John Black stared stonily out at the flickering lights. A few boats maneuvered in the distance, and their muted engines and an occasional foghorn dented the otherwise silent night. In late September, he still didn’t need a jacket to keep out the chill at 9 pm. So, only blue shirt sleeves that matched his azure eyes covered his tense, crossed arms. No one else shared the dock with him.
“Dammit, Doc,” he ground out, his jaw tensing angrily. No. He shook his head — and then regretted that move. Anger didn’t describe his feelings. Only clenching all his muscles kept him from heaving up his dinner. Only strict control over himself prevented him from giving in to intense nausea. But his sickness didn’t stem from any physical ailment. He was sick to his stomach because of what he’d seen. Because of what he’d heard.
Forcing the bile down, and breathing in giant lungfuls of the water’s-edge air, John strove to clear his head of the images that swam in it. He also tried to shut up the grating, menacingly other-worldly voice that still reverberated in his mind– a voice he knew but hadn’t heard in twenty-seven years.
“How the hell could that thing be back?” he demanded out loud to himself. John stretched his neck to glare bitterly up into the starry sky. His insides churned with helplessness, and nothing in the cosmos seemed willing to bend down to him and give him a clue, let alone really lend him a hand.
Back in 1994 and 1995, Gabe had popped in intermittently to gently prod John along the strange path he’d walked back then. But apparently Gabe had other fish to fry this time. And who could blame him? Shouldn’t once in a lifetime be the absolute limit?
Slowly, he relaxed his body, and didn’t blow any chunks. He loosened his tight fists — which prompted a vivid image of Marlena here on this pier during the time of their affair, her fists exactly as tight. That had been so long ago. All of it – the affair, and the guilt afterward that spiraled into a terrible battle with evil — were ancient history. Why? Why had it returned?
Had they become too complacent? Had they let their guard down? After all, Father Francis had counseled Marlena back then that she needed to stay in God’s light. Had something made her vulnerable now? What? Was it that DiMera manipulation a few years ago when the “Stevano” abomination controlled her? Or had his own lack of control, due to the aneurysm he’d suffered, cost her more internally than he knew?
John rubbed his face. He blew out air. He then leaned forward and, putting his hands on his knees, he stretched his back. Twenty-seven years ago, he’d been pretty much in the prime of his life, and yet that battle had taken every ounce of his emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical strength. This time? Could he do whatever he needed to? Just before this nightmare began, Marlena had said about the previous time, “You saved me.” Well. Actually, God had. But, yes, he’d done his part. And he had to do his part now.
But what was his part this time? In ‘94-’95, he’d acted as a priest to save Marlena. This time he couldn’t do that. He was a married man — even if currently Marlena was in no state to acknowledge that. He couldn’t conduct a Church exorcism. So, how the hell could he help his wife? How could he extract her from the clutches of evil?
Standing erect again, John closed his eyes. Whom could he turn to? “Help. Help. Help…” The litany kept ringing in his head.
Once again opening his eyelids, he raised both his arms and locked his hands behind his neck, letting his palms massage the rigid tendons. Should he go home? He guessed he’d find the place empty if he did. He had no idea where “Marlena” might be right now, but after the scene earlier this evening, and her operatic exit, he did not expect to find her in their bed.
Of course, he had to search for her. God knows the havoc she might be creating for one of their loved ones or friends right now. Or had she been satisfied for the moment with the upheaval she’d incited earlier tonight?
Evil knew the advantage of working through the body of someone trusted and loved. Especially after all these years, their children and grandchildren, their friends and associates, would not suspect Marlena of any deliberately malevolent action. Although…
Perhaps Kate and Roman were already spreading the word? John thought their names with trepidation and pain. Why did those two have to become critical linchpins in his and Doc’s life again now? Roman, of course, had been the bad penny turning up again and again. Okay. No. Not fair. Roman was a good man who’d been harmed by Stefano DiMera’s vengeful and foul schemes. And Kate? She and Roman got married and divorced back in the early 2000’s. John snorted. What a circus they’d all played parts in back then. Kate and he had thought their spouses — Roman and Marlena — dead. Their grief had led them into a relationship and even a brief engagement. Meanwhile in a bizarre place called Melaswen, Marlena and Roman had hooked up too. When all four had finally been reunited in Salem, the temporary couples of John and Kate and Roman and Marlena were no more. But Roman and Kate divorced after a time. Recently, they had started seeing each other again. So, of course, “Marlena” saw “her” opportunity to inflict suffering.
John rubbed his temples. He felt a monster of a headache ready to attack him if he revisited today’s trauma. Nevertheless, he remembered…
______________
John texted Marlena about 5:45 to tell her he was still waiting for a client at his and Steve’s detective agency, and he’d be late. She didn’t reply. Around 6:50, John unlocked the door of the townhouse. “Doc?” No answer. Tossing his keys on the table, he saw a scrap of paper. In Marlena’s handwriting. It read simply, “Pub.” Okay, John thought. Marlena’s not usually so terse, but I guess that’s where I’ll find her.
When John arrived at the Brady Pub, she wasn’t sitting at any of the tables. He asked one of the waitresses if she’d seen his wife. “Sure, John. She went through the back with Roman.”
Since Roman owned and operated the Pub, John didn’t think anything of it. He went back himself to the living quarters. No one in sight in the living room. “Roman? Doc?” he called. Then he heard a muffled noise emanating from the master bedroom. Puzzled, he approached the closed door, knocked once, and said, as he opened it, “Roman? Didn’t know you were sleeping. I’m looking for –”
He didn’t have to finish that sentence. There she was. In a state of mostly undress (everything but underwear on the floor). Likewise with Roman. They were in each others’ arms and kissing.
John nearly had another aneurysm right then. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “WHAT the HELL?!” he demanded, advancing on them. They broke apart.
Roman seemed dazed, and he lurched. Suddenly his glassy-eyed stare focused on John, and he visibly blanched. He jerked his eyes toward Marlena, and, looking appalled, he retreated a step. His own near nakedness dawned on him. He crouched, gathered his clothes and held them in front of himself strategically. Sneaking a glance at John’s thunderous face, he stammered, “Jo- John. I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He looked at Marlena (who hadn’t moved at all yet). “I’m sorry, Doc. I ah, I didn’t mean -”
John wanted to pulverize the now abjectly apologizing Roman, but before he actually took a swing at him, he looked squarely at Marlena, and what he saw terrorized him.
Marlena stood there, making no effort whatsoever to cover herself. Her expression, aimed at Roman, carried contempt. But her mouth’s upturned slight smile also hinted at mocking glee. She barely suppressed a sense of self-satisfied victory.
Roman seemed too absorbed in his own disgrace to notice this. He hastily backed out of his own bedroom and fled to the safety and privacy of another room to dress. John did not pursue him.
He, unlike Roman, had not missed any of the nuances of Marlena’s “show”. John’s heart pounded, and he felt light-headed. Air seemed to rush by his ears. He feared he might lose consciousness. He fought for clarity and control over his physical responses. He knew something was terribly wrong with his wife.
Having now swung her body around, Marlena trained her penetrating glare on John. She sneered. She almost, but not quite, hissed. Then she laughed cruelly. It wasn’t Marlena’s full, genuine laughter. It was something hard and hollow. Something lacking all love. A laugh meant to squeeze a man into nothingness.
John had heard this laugh before. He stared at the face of what should have been his beloved. And he saw unbridled hatred. He saw evil.
He took a deep, shaky breath and raised himself to his full height. He did not look away from that enemy. “Who are you?” he demanded unwaveringly.
“Oh, come on, John. You KNOW who I am.” The voice was still Marlena’s. “Marlena,” still barely dressed, moved forward and ran her forefinger down his sternum until John caught the wandering hand.
“Stop it. I know you’re not Marlena. Who are you?” He asked again. “Marlena” rolled her eyes and didn’t answer.
“Are you the same demon who tried to steal Marlena’s soul years ago? Or are you a different one?” John decided he had nothing to lose by asking such a direct question.
“Marlena” now burst into horrifying laughter in a much deeper register. “For your purposes, Father John, it doesn’t matter. The aim is the same. And this time, I will succeed. She is already deeply under my power.”
Despondency washed over John at those words. But he replied, “I’m not a priest anymore. But I am Marlena’s husband. And I won’t allow you to take her.”
The demon laughed maniacally. “You humans think love solves everything. Wrong, Father John. Wrong. You can’t stop me this time. Now, get out of here!” With that, the demon stretched out Marlena’s arm and, with a commanding gesture, flung the bedroom door open. With the same kind of movement, the thing propelled John forcefully out of the bedroom and then slammed the door shut after him!
Rushing back to the door, it was locked. John considered breaking it down, but Roman, now fully clothed again, came to his side. He had apparently overheard their conversation, and he’d seen John being propelled out. Key in hand, and without a word, he swiftly turned it in the lock. But no “Marlena.” She had scooped up all feminine garments from the floor. The large window stood wide open. Clearly “Marlena’ had escaped through it.
___________________
John was right. When he got home from the pier, no Marlena. But Roman paced outside the Black’s front door. The last person John wanted to see right now was this “friend” of his. He shouldered by Roman, and unlocked the door.
Roman came in with him and his blue-collar face screwed up with remorse again. “Look, John, I’m so sorry. Honest to God.”
John just rolled his eyes. “You said that, Roman. Let’s move on. I’ve got to find Doc.”
“I know, I know. But I want you to know I’d never do that in my right mind.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” John was too worried about Marlena to care much about Roman’s conscience right now. He checked out the entire townhouse, with Roman at his heels. Nothing but emptiness. As they searched the place, John’s mind turned fiercely, trying to outguess the demon. Abruptly, he turned and caught Roman’s eye. “Maybe she went to see Kate. Maybe she will try to use that rendezvous against you with Kate.”
Roman paled, for the second time this evening. “I could call her…”
“No, it’s better if we go there.”
In minutes, the two men stood at Kate’s door. Kate had recently moved out of the DiMera mansion and bought a condo. When she answered their ring, she caught sight of Roman and lashed out her hand and slapped his face! Then she slammed the door shut.
“Okay, then.” John said matter-of-factly. “She was here.” He knocked on the door again. Kate opened it again, and Roman stepped out of her reach to avoid another crack of her hand. “Kate,” John said, “Do you have any idea where Marlena was headed after she left here?”
Kate shook her head. She still bored a death glare at Roman.
John took pity on Roman. “Kate, it’s not exactly what Marlena told you.”
Kate fixed him with a cold stare too. “You don’t know what she told me.”
“We’ve got a pretty good idea.” John assured her. “Look, let Roman come in, okay? You two need to talk. And I’ve got to go find her. You sure you don’t have a clue about where she might have headed next?”
“She just mumbled something about ‘evening scores’.”
“Great.” John muttered sarcastically. So many choices for her next victim. He gave Roman a little nudge inside and with a quick “Bye,” hurried back to his own car.
Sitting behind the wheel but not turning over the engine, he tried to organize his chaotic and frightened thoughts. Last time, freeing Marlena from the demon had taken months — partly due to his own thick headedness – his inability to understand the true nature of the danger and what was really required of him. He hoped and prayed she could be freed of the possession much more quickly this time.
The thing had not tried to kill him today. What did that mean? Last time, the demon had chosen to play with each of its hapless prey, including him, like a merciless cat with a captive mouse. But he sensed that this time — whether it was the same demon or not — Marlena’s window for rescue would not be open as long.
So where was “Marlena” now? Past 10 pm, he doubted she was paying calls at this hour. Think, John, he reprimanded himself. After a moment, he decided to play a hunch, and drove.
Fifteen minutes later, he strode through the automatic doors at University Hospital and made his way to Doctor Marlena Evans’ office.
The door opened without resistance, and, sure enough, “Marlena” sat at the desk, piles of patient folders scattered around her, and one in her hand as she read its contents. Of course, John thought, what a gold mine of information for the demon to use against vulnerable people.
After he entered the room, the door settled back to the closed position and this time, he heard the lock click.
The demon eyed him balefully. “Thought I told you to get lost. I’ve got things to do, and you don’t fit into the picture.”
John remembered well one of the foremost rules Father Francis had drummed into him years ago: don’t engage with the demon. Not an easy instruction to obey when the demon possesses your wife. He wanted to try to talk past the demon and see if he could coax Marlena to surface. But since the demon so carelessly and confidently allowed itself to be known, he had to assume its control over her was so great, she wouldn’t be able to respond.
So what should he do? Call St. Luke’s and ask that an official Church exorcist be sent immediately? That could take time since none were available in Salem as far as he knew. Fortunately, none had been needed in the last quarter of a century.
Could he be so bold as to ask God to help him again? Could he then just order the demon to be gone as he had in 1995? The truth was, he had doubts about that idea. God was good all the time, but he, John, wasn’t. He’d done some things he shouldn’t have (such as choking Jan Spears), and he hadn’t really repented of them. He didn’t feel worthy to ask God for anything.
Still, this was about saving Marlena. He couldn’t let his own spiritual and moral failures prevent him from doing everything possible to help her.
Also, he should not be alone with the demon in here. The damn thing, he knew only too well, could overpower him. This office only had one exit. So, if he left the room and blocked the door from the other side, he could get help to secure the demon in restraints to prevent it harming anyone else. With Roman as a witness, he felt sure Kayla and Abe would back him.
All these thoughts ran through John’s mind in moments as he stood in the small office, but that was apparently still too long for the demon who obviously didn’t want him calculating moves against it.
Suddenly Marlena’s desk shot forward and sideways at the same time, hitting John mid thigh, propelling him backward, and smartly pinning him against the wall. He grunted in surprise and pain.
“Marlena” then rose calmly from the desk chair and sauntered right up to him. The thing reached out and wrapped Marlena’s fingers around his neck and squeezed, simultaneously emitting that horrid demon laugh. Just as he thought he would pass out, the demon let go, banging his head hard against the wall. Then “Marlena” moved on by, stopping momentarily a step away to turn and cast a condescending smirk his way. “You can’t beat me, John. I’ve got Marlena, and I won’t let go.” Before he could utter a word, the demon reached the door and was gone.
Groaning again, John waited a moment for his head to clear and then pushed the heavy desk back to its normal position. He was sure he’d have deep black and blue marks on his legs — not to mention his neck. He could already feel a knot on the back of his head too. But thankfully he was still mobile. As fast as his buffeted body would allow, he hobbled to the door, but outside of it, no sign of “Marlena”. He returned to the desk and leaned on it from the side she’d been on. Willing his swimming head to cooperate, his trained PI eyes raked the folders strewn around, and he quickly discerned a pattern. Most of what the demon had been picking through concerned the DiMeras. Marlena, over the years, had counseled a number of them — even, informally, Stefano, back when he’d been confined to a wheelchair after “falling” (with the help of the ‘90’s demon) from Marlena’s penthouse balcony. So, John thought, the demon’s still sifting for more dirt to throw at people and make their lives miserable. Just exactly what had happened twenty-seven years ago.
But back then, the fact that Marlena was possessed took a long time to register with John and other Salemites who knew and loved Marlena. She’d been taken to the hospital several times, and young Doctor Mike Horton had “treated” her, but had been amazed and without any medical explanation when she’d suddenly emerged from her hospital room insisting she was fine even though he had injected her with enough sedative to put her under for hours. John had repeatedly asked Mike what was wrong with her, and the physician had just shrugged his shoulders.
Now, though, Marlena’s plight appeared to be evolving at a greatly accelerated rate.
The last few days, John had thought his wife’s behavior peculiar at times. For example, he recalled when they went to bed two nights ago, she kept throwing the covers off herself. When he asked what was wrong, she’d just said shortly, “I’m hot.” Deciding she didn’t mean that in a sexually provocative way, John immediately worried about covid-19, and tried to lay his hand against her forehead to check for fever, but she avoided him and said petulantly, “I’m not sick. I’m just hot. It’s hot in here.”
John had replied, “Okay. Let me check the thermostat.” He did, and it read the same as it always did in their home: 68 degrees. It certainly felt the same as usual to him. John reported this, and Marlena rewarded him with, “I don’t care what the damn thing reads. It’s HOT in here.”
Puzzled, John didn’t think hot flashes were the cause of her complaint. She hadn’t, to his knowledge, experienced those in more than a decade. Or, if she had, she had never felt the need to pull off her blankets (which were quite light anyway). Doing the man thing of attempting to solve the problem, he went to the window and opened it. The night air outside was cooler than 68 degrees, and he hoped she’d feel more comfortable.
But scarcely had he returned to bed when she popped up like a jack-in-the-box, and stalked over to the window. He thought she might slam it down, but instead, she announced, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room. I’ll turn on the fan there.”
Before he could object, she’d gone. Sighing, he didn’t follow her. It had been a long day, and he needed sleep. But early the next morning, he checked on her. As soon as he opened the guest room door a blast of icy air hit him. Closing the door hurriedly after himself, he crossed to the bed. Marlena lay there, no covers on. She seemed fast asleep. John touched her forehead then. He thought she might be thoroughly chilled. But, no. Her body temperature appeared normal to him. She didn’t wake up. Since it was still early, he decided to cover her with the sheet and one light blanket. He also turned off the fan, but the temperature seemed far colder to him than the fan could produce. Shaking his head, he’d gone back to the master bedroom.
Later, at her usual time, Marlena appeared in the kitchen, dressed for work. When he asked how she was feeling, she gave him a quizzical look and said, “Great, honey.”
He couldn’t help it: “So you slept just fine in that icebox?”
She frowned, as though she didn’t know what he was talking about. But then she shrugged and simply said, “I’ve got to run. Early appointment. See you later.” No kiss though.
With hindsight, John knew he should have followed up immediately instead of letting her off the hook. But, even if he had, there was no guarantee he could have prevented this full-blown possession. He still had no idea how this demon had gotten its hellish hooks into her.
But all that really didn’t matter. He’d just let possessed “Marlena” slip through his fingers again, and he had to find her to prevent harm to other friends and family and to get her restrained so he could get her the help she so desperately needed.
Once he’d climbed back into his automobile, John did his best to ignore his protesting body. He blocked out everything except studying his next move. He didn’t need to check his phone or watch to know it was after midnight. He thought the logical place the demon might go would be the DiMera mansion since it had lapped up that psycho family’s psychiatric problems. But, again, he hardly expected “Marlena” to ring their doorbell at this time of night.
Nevertheless, John drove to the mansion and parked on the shoulder of the deserted public street instead of heading up the private road in his car. Retrieving a sturdy, high beam flashlight from the glove compartment, he locked his vehicle, and opened the trunk. He always kept some emergency supplies there, and he took out a couple bottles of water. One, he drank completely on the spot. The other, he pocketed in the leather jacket he’d also taken from the trunk and pulled on. It was getting chillier. He filled all its various other pockets with some items he hoped he wouldn’t need.
He then cautiously tramped up the driveway until he could see the house. A few lights burned upstairs, but the downstairs appeared completely dark. Having lived in the DiMera mansion a couple times in his life (and once kept a prisoner there and turned into a near automaton), he was quite familiar with its layout. And unbeknownst to anyone, he still had keys to various doors in the house. But John had no intention of sneaking around inside the main house now. He’d wait until tomorrow and ring the doorbell for access. He’d be there if “Marlena” called on them.
Still, he had another hunch. Marlena had also lived in this mansion. Not to mention when Kristen locked her in a secret room in the seemingly endless spaces and tunnels below the first floor in 1997 to prevent Marlena from spilling all Kristen’s sins; and three years ago when another DiMera trapped her, Vivian, Kate there again. John knew the demon could access Marlena’s memories of it. He thought “Marlena” might hide out down there until the demon could “go visiting” in the a.m.
The estate grounds contained several entryways to the underground areas. John had no need to get too close to the house to find one of the camouflaged entry/exit spots. Turning on his flashlight, he descended the wooden staircase and slowly wended his way through what would be a maze to nearly anyone else. When he’d been “Jawn” (the nearly soulless “John the Pawn”) in 2008, he’d explored every nook and cranny down here and committed it all to memory.
He didn’t let his guard down for a second, knowing the demon could ambush him. After wandering around for over an hour, he thought he heard voices, and he steered toward them. As they became louder and more distinct, he saw a light ahead. Turning off his flashlight, John proceeded with the utmost wariness and stayed in the shadows. He stopped when he heard, “I think you can help me, Abigail.” “Marlena’s” voice.
“If I can, I will. And maybe you can help me too, Marlena. Insomnia’s been plaguing me again, and I need to walk to tire myself out. I end up down here because I don’t want to wake the rest of the household.” There was a pause, and then Abigail added, a hint of suspicion in her voice, “I’m still not sure what you’re doing here?”
John heard some shifting around, and then “Of course, I’ll help you. I think I know exactly how. As to why I’m here, I was doing some research in my office, and in the course of that, I re-read a lot of old files pertaining to Stefano — and other DiMeras. A transcript of something he once said caught my eye.”
“What did he say?”
“It was quite subtle. I never picked up on it before. But this time he seemed to be hinting about a hidden cache of information down here that no one had ever found.”
John thought: And information seems to be exactly what you’re hunting right now, demon.
Abigail answered, “Well, as you know, Marlena, the feds have found a lot of Stefano’s records — here, in New Orleans, on his islands, and so on. As far as I know, they’ve been through the house and through the underground spaces with fine-tooth combs. It seems unlikely there’d be any undiscovered caches left.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” “Marlena” nearly purred placatingly. “But this room here — this is the one in which Kristen kept me sealed up, and also the same place where Stefan threw me in with Vivian and Kate.”
John could hear some more noise — he imagined “Marlena” restlessly pacing around the little room. For a moment he was seized with the impulse to stealthily advance and then slam the door shut. He doubted the demon’s ability to escape from that secret room. Unfortunately, he had to squelch that impulse because he couldn’t strand Abigail with that evil thing.
“That must have been awful,” Abigail intoned gratuitously.
“Yes,” the demon agreed languidly. “But my point is, I should know every centimeter of this room. There should be no secrets in it for me.”
“That makes sense,” agreed the younger woman.
“But maybe not. You see, twenty-one years passed between my first imprisonment here and my second. And in 2018, when Kate and Vivian shared the place with me, I didn’t really spend any time checking for hidden compartments. Stefano, or one of his family or minions, could have secreted something here in the intervening years.”
“Maybe.” John thought Abigail sounded unconvinced and even bored. He had closed much of the distance to the room, and he could see the young woman near the door. If he could time it right, he might be able to pull the girl out of the room and slam the door before “Marlena” could stop him. He could see a bit of her, and he thought she had her back to the door and Abigail. Apparently, searching for that elusive hidden compartment engrossed the demon.
Abruptly, he heard a repeated clicking, then some scraping and scuffing, and finally a sound of unmistakable triumph from “Marlena.” “Yes!”
Abigail moved out of John’s sight, further into the room, obviously curious about “Marlena’s” find.
John had to admit curiosity too. But he couldn’t get sidetracked. Trapping the demon without endangering Abigail took precedence. He thought: maybe if I sidle up right by the door and make a sound, Abigail will exit first, and I can swing the door shut on the demon. It was a long shot, he knew. Odds on, the demon, incredibly fast with supernatural reflexes when it chose, would beat Abigail out.
He did noiselessly advance until he could carefully peek around the door jamb to get a view inside. Both women had their backs to the door. Both knelt down, peering into a little space that “Marlena” had somehow detected. John couldn’t tell much else, but he wondered whether the enhanced perception of the demon had been the only reason that hidden compartment had been found. “Marlena” reached down, apparently ready to pull something out, but then the demon froze for an instant. It spun Marlena’s body toward the door, yanked up Marlena’s head, and reptilian eyes stared — right at him. John yanked his own head back from the door, hoping he hadn’t been seen. Then he heard a slithering “Marlena” voice declaring, “I know you’re there, John. Show yourself.”
Damn. He had lurked too long, hoping for an opening to separate Abigail from “Marlena.” Should he beat retreat to the closest exit? He could call Abe for help. Also Kayla.
The demon spoke again, “Come in, John. I guess like Abigail and me, you can’t sleep tonight. Join us. See what I’ve found.”
John appeared at the door, although he didn’t enter the room. He tried to keep his voice even and calm. “Marlena. I thought you might be here. But we’ve really got to go home. Abigail needs her rest, I’m sure, and so do we.”
Abigail looked both confused to see him, but also still intrigued with “Marlena’s” find. “John,” she said, “It’s okay. I was telling Marlena, I’m experiencing insomnia again, and I don’t think I could sleep now – at least not until we see what’s in the box hidden here.”
Because Abigail turned toward John, she didn’t see the maleficent leer on “Marlena’s” countenance. Tremendous anguish washed through John as the demon bored him with the same sick yellow eyes he’d witnessed so many years ago. It was taunting him, flaunting its evil power. Having Abigail right by its side gave the demon a huge advantage. John knew it would injure or even kill Abigail if he attempted to force it out of Marlena now. But he had to do something. He’d resisted talking to the One who could truly save the day. He couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Please, dear God,” John silently prayed. “Please help Marlena. Please help me help her. Please don’t allow Abigail to be caught in the middle of this. Please get her out of this room. Please, Lord, free Marlena of this evil.” He spoke aloud, “Demon, in the name of Jesus, come out of her.”
As he finished saying, “…her.” John felt as if a sharp bolt of lightning had stabbed every cell of his body. He fought desperately for consciousness, but he lost the fight within two seconds, and fell to the floor in a heap in the doorway.
When John regained awareness, he heard only silence. He knew he still lay crumpled on the floor just as he’d fallen. Slowly he opened his eyes and struggled to focus them. At first he just saw the door lintel above, but then a movement to his left caught his attention. He gingerly moved his head…and his heart nearly stopped.
Hovering a couple feet above the floor, Abigail looked down on him, her eyes the same abominable yellow he’d seen in Marlena’s face just before. In one hand, the demon held a box, which John’s scattered brain vaguely assumed to be the contents of the hidey-hole it had discovered. Abigail’s sensitive, pale face twisted into a vicious mask of hatred, and out of her mouth issued the same ghastly, low, menacing voice of the demon. “You haven’t won, John. You and your precious Marlena will die here. No one will find you – I’ll see to that. I’ve got more work to do, and no one will suspect this troubled girl is now my puppet, my instrument, my slave.”
“Abigail” laughed fiendishly and then flung out “her” arm, violently “skating” him like an aimed hockey puck across the room. His already injured body slammed into that wall with fearsome force. John lost consciousness again.
Part II
Again he swam back to consciousness. Again he saw the ceiling first. Where was he? Concentrate, John, he commanded himself. He felt as if thousands of yellowjackets were stinging him all over his body. But the aftermath of that “electric bolt” was nothing compared to the agony he felt when he very deliberately angled his neck so he could see room. His blood ran cold.
Over in the far corner, Marlena’s body lay…as though she were a rag doll. Legs and arms splayed at odd angles. Her face pointed away from him, but her torso toward him. He couldn’t see any evidence of her breathing.
John tested his own arms and legs, and, again, nothing appeared to be broken. Ignoring the vicious prickling all over his skin [Seemingly an aftereffect of the “lightning bolt” he’d absorbed. He theorized his prayer had panicked the demon to shock him and to jump into Abigail.] and his dizziness, he managed to prop himself up on his hands and knees. He crawled the few feet to his wife, praying desperately as he did that she still lived.
“Doc?” he croaked. “Marlena?” He touched her throat and felt for a pulse, while simultaneously positioning himself so he could see her turned-away face. “Thank God,” he whispered fervently. Yes, he could feel a faint pulse. And other than a bloody nose, Marlena’s beautiful face appeared unmarked — except for her deathly pallor. But she breathed shallowly. He couldn’t be sure about her neck, back or arms and legs. And she didn’t react at all to his soft calls.
Gently he stroked her cheek, willing her to regain consciousness too. He kept speaking her name, and finally he resorted to lightly slapping her, hoping that would wake her. But she remained unresponsive.
“Dammit, Doc!” John said for the second time in less than twelve hours. “Wake up! Come on, baby. Open your beautiful eyes for me.”
Was she in a coma? Did the demon still have a hold on her?
John wanted to pick her up and lay her on the one cot in that secret room, but he feared if he moved her, he might do more damage to any broken vertebrae in her neck and back.
Still confused and dizzy himself – the shock had evidently scrambled the impulses in his brain and nervous system – he suddenly felt impossibly tired. Despite the intense prickling, he just couldn’t make one more effort, and, laying his head alongside Marlena’s, he dropped into instant sleep.
The next thing he knew, something lay on his chest. And something brushed his lips. Then, he heard rustling and burbling. Indistinct at first, the burbling resolved itself into, “John! Honey! Do you hear me?”
John’s eyes opened wide just as Marlena brought her lips to his again. This time he kissed her back and brought the arm that wasn’t caught between them up to enfold her.
He felt her relief, as her body relaxed against him, and she muttered against his mouth, “Oh, John, I was so afraid you were dead. Thank God, you’re alive!”
Pulling them apart a little he said, “Thank God you’re alive. Thank God you’re conscious. Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you hurt physically?”
She shook her head, dried blood from her nosebleed still smearing her face. “I think I’m okay. Just really weak. You?”
“I’m okay too.”
For a bit, they just held each other, sprawled on the hard floor. John could think of no better bliss. Finally though, he got them both sitting up together, their backs propped against a wall.
“Don’t let me go.” Marlena pleaded.
“I won’t, baby. Never let you go.” He promised soothingly, tears of relief in his eyes. John gently chased the stray hair out of his beloved’s face, tucking it behind her ears. Her skin hadn’t yet relinquished its unnatural whiteness. But she didn’t feel too hot or too cold. Her temperature seemed about normal.
After a long time, Marlena asked, “What happened, John? Why are we here?”
John sighed. As he recalled, when Marlena had been possessed before, she’d suffered blackouts whenever the demon took over. But, over time, especially after she’d been freed of that devil, some of what the demon had done with her body had come to her in flashbacks. That could happen this time too.
He believed the demon had “jumped” from Marlena into Abigail when he’d asked God to free Marlena. Of course, he’d also asked that Abigail be protected, but perhaps God would free Abigail in a different way. Although he’d had those demonic encounters years ago, he didn’t claim any expertise about what these evil beings could and couldn’t do. Was he being foolish to assume Marlena wasn’t still possessed? Could there have been two demons in that secret room? But John rejected the idea of residual possession in Marlena. He believed God had heard his prayers and once again exorcised the demon from her.
“Marlena” he began, trying to measure how much he should say.
But Marlena interrupted. In a small voice she said, “It happened again. Didn’t it? I was possessed again.”
Holding her more tightly, John replied, “Yes, for a brief time, it seems you were, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I have no idea how.” Abruptly, his voice hardened. “But I think it had something to do with Johnny’s movie. Shit. I KNEW I should have stopped that!”
Marlena lifted her face to him for a moment and met his impassioned gaze. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know if the movie played a part, but I think the demon got to me through Doug.”
“DOUG? That gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly?”
“Yes, The last clear thing I remember right now is talking to him. And he acted so strangely. One minute he was the man you describe, and the next he spoke so shockingly, so cruelly.”
“You saw him five days ago, right?”
“I guess. I’m not sure what day this is.” Marlena burrowed closer into her husband’s leather-jacketed side. “John, what did I do during those five days? Did I do terrible things the way I did last time?” Her voice began growing thick with tears. “I didn’t kill anyone or really hurt them did I?” she begged desperately.
Kissing the top of her head, John spoke with all the tenderness he could, “Baby, I think the demon left you before it could do much damage through you. Remember, it’s not you who did terrible things back in ‘94-’95. It was the demon. And, this time too, whatever happened wasn’t by your initiative.”
“John. Tell me. What did I do?”
“It’s not important right now, sweetheart.” John did not want to explain the debacle he’d witnessed in Roman’s bedroom.
Ever so gently, he disengaged himself from Marlena, and wobbled to his feet. The terrible stinging had nearly disappeared, and sleeping had also apparently cleared his head. Checking his watch, the time was 8:26 a.m. He had to make every effort to get himself and Marlena out of this secret room.
“What are you doing?” Marlena inquired.
John answered by his actions. He took the few steps to the door, and tried it. Yes, definitely locked. Unfortunately, the DiMera mansion keys in his pocket didn’t include one for this room. However, he had a skeleton key that opened the large majority of the locks on this estate. Pulling his keychain from his pants’ pocket, he selected the right one and inserted it into the lock. It did slide in all right, but it wouldn’t turn at all. John jerked it out again, frustrated that their escape couldn’t be so easy.
Come to think of it though, even if it had turned the mechanical lock, John probably wouldn’t have been able to budge the solid door because on the outside, a biometric lock had been attached too. If possessed “Abigail” had set that to respond only to the girl’s iris print, she was the key to whether they shriveled up into dead husks here or were freed.
He also knew it’d be pointless to bang on the door. No one would hear anything from this sound-proof room.
What next? Well, he had his cell phone on him. The demon hadn’t divested him of it — or of anything else in his pockets, as the keys proved. Fishing out the phone, he checked for bars. None. Of course.
But while he’d been patting his pockets, he’d felt that bottle of water he’d brought. How he wished now he’d brought more. But one was better than none. John returned to Marlena who had been watching his every move.
“You must be thirsty, Doc. Take a drink. But it’s the only bottle I have, and we may have to wait a while, so let’s try to ration it, okay?”
When he handed it to her, Marlena murmured, “Thank you, honey.” She took one swallow and returned it to John. But then something seemed to occur to her, and she smiled up at him (she was still sitting on the floor — apparently too weak to rise on her own). She nodded at the wall across from her. “If you look closely, you’ll see a nearly invisible catch. That opens a door to the lavatory. It’s about the size of an airplane restroom, but there’s a faucet and sink and — unless they turn the water off — we can drink from that.”
Finding the catch by feel, John soon saw the tiny lavatory for himself. He smiled encouragingly at his wife. “Good to know.” He pulled a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll. He wet it and returned to Marlena, crouching down and gently washing the blood off. “You had a nosebleed,” he explained. Throwing the now pinkish paper away, he closed the bathroom door.
John took a swig of the bottled water too and then set it on the little table near the bed. Marlena still appeared dazed and not fully aware. And John himself couldn’t think as clearly as he should. He knew they needed more rest and recuperation. Seeing the bed, John reached his hand down to Marlena. “Honey, let’s get you on the bed where you can stretch out and be more comfortable. Fewer drafts too.”
“I’m not sure I can move yet, John. All my energy has been sapped.”
“I know that feeling.” John assured her. He bent down and helped her up and then the two steps to the bed. He eased her down and covered her with the military issue wool blanket at the foot of the cot.
“Lie with me,” she urged him.
John cocked his eyebrow at her. “I’m not sure that cot can hold both of us.”
“We’ll make it,” she insisted. She pulled the cover aside, and moved over as far as she could and patted the space beside her.
Not sure this would end well, John maneuvered himself onto the narrow bed. The thing didn’t collapse. With a few more adjustments of position, Marlena soon lay with her head on his chest and the rest of their bodies together like sardines in a tin.
“I have to admit it feels good to lie down on something softer than that floor,” he said as he lightly rubbed his wife’s back.
Marlena hummed a fading reply, but after a moment, he realized she’d fallen asleep. He followed suit.
About an hour later, John jerked awake. Marlena had stirred against him, and he immediately became solicitous. “Are you okay, Doc?”
She got right to it. “Why am I not possessed anymore? What happened to the demon?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“No.” she replied. “Please tell me. Did you save me again?”
“Honey, I didn’t save you either time. God did. Only He could.”
Marlena nodded against his chest. ‘Of course you’re right. But you said the words to cast out the demon twenty-seven years ago, didn’t you? What about this time?”
John hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. And he didn’t want to alarm Marlena with the news that Abigail had become infested with that demon. Still, he owed her an honest answer…”You said earlier you thought the demon jumped from Doug into you, right?”
“Yes, I believe it did.”
“Well, I think when I prayed for God’s help, the demon knew if it stayed in you, it would be banished back to hell. So, instead, it found another host in — sorry about this, sweetheart — Abigail, who happened to be in this room with us. She stood right beside you.”
Marlena’s body recoiled, and she raised her head slightly to look at him with agonized eyes. “Oh, no. Oh, John. We have to get out of here and help her.”
John held her close, saying, “I know, I know. But right now I’m out of options. Maybe someone will spot my car — which I left parked on the side of the road out in front of this property. Maybe Roman and Kate will make some connections and come looking for us. But right now, we’ve got to wait.”
“ Roman and Kate? What do they have to do with this?”
Me and my big mouth, John thought. “I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” As he uttered this, his eye fell on the area in the floor where the demon claimed to have found a cache stash. He suddenly felt completely alert. Disengaging himself from Marlena, he scrambled to his feet.
“What are you doing?” Marlena asked.
John explained, “Earlier, the demon found a hiding place for documents, money, weapons, etc. right here in this room.” He walked over to the place he remembered “Marlena” standing over the open hole. It wasn’t open now, But apparently in its haste to leave the room, the demon, after taking possession of Abigail, had not completely restored the floor to its prior state of uniformity. John could just barely discern where an edge of the cover for the hole wasn’t flush with the floor around it. He took his key chain, found the thinnest of his keys, and jammed it into that crack. It took several attempts before he finally lifted up the cover completely and set it aside.
Watching him, Marlena noted, “We certainly didn’t find that when Kate, Vivian, and I were here three years ago.”
“I know.” He answered a bit absently as he looked inside, but saw nothing. He brought out his bright flashlight and shone that into the compartment, but it was empty.
Marlena now sat on the edge of the cot, and she asked, “Nothing?”
“Nope. But that’s no surprise. When the demon left this room, it took a box with it, and I assume that box came from this hole. Who knows what it will do with it?” John’s voice reflected the dejection he suddenly felt at this whole sordid mess.
Marlena, using walls, table, whatever, to steady herself, made it over to John and the hole. Carefully she joined him and made a motion for John to give her the flashlight. He did, although he also got down again himself to help keep her steady. After studying the empty interior herself, she said, “Sometimes Stefano’s hiding places have false bottoms…”
“Yeah.” John got down flat on the floor and stuck in his hand. He ran it around the edge of the bottom, looking for a way to pull it up. After a few minutes of prying with fingernail and then with a blade tip of a pocket knife he’d also brought, that section came loose, and he dragged it out of the hold.
Marlena and he looked at each other, and then she shone the flashlight in again. There lay another box. “It’s very much like the one the demon took,” John said as he laid hands on it and removed it from its hiding place. Taking the flashlight, he shone it in again and muttered, “I wonder if three’s the charm?” His arm had to reach in deeply, but he again finally pulled out another false bottom. Shining the light in again, sure enough, a third box. When that had been removed too, the bottom of the hole was dirt.
“I think that’s it.” Marlena breathed.
John replaced the false bottoms and then the floor piece. He imitated the demon and didn’t reset the top cover perfectly. They might still want to access that space.
The two metal boxes looked identical, except one’s burnished metal had a blue hue and one silver. John vaguely thought the third box had a golden tint. They looked similar to bank safety deposit boxes, but less shallow and only about 12 inches long. A formidable padlock closed a simple hasp at the long end — something the demon could break open with ease. John wasn’t so sure he could do the same, especially with his limited resources here.
Marlena stirred, and John, taking both boxes under an arm, helped her up and stood with her. He placed the boxes on the table. Looking at Marlena again, he saw how pale she continued to be. Nodding at the one chair in the room, he encouraged her to sit. “You need to eat something, Doc,” he pointed out. Before she could reply, he rummaged in his pockets again – inside and out — and produced four protein bars. Thinking these might be the sum total of their solid intake for a while, he tore the wrapping off one, and gave it to her. He didn’t touch the other three yet.
Marlena took it and, saying, “Thank you,” she waited. When he didn’t open another for himself, she said, “You’re worried about food if we are stuck here for a while, right? Well, I happen to know — having been a “guest” here longer than I’d ever like, that this room isn’t meant to be a tomb. It’s here to stash people, but not to kill them. So, if we turn the bed over, there ought to be a box or two fastened to it. And inside should be survival food.”
John promptly followed her instructions. Sure enough! John grinned at her, thinking with satisfaction and thankfulness that the demon hadn’t known everything about this room. Unsalted walnuts and almonds, jerky, saltines and peanut butter, emergency 400 calorie vanilla flavored food bars, dried fruit, and more, had been stored.
“Thanks to your experience, Doc. we won’t starve or dehydrate anytime soon. Although, I would feel better about storing some water in case it gets shut off.”
Now biting into the protein bar in her hand and wordlessly handing him one, Marlena seemed to be taking inventory mentally of this place. Finally, after she’d chewed thoroughly, she said, “There should be at least one plastic cup in the bathroom. We could use it. But other than that…”
John took the bottle of water he’d brought, and drank half of it. Marlena then drank the rest. John took it into the bathroom and filled it up to the top, putting the cap on. He also found the cup in a tiny cabinet. It held about 16 fluid ounces. John filled that up, leaving it on the little shelf above the tiny metal sink. At least they had some reserves now.
Marlena still looked appallingly peaked. John went and hunkered down in front of her. “How do you feel, honey?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
She reached out and stroked his hair. “I’m okay, really. Don’t worry.”
Her hand wandered to the back of his head and she grimaced when she felt not one but two large bumps. She started to speak, but John held her eyes and told her, “I’m all right. Those goose eggs will disappear.”
“Thank God, they aren’t really that size, but oh, Lord, John, I’m so sorry! The demon in me dealt you those, right?”
He smiled his most charming smile, trying to get Marlena’s mind off of the guilt he knew she already felt, even though she didn’t yet know about the Roman fiasco. “Nah. One I got from the demon in Abigail.”
But Marlena’s hand had moved down to underneath his chin, and she ran her forefinger over the marks turning black and blue. “And this? I choked you again, didn’t I?” Tears filled her eyes and her chin trembled. “I remember I did that the last time too. I’m so sorry, honey.”
“Hey, hey.” John wiped her cheeks of tears with his thumb. Then he shifted his position so he could enfold her in his arms. “Marlena. It wasn’t you. It was the demon. And the demon is gone. Don’t blame yourself. Just thank God that we’re both still alive…and we’re together. We’ll get through this. And we’ll get help for Abigail too.”
Putting his arm around her midriff, he urged her to her feet. “Come on, let’s sit on the bed together. In fact, maybe you should lie down again.” He had righted the bed after pillaging its hidden foodstuffs.
Marlena allowed him to lead her to the cot but then she resisted perching or lying on it. She turned to the two boxes resting on the table. “John, we need to find a way to open those and see what’s inside.”
He gently sat her down and then retrieved both boxes. He put the silver one on the bed and the bluish one he balanced on his knees as he sat down too. Despite his assurances to his wife, his body still felt like one big welt. Sitting down felt better to him than standing right now.
Angling the blue box so he could examine the lock and hasp, he wondered when they had been buried under the floor. The metal didn’t give him any clues.
Marlena seemed to be on the same track. “You think Stefano buried those, or someone else?”
“Good question,” he replied. His kingdom for a hammer, John thought. Of course a key would have been even better. They had neither. How could he get into the boxes?
Setting the box on top of the other, John got to his feet. So much for sitting. Marlena gave him a questioning look, but he just began going through his jacket pockets again. Hadn’t he taken that out of the car? He could have sworn he had. Then he remembered he’d also put a few things in his jeans’ pockets. There! In his left back pocket, the little folded up Swiss mini multitool with fifteen instruments in its little case. He swiftly freed it and zeroed in on the pliers.
He picked up the blue box, and went back to the table. Marlena followed him. He needed the hard surface as a brace. He slipped the tool’s slim plier cutter jaws up behind the shockle (the top curve) of the lock and onto the hasp halves.
“Okay,” he said. “To get the most leverage, I’ll have to use both hands to cut — or at least weaken — the hasp. Can you –”
Marlena understood without his having to finish. She stood at the table, the length of the box in front of her. She placed both hands on the top and pushed down to keep the box from moving.
John then strained to apply every possible ounce of pressure to the plier handles. He feared the small tool would break, but it held. The pliers could not actually cut through the hasp. John wiggled them around while still applying cutting action. Still not enough. He stopped the action.
“Good job,” he said to Marlena. “You can stop holding it now.” He flipped the box up so the locked end stood in the air. Then he used the flat tip grip to grasp the hasp and he rocked the pliers back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he fatigued the metal so much it broke off. The lock and the broken hasp fell to the table.
He and Marlena exchanged a look of triumph. But John felt a prick of guilt because Marlena herself looked further fatigued. Even that effort of holding the box down for him had drained her small reservoir of strength.
Taking the box, he led Marlena back to the cot and, again, they both sat side by side. John gently positioned the blue box on both their knees. They would see the contents together.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so. Let’s see.”
John lifted the long lid up and out of their way. They both peered into the shallow, narrow container.
At least a novelty toy snake didn’t burst out, John thought wryly. There wasn’t much inside. Just a medium-sized manila envelope and a flash drive in a protective plastic sleeve.
“Well, we can’t check out the contents of the flash drive. I’ve got my phone — do you have yours, by the way?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t think “I” brought my purse with me here. At least, I don’t see it around here anywhere.”
John thought it might still be at Roman’s, so he dropped that subject. “No matter, Doc. We’ll find it later. Anyway, I have an adaptor at home or at the office, but it’s not on me.”
Marlena laughed in her genuine, warm percussion, “Gosh, John, you brought just about everything else!” She winked at him and elbowed him lightly.
She reached in and took out the envelope. Neither side had any writing on it. “Shall we?” she asked. Both of them, John realized, harbored some apprehension about what it contained. It might have absolutely nothing to do with them, of course. But this was Stefano DiMera turf, and even though he’d definitely gone to his grave, who knew what kind of landmines he might have set to go off even after his own demise?
“Yeah. Do the honors, Doc.” He tried to calm the fluttering inside. Breathe, he told himself.
Marlena opened the flap, which wasn’t secured. She closed the box lid, and John set it aside so she could slowly shake out the envelope on her lap.
Several different sized pieces of paper now lay there. Some were folded. One was a little business card. John picked that up first. Both he and Marlena stared at it. “Isn’t that the name of the doctor who supposedly did plastic surgery on me before I came to Salem?” John asked.
“Yes.”
They almost overlooked a tiny yellowed scrap of newsprint with the following: “Mr. and Mrs. Shawn Brady of 316 Tuttle St. announce the birth of a son, Roman Augustus, on August 26.” The Salem paper had been published in 1950.
He set it aside wordlessly since Roman’s birthdate wasn’t news to either of them.
Next, Marlena opened a set of pink papers folded in quarters. Three sheets, apparently the second copy of triplicate result papers. Both of them had seen such papers before. It was a DNA test. They both automatically checked the date.
“That’s the date we had the DNA tests done to see who was really Roman Brady,” John observed.
“Yes, who of us could forget that date?” Marlena murmured quietly. She continued to study the test results. John could never make heads or tails out of those tests, and he already knew the results, so he reached for another of the sheets.
But Marlena stayed his hand with one of hers. “Wait a second, John. Let me have a chance to read this through.”
“Okay. You’re the doctor.” He watched her face as she proceeded through the pages. Her eyes got big, but then she assumed a more guarded expression. Finally she swallowed several times.
She put the test aside. “We’ll come back to this,” was all she said, not looking at him. John squinted at her, a tad surprised, but, again, he already knew the results of that test, so he pulled out a sheet of business stationery, folded as letters usually are. The date read January 15, 2008. The typed letter didn’t waste words.
“Dr. Rolf,
“I received your report. You are to burn all copies immediately. Do not relay its results and conclusions to any other person.
“I realize I took a chance in leaving you alone with “our guest” once he came under our control again. I suppose I should have known your curiosity would lead you to do the tests you did. Now you know the real truth. But I will reveal it to others only if and when I choose.
“This is MY long-range game, Rolf. You are not to disclose any of what you’ve uncovered.
“Stefano”
John’s face darkened, and he got to his feet, ignoring the protests of his body. “What the hell? Wasn’t it enough that those two brainwashed me AGAIN, and turned me into a near-robot? I was their lab rat, for sure, but what other unsanctioned and unholy tests could Rolf have done? Stefano almost sounds a little jumpy, doesn’t he?” He shook his head. “That evil old man always wanted to be in control. Maybe Rolf just rattled his cage.”
Marlena continued sifting through the rest of the papers while he ranted. She picked up another few sheets, and said, “Here is another DNA test, and its cover letter. Oh, two tests.” Skimming, she gasped, and scared him by turning even more pale. She held out the cover letter to him. “Look at this.” He took it and read:
“December 29, 2007
“Dear Stefano,
“I’ve completed a set of DNA tests. I’ve compared the DNA of our guest with that of a number of different people. Here are the results:
“Comparing the DNA of Shawn Brady Sr. with that of our patient, the probability of paternity is 99.99999%.”
“Other tests with the DNA of Shawn Brady confirm this outcome.
“Rolf”
John’s hand shook as he finished the stunning letter. He tossed the paper away from him. He shouted, “This is bullshit. This isn’t true. We know it’s not. The DNA test we did in 1991 proved that.” He bent his head and held it.
Marlena hurriedly set aside the papers on her lap and rushed to him. She placed her cool hands on his arms. “John!” she spoke urgently. “Are you alright? Is your head hurting? Calm down.”
John realized he’d frightened her. She still lived in dread of another seizure afflicting him, and he mustn’t do anything to feed that fear. Biting his lip, he worked on tamping down his sudden fury at DiMera and all his vicious games. Even though the vile old man was dead, he was still playing cat and mouse with him, Marlena, and the Bradys.
Getting better control over himself, he straightened, “It’s okay, Doc. I’m not having another aneurysm.” He held her hand for a moment. “It’s just beyond the pale that someone is playing this sick joke on us. Maybe it’s not Stefano. Maybe it’s Rolf, or Stefan. Or maybe it’s another evil plot by the demon. Hell, I don’t know. But I do know we can’t get sucked down that rabbit hole again. I can’t — we all can’t — go through that “is he or isn’t he” again!”
Marlena came into his arms and held on to him tightly. Against his chest she said, “Honey, I know. I know it seems crazy and impossible. And I’m the last person to say it couldn’t be the demon. But –”
“No buts.” John interrupted.
“BUT, I looked at the DNA tests with that letter. No names on them, but Doctor Rolf’s conclusions seem solid scientifically.”
John shrugged almost offhandedly. “Maybe he and Stefano had another ‘guest/patient’ at the time. Or maybe they didn’t mean me in the DiMera ‘catacombs’. Maybe they had another prisoner elsewhere.” Understanding neither proposition likely, John stubbornly sought any grounds for rejecting the implications of the brief letters.
Shaking her head, Marlena countered, “You didn’t see another prisoner at the mansion, did you? It seems pretty clear, even though they are both circumspect, they mean you. And Stefano conceded the truth of Rolf’s conclusions. He DID! He admitted it.”
Marlena kept holding him, but she looked up into his eyes. Her golden/amber pupils met his cerulean blue ones. She smiled at him encouragingly.
John kissed her briefly and said in a low, gruff voice, “Somebody’s playing with us, Doc. I just can’t fall for it again.”
Quietly, his wife answered, “Oh, honey, I know. I am scared too that it’s another cruel ruse. I know how very deeply it hurt you when that DNA test in 1991 said you weren’t a Brady.”
“It hurt us all. You, me, the kids.”
“Yes, but I think you most of all.” She paused, apparently thinking. “Well, maybe Sami, too.”
John stared over her head, and his mouth tightened. “As you know, Sami actually reconciled with me a few times over the years. But each time turned out to be only temporary. We are as far apart now as we’ve ever been. If this were actually true, I have no idea how she’d take it.
“Besides,” he laid his bristly cheek against Marlena’s hair, “I’ve got a past that isn’t Roman Brady’s, Doc. It seems established that I was born John Robicheaux To Tim and Maude in Baton Rouge – God save them. I got sold, or something, and ended up briefly adopted as Forrest Alamain. But then I disappeared as a still small child. Was I with Stefano then? We don’t know. Anyway, I did use the name John Black when I was older. Tim Jansen said he and I were in the seminary together – although I’ve never recalled any of that. Back during the dark days of ‘94-’95, when he helped me rescue you, he insisted he knew me. It’s possible that I, as Father John, ran afoul of Stefano when I tried to help Kristen and Peter’s mother. Then comes the weird time I was in Europe with the real Princess Gina. And at some point it seems clear I did other things for Stefano. I learned how to fly planes; I trained as a commando, etc. And, finally, I got brainwashed (again or for the first time?) by Stefano before he sent me to Salem, totally shorn of all my previous memories.” He paused and cracked a ragged smile. “And then I met you!”
“Yes, you did. Thank God for that.” Marlena pushed herself up and kissed his mouth sweetly before she stepped out of his arms. She pulled him over to the table, and she rested her rear on it.
Realizing her energy reserves had again been depleted, he said, “Maybe you should lie down again, Doc. And/or maybe you should eat more than one lousy energy bar.”
He felt hungry too and, checking his watch, realized it was much later than he thought. In this little isolation chamber, with no outside sunlight, there wasn’t any way to judge the time naturally. He welcomed the opportunity to divert himself and Marlena from grappling with his identity once again.
They consumed some of the stores they’d found, and thirstily drank more water. Fortunately, the bathroom faucet had not gone dry so he could refill the water bottle and the cup.
While they ate and drank, they sat on the bed again, and between bites Marlena ferreted through the other documents that she’d shaken out of the manila envelope. Even though part of John wanted to set fire to the whole lot and forget about the monumental implications the papers had again brought to the surface, his heart hammered with unwanted hope that maybe, just maybe they bore the truth.
At one point, swallowing her mouthful, Marlena gave John another slip of paper. “This may have been “on top” of the pile, and we missed it because I just shook out everything.”
The paper, unlike the others, had been written by hand. John knew Stefano’s handwriting, and this wasn’t it. “Could this be E.J.? he asked.
“I think it might be, yes.”
Even though E.J. had recently returned to Salem, John and Marlena had had little contact with him so far. And it had been over a decade since John had really seen any notes or other samples of E.J.’s cursive. Usually, like so many these days, E.J., if he wrote anything by hand, printed.
Marlena noted, “No date.”
It read, “To whom it may concern: you dug down to the bottom of the hold and opened this last of the three security boxes. If you have them all, I’m sure the locks haven’t prevented you from opening the other two also, so presumably you are in possession of all the evidence I collected. I buried it for posterity because my father could threaten my family or even kill me if I revealed it myself.”
They considered the message silently. Finally John spoke: “Well, we don’t have the third box.”
“We’ll get it,” Marlena answered confidently.
John said, “I don’t know, Doc. All we’ve got here are intimations. And, it just seems too incredible. And maybe too convenient. Besides,” he said reluctantly, “the demon told Abigail earlier tonight that Stefano hinted about this cache in a transcript among your medical notes. So, if E.J. buried this stuff, did Stefano know about it, but simply do nothing to stop him?
“Maybe,” Marlena replied. “Maybe Stefano just never thought anyone would find it. I don’t recall him ever making any reference to it in any of our sessions…or any conversation.”
John nodded absently. “Yeah, the demon obviously possesses (no pun intended) heightened sensory and perception abilities. It did say it was a subtle reference.” He continued disconsolately, “I just can’t believe anything Stefano says. He wouldn’t hesitate to falsely claim something so contrary to everything we’ve believed and lived by all these years.”
Leaning against him consolingly, she said, “Well, honey, there’s one way to find out for sure. We’ll have another test done.”
John snorted. “Yeah, Doc. That’s worked out really reliably for us in the past.”
Marlena chuckled. “Okay, you’ve got me there. In our experience, DNA tests have been notoriously wrong, I admit. But only because conniving people meddled with them. In general, such tests are extremely accurate. Remember that 99.99999% that Doctor Rolf quoted? That’s really what DNA test result language most often says when paternity is confirmed.”
“But we did that in ‘91! And they assured us I wasn’t Roman! The tests, in black and white, forced me out of that life. ” John couldn’t repress his frustration again.
Marlena reached for him and wrapped her much smaller hands around his as far as she could. “My love — and you are my greatest, most precious love — I don’t care what your name is. As I’ve said before, you are you and that’s just fine with me. But, oh my gosh, if you are Roman, it does matter for the sake of the children, grandkids, and great-grands. And, it matters for Kayla and Kim. Plus, it matters for you. You deserve the truth, whatever that is.”
John gritted his teeth. He’d been John Black again since that terrible day when he’d been dramatically bounced from the Roman Brady identity. Thirty years. Nearly half of his life. And nearly all of his life that he remembered since he still didn’t have any recollection of himself before he arrived in Salem in 1985 – well, except for a few disturbing images supposedly from John Black’s past AND some memories attributed to Roman.
His decades as John Black had been filled with privilege due to his inherited and generated wealth stemming from his Alamain adoption. He had experienced great suffering though too at the hands of relentless Stefano and his family (Kristen, Andre, E.J., etc.), and even his own father, who had become a raving monster called Yo Ling. And he’d shown great daring in more life and death situations than he ever wanted to recall. The first possession had been one of those grueling challenges.
But he’d never dared, through it all, to imagine himself again as Roman Brady. It hurt too much to revisit the losses. Of course, in time, he and Marlena had reunited, but Carrie, Eric, and Sami — the children he’d raised for five years — were not his.
Carrie, God love her, still considered him and Marlena to be the parents of her heart, and they had always felt the same about her.
Eric, who tried to hide his pain more than Sami, was officially his step-son. Eric often showed love toward John, but not to the extent he probably would have if he were John’s flesh and blood.
Sami, who seldom kept her epic turmoil to herself, was also officially his step-daughter, though John thought she loathed that. Sami had been horrible to both Marlena and him over and over during the years since their affair in 1993. Nothing he’d done to try to heal the breach with Sami had ever stuck.
Last year, she confronted him in his and Marlena’s own home, and ranted at him after he’d tried to deliver some needed criticism, declaring he had no place in her family. That he didn’t belong. He didn’t know whether her hateful words had been any part of the cause, but he’d collapsed in front of her, and found out later in the hospital that he’d suffered an aneurysm. He still hadn’t completely recovered from that — once in a while, his emotions got out of control. At least he hadn’t attacked anyone recently the way he had Jan. He could not allow himself to get so out of control again. But, Sami. What would happen if they did another DNA test and he WAS Roman? Would they be able to heal their relationship? Or would she become even more volatile and estranged?
Marlena seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. She said, “Honey, if it’s true, we’ll work it out.” Her previously uncertain demeanor changed. She brightened. In fact, she glowed. Color flowed into her cheeks. Finally, the demonic pallor left her. Her mouth stretched into a brilliant smile. “Honey, the more I think about it, the more I believe it could be true. I love you so much! As I said, I don’t care what your name is. But if you are Roman, just think! On an emotional level it really makes the most sense. We were sure you were Roman in 1986. You fit into the Brady family so effortlessly after just a short adjustment period. You were the best cop. You were Roman.”
John put his arm around Marlena and hugged her and kissed her temple. He really appreciated her sudden enthusiasm for the idea. But he couldn’t get on board.
“Uh. There would be some complications for sure.”
“Such as?” she challenged, still radiating joy.
“A couple rear their ugly heads, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be Forrest Alamain. And I’d have to hand over that family fortune I inherited. ‘Auntie’ Vivian would see a huge windfall.”
Marlena appeared unconcerned. “I think it would work out. After all, not all the money is inherited. YOU made a good share of it.” She smiled, “So if Vivian profits, oh well. I think we’ll be just fine no matter what, but I don’t foresee you having to empty all your bank accounts.”
“Okay. Glad you’ve got a sunny attitude about that possibility. But there’s another, more important worry. Belle, our daughter, married Shawn, Bo’s son.” Might as well put that out there, he thought.
Undeterred by his dour mood, Marlena riposted, “Well, they didn’t think they were half-cousins when they fell in love and married. And, the reason cousins aren’t supposed to marry is to assure their children aren’t subject to birth defects, mental retardation or genetic disease due to too much common DNA. Claire didn’t have any of those –”
“No, but she’s had her problems.” After a moment he added, “But haven’t we all.”
The doctor in Marlena had more to explain: “Biologically, the risks are small because they only share 6.25% of common family DNA. If they had been full first cousins, they would have shared 12.5%. 6.25% is considered a reasonable risk in all but six states, and ours is one that allows first cousins once removed to marry, so it should also allow first half cousins to marry since the risk is the same.”
“Okay, then. I guess that’s good news.”
Marlena’s eyes shone, “There aren’t only negatives. Just think. If you really are Roman, we didn’t commit adultery in 1993!”
“That would definitely be a plus,” he conceded with a warm smile. John keenly felt the infectious happiness of his wife. But his mind buzzed with danger signals too. He’d just been burned too many times by the DiMeras. He couldn’t yet let himself believe.
To distract himself, he looked at the other, unopened box set back on the table. The silver one. Nodding at it, he asked, “Should we break into that one too?”
Marlena’s eyes sparkled with the prospect of further revelations. She smiled delightedly and nodded.
They repeated the earlier process, and when they had broken the lock off and raised the lid, they found a more weighty envelope but no flash drive. Marlena removed the large white envelope that has seen more usage than the manila one in the blue box. It had some dirt and ink smudges on the outside as well as a few odd pencil lines. One word had been scrawled on the center of the front: “Harlan.”
John didn’t think that was E.J.’s writing, but he didn’t know whose it was. It wasn’t his, at least.
Marlena handed the envelope to him. “You do the honors this time.’ He noticed her hand shook a little.
This envelope sealing flap had been licked (or somehow moistened) and affixed. John teased it open, causing as little damage as possible. Maybe it would go to a lab later for testing. Once open, he laid the envelope on the table with “Harlan” facing up. He held the closed end of the envelope and angled up slightly to allow the contents to emerge as a whole. This time, they would preserve the order in which items had been placed inside.
A thin sheaf of 5’’ by 7” paper lay on top. Carefully shifting that to the side, they saw an old driver’s license and some other ID.
John said, “Doc, let’s pick up these things by the edges to preserve any fingerprints that might still be picked up.”
Wordlessly, she nodded. Moistening her lips, she used her thumb and forefinger with her longer nails than his to pick up the license. She brought it up close to their faces because she didn’t have her reading glasses with her. It was a Florida license, issued 08-16-1987 and expiring 08-16-1991, for one Harlan P. Kennedy. His DOB was 08-16-1949, making him thirty-eight years old when the license was issued. The photo depicted a man with sandy hair and bushy moustache, a tanned, muscular face with watchful eyes and an unsmiling mouth.
Returning it to the table, Marlena chose the birth certificate to examine next. Simply an old photostat, with handwritten information, it relayed that Harlan Patrick Kennedy had been born in Tallahassee, Florida on 8/16/1949 to Genevieve Stassen and Walter Bryer Kennedy.
Next, a yellowed news article, dated July 5, 1988, from the Tallahassee Democrat. Printed on page 8, it had little to say. The headline read “Tallahassee Native, Vet, Missing Three Months”. The report said Harlan Kennedy’s father and mother pleaded for anyone who had seen their son to contact them or the Tallahassee police. Harlan had just finished a 20-year stint in the U.S. Army as an intelligence specialist. His wife had died last year of cancer, and they had no offspring. There had been no sign of him, no word.
John sighed.
Both Marlena and John then noticed another business card among the detritus. And it was exactly the same as the one in the blue box.
Turning it over a few times, again by its edges, John said, “Well the implication is clear. But it is all an implication, Doc.”
Marlena only nodded solemnly. But after a moment, she said, “That doctor. He got paid in cash, I’m sure, and there were no records of his under-the-radar plastic surgeries. I remember vividly our difficulties in obtaining information back in 1986. That photo of Roman (the way he looked in 1984) nearly didn’t get to me in time.”
John nodded ruefully, “Yep. Bo got the better of me and had me hanging off a cliff because he thought I was Stefano. If you hadn’t shown him that picture when you did, I’d have taken a long, bumpy ride to the bottom.”
Marlena shivered. “Thank God you didn’t fall.” Eyeing the items they’d inspected, she said, “So, we are supposed to infer Stefano swept Harlan up after he finished his Army service, and then subjected him to plastic surgery to match Roman’s earlier appearance. He must have also used the same procedure he used on you to cause him to entirely forget his earlier life.”
“And somehow, DiMera also injected Roman Brady’s memories into him.”
Marlena said softly, “Maybe YOUR memories, honey.”
John crossed his arms and set his feet, as though readying himself for some kind of blow. “Shuww. As you know, even when I thought I was Roman, I didn’t recall everything. But I sure tried. Remember that night we celebrated because I’d had that first big breakthrough?”
“I certainly do.” She favored him with a broad smile.
“Me too,” he assured her. “But, baby, there were a lot of blank spaces. When you returned in ‘91, sure, I’d become really embedded in the Brady family. But if Caroline had asked me about my seventh birthday party, I would have racked my brains, but no details would have come to me.” He smiled sadly and relaxed into a less defensive stance, “I really missed calling Caroline “Ma” and Shawn Sr. “Pop” after I reverted to being John Black again.”
“I know,” Marlena said sympathetically.
“But my point is, Roman — the man we know as Roman — he knew all that stuff about his early life. And he never once — as far as I know — had any doubts he was Roman. Me, I had existential doubts. You know I did. When I first came to Salem, I had no idea who I was. And even after you got that picture and the family became persuaded I was Roman, I still had doubts. And as you also know too well, in these last decades as John, I’ve had “flashbacks” of being a mercenary, and of being in Alamania before I got to Salem. Of other things too. If I were Roman, I wouldn’t have done any of those, and shouldn’t have had those memories. There just wasn’t time between when Roman supposedly died at Stefano’s hand in 1984 and when I surfaced again in Salem in December of 1985.
“What I’m saying, Doc, is that he’s the one with all the memories of Roman’s life. I’m not. I have memories that don’t fit into Roman’s life. And we’ve met people who insist they knew me as John Black before I came to Salem: Father Jansen, Greta, Princess Gina, Kristen’s mother (Rachel)…”
“Yes,” she conceded. “I can’t argue with that. I just think we don’t understand the whole picture. When have we ever? I wish we had the third box. Maybe that would give us the missing pieces.”
She rifled through the sheaf of paper. “It seems to be a narrative of Harlan Kennedy’s life.”
“Author?”
“No. No date, no signature or printed name at the beginning or end. It’s all typed. It might have been done on an old fashioned typewriter with a ribbon.”
John blew out some air, and then yawned. The fact that he hadn’t slept more than a few hours here and there in forty-eight hours suddenly sandbagged him, and he felt the need to catch a few winks. He also felt psychologically exhausted and empty. He just couldn’t think about any more possibilities. Also, he noticed Marlena had trouble keeping her eyes open as well.
“Doc, it’s not yet our usual bedtime, but I think we’re both in need of sleep, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think we’ve had more than enough for today.”
“I suggest we put everything back in the boxes and hide them under the cot. That super strength tape held the food supplies to the metal underside. Let me see if it still has enough adhesive to keep the boxes up out of sight. Just in case Abigail/the demon return.”
Marlena countered, “Could we just keep all the papers and the flash drive, and replace the empty boxes in the hole?”
“Better idea.” John agreed.
They tried to get the access panel on the floor to open for them. Even though John had not closed it entirely, his “propping” had apparently not been adequate, and the lid had firmly embedded itself in the floor again. He could not see a seam. And whatever the demon had done to prise it open, they couldn’t duplicate.
So, John put the contents of the boxes in an inside pocket in his jacket, and secured the containers under the cot. Once they’d completed that task, they tested to make sure lying on the bed wouldn’t cause the boxes to come loose. All systems seemed go.
Once Marlena had settled on the far side of the cot, John turned off the light switch by the door, and then felt his way across the little room and lay down next to her. They got comfortable huddled together with the one blanket over them. Within a minute of each other, both fell asleep.
Part III
All of a sudden John came wide awake. It seemed as though he’d only just closed his eyes, but a noise had set off his interior alarm. He didn’t move, but listened intently. There. A metallic scratching, or grinding. No one outside could hear anything from the sound-proof room, just as he couldn’t hear anything outside this room. He only heard what affected the door knob, the lock on this side.
Someone was jiggling the key in the lock. John longed to make his and Marlena’s presence known, but pounding on the door would be useless. He also couldn’t slide anything — like a piece of paper with HELP written on it — under the airtight door. He thought frantically. Was there anything he could do to alert this person to their plight?
Of course, it might be the demon coming back to finish them off. John swiftly but gently disentangled himself from his wife’s still sleeping body. Man, he felt stiff and achy. His rough handling yesterday was still making itself felt. He now wished he hadn’t taped the boxes to the bed’s underside. He could wield the metal as a weapon. What else could he use? All he really had was his multi-tool, his small Swiss knife, his keys — too bad his skeleton or other keys didn’t work for this door — and his fists. Also, the table and chair. As he moved toward the door, he took the wooden chair with him. He would swing it at those horrible yellow eyes if need be.
The tinkering with the lock continued. Then, the door cracked open. John seized the edge of the door and jerked it wide open with all his strength. As the door gave with keys attached, a figure stumbled slightly forward into the doorframe. John grabbed the hapless and unsuspecting person and threw him or her against the wall. He also flicked on the light.
He had hooked Chad. And right behind him stood a nonplussed Roman.
“Hey, man,” Chad implored, holding up his hands. “Relax, okay.” When a surprised John let go of his shirt and stepped back a foot, Chad could see Marlena who now hurried to join the crowd. He added, “What are you two doing here? Did you get locked in?”
Marlena and John looked at each other, silently communicating, and then John said, “It’s a long story. Chad. But we’re very glad to see you — and you.” he nodded at the other man.
Roman cut in before Chad could speak again. “Cops found your car hours ago. Since it’s illegal to park on the shoulder during daylight hours, they ran the plate and then, when they found it was yours, John, asked at the mansion, but no one had seen you. Rafe finally called me and asked if I knew where you were. That set off alarms for me, so I decided to come and investigate for myself.”
“Thank you so much! We really do need to get out of here.” Marlena said, flashing Roman (well, the man she’d thought was Roman) a sincerely happy and grateful smile.
Chad impatiently had his say: “I still don’t know what you’re doing here. And I’m looking for Abigail. She sometimes comes down here, and I thought maybe she’d accidentally locked herself in — she’s done that before.”
Interested for a minute in the ins-and-outs of locking oneself in, John said, “Yeah? How could she do that? The iris scan lock doesn’t work from the inside.”
“The biometric lock wasn’t activated. Just the mechanical tumbler lock. But the key to it sticks, and I had trouble getting it open. Same thing happened last time.” Then Chad demanded. “Now, for the third time, what are you both doing in my house?”
John’s face grew somber. Putting his arm protectively around his wife, he delivered the bad news. “Chad, I’m sorry I have to tell you this. You may not believe me, but I promise you it’s the truth. Abigail has become possessed by a demon –”
“A DEMON? You mean like the devil? Like “The Exorcist” movie? Come on, John. I know Abigail has had her problems — multiple personalities and all that, but NO WAY. How would that even happen?”
Obviously Chad had not heard about Johnny’s movie, let alone the real story of the demonic rampage twenty-seven years ago, John thought sardonically.
Marlena ducked her head, clearly in shame. John gave her a reassuring hug. She then raised her head and met the outraged young man’s eyes squarely. “Chad, it’s my fault. I transmitted the demon to her. It jumped into me from Doug (and we don’t know how the demon possessed him), and then last night when John came and found me talking to Abigail down here in the dead of night, the demon apparently feared John would exorcise it from me again and send it back to hell, so it jumped into the other warm body in the room — Abigail. I’m so sorry.”
Again, John squeezed her reassuringly. “Demon Abigail locked us in and escaped. We’ve got to find Abigail. No one she’s been coming into contact with knows what she’s capable of. Call Rafe and have him put out an APB on her. She’s got to be restrained and, I guess, an official Church exorcist is the best bet to purge the demon from her.”
Chad just stared at them as if they both had two heads. Roman came around to stand by Marlena and shook Chad’s shoulder. “Come on. We’ll talk to Rafe together.” He looked at Marlena and John and saw how worn out and mentally buffeted they were. “You two need to go home and get some rest. There’s a squad car outside the house that’ll take you. Don’t worry about your car, John. I had ‘em tow it to the townhouse’s front curb.”
“Thanks, partner. I owe you.” John clapped Roman’s shoulder, thinking how ironic it was that he, John, might really be Roman, and this man he’d known so long might really be someone completely different called Harlan. But, Roman/Harlan seemed to have been just as much a victim of Stefano’s as John had been. Another “Pawn.” If what they’d learned in the last twelve hours was true, this poor man would have his life completely turned upside down. John felt only compassion for him. He resolved if it came to that, he’d do everything he could to help him.
Meanwhile, Chad still didn’t budge. He glared at Roman. “You believe this crap? You buy into what they’re saying about Abigail?”
Roman nodded grimly. He kept his eyes on Chad and purposely didn’t look at John, and especially not at Marlena. “Yeah, I do. I had a first-hand encounter with the demon last night –”
“With Abigail? Last night?”
“Not Abigail.” Roman hesitated. He shot the quickest of glances at Marlena.
Chad got the picture. “Oh.”
Marlena also got the picture. “You did? What happened? Did I hurt you?” she asked in a mortified tone.
John did not want to get into that. He gave Roman a warning look, and said, “No, you didn’t hurt him. We’ll talk about it later. Chad and Roman need to go search for Abigail. Let’s go, honey. We’ve got everything we need, right?”
Marlena shot him her annoyance at being denied knowledge of what the demon within her had done to Roman, but she acquiesced. “Yes,” she looked around for good measure, “We’ve got everything.”
The couple preceded Chad and Roman up into the mansion. Then John said, “We know our way out. Thanks again for springing us from the secret room.” He hoped the other two men would go to the large main room and leave them. They did. As soon as they were out of sight and hearing, John whispered to his wife, “Do you happen to know which of the bedrooms belongs to Abigail?”
Psychiatrist Marlena had treated Abigail a number of times in the mansion, and a few of those times had been in the young woman’s bedroom.
Now past eleven, the rest of the household had fortunately retired. But John figured he and Marlena had to act fast because Chad might well wake everyone up to help look for Abigail. They noiselessly took the stairs and Marlena led them down the corridors until they stopped in front of a door. “Here. This was it,” Marlena whispered. “I hope she hasn’t changed rooms.” She cautiously tried the door knob; it wouldn’t budge.
John didn’t waste a breath. He found his keys to this house and studied them. It would be fastest to try the skeleton key. As in the secret room, it fit into the keyhole. Unlike in the secret room, when he turned it, it worked. The pair slid inside, closing the door behind them.
They didn’t have to search. Right there on the bed, the golden box lay — open. Apparently the demon just used its own brute strength to tear off the lock. Around the box lay documents, scattered. A few of them, torn. “Take now. Look later.” John said. When they had every shred back in the gray envelope also lying on the bed, he nestled that envelope into his inside pocket along with the other two. They checked inside the box just to be sure, but the demon had already emptied it. They had no way of knowing if the demon had taken some of the papers with it.
Within seconds they’d vacated the room, re-locked it, and made their way to the mansion’s front door. Just as John opened it, Chad and Roman emerged from the main living room. Before Chad could utter a word, John said, “Just needed to use the facilities. We’re going now. Oh, and Chad, we’ll do everything we can to help find Abigail.”
Worry heavy on his face, Chad nodded absently. “Thanks.”
Outside, Marlena shivered as they crossed to the police vehicle. Riding in the back felt a little creepy, but neither said anything. As the driver — Officer Fell — chauffeured them through the silent streets, they both seemed lost in thought. But halfway home Marlena called out to Fell, “Please take us to University Hospital instead. I have to get to my office right away.”
Fell glanced at her questioningly in the rear view mirror. But Marlena didn’t elaborate. Her determined expression brooked no argument, so the officer obeyed. Turning to John, she said, “Please call Chad, and tell him to meet us outside my office.” John was beginning to understand where she was going.
When the cruiser stopped in front of the hospital entrance, Marlena said, “Officer, will you please come in with us? I think you might be needed.” Again, she didn’t elaborate, but Fell — a young, very beefy officer — veered into the nearest parking space and followed Marlena and John inside.
At the nurse’s desk nearest her office, Marlena found the resident on duty and spoke to her out of John’s hearing. Doctor Hazlett (John saw the name tag) listened and then hurried down the hall. She also spoke to the nurse and asked her to round up some security guards.
Marlena led the way to her office. The door leaned almost completely closed. She gave it a tiny push and it gave. She listened intently, and John, right behind her, could hear someone inside. Tentatively, she silently tapped the door again so she could peek through a sliver view. Marlena turned to John and whispered, “Abigail’s in there. I asked the resident to get a syringe of the strongest tranquilizer possible. But I think we should wait until Chad arrives to go in –”
“What made you think she was here, Doc?” he whispered back. He thought he knew but wanted to hear it from her.
Her face fell briefly. “I had a flashback of being there yesterday. Of the demon pulling out so many of the files — especially DiMera files.”
He nodded sympathetically. He hoped she hadn’t had any flashbacks of the demon with Roman.
Just then, Chad (and Roman, who seemed glued to the younger man’s side now) strode into the lobby. And, Doctor Hazlett came from the other direction carrying a loaded hypodermic.
Marlena rapidly but softly issued the orders. “Chad, Abigail is in my office. Let’s try to keep her calm if we can. You should go in first. Pretend you don’t know anything is wrong — except that you wondered where she’d gone. Doctor Hazlett will go in too behind you. Your objective is to let Doctor Hazlett get close enough to administer the shot. Abigail should collapse, so be prepared to catch her. Then we can get her to a private room.”
Chad nervously nodded, and tried to compose himself.
She looked around at John, Roman, Fell, and two just-arrived guards. “Be ready, We might need all of you to subdue her. But stay out of her line of sight for now.”
John and the rest of the back-up “muscle” couldn’t see anything when Chad opened the door and entered. But John heard Chad say, “Well, here you are. Do you know I’ve been looking for you? It’s after midnight –”
Abigail, in not quite her own voice, but not the full-blown voice of the demon, said suspiciously, “What made you think I’d be here, Chad?”
Chad replied in a bland voice, “Someone here heard some noise from this office and knew Marlena wasn’t here. I guess they had a look and, when they identified you, decided to call me.”
Apparently past caring about his explanation, Abigail noticed the doctor and said ominously, “Who are you?”
Chad answered for the woman now at his side. “This is Doctor Hazlett. She wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine. GET OUT! Stop!”
John heard some scuffling inside, and then Marlena moved into the office and so did the five men behind her.
Chad flailingly tried to hold onto his ex-wife so the doctor could jab her. But the demon’s super strength shook him off. The demon hadn’t fully revealed itself though. It didn’t manifest those yellow eyes or the demonic roar or the full range of its strength and power. Obviously, it had hoped to conceal from Chad it’s true nature.
But, spying John and Marlena in the now cramped room, the demon changed tactics. It mightily threw off all those laying hands on “Abigail” and started moving around the desk. As it did, it morphed! What had been Abigail’s body seemed to turn into Marlena’s body, with Marlena’s current clothes, hairstyle, etc. Two “identical” (to the eyes of all the stunned onlookers) Marlenas! The demon, in the melee, positioned itself right next to the real Marlena. In fact, it jostled Marlena and forced her to move, so that the two were mixed up. Finally everyone in the office froze in place, not certain they could believe their eyes, and also now completely confused about which Marlena was really Abigail.
John, of course, had experienced morphed Marlena in 1995, when she had tried to seduce him looking like Kristen. But then, he had not witnessed the demon actually transitioning into Kristen, so he felt nearly as gobsmacked as the rest of the group.
John slowly approached the two Marlenas. The demon had assumed a mirror behavior of the real Marlena, being able to match movements, expressions, etc. within a millisecond.
So, when John said, “Doc?”, he could not detect the difference between the women when they both said, “John! I’m the real Marlena. She’s the demon.”
All the rest of the people stood back from the two Marlenas — as far as the small space would allow. The two security guards positioned in front of the closed exit.
But Chad spoke, his voice wavering: “Abigail! All I want to do is help you, sweetie. Please! Let us know which body you’re trapped in. Give us a sign. I can’t believe I have to say such a thing, but PLEASE, honey. Help us help you.”
The two Marlenas, simultaneously said, “Chad, she’s Abigail.” And pointed to each other.
What John wouldn’t have given for a crucifix or some holy water. Those would have told the tale. But he’d have to find another way.
For a moment, he considered passionately kissing each of the women, but discarded the idea immediately. Much as he hated to admit it, this demon — whether it was the same one he’d fought against nearly three decades ago, or another fiendish “entity” — would be able to match the real Marlena’s kiss.
He also understood why the real Marlena didn’t make what would usually have been a reasonable move. She didn’t rush to John and throw her arms around him. It would have been pointless because the demon would have copied her exactly.
John closed his eyes to block out everything. He gathered himself. Then he opened his eyes and beckoned Chad and Roman to come stand on either side of him. When they were a phalanx of three, he again closed his eyes. Again, he opened them. He stared straight ahead – right between the two Marlenas. Then he raised his head and looked upward for a moment before he deliberately and exaggeratedly made the sign of the cross in front of both women (who seemed mesmerized), and he prayed in a strong, loud voice, “God, we desperately ask your help. Please, Lord, send the demon back to hell!” Nothing happened — at least nothing anyone could see.
John looked at Chad, and said, “Do you believe God can save Abigail?” Chad seemed overwhelmed and frightened out of his wits, but he swallowed convulsively and replied, “Yes.”
Neither of the Marlenas moved, and John realized his Marlena was compelling the fake Marlena to be so still. If the demon moved, everyone in the room would know that was demon/Abigail. The demon had put itself in a catch-22.
John leaned over to Chad and whispered in his ear, “Abigail is yours to help, not mine. Stretch out your hand and say, ‘God, please, I beg you, send the demon back to hell.’ “
Chad stretched out his shaking arm and opened his mouth, but before he could utter a syllable, the demon morphed into a seven-foot monster, very much like one John had seen all those years ago when an apparition of his deceased wife Isabella had done the same.
Everyone in the room recoiled, but then John pivoted, zeroed in on Doctor Hazlett, grabbed the syringe from the cowering woman, uncapped it, and passed it to Marlena who still stood closest to the roaring beast. Not missing a beat, she plunged it into the demon.” For her trouble, the monster flung her cruelly against the wall, and she dropped to the floor unconscious.
John’s focus left the demon. He pushed through the bystanders to crouch down and hastily check on Doc. At his touch and soft entreaty, she groggily revived, and he helped her unsteadily to her feet.
Then he looked back at the drama, and saw Abigail’s physical form lying prostrate and deeply tranquilized. Whether she still carried the demon or not would have to be determined when she woke. If the demon still remained in her, her sleep would not last long, so they needed to get her moved to a room and put restraints on her.
As they brought in a stretcher and wheeled her out, Marlena asked him softly, “Do you think she’s still possessed?”
“Yes, most likely. There wasn’t time for Chad to ask God to exorcise her. But I think he, with the help of some officially sanctioned Church exorcists, will be able to save her. Too bad Father Francis isn’t still around. He was such a fearless fighter of evil.”
The room had cleared out. Even Roman, who, like all the rest, looked extremely shaken, had left, perhaps to collect himself, perhaps to see if he could render any further assistance to Chad.
Marlena put her arms around John’s neck and gazed adoringly at him. “Honey, you are pretty damn fearless yourself. Without you, I never would have been freed of the demon years ago, and you also apparently scared it out of me yesterday. Thank you! I love you so.” She hugged him fiercely.
John hugged her just as tightly. Speaking quietly into her hair, he replied, “I love you, Marlena. I just can’t lose you. Thank God, — thank you, Lord! — you’re freed of the demon.” After a moment, he chuckled. “And hey, lady, talk about brave! You didn’t let that monster faze you. You delivered that hypo like the medical pro you are.”
She raised her head and kissed him, her eyes swimming with the emotional relief, gratefulness and love she felt. “We make a good team.”
“The best.” He heartily agreed.
But their private celebration didn’t last long. Marlena released John, and surveyed her desk. The demon had been busy. Many more files were scattered on it. One of them was John’s file. Marlena picked that up.
John hypothesized, “The demon read the golden box materials. Maybe it came back here hoping to flesh out whatever that said.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re right.” She held on to that folder. Then she went to the open file drawer marked “A-F. She flipped rapidly until she found a file labeled, “DNA Results”. She took that. Turning to her husband, she asked, “Would you just gather up all the files and turn them all the same way? Let’s put them back so I can lock them up. I’ll sort through them next time I’m here.”
He did that. The cabinet key jangled in the lock. When Marlena’d locked the file cabinet again, she looked disgusted. “I opened the files for that evil thing, didn’t ? Guess I didn’t lock up afterward, so the demon in Abigail could just continue where it left off.”
Keeping the two files — John’s and the DNA one — she sighed. She looked around the still untidy office and picked up her purse – with her phone inside – that “Marlena” had left the night before. Then she said, “Let’s go home.”
“Gladly,” John said. He called a taxi since their police driver was nowhere in sight. Very shortly after 2 a.m., they finally crossed over their own threshold.
Exhaustion drove them upstairs, and they collapsed into their bed without even removing their clothes. Both fell into deep sleep nearly instantly.
Part IV
No one stirred in the Black townhouse until after 10 am. After they’d showered, donned very welcome fresh clothes, and eaten a hearty breakfast more than twice the usual number of calories, they each made some calls about Abigail. She had not awoken yet in the hospital, Marlena heard from Kayla. And John spoke at length to various Church personnel about sending an exorcist in case the young woman still needed one when she did regain consciousness.
Once all those actions were behind them, they decided they were ready to tackle the contents of the final box.
John retrieved his leather jacket from upstairs, and pulled out the three envelopes. Not hesitating, he flipped the papers inside the gray one onto the sofa between Marlena and him. She immediately began sorting them. Whole pages vs. torn ones. Then she picked up a faded, yellowed Western Union telegram. It read, “
“3/2/1950
Stefano DiMera
980 Jackson Ave New Orleans, LA
“Born today, healthy boy, 7lbs 1oz, John.
“Tim and Maude Robicheaux.”
Both John and Marlena looked puzzled. Yes, John had been told he’d been born John Robicheaux to that couple. But was he the one born John Robicheaux? And this telegram implied that Tim and Maude knew Stefano – maybe quite well…
John noticed a letter in a strange handwriting. He quickly checked the signature: John Black.
“Will you read it out loud, please?” Marlena requested.
“May 18, 1981
“Dear Mrs. Blake,
“I received your May 13 letter. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to come see you as I promised. My bishop ordered me to Michigan to bring another priest, very infirm, home. I won’t be back until next week. But I will come to you then. Don’t give up hope. Be strong and trust in the Lord. We will figure out a way for you and your children to be safe.
“John Black”
“Hmm,” Marlena observed, “He didn’t sign it ‘Father John Black’.”
John shrugged. “Why bother?” She knew he was one.” He added, although they both knew it, “That’s not my handwriting.”
John fitted together the four pieces of a little rectangle. Another birth certificate like they’d found for Harlan Kennedy. This one for John Black. He’d been born January 29, 1950, in Alliance, OH., and his parents’ names were Parker Black and Theresa Carter [Black].
“So if these documents are accurate, there were two men who were born less than two months apart.” John summarized. One in Ohio and one in Louisiana. I was told I (if I was him) — John Robicheaux — was born in Baton Rouge.
Marlena looked at the previous telegram and pointed to the top: “Yes, this originated from Baton Rouge. Tim Robicheaux could just have driven over to Stefano’s instead of sending a telegram. Or, he could have just called.”
“Must have been a reason he didn’t.”
She had now found a few little pieces of newsprint. After a bit of fiddling, she reconstructed a small article. No indication of which newspaper had printed it, and no date either. It read:
“Priest Reported Missing
“This morning the Archdiocese of New Orleans reported Fr. John Black missing for over 72 hours. Fr. Steven Hale submitted a police report claiming that Black had not been heard from since Monday. ‘He is an assistant pastor at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church. He is usually very reliable. We have no idea where he might be, or what happened to him.’ Anyone having information on the whereabouts of Black, please contact the police.”
“This had to be in the early ‘80’s. If I remember right, Tim Jansen said I (or, who he thought was me) — John Black — disappeared in 1981. That coincides with the letter to Rachel.”
Frowning, Marlena noted, “Yes, but we’ve got two birth dates. Seemingly Father John Black and John Robicheaux were two different men. So, if you were one of them, you can’t have been the other.”
“True.” John agreed, reeling a little from that news. He remembered the flash drive in the original manila envelope (from the blue box that had been at the bottom of the hidey hole). Perhaps instead of futzing around with these scraps and playing guessing games, that might give them the big picture. “Doc, maybe there’s a faster way to get this cleared up.”
He fired up the laptop on the desk, and found the USB drive. As he worked he mentioned, “Thumb drives came on the market in 2000, and this one doesn’t look either that old or 2021 state-of-the-art.”
“I don’t know much about tech, but we’re not supposed to just plug in an untrusted drive, right?”
“Right. No worries. I’ve got that covered.” First John inspected the drive inside and out to rule out what was called a “USB killer” and a “USB Rubber Ducky.” Then, he inserted the drive into his computer and ran the same procedure he’d used as an ISA agent, a cop, and a P.I., to check for malware. Finally, he double-checked by clicking “Scan for Viruses”.
“Looks safe,” he reported when the scan cycled to its end. Now he brought the thumb drive’s directories up onscreen. Just one main directory and four subdirectories. They both sat side by side, and Marlena observed, “Looks like three of the subs contain scanned copies of the three boxes’ documents!” Scrolling through and opening a few of the files, they quickly ascertained this to be true.
The fourth file was just audio, 20 minutes in length. “This might be exactly what we need to hear to put this puzzle together,” John said. He caught her eye. “You ready?”
She nodded, taking his hand. “Are you?”
John squeezed her fingers gently. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” He inwardly conceded he spoke with more bravado than he felt. He tapped “play.”
“If you are listening to this recording, you’ve probably found everything stashed in the secret room compartment. As you’ve noticed, this drive includes copies of all the evidence I was able to –”
John paused the audio. “Whose voice is that? I’m trying to place it, but the recording quality isn’t top notch.”
Both he and Doc thought for a bit. Then Marlena said, “I think it’s E.J.”
Absorbing that, John nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah. I guess I expected it to be Stefano or Doctor Rolf. E.J.? I wish we knew when he made it. But maybe the 4/17/2008 time stamp on all these files and directories tells the story.”
Marlena gave him a grim look. “Yes, that does make some sense. E.J. knew Stefano and Rolf had you in the basement of the mansion that January. I guess his conscience finally aggravated him, and he gave me clues to help me find you. After we thought you’d been killed by the hit-and-run driver” in October, 2007.” She gave herself a sharp shake, as though trying to throw off that agonizing memory. “That ‘accident’, of course, turned out to be Stefano-instigated, but it wasn’t E.J. at the wheel.”
John added, “No. But E.J. did the old man’s bidding when he shot me earlier in 2007, and I spent about five months in a coma.”
Tears welled in Marlena’s eyes. “What a ‘annus horribilis’ that was for us.”
“It sure was.” Honestly, they had weathered quite a few pretty horrible years. However, John decided to find a silver lining in this particular one, “Sami did name her son after me when she gave birth to her twins shortly after my funeral.” But he added, half-kiddingly, half-not, “Of course, my namesake, Johnny, seems to have re-booted the demon somehow with his contemptible movie. Gonna have to have another talk with that kid.”
But they’d gotten off topic. John decided to start the recording over:
“If you are listening to this recording, you’ve probably found everything stashed in the secret room compartment. As you’ve noticed, this drive includes copies of all the evidence I was able to compile. But even if you’ve read every document, you might not fully understand what happened. I don’t know all the details either, but here is what I have ascertained:
”Stefano DiMera got involved with the Blake family in the 1970’s/early 1980’s. He and Rachel Blake’s husband (I can’t remember his first name) did some legitimate and off-the-books business together. However, Stefano became interested, romantically, in Rachel. He ended up arranging Mister Blake’s death, and then he tried to move in on her. She resisted. She, a devout Catholic, knew a young priest by the name of John Black, and she confided (probably during confession) her need to get away from Stefano’s unwanted and determined attentions. She suspected Stefano had murdered her husband, but couldn’t prove it.
Father Black agreed to help her and her children. How he planned to do that isn’t clear. Maybe relocate them? I have no information on that. In any case, he apparently went to her in late May of 1981 and was never seen again by his fellow priests, his parishioners, or his family. Stefano himself once admitted to me he did hold the priest captive at Maison Blanche for a few months. This took place thirteen years before ‘quote’ John Black ‘unquote’ was lured to the same house in 1994. But the poor conditions in the dungeon caused Father John Black to contract severe pneumonia, and because Stefano refused to take him to a hospital, he died on Oct. 1, 1981.”
“It truly mortified Stefano that his own negligence killed the young priest, and that caused several huge repercussions that I’ll mention in due course. Rachel Blake was really the only person who could have credibly linked him with Father Black, but she – conveniently for Stefano – became mentally ill, and Stefano had her committed to a sanitarium and assumed guardianship of her two children, Kristen and Peter.
Then, he became occupied with a new obsession when he went to Salem in 1982. There, he pursued his criminal business interests again, but Police Officer Roman Brady, son of Shawn and Caroline Brady, stood in his way, so Stefano attempted to frame him for some murders actually committed by Andre DiMera, his nephew. Ultimately, all false charges against Roman were dropped. In 1984, however, Roman and Stefano faced off again on an island, and it appeared that Roman fell off a cliff and died. Ultimately, Roman didn’t die, but became a prisoner of Stefano’s.
“Stefano then hatched a wild plot. Stefano hired a plastic surgeon to change Roman Brady’s face – to look like Father John Black’s. Stefano still felt haunted by the death of the priest, and irrational and perverse though it was, he wanted to, in a sense, keep the man alive by having another wear his face. Bizarrely though, –”
Marlena paused the recording. She looked at John and said in a hushed voice, “That explains why, when you were held at Maison Blanche in 1994, you found some items and ‘clues’ left behind by the original John Black.”
“So it seems.” John allowed. He didn’t know how he felt about wearing the face of another man. When he’d thought himself “Roman,” he’d never really considered that his new face copied a deceased person’s. After John returned to the “John Black” identity in the early ‘90’s, he assumed the face was his. After all, some people he met recognized that face. Now, he felt sickened. He wore this face because Stefano DiMera had been guilt-ridden about the death of the real John Black.
“Also,” Marlena emphasized, apparently not catching on to his consternation about the plastic surgery, “We were right in 1986 when we thought you were really Roman with a changed face. That doctor apparently told the truth!”
Banishing his rising angst at the possible origin of his face, John reached over and held her hands. “Honey. Let’s…let’s hear the rest before we draw any conclusions.” He saw the fresh gleam in her eyes, but he still couldn’t bring himself to believe any of this. He could not get his hopes up about being Roman. Not yet. Resolutely he continued “play.”
“– Stefano had already kept ‘Father Black’ alive in another way. Stefano developed a ‘friendship’ years prior with Timothy Robicheaux and his wife, Maude. I don’t know how that started, but he helped them financially when their son, John, was born in 1950, and he was around for Maude while her husband served in the Korean War, when the army declared him missing in action and then KIA. But Maude wasn’t the mothering type, and she couldn’t handle raising a toddler. She also hated the very modest lifestyle she lived as Tim’s wife and, then, war widow. So, Stefano, behind the scenes, arranged for her to receive a very substantial sum for allowing the Alamains to adopt her son in a blind arrangement. Then Stefano contrived for the child to seem to drown, and he took him himself.
“Stefano, in time, also learned about what had happened to Tim Robicheaux after the Korean War: he lost all rationality and transformed, still in the Far East, into a sinister figure called Yo Ling. He ran his own criminal enterprise using mentally-controlled men. Stefano and Yo Ling both exerted influence on John Robicheaux, and when John grew up, he was more than willing to serve his ‘two fathers’ however they wanted.
“And, as it happened, John Robicheaux naturally bore a resemblance to Father John Black. That was just one of those incredible coincidences that peppered Stefano DiMera’s life. However, the resemblance wasn’t as complete as Stefano wanted it to be, so in 1982 (before Stefano even dreamed of changing Roman Brady’s face), he persuaded John Robicheaux to undergo some minor plastic surgery. Robicheaux didn’t know anything at all about the real Father Black. But all his life, John had an acting bug, and when Stefano offered him the chance to ‘play’ the role of a ‘priest’ who would pull off some hefty art thefts and other heists in Europe, he jumped at the chance. He ended up ‘working’ with Princess Gina, and really had the time of his life. But it didn’t last long. Robicheaux got careless and ended up on the wrong end of a gun when some other criminals didn’t appreciate his horning in on their territory. Princess Gina (and Greta) Von Amberg didn’t know ‘Father John’ had been killed. They simply thought he’d disappeared. Princess Gina convinced herself he’d double-crossed her and decided to fence solo their most recent stolen treasure.
“Stefano did mourn the loss of John Robicheaux; it was that loss that finally prompted him to put Father Black’s face on Roman Brady. From November 1984 until late December 1985, Stefano mercilessly played with Roman’s brain so that when he was released in Salem with his head all bandaged, he had lost all his memories and sense of self. Stefano had seeded his brain with some of Father John Black’s memories as well as some from faux John Black (Robicheaux) which didn’t surface until years later. I have no idea how that was accomplished; Doctor Rolf probably invented the techniques used for these memory implants. And some, but not all, of Roman’s own memories came back too during the time he and everyone accepted him as Roman Brady.
“But, of course, Stefano hadn’t sent Roman/John back to Salem to give him and the Bradys a happy ending. Marlena Evans Brady was kidnapped in 1987, and, then, when she finally returned in 1991, someone else, besides Isabella Toscano, soon complicated the situation. Exactly as Stefano intended, they found a man who looked like Roman Brady had originally. This ‘Roman’ came equipped with most of Roman Brady’s memories. Everyone accepted him as Roman after DNA tests were done.
“But, as you have probably surmised, this man was not the real Roman Brady. This man was born Harlan Kennedy, just over a year before real Roman came into this world. Serial kidnapper Stefano took his time searching for this next “victim” to kidnap and make disappear. In 1988, he decided on Harlan, and proceeded to wipe that man’s own memories and implant Roman’s. He also again employed the same plastic surgeon. By the time he was found and returned to Salem, he himself was convinced he really was Roman Brady. And apparently, nothing has shaken that belief all these years.
“The DNA tests done in 1991 were doctored. I don’t know how Stefano managed to switch the results, but he did it. I suppose if Sami could succeed as a mere teenager, it was probably a snap for archvillain Stefano.
“Stefano highly prided himself that he had once again thrown the lives of the Bradys into great confusion. He thought the fake Roman and Marlena would ‘reunite’ – as they did. Ultimately his scheme intended Marlena would end up alone so he, Stefano, could swoop in and take her away with him while she was at her most vulnerable. But Marlena and the man they all now again called John Black had an unbreakable bond, and even though they didn’t know the truth about his identity, it didn’t seem to matter. They forged through Stefano’s many attacks both front and rear guard. And Harlan/Roman also persevered, always believing himself to be Roman and, most of the time, acting like him.
“So, the truth is that the man who is now called John Black is really Roman Brady. And the man who is known as Roman Brady is really Harlan Kennedy. An untampered-with DNA test will prove that.
“So, why haven’t I informed anyone of all this? I value my life. I suspect Stefano is at least partially aware of my cache of information about this very mixed up identity situation, but he hasn’t confronted me, and I haven’t told him anything about my actions. Perhaps some day I’ll be in a position to reveal what I know, but for now, I’m literally burying the knowledge. Since you are hearing this recording, you now know the truth. Let’s see what you do with it.”
Why, John wondered, hadn’t E.J. spoken up after Stefano’s death? Did he fear others in that psycho family? They’d have to ask him now that he’d returned to Salem.
Marlena looked stunned. Finally, she said, “Unbelievable. Four men! We assumed for so long it was just you and so-called Roman. Two men. But now we discover that Father John Black was a distinct other person and so was John Robicheaux.”
He nodded slowly. “Stefano was even more diabolical than I ever guessed.” He gave his wife an agonized look. “But I’m still not..”
John had twice stopped Marlena from pausing the tape again. He’d simply wanted to hear the entire thing before they discussed it any further. Now, he too could only feel stunned and numb. Ever since they looked at the first clues, he’d purposely kept himself from believing any or it. He just couldn’t allow himself to go down that road again. Even right this second, he still didn’t want to accept the tape as final evidence.
As if reading his mind, Marlena rubbed his back and noted, “As we already said, we can do another DNA test.” She added, “But really, we don’t have to.”
She reached for one of the folders she’d brought home with her from her office. Opening it, she explained, “I’ve kept copies of various tests done over the years – for example when Hope became pregnant after the Hawaii disaster–”
John winced. That was a chapter he never liked reopening in any way. But then he nodded. “Okay, so, yeah, there’ve been a number of reasons I’ve had DNA tests done over the years, including Paul and Leo. You kept those?”
“Yes. But never once did it occur to me to compare those with the 1991 test.”
“Why would it? We were so sure we finally knew who was who.”
Marlena carefully laid out a few test results on the table in front of them. She still had the 1991 results too. She studied them. At length she put a few side by side and showed him the results were basically identical. “These are all yours.” Then she pointed to another test. “This is Shawn Brady’s. We’ve actually got more of his too, but they aren’t in this folder.”
John wasn’t a science guy, but even he could see the clear similarities of the tests that were his. Then she said, “In 1991, the test that we were told was Roman’s – the other man’s – was actually yours. See?”
Again, the old test did look very similar, if not identical, to the others tests that were his.
Both of them were silent. Then Marlena whispered, “It’s true. You really are him. You really are.”
She literally jumped to her feet and scraped the chair back out of the way. She tugged him up too and then she threw her arms around him as she cried in a choked-up voice, “ROMAN.” A torrent of tears began to fall down her beautiful face.
Holding her, uniting himself with her with every ounce of his being, Roman knew her tears contained so many conflicting emotions: joy at this discovery, sorrow it had taken so many decades, relief all Stefano’s machinations hadn’t destroyed their abiding love, rage at the way they and their family had been lied to. He knew all these emotions coursed through her because they coursed through him too. He too let the tears flow unabashedly, washing out much of the doubt, pain, and the uncertainty. The betrayal was immense, but there was no one on whom he could take it out. Stefano, the one who had treated him as a pawn, was definitely dead. The man whom they’d called Roman all these years appeared to be an innocent victim too.
His only recourse? To keep living his life, now understanding he’d lost his family when Harlan/Roman appeared because he had not questioned enough, not challenged enough, not fought enough. Of course, he knew why he’d stepped back, and it had been an honorable action. But it had been an awfully bitter reality with which to reckon.
Simultaneously, the part of him that has always been in reserve around his family because – (as Sami sometimes said out loud) he “didn’t really belong” – could be free now. He did belong. He had always belonged, even when he and those around him didn’t know it. He was Roman Brady. There’d been a perfect reason why, after adjusting to being Roman Brady in 1986, he’d felt he really lived in that skin. He did! It was his skin. He was Shawn and Caroline’s son, born August 26, 1950. He was the biological father of Carrie, Eric, and Sami (as well as his other, younger, beloved children).
So he and Marlena let their tears flow. In a sense, they let those tears be a baptism of sorts: a new beginning bathed in truth and love and family.
Then they wiped the watery tracks on each other’s cheeks and chins and necks. And they laughed giddily and a little nervously, both trying to find their footing in this new reality.
The demon and Stefano DiMera had both tried repeatedly to take everything from them. The evil ones certainly played for keeps. But as Roman (John then) had told Marlena a few years ago: “Love beats hate – every time.” It might not in the short run, but in the end, it did, absolutely. They’d had to wait thirty years, but finally, finally, the truth outed, and weirdly, the demon’s return made it possible.
Still, Roman had zero desire to tell Marlena about the scene at the pub’s living quarters a couple nights ago. He hoped she wouldn’t remember it, and wouldn’t press him for details.
He also had no desire to push Harlan/Roman out of that home or his ownership of the pub. Harlan would have huge personal challenges as it was; no need to make his life even harder. Perhaps he and Kate would get back together again even as he learned about his actual identity. He’d have to reconcile himself to the fact he wasn’t the biological father of Carrie, Eric, and Sami. He’d have many other adjustments to make. Roman knew exactly what that entailed, and how much it could wear down a man.
After all, many of Roman’s beliefs about his own life counted for nothing now. He had never actually been ordained a priest. He’d never known Princess Gina back in the early 1980’s. He wasn’t the son of Tim and Maude Robicheaux. But come to think of it, most of those legacies were baggage he could easily live without – the last two especially.
And, damn it, he’d missed so much time with his family. He’d been unable to really parent Eric and Sami for most of their pre-adult lives, and he’d been an “outsider’ whom they called “John” instead of “Dad” since they were kids. His own Brady grandchildren called him “John” too. He hoped that would quickly change.
Yes, he still had much to sort through himself, and he knew Marlena, the kids, and others would too. His parents, Shawn and Caroline had never learned the truth. Neither had Bo. But he and the Bradys alive now would have the chance to live the rest of their lives understanding that he really was Roman Brady. He fervently hoped they would accept it with as much joy as Marlena had. Would Sami, he wondered?
The doorbell rang just as they had pretty much tidied each other up. Both of them frowned at the intrusion, and Roman griped, “How come our doorbells always ring at the most inopportune times?”
Marlena shrugged and smiled at him. Entwining her hand in his, she started for the door, so he accompanied her and at the fourth ring, he opened it.
“Sami!” Marlena exclaimed.
She stood imposingly in their doorway, and started immediately haranguing. “Mom! John! What’s this I heard at the DiMera mansion about another possession? What’s going on? I called Brady and Belle, and they were mystified too, and said they’re coming over right now also, by the way.” She paused for breath, taking in the sight of the two of them. “You look okay, Mom, although…” she scowled, “Have you been crying? Both of you? WHAT’S WRONG?”
Roman and Marlena exchanged knowing looks. Closing the door, they each flanked Sami and ushered her to the sofa. Roman spoke for them both, “Samantha Gene. Have a seat. Make yourself at home. Since Belle and Brady are coming, we’ll wait for them. And let’s see if we can remotely patch in Eric and Carrie. We’re calling an impromptu family meeting –”
Sami looked at them in confusion, “Why? What –”
“We’ve got something to tell you.” Roman and Marlena voiced in perfect, unrehearsed unison. Sami just gaped at them – probably wondering if they were both possessed – as they stood side by side, arms around each other’s waists.
Roman felt only love for wayward, difficult Sami. Both he and Marlena broke into hopeful smiles, their gazes fixed joyously on their daughter.
FIN
Note: this, as I’m sure is easy to guess, is my rendition of how a possession redux could be told on Days of Our Lives. It was completed before the story actually played out on the show.
The Jarlena Journal 
Just wanted to note that this is the full story — with all four parts — of Playing for Keeps. I’m not sure how Part I got into the title. It should have been below both the title and the author line. There might be more to follow this story. But if there is, that will be a separate tale with a new title.
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My mistake! Sick brain got me! I updated it and took the part I out.
Thanks again for sharing!
Liz (:
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