Maison Blanche Revisited – By Unknown Author

Beyond the Iron Door

MAISON BLANCHE, NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. A hurricane is making its way nland from the Gulf of Mexico. Just as the last of the partygoers are retreating to the relative safety of the hunting lodge, Roman Brady, accompanied by a state trooper with a search warrant, shows up at the door of the plantation. The two law officers are admitted with great reluctance by the very angry Tony and Kristen, who show them through the house. Their search is thorough and painstaking, and only slightly hampered by an inevitable power failure. After a half-hour delay, they continue their task in the diminished lighting provided by a generator, but find nothing significant until they are confronted by a locked iron door in the basement.

“Where’s the key, Tony?” Roman demanded. Tony glared at him defiantly. “I don’t know. I haven’t been down here since we arrived.”

“Kristen?” She glared too, shaking her head. “I haven’t been down here either.”

“Well, someone’s been down here; that’s a brand new lock.” Roman pointed to the shiny circle gleaming brightly against the dull surface of the door. “And whoever it was wanted to hide whatever is in there very badly. It’s a pick-proof lock; you can’t get in without the key.” He turned his coldest police stare on the couple who had considered him a friend until a few hours ago. “I want that key.”

“We don’t have it.” Tony returned his stare with equal coldness, while Kristen crossed her arms and continued to glare at him.

“Very well. Since you won’t cooperate, that search warrant authorizes me to take whatever steps I deem necessary to complete the search of these premises. I suggest you step back.” Then, as both Tony and Kristen gasped in shock and hurriedly backed away, Roman drew his gun, aimed it directly at the lock, and pulled the trigger.

The explosion in the confined space of the basement corridor was deafening. The soundwaves bounced off the walls, assaulting the delicate bones and membranes of their ears, but even as Tony and Kristen held their heads in pain, voicing protests thankfully unheard, Roman ignored the ringing pain in his own ears to examine the lock. The large caliber bullet had made a big hole; a hole big enough for him to slip his lockpicks through, and, with some careful manipulation, work the bolt free.

One hand on his gun, having no idea what he would find inside, Roman signaled for the trooper and the DiMeras to move back well out of danger; then standing prudently to one side, he pulled on the handle of the heavy door. As it swung open, a stifling blast of hot, stale air rolled into the corridor, but that was all. Sighing with relief, Roman holstered his gun and peered cautiously into the dim room. When his eyes finally adjusted to the gloom, he felt the blood drain from his face and fought down a wave of nausea. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this: he was looking into a medieval torture chamber…a torture chamber with the victim still inside.

Roman backed slowly away from the doorway and turned to the others. He couldn’t disguise the sickness he felt, and the moment Tony and Kristen saw his face their anger vanished. “What’s wrong, Roman?” Kristen asked fearfully. “What’s in there?”

Forcing words past the lump in his throat, Roman said hoarsely, “I think you better go upstairs, Kristen. You don’t want to see this.” Before she could protest, he turned to the state trooper. “Franklin, call the paramedics. We need them here fast. Tell them we have a severely injured man out here, possibly dying.”

“Yes, sir.” Franklin was already running for the stairs when Roman’s words registered with Kristen. “There’s an injured man in there?” she cried in alarm–alarm which quickly turned to outrage, directed at him. “My God, Roman! You shot somebody!? We have to help him!” Before he could stop her, she darted past him and into the darkness beyond. Moments later he heard her gasp in horror.

Tony also heard. “Kristen!” he shouted. Shoving Roman out of the way, he ran through the door behind her, then he, too, gasped, and backed out of the room, pulling the stricken Kristen with him. She was white and trembling, and Tony put his arms around her, as much to comfort himself as her. They both looked at Roman in shock, horrified and bewildered by what they had just witnessed. “Roman,” Tony finally said in a rasping whisper, “do you have any idea who that is?” He jerked his head toward the room and its gruesome contents behind him.

“No.” Roman shook his head in denial. “I was just following a drug dealer from Salem. I don’t know who that is,” he continued with his own grim nod toward the door, “or what’s been going on here, but I sure as hell intend to find out.” But he was afraid–deep in his gut afraid–that he already knew who was responsible, and he was sure Tony did too. Maison Blanche was a DiMera house after all. If John was right, if Stefano really was alive, something like this was just his style. He was suddenly thankful that John and Marlena were safely out of New Orleans on their romantic cruise, even though it hurt like hell to think of them together. Whatever was going on here probably had nothing to do with he or his family.

“Tony,” Kristen suddenly sobbed, struggling in her husband’s arms, “we have to do something. We have to help that poor man.”

“We will,” Tony assured her. “We will help him. But Roman’s right; I think you should go upstairs.” Kristen’s back stiffened and she drew away from him so she could look him in the face. “I will not go upstairs,” she announced firmly. “We,” she emphasized, “are going in there to help that man, and we’re doing it right now.” With that, she disengaged herself from Tony’s arms and started for the door. Tony caught her elbow before she could enter. “Tony…” she started to sputter, but he held his fingers to her lips, silencing her, then said calmly, “I’m not going to stop you, Kristen. I know better than to even try once you’ve made your mind up. But we will need some light in there. I think this is probably it.” He reached for a switch just outside the door and flipped it up, driving the darkness away.

It’s even worse in the light, Roman thought bleakly as he followed Tony and Kristen through the door. Once inside, the three couldn’t help but glance around in morbid interest, finding themselves both fascinated and repelled by their grim surroundings. The room was octagonal in shape, some twenty feet across and almost that high. Eight wooden pillars supported the ceiling, with thick cross beams about fifteen feet up. A chain ending in manacles was draped over one beam, and Roman realized sickeningly that a man whose wrists were locked inside those iron bars would dangle there helplessly, his feet unable to touch the floor. Other features of the room were just as appalling: on a table just inside the door there were clubs and short chains and whips, all stained brown with dried blood; above the table, attached to the wall, was a glass-fronted cabinet holding dark bottles of liquid and several hypodermic syringes; close to another wall was a high-backed wooden chair very similar in appearance to an execution chair, with straps to secure a victim tightly at ankles and knees, wrists and elbows, even chest and neck. There were also high tech aspects to the room. About ten feet above the dirt floor, a television was mounted to the wall, along with three security cameras. The cameras were evenly spaced around the room, but they were all trained on the same location…a location just opposite the door, where a blood smeared man lay motionless on a filthy cot.

The man on the cot didn’t stir as Roman, Kristen and Tony quietly approached. Shirtless, he was curled in a fetal position facing the wall, and his naked back–covered with blood, dark bruises and welts; and swollen, inflamed cuts and gouges–gave mute testimony to the brutality of his treatment. In addition to the cuts and bruises, there were dozens of angry red needle marks covering his upper arms and shoulders and continuing under the shaggy dark hair toward his neck. Only the imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders indicated that he was even still alive.

His shoulders, Roman thought suddenly, There’s something else about his shoulders. Something I’m missing. He looked at the man’s back again, this time concentrating on his shoulders, and at the same moment his stomach gave a lurch as he realized what he was seeing, he heard Kristen moan, “Oh, no! Oh, God, please, no!” and he knew she had seen the same thing.

“What is it, Kristen?” Tony asked anxiously. “What’s wrong?” Instead of answering, Kristen bent over the man on the cot to examine his right shoulder, and when she found what she had prayed wouldn’t be there, she sank to her knees at the edge of the cot and started sobbing as if her heart would break.

“Kristen?” Bewildered and worried, Tony hovered over her, desperate to help, but not understanding what was wrong. Roman caught him gently by the arm and pulled him a few feet away. “Give her a minute, Tony,” he choked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his own pain and raging fear.

Tony stared at Roman and his wife, suddenly realizing they were both aware of some awful truth that seemed to have eluded him. “What’s going on, Roman? I don’t understand.”

Roman’s mouth felt dry as a desert as he looked at his friend whose father had been the cause of so much suffering for himself and his family, and was certainly the perpetrator of this latest horror. He wanted to shout and break something, but instead he just said quietly, “It’s John.”

“John?” Tony stared blankly at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then he made the connection. “John Black? Are you telling me that’s,” he pointed to the curled up figure on the bed, still motionless despite all the uproar, “John Black?”

“Yes.”

“How can you tell? I mean…with the all the blood and everything…are you sure?” Tony prayed it wasn’t true, remembering the papers he had burned. Papers containing the proof of John’s inhuman treatment before at the hands of Stefano. Papers he had destroyed so Kristen wouldn’t ever learn the truth about their father. Papers which had been the first strand in his own web of lies–lies gone so far he could never get out of them now. And now it had all come full circle. Here was John, again a victim of Stefano’s insanity. And this time there was no hiding it from Kristen. If only he had been honest with her from the beginning, maybe all of this could have been avoided. If only…

Tony pulled himself from his fruitless reverie and tried to concentrate on the here and now. “I’m sure,” Roman was saying. “John has a very distinctive tattoo on his right shoulder. A phoenix. I’m sure you know who put it there.”

“Stefano.”

“Yeah. Anyway, right now it’s covered by one of those bruises, but you can still see it if you look closely. It’s John.”

Tony suddenly remembered something else, and swallowed hard. “Roman, weren’t John and Marlena supposed to be off on a cruise somewhere?”

A look of pain crossed Roman’s face. “Yes. They were,” he replied shortly.

“But if John’s here, then where’s Marlena?”

“I don’t know.” There was naked terror and despair in Roman’s voice as he answered, and Tony put his hand briefly on his friend’s shoulder in support, but he could offer no comfort. They both knew who Marlena was probably with at that moment, and there was nothing comforting about that at all.

“Captain Brady?” Roman and Tony looked up to see the trooper, Franklin, walking toward them. His face was grim as he, too, saw for the first time what the room contained. “Captain, we have a problem,” he informed them gravely as he neared. “The paramedics can’t come; the storm brought power lines down across all the roads. They can’t get in and we can’t get out. They can’t get a chopper in either, not until the storm passes. The earliest they can possibly get medical help out here is noon tomorrow. They say all they can do for us right now is talk us through first aid.”

There was a moments silence as they absorbed the bad news, then Roman said quietly, “I guess we’re on our own then, gentlemen. We’ll just have to do the best we can and pray that it’s enough.” Glancing around the room, he sized up the situation, then turned back to the others. “I think the first thing we have to do is get him out of here. Do you have something we can use as a stretcher, Tony?”

Tony pondered a bit, then nodded, “I think there’s a collapsible cot in the utility room upstairs. That should work.”

As Tony was telling Franklin where to find the cot, Roman walked over to Kristen. She was sitting on the floor, her hand raised as if she wanted to stroke John’s blood-caked hair but was afraid that even a simple touch might hurt him. At Roman’s approach, she raised her head, misery and bewilderment written all over her face. “I don’t understand, Roman.” she whispered. “What’s he doing here? I thought he was with Marlena. Who hurt him like this? Who could do such an awful thing?”

“You know who did it, Kristen,” Roman responded gently. “You just can’t admit it to yourself.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she said desperately. “He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.” She looked over at her husband. “Tony, tell him he’s wrong.”

Tony glanced over at Roman, who stared at him resolutely, willing him to do the right thing–willing him to finally tell Kristen the truth about the father she worshipped, the father who had lied to her all her life. Taking a deep breath, Tony sank to his knees beside his wife and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Kristen, but I can’t do that.”

“Why, Tony? Why can’t you tell him he’s wrong?” her voice was quavering on the verge of tears again.

“Because he isn’t wrong, honey. The only person who could have done this is Stefano.” Even as Kristen’s face crumpled and he took her in his arms to comfort her, Tony felt an immense sense of relief, mingled with sorrow, at finally admitting what he had spent so many years denying. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I wanted to protect you, but I just can’t do it anymore. This time Stefano’s gone too far.”

“But Stefano’s dead,” Kristen sobbed. “How could he have done this? He’s dead.”

“He’s not dead, Kristen,” Roman told her harshly. “He faked his death, just like he’s done so many times before. Then he lured John down here, and probably Marlena too.” Roman gazed down at the tortured body of his rival and a wave of shame ran through him. “Some of this is my fault,” he muttered. “I knew it was possible Stefano was still alive, and John begged me to come to New Orleans with him, but I was so angry at him that I wouldn’t do it. I wanted to hurt John and Marlena more than I wanted to catch Stefano.” He turned back to Kristen and Tony, and his eyes were filled with regret and self-loathing. “I guess I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

“Oh, Roman, no, don’t say that.” Faced with someone else’s pain, Kristen put her own aside for the moment as she tried to comfort him. “You were angry at John, but you never wanted something like this to happen. You can’t blame yourself.”

Roman gave her a bleak smile. “Thanks for trying, Kristen, but I’m afraid there isn’t anybody else to blame. I know, better than anybody, just what Stefano is capable of. I knew John was going to be in terrible danger but I just didn’t give a damn. Not only that, I ignored Abe and my family when they kept insisting something was wrong, that John and Marlena wouldn’t stay out of touch with the children for so long. I preferred to think they were so wrapped up in each other that they just forgot to call. And that made me even angrier, that they could just ignore their children like that. Well, my family was right,” he continued bitterly, “but I wouldn’t believe them. I could have tried to do something, but I didn’t. And now, if John dies, I’m going to have to be the one to tell Belle and Brady it’s my fault their Daddy isn’t coming home.”

“Dies!?“ Kristen asked sharply. “What are you talking about, Roman?” Jumping to her feet, she grabbed his arm. “What do you mean ‘if John dies!?‘ John isn’t going to die. The paramedics should be here soon, then everything will be all right.”

Roman and Tony looked at each other in dismay, carrying on a swift, silent communication. How could Kristen have possibly missed overhearing their conversation with Franklin? They’d been standing only a few feet away. But apparently she had, and now someone had to break the bad news to her. They reached a mutual decision in seconds, and Tony got to his own feet and pulled Kristen around to face him. “The paramedics aren’t coming, Kristen,” he said quietly. “The storm blocked all the roads.”

“Not coming?” she whispered in disbelief. At his nod of confirmation, her eyes widened in panic. “He needs a doctor, Tony. What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” he told her with a calmness that hid his own inner anxiety. “Franklin went for a stretcher so we can get John upstairs, then the paramedics will tell us what to do for him by phone.”

“But we don’t have any medicine,” she said tearfully. “We don’t–”

“Kristen,” Roman interrupted gently, “we know we don’t have any medicine. We know we don’t have a lot of things he needs. But we can’t dwell on that right now; what we have to do instead is concentrate on what we do have. And the most important thing we have, the most important thing of all, is four people, right here, willing to do their damndest to keep John alive till help comes. The paramedics will tell us what has to be done, and we’ll do the best we can. But it’s going to take all of us, Kristen, including you. Can you handle that?” He cocked his head at her speculatively, and suppressed a quick grin as her back stiffened and her tears dried up almost magically. “Of course, I can handle it!” she snapped angrily.

“Good,” he replied mildly, thinking with grim amusement, The old ploy still works: question a woman’s competence, and she’ll work twice as hard just to prove you wrong. Kristen and Tony were also apparently caught up in their own thoughts because there was silence after that as they waited for Franklin to return.

The state trooper came through the door a few minutes later. In one hand he carried a folded cot, in the other, a cardboard box. “I brought some sheets too,” he said, setting the cot and the box on the dirt floor. “I thought it might be easier on him if we moved him using a hospital-style transfer. We slip the sheets underneath him, then slide the sheets from the bed to the cot. We ought to be able to do it with four of us, and that way we don’t risk hurting him any further by actually picking him up.”

“Good idea,” Roman told the young trooper in grateful approval. He grabbed two freshly laundered sheets from the box, their clean whiteness such a contrast to the filth and gore surrounding John, and looked at the others. “Let’s get him out of here,” he said determinedly. “I don’t want him to ever have to see this room again.”

Working in concert, they placed the sheets together for strength, then folded them in half lengthwise. They laid the folded sheets on the unoccupied side of John’s bed, with the fold toward the middle, then doubled, and doubled again, the top half back against the fold. After they rolled John over onto the sheets, they would then be able to pull them the rest of the way across the bed fairly easily without disturbing him too much.

When the sheets were ready they grouped at the edge of the bed. “All right,” Roman said, “we’re going to ease him over very gently. Try to avoid touching the worst of his injuries if you possibly can. Kristen, you steady his head. We’ll go on three.” Seeing everyone was in position, Roman asked, “Ready? Okay. One. Two. Three.” On ‘three’ they gingerly pulled John over onto his back, but as his arms and legs unfolded from their cramped position, his rescuers stepped back in horrified surprise. Not only was John in far worse shape physically than they had imagined–with a mass of bruises and infected cuts on his torso equal to if not worse than those on his back; and starvation plainly visible in his hollow cheeks, sunken eyes and painful thinness–it was obvious their rescue operation had just come to a crashing halt. John wasn’t going anywhere.

“My, God!” Kristen choked, staring in shock at the iron shackles encircling John’s bloody wrists and the heavy chain attaching them to the wall. “What are we going to do now?”

“Bolt cutters,” Tony answered quickly. “Bolt cutters might get him out. I think there’s a pair in one of the sheds. Come on, Franklin.” The two raced off, leaving grim silence behind.

The minutes seemed to drag by as they waited for Tony and Franklin to return. While Kristen sat on the edge of the bed holding John’s hand, Roman examined the bottles in the cabinet on the wall by the door. He knew the doctors would have to determine what drugs John had been given, and had been hoping there was some kind of labels on the bottles. Since there wasn’t, he decided to pack them in Franklin’s cardboard box for transport to the hospital along with John. He had just finished when Kristen called to him. “Roman, come take a look at this.”

He hurried across the room. “What is it?”

“There’s some kind of folded paper stuffed under this shackle. Look.” Seated at John’s side, Kristen gently lifted his right arm and showed Roman a tiny corner of bloody white paper just visible at the edge of the heavy iron. “I can’t get it out. Do you have something we can push it out with from the other side?”

“I think so.” Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, Roman pulled out the small notebook he always kept there. He detached the pen clipped to it and said, “Hold his arm steady.”

While Kristen held John’s arm across her lap, Roman gently inserted the pen underneath the shackle. When it met with an obstruction, he started to push, until at last, a wad of paper emerged and fell to the floor. Roman picked up the wad, which turned out be three pieces of paper folded together. They were bloody and dirty, but as he started to unfold them words suddenly became visible, and he stared at them in surprise and shock. “What it?” Kristen asked with concern.

He silently held out the papers so she could read the scrawled words for herself:

If found, please send to Captain Roman Brady, Salem Police Dept., Salem, Illinois.

Kristen looked up from the paper, her lower lip quivering. “That’s John’s handwriting,” she whispered.

“I know.” Roman replied quietly. He turned his gaze toward the ravaged figure on the bed, then back to the bloody papers in his hand. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

Red Letter Days

ROMAN UNFOLDED the three pieces of paper and laid them on the bed. They were labeled, appropriately enough, Letter 1, Letter 2 and Letter 3. He picked up the first one and started to read out loud. The writing was cramped and difficult to make out on the blood-stained paper.

Roman,

I am writing this to let you know what happened in case, by the time I am found, I am either dead or mentally incapacitated. The night I arrived in New Orleans, I followed your lead to a mansion Stefano owns called ‘Maison Blanche.’ I found Kristen drugged unconscious in an upstairs bedroom, and when I tried to get help for her, Stefano appeared and pulled a gun on me. We struggled for the gun and I got it away from him, but then someone hit me on the head. When I came to, I found myself in what can best be described as a dungeon. As it turns out, I had been there before. It was the same place Stefano brainwashed me nine years ago, and he said he was going to do it again. When I kept trying to escape, almost succeeding several times, and refused to eat his drugged food, he tricked Marlena into coming to New Orleans and threatened to starve her unless I cooperated. So Stefano started drugging me, both in my food, and with shots, and when Marlena tried to intervene, he blackmailed her into calling you to say we had run off together, promising that he would stop drugging me if she did as he asked. But it was a lie of course. Stefano is still drugging me, and with each shot my thoughts are growing hazier and hazier. I fear that in a few days my mind will be completely gone. That’s why I am writing this now, while I am still able to think. (A sympathetic guard smuggled a paper and pencil in to me and the only time I can write is when he is the one watching the security monitors.) I know that Stefano is planning something, Roman, but I don’t know what it is. I am sure it has something to do with Marlena though, and that terrifies me. All I can do to protect her is pray, and I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.

John

As Roman finished the letter, Kristen looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “There was blood in my room,” she choked. “When I woke up, there was blood on the floor. Celeste said she cut her hand and I believed her. But it was John’s blood,” she quavered in misery, lifting her hand to gently finger John’s blood-matted hair. “He tried to help me, and this is the result. I should have believed him, Roman. If I’d believed him, maybe none of this would have happened.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Kristen,” Roman said gently. “Isn’t that what you just told me? And you were right. There’s only one person to blame for this, and that’s Stefano. Shall we read the next letter?”

She nodded, giving a little sniffle, and he picked up the second letter. The handwriting was different from the first: oddly slanted, almost childish. It didn’t look like John’s writing at all, and as Roman started reading, he realized in shock that was exactly the case.

Roman,

Henri, my guard, says I should write to you, to tell you what is happening, but I don’t know who you are anymore. I read the first letter, so I guess we know each other, but I don’t remember you. I don’t remember much of anything anymore. I wish you could help me, Roman. I wish anybody could help me. I’m so scared. This man hurts me, and I don’t know why. He hangs me from the ceiling and hits me with a chain. I try not to scream, but I can’t help it, and he laughs at me. He straps me in a chair so I can’t even move my head, and then injects me with something. It burns like fire in my brain and I scream some more, and every time I scream he laughs. Who is he, Roman? Why is he doing this to me? Sometimes he brings a beautiful woman in to see me. She cries and holds my hand. When I ask who she is, she cries even harder, and the man laughs again. He’s so evil, Roman. She’s terrified of him. He forces her to kiss him and she hates it. I want to help her, but I can’t even help myself. Is she Marlena, Roman, from the first letter? I wish you could find us, Roman. We need help so badly. Maybe if I pray hard enough, God will let us die. It would be much better to be dead than to be here.

John (I think)

Sick to his very soul, Roman dropped the letter and sank to his knees beside the bed. This wasn’t a letter from John; it was a letter from a child. A lost, horribly abused child, pleading for help from a stranger. A stranger who should have been there to save him but wasn’t. Roman was dimly aware of Kristen sobbing in the background, but was too full of his own pain to deal with hers as well. “I’m sorry, John,” he groaned. “I’m sorry, Doc. You were counting on me to help you and I didn’t even try. Please forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me for not being there.

In the midst of his anguish Roman felt a warm hand grip his shoulder. “He does forgive you, Roman,” Kristen said tearfully. “They both do. You know that.” Then she gave a soggy chuckle. “They’d probably even say there was nothing to forgive.”

She was right, Roman thought wearily, climbing to his feet and wiping his wet eyes. John and Marlena would say there was nothing to forgive. He just hoped and prayed they would have the chance to tell him that themselves. But to do that, John had to survive, and they had to find Marlena, and right now, both of those occurrences seemed more and more unlikely.

Sighing, he picked up the third letter and cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to continue, but he owed it to John to read his final words. The handwriting in this letter was different yet again; thin and shaky, as though the author were very weak or feeble.

Roman,

For the first time in days, my mind is clear enough to write again, or at least be aware of what I’m writing. I apologize for that second letter. My alter ego was very frightened, but then, he had every right to be. I’m not being drugged anymore, which is the reason my mind is starting to clear, but I think I would almost prefer the drugs to what is happening now. What I feared has come to pass. Stefano has taken Marlena away somewhere and left me here to die. I have not seen anyone, or had anything to eat or drink for days now. I am not afraid for myself. I have accepted that I am going to die in this dismal place. It’s Marlena that I’m worried about. Stefano is obsessed with her. He kept talking about faking her death and taking her away to become his mistress. Please find her, Roman. Don’t stop looking, even if you hear reports of her death. She loves you so much. Whenever they let her in to see me, all she could talk about was how much she missed you and the children, how much she loved you and needed you. Find her, Roman. Forgive her, and try to start over. I know you still love her, and you can still have a wonderful life together. I have to finish now, Roman; I’m so weak I can barely hold the pencil. Please tell Belle and Brady their Daddy loves them very much. I know you and the family will always take care of them, despite how you feel about me. I love you all, and I never wanted to hurt any of you. I have never ceased to regret what happened, and I hope that some day you will be able to forgive me.

John

P.S.: Please tell Kristen I love her and that this isn’t her fault. And it isn’t your fault either, Roman.

John

Roman concluded the heart-wrenching letter in a choked voice. As he carefully tucked it and the other two in his jacket for safekeeping, the unpleasant realization struck him that his reaction to recent events had been petty and vindictive. I’ve been so wrong about so many things, he thought remorsefully. When John and Doc had the affair, if you can even call a one night stand an affair, I accused him of being uncaring, ungrateful and selfish. That was so untrue. He’s the most caring, unselfish person I’ve ever met. When I came home, he stepped aside so I could have my family, my job and my life back, even though it must have killed him inside. He could have made all kinds of trouble, but he didn’t. He didn’t sue for custody of the children; he didn’t object when they gave me the police rank he earned; he didn’t ask for the money back that he used to rebuild the house. Except for the one lapse with Marlena, he was always thinking of what was best for other people. Even now, on the verge of death, he’s more concerned about everyone else than he is about himself. Somehow, some way, I’ve got to make things right with him,” Roman told himself grimly, But first, I’ve got to keep him alive…

Taking a deep breath to hold his emotions in check, he knelt by the bed and grasped John’s limp hand in his own. “John,” he said quietly, “ it’s Roman. Everything’s going to be all right now; you’re not alone anymore. I know you’re hurt, but you have to hang on for just a little while longer. Tony, Kristen and I are going to get you out of here and into a hospital just as soon as we can. You’re going to get well, and then you and I will look for Marlena together.”

At the mention of Marlena’s name Roman thought he saw John’s eyelids flicker, and seized on that response to reinforce his message. “Marlena needs you, John,” he whispered fiercely. “She needs you to keep fighting, to stay alive. And it’s not just Marlena: Belle and Brady need you too…they need their Daddy. Think about Belle and Brady, John. Think about all the people who love you, who want you to live. Think about Mom and Pop and Bo and Carrie and Sami and Eric. You’re strong, John, you can do it; you can do it for all of them.” He paused, then made a final impassioned plea. “And if you can’t do it for them, John, then do it for me. Stay alive for me. Because if you die now, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.” He watched John’s haggard face intently, praying for some small sign to indicate his words had gotten through, but there was nothing.

“He’ll make it won’t he, Roman?” Kristen asked anxiously, seeking reassurance he couldn’t give her. “He can’t die now. He just can’t.”

He met her fearful gaze with his own somber one. “I’m sorry, Kristen,” he sighed regretfully, “but I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’ll do what we can for him, but a lot of it’s going to be up to him. We just have to pray he heard me and knows that help is here. And speaking of help,” he muttered, glancing at his watch, “where the hell is Tony? He’s been gone almost half-an-hour. If he can’t find those bolt cutters we’ll have to come up with something else to get John out of here.”

“You won’t have to,” Tony announced from the doorway. “We finally found them.” Followed by Franklin, he hurried across the room with the heavy tool. “Has there been any change?” he asked as he reached John’s bedside.

Roman shook his head. “No. But we did find some letters he wrote. We were right,” he bit out in icy rage. “Stefano did do this. He tricked Marlena into coming here so John wouldn’t try to escape, and forced her to watch him being drugged and tortured. Then he took her away somewhere and left John here to die.”

“Damn him,” Tony gritted through clenched teeth. “Damn him straight to hell.”

“That’s exactly where he belongs,” Roman agreed harshly, “and when I find him, I’ll send him there myself.”

Roman’s tone was angry, but Tony saw the fear and terror hiding underneath and knew their cause. “We’ll get her back, Roman,” he promised with steely determination. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“So will I,” Kristen added with equal determination as she gazed at John’s mangled body. “Stefano has to pay for this.”

“Thanks. To both of you,” Roman said gratefully. “Now let’s get these shackles off.”

Cutting through the iron shackles entailed but a few minutes work. Once John was finally released, they quickly transferred him to the folding cot and tucked the sheets around him. He was then tied securely to the makeshift stretcher with strips torn from another sheet. Roman had hoped by this time John would have given some sign he was aware of their presence, but he remained motionless and silent throughout the entire procedure, reinforcing the urgency of their task. After giving the bindings one last quick check to make sure the helpless John couldn’t fall off the cot, Roman turned to the others. “He’s secure. Let’s get him out of here.”

A Dark and Stormy Night

MANEUVERING THE UNWIELDY COT up the spiral staircase which was the only access to the basement was a nightmare. By the time they reached the exit tucked underneath the stairs leading to the second story they were all sweating and exhausted, but carried the cot on into the study and set it gently on the floor.

While the other three sank into chairs to catch their breaths, Franklin hurried to the ornate desk and grabbed the phone. He dialed quickly and started speaking almost at once. “This is Trooper Martin Franklin of the State Police, badge number 89526. I called earlier about an injured man…” He paused for a moment. “Yes. He’s in very bad condition. He was drugged and tortured. He’s unconscious and we can barely find his pulse.” There was another pause. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just a second; let me put you on the speaker phone. Three of his friends are here. They can tell you more about this than I can.” He pressed a button on the phone and said, “Go ahead, you’re on.”

“I need to know what kind of injuries he has and how long he’s been unconscious.” The disembodied voice was young, female, and very competent. “I also need to know what kind of drugs he was given.”

Roman got up and walked over near the speaker. “This is Capt. Roman Brady of the Salem, Illinois Police Dept,” he said. “We don’t know what drugs he was given or how long he’s been unconscious. From things he wrote, we know he was hit on the head and then chained in a dirty cellar for the last ten weeks. Besides being drugged, he was beaten with clubs and chains and whips. He has bruises and badly infected cuts all over his body. He could also have internal injuries and he looks like he’s starving: he’s lost around thirty pounds since the last time I saw him back in April. We know he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink for at least five or six days and he’s burning up with fever.”

There a brief silence as the young dispatcher absorbed the information, then she came back on the line. “All right,” she said briskly, “here’s the situation. Your friend needs to be in intensive care in a hospital, and right now that’s impossible. So what we’re going to do instead is create an intensive care facility at your location. I’m going to patch you through to Dr. Nolan Harris at Tulane University Medical Center. He’s a secialist in first aid and should be able to give you all the help you need. But before I patch him through, you can get started on two tasks right now. First, your friend needs water more than anything else. Without an IV, the best way to do that with an unconscious person is give them ice. Do you have any?”

“We have lot’s of ice.” Kristen answered. “We were having a party here for over two hundred people before the storm hit.”

“Good. You’re probably going to need it all. Dr. Harris will also have you using ice to bring his fever down. This is what you do for his dehydration. Crush several ice cubes very fine. Place a spoonful of ice in his mouth, then hold his mouth shut. After he swallows, which he should do automatically, give him another spoonful. Feed him this way for fifteen minutes, then stop for fifteen minutes. Keep repeating this cycle until you run out of ice or until help gets there.”

“I’ll do that.” Kristen was on her feet and out the door before any of the rest of them could respond.

“The other thing I want you to do is set up a treatment center,” the dispatcher continued. “This should preferably be in or near a kitchen. Is your kitchen big enough to hold a bed?”

“This place has a huge kitchen,” Tony said.

“Okay. I want you to move a bed into the kitchen. If possible, move the entire bed, but if you can’t move the frame just use the mattress and springs. After you move the bed, gather every clean sheet and towel you can find: you’re going to need them all. While you’re doing that, I’m going to contact Dr. Harris. Don’t hang up the phone,” she directed, “and I want somebody to stay with the patient at all times. What’s his name by the way?”

“John Black,” Roman replied as Tony and Franklin headed out the door in wordless agreement. “He’s my adopted brother.”

“I’m sorry,” the dispatcher said softly. “I know it looks bad, but we’re going to do everything we can to try and keep him alive. I’m going to call Dr. Harris now but I’ll keep this line open. If there’s any change in his condition, let me know immediately.”

“I will,” Roman promised. “And I’d like to know your name.”

“Sharon. Sharon Kennedy. I have to go now, but I’ll have Dr. Harris for you in just a few minutes.”

Over the next several hours a flurry of activity took place in and around Maison Blanche. While the storm raged outside, rattling and shaking the sturdy old plantation house, its intensity was matched inside as the four would-be paramedics fought to pull John back from the brink of death. On the instruction of Dr. Harris, talking from the speaker phone in the kitchen, they first shaved John’s beard and gently washed ten weeks of grime from his gaunt body. Once he was clean, they were able to give the doctor a clearer assessment of his injuries.

“His wrists are a mess, but they don’t seem to be too badly infected,” Roman said as Tony propped John up against a layer of pillows and held him steady for Kristen to slowly administer more crushed ice. “The really bad spots are on his chest and his back. The cuts are healed over, but they’re red and puffy and very hot to the touch. There are two on his chest and three on his back.”

“Those are probably what’s causing his fever,” said Dr. Harris. “They’re going to have to be lanced and cleaned out. It’s going to be very unpleasant but it has to be done. Go ahead and bandage his wrists first, then we’ll get started.”

The amateur surgery took over an hour, and as Roman finally sank into a chair at the kitchen table, wiping his damp forehead with a shaking hand while Kristen placed the last bandage on John’s back, he told himself grimly that the doctor was a master of understatement. The experience had been more than unpleasant…it had been awful. When he had driven the sterilized knife into the center of each infection, foul green pus had come spurting out, spattering all over their hair, faces and clothes. The wounds then had to be scraped until all the infection was gone and they bled cleanly; then they were flushed with hydrogen peroxide solution and finally bandaged with baking soda poultices. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that John had remained unconscious throughout…if he had awakened while they were working on him, he would have been in agony and quite possibly could have died from shock.

The bandaging complete, Tony and Franklin eased John over onto his back and tucked a sheet around his naked body while Kristen addressed their invisible medical mentor. “What do we do next, Dr. Harris?”

“We’re going to try to bring his fever down,” the doctor replied. “Fill ten freezer bags with ice, wrap each of them in a dishtowel, then place them around his body. Also resume giving him ice for his dehydration. Take his temperature every fifteen minutes and let me know when it starts to change. That may take several hours, so you should work in shifts. Two of you stay with John while the other two get a couple hours sleep. I have to check on some other patients right now, but I’ll keep this line open and a nurse can reach me immediately if you need me.”

“All right. Thank you, Doctor.” Kristen glanced over at Roman. He was obviously exhausted from the strain of performing John’s surgery (having insisted on taking that responsibility upon himself) and looked like he was on the verge of collapse. “Tony and I will take the first shift, Roman. You and Franklin can use the bedrooms at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks,” Roman said tiredly, pushing his chair back from the table and rising slowly to his feet. “But let me know if there’s any change.”

“We will,” she promised. “Now go get some sleep.”

As Tony and Kristen started pulling bags of ice from an enormous freezer, the two police officers left the kitchen, dragged themselves up the long stairway, and collapsed wearily into bed.

Two hours later, Roman awakened with a groan as a loud knock penetrated his troubled dreams. As the knocking persisted, he called sleepily, “I’m awake,” and was fumbling for the bedside lamp when the door opened a crack and Kristen peered in from the hall. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he yawned, finally finding the switch and blinking at the sudden glare. “I was so tired the only thing I took off was my shoes. How’s John?”

“There’s no change yet,” she replied, walking tentatively into the room as he threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I wanted to ask you something before you go downstairs.”

Her tone was so serious that his cop instincts suddenly went into overdrive and he wanted to grab her and start interrogating her, but years of dealing with reluctant witnesses and recalcitrant suspects prompted him to go slow and not scare her off. “Sure,” he said lightly, slipping on his shoes. “What can I do for you?”

She stopped at the foot of the bed and rocked back on her heels. “Roman, do you…,” she paused, took a deep breath, then finished in a rush, “do you think Tony knew Stefano was alive?”

“I’m sorry, Kristen,” he said regretfully. “I just don’t know. To the best of my knowledge, Tony’s never been involved in Stefano’s illegal activities, but he is Stefano’s son. It seems pretty obvious now that Stefano staged his death so you would blame John and marry Tony. But whether Tony knew about it or not, its difficult to say. If he did know, he may not have said anything to try and protect both you and Stefano. Have you asked him about it?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I will, once John’s out of danger. The trouble is,” she confided somberly, “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel like I can’t trust anybody. Stefano lied to me my whole life. Maybe Tony’s been lying too. If he does say he didn’t know Stefano was alive, I don’t know if I’ll be able to believe him.”

She sounded so miserable and dejected that Roman wanted to put his arms around her and comfort her like he would Carrie or Sami, but restrained himself, saying instead, “I wish I could tell you what to do, Kristen, but I can’t. I’m afraid this is something you’re going to have to decide for yourself. But I can offer some advice. Like I said, right now, there’s no evidence that Tony has been working with Stefano. Until something turns up to change that, I think I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. But then again,” he sighed, “what do I know? Look at what a mess I’ve made of my own marriage: I shouldn’t be giving advice to anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Kristen protested. “I think your advice is very good and I’m going to try to follow it. I love Tony, and without any proof to the contrary, if he says he didn’t know Stefano was alive, I’ve got to have faith that’s he’s telling me the truth.”

“And what will you do if he does say he knew Stefano was alive?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything’s so confused right now, I haven’t thought that far ahead. But one thing I am sure of–so many people have been hurt because of Stefano: John, Marlena, you, Billie, your children–if Tony knew Stefano was alive and didn’t do anything to stop him, then he’s partly to blame for what Stefano did. I don’t think I can live with a man who would let people be hurt like that and not try to stop it.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Roman said softly. “I like Tony. He’s always been a good man. He was just as shocked as the rest of us when we found John, and if he did know Stefano was alive, I’m sure he is holding himself partly responsible. That guilt will eat away at him for the rest of his life, and in the end, he’ll punish himself far more than you, or I, or some court ever could.”

“You’re probably right,” Kristen acknowledged, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a sudden chill, “and I’d have to take that into consideration before I made any decision. But right now,” she shivered, “I don’t want to think about this anymore. I just want John to get better. I’ll go wake Franklin. Send Tony up when you get downstairs.” And she was out the door before Roman could think of a response.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly. The howling wind made sleep next to impossible, and despite the ice packs, John’s fever refused to subside. By the time a dull gray light signaled the onset of morning, exhaustion, worry and tension had everyone’s nerves stretched to the breaking point. Even though the wind was finally dying it would be several hours yet before a rescue helicopter could be sent aloft with any degree of safety, and Roman had a sick feeling that by the time help did arrive it would be too late. He was gently sponging John’s hot face with a damp cloth and trying not to yell at Franklin’s irritating tuneless whistling when a stunned, very familiar voice caused him to jerk his head around.”

“Roman?” Bo repeated, standing in the kitchen doorway while Billie peered over his shoulder. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Bo. Thank God you’re all right.” At the sight of his brother’s face, Roman felt some of his tension evaporate in a wave of euphoria. In his concern over John, he had buried his anxiety over Bo’s whereabouts deep inside, trying not worry over something he could do nothing about. But now Bo was safe and there really was nothing to worry about, at least as far as Bo was concerned anyway.

“Of course, I’m all right,” Bo said. “What are you doing here, Roman? Who is that? Did somebody get hurt during the storm?” He walked toward the bed and Roman moved quickly to block his view. He didn’t want Bo to see the shocking transformation in the man he regarded as a brother without some preparation.

“Let’s go into the hall for a minute, Bo.”

Catching Bo’s shoulder, he nudged him toward the doorway even as Bo protested, “What are you doing, Ro? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Roman said tiredly, continuing to edge him toward the door. “But not here. Please, Bo. In the hall.”

Seeing the strain on Roman’s face and hearing the exhaustion in his voice, Bo finally acquiesced and moved back into the hall. Roman joined he and Billie there, closing the kitchen door behind him.

“All right,” Bo said softly, “we’re here. Now please, tell me what’s going on.”

Roman rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake off his tiredness and get his thoughts in some sort of coherent order. “What’s going on,” he finally sighed, “ is a nightmare. I got here late last night, following a lead on a drug dealer with connections to Stefano. A Louisiana State Trooper with a search warrant came with me, and we forced Tony and Kristen to let us search the mansion. We found a man chained to a wall in a locked room in the basement. He’d been in there for ten weeks, drugged and tortured by Stefano, who finally took off and left him there to starve to death. He’s in very grave condition and the authorities can’t get medical help out here because of the storm.”

“Dear God,” Bo whispered in horror, while Billie stared at him in stunned silence. “Do you know who he is, Roman?”

“I’m afraid so,” Roman answered quietly, wishing more than anything he didn’t have to be the one to break the news. “I’m sorry, Bo. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. It’s John.”

“John?” Bo repeated in anguished disbelief. “You mean our John? John Black?”

“Yes.”

“But John and Marlena are on a cruise,” Bo insisted. “Marlena called…she called…” His voice trailed off as the ghastly truth sank in. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “It was a trick, wasn’t it? Stefano–”

“He has her,” Roman sighed. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall, trying to control the panic he felt whenever he thought about Marlena. “He has her. He took her away over a week ago. They could be anywhere in the world by now.” His legs suddenly gave way as the worry and exhaustion of the long night finally caught up with him, and he dimly heard Bo call his name as he slid down the wall.

Dawn’s Early Light

MOVING AS ONE, BO AND BILLIE caught the exhausted Roman under the arms before he fell to the floor. Taking most of his brother’s weight, Bo gestured with his head toward an open doorway. “Let’s get him to the study.” Billie nodded agreement, and together they manhandled their limp burden down the hall to the ornate study and laid him on the sofa. As Billie put a pillow under his head Roman roused and started to protest, but Bo silenced him with a look and turned to Billie. “I’m going to check on John. Will you stay here with him? Don’t let him up, even if you have to sit on him.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Billie assured him. “Go to John. I love you,” she said softly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“I love you too, babe.” Bo kissed her in swiftly in return, silently thanking God for finding him such a treasure, then headed back toward the hall, throwing a final admonition of “You stay put,” to Roman just before he disappeared through the doorway.

The moment Bo was gone Roman lifted his head from the pillow and started to get up, and was stunned when Billie put her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Bo said to stay put. And what he says goes for me too. Just think of me as your sister from now on, Roman.” Then she thrust her left hand in front of his face and he found himself staring at a glittering engagement ring.

“Ah, congratulations,” he choked.

“Thank you. Now lay down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed, but even as he laid his head back and closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but imagine the pain his brother must be going through right now as he caught his first glimpse of the dying man he loved so much. Be strong, Bo, he prayed. Be strong.

Bo paused outside the kitchen, trying to steel himself for what lay within. John was dying. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. Despite his anger the last several months over John and Marlena’s affair, he still loved them both. They were family. Now John was dying, and Marlena…what might be happening to Marlena was too dreadful to contemplate. Taking a deep breath, he opened the kitchen door and stepped inside.

The bed sat in the middle of the large gleaming room. A young man in the uniform of a Louisiana state trooper sat on its edge, checking a thermometer. From his face, as he turned to look at Bo, what he had seen there clearly wasn’t encouraging. His heart thudding in his chest, Bo walked toward the bed, answering the unasked question he saw on the trooper’s face. “I’m Bo Brady. Roman’s brother. I made Roman lie down for a while. How’s John?”

The trooper stood up, still blocking Bo’s view of the bed’s occupant, and held out his hand. “Trooper Martin Franklin,” he introduced himself as Bo grasped his hand briefly. “I’m afraid he’s not any better,” he said with a frown. “We’ve been packing him in ice for hours, but his temperature just won’t go down.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I have to talk to the doctor and get some more ice. While I’m doing that, you can sponge his face with ice water.” He pointed to a nearby bowl of ice cubes and water with a dishtowel soaking in it. “But just bathe his face–don’t try to wash his hair, even though it’s filthy. He may have serious head injuries and the doctor doesn’t want us doing anything that might make them worse.” Then Franklin strode to a nearby wall phone, allowing Bo to see John for the first time.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped, staring in horror at the gaunt face, sunken eyes and blood-matted hair of his former brother. The rest of John’s body, surrounded by bags of melting ice, was concealed under a sheet from the neck down…a sheet stained red in several places from other injuries Bo didn’t even want to imagine. He turned his gaze back to John’s face, and a knot formed in his stomach as there arose unbidden in his mind a picture of Isabella…Isabella as he had last seen her, just before she and John had departed for Italy. The look he had seen on her face then was the same look he now saw on John’s…the look of death.

“Oh, bro,” he mourned softly, brushing his hand across John’s forehead. It was burning hot, and he quickly wrung icy water from the soaking towel and gently bathed John’s face with it’s cool moisture. It soon lost its coolness, however, as it came in contact with John’s fevered skin, and Bo was about to dip it back in the bowl when he heard an exclamation from Franklin.

“Thank God, doctor! That’s great! Tell that pilot he deserves a medal! See you soon. Bye!” Franklin practically danced as he hung up the phone and spun around to Bo. “Get your brother!” he said excitedly. “The chopper’s on the way!”

Buffeted by heavy rain and still powerful winds, the helicopter landed on the broad expanse of lawn behind the mansion. Even on the ground it was rocked by the wind, and from his view at the kitchen window Bo could see the pilot remaining at the controls to keep it steady while the large rear door slid open and three figures leaped to the ground. They pulled a stretcher loaded with equipment from the open bay and hurried up the gently sloping lawn toward the house.

Roman met the three men at the back door just off the kitchen and quickly led them inside. They immediately moved to the bed and the two younger men started unpacking equipment while the third, an African-American in his late forties, addressed the six anxious bystanders. “I’m Dr. Harris. Which of you is Roman Brady?”

Roman stepped forward. “I am. It’s good to see you, doctor. I know you took a real risk coming out in this weather. We’re grateful.”

“I didn’t think we could wait any longer,” Harris replied, “and the pilot thought she could make it, so we came. I want to get him out of here ASAP. We’ll take his vitals, put him on a heart monitor and start an IV, then we’ll leave. Have you got those drugs you found.”

“They’re all in that box.” Roman gestured toward the table. “All we could find anyway.” Bo shivered as he looked at the box he had brought up from the basement only moments before, his stomach still churning from the horror evoked by the sight of John’s gruesome prison. “We may find more,” Roman continued, “after we make another search of the house.”

Harris nodded, then one of the paramedics who had been working on John called out, “He’s on the monitor, doctor, and we’ve started the IV.”

Harris immediately moved to the bed and bent over the equipment surrounding John. He and the paramedics spoke in low tones for several minutes, then the three of them gently lifted John’s limp body, still covered by the bloody sheet, and lowered him into the stretcher.

As the paramedics covered John with a blanket and started to secure straps around him, Harris turned back to the others. “His blood pressure and pulse are practically nonexistent,” he said gravely. “Unfortunately, until we know what drugs he was given, I don’t dare do anything more right now than start him on a saline solution.” He looked at Roman. “We have room for two more people in the helicopter. Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

“So do I,” Bo added.

Roman introduced him. “This is my brother Bo. He just got here a little while ago.”

“All right,” Harris said as the paramedics covered John’s head with a flap of blanket and picked up the stretcher. “Grab your coats, gentlemen, and let’s get out of here.”

As Bo and Roman quickly shrugged into their coats, Roman spoke to the young trooper. “Get a forensics team out here as soon as you can, Franklin. Go over every inch of this place. See if you can get an architect out here too. Stefano loves tunnels and secret rooms: if he kept any records here, that’s probably where they’ll be.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Franklin assured him. “If there’s anything here to find, we’ll find it. Good luck.”

Roman nodded, gave Kristen a brief hug, clasped hands with Tony, then followed the paramedics and Dr. Harris out the door. Bo gave Billie a quick kiss and ran out after Roman.

The trip to the hospital was an exercise in sheer terror. Bo clung tightly to a strap, thinking grimly this was worse even than being caught in a storm at sea. When the chopper finally landed, both he and Roman struggled to find their land legs while the paramedics briskly loaded John’s stretcher on to a waiting gurney and headed at a run for the emergency doors. Dr. Harris, carrying the box of drugs, followed at a slightly slower pace, accompanied by the now steady Bradys. As they entered the hospital, they saw John disappearing down a long corridor and moved to join him, but Harris shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he told them, handing the box to a waiting nurse who headed down another corridor with it, “but you’ll have to wait here. We’re going to start the tests immediately and they’ll take quite a while. In conjunction with those tests we need to obtain John’s medical records. You said he’s your adopted brother. Can you authorize their release?”

Bo and Roman looked at each other in dismay. Legally they had no authority to act on John’s behalf. Roman switched his gaze back to Harris. “I’m afraid we’ve got a problem there, doctor. John’s ‘adoption’ is an informal arrangement between he and our family. We’re not legally related to him.”

“Does he have any next of kin you can get in touch with?”

Bo and Roman locked eyes. “Vivian?” they asked each other in comic disbelief.

Bo shook his head at the thought, answering for them both. “No way. That’d be like throwing a Christian to the lions. There has to be somebody else.” He pondered for a moment, then had a sudden inspiration. “Could somebody with John’s power of attorney release the records,” he asked the doctor, “and accept responsibility for his treatment?”

“Of course.”

“Who are you thinking of, Bo?” Roman asked.

“Victor. I know John gave him power of attorney when Isabella got sick, and I don’t think he ever rescinded it. He’d certainly be preferable to Vivian.”

“I guess we don’t have any choice,” Roman agreed. “Victor it is.”

“Who’s this Victor?” Harris asked.

“John’s father-in-law,” Bo replied, omitting his own complicated relationship. “He’s also on the board of University Hospital in Salem. He won’t have any trouble getting John’s records.”

Harris reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Bo. “Can you get in touch with him right away? Here’s my fax number. He can have the records and his power of attorney sent directly to my office.”

“I’ll call right now.”

As Bo headed down the hall toward a bank of phones, Harris switched his attention back to Roman. “While he’s doing that, there’s something else I need to know, Roman. On the phone you said John had been drugged and brainwashed before. If he’s going to recover, it’s obvious we’re going to have to treat his mind as well as his body. It would be a big help if I knew what happened before, and the circumstances of this second attack.”

The circumstances of this attack? Roman watched Bo walk toward the phones, trying to get his thoughts in order. Those circumstances were something he really didn’t want to talk about. Telling the doctor about John also meant telling about himself. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he and John were inextricably linked…like Siamese twins who could never be separated. In revealing John’s painful past, he would also have to relive for a stranger his own moments of pain and betrayal and heartache. But in order for John to have the best chance of survival, the doctor had to know the truth, no matter how painful. Taking a deep breath, Roman looked out the window at the storm ravaged garden below, and started to speak in a dispassionate voice.

“As you already know, I’m a cop. I was also an ISA agent. Ten years ago I was kidnapped by an international crime lord out for revenge named Stefano DiMera. My family believed I’d been killed and my body washed out to sea. At around the same time, DiMera also kidnapped a private detective from Switzerland named John Stevens. Somehow DiMera erased Stevens’ memories and replaced them with mine. About eighteen months after I was presumed dead, DiMera arranged for Stevens to end up in my home town of Salem, after first altering his face with plastic surgery and erasing his memory again. Since he didn’t know who he was, Stevens adopted the name ‘John Black,’ and through a very elaborate plan, DiMera convinced my family and friends that the amnesiac John Black was actually Roman Brady. And when John finally got his memory back, he believed he was Roman Brady too, because he was remembering my life, not his own.

“John lived with my wife, Marlena, as her husband for over a year, but then DiMera became suspicious she would discover he was an impostor and had her kidnapped as well. Again, just like he did with me, he arranged for everyone to believe she was dead. John actually witnessed the plane she was on crash into the ocean. After that, John went back to Salem and spent the next five years raising Marlena’s and my children.

“In July of 1991, DiMera’s plan for revenge on me and my family came to a head. Marlena was allowed to ‘escape’ and made her way back to Salem, where she found her ‘husband’ about to marry another woman. In the course of trying to discover what had happened to her, John and Marlena then stumbled across me on the island prison where DiMera was holding me. Needless to say, it was a mess. Marlena didn’t know which of us was her husband, I thought John was an assassin sent by DiMera to kill my family, and John believed he was the real Roman Brady. It finally took DNA testing to convince my family I was who I said I was, but John didn’t believe it until we finally confronted DiMera and he gleefully admitted everything he’d done.

“John and Bo and I had a shootout with DiMera and his henchmen and we thought DiMera was killed, so we went back to Salem and tried to get on with our lives. John went to live with his pregnant fiancee, Isabella, and started searching for his real identity, while Marlena and I tried to get reacquainted with our children and get our marriage and our family back on track. After several months, John finally discovered who he really was and married Isabella, but except for a few bits and pieces his memory of his previous life was gone. Marlena’s a psychiatrist and tried to help him with therapy and hypnosis, but his memory never came back.”

Pausing for breath, and to steel himself to tell the next painful chapter of the story, Roman looked around to find Dr. Harris staring at him in fascinated horror. “My God,” the doctor said in astonishment. “You’ll have to forgive me, but this is a little difficult to believe.”

“I know,” Roman sighed. “Sometimes I don’t believe it myself. But it’s true: I lived it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get any better. After John finally learned his identity and he and Isabella were married, we all thought the worst was over. But it wasn’t. Five months after the wedding, Isabella died of pancreatic cancer. John was devastated, and Marlena spent so much time trying to help him that it put a real strain on our marriage. John and Marlena got even closer after they were trapped together in a collapsed building, and they finally ended up having a brief affair. My daughter Sami found out about it, and when Marlena became pregnant and didn’t know who the father was, Sami was so terrified her family would fall apart that she altered the baby’s paternity test to make John and Marlena believe the baby was mine. And after the baby was born, Sami kidnapped her and tried to sell her to a black market baby ring.

“In the meantime, after the affair with Marlena, John got involved with a new social worker in town named Kristen Blake. He fell in love with her, then we discovered that she was Stefano DiMera’s adopted daughter, and that DiMera was still alive and back in Salem. Naturally DiMera didn’t want John and Kristen together, so he set out to destroy John’s credibility. The way he did it was to force John and Marlena to confess their affair, which he had learned about from reading Sami’s diary, and which also revealed that John was the baby’s father instead of me. After that, Marlena and I separated, Kristen married DiMera’s son Tony, and DiMera staged another accident to make it look he’d been killed.

“John kept insisting DiMera was alive and wanted me to help find him, but I was so angry at he and Marlena over the affair that I wouldn’t do it. Then about ten weeks ago, DiMera lured John and Marlena into coming to New Orleans to look for him, while convincing me and everyone else they’d gone away together on a romantic vacation. And that brings us to today: I found John near death at Maison Blanche, and Stefano DiMera has disappeared again, taking Marlena with him.”

Roman looked at Dr. Harris and tried to keep his voice level. “I don’t want John to die, doctor. I was angry at him, but God knows I never wanted anything like this to happen. Can you save him?”

“We’ll try our best,” Harris said quietly. “What you’ve told me helps a lot. I know it couldn’t have been easy to talk about, but it really does help. Over the phone, you also mentioned something about some letters John wrote. I’d like to read those, if it’s all right with you, and also show them to our head of Psychiatric Services. We need to know as much as we can about John’s mental state prior to his collapse.”

“Of course.” Roman reached into his jacket and pulled out the blood-stained pieces of paper. The doctor accepted them, saying, “I’ll have them copied and returned to you immediately. You and your brother can wait here, or in my office down the hall while we run the tests. It may take several hours, so the nurse can direct you to the cafeteria if you want something to eat. I’ll have you paged if there’s any news.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Dr. Harris nodded, then strode quickly down the hall. Roman watched him for a few moments, then started down the hall in the opposite direction, to where Bo was speaking urgently on the phone.

Bo saw him coming, and as he neared, held up his hand to acknowledge his presence. Roman heard him say, “The flight should take about two hours, but how will you get from the airport to the hospital? It may be several days before the roads are passable.” He paused to listen, nodding his head several times. “Okay. That sounds good. That should put you here sometime around two-thirty or three o’clock. I don’t know how long these tests will take, but I should think we’d know something by then.” There was another pause. “All right, we’ll see you this afternoon then. I’ll call your cell phone if there’s any change in John’s condition before you get here. Goodbye,Victor.”

Bo hung up the phone and spoke to Roman. “Victor does have John’s power of attorney. He’s going to fax Dr. Harris a copy of John’s medical records and his authorization to begin treatment. He and Kate are flying down on the Titan jet, then using one of Titan’s local helicopters to get here to the hospital. He said they’ll bring Mom and Pop, too, if they want to come. Do you want me to call Mom and Pop, or do you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Roman sighed. “They need to hear it from me.”

Bo nodded and handed him the phone. Roman dialed quickly and got a response almost immediately.

“Hello.” It was a young woman’s voice. Sami.

“Hi, Peanut. It’s Dad. Is Pop there?”

“He’s down in the pub. I’ll get him. Shawn-D,” she called in the distance, “will you get Grandpa? Dad’s on the phone.” Her voice returned to a normal level. “He’ll be here in a minute, Daddy. Did you catch your bad guy?” she asked lightly.

“Not yet, honey,” he replied gruffly.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” He heard the instant concern in her voice. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, unable to bring himself to tell her about her mother. “It’s just that something unexpected happened that Pop needs to know about.”

“Okay,” she said with a touch of bewilderment. “Here he is.”

“Roman. What’s going on down there?” Shawn’s Irish brogue was thick with worry. “Are you all right? Something bad’s happened. I can feel it.”

He’s been having that feeling for weeks, Roman thought bleakly, and he was so right. Why didn’t I listen to him? Things might have been so different.

“I’m fine, Pop,” he answered, “and so is Bo. But you’re right: something bad has happened. Something terrible. Stefano’s alive. He was holding John and Marlena prisoner.”

“Dear God,” Shawn groaned. “What happened? How are they?”

“Marlena’s missing.” Roman tried to keep his voice steady. “Stefano got away and took her with him. Nobody knows where they are.”

There was a long silence as Shawn absorbed the news. “I’m sorry, son,” he finally said quietly. “What about John?”

“It’s bad,” Roman said grimly. “It’s really bad. We found him last night, chained in a basement. Stefano drugged and tortured him for ten weeks, then left him to starve to death.”

“Noo…” Shawn moaned. “Oh, please, no…”

“He’s still alive,” Roman said hurriedly, “but it doesn’t look good. He’s in the hospital now, and the doctors are doing what they can, but they don’t know if he’ll make it. Victor and Kate are flying down on the Titan jet. They’ll take you and Ma with them, if you want to come.”

“Of course we’ll come.” Shawn’s voice, though quavering with shock and grief, made it sound like doing anything else was unthinkable. “What about Belle and Brady? Should we bring them? Would it help him to see them?”

“You’d better leave them in Salem, Pop. Ask if Alice or Maggie will look after them. John’s unconscious,” he explained. “He wouldn’t even know they were here. Besides, it would be too traumatic for Brady to see him the way he looks now. And if John dies,” Roman continued painfully, “I know he’d want Brady’s last memory of his daddy to be a happy one.”

“You’re right,” Shawn said quietly. “I’d better go now, son. We have a lot to do. We’ll see you soon, and we’ll be praying. Bye.”

“Bye, Pop.”

Roman replaced the receiver and turned to Bo. “They’re coming. I just hope John hangs on long enough for them to get here.”

“So do I, bro. So do I.”

Shawn hung up the phone and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, bowing his head over his shaking hands. Stefano DiMera. Would that monster never leave his family alone? Now he had Marlena again…and John, his darlin’ Johnny, was dying. No! he admonished himself, Stop it! You can’t think like that. He’s going to live. And you have to be there for him. He reached for the phone again and dialed a number he knew by heart and wished he could forget.

“Kiriakis residence.” It was the butler, Henderson.

“This is Shawn Brady. Let me talk to Victor.”

“Oh, Mr. Brady. He’s expecting your call. Just a moment. I’ll transfer you to his cell phone.”

There was series of clicks, then the voice of the man he despised but would always be connected to. “Kiriakis.”

“It’s Shawn. I just talked to Roman. When are you leaving?”

“It’ll take about an hour to get the plane ready. I’m on my way to the hospital to get John’s medical records. I can pick up you and Caroline on the way back.”

“I have to arrange for someone to take care of the children before we leave. Roman suggested Alice or Maggie Horton, but they both have the flu. I’m not sure who else I can try on such short notice.”

There was a pause, then Victor said, rather tentatively Shawn thought, “I know you won’t like this, Shawn, but the children could stay at my place. The staff adore John and Brady and little Belle. I know they’d be glad to help out by taking care of the children.”

Shawn only had to think for a moment. Time was of the essence, and enmity could be put aside for the sake of a loved one. And much as he hated to admit it, there had been an almost miraculous change in Victor over the last two years. “All right,” he said gratefully. That sounds like a good solution. I’ll get them ready.”

“I’ll have Henderson and Nydia come over to pick them up. Nydia has taken care of both Belle and Brady before when John brought them over. They won’t be scared with her.”

“We’ll be ready. And Victor…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For offering to take us.”

“John needs you,” Victor said shortly. “He needs all of us.”

“I know.” With those words, Shawn acknowledged his understanding of the meaning behind Victor’s. From now, until this crisis was over, there would be a ceasefire in their decades long undeclared war. And maybe, just maybe, sometime in the future, that ceasefire could become permanent. “We’ll see you shortly, Victor. Goodbye.”

“Shawn?” As he hung up the phone, he was pulled around by Caroline’s voice from the doorway. “Sami said Roman was on the phone. Why were you talking to Victor? What’s going on?”

“Caroline. I–”

“Grandpa,” Sami interrupted from the hall behind her grandmother, “what was Daddy calling about? He sounded kind of funny.”

I don’t want to tell them like this, Shawn thought in despair, but they have to know. “Roman was calling about John and Marlena,” he sighed. “He–”

“He saw John and Mom!?” Sami burst out. Then she started ranting. “I hope he told them to stay away and never come back! We don’t need them!” she snarled. “They could be dead for all I care! I wouldn’t miss them a bit!”

“Sami!” Caroline cried. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s all right, Caroline,” Shawn said quietly, but inside he was just as appalled as she was. Sami’s hatred of John and Marlena was over the edge now, bordering on the irrational. Maybe a shock would bring her back to her senses. “Sami,” he asked, “have you ever heard the old saying ‘be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it?’”

She stared at him wide-eyed. “What…what do you mean, Grandpa?” she stuttered.

“I mean that John is dying,” he told her bluntly, while Caroline gasped in terror. “Stefano DiMera tricked John and Marlena into going to New Orleans. He drugged and tortured John for the last ten weeks, then left him to die while he disappeared with your mother.”

Sami turned green with shock. “Stefano has Mom again?” she whimpered, her anger replaced by fear.

“Yes. No one knows where they are. And John’s in the hospital, in critical condition. The doctors don’t think he’ll make it.” He turned to the trembling Caroline. “Victor and Kate are leaving for New Orleans in an hour on the Titan jet. They asked us to go with them. I said yes. Shawn-D and Belle and Brady will stay at Victor’s while we’re gone. Henderson will be over shortly to pick them up.”

Caroline pulled herself together, nodding. “I’ll get them ready.”

“Why do they have to go anywhere?” Sami interjected. “Jaime and I can take care of them. I want to help.”

Shawn looked at her askance. “You know why, Sami. We don’t dare leave you alone with John’s children.”

She had the grace to blush with shame. “I know what I did was wrong, Grandpa. I’d never do anything like that again. I promise.”

“No. I’m sorry, Sami, but after the way you were talking just a few minutes ago, we just can’t take the chance. Now, you’ll have to excuse us. We have packing to do.”

After her grandparents left the room, Sami walked across to the fireplace and lifted a picture from the mantle. Tears dimming her eyes, she brushed her fingertips over John’s face, glowing with happiness as he stood beside Isabella in her wedding dress. “Please don’t die, Daddy,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Crimes of the Heart

ROMAN STARED out the hospital window, only dimly aware of the patches of blue sky starting to break through the hurricane gray. Every few minutes his eyes strayed to his watch: after almost four hours, there was still no word from the doctors about John. This was what he hated most about hospitals…the interminable waiting. Bo at least had found something to do–he’d been on the phone to Maison Blanche almost constantly, ostensibly filling everyone in on the news that there was no news yet, but Roman was sure he was calling just for the comfort of hearing the voice of the woman he loved. He himself could find no such comfort. The woman he loved was missing; he might never hear her voice again. He wanted to talk to her so badly. To tell her how much he loved her…to tell her he was sorry…to tell her–”

“Roman?”

“Ma?” He spun around, and was instantly enveloped in his mother’s embrace. Her touch finally cracked the shell which had been holding his emotions in check for so long, and he found himself sobbing in her arms. Then Shawn was there as well, and Roman surrendered totally to his grief and fear, unaware of Victor and Kate making a tactful withdrawal into the background so Shawn and Caroline could console their son in private.

Bo was on the phone when he saw his parents, accompanied by Victor and Kate, emerge from the elevator. Quickly making his good-byes to Billie, he hurried down the corridor, but halted a discreet distance away when he saw the emotional state Roman was in. A few moments later he was joined by Victor and Kate, both of their faces tight with worry.

“Bo. Is there any news yet?” Victor’s strained voice betrayed his anxiety.

He shook his head. “No. But the nurses say it shouldn’t be much longer. I hope to God they’re right. John’s so weak…they’ve got to do something soon.

“Was he conscious at all? Were you able to talk to him?”

Bo shook his head again. “No. Roman said he was unconscious when they found him. But he was able to tell us what happened.

“What do you mean?”

“He wrote it down.” Reaching into his pocket, Bo pulled out the bloody letters Roman had given him after the doctor had finished with them. He had read and reread them many times over the last four hours, and each time the pain and despair tore at his heart. He offered the pages to Victor. “Someone smuggled paper and a pencil in to him. He wrote these letters to Roman, then hid them under his shackles so they’d be found if and when his body was ever found. He described everything that happened.”

Victor took the papers in hand and started to read. By the time he had turned the last page, his face was dark with anger. “That bastard!” he grated. “I’ll find him if it’s the last thing I ever do! I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands!”

Curt words sounded from behind him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in line, Vic.” Roman’s eyes were red, but his voice was as cold as ice. “Bo and I have first claim. You can have whatever’s left–but it won’t be much. I promise you.”

Her face clouded with worry, Caroline laid her hand on his arm. “Roman, please don’t talk like that. Not here, not now. Right now, we have to think about John.”

Roman stared down at her, eyes flinty. “I am thinking about John, Ma. You haven’t read his letters, you haven’t seen what that monster did him. This time Stefano is not getting away with it. This time, he’s going to pay…he’s going to pay for everything.”

Caroline bit her lip at his vicious tone, but didn’t press the matter. Shawn, meanwhile, had seen the papers in Victor’s hand. “Could I see those?” he asked quietly.

Victor silently passed them over, and Shawn led Caroline to a waiting-area sofa, where they huddled side by side over the bloody pages. Moisture sprang to their eyes as they followed John’s account of suffering and despair, and at the end, they clung to each other in anguish, tears flowing freely down their cheeks.

Forty minutes after the group from Salem arrived, the anxious hours of waiting finally came to an end. Roman leaped to his feet as he saw the tall figure of Dr. Harris approach, accompanied by a much shorter, much older man. The others also rose as the pair neared.

“Capt. Brady, Detective Brady,” Dr. Harris said, gesturing toward his companion, “this is Dr. Rosenthal, our Chief of Psychiatry. I’ve asked him to consult on John’s case. Dr. Rosenthal, this is Captain Roman Brady and his brother, Bo.”

The white haired man with the lined face inclined his head. “Gentlemen.”

“Dr. Rosenthal.” Roman acknowledged the psychiatrist in return, then made his own introductions. “Dr. Harris, I’d like you to meet John’s father-in-law, Victor Kiriakis; Victor’s fiancee, Kate Roberts; and my parents, Shawn and Caroline Brady. They just arrived from Salem.”

“I’m glad you’re all here,” Harris said. “We’ve finished John’s tests, and I’m afraid you have a difficult decision to make. If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain.” He then led the way to a small conference room.

When everyone was seated, Harris dimmed the overhead lights and turned on a row of light boxes on the wall. Pulling a film from a large envelope, he clipped it to one of the boxes. It showed the picture of a skull. “John is in critical condition,” he stated. “The first injury he sustained was a hairline skull fracture.” Taking a pointer, he traced a thin line on the right side of the picture. “Luckily it wasn’t a severe fracture, but it was a tremendous shock to his system. Before he had a chance to recover from that, his body was subjected to more trauma in the form of drugs and beatings and starvation, and the cumulative effect was devastating. Even so, if it weren’t for the drugs, I believe he’d have a good chance for survival. Those drugs, however, tip the scales in the other direction. Our toxicology lab was able to identify most of the contents of the bottles recovered from the basement, and it turns out they contained not only mind-altering drugs, but a nasty combination of heavy metals. Heavy metals,” he explained, “work on the body like slow-acting poison. They settle in various organs, seriously impairing their function and eventually destroying the organs completely. That is what is happening to John right now.” He pulled out another film and held it to the light. “See these three dark areas?…here, and here and here? Those are John’s liver and his kidneys. One kidney has already been destroyed, and the other is functioning at only half its capacity. The liver is also badly damaged, but not quite as severely as the kidneys.”

The sudden silence that fell over the room was broken by a quiet question from Roman. “Can you do anything to help him?”

“We’re trying, but I’m going to be honest with you…as things stand now, it doesn’t look good. We’ve already started preliminary treatment, but where we go from here is going to be up to you to decide as a family. And I’m afraid it’s going to be a very difficult decision.” As his audience absorbed that news, Harris took a seat at the table and steepled his fingers in front of him. “When we realized what was happening,” he continued, “we immediately put John on dialysis to take the strain off the remaining kidney. We also began a course of drugs to purge the heavy metals from his system. That’s a very slow process though, and the only sure way to prevent further damage–quite probably fatal damage–from occurring before the drugs can take effect is immediate surgery. We need to remove the non-functioning kidney and the damaged portion of the liver. If we could do that successfully, his chances of recovering would go up enormously. The surgery itself, however, presents us with a huge problem: even under optimum conditions, an operation of this type is risky. In John’s case, it’s more than just risky…his body is so debilitated there’s a strong possibility he wouldn’t survive it. But if we don’t perform surgery, I believe he’ll die within the next twenty-four hours.” He contemplated the family soberly. “That’s the decision you’re going to have to make: whether or not you want us to attempt the surgery.”

The family exchanged grim glances, then turned their attention back to Harris. In unspoken agreement, Roman again spoke for them all. “How long do we have to decide?”

Harris looked at his watch. “I’m afraid the most I can give you is ten minutes. If you do opt for the surgery, we need to get started as soon as possible. And also, Dr. Rosenthal will have to get some information from you which could significantly affect how we approach the surgery.” He turned to his colleague. “Isaac, why don’t you and I step outside and give these people a chance to talk.” Rosenthal nodded, and the two doctors got up from the table and exited the room, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

Victor finally cleared his throat. “I don’t see that we have any choice here,” he said hoarsely. “John will die without the surgery. That much we know. We just can’t let him slip away without trying to do something. My vote is yes.” He looked at the anguished faces gathered around the table, at the tightly clenched jaws and hands. “Bo?”…“Yes.” ….. “Roman?”…“Yes.” ….. “Caroline?”…“Yes.” ….. “Shawn?”…“Yes.” ….. “Kate?”…“Yes.”

Roman stood up. “I guess we have our answer. I’ll tell the doctor.” He left the room and returned moments later, followed by Harris and Rosenthal. The three resumed their seats and Harris once again addressed the family. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision. And now, as I said earlier, Dr. Rosenthal needs to talk to you before we begin surgery.” He turned to his companion. “Isaac, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, Nolan.” As the white-haired psychiatrist swept his dark gaze around the table, Roman had a sinking feeling that whatever he had to say, it wasn’t good. He braced himself for more bad news.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Rosenthal began shortly, “I’m going to be blunt. You won’t like it, but John is now my patient, and my first concern has to lie with him.” He turned to Roman. “I know your wife is missing, Captain Brady, and I’m sorry, but I have to say that I’m appalled by the way she conducted herself professionally. One of the cardinal rules of psychiatry is never to treat family or close friends. Your wife committed a serious breach of ethics by taking John on as a patient, and it had devastating consequences…not only for the two of them, but for your entire family.

“The patient/therapist relationship is a very precarious one. The therapist must support the patient, but resist becoming personally involved. This is especially important in a case like John’s. Amnesia victims are very vulnerable and fragile people. Because of their loss of identity, they develop an almost pathological need to have someone strong and supportive in their lives whom they can depend on. Isabella obviously performed that function for John, and after she died, he had to get that support from someone else…he literally couldn’t help himself. It was only natural that he turn to his therapist for help, but in this case, his therapist was also his ex-wife.” Rosenthal shook his head sadly. “It was an impossible situation, and it had ‘disaster’ written all over it right from the start. I firmly believe the affair would never have happened if someone else had been treating John, and if it were up to me, Captain Brady, your wife would lose her medical license over this.”

There was dead silence as the family absorbed this condemnation of Marlena, but even more shocks lay ahead.

“Now about John’s current condition. Dr. Harris performed the physical examination and asked me to evaluate his emotional and mental state. As I said, amnesiacs are very fragile. I read John’s letters, and I’m greatly concerned that he spoke about ‘praying to die’ and ‘accepting that he was going to die’. This is not a good sign. Has he ever attempted suicide or talked about wanting to die before?”

“No!” “Of course not!” The chorus of nays rang out around the table, but came to an abrupt halt as one quiet voice answered, “Yes.”

All eyes converged on the owner of that voice. “Bo, what are you saying!?” Caroline cried. “John would never try to kill himself!”

“Isabella told me when she got sick,” he replied softly. “She was afraid of what he might do after she died, and she asked me to watch out for him. She didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Rosenthal broke the stunned silence. “Do you know specifically what happened?” he probed gently.

Bo nodded. “There were three incidents Isabella told me about, and another one I witnessed myself.” He turned to his family. “The first time was the night we got the DNA results. You remember,” he said, staring accusingly at Roman. “John ran out of the house, and the ISA and the police were hunting for him to arrest him.” Roman looked slightly shame-faced as Bo continued. “John later told Isabella he was just driving around in circles in his car. He was crying, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he had just lost everything and felt everyone had turned against him.” His gaze swung to Caroline. “Especially you, Ma,” he told her quietly, as tears streamed down her cheeks. “He trusted you more than anyone else in the world. You hurt him so badly, tricking him the way you did. He might have gone to you for help if it hadn’t been for that.” Bo paused to collect himself, then turned back to the whole group. “Anyway, after driving around for about an hour, he stopped the car and pulled out his gun. He put the barrel to his head and sat there for about twenty minutes, trying to come up with a reason not to kill himself. And he finally found one. He hit on the idea that the ISA had tampered with the test results. That way, he could still believe he was Roman Brady and still give himself something to live for. And that belief managed to get him through, at least until we found Stefano and he was finally forced to accept the truth. But by that time, he had found something else to live for…Isabella told him she was pregnant.

“The next two incidents weren’t as bad, but Isabella said they really scared her. One happened after her car went into the river and she almost drowned, and the second was after she got stuck in that snow storm and almost lost the baby. Both times, John told her she was all he had and he would die if anything happened to her and the baby. And she believed him.

“That’s why, when she got sick, she was so scared of what he might do after she died. And she was right. The night after he got back from Italy, after burying Isabella, I found him on the roof of the loft. He was standing by the edge and I thought he was going to jump. I managed to get him back inside and spent all night talking to him. I told Marlena about it the next morning and she said she’d help him.”

Rosenthal pounced on that last statement. “Are you saying Dr. Evans knew he was suicidal?”

“Yes. I told her everything Isabella told me, and about what happened on the roof.”

Rosenthal sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “This is incredible,” he muttered to himself. “What in God’s name was she thinking?” He addressed the family again. “I’m afraid Dr. Evans’ professional lapse is even worse than I thought. I read her case history on John that accompanied the rest of his medical records, and she made no mention of a suicide attempt, even though she knew about it. In my mind, that constitutes almost criminal negligence. In omitting that fact from his file, she quite literally put his life in danger. If you hadn’t been here today, Mr. Brady,” he spoke to Bo, “I would have known nothing about his suicide attempts. I would have wrongly assumed that the remarks he made in his letters about dying were nothing more than a very natural response to an intolerable situation. If that was the case, once he was removed from that situation, he would no longer have any reason to want to die. But the fact that he has been suicidal before sheds a whole new light on the matter. At this point, I’m very much afraid that John not only believes he no longer has any reason to stay alive, he actually believes it would be better for everyone he loves if he were dead.”

“No!” Caroline gasped, “how could he think that? We love him…we need him…he’s part of our family.”

“John doesn’t believe that, Mrs. Brady. Not anymore. He thinks you hate him now, because of the affair, and in his mind you have every right to hate him. He blames himself for ruining your family, Captain Brady, which in my opinion is a totally wrong assumption. Ninety-nine percent of the fault for that affair belongs to Dr. Evans: she was his psychiatrist, she was the one who was supposed to be in control. She had to have known John would subconsciously turn to her as an emotional replacement for Isabella, and she did nothing to prevent that. She let her own feelings get in the way of her professional judgment, and John was the one who suffered as the result. Now, he not only blames himself for the affair, more importantly, he blames himself for not being able to protect Dr. Evans. Again, as with Isabella, she had become the most important person in his life…and just like with Isabella, he could do nothing to save her. In John’s mind, he deserves to die. He can’t protect the people he loves, he sees his presence in your lives as causing nothing but pain and disruption. He thinks if he dies, your family–the family he loves–can go back to normal. That is unlikely to happen, of course, but that is what he believes. And if he goes into surgery with that attitude, the best doctors and all the prayers in the world won’t be able to pull him through.”

“So you’re saying John isn’t going to survive no matter what you do?” Victor demanded.

“No, sir.” Rosenthal replied. “What I’m saying is that we have to change John’s attitude. Before he goes into surgery, we have to make him want to live instead of wanting to die.”

“But how can you do that? He’s unconscious.”

“Actually…” the psychiatrist paused, glancing around the table, “I’m not going to do it–you are. All of you. John is unconscious, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s unaware. He knows you, he knows your voices. He wouldn’t respond to me, but he may respond to you. I want you to talk to him. Tell him he’s wrong: tell him you still want him and need him in your lives, that he’s still a valued member of your family. Tell him you love him, and most important of all, tell him you forgive him. If he believes that, he just might have a chance.”

“When can we see him?” Caroline asked anxiously.

“Just a moment.” Rosenthal looked at his watch and held a brief whispered conversation with Harris, then turned back to the family. “John has about twenty minutes of dialysis left before we can prep him for surgery. We can let you see him right now, one a time, for a few minutes each.”

“Then why are we sitting here? Let’s go.” Grabbing her purse, Caroline shot up from her chair and almost ran for the door. The rest of the family was not far behind.

Dear John

CAROLINE WALKED SLOWLY towards John’s room in intensive care, trying to calm her pounding heart. Bo’s revelation of John’s near suicide had shaken her to the core. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing back then, using John’s faulty memory against him, trying to force the young man she loved so much to accept the reality of his situation. It had all gone so horribly wrong….but just how wrong she hadn’t fully realized until now. She was the one who had driven John to the brink of taking his own life. That was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. He had trusted her, and she had cruelly abused that trust, planting the seeds of rejection, pain and despair that were still bearing their deadly fruit all these years later.

It was still was so fresh in her mind: she would never forget the incredible look of shock and pain on his face, the way he had stormed out of the house, so scornful of her protestations of love. And why should he have believed her? The people who love you don’t betray and reject you the way she had done to him. She could see so clearly now–that had been the moment when he had started to withdraw from the family, had begun to feel so isolated and alone. No wonder he hadn’t been able to turn to her after the test results were announced…after all, how could you expect support from someone who had already abandoned you? And after his return from Mexico, he had withdrawn even more, so emotionally wounded, unable to accept or believe that he could still be a part of the family. They should have realized then how traumatized he was–so traumatized that even after he had reconnected with the family and finally seemed to be adjusting to his new life, that the pain and fear and insecurity were still there, hiding deep inside, subconsciously controlling his actions.

These last few months must have so terrible for him: not only tortured and helpless, but consumed by guilt, rejected again (as he thought) by the family who had promised him over and over that he would always belong, would always be a Brady. He was so insecure that he didn’t realize they could condemn his actions, but still love him at the same time. That was the way things worked in families, and just as they had told him, John was and always would be a part of their family. What they had to do now was convince him of that.

The door to John’s room was in front of her now. Taking a deep breath, steeling herself for the sight she had been warned to expect, she pushed open the door. But even though she was prepared, she had to stifle a gasp as her gaze fell on the motionless figure in the stark bed. Her strong, handsome, vital son was gone, and in his place was a gaunt scarecrow. His face was so thin and bruised that if she hadn’t known who he was, she might not have even recognized him. “Oh, John,” she whispered, almost crying as she hurried to the bed, “I’m here, honey. It’s Mom. It’s going to be all right now. I promise.”

Carefully avoiding the tubes and wires attached to his body, she bent and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, softly brushing the long hair back from his brow. “You need a haircut,” she choked, swallowing a sob. “As soon as you’re better, I’ll give you a Brady special. No charge. And you are going to get better,” she said firmly. “You have to. You’re my son–I love you so much, John. I don’t know what I’d do without you, what the family would do without you. We love you, honey. You have to believe that.”

As she talked, she gently stroked his hair, remembering how soothing it had been when the children had been sick and needed comfort. “And there’s something else you have to believe,” she continued softly. “You have to believe we forgive you. We really do, John. We know now you couldn’t help what happened with Marlena. We know, and understand, how much you were hurting, how much you needed her. And you have to understand that too, honey. You have to understand that what happened wasn’t your fault. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about anymore. Let it go,” she pleaded. “Let it go and come back to us, come back to the family. That’s where you belong, not here in this hospital bed. You belong with us, with the Bradys.” Reaching for his limp hand, she griped it tightly. “That’s what you are, John–a Brady. And you’re always going to be a Brady, now and forever. And you know what the best quality of the Bradys is? The very best quality? They’re fighters. They never give up, no matter what. That’s what you have to do now, honey. You have to fight. You have to fight harder than you’ve ever fought before. You have to fight to live. They’re going to take you into surgery very soon now. They think you’re going to die on the operating table. But I know better. I know how strong you are. You’re going to fight, and you’re going to live, John. You’re going to live, and you’re going to come home…to all of us.

“Oh, Johnny boy, jus’ look at you.” Shawn’s Irish was thick and mournful as he exchanged places with Caroline at John’s side. “Tis a fine mess you’ve got yourself into, lad. A fine mess indeed. All hooked up to these tubes an’ machines… I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry for what we did… for what I did. We blamed you for somethin’ that was never your fault. We let you come down here thinkin’ you didn’t matter to us anymore…thinkin’ you were all alone. Forgive me, son. Forgive me for bein’ such a stubborn, pig-headed fool. I was angry, but I never meant ta drive you away. I love you, boy, I always will. Do you know what it’s doin’ to me, seein’ you hurt like this? It’s tearin’ me apart inside! These fancy doctors say you’re gonna die. Well, I don’t believe it!” he said fiercely, “an’ don’t you believe it, either! It takes more’n a few cuts an’ bruises ta kill a Brady, Johnny boy, a hell of a lot more. You’re jus’ tired right now, that’s all. You jus’ need ta get a little strength back, an’ you can lick this thing. I can give you that strength, lad, if you’ll let me.”

As Caroline had done, he reached down and griped John’s withered hand with his strong, calloused one. “Feel my hand, Johnny,” he said gruffly. “All the strength you need is right here in this hand. It’s a father’s hand, Johnny…your father’s hand. Everything I feel for you is in this hand. All my love, an’ all my heart, an’ all my soul is in this hand. This hand isn’t jus’ holding yours, it’s wrapped around your heart, keeping it safe and strong and warm. Can you feel it, Johnny? Can you feel the strength? Can you feel the love? All those things are yours, son, whenever you need ’em. They’re all right here in this hand. It won’t let go of you, I promise. This hand is goin’ in ta that operating room with you. If you get tired, if you feel yourself slipping away, you hold tight ta this hand. You draw on that strength…you draw on that love…and you keep fighting!! That’s an order from your father, John Brady Black, an’ I expect it ta be obeyed.”

Kate Roberts stood solemnly by John’s bed, wondering what on earth she could say to give him encouragement. She didn’t know him as well as the others did, she wasn’t really part of his ‘family’ yet, but she loved Victor, and he loved John like a son. A son. Maybe that was it. If she couldn’t speak for herself, maybe she could speak on behalf of his son and daughter. Maybe she could give voice to those two tiny children, still too young to know what a gaping hole his death would create in their lives.

“Hello, John,” she quietly. “It’s Kate. I want to talk to you about Belle and Brady. They’re at Victor’s right now, and they’re all right, but they need you so badly. You and Marlena have been gone a long time, Marlena may never come back. What’s going to happen to them if you die, John? Oh, I know they’ll be taken care of, but it’s not the same thing as having their father around. And how do you think they’ll feel when they ask how you died, and they learn you didn’t care enough to put up a fight for them? They’ll hate you, John…think about that. Your children should be the most important things in your life. I know mine are to me. I was so devastated when Curtis took Austin and Billie away from me. I would have done anything to have them back, to be with them again, to protect them. How can you even think of leaving those children like this? A good parent fights for his children, John. He fights for them with everything he has. And that’s what I expect you to do. You fight for Belle and Brady! You get back on your feet and you show them just how much their father loves them!”

Victor stared down at the ravaged body of his son-in-law, thinking regretfully how once he would have gloated at seeing John in such circumstances. But not anymore, thank God, not anymore. Now it pained him beyond words to see John like this, but in a way that pain was welcome, because it proved once and for all just how much his life had changed. A change due solely to the kindness and generosity of two people: John and Isabella. They had given him one last chance to turn his life around, and with their help, he had succeeded. He just hoped he could now do for John what John had done for him: pull him back from the brink and give him a reason to live.

Bending low over the bed, he spoke in John’s ear. “Can you hear me, John? It’s Victor. I need you listen to me…I have something very important to tell you. These doctors say you want to die–that you think you only bring pain and heartache to the people you love; that you think we’d all be better off without you in our lives. That isn’t true. Not for the Bradys, and especially not for me. You changed my life–you and Isabella. You let me be Brady’s grandfather, you let me into your lives. I never had a real family before. Bo despises me; I can never be more than a token grandfather to Shawn-Douglas. But you and Isabella gave me a chance to be part of a family. That changed my life, John. Not just outwardly, but inside, where it counts. Before you and Isabella my life was a desert. I had wealth, I had power, but there was no joy, no love, no compassion. You gave me all those things. You made me into an entirely new person. If it hadn’t been for you, Kate could never have fallen in love with me. There wouldn’t have been anything there for her to love: just an empty shell of a man. But I’m not that soulless, joyless man anymore, and it’s all because of you. I still need you in my life, John–my journey isn’t through yet. I still need your guidance, your insight, your friendship. You’re my best friend. Isn’t that an amazing thing? In just two short years we’ve gone from literally trying to kill each other, to a friendship greater than I’ve ever known. I don’t want to lose that, John. I don’t want to lose you, my friend.”

“Hey, big brother. It’s Bo. I need to talk to you, man. I’ve been a real jerk. I promised Isabella I’d watch out for you, and I let her down big time–both her and you. If Izzy were here right now she’d let me have it with both barrels, right between the eyes. I’m so sorry, bro. I jumped all over you because of Marlena. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known it wasn’t your fault. I should have been there for you instead of leaving everything up to her. But it was just easier that way, you know? I mean…she was the professional, right? I thought she knew what she was doing. Boy, was I wrong.”

“I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, John, especially how I’ve acted since I found out about the affair. I let you down, but you were always there for me, even when I said I hated you. How can you think we’d be better off without you? If it hadn’t been for you, Billie would be in prison right now for a crime she never committed. I never thanked you for that. Thank you, bro, for saving the woman I love. We got engaged last night: I asked her marry me, and she said yes. That wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for you–it couldn’t have happened. I love you, man, and I need you. If you die, who’s gonna bail me out the next time I get in trouble? You can’t check out on me now, John, you just can’t.”

Roman sagged against the wall outside the ICU, staring blindly at the door as John’s other visitors came and went. He had elected to go last to give himself time to decide what to say. He was also trying, not very successfully, to block from his mind Dr. Rosenthal’s scathing condemnation of Marlena. Time was so short, he would have to deal with that painful subject later. Right now, he had to concentrate all his energies on John.

Bo’s somber description of John’s near suicides had hit him like a bombshell. For the first time, he had been forced to really consider the true impact his resurrection had made on John’s life. It was sobering, and more than a little painful. Intellectually, of course, he had known it must have been devastating to have one’s world wrenched apart like that, but just how devastating he hadn’t fully appreciated until just moments ago. John had been so explosively angry back then, so seemingly out of control–his attack on Victor, and his irrational outbursts in Mexico, for example–that he had taken it as a sign of the man’s guilt. But that hadn’t been the case at all.

With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, he remembered how triumphant he had been when Chief Tarrington announced the results of the DNA tests–how he had gloated at John’s anguished cries of disbelief as he fled into the night…fled to avoid arrest and interrogation by the ISA, and by police officers who only days before had been his loyal friends and colleagues. Dear God, how ashamed he felt. Despite his family’s unwavering faith in the other man’s character, he had been so sure John was the villain. Only now, in hindsight, could he see where that surety had come from…see that his own anger and rage at his seven-year separation from his loved ones had needed a focus, and that John had been an easy target. Until their fateful confrontation with Stefano in the Mayan temple, he had never believed for one moment John might be innocent, or been concerned that while he was being restored to his rightful place in the family, his hated impersonator’s life was being torn asunder. No wonder John had been so angry back then, so desperately insistent he was the real Roman Brady. He hadn’t been trying to avoid arrest and prosecution, he had literally been fighting to stay alive.

And what of everything that had happened since then? If Rosenthal was correct, John’s outward demeanor of strength and assurance was only a front: he needed emotional support as much as he needed air to breathe and food to eat. If that were the case, it wasn’t really all that surprising he had contemplated suicide after Isabella died. She had been such a tower of strength in such a tiny package. Her impact on John had been extraordinary, Roman thought, recalling the first time he had actually seen the two of them together: It had been at Chichen Itza, and John had gone tearing out of the villa in one of his violent outbursts of anger. Then Bo and Carly and Isabella had unexpectedly arrived, and Isabella went looking for John. When they came back together, the change in John had been nothing short of miraculous–the anger, the violence, the irrationality were gone. He had been calm, decisive and determined. And it was all because of Isabella, Roman realized now. It had been her strength and support that had pulled John through those dark hours–and the even darker days and months ahead, when he had had to come to terms with his loss and start to build a new life.

Isabella’s death must have been so crushing for him. No wonder he had grabbed at the lifeline Marlena offered. When you’re drowning, you don’t ask who’s throwing you the rope, you just reach for it and hang on. The only problem with that was, Marlena never should have been the one throwing the rope…or not the only one, anyway. They had all let John down: Marlena, and the whole family. Marlena, because her guilt in beliveing she was the one who had convinced John he was Roman Brady had led her to take his therapy solely upon herself…and the rest of the family for letting her do it–for taking the easy way out and not being there with her holding onto that metaphorical rope as she pulled John to safety.

Damn… he was thinking about Marlena again. It was a vicious circle. The more he tried to get her out of his thoughts, the more he thought about her. He couldn’t do that now. John’s needs were paramount and time was running out. What could he say to make up for all the years of misunderstanding and heartache and bitterness? More than anything, he wanted to go back to the beginning and start over. Do it right this time. He and John were so alike–for a few brief months they had actually been friends, almost brothers. Maybe they could be that way again…if John survived. And John had to survive–if only to take this enormous weight of guilt off his shoulders.

“Roman?”

Jerking his head up, he saw Bo standing in front of him. “It’s time, bro. If you want to see him, it has to be now. They’re taking him to surgery in a few minutes.”

He hurridly thrust himself away from the wall. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

Bo clapped him briefly on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “You got it. Now go in there and tell him to get his butt out of bed. You’re good at that, remember? You used to tell it to me all the time. If John reacts the same way I did, he’ll jump out of bed and try to punch you in the face.”

Roman paused for a moment with his hand on the door and turned to look at his brother, smiling somberly at the childhood memory. “That would solve all our problems, wouldn’t it. I don’t think its going to be that easy though. I only wish it was.”

“Me too. Go on, Roman. And good luck…from all of us.” Bo nodded toward the others, huddled together at the end of the hall in the classic pose adopted by worried relatives in waiting rooms the world over.

“Thanks.” With a final look at his family, John’s family, Roman pushed open the door and entered the room. John lay unmoving in the bed, surrounded by pulsating, beeping machines. They seemed to loom over him, accentuating his helplessness. Roman stopped at the head of the bed, his eyes focused on the pallid, bruised face on the pillow. “It’s Roman, John. I have a message from Bo. I’m supposed to tell you to get your butt out of bed. So that’s what I’m going to do. Get up, man! Get your butt out of bed! Now!“

Feeling more than a little stupid, he studied John hopefully, then sighed when there was no response. “I knew it wouldn’t work,” he muttered to himself. “Why did I even try? Now it’s back to reality. Listen to me, John,” he said firmly. “You’ve got a choice to make here. You can choose to live, or you can choose to die. I can see, from your point of view, that right now, dying looks very attractive. If you die, your pain and suffering will be over–no one can hurt you anymore, no one can take your world and tear it apart again, you won’t feel guilty anymore. Choosing to live will be hard. You’ll have to deal with all those things that hurt so much: me, Marlena, the family, Stefano. But there’s more to life than just pain, John. Think of all the wonderful things you’ll be missing if you leave now: Belle and Brady’s first bicycles, their first day in school; Brady’s first home run, his first touchdown; Belle’s first piano recital, her first date; teaching them how to drive, walking Belle down the aisle–those are all things to look forward to. And you have other things to look forward to. Your family’s a whole lot bigger than just Belle and Brady, you know, and I’m not talking about Vivian and Lawrence. We Bradys are your family, too, and we want to prove it to you…I want to prove it to you. I want to make things right between us, John. I understand now, we all do, what was really happening in your life. I forgive you for what happened with Marlena. Those aren’t just words, I really mean it. And I need your forgiveness, too…the whole family does. Choose to live, John. Give us a chance to start over, to do things right this time. We won’t let you down again, I promise.”

Bitter Harvest

THE ROOM WAS LARGE, but over the past three hours Roman had come to know it intimately. A children’s play area–unused at the moment–occupied one corner. In the opposite corner, a television droned quietly with coverage of the hurricane damage. Bookshelves and magazine racks held a variety of reading materials, a puzzle on a card table offered yet another diversion. Comfortable chairs and sofas were scattered throughout. The decorators of the room had tried to make it cheerful and welcoming with yellow walls and an abundance of plants, but Roman thought they were working against impossible odds. This was the ICU surgery waiting room: life and death struggles were being waged just a few feet down the hall. Bright paint could never dispel the dark mood of anyone who needed to be here.

John’s family was alone at the moment, but that had not been the case an hour ago. A couple whose young daughter had been injured when the storm toppled a tree onto their house had departed in tears: their little girl had not survived the operation to repair her crushed chest. Her death had affected not only her parents, but the Bradys as well. Although the two families had known each other but a few hours, they had exchanged stories, and prayers, and words of encouragement. It was more difficult now not to imagine John’s surgery having a similiar bleak outcome, even though the two cases had nothing to do with each other.

Roman’s focus left the room and narrowed to the television and news of the hurricane. Overall, New Orleans had escaped relatively unscathed. Most of the damage was from downed trees and power lines. There had also been scattered flooding, but that was now receding, and once the roads were cleared and power restored, life for most would return to normal fairly quickly. The only fatality, thank God, appeared to be the poor little girl.

Sighing, Roman yawned and stretched his weary muscles. He desperately craved sleep, but so far it had refused to come. Whenever he tried, his mind just kept going round and round and round–wondering what he could have done to prevent this, worrying about John, worrying about Marlena, raging at Stefano… A nearby sofa beckoned invitingly and he wandered over. Stretching out along its length, he closed his eyes and willed his body to relax. Clear your mind, he told himelf. Concentrate on your breathing. Innnn . . . . . . outttt . . . . . . innnn . . . . . . outttt . . . . . . innnn . . . . . . outttt . . . . . . innnn . . . . . . outttt . . . . .

.

He continued the slow, measured breathing–concentrating on that and only that–and finally, after several minutes, he became less aware of his body and his thoughts started to dim. He was just on the verge of the much needed slumber when approaching footsteps brought him back to wakefulness. Opening his eyes, he was about to give the intruder an earful for disturbing him when he saw who it was. “Oh, hi, Ma.” he said tiredly, sitting up so she could join him on the sofa. “Any luck reaching Carrie yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “We left messages all over town, but like I said before, I don’t think she and Austin are due back from Chicago till late this evening. Try not to worry,” she said softly, reaching out to pat his hand. “She’ll call just as soon as she gets the message. You know how dependable she is.”

“I do know, Ma. She’s the best daughter a man could ask for. And I also know who made her that way, and so do you. She loves John so much…and Marlena. This is going to hit her so hard; I hate having to tell her over the phone. She’s going to need me, and I’m stuck here, absolutely useless!” He pounded his fist against the arm of the sofa in frustration.

“Oh, honey,” she said quickly, “that’s not true, and you know it. Bo told me what you did for John. He probably wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for you. I’m so proud of you, son.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he told her gruffly. “We both know…everybody here knows,” he swept his arm out, indicating the rest of the family positioned around the room, “that John and Marlena might be safe at home right now if it wasn’t for me. You all knew something was wrong, but I was so bitter and unforgiving I couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it. I’m so ashamed, Ma, especially after everything Dr. Rosenthal said.”

His mother’s face suddenly paled and she stared down at the floor, her lips pressed tightly together. “Are you all right?” he asked worridly, abandoning his self-recriminations. When she didn’t respond, he reached out and touched her arm. “Ma, are you okay? You don’t look very good. Maybe I should get a nurse.” He started to get up, but she shook her head and motioned him back down. “No. I’m fine, Roman. Really. Just give me a minute.” She raised her head to look at him, and he saw tears glittering on her cheeks.

“Oh, God,” he said in chagrin, suddenly understanding what was wrong. “I’m sorry, Ma. I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I know you’ve got your own stuff to deal with. You don’t need me dumping my guilt trip on you as well.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him, but her voice shook with emotion. “You need to talk about your feelings. We all do. Me especially. It was such a shock when you came home. I knew right away you were my son–there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. But I loved John, too. I wanted to help him come to terms with it, so I lied to him…tricked him…to try and get him to see the truth. I made such a terrible mistake,” she whispered brokenly. “He wasn’t ready for the truth, let alone the way I did it. The look on his face, it was like I stabbed him in the heart. He thought I was rejecting him, that I wasn’t even giving him a chance. I sent him over the edge: I could see it happening right in front of me. Something inside him just…snapped. That’s when he tried to kill Victor. And he almost killed himself!” she cried. “Because of me, because of what I did! Oh, Roman!’ she sobbed, “I can’t bear it if he dies! How can I live with myself!?”

“It’ll be okay, Ma.” As Roman spoke, he put his arm around her shaking shoulders and drew her into a tight embrace. “You’re not alone. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, as a family–just like always.” He looked up at the sound of hurrying footsteps, and saw his brother and father rapidly approaching, identical looks of concern on their faces. He let Shawn take his place at Caroline’s side, then motioned for Bo to join him over by a window.

“What happened?” Bo asked worridly as they watched their father comfort their sobbing mother.

“She’s blaming herself,” Roman sighed. “Just like we all are, I guess.”

“Oh, damn, it’s because of what I said, isn’t it? Because of what I told Dr. Rosenthal. I never meant for her to take it like this. I know she didn’t mean to hurt John. She just wasn’t thinking too clearly back then…none of us were. Maybe that’s what happened to Marlena,” Bo offered tentatively. “Maybe she felt so guilty it affected her judgement. Do you think Rosenthal is actually going to pursue this malpractice thing?”

“I don’t know.” Roman jammed his hands into his pockets and stared sightlessly out the window. “I know he’s right, Bo,” he acknowleged regretfully. “I hate it, but he’s right. Marlena’s a good doctor, but she never should have been treating John. In a way, part of the responsibility is mine. From the very beginning, I knew it was wrong, I felt it in my gut. I asked her to let someone else do it, but she felt so guilty, was so desperate to help him, that I didn’t press it. I should have stopped her.”

“Stopped her!?” Bo said incredulously. “How? Marlena’s a grown woman, Roman. She’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more so. There’s no way you could have stopped her, short of locking her up, and that’s Stefano’s M.O., not yours. She made some bad choices, bro, and she’s going to have to face the consequences, just like the rest of us.”

“I know. It’s just that for her, those consequences could be so bad. The rest of us just have to live with our guilty consciences. That’s going to be hard enough, but she could lose her medical license. I don’t want that, and I know John wouldn’t either. It would kill her not to be able to practice medicine anymore.”

“I wish there was something I could do, man. Right now, though, it’s all up to Rosenthal. He was really angry with her. I think the only thing that might make him back off would be if prosecuting her adversely affected John’s recovery.”

“Well, whatever Rosenthal does, Marlena’s not going to go through it alone. I’m going to be there for her every step of the way. First, though, we have to find her. I think I’ll call Maison Blanche and see how the forensics team is doing.” He started to walk toward the door–and the phones just outside–when Bo stepped in front of him.

“Why don’t you wait a bit, bro. It’s not even half-an-hour since you called the last time. Give them a chance to do their work. Franklin promised he’d call if they found anything.”

“I know, but–“

“But nothing. Go lie down, Roman. Try to get some sleep. We’ve still got a long way to go. The nurse said John would probably be in surgery for at least another two hours.”

“Two hours. God, that seems like forever.” Roman ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I hate this waiting. I want to be out there doing something, anything.”

“I know,” Bo soothed. “So do I. But Mom and Pop need us here.”

“You’re right. I–” He paused suddenly as a small, shrill sound came from the other side of the room. He watched closely as Victor reached into his jacket, pulled out his cell phone and put it to his ear. Moments later, Victor gestured to him and he hurried over.

Victor handed him the phone. “It’s Carrie,” he said quietly. “Tell her I’ll send the jet for her if she wants to come.”

Roman nodded, and walked over by the windows to have some privacy while steeling himself for the conversation he dreaded. Taking a deep breath, he put the instrument up to his ear. “Hi, Punkin. It’s Dad.”

“Daddy?” Her voice was puzzled and nervous. “Grandma left a message on my machine saying she and Grandpa had to go to New Orleans on an emergency and I was supposed to call this number. That was Victor Kiriakis who answered. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, sweetheart. About John and Marlena.”

“How bad?” she gulped, her breath catching in her throat. “Were they in an accident? Are they…?” She left the sentence unfinished, but he knew what she was trying to say.

“It wasn’t an accident. It turns out they weren’t on a cruise at all. I’m sorry, Punkin,” he said gently. “Stefano DiMera had them.”

“Noooo!!” she wailed, then a clatter indicated she had dropped the receiver. She was back on the line in seconds. “Tell me,” she said hoarsely.

His heart breaking for his eldest daughter, Roman related the grim details. “I followed a drug courier to Stefano’s plantation in New Orleans, where Kristen was holding that cotillion. We got a search warrant, but we didn’t find the courier. We found John instead, shackled and unconscious in the basement. He’d been there for over two months. He was drugged and tortured the whole time. Mom and Pop, and Victor and Kate, and Bo and I are with him at the hospital now. He’s in critical condition. When we found him, he was dying from dehydration and starvation. He has a fractured skull. He was brainwashed again. He has severe liver and kidney damage from the drugs. The doctors are doing all they can–in fact, he’s in surgery right now–but they don’t think he’ll make it. I’m sorry, Punkin,” he repeated over her stifled sobs. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Are you?” she quavered. “Are you really? You hate John. This should be making you really happy.”

“Oh, Carrie,” he groaned. “So much has happened since yesterday. I’ve been wrong about so many things. Especially about John. I don’t hate him anymore. I promise. I want him to live.”

“You should have gone with him,” she said bitterly. “Marlena told me he asked you to, but you wouldn’t. If he dies, it’s your fault.” Then she gasped. “Marlena! What happened to Marlena!? You said you found John. Where’s Marlena!?“

“I don’t know,” he choked through the lump in his throat. “Stefano left and took her with him. They’ve been gone for at least a week. No one knows where they are.”

There was dead silence at the other end. It seemed to stretch on forever. “Punkin,” he finally prompted, “are you still there? Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m here,” she rasped icily. “Never call me that again. I’m not your ‘Punkin‘ anymore, Roman. You let them go down there alone. We told you something was wrong, but you ignored us. Now John…John is dying, and Marlena has disappeared. We’ll probably never see her again. You think you can just say ‘you’re sorry’ now, and everything will be all right? Because of you, because of your blind hatred, I have just lost two of the most important people in my life. I will never forgive you for this. From this moment on, you no longer have a daughter named Carrie–for the rest of the family’s sake, I will still talk to you when I have to, but I will never be your daughter again.” The cold resolve in her voice struck terror in his soul. He had made his peace with John, only to lose his daughter. “There are some things I need to know.” Carrie continued in the same chilly tones. “I assume Grandma and Grandpa didn’t leave Belle and Brady with Sami. Are they at the Hortons?”

“Alice and Maggie both have the flu,” he told her quietly, trying not to reveal how much her cold words stung. He knew he deserved them. “Belle and Brady and Shawn-D are at Victor’s. Kate’s maid, Nydia, is looking after them. Bo talked to Shawn-D a little while ago. He says they’re all doing fine. Do you want to come to New Orleans? Victor will send his jet for you.”

“Tell Victor thank you, but no,” she replied with icy dignity. “I have an important job to do here. Someone from the family needs to be with Belle and Brady. John and Marlena would want me to look after them. Please ask Victor if I could stay at his house temporarily, until more permanent arrangements can be made.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Roman said softly. “Just a minute.” He walked across the room to Victor. “Carrie would like to stay at your house with Belle and Brady, if it’s all right with you.”

Victor exchanged ‘I told you so’ glances with Kate, then turned back to Roman. “Of course, it’s all right. In fact, knowing how responsible she is, and how much she loves John and his children, we thought she might want to do just that. We had Henderson prepare rooms for both her and Austin. Why don’t I talk to her?”

Roman handed him the phone and backed away a few steps. “Hello, Carrie. It’s Victor. Kate and I would be delighted to have you at the house, and Austin too. Henderson has rooms all ready for you.”

“Roman?’ Bo touched his arm, distracting him from the one-sided conversation. “Are you all right? I was watching while you were talking to Carrie. All of a sudden, you got this funny look on your face…like you were in pain or something. And it’s still there.”

Roman swallowed hard, and jerked his head toward the windows. “Let’s go over there,” he muttered.

Bo accompanied him across the room, looking at him with great concern. “What is it, Roman?”

“It’s Carrie,” he choked. “She blames me for what happened to John and Marlena. She said she’ll never be my daughter again.”

Bo stared at him. “She said what!?” he asked in disbelief.

“That she’ll never be my daughter again. That it’s all my fault.” Roman felt himself on the verge of tears, and struggled to hold them back as he shakily reiterated Carrie’s accusations. “Marlena told her I refused go to New Orleans with John. She knows I wouldn’t believe you when you all thought something was wrong. She thinks I hate John so much I’m happy he’s dying. I told her I was sorry, but she said it’s too late–she’ll never forgive me, and she’ll never be my daughter again.”

Bo shook his head in bewilderment. “Are you sure you were talking to Carrie? Sami might say something like that, but Carrie? That doesn’t sound like her at all. It must be the shock: that has to be it. She’s just really upset right now. She loves you, bro. When she’s calmed down a little, I’m sure everything’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think so. Her voice was so cold…it sounded like it was coming from Antarctica. I’ve lost her.”

“What’s the matter with you? You sound like you’ve given up.”

“Given up!? I haven’t given up! Carrie’s my daughter. I’ll never give up on her!”

“All right. That sounds more like the Roman Brady I know. You have to think positive, bro. You may have a real struggle to win her back. If you let yourself get discouraged now, you’re halfway to losing before you’ve even started.”

Roman thrust his shoulders back and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” he said determinedly. “I was just so stunned hearing her say those things…I wasn’t thinking. Of course, she’s in shock. She’s also hurt, and terrified, and angry right now. She needed to lash out at somebody, and since Stefano isn’t available, I guess I’m the next best choice. After all,” he admitted painfully, “most of what she said is true: I have a lot to make up for. I just hope she can forgive me someday.”

Bo studied him for a minute, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Forgiveness,” he finally mused. “That’s the key, Roman. Forgiveness. I think I know how to fix this. What if we–“

“Bo?” It was Victor. “Excuse me for interrupting, but Carrie wants to talk to you.” He handed Bo the phone and quietly withdrew.

Roman watched jealously as Bo lifted the phone to his ear. “Carrie? What can I do for you, sweetie?” He listened intently for a moment. “Of course, I’ll tell him,” he said gently. “I think you’re doing a wonderful thing, choosing to stay with Belle and Brady. I know you want to be here with John; he and Marlena would be so proud of you.” He listened again. “All right. You take care. We all love you, honey. If you need to talk, you just call Victor again. He’ll get the message to us. Bye.” He closed the phone and shook his head at Roman’s hopeful look. “Sorry, bro. She didn’t want to talk to you. She wants me to tell John she loves him. She was crying.” Tears glistened in his own eyes, and he blinked them away.

“Dammit,” Roman growled. “She needs me. I have to get through to her somehow. What was your idea, Bo?”

“Hhmm? Oh. I think we should show her John’s letters. When she realizes he didn’t blame you, and even wanted you to get back together with Marlena, she might come around–eventually.”

Roman gusted a sigh of relief. “Little brother, that’s brilliant. Get Victor’s fax number,” he said eagerly. “I’ll send them to her right away.”

Bo shook his head. “No. You can’t do that, Roman. Carrie’s so angry right now she’s gonna reject any overtures you make, especially if she thinks you’re playing on her feelings for John. She can’t know you have anything to do with this. It’s your best shot, but you’re gonna have to let me handle it. When I think she’s ready, I’ll give her John’s letters. But don’t expect miracles. She’ll probably be even angrier with you when she understands exactly what John went through. It’s gonna take time, and some careful nudges in the right direction, to change her mind. You’ll have to be patient.”

“Patient.” Roman grimaced. “Does this conversation sound as strange to you as it does to me, Bo? You, telling me, to be patient. I feel like I just entered the Twilight Zone–everything’s all turned around. I expect to see Rod Serling walk through the door any minute.”

Bo gave a short laugh. “I will admit, it is a little strange. But you know what they say: ‘Everybody has to grow up sometime.’ I guess it’s finally my turn.”

“Well, it took you long enough. You always were a procrastinator, but don’t you think twelve years is a little excessive, even for you?”

“Me? A procrastinator?” Bo feigned indignation. “I’ll have you know I have impeccable timing, bro. I’m just working to a long-range plan, that’s all. On my 21st birthday, I sat down and wrote that I was going to grow up on June 27th, 1994, at exactly,” he consulted his watch, “8:24 p.m. I’m right on schedule.” He reached toward his neck, adjusted an imaginary tie, then put out his hand. “How do you do. I’m Bo Brady, responsible adult.”

For a moment, Roman’s heavy heart lifted. He started to laugh at his brother’s craziness, but a sudden, sharp cry from his mother sobered him immediately.

“Shawn!!“

He and Bo sprinted across the room, to find their father almost doubled over, clutching his left arm, a look of agony on his face. “Oh, God!” Caroline cried frantically. “I think he’s having a heart attack! Get a doctor! Hurry!” They started to rush for the door when a voice called them back. “No!” Shawn groaned. “I’m all right…I swear. It’s not me. It’s John! He’s in trouble!”

Caroline, Roman and Bo looked at Shawn–and each other–in confusion, then Roman knelt beside his father. “Pop,” he said firmly, “something’s wrong. You need help.”

“No!” Shawn groaned again. “You don’t understand… It’s not me. It’s John! He’s dyin’–right now, this very minute! He’s clingin’ to my hand; that’s the only thing holding him here. If I let go, he’ll die!”

Bedtime Stories

THE MOURNFUL CREAKING of the antique rocker furnished the perfect accompaniment to Carrie Brady’s aching heart. Outwardly composed–knowing she had to be strong for the soon-to-be orphaned children entrusted to her care–she had banished her tears deep inside, but her soul was still wailing with grief. The old oaken chair had given voice to that grief. As she rocked, every sigh, every creak, had become the sobs she refused to let pass her lips. Right now, they were all the comfort she could allow herself. She desperately wanted to throw herself into Austin’s arms and scream her anguish to the heavens, but she didn’t dare. If she did, she was afraid she would lose herself in her agony just when the children needed her the most.

So much had happened since that devastating phone conversation…she felt she had aged years instead of just hours. After the call, when she had finally stopped crying long enough to be coherent, she had staggered across the hall to Austin and he had driven her over to Victor’s. During the short trip, she had struggled to gain control of herself, using all the strength that the many trials of her young life had instilled in her to dry her tears and lock them away. Her preparation had come just in time. When they had arrived at Victor’s, it was immediately clear that Shawn-D’s report to his father had been, if not an outright lie, more than a little exaggerated. Things at the mansion had been far from fine: chaotic was a much more accurate description. Both Belle and Brady were shattering the air with heart-wrenching cries; a situation which, according to the distraught Henderson, had been going on for at least an hour. No one had been able to soothe them…not even little Shawn-D, though he had tried his best, bless his heart.

She had taken charge immediately, hurrying up to the nursery to find the dark-haired maid, Nydia, and motherly Mrs. March, the cook, each trying to console a wailing child, while Shawn-D, looking like a miniature Bo, hovered in the background offering words of advice. If the circumstances hadn’t been so grim it would have been almost comical, like a scene straight from a sitcom. But she hadn’t felt the least desire to laugh. Instead, she had simply lowered herself into the sturdy old chair, taken Belle in one arm, Brady in the other, and started to rock. Within minutes, both children were asleep, a thumb tucked securely in each little mouth. Nydia and Mrs. March had tiptoed from the room, and Shawn-D had curled up with a blanket and pillow at her feet, he too falling asleep within minutes.

She had been rocking ever since, cuddling her surrogate brother and sister, soothing them when they whimpered in their sleep, and soothing herself with the creaks that had taken the place of her own aborted whimpers. And all the while she had been waiting…waiting with dread for the word she was sure had to come. That John, the man she would always think of as her father, was dead.

“Carrie? Are you awake?”

She jerked her head up, riveting her gaze on the figure in the doorway. “I’m awake,” she said quietly, her heart pounding in her chest. “Have you heard anything?”

Austin moved into the room, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw he was smiling. Dare she hope…?

Austin prolonged her suspense by picking up the sleeping Shawn-D and placing him on a nearby bed, then he knelt in front of her and caught the arms of the rocker, silencing the creaks for the first time in hours. “I just talked to Kate,” he told her softly, his smile widening. “I have good news. John made it through surgery. He’s still critical, but the doctors say he has a chance now.”

Carrie felt her control slip and her eyes filled with tears. “He’s going to live?” she whispered joyfully. “John’s going to live? Oh, Austin, this is the best news.” She looked down at the sleeping Brady sprawled across her lap, at Belle, snuggled in her arms. “Your Daddy’s going to live!” she breathed excitedly, feeling like shouting the news for the whole world to hear. “Your Daddy’s going to live!”

“Carrie. Don’t…please.” There was an edge to Austin’s voice, a warning note, that suddenly dampened her joy.

“What is it?” she asked fearfully. “You said John’s going to live. That’s wonderful news.”

Austin sighed. “I knew I wasn’t going to do this right,” he muttered under his breath. “The doctors say he has a chance now, Carrie. A chance…that’s all. He’s still extremely critical. Kate said his heart stopped on the operating table–it took over five minutes to revive him. He’s out of surgery now, but his vital signs haven’t stabilized. The doctors don’t think we should get our hopes up yet. He could still die at any moment.”

She was shaken, but tried not to let it show. “He won’t,” she said confidently…more confidently than she actually felt. “They don’t know John the way I do. Nobody fights harder than he does. If he made it this far, he’s not going to die now.”

“I hope you’re right, I really do. I have some other news too, though, and it’s not very good.”

“It’s Marlena,” she said hoarsely, her throat constricting. “It’s about Marlena, isn’t it.”

Austin shook his head. “No. They don’t have any new information about Marlena. It’s about your grandfather…Shawn. They think he had a heart attack.”

Shawn stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room, his feelings vacillating between annoyance and exultation. Over and over, he had tried to convince the doctors he didn’t need to be here under observation, but he had finally given in when he saw how distressed Caroline, Roman and Bo were becoming. If it would ease their minds, he figured he could stay here for at least one night. Although he desperately wanted to be with John, to see with his own eyes how his son was doing, after the incredible incident of a few hours ago, he knew their spiritual connection was much more important than actual physical contact. His family thought he’d imagined the whole thing, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what he had experienced was real, and he would never forget it. John had turned to him for strength, and he had given it, just as he had promised.

His wife and his sons and the doctors believed he had suffered a heart attack (or maybe even a stroke), but moments before the pain, he had felt a weak flutter of ghostly fingers against his own, and known instantly John was in trouble. He had grabbed for those fingers and held on as tight as he could, pouring all his strength into that spiritual link, and that was what had caused his pain, not some damned heart attack. He had also known, somehow, that if he broke his concentration for even a moment John would be lost to them forever. That was why he had been so adamant in refusing medical assistance. It had been the longest five minutes of his life–fighting to hold on to John, while at the same time pleading with his terrified family to believe his seemingly preposterous assertion, and give him the time he needed to save his dying son. And he had delayed them just long enough. Roman and Bo had finally gone running for a nurse, but by the time they returned, the crisis had past. John’s spectral fingers had suddenly started to move in his hand, and then, miraculously, to return his grip. And when he had taken a chance and loosened his own fingers a tiny bit, John’s hand was still there, holding tight with revitalized strength.

It had been such an awe-inspiring experience; he still felt slightly overwhelmed by it all, and both proud and humble that God had used him to perform such a miracle. And if no one else ever believed him, well, that was all right. He didn’t want glory, he just wanted John to survive. Slowly, with great care, he laid his right hand on top of his left, delicately enfolding John’s phantom hand between the two. “You just keep holdin’ on, son,” he whispered softly, so as not to awaken Caroline, fast asleep on a cot beside his bed. “You just keep holdin’ on. I’m right here if you need me.” Then he, too, fell into a well-deserved, badly needed sleep.

Carrie stared at Austin in shock as he finished relating the incredible tale Kate had imparted to him over the phone. “Grandpa actually believes this?” she whispered in amazement. “He really thinks he was holding John’s hand while John was in surgery? That he kept John from dying?”

“I know it sounds impossible,” Austin replied, “but I can certainly see why he believes it. He had the pain in his arm at the exact moment John’s heart stopped in the operating room. Five minutes later, the doctors manage to get John’s heart beating again, and the pain in Shawn’s arm goes away. A religious man like your grandfather wouldn’t need any more proof than that.”

“My Grandfather, the miracle worker,” she said in bemusement. “It has a kind of a ring to it, doesn’t it? But it doesn’t really matter to me if it’s true or not. All that matters is that John’s alive, and that Grandpa’s going to be okay. Kate was sure about that wasn’t she?” she asked anxiously. “That Grandpa’s going to be okay, I mean?”

“Yeah, she was pretty sure. She said after the pain went away he seemed to be just fine. He only agreed to spend the night in observation because your grandmother insisted. He’ll probably be released in the morning, and the doctors will say he just had a muscle cramp in his arm or something.”

“I hope you’re right,” Carrie sighed tiredly. “I don’t think I could stand it if something happened to Grandpa too…not now. I’d really like to call and talk to him, but it’s so late, he’s probably asleep. I guess I should wait till morning.”

Austin leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Shawn’s not the only one who needs some sleep,” he told her gently. “You’re exhausted, Carrie. Why don’t you put Belle and Brady to bed, then go to bed yourself. I went back to your apartment and packed some things for tonight. The bag’s in your room next door. I’ll get the rest of your stuff tomorrow.” He glanced at Bo’s son, sound asleep on the small bed next to one of the cribs. “Shawn-D’s room is right across the hall, but he looks so comfortable it’d be a shame to wake him up. I think he’ll be fine right where he is.”

Carrie nodded silent agreement, grateful for Austin taking charge and too tired to argue. It had been a long, terrible, exhausting evening. She needed her rest to face what could be a long, terrible, exhausting day tomorrow.

Bo quietly entered John’s room and walked over to the bed. The five-and-a-half hours in surgery might have given John a fighting chance to live, but they’d definitely taken their toll on him. Instead of looking better, he looked even worse than before, like he was right on death’s door. And according to the doctors (and Shawn) that was exactly where he’d been. Bo was still having trouble accepting his father’s bizarre story, but he couldn’t deny that the timing of the attack, coinciding so exactly with John’s heart failure, had to be more than mere coincidence. Had they been witnesses to a miracle? They would probably never know, but did it even matter? John was alive. That was miracle enough for now.

He reached across the maze of tubes to brush a stray hair from John’s forehead, then retrieved a stool from a corner and placed it by the bed. He sat down and looked over at Victor, holding vigil in a nearby chair. “Kate and I finished the calls,” he said quietly. “She talked to Austin, the Hortons, and Abe and Lexie; and I called Sami, Kayla, Kim and Billie. Roman’s gonna wait till tomorrow to call Marlena’s parents and Eric. He’s hoping the forensics team finds something so he doesn’t have to tell them she just disappeared without a trace.”

“I don’t think he should get his hopes up, Bo.” Victor’s tone was hushed and somber. “Knowing Stefano the way I do, I’m sure he removed every bit of incriminating evidence before he left…except for John, of course.

Bo shook his head in disagreement. “I don’t think so, Victor, not this time. We may have finally caught Stefano with his pants down, so to speak. I had several long phone conversations with Kristen and Tony earlier today, trying to work out the timing of when they were coming and going at Maison Blanche. It’s very possible they disrupted Stefano’s timetable; maybe disrupted it so much he was only able to clear out with Marlena and his people. I think somewhere in that house is hard evidence Stefano didn’t have time to move. All we have to do is find it. The forensics team is going to work all night, and we have an architect going over old plans of the house, looking for hidden rooms. A local historian said the house was part of the Underground Railroad before and during the Civil War–you know, for smuggling slaves to freedom?”

Victor nodded his understanding.

“Well, it turns out a lot of these ‘Railroad stations’ had secret rooms for hiding slaves. I can see Stefano buying the house for that reason alone. And if I’m right about the timing, I’m betting that secret room will contain a whole lot more than just cobwebs.”

“I hope you’re right.” Victor responded. “I admire Marlena a great deal, you know. She treats Brady like her own son, and even though she still doesn’t like me or trust me very much, she lets me treat Belle like a granddaughter. The idea of her being alone with Stefano is appalling. We have to do everything we can to find her.” His face set into grim, determined lines. “I want you to tell Roman all my resources are available to him. Whatever he needs, whatever it costs, he’s got it. I already put the word out through my contacts around the world to be on the lookout for Stefano and Marlena, along with a reward starting at ten million dollars.”

“Ten…million…dollars?!” Bo practically strangled on the words, gaping at his estranged father in astonishment. “I don’t understand you, Victor,” he finally whispered hoarsely. “Why are you doing this? Money has always been your god. Money and power. Why would you do this for Marlena, for the Bradys?”

Victor studied him a long moment before answering. “I know you may not believe me, Bo, but I don’t care about the money and the power anymore, at least, not like I used to. I thought they would make me happy, but they never did, not really. I used them like bludgeons, to make people do what I wanted, and in the end, those same people hated me, or feared me, or fawned on me, but they never liked me or respected me. I was so wrapped up in my power games that I treated my own family the same way I did everybody else. Look at what I did to you and Justin: I wanted you to love me, and to me that meant I had to make both of you over in my own image. Well, I tried that, and I almost ended up destroying you and your families instead. Now, you barely speak to me, and Justin moved to Texas. I drove Isabella away too, but by some miracle, she gave me another chance.

“Isabella taught me how to love. For the first time in my life, I knew the joy of being part of a real family…of being a real father, and a grandfather. She made me see that people are what life is all about, not the pursuit of money and power. Because of her, I finally understand that the things I’d based my life on aren’t important in themselves; it’s what you do with them that counts, and that comes from inside a person. I had to learn that lesson the hard way; I would have gone to the ends of the earth to save Isabella, spent every penny I had if it would have kept her alive, but all my power and all my money were useless. In the end, the only things I had to give her were my love, and my promise I wouldn’t break her trust in me. I’ve tried as hard as I can to keep that promise, Bo, and because of it, my life has changed forever. It was very difficult at first, but whenever I was tempted to backslide, John was there to help me back on the right path. Then after a while it got easier and easier, and I suddenly discovered something truly amazing: the more love you give, the more you get back.

“I know you’re suspicious of my relationship with John, that you think I’ll turn on him someday and try to destroy him. I promise you, that will never happen. John is my family, Bo, in a way I know you can never be. I love him, and I love Belle and Brady. I would never do anything to hurt them, and just like with Isabella, I would go to the ends of the earth to save them, or to save the people they love. My wealth couldn’t help Isabella, but it just might bring Marlena home to her children. And in a small way, it gives me a chance to partly repay the enormous debt I owe to John and Isabella.”

Bo stared at Victor in astonishment. He had never heard him talk this way before. With Victor, love, money and power had always been inextricably linked, with money and power always coming first. Had the leopard finally changed his spots, or was this just another ploy to lure him back into the Kiriakis empire? He wanted to believe, but a small voice in the back of his mind kept repeating: Be careful, it’s a trick. He licked his dry lips. “Victor, I want to believe you, but it’s hard. You’ve burned me so many times. I–“

“It’s all right,” Victor sighed. “I understand. At least you’re talking to me now. It’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” Bo agreed. He decided to change the subject. “Do you actually think a reward will work? Stefano can go anywhere he likes. He can hole up on some tiny island and never be seen or heard from again.”

“As a matter of fact, he can’t,” Victor contradicted quietly. “As much as he would like to, Stefano can’t isolate himself from the world. Not only is he a monster, he’s a hedonistic monster. He surrounds himself with beautiful, expensive things, and armies of guards, and servants, and underlings. Those ’employees’ are going to be his downfall. He buys his loyalty the same way I used to buy mine, but treats his people infinitely worse. Many of them hate his guts, and some have even been blackmailed into working for him. They don’t want to be there, but he’s so powerful they’re trapped. Look at the guard who helped John. He obviously detested what was happening, but he didn’t dare stop it. Maybe he has a wife, or a mother, or a sister being threatened by Stefano. Ten million dollars won’t just buy someone like that a new life, it’ll buy them escape and protection. Once word of the reward gets out, Stefano’s going to be living on borrowed time.”

“I don’t know what to say, Victor, except thank you. I’ll tell Roman about your offer tomorrow. He finally got to sleep and I don’t want to wake him up. And speaking of sleep, you look exhausted. Why don’t you take a break and let me sit with John. I wangled a couple of empty rooms from one of the nurses for you and Kate, and Roman and me. Kate’s waiting for you down the hall at the nurse’s station. You two get some rest, then maybe one of you can spell me in a couple of hours. I’d like Roman and Ma to sleep through the night, if possible, so that just leaves you, me and Kate to take turns with John. Is that all right with you?”

“It’s fine, Bo.” Victor rose from the chair, arching his tired back and rotating his stiff shoulders. “Your mother needs to be with Shawn right now, and I know Roman was more exhausted than any of us. The three of us can manage.”

“Okay. See you later then.”

Victor nodded and headed for the door, leaving Bo alone with John. He moved from the uncomfortable stool to the much more comfortable chair and stretched out his legs. “Well, bro,” he said conversationally, “it’s just you and me. You’ve been gone awhile, so I guess I should fill you in on everything that’s been happening back in dear old Salem and the rest of the world. First though, I have a message from Carrie. She says to tell you she loves you, and she’ll take good care of Belle and Brady. She wants you to get well and come home ASAP. You’re going to be so proud of her, John. I know she wanted to come see you, but she stayed in Salem to take care of the kids. You did a good job with her, bro…a real good job. Now about the news. Why don’t we start with those Yankees…”

Alphabet Soup

WITH THE MUFFLED CHOP of helicopter blades beating in his ears, Roman shook the last vestiges of sleep from his brain and glanced across the aircraft’s cabin at its other passenger, Bo, who glanced back and gave him a thumbs up sign. Only fifteen minutes earlier, his little brother had roused him from a ten-hour sleep (why he had been allowed to sleep that long they would discuss at another time), thrust clean clothes at him (where they had come from he didn’t know and didn’t intend to ask), along with a steaming cup of coffee and a warm bagel, and said Victor’s helicopter would be there in ten minutes to take them to Maison Blanche. Miraculously, it seemed their hunch had paid off–the architect had pin-pointed the possible location of a secret room, and young trooper Franklin had risked possible demotion by insisting to his superiors and the FBI and ISA that it not be opened until the Brady brothers arrived. They’d been given one hour; thirty minutes of which had already gone by.

The next few minutes were a blur. While Bo gave him updated reports on Shawn and John (their father was all right and being released, and John seemed to have stabilized a little but was still unconscious), he had drained the coffee in three gulps (scalding his mouth), dashed to the bathroom for a hasty shower, and five minutes later was eating the bagel on the run as he and Bo raced for the hospital’s helipad. They had reached their goal just as the chopper was touching down, and moments later were in the air. Hopefully, they should make it to the plantation with about five minutes to spare. He saw Bo tap his headset and reached for the switch to activate his own.

“I forgot to tell you, bro,” the words came through the headphones loud and clear, overlaying the sound of the blades; “I was talking to Victor last night, and he said he’ll pay for anything we need to find Marlena and Stefano. He’s already offered a reward…put out the word all around the world.”

“A reward?” Bo nodded.

“How much?”

Bo hesitated, and Roman felt a knot form in his stomach. “How much?” he repeated, his voice growing louder.

He saw the reluctance on Bo’s face, then his brother sighed, and his lips finally moved. “Ten million.”

Ten million. The astonishing figure numbed his brain momentarily, and he prayed something was wrong with his headphones. “Bo,” he implored, “you’ve got to be joking. Right? Ten million dollars!?Please, tell me he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Bo muttered.

The knot in Roman’s stomach turned into a fiery ball of rage. “Does that idiot have any idea what he’s done!?” he shouted furiously. “He’s probably just made it impossible to get any reliable information! We’re going to have so many crazies and fortune hunters coming out of the woodwork it’ll take years to get through them all! Why didn’t you stop him!?”

“I couldn’t!” Bo shouted back defensively. “He’d already done it before he told me! And if you’ll just listen a minute, you might find it’s not such a bad idea after all!”

Roman tried to damp down his anger. Victor had done a lot for them so far; he deserved a hearing, at least. “All right,” he acquiesced, “I’ll listen.”

“Victor’s trying to get to Stefano’s employees,” Bo explained. “They’ll be the only people with access once he goes to ground. They’re gonna need a powerful incentive to betray him, but according to Victor, a lot of them would like to do just that. People like that guard, Henri, who was kind to John, or somebody who hates Stefano, or somebody who just wants the money. Whoever turns Stefano in knows he’s gonna have a death sentence hanging over him forever. Victor’s offering enough money so that person and his or her family can completely disappear. As for the ‘crazies and fortune hunters’, Victor told me this morning he’s gonna set up a special communications center to field all the calls, faxes and e-mail, as well as hire enough investigators to run down all the leads.”

“You’re right,” Roman conceded sheepishly after a moment’s reflection, “it isn’t such a bad idea, and it sounds like Victor has all the bases covered. Sorry I snapped at you. Guess I’m a little tense.”

Bo shrugged it off. “No problem. We’re all a little tense right now. You know,” he mused, “when we had to call Victor, I thought it was a terrible idea, but he’s really surprised me. Isabella and John both tried to convince me he’d changed, but I never really believed them. But now, I think it might actually be true.”

“If you mean the reward, I don’t think you should read too much into that,” Roman warned. “Ten million dollars is just a drop in the bucket to someone as rich as Victor.”

“It’s not just the money,” Bo argued, “it’s his whole attitude. I haven’t seen him this concerned about anyone since Isabella died. And he isn’t just concerned about John, but also about Marlena, and Belle and Brady, and Mom and Pop, and even about you. He sat up most of the night with John because he knew how tired you were, even though he was exhausted himself. And this morning, when Franklin called and we needed a fast way to get to Maison Blanche, he volunteered this helicopter without even being asked. The old Victor never would have done something like that; he was too self-centered to ever think about anyone’s problems but his own. The Victor I’ve seen the last twenty hours really seems to be a different person.”

“I’ve seen it too,” Roman admitted reluctantly, “but I think you should be careful, little brother. It could all be just a sham to gain your trust. Don’t let yourself get sucked in, only to find you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I won’t,” Bo assured him. “I’ve got my eyes wide open where Victor’s concerned…believe me.” He suddenly pointed to the window. “I think we’re here,” and Roman looked out his own window to spy a white plantation house surrounded by a veritable sea of helicopters and law enforcement vehicles of all descriptions.

The helicopter set down at the edge of the lawn, well back of the house, and took off again as soon as they disembarked. They trudged up the slope, peering curiously at the five other helicopters scattered around the immense lawn, and finally made their way to the back door. A huge African-American state trooper, who looked like he ought to be playing linebacker for the New Orleans Saints, was planted squarely in front of the entrance. “Who are you?” he rumbled suspiciously, his enormous left hand engulfing the butt of his holstered gun.

“Captain Roman Brady and Detective Bo Brady, Salem, Illinois PD,” Roman answered calmly. “We’re expected.”

“I need some I.D.”

The giant hand never left the gun as Roman and Bo, moving slowly and carefully, reached into their jackets and pulled out their badges and I.D. The trooper checked them against a paper he pulled from his own pocket, and only then did he take his hand from his gun. “Go on in, gentlemen,” he said in a somewhat softer rumble, moving away from the door. “They’re waiting for you in the fourth bedroom on the left upstairs.” But as Roman started past him to follow Bo into the kitchen, he whispered almost inaudibly, “My name’s Jenkins, Captain. I hope you find your wife. Several of us–” he indicated a number of other uniformed officers in the kitchen, “–are praying for her. Franklin told us what happened and we’ll support you in any way we can. If you need help in there,” he nodded toward the house, “you just tell Franklin, and we’ll back you up.”

“Are they fighting over jurisdiction?” Roman murmured with a sinking feeling. Jurisdictional disputes could easily screw up a case beyond repair.

“Yeah. We’ve got the ISA, FBI, ATF, DEA, state police, and the damned New Orleans police all saying they’re in charge. Even the IRS is here, for Pete’s sake. They all wanna grab the glory of catching the Phoenix. They seem to have forgotten all about your wife and that poor guy who was tortured. It’s got a lot of us uniforms really steamed.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Roman whispered grimly. “The only one who’s going to be in charge of this investigation is me. And if I have to knock some heads together first, so be it.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, sir, but like I said, we’re here if you need us. “

“I’ll remember,” Roman said gratefully, then he went on into the kitchen. It was crowded with people–four uniformed troopers, and five forensics experts in white coats with latex gloves and small brushes, busily dusting and bagging everything in sight, it seemed.

Bo was waiting for him a few feet from the door. “What was that about?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll tell you as we go. Cm’on…I want to get up there ASAP.” As they exited the kitchen and hurriedly made for the stairs, dodging other forensics personnel hard at work, he spoke to his brother in low angry tones, imparting the infuriating information given to him by Jenkins.

“Dammit,” Bo growled as they mounted the stairs, “what’s wrong with these people? Don’t they understand what’s at stake here?”

“They will in a minute,” Roman grated furiously. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some petty bickering stop me from finding Marlena!”

Starting down the hall at the top of the stairs, they heard raised voices… Voices which grew louder and louder as they neared the bedroom Jenkins had directed them to. Finally reaching the open doorway, they saw about a dozen men and women (wearing an alphabet soup of law enforcement jackets) all talking at once, each claiming rights to the coveted treasure somewhere behind the walls. It was enough to turn Roman’s stomach. “Quiet!!” he roared.

It worked. There was a sudden eerie silence as everyone looked toward the doorway, all of them probably stunned at the sheer novelty of being shouted at. Most of them were so high-ranking (Roman recognized at least four of them: Deputy Chief Flores of the ISA, Assistant Director Cole of the FBI, Assistant Director Carlson of the DEA andU.S. Attorney Susan Belchek… and he was sure the rest were similarly exalted) that he assumed they were the ones who always did the shouting, and expected instant compliance when they did.

What goes around, comes around. Roman told himself with a flash of grim amusement. Then he stepped into the room and continued speaking before the others could recover from their brief disorientation. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Roman Brady. I just came from the hospital, where the doctors are trying to save my brother, who was brutally tortured in this mausoleum for over two months, and what do I find? A bunch of children playing ‘King of the Hill!’ What I just saw in this room is inexcusable!” he berated them icily. “This is not a game of one-upsmanship. Not only was my brother tortured nearly to death, but another life is at stake here… my wife’s. Her name is Dr. Marlena Evans Brady. Remember it. She’s a real person. She has five children, who want her back just as much as I do. I intend to get her back, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m not going to let your petty inter-agency squabbles get in the way. You can either work together and help me, or stay the hell out of my way! Which is it going to be?”

The faces before him all showed signs of embarrassment, something else he was sure this group was unfamiliar with. They looked at each other sheepishly, then nodded, as if coming to a mutual decision, and Luis Flores of the ISA stepped hesitantly toward him. “Our apologies, Roman. We’ll do whatever we can to help you find your wife.”

“Thank you, Luis.” He looked around the room and spotted Franklin standing resolutely by a large empty wardrobe, as if guarding it. The young trooper appeared to be unintimidated by the presence of so much brass, but he definitely looked relieved when Roman and Bo walked over to join him. “Is this it?” Roman asked, pointing to the immense piece of furniture set flush against the wall.

“Yes, sir. It’s bolted to the wall. The architect thinks the entrance to the hidden room is inside, but we haven’t been able to find any knobs or controls to open it.”

“Then we’ll cut it open.” He turned to the group behind him. “We need an ax or a saw.”

“Coming up,” a woman’s voice called from the back of the room, and he saw a short blonde figure in a New Orleans PD jacket go to the door and speak briefly to a uniformed officer, who hurried down the hall.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to say next,” he told the group bluntly.

“Oh, don’t let that stop you,” Susan Belchek told him saucily. “You already read us the riot act…with good cause, I must admit. What could be worse than that?”

“How about accusing you of being in league with Stefano DiMera, Susan?” As she gaped at him, he turned to Flores. “Or maybe it’s you, Luis. Or maybe you, Director Cole. Or you, Director Carlson. Or any you others.” He swept his gaze around the group, clinically noting reddening faces and clenched fists, realizing with an inward sigh he had probably just lost all the goodwill he had generated only moments earlier.

“How dare you!” Belchek snarled at him.

“Oh, it’s nothing personal, Susan,” he said quietly. “It’s just that from this moment on, until I get my wife back, I’m going to suspect everyone except my own immediate family of possibly working for DiMera. And the sad truth of the matter is, I’m sure that at least one or two, or maybe even three of you in this room right now are doing just that–working for Stefano DiMera: The man who tortured my brother and kidnapped my wife. That’s why we’re going establish some safeguards right now, before anyone even sets foot in that room.”

“What kind of safeguards?” Cole asked flatly.

“First of all, there will two uniformed guards in this room at all times. They must be from different agencies, and will be chosen at random from someone outside their direct chain of command. The guards must not know each other. Once the secret room is opened, there will be two more guards posted inside, with the same criteria applying.

“Next: no one, including myself, will be permitted in that room alone. Anyone entering will always be accompanied by a partner, as a team. The first teams will come from the people in this room right now. As with the guards, each team member will be from a different agency. My brother, Bo, here, will select the teams. Once inside, each team member will monitor his or her partner as the evidence is examined. Nothing is to leave that room until it has been fully documented, tested for fingerprints and six copies made. The originals will go the FBI. The copies will go to the ISA, ATF, DEA, Louisiana State Police, New Orleans PD, and the Salem PD. You can then examine them at your leisure and make your own cases against DiMera. Is that satisfactory with everyone?”

There were reluctant nods and murmurs of assent. Then a voice at the back of the room said, “You need to make that seven copies.”

Roman peered over the crowd to see a tall, red-headed man with his hand raised. “And you are, sir?”

“Steve Wallace, IRS.”

“Seven copies it is, Mr. Wallace. God knows I don’t want to get the IRS mad at me. I don’t need an audit on top of everything else.”

“That isn’t my area, Mr. Brady, but I’ll try to put in a good word for you. I can’t make any promises though, so I hope you’re all paid up.”

There were a few snickers, then the room erupted in laughter, which helped considerably to break the tension. Wallace accepted the laughter good-naturedly and smiled gently. Roman decided he liked the man. But he’d better get back to business. He turned his attention back to the group. “There’s one more safeguard,” he stated. “Everyone going in or out of that room gets searched. If you try to come out with more than you brought in, you will be instantly suspect and thrown off the investigation. Another investigation will then be started on you. I hope you all get my drift.”

There were more nods and murmurs, interrupted by an officer wearing plastic safety goggles who entered the room carrying a circular saw. He spoke briefly to his superior, who directed him to the wardrobe. The man made his way through the crowd and advanced on the massive piece of furniture, activating the saw just before he stepped inside. For several minutes, the scream of the whirling blade was the only noise in the room, then silence reigned once more and the officer handed the saw to Franklin and backed out of the wardrobe hauling a large sheet of plywood with him. But instead of the expected doorway into what they all hoped was Stefano DiMera’s inner sanctum, they were presented instead with a slab of cold, hard steel…with no handle.

Roman sighed. “I think we need a welder.”

“I’m on it,” said the same woman who sent for the saw.

“I guess we wait now,” Bo murmured in Roman’s ear as the crowd broke up and huddled into little groups. “It’ll give us a chance to select our first pairs of guards though, and match up the investigation teams so we’ll be all ready to go when they do get it opened. That was quick thinking, bro, on the security measures.”

“Not really,” Roman whispered. “I worked it out a long time ago, just in case a situation like this ever came along. This way we protect the information by disseminating it so much that there should always be a copy somewhere, in case others happen to mysteriously disappear. And we force anyone working for Stefano to play honest, or they’ll be exposed.”

“Well, it’s a great plan. I just hope it isn’t for nothing. I’m afraid you’ll be a laughingstock if this turns out to be another Al Capone’s vault.”

“Hhm?” Roman stared at him quizzically.

“Al Capone’s vault. You know. Empty. Nada. Nothing.”

“Bo, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Al Capone’s vault,” Bo repeated. “You know. The one Geraldo Rivera opened, that didn’t have anything in it.” He stopped suddenly, looking slightly embarrassed. “Oops. Sorry, bro. I guess that happened while you were gone. It was this big TV special. Geraldo made this enormous production out of opening some underground storage areas in Chicago supposedly used by Al Capone. Anyway, it turned out they were empty. The whole thing was a complete fiasco. John and I watched it together,” he concluded miserably. “We both got a big laugh out of it. Damn.” He stared down at his shoes, avoiding Roman’s eyes.

“It’s okay, little brother,” Roman murmured softly. “I don’t expect you to forget all the good times you had with John, when you thought he was me. I used to want that, but not anymore. Let’s just call it water under the bridge. Okay?”

Bo nodded and raised his head. “Well, you see what I mean now, though. You’re going to have egg all over your face just like Geraldo did if that thing–” he jerked his head toward the wardrobe, “–turns out to be empty.”

“I’ll survive it. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If it’s empty, it’s empty. We’ll go on and try to find something else, some other clue. But if there’s even one scrap of paper in there that could lead me to Marlena, that scrap is going to be protected up, down and sideways. There’s nothing more important to me right now, Bo. Nothing.“

Double Feature

FOR WHAT SEEMED the thousandth time, Roman glanced impatiently from his watch to the stately old wardrobe, its once beautiful mahogany now scorched and pitted over the last half-hour by a glittering shower of sparks from an acetylene torch. Fortunately, none of those sparks had had a chance to ignite a fire. The wardrobe’s interior panels and the floor around it had been thoroughly doused with water before the welder began his work, and a policeman with an extinguisher stood by just in case. For his part, Roman studied the sparks with ambivalent feelings. The entire house reeked of evil, and if he didn’t need the information contained behind those scorched walls so badly he would have said, “The hell with it. Let the damned place burn to the ground.” That wasn’t going to happen though, and right now, all he wanted was to get inside that steel-encased room as soon as possible so he could find some clue to Marlena’s whereabouts.

And it looked as though he was finally going to get his wish. The fiery cascade suddenly ended and a muffled metallic bang reached his ears. The welder emerged from his cramped workspace, raising his helmet from his sweating face, and pointed to a dark, man-sized hole in the steel slab backing the wardrobe. “There’s your door. Watch out for the edges. They’re still hot.”

“Thanks,” Roman said gratefully, then he turned to the teams of high-ranking investigators crowded into the room behind him. They had all been searched, and now everyone, himself included, was pulling on thin latex gloves. Not so much to keep from destroying evidence, but to make sure their fingerprints didn’t appear in the heretofore sealed room. Anyone whose prints were found in that room would immediately be suspected of working with DiMera, and nobody in their right mind wanted that. It would be the death-knell for any law enforcement career, no matter how exalted. “Everybody ready?” he asked.

There was a flurry of assenting nods and vocalizations, and Roman caught his brother’s eye. Bo, paired with U.S. Attorney Susan Belchek, nodded grimly and finished pulling his own gloves in place. Lastly, Roman looked to Franklin, his partner in the first stage of this oh so crucial investigation. Franklin, too, nodded, and Roman said tautly, “All right, let’s do it.”

Feeling a little like Columbus setting forth into the unknown, Roman stepped up into the wardrobe and shined a flashlight through the opening cut by the welder. The dim stream of light showed a small landing and three steps leading down, with the steel slab of the door partially covering the bottom one. Carefully avoiding the hot edges of the hole as advised, he thrust his head and shoulders further into the darkness and angled the flashlight back toward the wall on either side of the doorway. Just to the right, he spotted what had to be a light switch and reached around to flip it up. As light flooded the room, his heart started to pound like a jackhammer. Pay dirt!

The room was large, at least twice as big as the bedroom behind him. It was crammed with rows of filing cabinets, computer hardware, TV monitors,VCRs, communications equipment, and shelf upon shelf of video and audio tape. In all his years of dealing with DiMera he’d never seen anything like it, and realized in a sudden rush of intuition that this was the heart of Stefano’s empire…the nerve center of his entire criminal organization. It was everything he had hoped to find and more than he could have dreamed of. Surely, surely, there would be something in here to lead him to Marlena.

So overwhelmed that he was almost in a daze, he turned off the flashlight and passed it back to Franklin. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of man-hours ahead to process the contents of this room, and he didn’t want to accidentally leave something behind that would waste any of that valuable time later. Finally unencumbered, he took a deep breath and stepped across the steel threshold into Stefano’s lair. As he walked down the few steps from the landing and reached out with his foot to push aside the metal slab blocking the last one, he heard a muttered “Wow!” from behind him and turned his head to see Franklin emerging from the doorway. The young trooper gave him a triumphant grin, then started to pan across the room with a camcorder, his initial assignment to make a permanent visual record of the room before anything was disturbed.

Returning his attention to the heavy slab on the bottom stair, Roman gave it several hard pushes with his foot and it finally slid the rest of the way to the floor, landing with a dull thud. He then began to make his way around the room, Franklin following close on his heels with the camcorder. Back by the entrance, a pair of guards (one a state trooper, the other from the FBI) had taken their places on the landing, their orders to keep everyone else out until this initial walk-through was finished and the room and it contents had been captured on film. To the investigators on the opposite side of the wardrobe, so eager to get their hands on Stefano’s records, the wait seemed like an eternity, but in actuality was only a few minutes. At last, at a signal from Roman, the guards moved to the foot of the stairs and the others streamed through the portal, murmurs of excitement filling the air as the breadth of the find became apparent.

Roman waited a moment for everyone to calm down, then addressed the crowd. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, ladies and gentlemen. Franklin and I will start on the videos. I want to see if DiMera made any tapes of my wife and my brother. The rest of you know what to do. Happy digging, everyone.” He watched as the group broke into teams, each with its own specialty. Three teams made for the filing cabinets, each staking out one third of the long rows of metal drawers. Two more teams brought out fingerprint equipment and began the arduous task of dusting the room, while another team sought out the computers and communications equipment. That left Roman and Franklin, and Bo and Susan Belchek. “Let’s see what’s on those tapes,” Roman said with high anticipation.

The four moved to examine the videos lining the walls of the room on a very ingenious shelf system. Each set of shelves was ten rows high (each shelf just high enough to hold a standing VHS videotape) and approximately two feet deep. The ingenious part was that the two foot depth was actually made up of five narrow sections of shelves that folded back on each other on hinges. The initial shelf unit was bolted to the wall, and the four sections attached to it were mounted on sturdy casters, with a clear acrylic panel covering the section facing the room. Each narrow shelf held twenty videos, with each section of ten shelves holding two hundred, and each set of five sections holding one thousand. There were twenty-five sets of shelves mounted to the walls, seventeen of which were full. The eighteenth was partially filled, four were empty, and the last three contained audio tapes, with the height of the shelves reduced to just accommodate a standard audio cassette laying on it’s side. With each shelf holding thirty audiotapes, at thirty shelves per section, there was room in the three sets of audio shelving to hold approximately thirteen thousand standard cassettes, and an uncountable number of mini-cassettes.

After totaling up the numbers, the task ahead of them was daunting: seventeen thousand video tapes and thirteen thousand audio tapes. At first it seemed impossible to even know where to begin, but then a careful examination of the labels on the video boxes revealed numbers which could only be dates, followed by some sort of letter/number code. Reasoning that the partially filled set of shelves would hold the latest tapes, Roman rushed over, and sure enough, the last video on the shelf was labeled 06-19-94 JB3. Nine days ago.

Grabbing the tape, he hurried to insert it into one of the three VCRs stacked next to a television. After a few moments of experimentation to match the VCR to the correct channel, a picture appeared on the screen, and he heard Susan Belchek and Bo gasp in horror. He and Franklin were stoic, but only because they had already seen a similar picture live and in person. It was John, battered and bloody in his dungeon. He moved feebly on his filthy cot, reaching down with chained hands to lift a metal cup from the floor, but when the cup reached his lips, he dropped it with a moan of anguish. There was no splash as it hit the floor…the cup was empty.

Roman gritted his teeth at what followed. John looked directly into the camera, his blue eyes dull with pain, fever and bewilderment. “Please,” he begged in a rusty childlike voice, “can I have my water? You said I could have my water if I was good. I was real good. You know I was. Please give me my water,” he pleaded. “Please? I was good… I was good… I was good…” His voice trailed off into a whisper and he fell back against his grimy pillow, his body shaking in uncontrollable sobs, but no tears came from his eyes. They had all dried up.

“Oh, my God,” Susan moaned tremulously, tears a-plenty flowing down her own cheeks as if to make up for the ones John could not produce. “I had no idea, Roman. How could they do that to him? How could anyone do that to another human being?”

Roman had no answer for her. He felt like he wanted to cry himself. He pressed the fast forward button, speeding through the entire six-hour tape. All it showed was John, alone in his cell. He alternated between dozing fitfully and waking up to beg for water. None ever came. The tape ended with John staring silently at the camera, his fevered, tortured mind finally grasping that further pleas were useless.

As the image on the TV screen faded away and turned to snow, Roman set the tape to rewind, grateful he didn’t have to look at John’s staring eyes anymore. He knew it was only his imagination, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they’d been looking right into his soul. They had seemed to reproach him, asking wordlessly: Why didn’t you come sooner, Roman? Why didn’t you save us?

I’m sorry, John, he replied silently. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.

“I wonder if he ever got any water,” Bo mused somberly.

The question pulled Roman out of his self-absorption. “I think he must have,” he replied quietly. “That tape was made nine days ago. At least seven days before we found him. He couldn’t have survived for that whole time without water. Maybe his friend Henri was able to smuggle some to him before they left. I hope so anyway.”

The tape continued to rewind as Roman picked up the box and looked at the coded label. 06-19-94 JB3. ’06-19-94′ was the date. ‘JB’ obviously stood for ‘John Black’. What did the ‘3’ mean? On a hunch, he returned to the shelf where he had gotten the tape and checked the next box in line. His hunch was correct. The label read 06-19-94 JB2, and the next one 06-19-94 JB1. And the four boxes before that read 06-18-94 JB1 through 06-18-94 JB4. Stefano had been taping John round the clock, using four, six-hour videos per day. Had he also been taping Marlena? Roman was positive he had. He motioned for the others to join him and explained the significance of the codes. “We’re looking for something dated within the last two weeks,” he concluded, “and probably coded ‘ME’ for Marlena Evans, or ‘MEB’ for Marlena Evans Brady. Or maybe just ‘M’.” He unfolded the partially filled shelves out into the room, the end section butting up against a filing cabinet. “Let’s start looking.”

There was nothing labeled ‘M’ (or any variation thereof) on the first set of shelves they examined: everything on those had the ‘JB’ code. The next set of shelves was a different story, however; these all read ‘M’ or ‘JB+M’. The last video in the ‘M’ series was 06-19-94 M2. Roman pulled it and ran for the VCR.

Some six hours later, Roman was no closer to discovering Marlena’s whereabouts, but he was newly filled with an all-consuming rage directed at Stefano DiMera. The tape of John had been bad enough, but watching Marlena’s ordeal was even worse for him, even though physically she was in excellent condition. In her case, it was her mind and emotions that were being battered.

He had made himself watch every minute of the tape, though at times he had thought he would be physically ill, having to force the gorge back down his throat so he wouldn’t vomit. Except for trips to the bathroom, the cameras followed Marlena everywhere she went, with the signals all leading back to one VCR. Roman wasn’t sure how it was done, but the system must have been very sophisticated.

The first two hours of the tape showed Marlena asleep in bed. (Roman recognized the room: it was the one he had used the night of the hurricane.) She slept poorly–tossing and turning, muttering to herself, sometimes crying out in the midst of what must have been a dreadful nightmare. It was quite apparent that even in sleep her desperate situation preyed on her mind. When she finally awoke, she lay there for several minutes, staring at the camera that followed her every move. She obviously knew it was there. Trying to preserve some semblance of privacy, she snaked one arm from beneath the covers and grabbed a silky peignoir laying at the foot of the bed. Pulling it under the blankets with her, she wriggled into it. Moments later there was knock at the door and she quietly called, “Come in,” her voice colorless and apathetic.

A slender African-American woman with short platinum blonde hair entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. Along with the food on the tray was a spray of lavender lilacs in a small vase. (Roman growled deep in his throat when he saw that. Lilacs were Marlena’s favorite flower.) Marlena sat up in bed and the woman laid the tray across her lap, plumped up the pillows behind her, then left the room. Seeing what happened next was the first time Roman almost threw up. Stefano DiMera came through the door carrying another tray of food. He set it on a table by Marlena’s bed and pulled up a chair. Before sitting down, he leaned over, caught Marlena’s chin, and kissed her on the lips. He held her that way for a long time. She didn’t struggle, but when he finally let her go, Roman could see tears streaming down her cheeks. Stefano had to have seen them too, and must have know he was the cause, but he seemed unaffected. Instead, he sat down and gazed at her possessively. “Good morning, my Queen,” he whispered throatily, his lust for her appallingly clear. “You look so beautiful today. Just as you always do. And you belong to me,” he gloated lasciviously. “Only to me.” Reaching out a fat be-ringed hand, he caught the edge of the peignoir, slipping it down to bare her shoulder, and began to caress her naked skin, ignoring her shudders. “I adore you, my Queen of the Night,” he murmured, stroking her neck. “Your magnificent beauty puts the moon and the stars to shame, and the sun pales in your presence. I know you will return my love some day, my sweet. Once we have left this place, your memories of Roman and John will fade, and you will finally realize there is only one man in the world who can love you as you deserve. That day will be the happiest day of my life…the day you say, ‘I love you, Stefano.’ Then we will make glorious love, and you will forget every other man you have ever known. Let it be soon, my exquisite Marlena, my Queen. I long to bury myself in your sweetness, to join with you in the ultimate passion. Let it be soon.” Then he finally removed his hand and started to eat his breakfast with hearty gusto, while Marlena, tears dripping from her chin, silently pulled her clothing back into place and listlessly reached for a glass of juice.

The dreadful breakfast seemed to stretch on forever. Stefano stayed in Marlena’s room for nearly an hour, watching her pick at her food (she clearly had no appetite), taunting her with Roman’s supposed abandonment while implying that he was already involved with another woman, and issuing thinly veiled threats that John’s continuing survival depended upon her cooperation. When Stefano finally left, after forcing another kiss on her, Marlena leaped from the bed and rushed to the bathroom, the sound of her vomiting echoing horribly through the empty bedroom.

The rest of the tape continued in the same vein. Marlena dressed in the bathroom, away from the prying eye of the camera, and emerged wearing a long white pleated skirt and a white blouse with a tie. The camera followed her downstairs to the study, where she tried to lose herself in a book, but she wasn’t alone for long. Stefano joined her there a few minutes later, and the scene from the bedroom repeated itself. DiMera kissed her and fondled her, telling her how much he loved her and that one day she would return his love, all the while repeating his taunts and threats about Roman and John. As at breakfast, Marlena’s only protest was silent tears, and when he left, she again rushed for the bathroom. It happened over and over: Marlena would try to hide in some quiet spot for a few minutes, but Stefano always found her, and after each encounter, she would hurry off to be sick. The tape ended with a servant calling her to lunch, and Marlena walking down the hall with a look a hopelessness on her face.

Long after Marlena’s image disappeared, Roman sat hunched over the table with his head in his hands. He wasn’t only angry at DiMera, but at himself. He couldn’t forget that look on her face…or her weary eyes. Those eyes used to have so much sparkle, especially when she smiled. But now they were almost dead. And just like John’s, they had bored into his soul, reproaching him for his negligence, begging to know why he hadn’t come to save her. He knew it was only a trick of his own mind, prompted by a guilty conscience, but that didn’t make the feelings go away. And he also knew those feelings would haunt him forever, unless he found her.

Someone touched his shoulder and he jerked his head up violently, his hand momentarily reaching for his gun. He backed off when he saw who it was. “Sorry, bro,” his little brother said apologetically. He and Susan had gone to dinner awhile ago, leaving Roman and Franklin to finish viewing the tape. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I take you didn’t find anything useful on the rest of it?” he nodded toward the VCR, where Franklin was ejecting the tape and placing it back in its box.

“Just more of the same,” Roman grated furiously. “He had his hands all over her, Bo. It was awful. She had to sit there and let him paw her over and over again, or he would have had John killed. I wanted to tear him apart. If we ever find him, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“You know you shouldn’t say things like that in the presence of a prosecutor,” Susan said quietly from behind him, “but in this case, you’re forgiven. I agree with you completely: the world would be a much better place without Stefano DiMera. I hope I get a chance to meet your wife some day, Roman. I think she’s a very brave woman.”

“She’s an extraordinary woman,” Roman said with subdued pride. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s a wonderful mother, and she’s braver than any man I ever met. The only things she can’t do,” he added with a small chuckle, “are cook and ski. She could’ve had any man she wanted, and she chose me. I was such a fool…I had the whole world in my hands and I threw it away. I only hope she can forgive me and give me another chance. And even if she can’t–even if she doesn’t come back to me–I want to her to have all the happiness in the world, even if it’s with John.”

Bo gripped his shoulder comfortingly. “We’ll find her, bro…I know we will. And she’ll give you that second chance. Remember what John said in his letters? How she talked about you all the time? That she still loved you and needed you? John knew what he was talking about, and when we find Marlena, you’ll know it too.”

“Thanks,” Roman said gratefully. “That gives me something to hope for.”

“Why don’t you and Franklin go have some dinner,” Bo urged. “Susan and I can start on the next tape. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“There is no ‘next tape’,” Roman told him in discouragement. “This was the last one about Marlena. It didn’t say anything about where he was taking her; it didn’t even mention they were leaving soon.”

“It can’t be the last one,” Bo objected. “The last tape for John was the third one dated June 19th. The tape we just saw was only the second one for Marlena for that date. There should be one more.”

Roman felt like he was just coming out of a stupor. “You’re right,” he said excitedly. “Let’s check the shelves again. Maybe the last one got misfiled.” The search of the shelves proved fruitless, however, and they were right back where they started.

“Maybe it’s in one of the VCRs,” Franklin suggested. “We’ve only used the top one so far.” They checked the other two units and still came up empty.

Roman contemplated the other hi-tech equipment laid out on the fifteen foot counter where the three VCRs and their TV monitor resided. There were two computer stations with attendant hardware and CD ROM towers, and what looked liked a highly sophisticated stereo unit with multiple slots for various audio formats. On closer examination, he also realized two of the side by side slots were the right size for standard VHS videotape. He turned to Luis Flores of the ISA, who was working at one of the nearby computer stations. “Could you help me a minute, Luis?”

“Sure. What do you need, Roman?”

“These are for videotapes aren’t they?” He pointed to the two slots in the stereo. “I’ve never seen a VCR setup like that before.”

“I’m not surprised,” Flores answered. “They are for videos, but not for viewing. They’re for high speed video duplication.”

Roman had another one of his sudden hunches and tried to calm his pounding heart. “Would you see if there’s anything in them?” he asked quietly. “I can’t figure out which buttons to push.”

“No problem.” Flores leaned over and hit a button below the slot on the left. Nothing. He then hit a button below the right hand slot. The machine whirred to life and a black tape with no labeling emerged. Roman carefully extracted it and held it as gently as if it were a Ming vase.

“Thanks,” he told Flores, making sure his voice didn’t tremble.

“Glad to help,” the ISA Deputy Chief responded. He went back to his computer while Roman hurried to the other end of the counter and placed the tape in the VCR. His eyes, and those of his three companions, were glued to the TV screen as he hit the play button. They all breathed sighs of relief as Marlena appeared, walking down the same hall and wearing the same outfit from where the previous tape ended. They had tape 06-19-94 M3 all right… and God willing, by the time they reached the end, they would also have Marlena ‘s location.

Past Tense

“…and I saved the best news for last, John. You’ll be so happy about this. I talked to Kimmie about an hour ago, and she’s coming to see you. She’s flying in early tomorrow morning. She said, and this is a direct quote: ‘Ma, tell that lazy big brother of mine he’d better be awake when I get there if he know’s what’s good for him.’ I’d advise you to heed her words, honey. You know how determined she gets when she wants something. It’s going to be so good to see her again… I’ve missed her so much, and I know you have too.

“Now, I promised to get something to read to you, and I found some authors I know you like in the hospital gift shop. I’ve got a Dick Francis and a Clive Cussler. I think I’ll start with the Francis and leave Cussler for your father. He’s a little too strong for my taste. So here we go: Hot Money by Dick Francis. Chapter One.”

“Excuse me. Mrs. Brady?”

Caroline looked up from her book to find a pretty, red-headed ICU nurse (Andrea, she believed her name was) standing at the foot of the bed. “Yes?”

“There are some people at the nurses station asking about your son. They say they’re friends of his, but I wanted to check with you before we told them anything. Dr. Harris asked us not to divulge any information about Mr. Black’s condition without your consent.”

“Did you get their names?”

She consulted a scrap of paper. “Kristen and Tony DiMera, Jennifer Horton, Peter Blake and Billie Reed.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Caroline said, setting the book aside and rising quickly from her chair. “Yes, I know them. In fact, Billie just got engaged to my son Bo.”

“Why don’t you go talk to them. I was just about to shoo you out of here for a few minutes anyway.” She gestured toward the bed. “I need to change his dressings and give him his bath. You can come back in about fifteen minutes.”

Caroline nodded and bent down to kiss John’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a little while, honey,” she promised, “and we’ll see what Mr. Francis has up his slippery sleeve this time. Right now, though, Andrea’s going to give you a bath. Won’t that be fun?” She looked over at the nurse with a twinkle in her eye. “She’s very pretty, John,” she confided in a loud whisper, “and I don’t think she’d mind a bit if you opened those beautiful blue eyes of yours and flirted with her a little. Would you mind that, Andrea?”

Andrea smiled. “I’d be flattered if your handsome son flirted with me, Mrs. Brady, and I’d love to see his blue eyes.”

“I knew it!” Caroline said triumphantly. “You’ve made a conquest, John. You’d better hurry and wake up now so you can take advantage of it.” She watched his face intently for a few moments, then heaved a quiet sigh when there was no response. “Ah, well, I suppose it was too much to hope for.”

The nurse touched her arm sympathetically. “Why don’t you go see your friends now. I’ll take good care of your son.”

“I know you will.” Caroline fought back a sudden onset of the tears that still overwhelmed her at odd moments. “You’ve all been so wonderful,” she choked. “It was such a miracle that John came here. I can’t imagine him being in better hands.” Then she fled for the door, struggling to collect herself before facing John’s visitors.

She saw the five of them standing at the end of the long hall: Kristen and Tony, Jennifer, Peter and Billie. Jennifer and Billie were welcome sights. Dear, sweet Jenn, who had been such a help to John while he was raising Carrie and the twins on his own; and feisty, fiery Billie…such a perfect match for Bo. Yes, those two were definitely welcome, but she wasn’t so sure about the others. She knew it was wrong of her, but their association with Stefano made her hackles rise. Peter, after all, was the one who had persuaded the D.A. to drop the charges against DiMera, allowing him to go free and carry out his dreadful plot against John and Marlena. And even though Kristen and Tony had been instrumental in saving John’s life, she could not forget (and maybe not forgive) how Kristen’s obstinate refusal to see the truth about Stefano had led her to betray John’s love and trust; nor how Tony, whom she had always admired for his decency and strength of will, could have supported those mistaken beliefs for so long. She was extremely thankful Shawn was in the cafeteria having dinner: a confrontation between he and Stefano’s children must be avoided at all costs. While her feelings about the three were somewhat ambivalent, her husband’s were anything but. His bitter imprecations against Kristen, Tony and Peter (especially Peter), mixed with violent outbursts against Stefano, had filled the cabin of the Titan jet all the way from Salem to New Orleans. And Shawn could be returning at any moment. She had to get them out of here. Now.

Squaring her shoulders, she hurried down the hall.

The videotaped lunch between Stefano and Marlena was progressing much as Roman had expected. It was served in the ornate study, and just as at breakfast, Stefano did not allow Marlena a moment’s peace. He had his hands all over her before she even sat down, and then, as they commenced dining at a small table near the marble fireplace, he proceeded to twist the knife over her broken relationship with Roman. “I have something for you, my beauteous rose…a little token from your soon-to-be ex-husband. Ah, let me amend that. It is not from that cretin who isn’t fit to kiss your feet, but it is about him. Remember, I told you he was finding solace with someone else? I know you didn’t believe me, so I had my contacts in Salem obtain some proof. Would you like to see it?”

“Not really,” Marlena replied colorlessly, spearing a piece of cantaloupe with her fork.

“No? Oh, but my dear, you must. I insist.” With that, Stefano thrust a large sheet of stiff paper toward her, and Marlena uttered a little cry, the fork falling from her suddenly nerveless fingers to land on her plate with a clatter.

“I thought you would appreciate it,” Stefano taunted. “They make a handsome couple, don’t they? Roman isn’t much in the brains department, but I must admit, he does have the brawn. As for the young lady, she certainly has all the right attributes in all the right places. And they’re all on display. They make a most passionate couple, wouldn’t you say, Doc?“

Marlena started to sob, and as Roman clenched his fists, wishing with all his might he could reach through the television screen to comfort her and assure her of his love, while simultaneously smashing the smug, self-satisfied, gloating expression from Stefano’s face, Bo leaned over and asked in a whisper, “What’s he talking about, bro? I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

“I’m not,” he gritted furiously. “Stefano must have doctored a photograph.”

“Well, I’d say he did a really convincing job of it, from Marlena’s reaction.”

“Yeah, damn him.”

Their attention was drawn back to the TV, where the grotesque scene continued to play itself out. While Marlena cried as if her heart was breaking, Stefano attacked his lunch with the gusto of a true gourmand. When his enjoyment of his repast was interrupted some ten minutes later by the unexpected entrance of a young guard, his displeasure was clearly evident. “What are you doing here?” he snarled. “You know better than to interrupt me while I’m eating.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the guard stammered nervously. “Celeste just received a message from Salem. Count DiMera and his party will be arriving a day early. She says we have to be out of here by this evening.”

Stefano scowled ferociously, then rose from his chair, throwing his napkin on the table. “Very well,” he snapped. “You and the other men sanitize the house. After you remove every trace of our presence, head for the rendevouz point. Celeste will check your work, so make sure you do it right. You know what happens when she’s displeased. Marlena and I will leave as soon as I secure the control room and seal John in his cell.”

Marlena, who seemed to have been lost in a daze up to then, suddenly jerked her head up. “Seal John in his cell!?” she shrieked. “What are you doing, Stefano!? You promised me! You promised you’d let him live if I did as you asked!”

“And I’m keeping my promise,” he drawled urbanely. “Think back to my exact words. I said, ‘If you cooperate with me, John will be alive when we leave this house.’ And so he will be. He may not be alive a week from now, but he most certainly will still be alive when we leave.”

“No!!” she screamed, jumping to her feet so violently that her chair fell over. “I won’t let you do this! You know what I meant! I thought John was coming with us!”

“Oh, my darling,” Stefano said mournfully, shaking his head, “it’s a good thing you’re a psychiatrist, because I’m afraid you’d never make it in business. When you negotiate a deal, you must make sure you cover each point down to the most minute detail. You assumed John was coming with us, but that was never specifically agreed upon. Our bargain stands as is. John stays here.”

Marlena stood glaring at him, chest heaving, eyes wild with rage. “I am not leaving here without John!” she spit at him.

“Yes, you are.”

“No! I’m not!” Then she reached around behind her, and an iron fireplace poker suddenly appeared in her hand.

Roman’s heart almost stopped as the guard reached for his gun, but Stefano waved him back. “Put that down, Marlena,” he said quietly, extending a hand toward her.

She skittered out of reach, moving to the center of the room. “Come and make me,” she jeered, lifting the poker menacingly. “You have nothing to hold over me now, Stefano. Since you’re going to kill John anyway, I don’t have to do what you say anymore. I don’t have to endure your pawing hands and your slimy kisses anymore. You make me sick… Did you know that? Did you know that I vomit every time you kiss me? Do you know how dirty your touch makes me feel?… I want to scrub my skin with lye you make me feel so dirty. Thank God it’s finally over… No more kissing, no more touching. No more listening night and day to your taunts and your threats. Do you hear me, Stefano? It…is…over!“

Stefano’s face was red, but his voice was calm. “I hear you, Marlena. I hear you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I only wanted to love you, and to have you love me in return. I never wanted to hurt you.” He took a small step toward her. “Please, put the poker down. We can talk about this. It will be all right. I promise.”

“You promise?” Marlena laughed hysterically, her voice rising. “You’ve shown me today just exactly what your promise is worth, Stefano. Absolutely nothing. I’ll never believe another word that comes out of your lying mouth.”

He moved toward her another cautious step. “What if I get John to a doctor? Will you believe me then?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “A doctor?”

He nodded. “We’ll take him with us in the helicopter. We can leave him at a hospital emergency room and take off before the police get there.”

While she thought it over, Roman’s heart plummeted as he saw a guard with a drawn gun appear in the open doorway at her back, and start to creep stealthily toward her. Look out, Doc! he yelled silently.

Almost as if she heard him, Marlena turned her head and saw the approaching danger. Quick as a flash, she turned back to face Stefano and ran toward him, poker held high in the air. “Liar!” she screamed, aiming for his head. She never reached him. To Roman’s horror and disbelief, the guard behind her raised his gun and fired.

Caroline approached the crowd at the nurses desk with a strained smile and unease in her heart. She was still several yards away when Jennifer ran over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” Jenn whispered. “I’m so very, very sorry. He’s going to be all right. I just know it. And Marlena’s going to be all right too. You’ll see.”

“Thank you, dear.” Caroline warmly returned the hug of the girl who almost like another daughter, and then looked at the dark-haired, slightly apprehensive young woman who would soon be her daughter-in-law. Her strained smile gave way to a genuine one, and she removed an arm from around Jennifer and held it out. “Hello, Billie. Welcome to the family.”

Billie’s full lips parted with a sigh of relief and she hurried over to be included in the hug. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I was kinda scared you wouldn’t like the idea. I’m really sorry about John and Marlena. I wanna help, if I can. You just tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it…anything at all.”

Caroline gave her a tight squeeze. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she assured her, “and I’ll let you know.” Then she looked over the blonde and brunette heads burrowed against her neck, and met the eyes of Stefano DiMera’s children. “Hello, Tony, Peter, Kristen,” she acknowledged coolly. “Thank you for coming, but I think it might be a good idea if you left. Immediately. My husband and Victor Kiriakis are not feeling pleasantly inclined toward the DiMera family at the moment. I don’t want there to be a scene here in the hospital, if you know what I mean?”

An interesting array of emotions washed over the three faces before her. Kristen was stunned and heartbroken, Tony had a sad look of acceptance, and Peter…Peter was more difficult to read, but to her discerning eye he seemed…guilt-ridden? She couldn’t be sure, but it certainly appeared that way.

“Caroline–” Kristen started to speak, but Tony forestalled her. “I’m sorry, Caroline,” he said stiffly. “I know we shouldn’t have come, but the hospital wouldn’t give us any information. We needed to know how John is doing.”

“He’s still unconscious,” she replied quietly, “but he seems to be holding his own. Now, I think you’d better leave. I’ll tell the nurses to give you updates when you call from now on.”

“Thank you.” He switched his gaze to Jenn and Billie. “Are you two staying here, or are you coming with us?

As the friends looked at each other, unsure what to do, Caroline saw the desk nurse motioning to her from the corner of her eye. “Excuse me a moment,” she said, disentangling herself from the young women. She went over to the desk.

“You have a phone call, Mrs. Brady,” the nurse informed her. “You can take it over there. Line four.” She pointed to a black phone at the end of the counter.

“Thank you.” She picked up the phone and punched the appropriate button. “This is Caroline Brady.”

“Caroline. It’s Mickey Horton. I’m sorry to intrude on you at a time like this, but I’m trying to track down Jennifer. I was hoping she might have come to the hospital. I’ve tried everywhere else.”

“She’s right here, Mickey. I’ll get her for you–“

“No, Caroline. Wait…please. I have some bad news for her, and she’s going to need someone to lean on. She going to need someone very badly.”

Fear clutched at her heart. “What is it?” she asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Her old friend gave a heaving sigh. “My father died last night. He laid down for a nap, and when Mom went to tell him about John’s surgery, he was gone.”

Caroline’s throat tightened with grief. “Oh, Mickey. Oh, no. I’m so sorry. He was such a wonderful man. Is Alice all right?”

“She’s holding up better than the rest of us,” Mickey said gruffly. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, but you’d been through such an exhausting day, we thought it’d be better to wait. And we didn’t want to tell Jennifer until we were sure the roads were passable down there and she could get to the airport right away. We didn’t want her to feel stranded there, without anyone to turn to.”

Caroline looked over at Jennifer, conferring in a tight knot with Peter, Billie, Tony and Kristen. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of, Mickey. And if it’s all right with you, I’ll break the news to her myself. The Hortons and the Bradys are family, after all.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I really didn’t want to tell her over the phone. I’d better go now. I think Mom’s in the kitchen and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Tell Alice I’m praying for you all.”

“And our prayers are going out to John and Marlena, Caroline. Good-bye. And thank you again.”

“Good-bye, Mickey.” Replacing the receiver, she walked over the huddled group. “Jennifer,” she said quietly, “would you come sit with me for a moment? I need to talk to you.”

“Marlena!!” Roman’s howl of anguish shattered the air, bringing everyone in the room running. He tried to reach the TV set, to obliterate the dreadful image from the screen, but Franklin and Bo restrained him. He could only sit there helplessly, watching in horror as his wife’s body fell to the floor, scarlet rivers of blood staining her snowy white blouse beneath her left shoulder blade. His teeth bit through his lower lip as the week-old event–and the death of all his dreams–continued to unfold.

“No!” Stefano roared, but he was too late to halt the fatal bullet. He stared at Marlena’s motionless body, and then at the trembling guard who had fired the shot. He snatched the gun from the other guard and advanced grimly on his terrified employee. “You have killed my love,” he said in a voice icy enough to freeze one’s soul. “You were told never to touch her, never to harm her in any way. You have killed my Queen. And now you will pay.”

The man backed away fearfully. “Please, Mr. DiMera,” he pleaded. “Don’t–“

Stefano’s bullet silenced him.

His revenge complete, Stefano dropped the gun and sank to the floor, weeping, and gathered Marlena’s body in his arms. As he cradled her, the room filled up with people summoned by the sound of gunfire. They watched the sobbing crime boss in silence, unsure what to do, until the platinum blonde African-American woman arrived on the scene. Stefano must have sensed her presence, because he stared up at her with pain-filled eyes. “She’s dead, Celeste. Help me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sssh, my love,” she said softly. “Leave everything to me. Celeste will take care of you.” She turned to the uneasy crowd behind her. “Wilhelm, Emile, take Mr. DiMera to the helicopter. Stay with him and have the pilot leave at once for the rendevouz. Come, Stefano.” She urged him up, and he rose awkwardly, still clutching Marlena’s body. “Go with Wilhelm and Emile,” she directed. “I will join you shortly.”

As the two men led their dazed employer from the room, Roman had one last glimpse of Marlena, dangling limp in Stefano’s arms, and then she was gone. Good-bye, my love, he whispered in the silence of his mind. I will love you forever. And I promise Stefano will pay.

Once Stefano had departed, Celeste began issuing orders like a top sergeant. “All right,” she said briskly, “we have work to do. First, remove this thing–” she poked the guard’s body with the toe of her shoe, “–and bury it out back, along with the carpet. We’ll never be able to get the blood out of it. Then sanitize the house. I will take care of securing the control room, and see to our guest in the basement. We must be out of here by eight o’clock at the latest. Do your jobs right, or you will incur my wrath.” Everyone swallowed nervously…obviously, this was a dire threat. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked darkly. “Move! Now!”

There were stammered “Yes, ma’ams,” and people got to work, carrying the guard’s body from the room, and moving furniture so they could roll up the bloody carpet. At that point, Bo and Franklin gingerly loosened their grip on Roman, and Susan reached over and turned off the VCR and the TV.

“She’s gone,” Roman whispered hoarsely, the salty, sweet blood from his lip filling his mouth. “It’s over. She’s gone.” Someone handed him a handkerchief and he pressed it against his mouth, closing his eyes against the pain in his body and his heart. He heard voices nearby, but couldn’t understand what they were saying. Then someone took his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Cm’on, Roman,” his brother said compassionately. “Let’s get out of here.”

Still in a daze, he allowed Bo to steer him up the steps and through the wardrobe into the bedroom. Bo sat him on the bed and reached for the phone, holding a brief conversation, then levered him back up and out the door to the hall. “I called for the chopper,” he explained. “It should be here in a few minutes. Let’s wait for it outside.”

Roman accompanied him docilely, for lack of anything better to do with the rest of his life. His brain was in a fog of despair and he didn’t even notice when they emerged from the house into the evening sunlight. He just followed the tug on his arm, and suddenly found himself sitting on a hard bench some distance from the house. Bo, for some strange reason, was writing frantically in a small notebook. He finally tore out several pages and thrust them at Roman, pointing sharply to the hastily scribbled words.

Roman. Don’t say anything until we get in the chopper. I’ve got a bug on me, and you probably do too.

The fog in his brain evaporated and he stared at Bo. His brother reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny device. Definitely a bug. His gaze flew back to the papers in his hand.

We can talk in the chopper using the headphones. They won’t be able to hear us over the noise.

He nodded confirmation, then spread his hands in a questioning gesture. What’s going on?

Bo scrawled three words in the notebook and handed it to him.

Marlena isn’t dead.

Jennifer looked at Caroline in shock, her eyes swimming with tears. “Grandpa’s really dead?” she quavered.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“I have to go home,” she sobbed.

“I know.” Caroline pulled her into a comforting embrace. “We’ll get you a ticket right away. The earliest flight we can find.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tony interjected from across the little waiting room where Caroline had brought them to break the news. “The DiMera jet is here in New Orleans, fueled and ready to go. Peter and Kristen can take Jennifer back to Salem. It might be better that way anyhow: the fewer DiMeras there are in New Orleans right now, the better. I’ll stay here and deal with the investigation…and stay out of the way of Shawn and Victor,” he added ruefully.

“Thank you, Tony,” Caroline said gratefully. “I’m sorry for the way I sounded earlier. I know you aren’t to blame for what Stefano did. And so will Shawn and Victor, once they’ve had chance to really think about it. It’s just that things have been happening so fast, and we’re all so tense…”

Tony gave her his most charming smile. “Apology accepted, dear lady. And now, I think we’d better be on our way and get Jennifer back to Salem. Are you ready,” he asked.

Jennifer nodded slowly and gave a little sniffle. Peter gallantly handed her his handkerchief and helped her to her feet, stationing himself at her side. Billie gave her a quick hug and a kiss, saying: “I’m going to stay here with Caroline, but I’ll be thinking about you.” Jenn nodded, and Kristen moved to her other side. The three of them started to walk off with Tony, but they had just gone a little way down the hall when Kristen whispered something to her husband and darted back to the waiting room.

“Caroline,” she said somberly, “I know you must hate me for what I did to John. I can never make it up to him or to you, but I’m so very sorry. I was so wrong about everything. Will you tell John I’m praying for him and Marlena?”

Caroline’s heart melted in the face of her sincerity. She realized Kristen was punishing herself far more than anyone else ever could. “Of course, I will.”

“Thank you.”

As Kristen hurried back to her husband, Caroline turned to her son’s fiancee. “Would you like to go to the chapel with me, Billie? I’m going to say a prayer for Tom Horton, and for John and Marlena.”

“I’d like that very much…Ma?”

Caroline put her arm around Billie’s shoulders. “I can see we’re going to get along just fine,” she said with a smile.

The moment the chopper lifted off, Roman grabbed for the headset hanging by the door and yanked it into place. Bo already had his on. “What do mean Marlena isn’t dead!?” he yelled. “You saw the tape! She couldn’t have survived that!”

Bo shook his head. “I don’t believe it. I think it was all a trick.”

“What?”

“I’m not crazy,” his brother responded, “I just remembered what John said in his letter. Stefano was going to make us believe Marlena was dead. We all thought that meant an accident at sea or something. But what if he had something more diabolical in mind? I believe what we just witnessed was staged specifically for our benefit, so we’d stop looking for Marlena. Think about it,” he urged. “This whole scenario has just been too perfect–not too easy, but not too difficult, either. We break into the secret room and discover the tape of Marlena’s ‘death’. That isn’t something you’d just leave laying around. Someone left it there for us to find, and I think that someone was Stefano.”

“But that was Marlena,” Roman protested, trying to dampen the hope flaring in his heart. “I know it was her. If it was staged, then she had to be in on it. Why would she do that?”

“To save John,” Bo replied grimly. “Tell me, bro, why did you come down here in the first place?”

“I had a lead on a drug courier.”

“And that lead took you straight to Maison Blanche. Very convenient, wouldn’t you say? We go for over two years without a lead on Stefano’s people, and the first one we get brings you to that house just in time to rescue John. Stefano’s playing games with us again, Roman. You uncovered that courier because he wanted you to. He wanted you to find John, and to find the tape of Marlena. She knew John was dying, and there was only way she could save him…by pretending to die herself.”

Roman’s brain was racing a mile a minute as he considered Bo’s theory. The whole thing made perfect sense. Once again, Stefano had been pulling his strings, leading him step by intricate step where he wanted him to go. And the plan would have succeeded, if it weren’t for John’s warning, and his little brother’s keen intuition. They had the upper hand on Stefano now, and they had to take advantage of it.

“I believe you,” he said slowly. “That’s exactly the sort of game Stefano revels in. I say we play along.”

“How?”

“Stefano wants us to think Marlena’s dead. We let him think he succeeded. To everyone except you and me, Marlena will be dead. I’ll play the grieving husband and try to get on with my life. We’ll continue to search for Stefano, but I want him to believe we’re only looking for him, and not for Marlena. He may just let his guard down a little.”

“What about the rest of the family? Can’t we tell them?”

“No,” he answered somberly. “we can’t. I hate like hell to do it, but Stefano’s going to expect certain reactions from them. If he doesn’t see them, it’s not going to work. This has to be all or nothing, Bo. Are you with me?”

Bo nodded, but looked decidedly uncomfortable with the idea. Roman didn’t care. This was his best chance to get Marlena back. He had to take it.

True Lies

ENTERING THE HOSPITAL CHAPEL, Caroline thought, was like being transported into another world. Outside, were the technological marvels, clinical brightness and antiseptic smells of late 20th century medicine. Inside, it was dark and serene, the dim lighting, stained glass windows and lush wood paneling instantly easing strained eyes and providing a welcome sanctuary for aching hearts and wounded spirits. I wonder if I could stay here forever? she pondered briefly, moving to light three candles. I’m so tired. These last two days have been so hard. Marlena, John, Shawn, and now dear Tom. Oh, heavenly Father, hear my prayer. Please let Marlena be safe and bring her home to us. But if you have a different plan for her, Lord, then please, please give me the strength to help Roman and my grandchildren deal with their loss, and with mine. And please, Lord, heal my son John from his terrible wounds. Restore his mind and his body. Make him whole again, so he can return to the children who need him so much…to the family that needs him so much. And Father, you have a new angel with you today. The kindest, gentlest man I have ever known. If anyone deserves the rewards of heaven, it is Tom Horton. Shower him with your love and your grace, and bring comfort to his family…to all of us who called him friend. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen.

“Caroline? Ma? Are you all right?”

She turned to find Billie standing at her side, concern written all over her expressive face. “Yes, dear. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re crying.”

“I am?” She reached up to touch her cheek. Sure enough, it was wet. “I didn’t even realize,” she said slowly.

Billie put an arm around her. “Come sit down,” she urged, leading her to a pew. “You look like you’re about to drop. Just close your eyes and rest for a few minutes.”

“All right,” Caroline acquiesced tiredly. “But only for a few minutes. I have to page Shawn in the cafeteria, and call Victor and Kate at the hotel. They found a four bedroom suite just a few blocks away. I have to tell them about Tom… Dr. Horton.”

“Let me do that,” Billie offered. “You sit here and rest, and I’ll make the calls. I’ll ask them to come here to the chapel. Okay?”

Caroline looked at her gratefully. “Thank you, dear. I wrote the hotel number on the back of an old birthday card in the zipper compartment of my purse. I left it in the bottom drawer of the bedside table in John’s room. It’s room 806.”

“I’ll find it.” As Billie hurried up the aisle toward the door, Caroline sat down on the cushioned pew, leaned her head back and closed her weary eyes.

“Do we really have to do this, bro? I don’t like lying to the family.” Bo shouted his appeal to Roman over the headset while clinging to a safety strap. The chopper was fighting a headwind, and even being buckled in, it was a bumpy ride. It was nothing compared to the trip with the comatose John though, so for the most part, he just took the buffeting for granted. They were still about 15 minutes away from the hospital.

“I don’t like it either,” Roman retorted, “but it’s the only way. You know it is. Anyway, it’s not really lying. We’ll tell everybody straight out what we saw: Marlena was shot in the back. We just won’t tell them we think it was all a setup.”

“It’s lying by omission and I don’t like. But I’ll go along. We will have to tell one other person though.”

“Who?”

“Victor.”

“What!? Why him for Pete’s sake!?”

“Because he’s gonna figure it out, Roman. I did, and so will he. Everyone else’ll believe Stefano’s little death scene if you say you do, but Victor knows exactly how Stefano’s mind works, and he’ll question it immediately. And our dutiful little bug here–” he patted his pocket, “–will pick up every word. Then it’s all over: game, set and match to Stefano. The only way to stop it is to warn Victor beforehand, before he has a chance to say anything. But there’s another reason too. We’re really gonna need his help, bro…now, more than ever. Because we won’t be able to search for a dead woman through official channels. We’re gonna have to do this so far underground we’ll forget what the sun looks like. And the master of that underground is Victor.”

“I already told you, Bo…we aren’t going to search for Marlena at all. We’re just going to search for Stefano.“

“Get real, man. Victor’s little reward is gonna generate thousands of clues, even after we withdraw Marlena’s name. The police won’t search for a dead woman, but those clues need to be followed up. It’s just gonna have to be a lot less visible, that’s all.”

Roman stared at him for a long moment, then shook his bead in bemusement. “You make quite a case, little brother. How do you propose to clue Victor in?

He grinned, and pulled the notebook from his pocket with a flourish.

Some twenty minutes later, they were heading down a long corridor toward the hospital chapel. Their concern about telling the family of Marlena’s “death” was now overshadowed by something else. They had headed directly for the ICU, of course, only to be informed by the desk nurse that their mother had requested they go the chapel if they showed up. Something about getting a phone call with bad news. The nurse had no idea what the bad news was.

As they neared the chapel, they saw Victor and Kate approaching from the opposite direction. They met at the door, and just before entering, Bo brushed up against his father and surreptitiously pressed a piece of paper into his hand. Master of the clandestine that he was, Victor reacted exactly as Bo had hoped and anticipated. Not even breaking stride, he palmed the paper and brought it up to his face under the guise of smothering a cough. The words he was reading were burned into Bo’s mind.

Victor. Play along with whatever you hear. I’ll explain later.

Victor glanced at him for confirmation, and when Bo reached into his pocket and stealthily displayed the tiny bug, the tycoon nodded imperceptibly. Mission accomplished, Bo told himself with relief as they walked into the dimly lit chapel.

His relief was short-lived. The moment he saw Shawn, Caroline and Billie seated near the altar, he knew something was dreadfully wrong. Sadness seemed to permeate the very air. Hurrying down the aisle (with Roman, Victor and Kate right behind), he rushed to the somber trio and knelt beside his mother. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her face was wet with tears. Shawn’s distress was also apparent, though more subdued. Anxiety squeezed his heart. Had something happened to his son? Or one of the other children? “Mom, Pop, what’s wrong? Did something happen to the kids?”

“Oh, honey, no,” Caroline assured him swiftly. “The children are all fine.” She paused, biting her lip, then continued in a hushed voice. “But we did lose someone. Someone very dear to all of us… Tom Horton passed away in his sleep last night.”

Bo rocked back on his heels, stunned. Doc Horton dead? Impossible. But even as his mind struggled to accept the unacceptable, his thoughts went spinning in another direction and he glanced up at Roman. His brother’s face exhibited the same shock he was sure must be on his own. Could Roman go through with his plan now? Could he hit these already devastated people with even more staggering news? Could he actually tell them Marlena was dead, without giving them some small glimmer of hope for the future? Roman met his eyes and must have intuited what he was thinking, because he gave a grim nod. He could, and he would. Bo braced himself.

“Ma.” Roman’s voice was hoarse, and Bo imagined what he must be thinking. In order to convince the family (and Stefano), he would be immersing himself in the horror of those awful moments from the video. Reliving the sound of the gun. The sight of Marlena’s body falling to the floor. The scarlet blood staining her white blouse… “Pop.” Roman tried again, but this time he sounded like he was strangling.

Shawn and Caroline looked at their eldest son, saw the dried blood on his mouth, heard the pain in his voice, and instantly realized something was wrong. Something much more than the dreadful news they had just imparted. And at this point, that could only mean one thing: Marlena. “What happened?” Shawn asked tonelessly, gripping Caroline’s hand as tight as he could. “What happened to our girl?”

“They… they shot her,” Roman choked. He continued over gasps of horror. “She tried to attack Stefano and they shot her in the back. She never had a chance.” His voice broke on a sob. “They took… they took her b…b…body with them,” he told his shattered parents. “I don’t even get to b…b…bury her.” Then he fell to his knees in front of the pew, and with tears flowing down their own cheeks, Shawn and Caroline gathered their weeping son into their arms.

Billie, Victor and Kate stared at the grieving Bradys in shock. “Oh, my God,” Billie whispered, “I’m so sorry, Bo. What can I do? I want to help.”

“I know you do, honey. Right now, there’s nothing anyone can do.” Hating himself with every word, he pulled her close to him. He desperately wanted to scream out the truth, to stop the pain, but he couldn’t. Hiding his face in her dark hair, he tried to shut out the sound of his parents sobs.

“Bo?” As a hand touched his shoulder, a quiet voice murmured in his ear. With a sigh, he raised his head and met Victor’s eyes. “What happened? How did you find out?”

He looked at the huddled Shawn, Roman and Caroline, then motioned toward the stained glass windows at the far side of the room. “Let’s go over there,” he told the others. When they had reassembled out of earshot of his parents and Roman, he began the grim tale. “We finally found the secret room,” he explained in low tones.” It’s enormous. The access is through a steel door in a wardrobe in one of the upstairs bedrooms. They had to get a welder to cut it open. There are thousands of video and audio tapes inside, along with computers and communications equipment and banks of filing cabinets.

“A lot of the videos are of John and Marlena. Stefano had them taped around the clock, so we got a good, nasty look at what happened. While John was chained in his cell being tortured and brainwashed, Stefano was trying to seduce Marlena, but what he was really doing was blackmailing her. If she didn’t let him touch her and kiss her, he was going to kill John. It was pretty horrible. Anyway, the day before Kristen and Tony brought us down for the cotillion, Stefano told Marlena they were leaving, but that John was being left behind to die.” He paused, knowing that now he was the one who had to lie… lie to save his brother’s wife, his good friend…

“Marlena went berserk,” he finally continued with a heavy heart. “She grabbed a fireplace poker and ran at Stefano. She was trying to smash him in the head when a guard shot her in the back. Stefano just went crazy. He shot and killed the guard who shot Marlena, then he held Marlena’s body and cried. This woman who seems to be his chief lieutenant took charge then, and had two of the guards take him to a helicopter. They took Marlena’s body with them.”

Billie and Kate stared at him aghast, but Victor’s look was more speculative. Please, Bo pleaded silently, catching his eye, Remember the note. Don’t say anything. Not now. His throat tightened as sudden understanding lighted Victor’s eyes and his lips parted as if to speak, but then closed again. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bo mouthed the word, Later, and Victor dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.

From the corner of his eye, Bo saw signs of movement from the huddled little group across the room. Trailed by the others, he hurried back to his family. Roman was now sitting on the pew beside Shawn, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He was much calmer, and Bo realized that his loss of control had been cathartic, as well as convincing.

Roman looked up as the group approached. “Victor,” he asked quietly, “could I use your jet? I have to get back to Salem as soon as possible. I have to tell Sami and Carrie about Marlena before the news leaks out. I can’t do it over the phone.”

“Of course,” Victor said instantly. “I’ll call the pilot right now.” Moving several yards away, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket and raised it to his ear.

“Roman?” Shawn touched his arm, drawing his attention. “What do you want us to do, son?” He indicated himself and Caroline. “You know we want to go with you, to be there for you, but John needs us too. Maybe one of us could go with you, and the other stay here…”

Roman shook his head. “No. John needs both of you here. And Bo has to stay to keep track of the investigation. I can manage on my own.”

“You probably can, Roman, but you won’t have to.” The voice was firm and determined, and everyone looked at the speaker in surprise.

“What do you mean, Kate?” Roman asked, startled.

“I mean I’m going with you. Marlena was my best friend…her children are staying in my house. You’re going to need someone to help arrange the memorial service. I’m volunteering.”

“So am I,” Billie seconded. “This is gonna hit Carrie really hard. I can help look after Belle and Brady so she can spend more time with your family.”

Roman appeared stunned. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you both.”

Bo put his arm around Billie and gave her a tight squeeze. “Thanks from me too,” he whispered. “You’re wonderful. I knew there was a reason I love you so much.” He was rewarded with a fleeting smile and a kiss on the cheek, and felt even more guilty for his deception. He prayed she would forgive him when she found out the truth.

Victor closed his phone and rejoined the group. “The plane will be ready in about an hour. The helicopter will take you to the airport.”

“Thank you, Victor. After all the bad blood between us, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want anything to do with helping me. I’m very grateful.”

“John loves Carrie and Sami very much, Roman. I’m simply doing what he would want me to do: to help them in any way I can.”

Roman nodded his understanding, then turned back to his parents. “Mom, Pop, I’m going to call Marlena’s parents and Eric before I leave. Will you take care of calling the rest of the family?”

“Of course we will, honey,” Caroline responded. “You just get on that plane and leave everything else up to us. With God’s help, I know we’ll make it through this.”

Nearly three hours later, at almost 10:30 in the evening, Roman, Kate and Billie arrived at the Kiriakis mansion. Roman had decided to tell Carrie first, and then go over to the pub and talk to Sami. He was certain his younger daughter would take more comfort from his presence than the elder, given Carrie’s current hostility toward him. Hostility that was sure to increase when she learned her beloved step-mother was dead.

All his plans went out the window, however, when Kate unlocked the door and they entered the house. Hearing voices from the living room, they went to investigate, and walked into what at first glance seemed to be a party. That was just at first glance though. A closer looked revealed a gathering of five very worried young people (Carrie, Austin, Lucas, Sami and Jaime) sitting around talking, desperately trying to cope with a distant terror they had no control over.

Sami saw them first. “Daddy!” she squealed, leaping to her feet and flinging herself at him. He caught her in a tight hug, cursing himself for what he was about to do to her. She trusted him completely, and he was about to destroy that trust in the most despicable way imaginable. His other daughter stood by the fireplace, staring at him with hate-filled, despairing eyes. Much more than Sami, she knew there could only be one reason for his unannounced arrival back in Salem…bad news. The worst possible news.

Kate and Billie quietly spoke to Austin, Lucas and Jaime, ushering them from the room, leaving Roman alone with his daughters. “Cm’on, Peanut,” he murmured, “let’s sit down. I have to talk to you and your sister.” He led her over to the sofa and sat with her, then motioned for Carrie to join them. Glaring at him, she stiffly approached and perched on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away from him as she could get and still hear. With an inward sigh, he knew it would have to do. God help me, he prayed.

Bo peeked into his parents’ room in Victor’s ornate hotel suite, then quietly closed the door. (After hearing the news about Marlena, the psychiatrist, Dr. Rosenthal, had banned the whole family from John’s room for the rest of the night, saying they were so exhausted and grief-stricken they could seriously affect his recovery. The situation would be reevaluated in the morning.) “They’re asleep,” he whispered to Victor, his voice barely audible over the noise of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie blaring from the TV in the sitting room. It reminded him painfully of a new Schwarzenegger movie he had seen recently. A movie called “True Lies.”

True lies, he thought dismally. That’s what we’ve been doing all evening. Telling the truth, but leaving out just enough to turn it into a lie. The movie currently assaulting their ears, (a typical Arnold flick full of gunfire and explosions) was playing not as entertainment, or even a distraction. It’s sole purpose was to overwhelm the tiny bugging device which had been placed right next to one of the speakers, so he and Victor could finally have their long overdue conversation/explanation. “Are you sure the rest of the room’s clean?” he murmured.

Victor nodded. “I had a sweeper disguised as room service go over the whole suite,” he said just as quietly. “The only bug here is the one from your jacket. I gather you don’t think Marlena’s really dead. That the whole thing was staged, with her cooperation?”

“I told Roman you’d figure it out. It was just too neat, Victor. The drug courier leading Roman to Maison Blanche just in time to rescue John. Finding the tape of the shooting so we’d give up looking for Marlena. Roman and I believe Stefano made a deal with her: if she pretends to die, he makes sure John is rescued.” Bo shook his his head tiredly. “It was so damned convincing–if it hadn’t been for John’s warning in that letter, I really would’ve believed it myself. What we have to do now is make Stefano think his plan succeeded. That’s why I gave you that note, so you wouldn’t say something to arouse the suspicions of the rest of the family or Stefano’s people. Everyone except you and Roman and me has to believe Marlena’s dead. The three of us are experienced enough at undercover work (albeit from different sides)–” he gave Victor a tiny smile, and received a wry one in return, “–that we can put on a convincing show. I hate putting the rest of the family through this, but if they thought she was still alive, they wouldn’t be able to disguise it. Stefano would know in an instant.”

“You did the right thing,” Victor said approvingly. “And I assure you, you won’t be disappointed in confiding in me.” His face tightened and his eyes grew hard as diamonds. “We’re going to find the Phoenix, Bo, and burn his nest to the ground. And this time, there won’t be a resurrection.”

Roman put his arm around Sami and held her close to him. He wanted to do the same for Carrie, but he knew she wouldn’t let him touch her. “I have some news about your mother,” he said gently. “I’m afraid it isn’t good. She’s…she’s…gone.”

“We already know that. Daddy,” Sami said patiently, as if to a child. “Grandpa told me Stefano kidnapped her.” She looked at him trustingly. “But you’ll get her back. I know you will.”

“Oh, my sweet Samantha Gene,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry. I can’t get her back this time. She’s dead, Peanut.”

“What..t…t.?” she quavered. From Carrie’s end of the sofa there was grim silence.

“She dead, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“Noooo!!” Sami wailed, her voice rising hysterically. “She can’t be dead! I have to talk to her! I have to tell her I’m sorry!” She clutched at Roman’s shirt, shaking him wildly. “Get her back, Daddy!” she pleaded. “Please, get her back!” Then she broke down in awful sobs, her face pressed against his chest, and all he could do was hold her, and consign himself to hell for the pain he was causing his own child.

His other daughter was staring at him with bitter eyes. “What happened?” she rasped. “How did Marlena die?”

“We found a videotape,” he said quietly. “Marlena found out Stefano was planning to take her away and leave John behind to die. She attacked him with an iron poker and one of the guards shot her in the back. She died instantly.”

Carrie nodded quietly. It made perfectl sense to her that Marlena would give her life to try and save John. Sami, however, was not so forgiving. She pushed away from Roman, her face flushed from crying, her eyes blazing with anger. “So John’s still alive and Mom’s dead!? It ought to be the other way around!” she raged. “John should be the one who’s dead!! I hope he never gets out of that hospital! I hope he just rots away!”

“Oh, Sami,” Roman sighed, drawing her to him again. “This isn’t John’s fault, honey. Stefano DiMera’s the one to blame, not John. Someday, you’ll understand that.”

“Never,” she vowed with a sob, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I’ll never understand, and I’ll never forgive him.”

Carrie stared at Roman and her sister. She understood Sami’s rage, because her own heart was burning white-hot with anger. Sami blamed John, but Carrie knew that someone else was ultimately responsible…and it wasn’t Stefano DiMera. The man she held accountable was sitting just three feet away from her. The man she used to call “Dad.”

Slough of Despond

AS THE MORNING LIGHT penetrated her puffy eyelids, Kristen DiMera gave a soft groan and buried her face in her pillow, trying to recapture the only state in which she could find a measure of peace anymore: the comforting depths of sleep. She craved those depths now because her waking hours were such a nightmare. Ever since the gruesome discovery of John’s tortured body at Maison Blanche, her world had been spinning out of control. Sometimes she felt as if she were still caught in the grip of the recent hurricane, its mighty forces tearing her from the life anchors she had thought were so strong, but which had proved to be worthless, insubstantial clay. And now that clay had crumbled, casting her adrift on a stormy sea of doubt, pain, betrayal and guilt.

How could she have been so blind? How could she have not seen that the face of the loving father, who had cared for her since she was a little girl, was only a mask concealing the monster within? And if Stefano had betrayed her, what about Tony? He, too, had been lying to her all her life. It may have been from the best of motives, at least when she was younger, but she was an adult now. Why hadn’t he told her the truth when John’s accusations came to light? Was Tony also hiding behind a mask? What would she find if she peered beneath the surface gloss…another Stefano? It was terrifying to contemplate.

And what of her brother, Peter? She had seen the way Caroline looked at him in the hospital yesterday, her eyes so contemptuous. The Bradys obviously thought he was involved in Stefano’s dirty business. Were they right? Was he more than just Stefano’s lawyer? Was he also Stefano’s partner in crime? She didn’t want to believe it, but she had to prepare herself for the worst.

And lastly, what of herself? Over the last few days she had taken a good hard look at the person she saw in the mirror each morning, and it wasn’t a pretty picture. She had thought she was a strong mature woman, confident in herself and giving to others. But when she had been tested, she had been found woefully lacking. That strong confident woman was really a cowering little girl… a scared little rabbit so afraid to face the truth about herself and her family that she had destroyed the one person who had loved her more completely than anyone she had ever known. Pain squeezed her heart as she thought of what she had done to John. He had loved her, and thought his love had been returned in equal measure. But she had betrayed that love over and over. By concealing her relationship with Stefano and her engagement to Tony; by continuing (in the face of overwhelming evidence) to deny Stefano’s criminal activities, particularly his sadistic mistreatment of John; and finally, by accusing John of murder and marrying Tony to fulfill Stefano’s “dying” request. No wonder Caroline had looked at her like she crawled out of a sewer. She was as much responsible for the hideous assault on John as Stefano was.

Blinking tears from her eyes, Kristen threw back the covers to begin another day of misery and torment. She felt barely able to function, but there were things she had to do. Jennifer badly needed support after her grandfather’s death, and she wanted to go over to Victor’s to check on Belle and Brady. Carrie was competent enough, but she would feel much better if she saw for herself that John’s children were all right. Dear God, what was going to happen to those two little ones? John was hovering on the brink of death and there was still no word about Marlena.

Kristen’s dismal thoughts accompanied her throughout her shower, while dressing, and down the stairs to the dining room. At her ring, Iliana brought in a breakfast tray with coffee, orange juice, toast and half a grapefruit. The maid set the tray on the table and started back toward the kitchen, but stopped at the door. Turning around, she said somberly. “I’m really sorry about your friend dying, Mrs. DiMera.”

“Thank you, Iliana. We’ll all miss Dr. Horton very much.”

Iliana blinked. “I didn’t mean Dr. Horton, Mrs. DiMera. I’m talking about Dr. Evans.”

“Dr. Evans?” Kristen stared at her in horror, hoping against hope she had heard incorrectly. “Dr. Marlena Evans?”

The maid blanched. “Yes, m…m…ma’am,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. I just heard it on the radio in the kitchen. They said she was shot in the back, trying to get away from your…your father. Mrs. DiMera, are you all right? Mrs. DiMera? Mrs. DiMera!!“

Breakfast in the Kiriakis suite was a somber affair. Everyone was worn out both mentally and physically, Bo thought, and they showed it. His parents, all three of them, he told himself with grim humor, looked older than he had ever seen them, and he himself felt drawn and gaunt. If Dr. Rosenthal could see them now, he would never let them back into John’s room. Well, maybe seeing Kim and her kids would cheer everyone up. They would be arriving in a couple of hours and should be just what the doctor (Dr. Rosenthal, that is) ordered.

There was a knock at the door, and Bo forced himself from his chair and went to answer it, assuming it was room service to pick up the remains of the mostly untouched meal. He was wrong. “Kim!” he choked.

“Hi, little brother,” she said softly, enveloping him in a warm hug as he heard excited gasps from behind him.

“Kimmie! Oh God, Kimmie!” That was his mother. “Darlin’!” And that was Shawn. Then the hug went four ways, while Victor stayed in the background, watching with satisfaction.

When the clinch finally broke, Kim made her way across the room to her former nemesis. “Thank you,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smile of his own, clasping her hand in both of his. “I’m glad I could help.”

Kim turned to her wondering parents and brother. “Victor arranged for me to get an earlier flight,” she explained. “We wanted to surprise you.”

“That you did, darlin’,” Shawn said gruffly, a sheen of tears in his eyes, “an’ we’re mighty glad. You’re a sight for sore eyes, girl, you truly are. With my best an’ my brightest here, my spirits are finally lookin’ up.”

“Oh, Pop,” Kim murmured, “you make me sound like some kind of miracle worker.”

“You are, dear,” Caroline joined in with a teary smile. “It’s a miracle you’re even here at all, after everything you’ve been through. A miracle you’ve come through so strong and healthy. John needs a miracle like that now, honey…he needs it desperately. He needs to know he has a chance to make it back, just like you did. Talk to him, Kimmie. Try to bring him back to us. Marlena’s gone. We can’t lose John, too.”

“I’ll try, Ma. I’ll try everything I can think of.”

“I know you will.” Caroline suddenly looked around. “Where are Jeannie and Andrew?”

“I left them in Los Angeles with Kayla. They’re catching a flight to Salem this afternoon, along with Stephanie. Kay wants to help Roman with Marlena’s memorial service, and we thought it would be better for the kids to be in Salem rather than cooped up here in a hotel room while I’m at the hospital with John. Philip wanted to come, but he’s still in Bosnia filming that documentary about the ‘ethnic cleansing’ going on over there. His visa’s only good for one visit. If he leaves now, they won’t let him back into the country. He sends his love though, and says he’s thinking about all of us.”

The phone rang and Victor went to answer it. After picking it up, he immediately gestured to Bo, who rushed to the instrument. “This is Bo Brady.”

He listened silently for several minutes, then hung up the phone. His face was grave as he turned back to his family. “That was Susan Belchek, the U.S. Attorney I told you about. They just found the guy who shot Marlena. His body was buried in the woods near Maison Blanche, along with the blood-spattered rug. I have to get back over there.”

“I’ll call the pilot,” Victor said. As he reached for the phone, he asked in a whisper just audible enough to reach Bo’s ears. “Doesn’t this ruin your theory about Marlena?”

“No,” Bo answered just as quietly, “it only means the guard was expendable. I also expect to find Marlena’s blood on the rug, but my theory still stands: she’s alive.”

“Kristen? Come on, Kristen, open your eyes. That’s right. Come on.”

She blinked fuzzily, shaking her head, then wished she had hadn’t. It hurt. “Ouch,” she muttered, closing her eyes.

“Come on, Kristen,” the voice urged once more. “Stay with me here. Open your eyes again. That’s a girl. Come on now. Look at me.”

She blinked again, into a bright light, and the speaker suddenly came into focus: Mike Horton. Careful not to move her head this time, she scanned her surroundings. She was in the emergency room at University Hospital. “What happened?” she whispered.

“You fainted and hit your head,” Jenn’s brother told her. “You’ve got a nice bump, but no concussion. You’re going to be fine.”

“I fainted? Why?”

Mike looked at her clinically. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was in the dining room. Iliana had just brought me my breakfast…” Memory suddenly flooded in, and tears started to cascade down her cheeks. “I remember,” she choked. “She told me about Marlena! Oh, Mike,” she sobbed, “please don’t hate me! I know it was my fault, but please don’t hate me!”

“It’s all right, Kristen,” he soothed. “I don’t hate you. I promise. Nobody hates you. Why on earth would you think this is your fault?”

“I wouldn’t listen!” she wailed. “You all warned me, but I wouldn’t listen! Stefano tortured and brainwashed John because of me, to keep him away from me! And now Marlena! Oh, Mike, what am I going to do!? Help me, please! I don’t know what to do!” Her voice trailed off into incoherent sobs, and she didn’t even feel the prick of the needle in her arm, then blessed darkness overtook her.

Maison Blanche was a beehive of activity. Now that there were at least two murders involved, the pace of the investigation had stepped up dramatically. Besides the omnipresent helicopters and law enforcement vehicles, a coroner’s wagon had been added to the mix. For some strange reason, however, for which Bo was very thankful, there weren’t any media present yet. Although there was starting to be local coverage in Salem after official notice of Marlena’s death, the New Orleans media had not picked up on the story. Either someone at the ISA was keeping the lid on very tight, or more probably, since this whole thing had started during the hurricane, the press had had much more urgent matters on its collective mind.

Approaching the back of the house after departing the Titan helicopter, which was starting to feel like an old friend, Bo was surprised to see Tony DiMera talking to the guard (Jenkins, he thought his name was) at the kitchen door. Ever since the investigators had taken over the mansion, Tony, and the rest of the contingent from Salem, had been forced into the hunting lodge deep in the woods. And even though everyone else had gone back home, he had assumed that that was still Tony’s base of operation for the time being.

“Hello, Tony,” he said casually. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to find out what’s going on,” Stefano DiMera’s son answered with more than a hint of frustration in his voice. “Officer Jenkins isn’t being very forthcoming though. Nobody is.”

“Sorry, sir,” Jenkins said stiffly. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

“I know,” Tony sighed.

“C’mon,” Bo offered, “take a walk with me. I’ll fill you in.”

The two meandered across the lawn, and Bo asked tentatively, “Did you hear about Marlena?”

“You mean did I hear that she died? Yes. That’s the one thing they would tell me. But they wouldn’t say how or why.”

Bo gave him the grim details, and Tony was silent for a long time, staring at the ground. Wandering over near the edge of the woods, they were just entering the shade of the trees when a solemn procession emerged from the underbrush. Accompanied by several state troopers, two men with “Coroner” emblazoned on their jackets carried a black body bag on a stretcher, followed by five more troopers carrying an immense rolled-up carpet smeared with dirt. The two men watched them pass, and then, as the group trudged up the lawn toward the house with their heavy burdens, Tony finally spoke. “Is he the one?–” nodding toward the black bag on the stretcher, “–Is he the one who shot Marlena?”

“Yeah,” Bo responded quietly, but thinking hopefully, She’s still alive. Remember that. She is still alive.

“Bo, I have to tell you something.” Tony’s voice was strained, as if he was forcing the words out. “It will probably ruin my marriage, and may even put me in jail, but it’s been eating away at me ever since we found John. I just can’t keep it inside any longer…not after what happened to Marlena.”

Bo waited silently, letting him take his own pace.

“I… I knew Stefano was alive, Bo. I knew it the day Kristen and I came back from our honeymoon on Smith Island. I found him in the house.”

“Kristen.” The voice was soft and gentle, beckoning her to come towards it, to come into the light. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to stay in the dark, where it was safe and secure and no one hated her. She could have John there if she wished, whole and strong and unblemished, and Marlena could be there too, laughing and playing with little Belle. Yes, the dark was a good place…a place where she could be happy again.

“Kristen.” The voice called again, a little sterner this time, forbidding her to ignore it.

“Go ‘way,” she muttered, hugging the dark to herself.

“No, Kristen,” the voice persisted, “I’m not going away. I’m not going to let you do this to yourself. I’ve lost too much already. I’m not going to let Stefano take you, too.”

Suddenly she knew who the voice belonged to, and the safety of the dark evaporated. “Roman!” she gasped, staring into his bitter, ruthless face. She was dimly aware of Peter and Jenn and Mike hovering in the background, but her whole being was focused on Roman: the husband of the woman who had died because of her. “Oh, Roman!” she sobbed. “Please go away! How can you bear to look me, after what I did!? How can anyone bear to look at me!? Go away! Please, please, go away! I can’t stand to see the hate in your eyes!”

She tried to hide her face in the pillow, but a hand gripped her chin, pulling her head around, and Roman’s eyes bored into hers like lasers. “I’m not going to let you go, Kristen,” he said softly. “Look at me. There’s no hate in my eyes, not for you. I know what you’re feeling… I feel guilty too. There are so many things I should have done differently, so many chances wasted, so many wrong paths taken. But we have to get past that, Kristen, because you’re innocent, and so am I. We’re just as much victims in this as John and Marlena. This isn’t what they would want for us, to waste our lives on guilt and self-hatred. They know we had nothing to do with Stefano’s evil. Remember what John wrote? He said we mustn’t blame ourselves, and he said something else, too…remember? He said he loves you, Kristen. He wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true. He knows you’re a good person, and that you would never intentionally hurt anyone. Trust me, Kristen. Remember that night in the storm? I didn’t hate you then, and I don’t hate you now. I’ll never hate you. I promise.”

Kristen gazed at him tearfully, trying to absorb his words. She was so tired, she couldn’t make sense of them all, not just yet, but the tone of his voice, it was so tender…there was no harshness there, no hatred. And she did remember that night, when they had fought so hard to save John’s life… Fought side by side, and won. She shook her head, and it was as if a dark veil had suddenly been lifted from her eyes and she could see clearly once again. She stared at Roman, and wondered how she could ever have mistaken that concerned, compassionate expression for hatred. There was only love there…the love of a cherished friend who had taken precious time away from his own anguished family to pull her from the dark back into the light. She would not waste his sacrifice. As hard as things might get in the days and weeks ahead, she would never retreat into the dark again.

“Thank you, Roman,” she said quietly. “I’m going to be all right now. Go on home to your family. They need you.”

“Just call me the Lone Ranger,” he teased gently. “I go where I’m needed. And if you need me again, just give me a call.” Then he brushed his lips against her cheek, and walked out the door.

“You knew he was alive?” Bo stared at Tony in outraged disbelief, trying to contain a murderous tide of anger from overwhelming his senses. “All this time, you knew?”

“Yes.”

“When John was accused of killing him, and everyone thought he was crazy for insisting he was still alive…you knew?”

“Yes.”

“When Billie was on trial for murder, and you were sooo indignant that anyone could think Stefano was responsible…you knew?

“Yes, Bo. Yes. Yes! Yes!! Yes to all of it!!!“

“My God, Tony! Do you realize what you’ve done!? If we’d known for sure Stefano was alive, we never would have let John and Marlena come down here…or at least, not alone. Why didn’t you tell anybody? Why?”

Tony’s face was pale and drawn under his tan, and his eyes were filled with remorse. “I would have lost Kristen,” he confessed miserably. “She would have known that everything John said about Stefano was true, and I would have lost her. John would have taken her away from me.”

“So you just kept quiet, lied to Kristen and everybody else, and let John and Marlena walk into that hell-hole totally unprepared. You let Stefano torture them for months, and didn’t say a word. My God, Tony, my family considered you a friend. I guess we know better now. You really are Stefano’s son.” Shaking his head in disgust, Bo turned to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm.

“No! You have to listen to me, Bo, please. I didn’t know about Maison Blanche. I didn’t know what he was doing to John and Marlena! I swear it on my mother’s grave. You have to believe me!”

“Believe you?” Bo scoffed, distastefully prying Tony’s hand from his arm. “Why should I believe you? Because you’re such a truthful person?” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue, causing Tony to wince. “Try telling it to John, if he ever wakes up long enough to hear you. Maybe he’ll believe you. Or, I know…why don’t you try telling it to Marlena. I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to just her headstone though, because Stefano kept her body. But, hey, since you’re such good friends with your daddy, you can probably persuade him to take you to her grave. I bet it’s a great big mausoleum, with a marble angel and everything. Of course, that wouldn’t be what Marlena wanted, but that wouldn’t bother Stefano. He never cared what Marlena wanted, he just cared about what he wanted. And you’re just like him, Tony. You wanted Kristen, and you did anything you had to to get her, including letting your damned father tear my family to pieces!”

“No!” Tony protested. “It wasn’t like that! I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially John. Stefano had hurt him too much already.”

“What did you say?” Bo grasped Tony by the front of his silk shirt and jerked him close, until his face was just inches away. “What do mean Stefano had hurt him too much already?”

Tony swallowed several times. “I… I didn’t mean anything, Bo. Just forget it.”

“Oh, no!” Bo snarled. “I’m not going to just forget it! You’ve said over and over you didn’t believe Stefano brainwashed John. Well, you just got caught in another lie, Tony. You know something, and you’re going to tell me what it is, even if, so help me God, I have to beat it out of you.”

He raised his fist threateningly, ready to pummel the too-perfect face of the devil’s son, when Tony suddenly capitulated. “That won’t be necessary,” he said stiffly. “I’ll tell you. Just let go of me first.”

The grip on his shirt slowly released, and he stepped back a pace, absently smoothing the crumpled material, while staring guiltily at the powder keg that went by the name of Bo Brady. “It was before Kristen and I got married,” he said quietly. “She wanted me to investigate John’s claims…to find out if Stefano really had kidnapped and brainwashed him. I told her I would, but I honestly didn’t believe I’d find anything. I was wrong. I persuaded one of Stefano’s people to check his files, and he sent me proof that everything John said was true. There were papers, in Stefano’s own handwriting, documenting the kidnapping and brainwashing.”

“Dear God,” Bo whispered.

“I was stunned. I know now I should have taken the papers directly to Kristen, or given them to John. Instead, I confronted Stefano. I was furious. I demanded to know why he would do such a thing, what had John done to deserve something so horrible.”

“What did he tell you?” Bo found he could hardly breathe. Was he finally going to get the answers John had been seeking so long? The answers to his past?”

“He said John knew a secret. That he brainwashed him to keep him from revealing it. He said if John ever remembered, it would destroy our family.”

“Destroy Stefano, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you what the secret was?”

“No. He said it was too dangerous for even me to know. He was absolutely terrified, Bo. I’d never seen him like that before.”

“What did you do?”

Tony sighed, casting his eyes down toward the ground. “I burned the papers, then told Kristen I hadn’t found anything.”

“And went right on denying Stefano’s involvement.”

“Yes.”

Bo gazed at his former friend in sorrow. There was no anger anymore, only pity. Pity for a tormented man who could have done the right thing, but had chosen another path long ago. A path which was now leading to his own slow destruction.

“I can’t let this go, Tony,” he uttered sadly. “I have to tell Kristen, and the police.”

“I know. I’ll be at the hunting lodge.” Tony started to walk through the trees, elegant shoulders slumped in despair, then glanced back momentarily, his face lost in the shadows. “Goodbye, Bo.”

“Goodbye, Tony.”

Then the two men went their separate ways, one into the dark of the woods, the dark of the soul, and the other into the light.

Black  on Black

THE SIGN ON THE OFFICE DOOR was simple and discreet. All it said was “Dr. Marlena Evans”. Marlena had wanted it that way, Roman recalled, as he ran his fingers over the raised letters of the nameplate, because unfortunately, so many people still harbored deep seated prejudices against the mentally ill. She had successfully argued before the hospital board that emblazoning the word “Psychiatrist” under her name could drive away potential patients who desperately needed help, but were too ashamed or embarrassed to be seen going into a psychiatrist’s office. She had won that battle, as she had so many others, and Roman prayed that her fighting spirit was still intact despite the horrors of the last two months.

Don’t give up, Doc, he entreated her silently. I’ll find you, I promise. I know I’ve failed you in the past, but that’ll never happen again. You have to hang on, sweetheart. We all love you and need you so much. Sami, Carrie, Eric… Mom and Pop… me. And your other “family” needs you too. Little Belle and Brady… and John. He’s still alive, Marlena. You were so brave, my love, fighting for his life the way you did. And now you have to fight for your own.

Please, God, he sent his thoughts heavenward as he closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross, give her strength. Just let her come out of this alive and well and I’ll do whatever you want. I pray that we can start over, can be a family again, but if it is your will that she be with John, then I will abide by your decision. I love her enough to let her go, if you can just give her the strength to hang on until I can find her. And give me the wisdom, Father, to defeat Stefano DiMera once and for all. Help me finally put an end to this monster who has destroyed so many innocent lives. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.

Opening his eyes, feeling strangely at peace for the first time in months, he was about to reach for the door handle when a familiar voice spoke from behind him. “Excuse me, Roman. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

“Sure, Mickey.” Turning to his old friend, he saw a face which looked just as drawn and fatigued as the one he had seen in the mirror that morning. “I’m so sorry about Tom,” he said regretfully. “I meant to come and see you, but I had to….well, you know…” He shook his head with a deep sigh.

“Yeah. I know. And you know how sorry we all are about Marlena.” Roman was nodding, too full of guilt and remorse at the continuing lies to say anything, when Mickey continued. “Actually, it’s about Marlena that we have to talk. Marlena and John.”

Roman’s gut twisted in a knot, but he tried to not let his voice betray him. “We can use Marlena’s office. I have to… I have to pack up her things.”

Mickey’s grief-stricken expression turned to one of sympathy, and Roman knew that he, or someone else in the Horton family, was facing the same unenviable task: Removing all the accumulated bits and pieces that turned a sterile office into a home away from home. Those bits and pieces didn’t magically disappear with death, and it fell to family and friends to clear away those cherished reminders so the space could be revitalized by a new occupant. Looking at Mickey, Roman felt like the worst kind of fraud. He was just pretending: Marlena really wasn’t dead, and one day, God willing, her personal possessions would be restored to their rightful place. Tom Horton’s never would.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he opened the door and went inside, where his entrance was noted by a pair of red-rimmed, tear swollen eyes. They belonged to Heidi, Marlena’s loyal secretary. “Oh, Roman, Mickey,” she choked, dabbing at her tears with a damp tissue, “I’m so very, very sorry. I just can’t believe this. Dr. Horton and Marlena were such wonderful people. How can they both be gone? It doesn’t seem real.”

“I know, Heidi,” Roman said with a catch in his throat. He’d been getting the same reaction all morning; the entire hospital staff was in a state of shock over losing two of its brightest lights at the same time. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off,” he told the distraught secretary. “I’ll lock up here when I leave.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Go on home. Spend the day with your kids; tell them how much you love them. Marlena would like that.”

“She would, wouldn’t she.” Heidi gave him a watery smile, which threatened to disappear in a new flood of tears as she thought of Marlena’s children, who would never again hear their mother say that simple but most powerful of phrases “I love you.” Before the dam could break, she grabbed her purse from beneath the desk and fled out the door, leaving the two men staring after her.

“Well,” Roman murmured, “why don’t we go on in.” Opening the door to Marlena’s inner office, he gestured for Mickey to enter first, then followed, closing the door behind them. He couldn’t bring himself to sit behind Marlena’s desk, opting instead for the sofa and overstuffed chairs which made up the small conversation area. When they were both seated, he prompted his friend. “What’s going on, Mick?”

“Before we start, I have to know John’s condition. Everything we have to discuss hinges on that. Has there been any change since yesterday? Any improvement at all?”

Roman shook his head. “None. I talked to Ma about an hour ago and he’s still

unconscious. They’re calling his condition ‘critical but stable’.” He paused a moment, then continued quietly. “The doctors haven’t confirmed it yet, but Ma said some of the nurses told Kimmie they think he’s in a coma. They don’t know when, or if, he’ll ever wake up. They said he could be like this for years. Ma’s really scared.”

“Damn. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Mickey swore under his breath, a frown creasing his brow, then a look of determination settled over his features. “Okay. We have to move fast, Roman, really fast. You have to get Bo back here as quick as you can.”

Oblivious to being the subject of a discussion hundreds of miles away, Bo Brady reached for the phone  in the study at Maison Blanche, carefully averting his gaze from the spot where Stefano had so artfully arranged Marlena’s “murder”. His brain knew she wasn’t dead, but his heart still ached at the horror of seeing her fall to the floor, of that scarlet stain spreading over her back. Repressing a shudder, he consulted a page in his small address book, then dialed a Salem number, hoping unrealistically that no one would answer. This was one conversation he definitely wasn’t going to enjoy.

The phone was answered on the fifth ring. “DiMera residence. Jennifer Horton speaking.”

“Jenn?” He was startled, to say the least. Knowing her as well as he did, he was certain she’d be at her grandparents’ house. “It’s Bo Brady,” he said quickly, recovering from his surprise. “I need to talk to Kristen.”

“I’m sorry, Bo.” Her voice was so low he could barely hear it. “She can’t come to the phone. She just got out of the hospital and Peter’s helping her up to bed.”

“Hospital?” He repeated in shock. “What happened?”

The whispering resumed. “She fainted and hit her head this morning when she heard Marlena died. The paramedics took her to the hospital. When she came to, she was so hysterical Mike had to sedate her. She blames herself for Marlena’s death.”

Bo felt like a sledgehammer hit him in the chest. This lie he prayed would lead to Marlena was playing havoc with everyone’s lives. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t reveal the truth. His guilty conscience made his words harsher than he intended. “Dammit, Jenn! This isn’t her fault! She didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Marlena!”

“She knows that in her head, Bo, but right now that’s not helping very much. Roman had a talk with her and she seemed calmer afterwards, but I think she’s just teetering on the edge. I wish Tony was here. Do you know where he is? I tried calling the lodge but he didn’t answer.”

Tony. Bo’s heart sank as he suddenly remembered the reason for his call. “Um, actually,” he said slowly, “that’s why I’m calling. I’m afraid Tony won’t be coming back to Salem; at least, not for a while. The police just went to arrest him.”

“Arrest him?! Why? What’s going on?”

“He knew Stefano was alive,” he told her bluntly. “He’s known almost from the beginning. Since right after he and Kristen’s honeymoon, in fact.”

“You mean he’s been lying to us this whole time?” Her tone was a mixture of shock and confusion. “But why? I don’t understand. Tony hates what Stefano does, what he stands for. Why would he lie for him? And how did the police find out about it? Did they find something implicating him at Maison Blanche?”

“The police found out because I told them. When he heard about Marlena, Tony admitted everything to me in an attack of conscience he probably regrets now. As for why he lied…” Bo sighed heavily, hating to disillusion his young friend. “Jenn, you have to understand something right now, before you get more involved with the DiMeras than you already are. They lie. I think it’s bred into their genes, right along with a selfish streak a mile wide and an ego the size of Mount Everest. Tony’s a DiMera. For him, lying comes just as easy as breathing. He knew if Kristen found out Stefano was alive she’d leave him for John, so he just kept quiet.”

The rage which had boiled over when Tony made his confession came bubbling to the surface again. “Dammit, Jenn, he was my friend! I trusted him! Marlena and Roman trusted him! He played us all for fools! Tony DiMera is just like his father! He doesn’t give a damn what happens to anyone else so long as he gets what he wants! He wanted Kristen, so he let Billie go on trial for a murder he knew Stefano was responsible for, and he didn’t say a thing! He let her go through hell, and words can’t begin to describe what he let happen to John and Marlena!”

There was a gasp at the other end of the line. “He knew what Stefano was doing at Maison Blanche? Oh, dear God, this’ll kill Kristen!”

“No!” Bo exclaimed quickly. “No! I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Tony says he didn’t know Stefano was holding John and Marlena, and I believe him. But they wouldn’t have been here if he hadn’t lied, so indirectly, he is responsible, and he knows it. And there’s something else, too.”

“What?” The word was full of despair and worry for her fragile friend.

“Tony had documented proof over six months ago that Stefano was the one who brainwashed John. Instead of going to John or Kristen with it, he confronted Stefano. Stefano admitted it was true, then  convinced Tony to destroy it. Kristen never saw it.”

There was a long silence. “What happens now?” she asked finally. “What are the police going to charge him with?”

“I don’t know everything yet, but they’re going to start with obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, concealing evidence, and aiding and abetting a fugitive. Those are serious enough, but if they decide he was involved with what happened here, they could add conspiracy charges of kidnapping, assault, infliction of great bodily harm, attempted murder, and murder.”

More silence, then slowly, reluctantly, “I guess I have to tell Kristen, don’t I.”

“I’m sorry, Jenn, I really am. But it’s better that she hears it from a friend, than over the news.”

“I know you’re right, this just couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

“She’ll make it, you’ll see. With friends like you and Billie, she can make it through anything.” He paused briefly. “I have to go now, but I wanted to say one more thing. Please be careful of Peter. He’s Stefano’s lawyer, and a DiMera in every way but blood. I can’t believe he didn’t know what was going on. I think he’s involved in this up to his neck, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” He continued over a sputter that  signaled the start of an outraged protest. “Please, Jenn. Just be careful, that’s all I’m asking. If you can’t do it for me, then do it for Hope.” He knew he had her at the mention of her beloved cousin. The bond between Jenn and his late wife had been extraordinary. More like sisters than cousins.

“All right,” sighed the object of his concern, “I’ll be careful. For Hope. Goodbye, Bo.”

“Bye, Jenn. Take care.”

 

Jennifer Horton set down the phone and started reluctantly for the stairs, grim thoughts swirling around in her brain. Tony had been lying to them all along. She’d been stunned at first, but now that she was over the initial shock, she had to acknowledge she really wasn’t as surprised as she should have been. It was almost as if she’d been expecting this all along, and now she could finally admit to herself that she had never trusted Stefano’s son. She had ignored her feelings for Kristen’s sake, but deep inside, the suspicions had always been there. Maybe it was because John and Kristen had been so right for each other, and Tony had deliberately come between them. Maybe it was simply because he was a DiMera, and she was just prejudiced against the family of the man who had hurt her own family and friends so badly. Maybe it was because…

No! she told herself sharply. Stop it! Don’t go there! You’re going to make yourself crazy with maybes and what ifs. It’s in the past, and what’s done is done. What you have to do now is move forward. You have to be strong. Kristen needs you to be strong.

Another thought struck her. She had to be strong for Kristen, but who was going to be strong for her? She couldn’t rely on Peter anymore, not since Bo’s warning. As much as she wanted to disagree with him, she knew he was right to be wary. She didn’t want to believe it, but it was entirely possible her new lover had been sucked into his adopted father’s criminal world.

Even as the realization tore at her heart, she smiled faintly, thinking of Bo’s concern. Hope had been so lucky, and now Billie as well, to have found such a wonderful life’s companion. Her dear friend didn’t want her to be hurt. Unfortunately, that was already well beyond his power to prevent; she was in love with Peter Blake, and if she discovered he had been involved in any way with the horrors at Maison Blanche, she would be just as devastated as Kristen was going to be in a few minutes.

Standing at the foot of the long staircase, her eyes traveled up towards the second floor. Devastated or not, she had a job to do. A job she couldn’t delay, no matter how much she wanted to. Resolution stiffening her spine, she started up the stairs to destroy what was left of her friend’s world.

“You have to get Bo back here as quick as you can.”

The urgent tone in Mickey Horton’s voice struck a chord of fear in Roman. “What do you need Bo for?”

“He has to sign some very important papers.”

“What papers? What’s going on?”

Mickey sighed. “You know I’m John’s attorney, as well as Marlena’s.” Roman tilted his head in confirmation. “Well bear with me, because this is a little complicated. John was afraid something might happen to him, so before he went to New Orleans, he and Marlena had me draw up papers concerning guardianship of Belle and Brady. If John died or was incapacitated Marlena would have sole custody of both children, and vice versa. Thankfully, they also took into account another scenario, the one we unhappily find ourselves in now. If both of them are dead or incapacitated, Bo becomes the children’s guardian, with Victor appointed trustee to handle their inheritance.”

“That makes sense to me,” Roman said, “but I don’t understand what the rush is. Couldn’t this wait until we know a little more about John’s condition?”

“I’m afraid not. Unfortunately, there’s a barracuda out there who would just love to get her teeth into those kids and their inheritance, and this would be a perfect opportunity.”

The light suddenly dawned. “Vivian,” Roman muttered.

“Right. I don’t know if she’s heard about John yet, but she probably knows that Marlena’s dead. Bo has to accept guardianship of Belle and Brady ASAP. We have to beat Vivian to the punch and show the court that the children are being well cared for. Because I don’t have a doubt in the world that this is going to wind up in court.”

Roman frowned. “Maybe I’m being a little dense here, but if John and Marlena wanted Bo to have custody, what grounds does Vivian have to challenge that. She can’t prove the children are being neglected. I saw them just yesterday. They’re being showered by love and attention by the entire Brady, Kiriakis and Reed/Roberts families. And Marlena’s parents are arriving this afternoon. I think they would have a big say if Vivian tried to challenge Marlena’s wishes.”

“I’m afraid it’s not going to work like that. There’s a tricky little legal point here which very neatly negates Marlena’s role in this. When she died, no matter what his condition, sole custody of Belle and Brady reverted to John. And that’s where Vivian’s going to get her foot in the door. I’m 99 percent certain she’s going to challenge John’s mental competence to make legal decisions for his children.”

“What!?” Roman was astounded. “That’s ridiculous. John drew up those up those custody papers before he was injured. He was perfectly competent. I may have problems with some of the things he’s done, but he loves those children more than anything in the world. He’s a great father!”

“You know that, and I know that, but a judge may see it differently. Vivian’s got a lot of ammunition: The brainwashing, the amnesia, almost no memory of his past, what he was, what he did. How would you look at all that if you were a judge, with no knowledge of John on a personal level?”

Roman did look at it, and didn’t like what he saw. “My, God,” he breathed. “You think she might actually have a case? But what about the other side? I mean, Vivian’s not a model of mental stability herself. She did bury Carly alive, after all.”

“And that’s a point in our favor,” Mickey replied. “I’m just afraid she’ll call in the really big gun: Lawrence. I know they’re on the outs, but Lawrence would make a deal with the devil himself to regain control of Alamain Industries from John and Victor.”

Lawrence Alamain. A wave of hatred ran through Roman as he thought of everything John’s vicious, scheming, older brother had done to his friends and family. Steve Johnson’s death could almost certainly be laid at his door; he had raped Jennifer Horton and tried to seduce Carrie, who had been saved only by John’s timely intervention; he had stolen Carly from Bo. The list seemed endless. And Mickey was right: Lawrence might hate Vivian for keeping his son from him for so long, but he hated John even more, and he would see it as the perfect revenge to have control of John’s children and his fortune.

Roman bolted from his chair and grabbed for the phone on Marlena’s desk. No matter what else he ever did in his life, he would not let those innocent little babies be raised by Lawrence Alamain.