mind that Rina might think they were indulging in some “afternoon delight”. They had before. But, for once, that didn’t appear to be on Roman’s mind at all.

As soon as the door was locked, Marlena, now quite alarmed, looked at her husband questioningly. “What is going on?” she asked.

He tried to calm his overworked brain so he could say what he needed to in a rational manner. Taking a deep breath, he replied, “Shane called me, and had me meet him. He had a tape of Andre DiMera talking to some doctor or mad scientist or something –”

“What?” Marlena was already confused. “Roman. Sit down with me. Do you want something to drink?”

“I could use a stiff Scotch. But no, nothing. And I can’t sit still right now. Just listen. I heard the tape. Andre called somebody named Doctor Rolf from a place in New Orleans. He told this doctor that ‘the man upstairs was slipping away.’ He ordered this guy to come immediately. 

“The doctor said, ‘But he’s been in a coma all these years. You reported deterioration several times, but each time he stabilized again.’ 

“Andre told him he thought it was worse this time. He ordered him again to come immediately. He said, ‘Stefano had plans for him. I want to carry out those plans. But you’ve got to get him to rally again and then, finally, get him fully conscious.’”     

Marlena stared up at Roman. A dread she hoped never to feel began building in her. 

Roman, so wrapped up in his own reactions and emotions, missed her cues. He did sit next to her on the office couch though and continued rapidly and intensely, “Marlena, the ISA knows the location of this house that Andre talked about. Andre didn’t make the call from there, but ISA agents who have been hunting him know he’s gone to an estate there a number of times in the last few weeks –”

“Have they gone in? Have they seen the man who’s supposed to be lying in a coma?”

Roman shook his head vigorously. “No. Shane said Andre made this call early this morning. The ISA hasn’t moved in yet.” He jumped to his feet again, unable to keep still. “Doc, I’ve got to go see for myself. This man in the coma might – if he can be revived – might know me. Maybe we were prisoners of Stefano together somewhere. I want you to come with me. Chelsea and Carrie can watch the kids. Please cancel your appointments and come with me to the airport right now. Shane has a plane ready and waiting.”

Marlena felt icy. She felt stunned. Her first reaction: she didn’t want to go. She thought nothing good could come from this. But she got up and went to Roman. She hugged him hard. Then she tried to talk him out of it. “Honey, this man could be anyone. Who knows how many people Stefano used and hurt before he finally expired for good?”

Roman took a step back from her and reached inside his leather jacket, pulling out a folded piece of flimsy paper. “I said the ISA hasn’t breached the house yet, but Andre sent his doctor pal a fax, and they did intercept the fax along with the voice message.” Unfolding it completely he held it up so she could see it.

She squinted at the grainy image. Moving closer, she perched her reading glasses on her nose again and tried to make sense of the picture. She saw a hospital bed and someone in it. But the resolution wasn’t good enough for her to really see the man, she told herself. She could see that he seemed to be bald – or perhaps had a shaved head. She noticed a fairly prominent nose, but otherwise….

“Do you see it?” Roman demanded. “Do you see who he looks like?”

Marlena shook her head, determined not to draw any conclusions from the blurry paper. “No. It’s hard to see the man’s features…”

Roman turned the fax around and scrutinized it again. “Well, both Shane and I think he –” Letting the sentence remain unfinished, Roman resolutely folded the paper and stuffed it back inside his jacket. “We can see him up close and personal. Let’s go. Please, Doc.”

Studying her husband’s pleading, single-minded countenance, Marlena couldn’t say no. But she wanted to. She didn’t want to see the man in the bed. And she didn’t want Roman to see him either. 

Chapter 3

It was 7:40 p.m. by the time the ISA-chartered plane landed in New Orleans. At Marlena’s insistence, she and Roman gone home first to pack a few things and to let Chelsea know of their abrupt departure. Fortunately, she could accommodate them and stay the night with the kids. It was always a toss-up about whether it was better to say good-bye to the four or just let them find out from Chelsea after they’d gone. Marlena and Roman both knew the second option was really the coward’s way, but since Sami and Eric were still at school, occupied with after-school projects, they just told the littler twins that they’d be away tonight, but everyone else would be here. Marlena also left Carrie, who was expected back around supper time, a note.

Shane hadn’t flown down to New Orleans with them. He’d wanted to, but an unexpected international ISA emergency kept him occupied. He’d radioed the pilot that he would do his best to get down to New Orleans as soon as possible.

When they touched down, two men met them. One was an ISA agent whom Roman had worked with before named Abel Cormier, and the other was a senior New Orleans police officer who introduced himself as Steve Pressler.

“Good to see you, Roman,” Abel said, shaking his hand. He nodded at Marlena too, “Very nice to meet you. Roman talked about you a great deal.”

With their luggage in hand, the Bradys followed the two men to an unmarked police car. Pressler drove. They weren’t going to waste any time. 

Within thirty minutes, they’d arrived at a very exclusive residential section of New Orleans. Pressler pointed ahead, “Maison Blanche, as it’s known, is that estate.”

“It’s gated,” Roman observed. 

“Yes, and we don’t want to tip off whoever’s inside that we’re coming. That’s one of the reasons, it’s better you both came in the evening. It’s nearly completely dark now, and we’ll be able to take the house by surprise.”

The local cop drove past the closed gate, further along the obviously extensive grounds. More than two hundred yards from the estate’s entrance, he stopped their vehicle alongside three others parked at odd angles in a little secluded area on the other side of the road. Here, the estate brick walls that had extended along the road in both directions from the gate became wooden fence with three strands of wire (possibly electrified) strung at the top. 

As they got out, Abel turned on his flashlight and led them further down the road and then around what apparently was the rear property line. Here, overgrown trees made it difficult to access the property, and the wires at the top of the fence ended, as though not needed anymore. It would be easy to climb over here. They cautiously made their way until they reached a small group of officers waiting. 

After some further introductions, Abel said, “So, we’ve got a couple men already hidden on the grounds watching for movement inside. There are two people there besides the one in the bed. One is Doctor Rolf and there is also a woman there. Andre DiMera isn’t present.”

“We’re going to approach the back of the mansion – no lights. A few of you will cut around the front entrance to prevent anyone inside leaving. The rest of us will enter through the back, using whatever means necessary to gain entrance. We have a search warrant so everything’s legal.”

Marlena, right by Roman’s side, was glad she had worn sensible shoes – the thick, overhanging oak trees famous in New Orleans dropped their acorns on the ground in the Fall, but one still had to navigate carefully in less trodden areas. Now that they were advancing toward the house in darkness, she held onto Roman’s arm until they cleared the trees to keep from tripping over a branch or twisting an ankle in a hole. Once in the garden and lawn area, she felt more confident and let go, but still remained alongside her husband. 

The group spread out and moved nearly noiselessly. As a few officers split off to go around to the front of the house, Pressler and another man carefully approached the closed back door on the wrap-around porch. The screen door released and opened with just a soft click, but the main wooden door was locked. The officer set about picking the lock, and after a few minutes of building tension for all, the door gave and he gently pushed it open an inch. 

Roman, of course, had no official police powers in New Orleans, so he and Marlena stayed behind the others. As they surged into the mansion, Pressler loudly announced them: “New Orleans Police! We are armed. Serving a search warrant. Doctor Rolf and anyone else in the house. Show yourselves immediately. Hands up.” 

For the next several minutes activity flurried as the officers spread out to every room, shouting “Clear” as they went. They did round up the two people they knew had been moving around in the house and deposited them both in a sitting room on the first floor where they were guarded. They found no one else roaming around. The doctor loudly attempted to object to their “raid”, but no one paid him any mind. 

Marlena’s heart hammered as Pressler and Cormier prepared to lead them upstairs. Abel looked at Roman, “You ready?”

He didn’t pause, although he wanted to. “Yep. Let’s see who this guy is.”

Other officers had already made certain no one else lurked upstairs, but as they started to ascend the impressive staircase, the doctor shouted at them in a German accent, “Stop. I need to be with my patient. I demand you let me back upstairs.”

Abel half-turned toward the sitting room and told the guards, “Bring them both along. But keep them back so they don’t interfere.” He added, “Doctor, you will have access to your patient in due time, but we reserve the right to have other doctors check him if needed.” Marlena wondered if Cormier meant her, or whether one of the others in the police group was a physician. 

They proceeded down a hall past a number of open doors until they reached the last one on the second floor. Marlena’s heart hammered as much as it had when Roman had first told her about the man in the coma. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. She felt Roman slip his hand into hers as they moved farther into the room together.

Roman took comfort in his wife’s grip. He unconsciously rubbed his thumb over hers, probably trying to soothe them both. Now he stood only a few inches from the bed, and he steeled himself as he leaned forward to more clearly view the comatose features. The man wore a knit cap on his head – probably to keep him from losing body heat. It seemed his hair had been shaved off, but the cap kept Roman from being sure of that. His face looked peaked and shriveled, with lines that probably made him look older than he really was. Of course, his eyes were closed so Roman couldn’t see his eye color. But despite all of those barriers to identification, Roman was quite sure he was looking at a man who looked like him. Like he’d looked before the plastic surgery. 

Roman inhaled sharply and tore his eyes away from the man to look at Marlena. He squeezed her hand tighter, and she looked up at him. He thought he would see a shocked expression, but she looked agitated and nervous instead.

Before she met Roman’s gaze, Marlena made herself stare at the man’s face too. Dear God, she thought, it is him. 

The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach – the one that had begun percolating when Roman first showed her that grainy fax – intensified, and suddenly, after she met Roman’s stunned look, she broke his handhold and bolted for the bathroom she’d seen as they’d entered this bedroom. She slapped the door shut and wrenched up the toilet seat. Just in time, she bent over and emptied her stomach. So involved was she that Roman coming in and holding her head as she retched didn’t even register at first. But finally, with nothing left to give the toilet bowl, she righted herself and accepted the glass of water from her ever-solicitous husband. Rinsing her mouth and spitting several times, she gulped and realized she did feel better physically. But that didn’t change what lay out there in the bedroom.

“Doc, you okay?” Roman searched her eyes for reassurance. He wasn’t surprised she’d been shaken to this degree. His own stomach felt quite churned too. He kept swallowing, keeping himself from upchucking as well.

Marlena stared into the mirror above the antique sink and saw how pale both she and Roman were. She forced herself to get a grip and glanced at him. “Yes,” was all she could say to him. She put her hand on his arm and they both left the bathroom, feeling the sympathetic eyes of those who had come here with them.

Steeling herself, Marlena marched back to the head of the bed and checked the machines marking the man’s feeble vital signs. With Roman right by her side, she reached out and lightly grasped the man’s limp, thin wrist, feeling for his pulse. Then she turned toward Doctor Rolf. “How long has he been in a coma?”

The rat-faced Rolf tried to move toward the bed, but his police guards restrained him. Exasperated at this, he snapped, “Eight years and a few months.”

She glared at him. “He’s never woken up?”

“Never.”

Marlena frowned. “Was his coma always natural, or did you or anyone else ever induce coma in him?”

Doctor Rolf snorted. “He was shot and took a great fall back in ‘84. His injuries caused his coma, and he’s never come out of it.”

Roman groaned, sagging. He might have fallen had he not gripped the top metal bar of the hospital bed’s side rails.

Marlena feared he might pass out and tugged him to a convenient chair just a foot or two from them. “Sit down, honey.” He did, a glassy, far-away look in his eyes. She kneeled down and watched him with concern. After vomiting, she herself felt better physically although mentally she was in a tailspin. But she knew her tailspin wasn’t quite the same as Roman’s.

She returned to examining the dormant man. Then she found Cormier in the group around the bed and stated firmly, “We need a neurologist to look at him.”

Abel nodded. “We’ve got one coming, Doctor Evans. We wanted to see whether the patient could be moved to a hospital, but he’s too weak right now, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“YES.” Doctor Rolf said sharply. “I need to check on him. Let me go to him.”

Marlena motioned him to come forward, and the cops let him, but continued to keep back the woman they’d found in the house.

She watched him as he fussed around. She didn’t think he was helping, but he wasn’t harming either. While Abel said that a neurologist was on the way and should be arriving in the next ten minutes, Roman, who had been watching everything quite passively, got up and walked silently out the door and down the corridor. 

Marlena knew he was in shock. She said quickly, “We’ll be back,” and hurried after him. She found him downstairs in the main sitting room. His back to her, he stood staring out at the night through the large, paned windows where quite a number of vehicles stood now and a number of people hurried about. 

Bracing herself, Marlena went to him. She stood next to him and tried to catch his eye in the window. But Roman looked vacantly above her eye level. After a long moment, he said tonelessly, “He’s not an imposter.”

Marlena heaved a loud sigh. “No. I don’t think so.”

“He’s the Roman Brady you married in 1983.” It wasn’t a question. And he said it ominously.

Marlena reached across Roman’s chest and tugged on his arm to urge him to turn away from the window and toward her. He let her, but he still didn’t look at her.

She reached up and ran her fingers along his now stubbly jawline. “Sweetheart,” she said, “I love you so much. You are the love and the light of my life.”

Finally, he reached up both hands and took hers into them. He held them gently. “But I’m not Roman Brady. He is,” he said. His dark blue eyes bored into her hazel ones. 

She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his sharp eyes anymore. 

Just then the front door opened, and two people were ushered in by the police guard who had been standing outside the front entrance. Dropping Marlena’s hands, Roman turned away from her and walked toward the incoming pair. “You neurologists?” 

The both of them nodded in unison and introduced themselves as Jacob Meisner and Sandra LaRue. Marlena willed Roman to direct them upstairs and stay and talk to her. But he turned to her and then back to them, saying, “This is Doctor Marlena Evans. She’ll go up with you and show you the patient.”

As she went up with them, she asked, “Aren’t you coming?” 

He shook his head curtly, staying downstairs.

After the trio was out of earshot, Roman spied an empty crystal decanter and tumblers on a sideboard. He grabbed the decanter by its neck and flung it violently into the cold fireplace. The splintering smash momentarily appeased the helpless rage growing inside of him. He threw the tumblers in with even more energy. The crashes attracted the attention of a cop stationed downstairs, but when he saw the cause of the disturbance, and Commander Brady’s devastated face, he wisely withdrew back to his post. 

But as soon as he’d destroyed the set, Roman knew how useless that exercise had been. His sense of self had no anchor anymore. He felt an overwhelming need to get away from this house and the man upstairs. But he had nowhere to go, did he? And no car of his own here.

He walked aimlessly into the mansion’s large kitchen, remembering his head-bandaged introduction to Salem in December of 1985. He remembered how confused and angry he’d been because he hadn’t known who he was.

Now, he was right back to square one. He didn’t know who he was. 

Chapter 4

There had been no liquor in the sitting room. But Roman found some bourbon in a kitchen cupboard. He found some wine too but preferred the harder stuff. He wished the bourbon were Scotch, but whatever… Opening more cupboards he found a common water glass and poured three fingers of the liquor into it before throwing it back in two swallows. The burn down his throat caused him to shake his head back and forth. He contemplated drinking more but decided against it for the time being. He could always come back. Leaving the bottle and the glass on the marble counter, he left the kitchen. 

Something occurred to him, even in his fogged state. He found the cop who’d investigated his loud vandalism and asked him to go upstairs and bring back the woman who was found in the house with Doctor Rolf.

After a few minutes, the woman, who was African American, entered the sitting room where Roman again stared out the window. He could see her reflection in the glass. Turning around, he walked to within four feet of her. “What’s your name, Miss?” he asked without further ado. 

“Celeste Perrault,” she replied, meeting his gaze, and speaking in an accent that was hard to place. Perhaps it was French – maybe Bayou French?

“Are you employed here, or is this your home?”

She considered that question and then answered, “Both.” Roman noticed she continued to stare at his face.

“Employed as what? You’re not a doctor, are you?”

Celeste gave a quick shake of her head, calling attention to her short, dyed-blonde hair. “No. My title is “house manager,” and I’ve been here for over a decade.”

“That so? That means you’ve been here the entire time the coma patient laid upstairs, right? And you started when Stefano DiMera owned this estate, yes?”

Nodding once, she said, “That’s correct.” 

Roman jutted his jaw out briefly as he considered that. Her frank gaze continued to check him out, and he was about to challenge her about it when she said, “You’ve had quite a shock, haven’t you?” Her voice contained a measure of knowing sympathy.

He drilled her chocolate eyes with his cobalt blue ones, narrowing his eyes slightly. “What do you know about it?” He crossed his arms and widened his stance.

The woman wasn’t intimidated. “It probably isn’t in my interests to answer that question.”

Frowning, Roman glared at her, and thought about threatening as many charges as possible. But his cop smarts kicked in even in his state of inner confusion, and he countered, “If you cooperate, it’ll go better for you.”

She scoffed at that. “Isn’t that what police always say?”

“How do you know I’m a cop?” he asked. 

She shrugged, clamping her lips shut.

Loud commotion from upstairs caused them both to turn their heads toward the stairs. “We’re not done,” Roman said quickly, but he grabbed her arm in a you’re-arrested grip, and they both headed to the voices.

Chapter 5

The cause of the voices was simple. The man in the bed had done what he allegedly had never done before in this house. He’d opened his eyes, causing some excited reactions – murmurs and exclamations – from the people in the room.  

Although Marlena let the neurologists have the full access they needed, she had been holding the man’s hand, stroking the back of it lightly, consolingly. She still couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of his being here at all, and his terribly fragile state appalled her. She was as shocked as anyone there when his eyelids fluttered open.

At first, his eyes didn’t focus, and he blinked repeatedly. But after a bit, he noticed the woman beside him, and his vision blurred with tears. He attempted to say something to her, but only a hoarse grunt actually exited his lips. 

Realizing he’d recognized her, Marlena leaned over to bring her face close to his and whispered, “I’m here, honey.” Her own voice thick with emotion, she continued, “I’m so sorry.  We didn’t know you were here. You’ve been here so long, I guess, and we didn’t help you. So sorry.” 

He shook his head once, and the hand she’d been holding managed to grip hers with some strength. Then he croaked very weakly but with every last vestige of the small store of strength he had left, “Not your fault, Doc. No need to be sorry.” His mouth formed itself into a shadow of a smile. “I love you. Tell the kids I’ve always loved them.” Before she could reply, his body shuddered and went into a kind of rictus. Then his eyes closed again, and his face relaxed as he stopped breathing. His long and painful earthly journey had ended.

Marlena laid her head on his still shoulder, and let tears come. Even though he’d absolved her, she couldn’t do the same. She felt overcome with remorse because she hadn’t ever explored the possibility that the Roman she’d married in 1983 had survived his fall off after Stefano shot him and simply needed to be found. 

Aside from her muffled sobs, the room had become silent. But after a short time, Doctor LaRue bent over Marlena and taking her by the shoulders, gently lifted her away. “He’s gone,” she said unnecessarily, but she meant it compassionately, Marlena realized. She also handed Marlena some tissues to dry her face, and Marlena used them as she stood back from the bed, gazing at the face now in the quiet repose of death. 

Even though it had actually been less than ten years since she’d last seen this Roman, it seemed like eons. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought about him more than a few fleeting times. How deplorable was that? An intense self-loathing came over her, and she tensed her entire body, desperately wishing at that moment that she were someone else – someone who hadn’t let this man down so despicably.

But she knew she had no right to the luxury of escaping the situation. For the man in the bed, all the sufferings and cares of this world were over. But for her, guilt and grim consequences were all that lay ahead right now.

Gradually, Marlena’s senses expanded, and instead of just being lasered on the man in the bed, she became aware of the entire room, and saw the man she’s married in 1986 standing against the back wall, next to a woman Marlena remembered had been here with Doctor Rolf when they’d arrived. His face was set in willful expressionlessness, as if he had deliberately turned off all his own feelings. The fact that he stood there, and had not come forward to her spoke volumes, she thought bleakly. 

She realized that Doctor LaRue was talking again, and finally tuned in to hear, “With your permission, we want to do an autopsy, Doctor Evans. May the ambulance take him to the morgue?”

“Ye – Yes. Of course,” Marlena acquiesced. She noticed the police had taken Doctor Rolf away, presumably to be questioned at police headquarters. Cormier and Pressler, who had been witnesses to everything in the room, had also exited. 

And the ambulance attendants, who had arrived she didn’t know when, worked with their customary efficiency to take the body away. As they respectfully moved him from the bed, Marlena noted how shrunken he looked. 

Both neurologists, after giving her their cards, and assuring her they would talk with her more after the autopsy, also took their leave. The Black woman who’d been standing by her husband, had disappeared from the room too, although Marlena didn’t know whether she remained in the house or not. 

Finally, just she and Roman (what else would she call him?) were left. He then pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and approached her.

“Come on, Marlena,” he said gently, but almost impersonally. He guided her out the door of that bedroom, and they went downstairs, both of them feeling like zombies.

Chapter 6

He sat her down on the sofa in the same sitting room with the broken glass in the fireplace and went into the kitchen. He returned in less than a minute with two glasses containing more of the bourbon he’d sampled earlier. Wordlessly, he handed her one, saying, “I think this could do us both some good,” as he sat down a few feet from her on the couch. Then he poured his drink down his gullet and made the usual liquor noises as it burned his throat. He set his glass on the coffee table and waited expectantly for her to take a sedate sip, as she did when sampling hard spirits. 

She didn’t take a sip. Marlena downed the fiery liquid just as he had. She hoped it would shake up her in-shock system. It did, but it also caused her to cough violently. 

Roman slapped her on the back (not too hard) to help her stop the coughing fit. “Hey. Easy there,” he said, “You’re not used to that.”

Wiping her still streaming eyes and clearing her raw throat, Marlena rejoined, “There’s nothing here that either of us is used to.” She spoke with a sense of despondency, a sense of bitterness. Her sorrow for the Roman who had just died, her regrets about never having found and rescued him she knew she would dredge up many times in her thoughts from now on. But she also had to face the truth with the man who was sitting there with her. And that, she knew instinctively, could inflict far worse wounds – on them both.

She stared fixedly at the floor, dreading everything she could see coming.

Roman reached out and fiddled aimlessly with his empty glass. The temptation to go for another round (for himself only this time) was intense, but he tamped it down. Instead, he got to his feet, rammed his hands into his pockets, and again went to stare out the window to see, this time, a quiet scene. Nearly all the cars had retreated off the estate. 

He decided to cut to the chase and said in a low voice. “You knew it was Roman before we got here, didn’t you?”

Sighing, and not moving from the sofa, she shook her head even though, since he faced away from her, he couldn’t see it.  “Not for sure. Not until I actually saw him in that bed.” When there was no immediate response, she added, “I had no idea he had survived. I thought he was dead. It’s terrible that he’s been here all this time, and none of us knew it.”

“Yeah. It is terrible.” Roman’s subdued voice said this without a trace of irony. Regardless of his own identity predicament, he did feel for the man who had never made it home to his family. After all, they had both been victims of the DiMeras. Both of them had firsthand experience of the devastation that brought. But the other man was done with it now, whereas he himself still had to grapple with everything that had been done to him. 

Marlena felt a burst of love for this Roman. He rarely failed to show empathy and generosity of spirit for others. She knew very well how lost he must be feeling, yet he didn’t blot out the pain of others to concentrate exclusively on his own. She needed to do the same. She needed to think of him now. She rose and came up behind him. She slipped her arms around him from the back and hugged him, laying her head against his shoulder blades. Then she said, “I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

He remained unmoving, but his voice wavered and quivered as he answered, “You knew.” He decided to express it slightly differently, “You’ve known it, haven’t you?” Then his voice hardened, and he pulled out of her embrace, stepping a few feet away and rounding on her. “Did you always know I wasn’t Roman? Did you concoct that picture scene just to save my sorry ass that day on the cliff?”

At first Marlena had trouble dialing into what he referred to, but then she understood. He meant the photo of the other Roman that she showed Bo and then him back in 1986 when Bo nearly let him fall down a precipice, thinking he was Stefano. The photo seemingly proved that the man who’d called himself John Black when he came to Salem had been operated on to change his face from looking like the “old” Roman Brady to what it looked like now.

She flushed, and angrily narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly in a combative mood at that accusation. “NO! NO! Of course, I didn’t. How could you think that? I believed you were Roman then. I truly did.”

He stared unblinkingly at her, his blue eyes locking on her amber ones. Nothing in his face or stance suggested he regretted his insulting allegation. Instead, he demanded, his volume really loud at the end, “Then. Then, you said. WHEN DID YOU KNOW I WASN’T ROMAN BRADY, MARLENA? WHEN DID YOU KNOW IT, AND WHY YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?” 

How long she’d hoped this day would never come. Damn it. Damn it. She knew he had every right to be outraged that she’d kept this huge secret from him and everyone else.

But before she replied, he added in a more modulated tone, but with an eerie hollowness, “Do others know this, too?”

Marlena felt like a badly defended castle that suddenly had enemy soldiers pouring over its now lowered drawbridge. She felt extremely vulnerable and unfairly attacked. But she also knew that she deserved to be hammered by such questions because she had kept this secret fully aware that she should not have. Working to keep her voice level, she told him, “I never told anyone. Not a soul. If anyone suspects it, they never let on to me.”

Skepticism played on his features, but he waited for her to continue.

She floundered though. Marlena really didn’t want to have this horrible conversation. Finally, she gave him a dismayed look and began, “It should be obvious –”

And, as she said those words, it was. Roman’s face changed with recognition, and he raised his right hand in a halting motion. “Of course.” He nodded. “You knew the first time we made love. When you brought me ‘home,’ and we both felt like giddy, fluttery teenagers” in the bedroom.” Her face told him he’d hit in on the nose. 

“Oh, Marlena. My G– why didn’t you tell me? You knew I didn’t know. There was no way I’d know what your previous experience with Roman was like. You should have told me right away!” He broke their fused gaze and abruptly turned away, facing now toward a floor-to-ceiling set of bookcases.

The anguish on his face before he turned tore at Marlena, and the guilty part of her wanted to fold up and wail, “You’re right. I should have told you.” 

But, with so much at stake, she responded differently. She crossed to him and reached up with her hand, cupping his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes again. She felt relieved that he didn’t push her hand away or walk away. “The first time we made love was incredible. I loved you before that, of course. I loved you even when we thought you were Stefano. But when we came together as lovers that first time, I felt as though the other half of me that had been missing had finally claimed me. You were that missing half, and just as you irrevocably claimed me, I claimed you. I never withheld anything from you when we made love. And before we came together that first time, I truly believed you were my husband, Roman Brady, returned from the dead with a new face.” 

She knew he was about to interject, but she hurried on, “After we made love, while you slept, I remained awake. I was stunned because I was damned sure I’d just found my soulmate, but I knew you and I had never made love before. Part of me thought about waking you up and admitting my discovery. But you slept so soundly, so sweetly. I could tell by your repose that you were completely sated, happy, and at ease. If I had told you – then or in the morning – I would have sentenced you to the fearful limbo you’d battled before: not knowing who you were. I couldn’t bear to do that.

“And, as time went on, I felt vindicated, yes, more and more sure that I should not tell you or anyone. For you were Roman Brady; you stepped into his life as though it had indeed been your own. You thrived as a policeman. You were everything Shawn, Caroline, Carrie (after she adjusted), Bo, etc. could ask of a son, father, brother.  You were – you are – a great dad to the older twins, – I often thank my lucky stars that I’ve been around to watch you with them. If Stefano had succeeded in kidnapping me in ‘86, who knows if I’d ever have seen you and the twins again. But you saved me, and we even had Maddie and Linc…

“Oh, I know I’m not saying this well, but please, please believe me when I tell you I didn’t keep this from you to hurt you. I did it to give you, me, our children, and the other Bradys a life we seemed to be meant to have. I really did think that the other Roman had died. It never occurred to me that he survived (if being in a coma is survival).

“I love you more than you can ever know. You are my soulmate. You are at the center of my heart. I never want to live my life without you.

“Yes, I loved the first Roman. I was in love with him. I was in love with my first husband, Don, too. Of course. I wouldn’t have married them if I hadn’t loved them. But when I met you, my definition of being in love expanded exponentially. I’m not exaggerating. As we got to know one another, I realized for the first time whole new planes of emotion and commitment. And that’s saying something for a psychiatrist who deals with a very broad range of emotions in other people. Until you, I never knew love could be so encompassing and so incredibly vital.” 

He had listened. Now, he slowly raised his left hand, on which his wedding ring glistened, up and placed it over her hand (also her left). The gold clinked mutedly, and he moved his hand back and forth a few times. Then he lightly grasped her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it before gently letting it drop. 

But he didn’t look forgiving as he stated, “Earlier tonight when we saw Roman in that bed, I thought my head would explode. When I talked to Shane, he’d already given me hints. I realized who he thought might be in this house. Driving to see you at the hospital (that seems like centuries ago, honestly), my mind reeled. But I couldn’t let myself believe it. So, as I just said, when I saw him in that bed with my own eyes, I felt completely undone.

“At first, all I could think about was ‘That man is Roman. That man is Roman.’ Then that got crowded out by ‘I’m not Roman. I can’t be Roman.’

“Downstairs, I thought, ‘Who the hell am I? Everything in my life is a lie.’  

“Back upstairs, when Roman opened his eyes and spoke words of love to you, I felt numb and empty because he had every right to say those words. He knew who he was in his last moments. He was with the woman he loved. The woman he’d married. He remembered his children. You were there for him, completely in the moment –”

“Honey –,” Marlena wasn’t sure where his rush of words was heading, but she wanted to reassure him that her exchange with the other Roman didn’t change her feelings for him.

“No. Wait. You had your say. Now I’m going to have mine, even if it isn’t very coherent because I can barely keep it together.” He took a deep breath. “You played God. You took it upon yourself to make a huge decision that affected many more people than just yourself. Just think, Marlena! Ma, Pop, Bo, Kayla, Kimberly all have to know I don’t belong in their family. Carrie, Eric, and Sami will have to be told I’m not their biological father. Who knows what my future is at the cop shop? And you and I aren’t even really married in the eyes of the law because we just renewed the vows of Roman and Marlena. You get it. I know you do.

“Plus, now I don’t have the faintest idea of who I am again. You wanted to protect me from that, and you did for years, but now, I’m at that same crossroads. I didn’t have to face it back then, but now I do. I didn’t know who I was when I came to Salem in December of 1985. Now, it’s March 1993, and, again, I don’t have a clue about who I really am.

“In those eight years, you’re right: I lived a life that seemed to fit me like a glove, once I got going. I’m sure you remember that when we first came back to Salem from West Virginia in 1986 – after we thought that photo proved I was Roman – I did feel out of place for a while. But when I recovered some Roman memories, I started to feel as if his life really was mine.”

He couldn’t help but pin her with an accusing stare. “That was after we started making love, Marlena. Why didn’t you speak up then?”

She swallowed. “Honestly, that threw me for a bit of a loop. But you were so happy and proud to reveal that memory to me. I just couldn’t bear to bring up what I knew. And, truth is, part of me wanted to deceive myself into believing that you were Roman. I’d say to myself, ‘So what if he makes love differently – better – than before. Maybe I’m making too much of that.’”

He rolled his eyes. “Really? You really tried to convince yourself that your incontrovertible evidence was wrong? You’re a woman of science!”

“Yes, but I was and am also a woman desperately in love. Look. I know there have been times when I had clear opportunities to come clean. But you yourself just spelled out the sad complications that this truth carries with its revelation. We have a good life – we have a wonderful life, in fact. Do you really think Carrie, Sami, and Eric will stop loving you because they don’t carry your DNA? They certainly WON’T. They love you. They will keep on loving you. Same goes for Caroline, Shawn, Kim, Kayla, and Bo! 

“Although, all of them will probably hold a big grudge against me for keeping this secret, and I can’t blame them at all if they do.” She looked at her husband pleadingly. “You most of all have every right to blame me for this secret I’ve kept. I hope you will forgive me eventually, but right now when everything is so fresh, I can’t expect anything but anger and disappointment. I deserve both.”

Now he felt weary and terribly sad. He repeated as if he needed to remind himself again, “I’m not Roman Brady. I had no right to his life. I don’t have the faintest idea who I really am. It’s going to take time for me to come to terms with this because right now I just feel like a straw man.”

Marlena became indignant, fierce. “You are not a straw man! You exemplify great love for our family and friends. You personify dedication and commitment both in your personal and professional life. You have formed many strong ties with people in Salem. You are brave. You are kind. You seek justice relentlessly. You are sweet and thoughtful. And you are an incredible husband. 

“I know it comes as a great blow that you suddenly don’t know who you were born as. But everyone in the world creates their identity as they live their lives. And in that sense, you have been a stunning success. You have earned the trust and loyalty of many. You have gained the everlasting love of many too. That’s more than a lot of people have done who knew their biological identities from the start.”

He griped darkly, “Maybe I earned all that only because I had the unfair advantage of stepping into the shoes of someone else.” 

But as soon as he’d uttered that, he changed direction, “It’s late. We’re not going to hash this all out tonight. I actually didn’t really want to start in on it, because we both have been through enough without this confrontation. But I did start it. So, that’s on me.

“There are still a couple cops around here somewhere, so I can ask them to take you to a hotel in New Orleans if you want. I’m going to stay here tonight. Even though it’s technically a potential crime scene because it’s DiMera property, I got permission to stay here overnight. I want to talk to Celeste tomorrow morning, and I think Shane may show up too.”

Marlena shook her head decisively. “No, if you are staying here, so am I. I’m not for us splitting up right now.”

He snorted but shrugged. “Have it your way. I just thought you wouldn’t want to be stuck here. But I guess it does have plenty of bedrooms, so you can go pick one if you want. I’m staying down here.”

“Roman –”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped at her. He saw he’d hurt her, so he bit his tongue and muttered, “Sorry.” He felt a wave of depression hit, as he again realized he had no right to the name Roman Brady. “Just call me ‘Hey, you’ or something,” he said gruffly, indulging in a round of self-pity. Seeing her crestfallen expression, he sighed. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“I’m not sure I will sleep a wink tonight,” she countered.

“Yeah. I think we may both be condemned to that.” Shifting his gaze away from her, he started for the kitchen, picking up both glasses on the way. He thought he might have another shot of bourbon before he stretched out on the sofa and tried to shut off the betrayal and confusion he felt. When he returned to the sitting room, it was empty, and he presumed Marlena had gone upstairs to find a room where she could sleep. He expected she’d taken her suitcase, which, along with his, had been left in the foyer. He didn’t bother to look if she had, and he also didn’t bother to take his own bag. He set about turning off the lights, found a couple of throws and moodily flung himself down on the sofa, covering himself with them. 

Chapter 7

Sheer exhaustion and a mind that didn’t want to deal with his new reality caused the man-now-without-a-name-to-call-his-own to drop off into a fractured kind of semi-sleep. He woke more than once, each time feeling disoriented and befuddled, wondering why he wasn’t at home sleeping next to his beautiful wife. Each time he remembered the awful truth, casting him again into a black mood.

Daylight Savings Time would not start until April 4, and so daybreak took place just a few minutes before 6 a.m. That’s when he got up, and, finally taking his suitcase, went to a downstairs bathroom, took a shower and shaved. He dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater appropriate for March. Afterward, he couldn’t deny the hunger pangs anymore, and went in search of breakfast food in the kitchen. Firing up the coffee maker, he downed a cup, and the caffeine jolt finally muscled him into a semblance of alertness. He made bacon and eggs to satisfy his growling stomach, and also to bring to the two cops who were on duty outside the house. He also prepared a plate for Marlena, but she would have to warm it up because he didn’t go in search of her. Then, he went outside, and, after handing the warm plates to the officers, he walked around the Southern estate’s grounds aimlessly, again trying to get some mental purchase on his newfound state as a nobody…. 

Part of him wanted to run away and leave this huge heartache behind. He wanted to flee the agony of his unbearable situation. 

He had never thought Doc would keep something so critical, so vital from him. He’d always trusted her, and never guessed she harbored such a secret. Was he really so unable to read his own wife? What did that say about him? And what did it say about their union? Could they go forward together?

Last night, Marlena declared her love for him several times. But he’d refrained from responding in kind. Before this, his incredible love for her had always flooded him with immense joy. But last night, accessing that love made him feel as if he were breaking into a million excruciating bits. And he considered that a failing of his. He had no right to expect even his beloved wife to be without faults. Big faults, that is. Of course, he could take in stride the little stuff that she did that sometimes irritated him. And he knew she did the same for him. But this deception that she had carried on for nearly eight years fell into a much higher category of gravity, and he was struggling mightily with his own capacity to love her in spite of it. 

Yes, he wanted to just take off and leave the terrible mopping up to her. Her intentional deceit had earned her that, hadn’t it? Why should he have to deal with all the consequences he hadn’t set into motion?

Of course, he knew this was a childish attitude. Marlena had also been flung into a situation she had not initiated. It wasn’t her fault that the original Roman Brady had been toppled over a cliff and into the ocean by the vengeful Stefano DiMera. Neither was she to blame for his own coming to Salem and getting to know her as John Black. Things happened in life, and everyone had to make decisions about how to handle them. She had made a disastrous decision to let him and everyone else think he was really Roman Brady. But, if he, now, couldn’t get past that, he would only be compounding the damage to them all. His reason told him that. But his emotions still rebelled. 

Despite his emotional flux and anger, he knew deep down he could not flee. Even if he could contemplate abandoning Marlena (and only a part of him could do that), he could not abandon his innocent children – biological and otherwise. They had done absolutely nothing wrong in this scenario, and they were entitled to him seeing this altered state of events through with them.

He found himself at a far edge of Maison Blanche’s property. For some reason, an inner region of his memory seemed to vaguely recall the pond that lay before him. The rising sun played on the water, coloring it and providing a clearer backdrop for spying a few fish rising to the surface for an insect meal. He felt jolted by the possibility that he had been here before.

Picking up a few loose stones, he thoughtlessly skipped them across the water. He stopped when he realized he might accidentally hit one of the feeding fish. 

Just then, he heard the faint sounds of approaching footsteps, and turned around. Marlena, also in fresh clothes, came within a few feet. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning. How did you find me?”

“I looked out a window on the second floor and saw the pond and you in the distance.”

She smiled tentatively, and thanked him for the coffee and breakfast he’d left her. “It really hit the spot.”

What else was there to say, but “You’re welcome.” 

Marlena continued a little nervously. “I hope you did get some sleep.”

“I guess I got some intermittently. You?” He could see her beautiful eyes had bags, so maybe the question didn’t need to be asked.

She tipped her head to the side and then over to the other side. It was a kind of shrug. “Actually, I didn’t go upstairs for a while. Instead, I went in search of the woman who’d been in the house when we arrived.”

This surprised him. “Celeste?” 

“Yes. I didn’t know her name until I found her living quarters in the back of the house and knocked on the door.”

He made a motion, suggesting they walk around the pond, and they started out as he replied, “I had a few words with her yesterday, but she remained stubbornly tight-lipped. She knew I was a cop.” He wasn’t so sure he would be once Chief Bell knew the truth, but anyway….

Marlena nodded. “It was rather late when I knocked. But she answered the door, and even let me in.” As she told him about it, she remembered…

_________________

“Hello. I’m Marlena Evans Brady. I know it’s late, but would you mind if we talked for a few minutes?”

The woman was actually in a very attractive and posh-looking robe, so it seemed apparent she was readying for bed.

“Pardon me, but I don’t know your name,” Marlena said.

“Celeste. Celeste Perrault.” 

Pretty soon, Marlena had about the same information that her husband had gotten. Celeste offered her some hot chocolate, and since it had been hours since she’d put something besides bourbon in her stomach, she accepted. They sat at a little table in Celeste’s tiny dining area right next to the mini-kitchen, and Celeste offered her unexpected guest pralines, a New Orleans specialty. 

Marlena saw in Celeste a cool exterior, a certain high breeding, a demeanor that probably missed nothing, and a protective aloofness. It surprised her that Celeste would be as inviting as she had been. After all, Marlena had been part of an invading force into what was essentially Celeste’s home.

On the other hand, Marlena mused, it also surprised her that she herself was sitting here having a civil conversation with this woman who had aided and abetted the eight-year holding of Roman Brady in this house. She should be furious at Celeste for her role in the DiMera schemes. But Marlena found it too much trouble to roll out the indignation right now.

At first, they both munched and sipped without anything more than a few generalities passing between them. But finally, Celeste gave Marlena a shrewd look and asked, “So, Mrs. Brady, what is it you want to know?”

A little taken aback at this directness but relieved at it also, Marlena decided a relatively friendly approach might yield more information. “Please call me Marlena. And I won’t beat around the bush. Obviously, since you have lived in this house for years, you have a pretty good idea what has gone on here. And there are some things I’m hoping you will tell me.”

Celeste eyed her speculatively, obviously on guard. “Please call me Celeste, Marlena.” She paused and then continued, “I don’t think there is much I can tell you. I run the house. I don’t have any input on what the owners decide to do here.”

Suspecting that to be untrue but realizing that Celeste was not about to admit anything that might get her arrested just as Doctor Rolf had been, Marlena still tried a placative approach, “I understand. And I’m not here in any official capacity. I’m not with the police or any law enforcement agency.”

Celeste offered a slight smile and shook her head just a trifle. “Be that as it may, I am in a precarious position. If you tell your husband something I say to you, and he and other police think I’ve broken laws, I’ll be futilely trying to come up with bail money.”

“Well, I have been the wife of a policeman for years, and I do know this. The authorities are willing to extend immunity to certain people who have vital information. I think you would likely qualify – if you should need such immunity that is.”

Again, Celeste said, “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, I’d like to confirm that the man who lay upstairs was actually here for eight years.”

Silently considering this for a few moments, Celeste cautiously nodded. “Yes.” 

“And he never regained consciousness until yesterday?”

“As far as I know, that is correct.”

“Doctor Rolf wasn’t always here, though, was he? So, did you take care of the comatose man on a day-to-day basis?”

Celeste shifted uneasily. “I’m not a nurse. There was an R.N. – a male nurse – who attended him nearly every day Doctor Rolf was away.”

Marlena raised her eyebrows. “Oh? We will want to talk to him. What is his name and address?”

The house manager gave a small, derisive laugh. “People don’t ask a lot of questions at Maison Blanche, Marlena. I only know his first name: Barry. And maybe that’s an alias. I don’t know.” She paused. “But there are various records in the study, and, I imagine, elsewhere around the house. So, perhaps when the police sift through all that – as I’m sure they will – they will find his contact information.”

Marlena nodded absently. Her mind had drifted on to something else while Celeste spoke. “You were here when Stefano DiMera was alive and owned this estate, weren’t you?

Celeste stiffened visibly in defense. “It would be pointless to deny it because my record date of employment clearly puts me here then.” She stared at Marlena. “Stefano wasn’t a man one defied. If I had known of his ruthlessness before being employed here, I would not have taken the position.”

It was always prudent to say that after the fact, wasn’t it, Marlena thought to herself. Somehow, she got vibes from Celeste suggesting the woman had worked here precisely because she had been in some way attracted to Stefano, despite his often raw barbarity (or, perhaps, a little bit because of it). She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what about Celeste signaled that, but something in her manner unwillingly softened when Stefano’s name was mentioned, even when she felt defensive. She could imagine though that Celeste had begun working here after an interview with a cultured, courtly Stefano, not realizing until later his malevolence.

But something else occurred to Marlena. “Was the man upstairs the only person whom Stefano – and later Andre – kept here?”

Drawing herself up in her chair, Celeste frowned. “He was the only one who arrived here incapacitated and remained here so long,” she said rather evasively.

Mildly, so as not to shut Celeste down, Marlena replied, “But that isn’t my question. Stefano was a man with many secrets and plans. For example, we know for a fact he somehow kidnapped my husband and brainwashed him….” As she said this, she suddenly sat up straighter herself and drilled with her eyes. She asked,”Did –”

______________________

Just as Marlena related this part of her amateur interrogation of Celeste to her husband, his face suddenly froze, and he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Wait. I just remembered. When I was talking to Celeste yesterday, she kept looking at my face – almost as if she knew me. Of course, I don’t recall ever seeing her before. But, now that you mention it, when I came out here, I felt as though I’d seen this pond before. I don’t know why the pond would make an impression when nothing else did, but you know, maybe I have been here before. Maybe that’s why Celeste reacted to me the way she did.”

Marlena nodded. “Yes,” she agreed slowly. “Celeste didn’t admit anything about others being here, but she may just be protecting herself.”

“Hmm. Yeah, if she is given immunity from prosecution, she may be willing to admit a lot more.” They had walked the full circumference of the pond and now stood very close to the spots they’d started from. He gazed out over the water again, realizing the fish had completed their morning feed. He cleared his throat. He started to speak, but just then Marlena, who had sharper hearing than he did, turned to check the long driveway to the mansion. “Someone’s arrived.”

They both turned to see the newcomers. He saw the SUV pulling up and parking. “I think it’s Shane. Let’s go.” He had not really known what he was going to say to her anyway. He felt relieved that he hadn’t started anything.

Chapter 8

Shane waved at them to acknowledge he saw them and started toward them. When they met, Shane’s somber face told them he knew about the other Roman, including his death. For a few minutes, their conversation consisted of greetings and condolences. It was awkward to say the least.

Then Not Roman said, “You’re out here early. Bet you didn’t get any more sleep than we did – maybe less. Is there a specific reason you rushed here?

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Shane had changed his clothes since yesterday and had even shaved. But his face appeared haggard and gray. “As you know, I couldn’t come with you yesterday, and I really regret not being here when, uh, Roman, passed. But it turned out that after I managed one unrelated critical situation, I heard that Andre DiMera had again been sighted in New Orleans. And our people managed to pick him up –”

“Wow,” Not Roman said. Both he and Marlena looked amazed and impressed. “You’ve got him in custody?”

“Yes, indeed. He is currently in custody at the local jail.”

“That’s very good news, Shane,” Marlena put in wholeheartedly.

Shane allowed himself a tight smile. He looked at Not Roman. “I thought you would want to join me when I talk to him.”

“I would.” Not Roman assured him.

Shane turned to Marlena. “And, of course, you may be there too if you wish.” 

“Thank you.” Marlena blew out a breath. “Truth is, I’m not sure I want to see the bastard.”

“Understood,” Shane assured her. He tried a little levity, chuckling briefly. “We wouldn’t want you to claw his eyes out – even though he deserves it.” 

Marlena said with a tart edge, “I could almost do it.” But she smiled slightly to show she understood his attempt to lighten the dour mood. 

The three of them now stood in the parking area, very close to Shane’s black SUV. Not Roman, seeing the exhaustion in Shane, asked if he wanted some breakfast, and soon they were back in the kitchen. As they entered, they saw a door closing on the opposite side of the room, and Not Roman and Marlena both surmised Celeste had decided on a discreet withdrawal.

Marlena fetched Shane a fresh mug of coffee from a pot that Celeste had apparently put on and poured more for her husband and herself. Not Roman conjured up an omelet for the ISA agent, noting, “At least the kitchen is well stocked. Not sure why it happens to have several dozen eggs, but they make for a quick meal.” 

Both Marlena and Not Roman took their second cups of java and sat down with Shane. Once the tired man had scraped his plate clean, he sat back and observed his two friends. The reserve that reverberated between them didn’t surprise him. In fact, he privately marveled that they were even speaking to each other. Although it had always been crystal clear to Shane that these two were as in-love as any couple could be, they had both had gigantic shocks in the last twenty-four hours. Abel Cormier had reported to Shane exactly what had gone down in Maison Blanche last night, so Shane knew what bedridden Roman had said to Marlena and what she’d said to him. Marlena had come face-to-face with the man she had married in 1983 and had thought dead, and Not Roman had been undone. That was really it. Not Roman had learned he had been playing the part in life that truly belonged to another. He was not Roman Brady and didn’t know who he was. Shane would not have wanted to be in his friends’ shoes. But, he thought, perhaps he could help them.

Finishing his coffee, Shane thanked them for feeding him, and, after a moment’s pause, he began, “Say, I’d like to run something by you.”

They both looked at him questioningly. Shane hoped what he was about to propose was the right thing. He plunged in, his precise English accent not failing him. “Abel Cormier filled me in on the events last night. So, neither of you has to. He reported word-for-word, and as I was in flight last night, I realized something. No one in that room really knows who was lying in the bed. Not the neurologists, not the police, not even Abel. Only you two and perhaps Doctor Rolf knows. I read the transcript of Cormier and Pressler’s ‘interview’ with him, and it was clear the good doctor is going to lawyer up and say nothing. So, back to my point. Nearly no one there knows the full story –”

Marlena couldn’t resist interrupting. “Celeste might.”

Brought up short, Shane looked puzzled, “Yes? Who is Celeste?”

“She’s been the house manager here for the last ten years.” Not Roman answered matter-of-factly before Marlena could. 

“Yes. I had a little talk with her last night, and even though she wasn’t much more forthcoming than Doctor Rolf, I suspect she knows quite a lot.”

“Ah. Alright. Perhaps she does, although Abel did say that the medical records in the room didn’t name the patient, so perhaps she doesn’t know his identity. Even if she does, I don’t think that will affect my thought, but you will have to judge.”

When there were no more interruptions, he continued. “No one, as far as I’m aware, ever called the man in the bed ‘Roman Brady’ while everyone was gathered.” Shane caught Marlena’s gaze. “You spoke to him, but you didn’t call him by name either according to Abel.”

Marlena looked uncertain. “I, uh, I’m not certain exactly what I said, to be honest.”

Not Roman quietly supplied the answer, “No, you didn’t say his name. He called you ‘Doc’ though.” He fervently wished Shane hadn’t brought this up. He really didn’t want to relive it right now. So, he told him so. “Look, Shane, I’m sure you mean well. But I don’t think we need to cover that ground again right now.” He glanced involuntarily at Marlena and saw her give a slight nod.

Shane colored a bit with uncharacteristic embarrassment. But he replied, “I apologize. I don’t mean to cause either of you further pain. I will get to my point immediately. Until yesterday, we all thought the original Roman had died. Now, a few of us know differently. But it doesn’t have to go any further. We don’t have to tell anyone else. The man can be honorably buried, and we can all continue on with our lives.”

The incredulous expressions on both Not Roman and Marlena’s faces quickly told him they were not of the same mind.

Not Roman pushed his chair back and stood. He leaned back against the kitchen island and pursed his lips. “I appreciate the thought because I know you’re trying to spare us, and you’re willing to get yourself into hot water to do it. So, I do appreciate it. Really. But no. We can’t do that. A masterful and vile plan by Stefano DiMera inserted me into another man’s life. I usurped it – however unintentionally. I have no right to it. It’d be wrong for me to continue as if everything were the same. His family members – including Kim” – Roman gave Shane a look as if to remind him he mustn’t keep such a secret from his own beloved – “are entitled to the truth.”

Marlena had unconsciously held her breath while he spoke. She noted that he blamed Stefano, but didn’t cite her own culpability, and she loved him so much for that small favor. But now, she let out her breath and chimed in, looking up at Not Roman with a quick flash of loving gratitude before she fixed her eyes on Shane. “He’s right, of course. But I also appreciate your kindness in suggesting that, Shane. More than you can know.” She sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for all this to have gone differently. But I’ve got to face the music now.”

As she spoke the last sentence she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Not Roman minutely shake his head at her, as if in warning. Confused, she stopped talking and turned to him.

Not Roman crossed his arms, and, recognizing her perplexity, said smoothly, “She means we all have to.” He focused on Shane then. “Besides, we have to reckon that Andre DiMera knows who was in a coma here. 

“Anyway, I don’t know what’s going to happen, buddy. There’s going to be a lot of fallout. I haven’t come to terms with any of it yet. That’s the truth.”  Uncrossing his arms and leaning down to take the cups and plate off the table, he shuttled them rapidly to the sink, rinsed them, and arranged them all in the very modern dishwasher. 

Shane rose also and walked to Not Roman. “I hear you. I hear you both,” he added, turning to still-seated Marlena. “And I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Hmm. Thanks. I mean that. Thing is I’m an imposter, and some in Salem may make a lot more out of that than there is. They may think I’m a deliberate DiMera plant. They may not trust me anymore. They may even try to have me arrested and sent to prison.” Idly drying his hands on a dish towel, he looked directly at Shane, avoiding any contact with Marlena’s eyes. “As we all remember, back in ‘86, Bo and others hunted me down, thinking I was Stefano. Couldn’t blame him for that since I thought so too. At least we know now I’m not Stefano or Andre. But I’m a cypher. I’m an unknown entity, and Bo may get really aggressive and retaliatory. And he may not be the only one. So, yeah, I need you in my corner. That’s a fact.” 

Marlena saw the tightly coiled emotion in Not Roman as he made this mini-speech. She longed to go to him and hug him with all her strength. But she knew it wasn’t what he wanted right now. He’d been standoffish all morning, and she could tell that he was tolerating her presence rather than desiring it. 

Shane reached out and gave Not Roman a manly smack on the shoulder. “I am in your corner. Count on it.” Then he smiled as reassuringly as he could at both of his friends.

Chapter 9

In the short lull after Shane’s declaration, Marlena’s hearing once again kicked in, and she told them, “I think some more cars have pulled up.”

Shane nodded briskly. “Good. I ordered an ISA crew of criminal scene investigators. I want them to go through every inch of this house – and the property at some point – and collect any incriminating documents or other evidence. We got a search warrant, so legally, we are covered.” He added, “I also asked the New Orleans police to shuttle Andre DiMera over here. If the crime scene crew finds anything, I want to wave it in his face and see if he’ll crack. Of course, since he lawyered up, his attorney will be here too, so I’m not sure we’ll get much.”

Not Roman approved. “Earlier Marlena and I were discussing whether it might be useful to offer Celeste Perrault — whom we mentioned earlier — immunity from prosecution. She could possess information that could put Andre away for life. finally.”

“That’s something we’ll have to discuss with the local authorities, but, yes, that may be worthwhile.”

At that moment, Marlena – who had noticed with disappointment that Not Roman had again refrained from calling her “Doc” a moment ago – said, “I think I should find someplace private and call home. I need to check in with Chelsea, and make sure she has things under control there.” She hesitated. “And I really should give her a timetable when we expect to return…”

“Yeah. Good idea about calling and checking in,” Not Roman responded without much expression. “Let me know what she says, okay? I’ll be with Shane.” He considered. “I don’t know when…about going home…when,” he finished lamely.

Marlena said, “Well, we will need to decide pretty soon, but for the moment it can wait.” She knew she also needed to check in with the morgue about Roman’s body and when it might be able to be sent to Salem for burial. “I’ll go upstairs. There was a phone in the room –” She almost said “in the room I slept in” but caught herself before admitting to Shane that she had been alone up there. She waved a finger upward and then headed out of the kitchen.

The two men stayed put. When Marlena was out of earshot, Shane said, “I know this unbelievable situation is wearing on you both. But you two share a fairytale kind of love – those are actually Kim’s words, not mine,” he hastened to add with a slight quirk of his mouth. Then he got serious again. “You are going to weather this together and be stronger than ever.”

Not Roman leaned back against the counter, his hands supporting him on either side. He didn’t crack a smile. “I sure as hell hope so. But we’ve got a lot of stuff to work through. You didn’t see her with him yesterday, but I did, and I’m not likely to forget it. And neither is she. Plus, I feel completely useless to myself, her, our family. I’m not the man I thought, Shane. I don’t know how to deal with that. Especially since I don’t have the faintest idea who I am.” As he spoke, his voice got softer and more tremulous. But then he raised his head and stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard. 

“Look, my friend. You are in what is probably a completely unique situation. I’m really sorry you and Marlena and everyone else involved has to deal with this. But I meant what I said. I’m going to do everything in my power to help you find out who you are. That’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Shane.”

The two of them went out to see the new arrivals. 

It turned out the crime investigation team had arrived, and it was composed of both ISA members and New Orleans Police specialists. Shane instructed the technicians where to dust for fingerprints, especially in the bedroom where Roman Brady had lain. The team had obtained copies of County Assessor documents for the Maison Blanche property and had even dug up old architect’s drawings for the house. Both Not Roman and Shane suspected this old house contained many secret passages, and they wanted the team to compare dimensions of rooms, the entire mansion, etc. as they searched the place from top to bottom. They hoped to find stashes of incriminating documents too. But they insisted the crime scene team leave each room as they found it. There was no point in tearing up the stately old mansion needlessly.

However, Andre DiMera had not yet been delivered. So, both Not Roman and Shane occupied themselves by doing some searching of their own. Not Roman found that doing something active kept his mind off his own devastation.

Marlena, her calls finished, had left the bedroom she’d occupied upstairs to technicians when they’d knocked at her door. As she headed toward the staircase, she noted several people collecting evidence in the room where Roman had died yesterday. She avoided that and continued downstairs to find her husband. After wandering around the first floor, she glanced into the finely appointed library, and sure enough, Not Roman stood inside with his back to the door. He appeared to be studying the shelves intently, the fingers of his hands running slowly over the panoply of volumes. He inched from right to left, occasionally tapping on or attempting to jiggle a leather-encased book or a section of shelving.

Marlena had paused at the door, surreptitiously observing her beloved. She loved that man so irresistibly, so encompassingly. After these nearly eight years with him, she could not even begin to imagine his not being there. She felt stabbed to the heart when she let herself realize that her own secret-keeping might have precipitated an irrevocable break between them. She might have the rest of her life to berate herself for pretending this man was Roman Brady after she had been confronted with the proof that he was not. She knew Not Roman would not turn away from the children, of course. But she had no such certainty about herself. 

Oh, sure, she knew beyond any doubt that Not Roman loved her – very, very dearly. But he believed in the truth. He – as far as she knew – had never kept anything of consequence from her. For him to discover that she had deliberately concealed that he was not Roman Brady was, she knew, a terrible blow to him, and surely struck at his ability to trust her. 

As these dark thoughts overtook her mind, Not Roman reached the end of the wall of books. Mumbling to himself, he slapped the bookcase, clearly frustrated that nothing gave way to a secret passage. He turned around and started slightly when he saw Marlena in the doorway.

Giving her an arch look, he said, “Didn’t see you there.”

“No,” she said. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve only been here a few moments. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He waved his hand at the wall. “Yeah, well, if there is a secret exit, I’m not finding it.” 

She noticed for the first time, an open safe on the adjacent, bookcase less wall. Indicating it, she asked, “Was there anything in there of interest?”

His eyes followed her pointing and replied, “Nothing that directly refers to Roman’s being here. It contained a pile of money – about $85,000 in cash – and various and sundry papers. The technicians bagged it all as evidence. It will be more carefully analyzed later….”

Marlena thought his answer, which began with his full attention on her, became almost vacant as he finished. He got a faraway look in his eye. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“Hmm?” His eyes focused on her again. “Oh. Uh. I dunno. I –” He stopped. And then he came toward her. “Excuse me,” he said as he edged past her through the door and started purposefully toward the kitchen. Puzzled, Marlena followed him.   

No Roman’s exploration yesterday to find booze and then this morning to rustle up some breakfast in the kitchen had revealed a large, well-stocked pantry concealed from obvious view by a few feet of hallway that turned on itself. Now, he strode toward the pantry’s closed door, twisted the handle, and entered. He eyed the back wall, where neatly stacked items lined multiple shelves. He was aware that Marlena again stood in the doorway, but he concentrated on the pantry space. In his mind’s eye he considered the square footage of the kitchen, and then the dimensions of this part of the mansion. He then walked to the left side of the pantry, and hesitated. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the brief image that had flashed through his mind in the library while he’d been speaking. Then, his hand, almost as if it had a mind of its own, reached under a shelf holding mustard, vegetable oil, soy sauce, cream of mushroom soup, tuna tins, and other items. His deft fingers slid along until they touched an obstruction. It felt like a button, and he unhesitatingly pushed on it. Both he and Marlena inhaled sharply when a narrow portion of the wall began to recede until an entry had been created. Once the receded portion stopped moving, Not Roman moved forward to see into the newly revealed space. Marlena followed again. 

With no light, they saw a dimly outlined stairway leading down. This surprised both of them because New Orleans structures normally don’t have basements or cellars due to the ground water level being only a few feet from the surface; the danger of flooding was too great. Not Roman, who had viewed the architectural plans the crime scene techs supplied, knew no underground spaces had been included in them.  

Meanwhile, Marlena touched his arm, as if to ground both of them. When he glanced at her distractedly, she said softly, with a note of wonder, “You seemed to inerrantly know that was there.”

“I can’t explain it, but, yeah, somehow I think I did.” As he spoke, his hand patted around blindly for a light switch, and, presto, he snapped it, and a bare, low-wattage bulb shone above them. 

Stepping onto the landing above the stairs, he looked down, and Marlena, still in the pantry, peeked her head in to see too. The wooden staircase looked worn, and it only dropped down about eight steps before ending in another landing. 

Not Roman didn’t have a flashlight, but he decided to go down, assuming more light fixtures would be available as needed. Wordlessly, Marlena again followed.

On the lower landing, a set of ten stairs dropped into further blackness. As he finished those, Not Roman flicked another light switch. 

Chapter 10

Another low-watt electric light dimly illuminated a relatively cramped space with two closed doors. One, only a few feet directly front of him, was roughly hewn wood with a square opening cut into it at eye level for heights between 5’8” and 6’. It had bars on it. An ancient-looking padlock prevented entry. The other door on his left was a polished steel door. Above it a surveillance camera sat on a pivot; it appeared inactive. Beside the door handle, a keypad had been encased in the wall. This little antechamber he and Marlena stood in had a lot of cobwebs, suggesting no one had been down here in years.

Not Roman and Marlena exchanged glances. She spoke first, “Shall we get an ISA agent to open these locks?”

He replied, “Might need someone for the combo lock.” He approached the padlock, while simultaneously producing his trusty pocket knife. He selected the thinnest blade and inserted it into the lock which he held steady with his other hand. Making sure the tip of the knife reached all the way to the back of the lock, he began to manipulate the knife. Gingerly, he turned the blade, and then jiggled it a little. He did it again, and then the mechanism gave, and the lock sprang open. 

Marlena made an approving sound, as Not Roman extricated the lock from the two hasps – one firmly embedded in the solid door jamb and the other in the door itself. Then he pushed the door in, opening it wide, and took a step inside, with Marlena close at his heels. She noticed a more primitive and unobtrusive light switch on the outside and toggled it as she passed through the door.

The faint light hanging high did little to cut the gloom. The room was neither cramped nor large. A distinctly musty, dank, and almost spoiled meat odor assaulted their noses. It was foul enough to almost make Marlena gag. The walls were stone, the floor appeared to be poured cement. A cot stood in the far corner, a very thin mattress lying on the metal frame, but with no blankets or pillow.

As Marlena’s eyes adjusted to the very low light, she saw something she couldn’t immediately identify. Moving beyond Not Roman to better see, she actually bent over the cot and picked up the items. She gasped. They looked like slaves’ chains. She dropped them, horrified. They were screwed tightly into the wall behind the cot, and there were two metal cuffs. 

“Roman,” she whispered in a ghastly voice. Forgetting his admonition not to call him that anymore, she backed up, seeking his protection for comfort. It flitted through her mind that perhaps, Celeste and Doctor Rolf had been lying. Maybe the original Roman had not been comatose all these years. Maybe he had been conscious and able-bodied at some point. Had he been kept here in this hellhole? Had cruel treatment right here caused him to lapse into that coma?

When she bumped into Not Roman as she turned, her suddenly white face looked up at his. What she saw shocked her even more. He stood still as a statue. His eyes seemed blank, as though he were in a trance. 

“ROMAN” she called him urgently, shaking his arm. “Can you hear me?” He just stood there, as unresponsive as a deactivated robot. “ROMAN. Please, honey, snap out of it.” She angled around in front of him, and put her arms around his stiff body, and held him for dear life. She kept begging him to come back to her. After a terrifying period that seemed endless, she felt him sag somewhat, and she looked up at his face to see he had come back to himself. 

Clutching his face in her hands, she said in a trembling voice. “Baby, do you hear me?” 

Not Roman nodded slowly, a cold sweat breaking out on him. “I hear you, Doc.” He shuddered and said, barely audibly, “I’ve got to get out of here.” Pulling away from her, he managed to get out the door and sank down on the second lowest step of the staircase outside. 

Marlena rushed after him, pulling shut the door to that awful dungeon. She sat beside him, willing her wildly beating heart to settle down. She held his closest hand in hers, never wanting to let go. “What happened to you there?” She had to know, but she also feared what he might say.

Not Roman took several very deep breaths, seeking to calm himself. “I’m – I’m not sure. When I stepped foot into that cell, I suddenly got hit with an avalanche of images. They just came flooding into my mind. I couldn’t stop them. I felt completely paralyzed, and pictures and scenes came pouring into my consciousness.”

Marlena, of course, had helped Not Roman try to recover memories before. As she had gotten to know “John Black” a little better after he first appeared in Salem, he had finally admitted he didn’t know who he was, and she had put him under hypnosis to see if he could remember his past. 

Now, she reverted to her psychiatric training. She surmised he’d had a type of spontaneous memory dump triggered by that odious room. Perhaps, with some professional guidance now, he might be able to recall what he’d just experienced in a more controlled way.

“Let’s go upstairs. We can find a quiet place, and you can rest and maybe make some sense of what just happened to you.”

“No, no.” he said agitatedly. “Let’s stay right here. If I go upstairs, I might get diverted by someone. Or a change in environment might make the images fade into nothing.”

“Alright. Whatever you want.” She soothed and then asked gently. “What do you remember?”

Disengaging his hand from hers, he scrubbed his face with both hands, and said, face still buried, “It’s a jumble.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Try to disentangle just one image.” 

Not Roman closed his eyes. After a time, he said, “Okay. It wasn’t really an image. It was a feeling. I could feel myself lying on that cot in the middle of the night. I was bare-chested, and it was freezing. Covering myself with the one old army blanket didn’t do much to stop my shivering. At least my beard kept my face warm. But the shackles made it hard to lie down with any measure of comfort. Plus, the cold metal on my skin increased the chill I constantly felt.”

Marlena’s blood ran cold. He had been here. He had been held prisoner here – right across in that abominable locked room. She squeezed her arms around him. “Oh. Oh. I’m so sorry.”

He ran his hand through his hair, and then he said, “I saw a flash of Stefano standing in the cell door” – he jerked his head at it, “taunting me. He said, ‘You won’t remember anything.’”

Then he reached his left hand around over to his right shoulder and ran it close to where the Phoenix tattoo still marked him. “I got a short recollection of lying somewhere while the tattoo gun worked on me. I don’t think it was in this cell, but I’d bet it is somewhere in this house of horrors.”

Abruptly he snapped his fingers. “Earlier, when I went out to the pond, I had a moment where I thought I’d seen it before, and that confused me. Just now, I got this image of looking out a window of this house and seeing that pond. It might have been very early in my captivity here. I think I was shackled both hand and foot, and I was in Stefano’s second floor study. A couple of his goons were holding me back because I wanted to rip DiMera’s throat out, but I managed to get out of their clutches and did go for Stefano. I think they knocked me out, but I saw the pond before they did.”

“Another thing, I think I was heavily drugged a lot of the time. I think they put stuff in my food and water. I dropped a lot of pounds because I didn’t want to take the drugs, but ultimately, I had no choice.”

Marlena had tears in her eyes as she listened. In fact, one tear had escaped and rolled slowly down her cheek.  “You’ve remembered a lot. It must have been really vivid.”

He looked at her, spied the runaway tear, and without thinking at all, gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah. It was. It was like suddenly being transported back. But there was another one where I sat in a chair in a room more like a clinic than a jail. That was kind of a blur; I think I had earphones on and was being forced against my will to listen to a loop recording of something. I don’t know what it was. 

“I’ve never had those memories before.” He stared ahead silently for a bit. “I’m not sure if they’re mine. Well, I guess the tattoo one must be. Not sure about the others.” 

Marlena laid her head against his shoulder in solidarity with him. “I think they are yours,” she said solemnly. “Who else’s?”

He turned his face toward her and gave her a look as if to say: we both know who.

She said quickly, “Yes, okay. I admit that when I saw that medieval cell, I thought perhaps Roman had been held there despite what Doctor Rolf and Celeste said. I thought maybe he had been conscious early on.”

Not Roman shrugged. “Maybe he was. Don’t know.”

Marlena squared her shoulders and said, “You saw Stefano DiMera in these memories. Did you see anyone else?” 

“No. Not that I recall. Besides the goons, no. Didn’t see the face of the tattoo guy. Didn’t see Rolf or Celeste. Didn’t see Roman.”

“Hello?” Anyone down – oh, Commander Brady.” A fresh-faced young tech with sandy hair and nicely trimmed mustache looked down from the landing above. “You found a secret doorway. We missed that.”

Both Not Roman and Marlena got a little shakily to their feet, and turned to look up at him. Not Roman flashed him a wan smile, “Yep, we found it alright. You are?”

“Oh. Sorry, Trip Casey, Evidence Tech.”

Not Roman waved Trip down. “Maybe you can help us open that door.” He pointed to the steel door with the keypad. 

Trip passed by them with a nod, probably noting that both of them appeared pale and drawn, and briefly examined the pad. “We’ve got someone who can probably open that in a jiffy. I’ll go get him.” He noted the broken lock on the other door. “No need for any help on that.”

“No. But the door and what’s behind it need processing. Fingerprints, thorough search, photos, the works. And, if you wouldn’t mind, find Shane Donovan and ask him to come take a look. I’ll be – we’ll be – right here so nothing is disturbed.”

Trip said, “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” And he disappeared back up the stairs.

Chapter 11

It wasn’t even noon yet, but Not Roman felt infinite weariness. Currently, he wandered aimlessly under the spread of the giant oak trees garbed with moss, interspersed with a few magnolias and pines. The same wooded area where he, Marlena, Abel, Steve, and others had crossed onto Maison Blanche property yesterday night. Occasionally, he picked up a stray stick and threw it, or kicked at a hole, not caring if it might be the home of a wild animal. He was in a daze, and he had ditched Marlena to escape here and finally be alone again with his tortured thoughts.

Earlier, a man with a gadget for deciphering keypad combination locks had joined them, and the steel door had given way to reveal its antiseptic, cold interior. Before them stood dusty medical and unidentified equipment, as well as a couple exam tables. The upright chair, complete with restraints, Not Roman had seen in his “vision” was there too. He saw recording equipment, VCR tapes, audio cassette tapes, and headphones. He saw cabinets with myriad bottles of narcotics. This, he knew, had to have been where his memories of his earlier life had been erased. This was probably also where he’d been somehow mentally “injected” with the set of Roman Brady “memories” he’d “recollected” shortly after returning to Salem from West Virginia in 1986. Not Roman was very nearly ill. But he didn’t suffer another paralyzing set of memories in that lab, which looked as if it had not been utilized in years. Perhaps after Stefano’s death, it had just been locked and conveniently forgotten.

Marlena, of course, had been with him. They’d both been reduced to shocked silence as they surveyed the “mad scientist” arena. It was then that Not Roman just couldn’t handle being around anyone. He blurted something unintelligible to Marlena, and before she could speak or react, he’d bolted, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing unseeingly out of the mansion. He had not waited for Shane, he had not spoken to anyone as he’d found the back door and, once outside, began running toward the shelter of the trees. 

Shit. Yes. What a total shitshow his life had become in under twenty-four hours. Not Roman hadn’t felt this depressed and scared since December 1985 when, his head swathed in bandages, he’d found himself in Salem University Hospital, face to face with Doctor Marlena Evans who tried unsuccessfully then to coax him to speak to her. 

He wondered bitterly what he had actually looked like before plastic surgery. He sure as hell hadn’t looked like the original Roman. Over and over his merciless mind repeated, “I’m not Roman Brady. I’m not Roman Brady.”

Who had he been then? Nothing, absolutely nothing in his Salem years had hinted to him that he was actually someone else. But now, this beautiful-on-the-outside estate had brutally shown him that here he had been someone with a different life who had somehow become the helpless prisoner of a maniac. Stefano DiMera had subjected him to many kinds of abuse and torment, apparently, for the express purpose of inserting him into Roman Brady’s life. He had been a Pawn, just as he’d been called by various individuals, such as Victor Kiriakis, who had been pursuing him back in ‘85 and ‘86. 

Not Roman had always thought of himself as a strong man, a man capable of driving his own destiny. As Roman Brady, he truly had lived that way. Before that, it could not be denied he had been in someone else’s control. He had thought he’d been in Stefano’s clutches after “he” had been shot by Stefano and fallen into the ocean. For a period of fourteen months, Roman had been absent from Salem, but then had returned as an amnesiac and with a changed face. But he had overcome Stefano’s control and taken back his own life. That was the story he had always thought was the truth about himself.

Again, as he had done last night on the couch, Not Roman mentally berated himself for being such a sucker. He wasn’t Roman Brady. He was some damn fool idiot who had let himself be caught in Stefano’s evil plotter’s net. He wasn’t even sure exactly when he’d been taken prisoner. He’d been fodder for nefarious machinations. He had been used as a DiMera patsy all this time. Stefano was probably laughing at him from Hell because the brainwashing had been so consummate, so complete, that he had never questioned his identity. Not until he came face to face with the real Roman. Not until he saw the dungeon and the lab where he had been viciously molded into a cypher and then into an interloper, a stand-in, a sleeper, an IMPOSTER. 

And Marlena, his beloved, had known from the beginning that she was sleeping with an imposter. She had known, and she had not told him!

Not Roman flung himself down at the base of one of the towering, majestic oaks. He ignored the damp ground, as he stretched his legs straight out in front of him. He leaned his back against the solid tree trunk. He closed his eyes and held his head. If only he could will himself to a reality where all of these abhorrent truths were not a part of his life. He longed for the innocence he’d had just yesterday morning when he’d watched the older twinners climb in the Tweed’s car. 

But it was not to be. He would have to cope with what had been uncovered. He knew the adults in the Brady family would have to be told that the real Roman had just died after apparently being in a coma for years. Sami and Eric were eight years old, so he wasn’t sure what they should know at this tender age, but Carrie was eighteen and deserved the full story. His own offspring, Maddie and Linc were too young to understand anything, so it would be years before they would get the explanation. 

But, hell, everybody who had any connections to him would know, wouldn’t they, when he stopped going by the name he’d co opted in 1986? What was he going to call himself? Last time, he’d chosen the name John Black. He always told himself he’d swiped that name off a plaque, but he wasn’t so sure that had been the only reason he’d selected that moniker. Something about it resonated with him. 

He groaned and pulled his knees up, then hugged them. His future seemed so desolate. He would probably be fired from the police force. Then what would he do? Work in a boring security job? Take on sleazy cases as a private dick? He could only see the negatives right now.

And what about Marlena? Since he wasn’t Roman Brady, they weren’t legally married. He could move out, and just see the kids. Part of him entertained that scenario because he felt vindictive toward her due to her deception. She had not trusted that they could work things out if she told the truth. She had deliberately misled him and everyone they cared about. Thinking about that made his insides want to curl up into a tight ball of shaking, bitter outrage. Really.

But Not Roman didn’t live on principles alone. Being betrayed fueled feelings of wrath certainly. But he was a man whose very existence (no matter who he was) depended on the love of this extraordinary creature called Marlena. It had done so since practically the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He would never be a whole man without her. She completed him. Waking up next to her filled him with joy. Going to sleep next to her brought him indescribable satisfaction. Making love with her was a pinnacle he couldn’t imagine ever being replicated with any other female. They were made for each other. To walk away from this stupendously beautiful and talented woman would be indescribably stupid of him and would only hand him ensuing years of regret and aching loneliness.

He had heard her words to him earlier today. He knew she regretted the pain her secret, now revealed, was going to cause him, their family, and herself. But, he also felt certain that if the real Roman hadn’t been found, she would have persisted in keeping this secret until she took it with her to the grave.

On the other hand, he also believed that this massive secret was the only major thing she had kept to herself. There were no more frightful disclosures she could be hoarding. Unless…unless she also knew who he really was….

He shook his head. No. If she had found out, she would have told him already once the cat was out of the bag about Roman. To poke around could have endangered her ability to keep the secret she did. No. She didn’t know anything else; he was convinced. Of course, he had been fooled before…Yes. Well, he could just come out and say, “No more secrets, right? Speak now if there are more.”

He rolled his eyes. Being so suspicious of her. That was new. And it shamed him that he had these distrustful thoughts. She loved him. He knew that. She proved it with actions every single day and night. She had given him Linc and Maddie. She gave him invaluable counsel about all manner of things. She loved him carnally with unbounded exuberance and trust. She was his soulmate, and, as she’d said, he was hers. 

Not Roman finally pulled himself to his feet, and dusted stray twigs and leaves off his rear end. Earlier in the day, he’d thought he wanted to be present for Andre DiMera’s interrogation, especially since Shane intended him to be brought to Maison Blanche. Now, though, he just didn’t care. He would leave that to Shane and the New Orleans police.

He also didn’t care about Doctor Rolf or Celeste. He supposed it likely that Celeste had known about the underground cell and lab. But if the authorities wanted to extend immunity to her to get her cooperation, he was okay with that. Doctor Rolf, Not Roman was sure, had been a major actor in his own brainwashing. He would object if anyone were to try to offer Rolf immunity, but that wasn’t something he had to worry about immediately. 

Maybe tomorrow or the next day, he would care. But not now.

He wanted to go home. He couldn’t stay another hour in that house of pain and subjugation. He wanted to see the kids. All of them. 

Setting his jaw, he marched toward Maison Blanche.

Chapter 12

Not Roman and Marlena had landed in Salem at about 4:30 p.m. Shane had remained in New Orleans, and had promised to update them as needed, but he understood at once that Not Roman and Marlena needed to get back home. He arranged for them to again fly on the ISA chartered plane and commandeered a New Orleans officer to drive them to meet it. 

Taking their luggage, they climbed into Not Roman’s Jeep. They hadn’t said more than a word or two on the plane on which two other passengers had sat in the cabin with them, or, before that, in the police car on the way to the airport.

Both of them felt as if every part of them, inside and out was bruised. But when they were finally alone in the car, Not Roman hesitated before turning over the engine. He just sat there idly rubbing his hands on his jeans, as if they were slippery with nervous sweat. Marlena had no idea what was currently running through his mind, but she decided not to break the silence herself. 

After a minute or so, he cleared his throat and said, still looking forward, not at Marlena, “How are you doing?”

“I’m feeling pretty battered,” she replied honestly, then added astutely. “But I’m thinking, not as much as you are.”

He gave a dry bark of a laugh. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? We humans. We can imagine what others experience, but we can’t truly know what goes on in the minds and hearts of anyone else. Sometimes we are even ciphers to ourselves. Me, for instance.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Did he want a reply? Did he think he didn’t know her anymore? Or himself? 

Apparently, he didn’t expect her to respond to that because he continued, “We’re both changed irrevocably. We’ve got many unpleasant tasks ahead of us. Filling in the people we love. The funeral for Roman. You, and others, mourning him. Me mourning for my lost identity, and my unknown one. Hoping I don’t get arrested, but recognizing that, at the very least, I may soon be unemployed. The legal cases against Andre, Rolf, and Celeste. Trying to find out who I am. It’s all pretty daunting.” As he finished this list, he chanced a look at her.

Marlena had already cocked her head toward him, and she met his timorous gaze with love. “Yes, it is,” she answered quietly. “But my biggest question and concern right now is, ‘Will you let us face these things together? Or are we wrecked?’ Have I wrecked us?”

He shifted in his seat so he could look at her more directly. He chewed his lip and then he said simply, “I’m angry that you kept that secret. Not just one-day angry, or even one-month angry. I’m not sure what to do with my disappointment, my sorrow that you chose to keep that to yourself. I hope I’ll get over it, but I’m not sure I can.”

She hated hearing those candid words so much. But she knew he had every right to utter them. “I understand. If our situations were reversed, I have no doubt I would feel as betrayed and disgusted as you do. I have no excuse that will make this better. All I can say is that I never did it to hurt you or anyone else. I love you. I’m in love with you and only you, and that’s never going to change for the rest of my life, no matter what.” She sighed and after giving him a pained look, she had to look away.

Not Roman reached out and, putting his index finger under her chin, he lightly guided her eyes back to his. “I know that. And I love you. Nothing on earth can stop me being in complete love with you. Sometimes, for both of us, that is more of a burden than a gift. These last eight years though, we’ve had the gift much more than the burden, and so, I guess, in the balance of things, we will have to take the burden we’ve just been saddled with, too. You took a huge chance on me when you realized I wasn’t Roman. I really hadn’t considered that, but it’s true. And you have been my rock all the days we’ve been together.”

She reached out and stroked his cheek. “I didn’t really take a chance. I believed in you. I knew you were, and I know you are, a good man. And you were and are the one my heart cannot do without.”

The hand under her chin reached around her shoulders and drew her close. He kissed her sweetly and generously, and she responded. Then he pulled his face back a little and regarded her. His hand now stroked her cheek as she had his. Then he said, “There’s something else I wanted to say. You said earlier that when everyone knows you kept the secret about my not being Roman, they would blame you.”

“They will. And they have that right. Just as you do.”

Not Roman continued, “It’s not necessary, Doc. Shane suggested keeping the whole thing about finding Roman a secret, and we rejected that. But nobody – and this is why I interjected with Shane – has to know you knew I wasn’t Roman all those years. All they need to know is that we found Roman at Maison Blanche and it was a terrible shock – which it was.” 

“But –”

“No buts. It will preserve your relationship with the family even if mine suffers, and that will help us all. No one else needs to know that. You don’t need to be a target for them.”

Marlena’s eyes shone bright with tears threatening to fall. Not Roman kissed her eyelids with great tenderness. Then he just said, “We’ll get through this, I think. We’ll have plenty of ups and downs, and I can’t guarantee I won’t have angry and/or bleak spells, because it’s 100% certain I will. But we’re a team, and we need to stay a team.”

That caused Marlena’s tears to fall, and hers mingled with his as Not Roman joined her. 

FIN