Falling From Grace – By Robin S

Chapter 1

 

Roman gazed down at the woman in his arms, sighing contentedly. He hadn’t felt so complete in his entire life- at least not that he could remember. Playing with one of the tendrils of blond hair curling across his bare chest, he remembered back to the day she had returned to him, almost 8 years earlier.

 

All of that day, he had felt someone calling to him. Someone bound to him by ties closer than blood. Feeling confused, he had wandered the docks, trying to make sense of the turmoil in his brain. Maybe it was simply wedding jitters. He and Izzy B. were soon to declare their love before both God and man, pledging their lives to each other eternally. For so long it had seemed impossible for anyone to fill the void left when Marlena had died. Hell, it still wasn’t possible. But he did love Isabella. She had brought him back from the brink. For too many years he had survived only due to his love for his children, Carrie, and the twins he had created with Marlena. Without them tying him to this world, he doubted he would have survived the loss of Marlena’s death. Even now, the loss was a constant wound. But Isabella had shown him that it was possible to go on. He might never feel completely whole, but he could find some happiness in the life he was left to live. He was so grateful for the patience Isabella had shown. Putting up with his moroseness and mood swings. Slowly drawing him back to the land of the living. Allowing him to see not only the evil and pain, but the good that life still offered.

 

Still, lately thoughts of Marlena had been intruding. Their time together had been cut short, far too short. She would never see their children grow to adulthood. Never play with the brood of grandchildren they had envisioned far in their future. Nights like this, the blinding rage of the unfairness of it all still struck him like a blow. Nights like this, he prayed for a chance, just one chance, at Stefano DiMera. Turning from the dock, he started to walk away from the pier, from the fierce desire for destruction that raged inside. And then he saw her- emerging from the mist- and he knew he had finally lost his grip on reality. As she came toward him out of the fog, he decided he didn’t care. Reality was overrated if She couldn’t be there. When she spoke his name, and rushed to his arms, he still hadn’t believed it was real. Chuckling to himself, the man in bed thought of how good it had felt to hold her in his arms. To experience the scent of her, after all of their time apart. He hadn’t come to grips with it for quite some time. Even now, he sometimes would wake in the middle of the night, just to stare down at the woman lying next to him, assuring himself that she wasn’t some apparition conjured from his own desire, an apparition that would disappear with the morning light.

 

As always when he thought of those times, his joy was tempered by the sadness of Isabella’s loss. When Marlena had entered his embrace, he felt whole again for the first time in almost 4 years. The missing part of himself, all that was gentle and good, was back and he could finally banish the pain of her loss. But he also cared strongly for Isabella- she had given him the strength to hold on, to keep on living even when he was no longer certain he wanted to. He still recalled her joy at Marlena’s return. Her unselfish decision to postpone the wedding, to let Roman sort out his feelings. And then the Dr.’s report, and the cancer that had made their “love triangle” a meaningless and petty diversion. Roman and Marlena were both constantly at Isabella’s bedside as she fought the disease that ate away at her. And they were both with her when she died, a mere month after the diagnosis. He still missed her presence, and gave his thanks to God for the blessing of two such women in a lifetime.

 

“Honey, what are you thinking about.” queried Marlena sleepily, shifting in his arms to look into his eyes.

 

“Just counting my blessings, Doc. Go on back to sleep.”

 

“Now that I’m awake, I can think of better things to do in bed than sleep, my love.” she teased, a playful grin on her face.

 

“Lord woman, what do I look like- a man of steel?” he joked back.

 

“Lets find out”, she whispered, sliding beneath the sheets. With a slowly spreading smile, Roman shifted his thoughts from the past to more present concerns.

 

Chapter 2

 

“So, do you have any plans for the summer,” Roman asked his oldest daughter, as he deftly flipped a blueberry pancake.

 

“Not really, Dad. I figured I’d catch-up with some friends. Maybe check on getting a summer job at the mall. Right now it’s just good to be home. My first year at the university was great- but it is really nice to be home for the summer. I hadn’t realized how much I would miss my family.”

 

“Even your pesky little brother and sister?,” Roman joked as Eric came storming down the stairs.

 

“Dad, Sami’s hogging the bathroom again!”

 

“Yea Dad, even them,” Carrie replied with a smile.

 

“Sami, get out of the bathroom.” Roman yelled up the stairs. “I’ve got to leave for work, and if you want me to drop you at Jamie’s, you’d better get a move on!”

 

Sami ran down the stairs, followed closely by her mother. Roman was struck by the likeness between the two and with a proprietary gaze looked over his tow-headed brood gathered around the kitchen table. As he watched them attack the stack of pancakes he thought to himself, ‘Geeze, I’m going to have to start moonlighting to keep this crew in food.’ Grinning to himself, he strapped on his shoulder-holster, calling “O.K., who needs a ride?”

 

***************************

 

Roman leaned back from his desk, cracking his fingers and thinking to himself that he spent way too much of his time doing paperwork now that he was a Commander. There was a brief knock at the door, and Abe Carver walked in, plopping down in the leather chair next to the desk. “Make yourself at home, Partner,” Roman cracked.

 

Abe looked at him, grinning. “Got some good news for you buddy. The results from the lieutenants test are in.”

 

That got Roman’s attention. “Well, don’t make me beg. How’d he do?”

 

“He ranked first, Roman. Looks like your little brother is in for a promotion!”

 

“Hey, what can I say. It must run in the family,” replied Roman. “Man. I am so proud of him. For a while there, I wasn’t certain he’d ever get his act together. I can’t wait to tell Bo about this. And Mom and Pop will be so proud. I think we have Hope to thank for this. She really centered Bo, helped him find some direction in his life.”

 

“Don’t downplay your role, Roman. You and Bo managed to work through a lot of sibling rivalry, and you showed a lot of confidence in him. Without your backing, he wouldn’t be on the force today.”

 

“Well, Abe, let’s call him in and give him the good news. I can’t wait to see the look on his face. He’s been downplaying the whole thing, but I know he really wants this promotion. It really validates the man he’s become.” As Roman reached for his phone, the object of their discussion came bursting through the door. “Hey, doesn’t anybody around here knock anymore?,” he chided his brother. But the look on Bo’s face quickly sobered him. “What’s up bro? “

 

Bo looked pale, with a glint in his eye Roman rarely saw. “That smuggling case I’ve been working on, I finally got a solid lead. It looks like the base of operations is somewhere down near New Orleans.”

 

“Well, that’s great Bo, but it’s not exactly a national emergency. What’s got you so excited?”

 

“An informant told me that the head of the ring is a man that goes by the name ‘The Phoenix’. It looks like we finally got a lead on DiMera.”

 

Chapter 3

 

Roman was very still. He didn’t even notice as his hand tightened around the butt of his pistol, the knuckles going white with the pressure. “Are you positive?,” he asked quietly. “Stefano is in New Orleans?”

 

Abe cast a concerned look at his partner. The man was like ice. A cold hatred burned from his eyes, and the very intensity of it worried Carver. It’s not like it was hard to understand Roman’s hatred, but this was a moment Abe had dreaded for years. When Marlena had first returned, Roman had used every resource at his command to try and find DiMera; and had failed. Abe had, at least in part, been relieved. He wasn’t certain Roman either could, or would want to, control himself if he came up against DiMera again. After all the man had done to Roman, to his family, all of the years the family had been torn apart- Abe worried that Roman’s hatred of the man could lead him to risk all he had rebuilt in order to bring down DiMera. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to hold Roman back, to keep him within the confines of the law. He worried that Roman might loose himself in his rage, and destroy himself as he destroyed DiMera. And nothing he was seeing right now disabused him of that worry.

 

“You know nothing is certain where that man is concerned. But it’s a good tip. I’m doing a face-to-face with my snitch tonight. I should know more then. But if I had to bet, I’d say the information is solid,” replied Bo.

 

“Well, I’m going with you. I want to hear this for myself,” Roman said.

 

“No can do, brother. This guy is real shaky about meeting with me, and I’ve been working on this contact for over a year. Anybody else shows up, and he’s sure to rabbit. Let me handle it. I’ll give you a report as soon as I’m done.”

 

Roman looked dubious, but Abe interjected, “Let him go, Roman. After all, if you can’t trust your brother on something like this, you ought to be able to trust our newest Lieutenant.”

 

As Abe’s comment set in, a grin washed across Bo’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re not joking?” Bo asked, half-worried.

 

Roman seemed to relax slightly, sitting back in his seat. “Well, Abe, guess your right. If I can’t trust this to one of my lieutenants, it doesn’t say much for my department, does it?”

 

Bo let out a ‘Whoop!’ “Well when were you going to get around to telling me the news?!”

 

“We were just calling you when you so rudely barged in,” Roman teased. Then, turning serious again, he commented, “We’re having dinner with Mom and Pop at the pub tonight. As soon as the meet is over, I want you to come by with a full report. And don’t say anything to Marlena, or Mom and Pop for that matter, until we are a little more certain what’s going on. OK?”

 

“You got it bro. I should be by a little after 7. We should be able to figure out our next step once we know a little more.”

 

“O.K. kid, get outta here. And Bo, watch your back. You have a wife and son, don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Roman said in a concerned voice, watching Bo head out the door.

 

Chapter 4

 

“Mm, what smells so good?” Carrie asked, walking in the door of the pub.

 

“Oh Carrie, it’s so good to have you back from school. You’re going to have to tell us all about your first year,” Caroline cried, giving her granddaughter a hug. The Brady clan headed for the big table in the corner, where Sean was setting down a pot of his famous chowder.

 

“Grab a chair everybody, we’ve got celebrating to do,” he exclaimed. “The whole crew is back in town- watch out Salem!”

 

Marlena held Roman’s arm, smiling as her three children chatted excitedly with their grandparents, gathering around the big round table. “What’s wrong Roman, you seem a little distracted tonight?”

 

“Just a case I’m working on Babe- Sorry, I’ll try and be better company,” Roman answered, trying to keep the tension out of his voice, all the while knowing he could never hide anything from his wife.

 

“Okay Hon, when you’re ready to talk about it, you know where I live,” she said, not pressing the issue. As he held the seat out for his wife, he saw Bo walk in the door, looking very agitated.

 

“Well,” called Sean, “One more place at the table! Come grab a seat, Bo.”

 

“Sorry Pops, but I need to see Roman for a minute. Just some work stuff.”

 

Marlena’s concerned gaze followed the two brothers out the door. Something was going on, and she had the distinct feeling she was not going to like it. She’d have to corner Roman tonight and find out the truth. He had a tendency to try and shield her and the children from anything that might worry them- which generally created more worry than the initial problem. Of course, given all that her family had gone through, she couldn’t really blame him.

 

Outside the pub, Roman gave Bo his full attention. “So what’s up Bo? Did your snitch confirm that the smuggling operation is DiMera’s work?”

 

“I’m afraid I ran into trouble, Roman. When I got to the meet, he didn’t show. I went outside to look around, and, well…forensics is over there now. I found him hanging from a hook outside the warehouse. It looks like he was beaten to death, and, well I think they cut his tongue out. Somebody is sending a message, Roman. And that message makes me more certain than anything my snitch could have told me that DiMera is involved.

 

“Dammit, Bo. I should have guessed something like this would happen. Look, I know it’s late, but can you get a full report of everything you know, everything that you suspect, on my desk by morning. And have the department make me a plane reservation. I’m going to New Orleans tomorrow.”

 

“No problem, bro. But I’ll make it 2 reservations.”

 

“No way, Bo. You’ve got a new baby at home, and Hope will have my head if I take you with me on some wild goose chase in Louisiana. This is just a scouting trip, I can handle it on my own. I don’t want to get everyone upset until we know more of what’s going on.”

 

Bo looked worriedly at his older brother. “Roman, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go down there without back-up. The New Orleans PD doesn’t exactly have the best record when it comes to corruption, and you know that wherever DiMera is, he’ll have contacts within all of the important agencies. It’s too risky.”

 

“Look Bo, if we both go down there, Marlena and the kids are sure to get suspicious. I don’t want them worried until I know for sure there is something to worry about. It took this family a long time to heal when Marlena came back. She still has occasional nightmares about the last time he took her. Hell, I want my kids to have some semblance of a normal life. I don’t want them looking over their shoulders, wondering if someone is watching. Wondering if one day their mother will just disappear, leaving them alone again. I won’t put them through that until I have good cause. Look, I promise to keep my head down- just check out the scene, see if I can catch a whiff of DiMera’s handiwork. I’ll be back within the week, and then we can sit the whole family down and let them know if there is cause for concern. I don’t want to put them through that without good reason.”

 

“O.K. Roman, but I still think it’s a lousy idea- remember, Marlena isn’t the only one that Stefano has ‘disappeared’. If you aren’t back within the week, Abe and I are coming down with guns blazing!”

 

“I’ll hold you to that, brother” Roman said with a grin. “Now, how about some chowder?”

 

“I’d like to, but I’d better get home to Hope and Sean D. See you in the morning.” Slapping Roman on the back, Bo headed for his car.

 

Roman walked back into the pub. Stopping in the doorway, he felt himself overcome with emotion as he watched his family happily joking back and forth about Carrie’s first experiences with dorm life. Never again, he promised himself. Never again will I let that son of a bitch hurt them. And for the second time that day, he felt an icy calmness descend. Standing on the outside, looking in at his family, he promised himself that when he came back from New Orleans, it would be with the knowledge that Stefano DiMera was dead and buried, rotting away in the dirt where he belong. This time there would be no trial, no jury, no justice system to be manipulated. This time, Roman Brady was going to put an end to the threat to his family’s future. This time, he wouldn’t stop until DiMera was dead by his hand. It was odd how comfortable he was with the idea of assassinating Stefano- though it went against all he had been raised to believe, he had never been more comfortable with a decision in his life.

 

Chapter 5

 

Roman emerged from a hot shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and going into the bedroom to grab some pajama bottoms from the chest. “Mmm- nice view” commented his wife, who was lying in bed watching him. “I’d almost think you were wandering around in here half-naked just to get my mind off of whatever discussion you and Bo had. I noticed you hardly said a thing to anyone tonight at the pub.”

 

“I was just distracted by a case, Hon. One of Bo’s snitches on a smuggling case was found dead. Looks like it may originate out of New Orleans, and I’m thinking I should go down and exchange some information with their detective division…”

 

“What’s so important about this case,” Marlena asked curiously.

 

“Well, Bo is really into it. It’s his first case as a lieutenant, and he’s concerned about doing a good job. He wanted to go down himself, but I hate to have him leave Hope so soon after the birth of their son. I thought if I went, he would be okay with it.” Roman was a bit surprised at how easily the lies came. Usually, he was a terrible liar. Oh well, he thought, necessity is the mother of invention.

 

“Bo made lieutenant! That’s great Roman. You must be so proud of him. And you’re right, it is too soon for Bo to leave town on a case- though I’m not at all certain that I like the idea of you going in his stead.”

 

“Hmm,” Roman said, standing in his towel at the foot of the bed. “I wonder if there is anything I could possibly do to make it up to you?”

 

“Well, there are some strawberries and whipped cream in the fridge,” Marlena replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m sure if you used your imagination, you might be able to come up with something to get back in my good graces!”

 

“Your wish is my command, my lady,” Roman replied, bowing gallantly to her, and heading for the door.

 

He awoke with the dawn, which was quite a feat given the fact they had only gotten to sleep about 3 hours ago. Boy, sure hope we didn’t keep the kids up, he thought to himself with a smile. Ever so lightly, he brushed his lips against Marlena’s. God, I’m going to miss her- even if it is just for a few days. He realized they had not been apart for a night since they had remarried, and the thought of it now was disturbing. Just as he had said Hope served as an anchor for Bo, he recognized that Marlena was the one thing that centered his universe. He thought back to the time before, when he had shown up with a bandaged face, and no idea of his identity. Even then he had been drawn to her. She had helped him make sense of the chaos in his head. Even with the possibility that he was actually Stefano, she had been there for him. He recognized how she had brought him back to himself. How she had saved a shell of a man. A man with no identity, no family, no friends. At that point in his life, he had been a danger- to himself and anyone around him. She had seen through his jagged edges, and brought him back to his family. He could hardly reconcile the tense, suspicious loner he had returned as with the family man he was today. For that, he had to thank Marlena. Marlena and the family who had opened its arms to the prodigal returned. In the back of his mind, he was a little fearful of what he was capable of without her gentling influence. If he was going up against DiMera, though, it was probably best if he wasn’t constrained by her goodness, by his family’s morality. Jesus, Roman, he thought to himself, you’re turning into one cynical bastard, and you’re not even out of town yet!

 

As if sensitive to the thoughts in his head, Marlena’s eyes opened, searching his face and not liking what she saw. “What is it” she asked, sitting up quickly.

 

“Nothing honey, I was just thinking how much I’m going to miss you. I just realized we hadn’t been apart since we were married!?”

 

“Well, I know how to fix that- why don’t I go down to New Orleans with you. We could make it a second honeymoon. It’s beautiful down there this time of year, it hasn’t gotten too hot to enjoy it yet. And you said yourself, it’s just a meeting with their department, so it’s not like it’s a dangerous assignment.”

 

‘Whoa’, thought Roman. ‘I really walked into that one. How do I get out of this without making her suspicious?’ “Babe, as much as I would love it, I’m going to be really busy. It wouldn’t be much of a second honeymoon. Besides, Carrie just got back. I feel bad enough about abandoning her- much less if the both of us took off. How about this, I’ll go down and get my work done, and as soon as it’s wrapped-up, I’ll call you and if Carrie is settled-in, we can meet down there.”

 

“You’re probably right- I just don’t like the idea of us being separated. The thought of waking-up and you not being here…”

 

Roman felt her shiver beneath the covers, and knew she was remembering the long year of separation, when she had thought he was dead. He cradled her in his arms, her head against his chest and felt the tears tickling his bare skin. “Babe, we’ll be together soon, I promise you.” Tilting her face up, he gently kissed her tears away, tasting the salt of them, enveloping himself in her scent. The thought he might not hold her again was not contemplated- it couldn’t be, he told himself. Soon this will be over, and we will never have to worry about being parted again. She was shaking again, but this time he could sense it was not with fear. Slowly, he slid his tongue down her body, tasting her flesh, hearing her groan with pleasure. “Want me to stop” he asked with a grin.

 

“Roman, so help me… Don’t you even think about it.” And so he didn’t!

 

Chapter 6

 

Showing up at the breakfast table a little later than usual, he found that the kids had already made breakfast. A stack of french toast was rapidly dwindling, and he grabbed a glass of juice and dug-in with an appetite. “You’re a little late this morning, busy night?,” Carrie teased.

 

Roman blushed and looked at his eldest- “Someone’s growing up a little too fast, it appears. Maybe we should bring you back home for a few years rather than let you stay in that coed dorm you were telling us stories about last night”

 

“Dad, I was only teasing! Your dressed pretty casual today-“, she said, changing the subject and looking over her Dad, dressed in jeans, boots and a casual shirt. “Going on a stake- out? ” The twins looked up with interest.

 

“Sorry guys, nothing nearly so dramatic. I just have to take a little plane trip down to New Orleans, and I’d rather travel in comfort. I have a meeting with the department down there, but I’ll only be gone a couple of days.”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table as his children looked at him. He realized that he hadn’t left them since he and Marlena had returned from their honeymoon. He cursed himself for not considering that they might have some fears about his going out of town on a case. After all, he had been lost once before under similar circumstances.

 

“Do you have to go Dad?” Sami asked. She looked calm, but Roman could tell she was fighting back tears. Damn you for this, Stefano, he thought.

 

“Yes peanut, it’s an important meeting. Don’t worry guys, this isn’t even field work. I promise I’ll be back by the time you two have your learner’s permits, if that’s what’s got you worried,” he said, trying to lighten the feeling of fear that suddenly pervaded the room. “Really, I’m not doing this to avoid trying to teach you two how to drive. Really, that’s not it. I would never do such a thing,” he said sarcastically, finally eliciting a smile from the twins, though Carrie still looked slightly pensive.

 

“Are you sure it will be okay dad?,” she queried.

 

“Positive punkin- I’ll be back in no time, I promise you. Now, enough of this. Give your old man a hug and let me get out of here. I’ve got a plane to catch and some reports to go over before I do. Come on- group hug” he said grinning. And with that, he gathered the 3 of them up in his arms and held on, maybe a little tighter than normal. “Love you guys, and I promise to bring back presents,” he said, kissing each on their forehead. He let go, stepping back to see Marlena watching him fondly, a faint smile on her face that could not quite hide the worry in her eyes.

 

“Let me walk you to the door, lover. I want to see you for as long as I possibly can” she said, slipping an arm about his waist.

 

At the door, she turned him to face her, gazing deep into his eyes. “Promise me, promise me on our love…you will take care and you will come home to me.”

 

He gathered her into his arms, forcing himself not to squeeze too hard. If it were solely up to him, he would never let her go. “I promise you, I will be fine. I love you, Doc, and nothing and no one could keep me from coming back to you. Back to you, our children, my family- you are my life. Never doubt that.” He broke their embrace, and moved to his car, not looking back. If he looked back, he knew he couldn’t go and do what had to be done.

 

Chapter 7

 

Walking out of the terminal, Roman looks down in distaste to find his shirt already plastered to his chest in the humid New Orleans air. So much for good weather! Turning to the young uniformed cop who had been sent to meet him, he gestured for the man to take the lead. “Let’s go, officer Ramie. Let’s get to the station house and out of this heat.”

 

“Actually, sir, Captain Hale wanted me to take you to a little local restaurant. He thought you could talk over an early dinner.”

 

Roman smothered a sigh. He had wanted to check-in and then hit a hotel so he could call Marlena and let her know he had gotten in safely. He had forgotten how incessantly cordial Southerners could be. And New Orleaneans were very particular about entertaining their guests. Pushing aside his impatience, he nodded. “Sounds good. I haven’t had crawfish in ages. Lead the way.”

 

*********************************************

 

Walking into the decapitated building, Roman swore his nosehairs were burring just from scent of peppers hanging in the air. He knew immediately that he was going to be privy to some real Creole cooking. This place had obviously yet to be discovered by the hordes of tourists that flocked to the city. Slow moving ceiling fans did little to disturb the cloud of smoke generated by locals clustered around the bar. Looking around, Roman noted a beefy man examining him closely as he followed the young officer through the crowd. Conspicuous in a shoulder holster, with the sleeves of his blue oxford rolled-up and his jacket slung behind the seat, he occupied in the far corner of the big room that made-up the entirety of the dinning area. Walking over, Roman extended his hand “Captain Hale?”

 

Rising to his feet, the man dominating the corner met his grip in a firm clasp. “Commander Brady? A pleasure. We’ve heard of your work against organized crime even down here in the heart of the bayou. My department is at your disposal.”

 

“I appreciate your cooperation,” Roman answered, sitting down in the chair facing the Captain. “We have a lead on a smuggling operation, and it looks like it originated out of here.”

 

“Entirely possible,” the chief replied, easing back in his chair. “Given our waterways, and the difficulties of patrolling the marshes, we get more than our share of smugglers. But before we get down to the nitty gritty, let me treat you to a New Orleans delicacy.” Gesturing towards the bar, the chief yelled out, “Two orders of gumbo, and a basket of dirt dobbers, Ernie. And bring a cold one for my friend.”

 

Gratefully sipping at the ice cold brew, Roman leaned back in his chair and gave up all hope of getting out of dinner in anything even resembling a timely fashion. If he was going to be stuck in this smokey dive for a couple of hours, he might as well enjoy it. While always alert to treachery when DiMera was involved, he had checked out Hale’s reputation, and he had come-up as clean as anyone could. If he was going to get anywhere on this case, he was going to have to trust someone. The Chief appeared to have avoided the scandal that plagued so many in the higher echelons of the New Orleans PD Getting comfortable, he looked at Hale. “So, tell me what you have on an underworld figure who goes by the moniker ‘The Phoenix’.”

 

***********************************

 

“Dammit, I’m telling you, I don’t care if it is Stefano DiMera. Nobody can run a base of operations as big as you are suggesting off of our coast without us having at least some inkling of it. The gulf coast runs long, but access to that kind of volume is just not feasible. Come on in the back. Ernie has a map in his office- I’ll show you what I mean,” Hale said, rising from the corner table they had monopolized for over an hour and a half.

 

This is not going well, Roman thought to himself. If this guy can’t admit to himself that DiMera can run an operation as elaborate as this right under his nose, he’s not likely to be much help in ferreting it out.

 

The small backroom’s single lightbulb above a rickety table over which Hale had draped a large map of the La. section of the gulf coast. “Look, there are only a very few spots where the water is too shallow for our patrol boats and yet transportation inland is sufficient. We know all of those spots. There is no way the kind of volume you are talking about could be getting in undetected.

 

As Roman leaned over to study the expanses of marsh indicated on the map, he felt Hale’s heavy hand descend on his shoulder, and jerked back at the sudden stabbing pain. Backing away, he stumbled against the table behind him, letting it take his weight.

 

Something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog that seemed to be obscuring his vision. Captain Hale stood looking at him, a peculiar expression on his face. Dammit, he’d been drugged! He stood up, trying to fight the effects of whatever was surging through his system, but he lost his balance and again crashed against the table. As he fought to keep his feet, he dimly saw two men move into the room. As he raised his hands to try and fight, his legs gave out beneath him, and the last thing he felt was the floor, coming up to meet him.

 

Chapter 8

 

His head snaps back as if kicked, and he finds himself choking on a torrent of water. Flipping over on his side, he retches up water as the pounding force suddenly stops. As he tries to get his feet under him, a wall of water again slams into his side, sending him spinning across the floor, ending up huddled in a corner trying to breath through sodden lungs. This time, when the water stops its pounding force he remains prone, trying to get his bearings. He’s stripped bare, laying in the corner on a cold cement floor. He contracts into the fetal position, trying to stop the shaking in his body that is the result of the ice-cold dousing.

 

“On your knees, Brady. Face the wall, and lock your hands together on top of your head. Move it, you know the drill” a voice barks out of the surrounding lights.

 

Roman groggily lifts his head, swiveling to face the voices, trying to make out an image behind the blinding lights glaring from the far side of the small concrete room. Another blast of water is released, and as its force slams him back into the wall, he is dimly aware they are using a firehose on him. Damn, Stefano always had a creative talent when it came to ways of breaking a man down, he thought grimly to himself, as the icy blast stopped once again, allowing him to sink to the floor, coughing up more water.

 

“We can do this all day Brady- now stop screwing around and face the wall,” a harsh voice barked at him.

 

Knowing there was no point in resistance at this stage, Roman complied. As he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, he involuntarily flinched in expectation of the beginning of a beating. Instead, the guard behind him dropped a pair of sweat pants next to him, ordering him to get dressed. Roman slowly pulled them on, trying to give himself time to assess the situation. Two burly guards, armed with nightsticks, stood directly behind him. Dimly, through the lights on the far wall, he could make out another pair of figures, one of them holding the fire hose. As he finished tying the sweats securely around his waist, the guards ordered him against the wall, spread-eagle. Again he complied, biding his time for an opportunity to arise. However, as his mind began to clear from the effects of the drug he had been given, he found it more and more difficult to retain control over his mounting rage, and though he wouldn’t admit it, his growing fear.

 

Struggling now not to resist his captors, he feels his face pressed into the concrete wall, as his wrists are chained together behind his back. The ‘click’ of the handcuffs triggers a brief memory. He is standing in an office, talking to someone… to Stefano. Ironically, they seem to be on friendly terms, sharing a laugh over something he can’t quite grasp. Then DiMera tosses him a set of handcuffs. “OK, John. Let’s get this started. I want you to put these on.” In his mind’s eye, he sees a younger version of himself casually locking the handcuffs home around his own wrists.

 

Jesus, Stefano had control over him to such an extent he hadn’t even known his own name. Hadn’t even had the will to resist him when there was no one there to force him to comply. His vision blurs, and it feels like his brain is on fire. Through the red haze, he dimly sees one of the guards go down beneath his onslaught.

 

As if something had suddenly given way within his very soul, Roman had slammed his head back into the forehead of one of the guards at his back. Though his hands were cuffed behind him, he spun around like a trained gymnast, raising his knee to slam into the groin of the second man, who fell like he had been polaxed. The guard who was still standing ignored the blood gushing from his forehead, and pulled out his club, but not before Roman’s second kick took him just below the jawline. A crack rang out in the small room as the guard’s jaw was shattered and fragments of bone penetrated his brain. In less than a second, both guards were down, and Roman, acting on pure instinct, was halfway to the lights when the full force of the hose slammed into his chest, once again knocking him off of his feet. This time, he curled into a ball to give himself breathing space. With a clarity of thought he could never have imagined, he waited impatiently for the blast to stop, so he could finish the remaining guards. In this place in his mind, there was no fear and no mercy, and he luxuriated in the hunt even as the pressure of the water pounded against his aching ribs.

 

Over the sound of the water, he heard a familiar voice. “He’s too dangerous like this- hit him with the taser- put him down.” It was a voice out of a nightmare, and he tried to fight against the water to get to the man the voice belonged to. Get to him before the jolt of electricity from the taser took away his consciousness, robbing him of the kill. Blinded by the spray of water, he didn’t even feel the taser’s dart hit home in his thigh, but his body arched in agony as the electric current surged through his system and shut down his motor control. As he hit the stone floor, fluttering on the edge of awareness, he heard the voice order “hit him again”, and the lights went out.

 

Chapter 9

 

He awakes gagging once again. Dimly, he is able to think to himself that this is getting old. Then the smell hits him, and he mercifully passes out.

 

Someone’s screaming, he thinks. When he realizes it’s himself, he closes his eyes on the surrounding blackness and tries to simply concentrate on breathing. Get your sh** together, Brady, he thinks to himself. As his breathing slows, he tries to figure out where he is. It comes to him slowly, he is once again a prisoner. His thinking is disjointed, and he realizes he has been drugged, probably with drugs similar to the ones used the last time he was brainwashed by Stefano. His head seems to be clearing a bit, and he wonders if they will try and dope him again soon. Maybe he could make a break for it then, if he could just get his bearings. Slowly he opens his eyes, but all around him is unrelieved blackness. His arms are manacled behind him, and he realizes they are starting to cramp-up badly. He struggles to sit up, but quickly abandons the attempt. His shoulders are shrieking in agony, and the air higher up in the room is even more muggy and hard to breath. The heat is even more oppressive than it had been in the bayou, and he wonders if he is even being held within the U.S. He lays down, trying to take the stinking air into his lungs. Hearing the clanking of a door, he looks away quickly as his eyes are dazzled by the bright lights that suddenly cut on. Trying to pull himself into a protective ball, he feels a rough kick to his back, just over his kidney. Arching back reflexively, he feels himself being flipped over to a prone position. Before he can realize what is happening, one of the cuffs is released, and two of the four guards present have lifted him to a standing position, while the other two are chaining his hands above his head. As his vision starts to clear, he lunges out with his left foot, only to find that this time, his feet have been manacled together with a short length of chain to limit his movements. This time, the guards are taking no chances.

 

Roman’s breath quickens as he starts to panic, and he feels his arms nearly ripped from their sockets as he is hoisted into the air by his wrists. After being bound behind his back for so long, his arms spasm as they take the full weight of his body. He convulses as a scream is ripped from his lips, but even as he aches for the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness, he feels the rage tear through his mind like white fire. His body becomes a meaningless mass of nerve endings that his mind orders to act. Even as his cry echoes through the dank cell in which he is hanging, he heaves his body higher into the air. Using his protesting arms as a lever, he grabs the nearest guard around the neck with the length of chain binding his ankles. With no thoughts of pain, or even escape, his only thought for the instant is the death of the man in his iron grip. Even as he hears the muscles in his shoulders popping from the strain, and feels the blows of the guards on his unprotected back, he lifts his captured prey from the ground, and with a final grinding of muscle, snaps his neck. As the blood-lust races through his mind, his tortured body finally collapses, and oblivion is achieved.

 

In a room down the hall, a dark man leans back from a video monitor. Settling comfortably into an antique leather desk chair, he lights a cuban and stares thoughtfully at the rising curls of smoke. His gaze wanders back to the video monitor, which shows the remaining guards beating the now apparently lifeless body as it twitches at the end of the chain. Stefano DiMera, the unchallenged king of the criminal underworld, flashes an almost paternal grin. The man is a machine, he thinks to himself. A killing machine. I refuse to lose him this way. With the push of a button, he sends a message to the guards to stop the beating. Their fear and anger might lead them to do irreparable harm to the prisoner, despite Stefano’s orders to the contrary. DiMera watches as the beating comes to a halt, and his men gather their downed comrade, leaving the body hanging, swaying gently in the dank darkness. Dammit, Stefano thinks to himself. At this rate I will have to kill him, he is beyond rational thought. A man like that is too dangerous to try and handle this way. He emits a low chuckle as the obvious solution to his problem presents itself. The timing is perfect, and the solution so easily implemented. Reaching again for the intercom, he contacts Jenson. He has a message to send.

 

Chapter 10

 

Dr. Evans tried to concentrate on the case file before her, but got no further than a sentence into the report before she found her attention wandering. It was the fourth day since she had talked to her husband, and she had heard no word from him. Captain Hale, of the New Orleans police department, assured her that Roman was with two of his most trusted men, but investigating an area of the city where there was no certainty of a clean phone line through which to make contact. She didn’t know what to make of it. It was so unlike Roman not to contact her, and she couldn’t believe there was no way for him to send a secure message. Bo and Abe tried to hide their concern, but it was evident that they too thought that 4 days without a message was a suspicious sign. Especially with Stefano DiMera in the picture.

 

A knock on the door brought her back to reality, and her secretary stepped in with a message. “This just came through on the fax machine, Dr. Evans. I thought you would want to see it immediately,” Sherri said with a smile. One glance told Marlena the handwriting was Roman’s.

 

Doc, Sorry for the worry I know I have caused you, but there was a lead I had to check out, and where I am staying, there is just no way to safely call you. I passed this to an undercover agent, who swore he would see it get to you. I miss you and the kids so much, but this thing is about wrapped up. I’m not sure if I’m pleased or disappointed, but this seems to have been a wild goose chase as far as DiMera is concerned. We’ve managed to track “the Phoenix” to his liar, but it wasn’t Stefano after all. Just your typical street punk, trying to capitalize on the fear and power associated with the DiMera name. Anyway, I should wrap-up the case tonight, and I was hoping you were still up for that second honeymoon we were talking about. I’ve made reservations for you on the first plane out tomorrow, and the Captain has kindly agreed to have you met by one of his officers. I haven’t had much time for site-seeing, but I did discover a little place down here where we can… well, I leave it to your imagination. I had forgotten how beautiful New Orleans is, and I can’t wait to share it with you, my love. Give my love to the kids, tell them I am fine and we will call them tomorrow after you have arrived and I’ve finished up the paper work on this case. See you tomorrow,

 

Love always, Roman

 

Marlena sighed as the burden of fear was suddenly lifted. I have to call Abe and the kids, let them know everything is going to be okay, and that Roman can tell them himself over the phone tomorrow night, she thought to herself. Then, realizing all of the packing she had to do if she was going to make a plane out in the morning, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Already planning what she would take- definitely the new sheer white nightgown she had purchased yesterday in the hopes of just such an occasion- she thought to herself, ‘Roman, before we make-up, I am going to make you pay for all the worrying you have put me through this week.’ With a smile on her face at the thought of what Roman was capable of doing to get back in her good graces, she headed for home.

 

Chapter 11

 

He was smothering. What air he could draw into his lungs burned, and red fire danced before his eyes. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breath, could only grasp onto memories and try and keep his sanity as he felt his brain imploding under the onslaught of powerful psycho tropic drugs. “Doc”, he whispered in his mind, hardly aware the sound had also escaped his parched lips. “God, Doc, I need you.” he thought, as he found himself once more immersed in a red haze of confusion, anger and pain.

 

So much pain. The skinning knife in his hand dripped fresh blood onto the expensive Turkish rug beneath his feet, and he smiled a feral grin as his heightened senses picked-up the soft sound of the impact. On catlike feet he headed up the spiraling staircase to visit pain on his enemies. When he left, there would be no life remaining in this house.

 

Blood was everywhere. He was covered in it, and relished the sickly sweet smell of it as he sawed through the last flap of skin connecting head to body. He sighed softly into the still staring eyes of the dead man beneath his blade, “Mess with the bull, boy, and you get the horns.” Tangling blood-sticky hands into the short hair, he headed for home with his trophy. Earned my pay tonight, he thought with a smile.

 

Fighting for conscious thought, he bucks against the restraints from which he hangs, unaware of even the burning feel of the cuffs cutting nearly to the bone. He is aware only of blood and pain and rage. And above all, there is fear. An overwhelming fear as he realizes the blood and pain he sees in his visions are not his own, but his legacy. The burning rage once again engulfs his mind, and he screams into the blackness. He is still fighting demons as the guards cautiously come into the room to sedate him, leaving him hog-tied on the dirt floor for fear that if his struggles continue, flesh and bone will eventually give under the onslaught. DiMera had made it painfully clear. This man was too valuable to die.

 

Chapter 12

 

Marlena sank gratefully back into the airline seat, glad for the respite after the chaos of getting herself packed and the house organized on such short notice. Fortunately, Carrie was home, so she didn’t have to worry with trying to shuttle the kids over to their grandparents. As she eased back into the padded seat, she allowed the tension to seep from her shoulders. She hadn’t admitted even to herself how worried she had been when Roman’s absence had stretched on with no word. She was surprised to find that she wasn’t even disappointed by the failure to find DiMera. It was understandable, though. Anytime DiMera was involved, evil could only ensue. Perhaps they were best off if Stefano were allowed to simply fade into the past.

 

The past… Her life in the present was so full that she rarely thought of the past now. It was only since Roman had left, that thoughts of less pleasant times had intruded. The years she had spent away from her family were indistinct- an unpleasant gap. Not nearly as disturbing as the sharp ache that accompanied memories of the time Roman had been taken from her. She had barely known her husband when he had been ripped from her and presumed dead. Their children barely born, their life just begun. And she had been alone. That time represented the lowest point in her life. Yet ever since then, things had gotten only better and better. When Roman had returned to her, they had become a part of each other. She didn’t think it was possible for her life to be any richer than it already was. Perhaps it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Nothing good will come of dredging up the past, she thought to herself, as the plane touched down in the Louisiana heat. Nothing good at all.

 

*************************

 

“Dr. Evans?” a young man wearing the dress blues of the New Orleans PD called to her from beside the exit gate. “Dr. Evans. I’m officer Ramie. Captain Hale sent me to escort you. He was hoping to meet you at a local diner. He said there would be someone there you were looking forward to seeing!”

 

Smiling, Marlena allowed the young officer to relieve her of her carry-on baggage. “Well, Ramie- lead the way.”

 

Chapter 13

 

Stefano slowly stepped into the stinking cell. The prisoner still lay trussed on the floor, and DiMera could detect the cold glint of his stare. With a flip of a switch, bright light flooded the room, causing the bound man to flinch, ducking his head. God, thought Stefano, this place reeks. I have to get him under control and out of here before he is completely ruined. Slowly, he approached. It had been two days since the last of the drugs were administered, and aside from forcing water down his throat, no one had touched the man in the cell. Still, his body was covered in welts, dried blood and his own filth. He shouldn’t even be alive, much less conscious, thought DiMera as he stared at the battered body at his feet. Yet DiMera would bet his last dollar that if the bonds were so much as loosened, he would attack with lethal ferocity, burning up the last reserves of mind and body in the drive to kill his enemies. That burning rage had always been the man’s greatest weapon, driving him beyond both fear and pain in imposing his will. Now that same rage would get him killed if Stefano failed to find a way to restrain it to the point where coherent thought was possible. The drugs had done their work too well, freeing demons that now had to be brought to heel.

 

Crouching down, DiMera said softly, “I want you to concentrate, Roman. I want you to listen very carefully. Someone is here to see you. Marlena is here, and she needs you very badly. Do you want to see her, Roman? Do you want her badly enough to follow my orders?”

 

As he had half expected, the only response was a low growl that seemed to originate deep in the prisoner’s throat. Every muscle in the body beneath him seemed to contract, cut in sharp relief underneath filth incrusted skin. Stefano could actually see the ropes binding the man’s arms behind him tear into already abraded flesh. Sighing out loud, he turned to a monitor hung in one corner, and using a remote, activated the picture. There, sitting in her well appointed room, was Marlena Evans Brady. Stefano had been careful to make no direct threat against her, nor show her in the pose of a captive. Pushed too far, the man on the ground would tear himself apart in an attempt to go to her, to destroy anything and anyone who posed a threat. Such a reaction would be self-defeating. Subtlety was required to draw the animal bound on the floor back to some semblance of humanity.

 

“Roman, do you want me to bring her down here? Maybe show her the bodies of the men you killed? Is that what you really want? If I wanted you dead, you would be. All I’m asking is that you act like a human being. Act like a father…Now, I’m going to cut you loose, and all I want you to do is simply lay there. That’s all I’m asking for Roman. Because we both know that if you want to, you can kill me. And we both know that the second you do, she dies too. Do you understand me, Roman? I just want you to lay still.”

 

The gaze of the man on the ground was locked on the screen, and he seemed oblivious to all else. What the hell, thought Stefano grimly, as he reached down with his knife. Time to separate the men from the boys.

 

The taut stretched rope snapped apart as the sharp blade sliced through the fibers, springing away from the torn flesh they had constrained. A groan escaped the throat of the prisoner as limbs that had been distended for days were freed, sending the beginnings of pain through traumatized neurons. Stefano put his hand on a shoulder, steadying the man who lay at his feet. Covering the image of a phoenix emerging triumphantly from the flames. “Easy boy, we’ve still got the cuffs to get off of you.” As the driving rage that had burned in his brain receded, the man on the floor seemed to contract on himself, becoming smaller and much, much more vulnerable. DiMera withdrew a key from his pocket, and carefully released the mangled wrists from the steel shackles, then stooped to do the same with the man’s ankles. The prisoner lay on the dirt floor, completely unmoving, huddling in on himself as if to gather what strength he had left.

 

It was apparent that some serious recovery time would be required before he could continue his battle for the mind of the man now huddled at his feet. Damn, he had let this go on far too long- maybe past the point of no return. He had realized that Marlena was the key to the man’s reality, but that reality rejected the burning will to power that would see him through the physical trauma that had been inflicted. Marlena was the antithesis of the rage that burned at the core of the prisoner’s being. It was that core of rage that DiMera had to access, but not ignite to the extent that mindless violence was the result. And with that, he realized what was needed. An enemy. An enemy who represented a threat to all the prisoner held dear- an enemy who wasn’t Stefano DiMera. The irony of it appealed to him, and he believed he had found a way to leash the demons.

 

Chapter 14

 

Three days later, Marlena quietly opens the door to one of the many guest rooms. Stefano had finally consented to let her go to Roman. She half-feared what she would find. Roman had been in the clutches of that evil man for almost two weeks, and she could only guess at the reasons DiMera had allowed Roman to live this long. As to her own fate, Stefano had made no secret of his desire for her. At least for the present, however, it did not appear that he would force his will upon her. She tried to banish thoughts of her family, her children, from her mind. There was nothing she could do for them now. But she could try and protect her husband. She would do anything within her power to see him safe and free.

 

From the doorway, she could see a pale figure, propped up on pillows in an ornate bed. “Roman?” she whispered.

 

“Doc?”, came a cracked reply from the figure laying under the sheets. As she went to him, her professional eye was already evaluating the darkening bruises and healing cuts on his exposed skin. “Oh, Roman, what has he done to you?”

 

“It’s OK Doc,” came a strengthening reply, and she looked into his eyes to see a twinkling grin crease his face. “Actually, this is quite an improvement. You should have seen me before they gave me a shave!”

 

Smiling in spite of herself, she reached for his hand, recoiling as she saw the swollen and bandaged limb. As she started to step back, he suddenly sat up, his arm snaking out to grasp her forearm. “Really, Doc. This is all just superficial. Nothing important is broken, and the bruises will heal with time. Don’t be afraid.”

 

“I could never be afraid of you Roman,” she said softly. Giving in to her own need to be close to him, she ignored the battered condition of his body and stepped in to hold him close. “My God, Roman. I thought I had lost you when I learned that Stefano had held you since you came to New Orleans. I need you. I need you so much.”

 

The pain seemed to disappear as he held her to his chest, allowing her to cry herself out. Lord, he thought, please protect her. Take her home safely to my children. With that thought, he found himself crying softly on her shoulder, holding her as if she were a lifeline in an angry sea. He was cognizant enough to recognize that only her presence had driven away the blinding fire in his brain, the terrible images of death, destruction and pain. Without her, he knew he would descend into whatever twisted reality Stefano chose to fashion. You can not let him do this to you again Roman, he thought furiously. He took your identity away from you once. He destroyed the memories of your daughter, your family, and this magnificent woman in your arms. You can’t let him take that from you again. You have to hold tight to who you are.

 

Marlena could feel him shaking in her arms. He had been damaged so badly. Not just the physical trauma that was evidenced by his body. Marlena knew how hard he had worked to find his way back to his family, and himself, the last time DiMera had brainwashed him. He had confided how it hurt him that he had never regained all of his memories, and the major gaps in his memory of his childhood and his time with her were an ache she knew he always carried. To be faced with the possibility of losing it all again- it had to be overwhelming.

 

“It’s okay babe, I’m here for you,” she whispered. “I always have been and I always will be, no matter what. Do you understand? Our love will endure whatever he puts us through. You made your way back to me once, despite all of his efforts to part us. Don’t ever doubt that we were meant to be together. What God has joined together, no man may tear asunder.”

 

He started chuckling, and raised his head to look at her. “Well, if you’re going to invoke the wrath of God, I guess I’ll stop worrying.” And with that, he drew her down to him, and his lips brushed against hers, and they were all alone together in a place no one could touch them.

 

*************************

 

While Stefano could have done without watching Marlena in a passionate embrace with another man, he leaned back satisfied with the results of Roman and Marlena’s reunion. Watching them on the monitor, through his hidden camera, it was plain that Roman was out of physical danger, and that Marlena’s presence had renewed his determination to hold onto his identity. Determination Stefano could deal with. It was the blind rage that would drive the man to smash into the proverbial immovable object until either stone or flesh gave out that Stefano feared. Such a state could be resolved only in death, either his own or his prisoner’s. Neither alternative was satisfactory. The activities on the monitor again drew his attention, and he decided it was time to break-up the party. He couldn’t believe Roman had rolled Marlena over into the bed with him despite numerous cracked ribs, and arms swollen to twice their normal size. Then again, given the same opportunity, he had little doubt he himself would have conjured up a similar fortitude.

 

Knocking discreetly on the door, he gave the pair a minute to collect themselves. After all, it would be the last time they held each other. Opening the heavy oak door, he stepped inside. “Ahh, Roman. So nice to see you feeling better.” In fact, Roman did seem a bit flushed. It was the first time Stefano had seen some color in his face since he had had him carried from the cell below to the room he now occupied. Roman simply glowered, as Stefano turned to Marlena. “And now,’ Doc’, if your will excuse us, Roman and I have some business to discuss.” he said sardonically.

 

“Stefano, please…I beg you, don’t hurt him anymore. I will do anything you ask of me, but please, just let him go. Our children need their father,” she cried out to him, tears in her eyes.

 

“Marlena, don’t,” growled Roman, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and lurching to his feet.

 

Stefano was once again impressed with his adversary’s sheer stubborn willpower. Swaying on his feet, his ribs held together with tightly wrapped surgical tape, the man still looked dangerous. Knowing his full capabilities, Stefano thought he looked very dangerous. He signaled to the two guards waiting in the hallway, and they came in with tasers drawn. “Marlena, I’m afraid it’s time for Roman and I to have a private discussion. If you will excuse us?”

 

With that, he turned his attention to Roman’s swaying form. “Now Roman, I know you don’t want me to have to put you down while Marlena stands here and watches, do you?” Watching the man’s face, Stefano realized that Roman was considering whether or not he could reach his throat before the tasers found their target. Almost against his will, he found himself taking a step back, insuring the extra second it would take to allow the tasers to do their job. He saw the realization wash over Roman’s face. “Good boy, now why don’t you sit back down on the bed, and we’ll have a civilized conversation.”

 

Marlena stood indecisively, wanting to stay, but knowing that if Stefano tried to forcibly remove her, Roman would no longer contain his desire to leap to the attack. For all of the confidence she had in her husband, she knew that the current odds were too great, and he would only end up hurt. Stepping to the bed, where Roman uneasily leaned, she took his face in her hands. “I will always love you, and always be with you. Don’t do anything to get yourself hurt Roman. Think of me and the children, and how very much we need you.” With that, she kissed him lingeringly, and with tears streaming down her face, fled out the door.

 

Chapter 15

 

As Marlena left, Roman eased back down on the bed, and Stefano saw him grimace, shifting his left arm as if to protect his ribs. Regaining his composure, Roman looked coldly back at DiMera. “OK, just what exactly is it you want from me? And don’t say Marlena, because you will never touch her as long as I still breath.”

 

“Roman, Roman, Roman. If I wanted to take her, we both know you would have stopped breathing a long time ago. No, actually, I come bearing gifts. I am going to give you something you want very desperately. I’m going to help you remember your past…all of your past.”

 

He didn’t know why, but DiMera’s offer sent a cold spike of dread through the very fiber of his being. “Don’t do me any favors, Stefano. I won’t let you strip me of my memories again, and I sure as hell won’t believe a damn thing you tell me about my past.”

 

“Don’t be so certain, Roman. What I have to show you is very convincing. Now, I believe that if you are well enough to stand, you are well enough to continue our little discussion downstairs. I’ve got a few things that may help aid your memory. It may not be a pleasant conversation, but then every new birth must bring its share of pain, eh, my friend?”

 

Roman was once again on his feet, his hands attempting to curl his swollen fingers into fists. “I am going no where with you, DiMera. Not until you let Marlena go. Let her go, and I will give you anything you ask. But as long as you hold her, I will fight you every step of the way.” There was a dangerous glint in Roman’s eye, but Stefano could also see the fear. Fear for Marlena’s life. This Roman was a dangerous enemy, but he could be controlled. He lacked the single-minded will to destroy that would allow him to make a stand here and now. A stand that would assuredly leave one of the men dead. The rage would not serve this man, he could not lose himself in it while fear for Marlena kept him aware of the consequences of his actions. It was time to make it very clear who was in control. Stepping up to Roman, he put all of his power into a viscous backhanded blow that caught the man high on his right cheek, his signet ring digging a deep gouge through the tender flesh. Roman had seen the blow coming, and knowing that his bluff had been called, he also knew enough to stand and take Stefano’s punishment for his insubordination. As the ringing blow struck home, he felt something crack in his cheek, and stabbing pain shot through his head. The force of it knocked him back onto the bed, and through the blinding haze he swore he heard himself growling deep in the back of his throat. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he twisted around to go for DiMera, to finish this fight in a torrent of blood.

 

“She dies, Roman.” A cold voice cut through the fog. “If you come up off of that bed, no matter what you do to me, Marlena dies.”

 

The two men locked eyes, but there was no battle of wills to be fought. Roman sat very still, trying to slow his rapid breathing, realizing that his ribs were on fire and that he couldn’t see out of his right eye.

 

Stefano stepped back very slowly, careful to retain his control. That had been very, very close, he thought. But it also represented the passing of a major hurdle. Now he just had to finish the job. “Roman, I want you to very slowly stand-up, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. And Roman, I want you to do it now. Do you understand me?” He asked, a hard edge to his voice.

 

Without saying a word, Roman stiffly complied. Let’s finish this, thought Stefano. Finish it while his fear for Marlena is fresh in his mind. He stepped directly behind the man, and grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, shoved hard. Roman slammed into the paneled wall two feet away, and Stefano saw his arms start to come up to protect himself. He tightened his grip, digging his fingers deep into the muscles of Roman’s kneck. Roman stopped fighting, putting his hands behind his back. Never loosening his hold, Stefano ground his face into the wall and said softly into his ear, “I asked if you understood?”

 

Roman leaned against the wall, fighting his instinct to turn and destroy. Almost groaning in his anger and frustration, he forced his muscles to relax. Gritting his teeth, he gave the appropriate response. “Yes sir, I understand.”

 

Not allowing himself to relax, Stefano motioned for one of his guards to hand him a set of handcuffs. “I don’t want you to flinch from that wall. Just stand still, and keep your hands behind your back. Do you understand?”

 

Roman locked his knees, leaning against the wall to keep his feet. “Yes sir”, he whispered into the woodwork.

 

Good enough for now, thought Stefano. And slowly, as much for the psychological effect as anything, he personally snapped the handcuffs around Roman’s swollen wrists.

 

Chapter 16

 

DiMera watched as the broad leather straps were tightened, effectively immobilizing the man in the chair. The high-backed wooden chair was bolted to the floor, and Roman was completely constrained. The heavy leather would keep him in place, without causing too much damage to his battered limbs. Stefano knew that this could take a while. Marlena’s presence kept Roman controllable, but she also provided a strong tie to the man’s current reality. DiMera had to cut that tie, without removing the man’s protective instincts and the resulting leverage it gave DiMera. Fortunately, Stefano was fairly certain he knew how to do that. For now, however, it was necessary to once again cloud the man’s mind in order to allow him to start to question just exactly who and what he was.

 

Moving to a large cabinet bolted against the wall, he filled a syringe with a powerful combination of drugs. Walking softly up behind the man in the chair, he reached out and gently massaged his shoulder, going over the spreading bruises that distinctly showed where strong fingers had dug into the tender flesh. Roman flinched in the chair, and DiMera felt the muscles beneath his hand surge with power as the bonds restraining the man in the chair were fully tested for the first time. “Easy now, you’re not going anywhere. Just sit back, let it wash over you.” He deftly eased the needle through tensed muscles, continuing to kneed the knots in the man’s exposed shoulders. As the drugs hit his system, DiMera once again felt him flinch, and then slowly he relaxed as they started to take effect. Roman closed his eyes and tiredly allowed himself to relax under Stephan’s touch as cramped muscles started to ease.

 

As the drugs took full effect, DiMera said, “I believe it’s time to break-out the family album.” Pulling out his remote, he touched a button and a still photo flashed on the white wall in front of the chair. The photo showed a man in his early 30’s. He was tall, with long greasy blond hair, and the bulge of a weapon showed clearly through his designer jacket. “Remember him? Kyle Reilley. He was a petty drug dealer with delusions of grandeur. You should remember him. He was the first man you killed for me, though certainly not the last. If you can remember who he is, you can remember who you are. Because as we both know, you are no more Roman Brady than I am.”

 

Chapter 17

 

Stefano tiredly sat back in his chair, nursing a glass of cognac and allowing the strains of an aria to drift through his weary mind. They had been going at it for almost a week now, and it was almost as exhausting for him as it was for the man strapped to the chair, floors below. Damn, he refused to consider he could be anyone other than Roman Brady- he clung to the identity like a pit bull. It didn’t help that Stefano had been careful to include many photos of Marlena and the whole Brady family in his little presentations. It was necessary to prevent the subject from losing himself completely, succumbing to the boiling rage that was now just below the surface. If that rage broke free without him being firmly committed to his identity as John Black, assassin for the DiMera cartel, the demons within would simply take over and DiMera would be left with an uncontrollable psychotic, wanting only to destroy all he came across in a self-destructive orgy of pain. In the same vein, it kept Stefano from drugging him into unconsciousness, where he would be unable to escape from the memories. To let him work it all out in his own mind, without direction, would assuredly result in the loss of the man to the madness. Damn. Maybe is was time to implement the rest of his plan. This was certainly going no where fast. He hated torisk the man, but it was rapidly becoming apparent that DiMera for once lacked complete control over a situation. A risk would have to be taken to resolve the issue, one way or another. Well, he thought to himself, it might as well be tomorrow. There is no sense in continuing with the current course of action, and to wait longer would only allow the man to further deteriorate physically. Despite all of Stefano’s attempts to keep his body sound, the strain was starting to show, and the prisoner had visibly weakened. To wait longer would serve no purpose. Tomorrow would reveal the fate of the man locked below.

 

*******************************

 

His head swam with memories that were not his own. Images of death and violence, planted by Stefano. It was becoming harder every minute to separate truth from fiction. The hallucinations were so real. He could remember the sounds and even the smells that accompanied the visions of destruction. God, he couldn’t even remember the birth of his children with such clarity. His children… he pictured their faces, using them to hold on to who he was. He had no doubt of his identity, and the idea that he could have been DiMera’s man was repugnant. Doc would never have loved a man like that. He clung to the thought- Marlena loved him, he could not be the killer that stalked the dark corridors of his drug addled mind. Stefano will take nothing more from me this time, he raged. Nothing more.

 

He heard the key turn in the big iron door, and the creak of hinges that rusted quickly in the tropical air. He tried to gather his energy, pull his thoughts together for the continuing battle. He heard the soft footfalls approaching, then stopping directly behind him. He tried but failed to keep control of his body, as against his will he felt himself convulsing helplessly against his bonds. The waiting was the worst. When DiMera was actually there pushing him, he could gather the threads of his mind and focus on the struggle to thwart the bastard’s will. It was when he was alone, or even worse, at moments like this when Stefano simply stood and watched his defenseless form that the despair surged over him, and the red fog threatened to take his mind. He fought that creeping haze of virulence even harder than he fought DiMera. He feared what he was when in the grip of such madness more than he feared anything DiMera could do to him. He knew that if he lost himself in the red fog, he would never come back to Doc, and if he did, it would only serve to cause her pain. That, he would not do.

 

He felt the big hand grip his shoulder firmly, bringing him back to cognizance. It was a relief to have human contact anchoring him to the present, even if the contact came from DiMera. Again he felt the large hands kneading muscles that seemed to knot each time he was left alone. He hated when Stefano did this, especially because it eased the pain and he could not stop himself from relaxing into the soothing motion. “Are you still with me, John?” came the low voice of his captor.

 

“The name is Roman Brady, DiMera. Why don’t you stop deluding yourself and recognize that this time, you won’t break me? I’m stronger this time, Stefano. Nothing you can do will erase the memories of my family.

 

“Perhaps you’re right,” replied DiMera. “This does appear to be an exercise in futility- and I have no desire to inflict unnecessary pain.”

 

Roman snorted in derision, “Yea, I’ve noticed that about you.”

 

Stefano was pleased to note the resilience of the man within his grasp. He sometimes forgot the reserves of strength that had carried him through many a seemingly hopeless situation. He hoped those reserves would be adequate this time. Now, having assured himself that the man was sufficiently in control of himself to be manageable, he reached down and released the straps holding neck and chest against the well worn wood of the chair.

 

Against his will, Roman found himself doubling over. He had been strapped down the entire time he had been conscious, though he had no idea how long that might have been. He knew he must have been unbound at times, because he would come-to cleaned-up and wearing fresh clothes. He never remembered the experience, though. The ability to move, even to this extent, felt so good it was almost painful. He rested his head on his knees and tried to control his suddenly ragged breathing. DiMera continued to ease the bunched muscles in his neck and back, and for a moment he simply allowed himself to go with it, trusting himself to his enemy.

 

DiMera could feel the man’s utter exhaustion- it appeared that his timing was perfect. Keeping one hand on the back of the bowed neck, he firmly held the man down and released the straps on his arms. All things considered, he had continued to heal nicely. The swelling was almost gone, and the bandages were no longer spotted with fresh blood. The man in the chair still didn’t seem to realize his arms were now free, and DiMera released his neck, bending to address the straps securing his ankles. With snake-like quickness, a bandage encased arm shot upwards, and fingers of steel dug into his throat, searching for his spine. Using his weight, DiMera threw himself backwards, breaking the hold. Crashing to the floor gasping, he put his hand to his neck, feeling the warm trickle of blood. He stared up into flaming eyes, watching as his attacker reached down, releasing his bound ankles.

 

*********************************

 

The guards at the door immediately step into the room on seeing their boss felled. God, he has to get to his feet, get to DiMera while he still has the will. So close, so close to caving and accepting the inevitable. End it now, kill the bastard and be done with it. His legs won’t work. Too long with no use, circulation cut off. He falls, taking the brunt with a shoulder, trying to buy time. Get to his enemy, end this nightmare. Prove that he is Roman Brady. Prove it on DiMera’s body. Prove it to himself. A booted foot slams into his face and his head snaps back, blood flowing. Too late, he thinks, too late.

 

“Don’t”, commands DiMera. The guards reluctantly back off. John just lays there, knowing his chance is gone, trying to stifle the now unproductive fire that had forced either action or capitulation. DiMera slowly regains his feet, moving to the downed man. Reaching down, he drags the man’s head up by the hair. Dazed eyes stare back into his own. He would allow no one to challenge his empire, not even the man who lay at his feet.

 

“Never, John. You are never to lay a hand on me. Marlena will pay for your actions this day,” he grates, allowing the cold anger he is feeling to show in his voice. And as he had known he would, the man now shaking in his grasp begins to beg for the life of his lover.

 

Raising a hand on which DiMera’s blood is slowing crusting, he closes his eyes on what he is doing, and clutches the arm holding him off the floor. “I’m sorry, Stefano. I didn’t think, I swear to you. I beg you, I will do whatever you ask, just don’t take this out on her.” With the feeling slowly returning to his legs, he groans and levers himself to his knees in front of DiMera, bowing the head still held by one of Stefano’s big hands. “I beg you- anything you ask, I will do.”

 

Part of Stefano’s rage is at his own stupidity. He had known better, but the prisoner’s utter weariness had lulled him into carelessness. All he needed to do to have retained control was to have reminded the man of the consequences of his actions, as he had been careful to do all week. Now he will have to answer the violent attack. There is no choice. The beast within the man responded to power and ruthless violence- it was to be respected. To allow this attack to go unanswered could well sow the seeds of a future clash of wills. “From now on, John, you will answer to your true name. You will instantly obey any command of mine or my men. And you will offer no resistance John. None at all. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes sir, I understand perfectly” John replies, staring down at the cell floor.

 

Let’s get this over with, thinks Stefano. Turning to his head of security, Davies, he orders, “Make him regret his actions, then bring him down to me in the cell block” and he strides from the room.

 

Chapter 18

 

Stefano looked up from the monitor he had been studying to watch his men half-drag John down the long corridor. They had followed his orders a little too well, and the man appeared to be only semi-conscious. Damn, he thought. I should have known better than to leave it to Davies. He’s only just recovered from the beating John gave him on the day of his capture. The man hadn’t been able to walk for a week, and Stefano thought he was becoming a little jealous of the attention he was devoting to John’s recruitment.

 

Stepping up to the form slumping in the guards’ grasp, he wrenched his head back, looking into his eyes to make sure he had John’s full attention. “Today, John. Today you come home. It’s time you stop playing house, and retake your position. Today, Roman Brady dies.” Motioning to the guards holding John up by his arms, DiMera led the way into the cell block. On one side of the corridor was gray concrete, and on the other a row of cells, divided and fronted by a lattice of steel bars. There were five cells, and DiMera walked quickly past the first four, slowing as he came to the 5th. His men obediently positioned their captive in front of the cell, and Stefano stepped behind him. Once again, he twisted his head back by his hair, and as the guards released his arms, DiMera shoved John hard up against the bars. Forcing his head into a gap between the bars, Stefano grated into his ear, “You want Roman Brady, you got him. He’s laying right there, just as he has been for the past 13 years.”

 

Inside the sparse cell, the sole occupant of the cell block rolled off of his cot, and approached the bars. “What the hell do you want from me, DiMera?”

 

John Black stared into his own face. The face he had been born with. The face Stefano DiMera had stolen from him, along with most of the memories that went with it. For a split second, for an eternity, the two men locked gazes…then all hell broke loose.

 

John slammed an elbow back into the force that was constraining him, and reached through the bars, struggling to destroy the imposter before him. DiMera fell, the force of the blow opening him up above his right eye. Davies hit John with his taser, dropping the man to his knees, and bringing his attention back to those interfering with his desires.

 

The man in the cell stepped back and felt blood spray over him as the tattered man on the floor thrust himself to his feet and used the force to propel his palm through a nose, sending splinters into the brain pan, resulting in explosion of crimson. In one smooth, flowing motion, John encircled the neck of the next guard and flipped him over his hip. Retaining his hold, he jerked upward, snapping the small bones of the neck and severing the spinal cord. As easy as breathing, John caught a descending wrist, halting the baton intended for his head. He twisted, and the wrist snapped. As the man in his grip sank towards the floor, John’s knee smashed into his face, putting him out. Davies, the only guard left standing, ran down the hallway for reinforcements. With no one left to interfer, John lunged for the cell, and the man standing just out of his reach. “You f**k. You lying F**k. You are dead” he screamed. “You are dead.

 

Chapter 19

 

Stefano was dazed and covered in blood, some of which he was certain was his own. Someone was screaming death, and he considered unconsciousness before quickly disregarding the idea. He grabbed a taser off the limp body laying next to him, and tried not to catch the notice of the madman above him. This was not exactly going as planned, but the fact that John was more concerned with the man in the cell than he was with DiMera was a good sign. Where the Hell were his men?

 

Alarms were sounding all over the place- someone must have hit the panic switch. He could see men pouring down the corridor, and John turned to meet them. Undaunted by the numbers, John advanced towards the overwhelming force. Stefano saw at least three of the tasers strike home, and overloaded synapses dropped the man to the floor, clutching instinctively for the wires delivering the current. From behind, DiMera fired another jolt towards his unprotected back, and was rewarded with a spasmodic arching in his rival as he lost all voluntary control. Rolling over on his side to prop himself up, Stefano watched as his men swarmed over the collapsed body, pinning it irrevocably to the ground. Crisis averted, he leaned back to catch his breath.

 

“Nice work, Davies. Secure him in the next cell. Chain him to the bars. Wouldn’t want those two to kill each other.”

 

“What the hell are you up to, DiMera? What’s he doing here?” asked Roman, glaring out at DiMera from behind the bars of his cell.

 

“Just a little something to keep you company, Roman. Thought you might be getting lonely,” replied DiMera with a smirk. “Besides, you are providing him with an important lesson.”

 

“I’m not providing that stinking drone with a damn thing,” answered Roman heatedly.

 

Rising to his feet, Stefano only smiled at the man in the cell. “You’ve already done more than you know, Roman. More than you could possibly know.”

 

“Davies,” he orders. “Keep an eye on John. Wake him up, make sure Roman has his full attention. I’ll be down in the morning, see if they’ve made any progress towards mutual understanding.

 

“Yes sir, Mr. DiMera. I’ll see to it.”

 

With DiMera safely out of sight, Davies roughly yanks John’s head back, his body still penned to the floor. The eyes are already showing signs of life. “Take him into the next cell,” he orders. “Chain his ankles to the bars on the far side- wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. I’ll be back in a second.”

 

Damned psycho, he thinks, as he heads for DiMera’s private medicine cabinet. The man’s a loose canon, and I’m going to prove it to DiMera once and for all. Picking with care, he selects a potent combination of drugs from the cabinet. He returns to find John struggling to rise to his knees, his ankles securely fastened to the bars on the far side of the cell abutting the one containing the man who is Roman Brady. “Dammit, grab him,” he orders. “Get some friggin’ cuffs on him.” Taking no chances, four men move in on John, wrenching his arms behind his back and fastening them securely together. Davies reaches in, grabbing the short length of chain now securing the prisoner’s wrists and pulling up, forcing the man to bend almost double, his arms now twisted awkwardly up behind his back. “I don’t want him moving around, tie this off- and keep it tight.” With the prisoner now almost completely immobile, Davies jabs home the needle into the tightly stretched muscles of the man’s right shoulder.

 

“Hey,” quires one of the men. “DiMera didn’t say anything about drugging him.”

 

“He said he wanted him awake, didn’t he? Well, this will keep him that way- and it will keep him from enjoying the experience. He just killed two good men, I’m going to make him pay for it. Besides, Brady here will keep an eye on him for us, won’t you Brady?”

 

“Go to hell,” Roman replies grimily.

 

Davies laughs, “A place you’re obviously familiar with, eh, buddy. OK, guys, let’s leave these the two lovebirds alone- bet they’ll want some privacy as Black comes around. I’m going to hit the showers. Just leave them be- DiMera’s favorite is going to be a hurting puppy for a while.”

 

Roman watches through the bars as the man who stole his wife, his children, his very identity- struggles to gain control of himself. Bastard. Stefano had shown him pictures, even videos at times. All of them of this, this imposter, taking his place. The eldest brother, head of the Brady family, Commander now of the Salem P.D., Marlena’s husband. All his- usurped by a hired gun. He doubted he hated DiMera as much as he hated the man now chained in the adjoining cell. What the hell was he doing here? Had he crossed DiMera in some way? Was this some perverse form of punishment? Or was it merely another way to make Roman suffer for daring to challenge Stefano DiMera- for daring to have the love of the one woman DiMera wanted above all others. Bastard, wish he wasn’t chained- and a mere 8 feet away.

 

John shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, maintain his balance locked in the awkward position, ribs burning, lungs fighting for air. Found himself staring at a dusty concrete floor. Where did that bastard imposter go- damn, his muscles were twitching with the nervous energy- have to get control.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man who wore Roman’s face snarled.

 

Struggling to raise his head against distended shoulder joints, he stares into the face that is his. Without conscious thought, he lunges out. A scream is ripped from him as his left shoulder separates from the onslaught, and he swings to that side, slamming into the bars. The pressure on the joint now supporting his full weight is unbearable, but his very nerves are now humming with a drug induced adrenaline rush, and his thoughts are becoming even more confused. Suddenly, it feels as if every muscle in his body cramps and he doubles over, dry- heaving. As suddenly as they hit, the cramps ease, and he swings loosely from his chains, trying to draw in a breath.

 

Jesus, Roman wonders. What’s wrong with this guy. What the hell is DiMera playing at?

 

“Bastard. F**king bastard. Won’t work- she’ll know.” As Roman watches, the man once again raises his head, fastening his eyes on Roman’s face. “She’ll known it’s not me, you bastard.”

 

It slowly dawns on Roman that the man is truly in pain, truly believes he is Roman Brady. He could almost pity him- almost, but not quite. Then he sees another spasm rock the bruised body in the adjoining cell, and despite himself, he calls out to the guards.

 

*****************************

 

Roman’s voice is raw from calling for help. It’s been hours, and no one has responded. The man in the next cell passed beyond coherent thought quickly, but he never passed out. His ramblings paint a bleak story- the heart of which is that Marlena is here, in the control of Stefano. None of it makes any sense. Stefano had always been very clear in explaining that the man who took Roman’s place was one of his agents. Torturing Roman with the knowledge that the life of his wife, the lives of his children and family, were in the hands of one of DiMera’s hired killers. The man coughing up his life in the next cell seemed desperate to protect Doc and the children. None of it made any sense. Roman involuntarily winced as another convulsion wracked the hanging body in the next cell. “John” groaned as the induced pressure hit the wrist that had snapped some hours earlier. Whatever Davies had administered, Roman had to admit it had done an incredible job of staving off the release of unconsciousness. Feeling the futility of it, Roman once again shouted down the hall for a guard.

 

To Roman’s surprise, this time, his cries were answered. A young man, one Roman recognized as belonging to the swing shift, responded. Hesitantly, the man walked down to the end of the corridor. “What is it? What do you want?”

 

Knowing there was no time to waste, no margin for error, Roman simply ordered, “Get DiMera, now.”

 

“It’s 4 in the morning, it will have to wait,” the young man answered.

 

“Do you want the responsibility for that man’s death? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t act, sonny. Call Stefano, let him decide. Look at him, dammit. He isn’t going to last if you stall.”

 

Roman still couldn’t believe he actually cared if the man in the next cell lived, but no one should suffer helplessly like that. As Roman spoke, the man in the cell convulsed again, bloody foam dribbling down his chin to join a growing pool inches below his hanging head. Fortunately, the bound man had earlier managed to spread his knees out, giving himself a wider base- preventing the spasms from uncontrollably jerking him into the steel bars. The more evenly distributed weight reduced the strain on shoulders and wrists, but the drug induced convulsions were tearing him apart from the inside out. He needed help, and the young guard was the only potential source.

 

As if aware of the scrutiny, John raised his head. “Stefano?” he cried out. Gaining focus he yelled, “DiMera is going to kill your ass!” His head bucked towards the floor as another convulsion hit.

 

The young guard looked momentarily startled, and then ran for the door- leaving Roman to wonder if he was running for help or merely escape from the scene of carnage in the cell.

 

Chapter 20

 

Stefano groaned, and half-awake, reached over and hit the intercom. “This better be good,” he growled.

 

“Sorry, sir. It’s just, well, John Black doesn’t look too good and I just thought I should make sure you knew what was going on,” came a hesitant voice.

 

Fully awake now, DiMera rolled out of bed, snatching up his clothes from the night before. “I’ll be right there.

 

***************************

 

Someone dies for this, swears DiMera, peering through the bars at the ravaged mess in the cell. Standing in blood stained clothes from the night before, his expression hints at an angry pagan God, and the young guard shrinks back. “Open the cell and send for more men. He’s still dangerous, even like this. And get Davies down here. I need to know what he gave him.”

 

As he approaches, he notices for the first time the bloody bile now soaking the prisoner’s knees. As yet another spasm shakes the tortured frame, he instinctively reaches down, steadying the convulsing body- only to find himself caught by a familiar gaze. “Stefano,” John whispers. “Knew you’d come. Kill these f**kers for me,” he croaks, as his body arches out of DiMera’s grasp.

 

The boy stands in the open doorway, backed by the other two men who make up the swing shift. Freckles standing out clearly against a pale face, he backs away, retching into the corner. Jesus, thinks Stefano, they get younger every day. “Sir, we called in the day shift- they should be down any minute,” informs the shift commander, Blakely. Good enough, thinks DiMera.

 

“Give me the key, we need to get him out of here,” Stefano orders shortly. The two older guards take positions on either side of the chained man, but as Stefano releases the good wrist from the shackle tied high above the man’s bent back, another spasm hits. Wary of the injured man’s reputation for destruction, the guards leap back, and John once again slams into the steel bars, now twisting from his broken wrist. “Dammit, hold him,” Stefano admonishes. But as Blakely complies, burning muscles once again contract, this time at the direction of conscious thought. Blakely’s head impacts against the hardened steel of the bars as John picks him off the ground and attempts to shove him through the bars. The drugs that have kept him from the blessed darkness of unconsciousness also provide a source of power, and as Blakely sinks to the earth, John grabs his automatic from its holster.

 

Taking his weight with his knees, he brings the gun to bear on DiMera and his guards. “You bastard- you bastard,” he grates out, his gaze and his gun shifting blearily to Roman. “You lying bastard,” he screams, and it is unclear if his statement is intended for DiMera or Roman as both his glance and his aim shifts from one to the other as he huddles, swaying softly. “Bastard,” he whispers, bringing the gun to his own forehead.

 

Numbed hands fumble with the safety on the automatic pointed at his head just as another wave of cramps wash over John’s wearied body. Convulsing, his arm is drawn downward, and Stefano’s heavy frame slams into him, crushing his free arm against the bars, the gun dropping uselessly from fingers that will no longer obey him. The light slowly fades, as the last of the drugs work their way through his system, leaving his limp body hanging in DiMera’s grip.

 

Stefano releases the body of the dangling man from the remaining shackle, and gathering him in his arms, drives himself to his feet. “Tell Dr. Sarte to meet me in the guest infirmary. And I want Davies in a cell, now. Don’t touch him- I’ll leave that to John.” Turning on his heal, he strides from the cell, John’s body draped loosely in his arms.

Chapter 21

He can’t see, and starts to panic. Where the hell is he, got to get up- get out. Dammit, he can’t focus his thoughts. Stefano . . . Stefano bursting into a cell . . . men falling. A memory comes into focus. The Soledino cartel is sending a message. Sending it via his body, the carved-up remains of which they plan to dump outside one of DiMera’s compounds. That’s how he got hurt, losing consciousness only with Stefano’s arrival. Stefano had reigned death down on the house of Soledino, punishing those with the affront to take one of his own. “Stefano,” John calls out weakly. “Soledino- you take him down?” As he had known it would, a quiet voice answers.

 

“Easy John, just take it easy. Everything is going to be okay. I just want you to rest. Recover your strength. Don’t try and think about it. I promise, everything will be okay.” The burning of a needle sears his forearm, and he sinks back beneath the silent darkness.

 

DiMera sighs with relief. When four days passed, and John still hadn’t regained consciousness, he had begun to worry that some irreparable harm had been done. He would recover. It would take time to accept and integrate his time impersonating Roman, but he would come back. For now, DiMera determined to let him focus on the last mission- before John had gone under as Roman Brady. The irony of it was that his stint as Brady had been meant to be a little vacation- a chance to heal-up from the damage done by the Soledino’s. Hadn’t worked out that way, thought DiMera wryly, levering his tired body to his feet. He had hardly moved from the room for the past three days, wanting to be there when John came-to. Wanting to be certain that the man who returned was truly John Black.

 

Calling in the nurse who would take his place in watching over the figure lying strapped to the big bed, he issues his instructions. “He should sleep through the night, but if you run into any trouble, call me immediately. Whatever happens, don’t approach him. That man is dangerous. Just watch for any change, and call me if something, anything, occurs.” With that, he heads for a shower and bed.

 

*******************************

 

Sitting back from the table, Stefano lets the coffee sear his throat, washing down the last of a big breakfast. Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, he reaches into his vest for his first cigar of the day, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom. “Yes?”

 

“Sir, he’s awake and struggling. I’m afraid he may hurt himself. He’s calling for you, and I think you might better get down here.”

 

“Tell him to calm down, I’m on my way.” Pleased despite having to forgo his morning smoke, Stefano headed down to see the prodigal.

 

Glad to hear he’s got some strength back, DiMera grinned, walking into a torrent of cursing.

 

“God-dammit, let me up. What the hell is wrong with me. I’m going to rip your eyes out if you don’t let me up.”

 

“Easy, boy. The man is following my orders,” Stefano admonishes.

 

“Dammit, DiMera. Get me out of here,” John barks, though he stops struggling against the straps holding him to the bed.

 

“And a lovely morning to you to, John. I want you to know, you’ve ruined a perfectly good breakfast for me. And watch that mouth of yours. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

 

The tension in the body of the man on the bed eases. “Sorry, boss. But what’s going on. Why can’t I see? I want up, now.”

 

“You’re tied down to keep you from hurting yourself- though it doesn’t work if you insist on fighting it. And you can’t see because there was some damage to your cheek and eye socket. Don’t worry, nothing a little surgery won’t correct. Now, I’m going to take the dressing off of the left side of your head, and you should see just fine. Them I’ll release the straps- but you are not getting up. Do you understand me?”

 

Greeted only with silence, Stepfano turns to the door. “Fine, you can just lie there until you’re ready to be civilized.”

 

“No, damn- sorry. Fine, I’ll just lie here. Lie here like some pathetic little baby. Whatever you say, boss,” John responds sarcastically.

 

Lord, I had forgotten what a pain he could be, Stefano thinks with a mixture of pride and aggravation. Approaching the now still figure, he starts to unwind the strips of surgical gauze. There had been no need to bind both sides of John’s face, but DiMera had wanted to control the first moment in which John could fully gather his bearings. Control the moment, and observe the reactions of the still befuddled mind. “Nurse, cut the lights down. No sense in blinding him.” Pulling away the last strips, he sees an icy blue eye, squinting up at him.

 

“Damn, boss. You look awful. What the hell happened?” John burst out.

 

“I see your manners haven’t improved,” DiMera noted wryly. “Tell me what you remember John. What’s the last thing you remember?” Stefano asked, slowly reaching for the leather strap wrapped around the brace encasing the broken left wrist. Taking his time, DiMera carefully observed the response, fearing a returning rush of memory that would once more turn the man in the bed into a rival.

 

“The Soledino’s- there was no warning. They picked me out at a bar, jumped me coming out. Think they must have busted me a good one upside the head. It’s all fuzzy. Think it involved a pretty thorough beating. Then the oldest son, Jesse, he started practicing a little knife-work on me. I kept passing out, and then you were there, and they started dying. Did you kill them all?”

 

“Every last one John. The Soledino cartel no longer exists. Is that all you can recall?”

 

“You carried me out- I could tell you were really pissed. You almost never take a mission yourself. Thanks, Stefano. Thanks a lot,” he said, reaching for DiMera’s shoulder with the now freed arm. His arm slowed as a confused look flashed across his face. “There was a woman. A beautiful woman.” Closing his eyes, he put the hand to his head. “I was . . . a mission. I was on a mission. I was with the woman. I… it’s so jumbled. The Soledinos didn’t do this, did they?”

 

Against all good sense, Stefano released the other arm, watching as John clenched a fist, testing torn and bruised muscles.

 

“No, John. The Soledino’s didn’t do this. You’ve lost a few years. You went deep under on your last mission, and it’s just going to take a while for it all to make sense to you. Don’t worry about it. Just let your body heal. When you’re ready, I’ll answer all of your questions. Until then, I just want you to lie here and rest, okay?”

 

“Rest, hell. Fill me in now. How long has it been? Who’s that woman?” John questions, struggling to rise, and then apparently giving it up as a bad idea.

 

“I’m not telling you a damn thing until you’re strong enough to deal with it. When you can get to my office on your own steam, I’ll fill you in. Until then, just let it come back to you slowly. Give yourself time to heal. Now I’m going to have some breakfast sent in, and I want you to get it down. Go slow, it’ll be your first solid food in a while. After that, I want you to sleep, John. And if you won’t do it voluntarily, I’ll put you out myself- it’s a promise.”

 

John sank into the bed, clearly not pleased with the situation but knowing enough to take DiMera at his word. “Yes sir, for now. But I’ll be in your office tomorrow, and you’ll owe me some answers.”

 

“When you can get there under your own power, you can have the answers. Until then, you’ll lie in this bed and like it. Nurse, see that my orders are followed. And if he gives you any more trouble, call me down. John, I do not expect to have to answer such a call,” warns DiMera, leaving the man to his thoughts.

 

Chapter 22

 

Blond hair, curling over his bear chest. He holds her closer, losing himself inside of her. He jerks awake with a start, yelling out against the burning in his ribs that slams him back against the clean white sheets. Panting shallowly and sweating, he tries to recapture the image, the feel. Damn, he’d been out for quite a while.

 

“What time is it? How long was I out?” he asks the nurse standing hesitantly nearby.

 

“You slept a solid ten hours. It’s around five in the afternoon. Need to use the bedpan before we try and get some more food down you?”

 

“I can get up, dammit. Just give me a second. Damn, what’s wrong with me?”

 

“Sir, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You’ve got at least one broken rib and four or five others are cracked. There was massive bruising, your arms are all cut up, and your just starting to get over a severe concussion.”

 

Ignoring the babbling cretin moving uncertainly toward him, John groans aloud and rolls his legs toward the floor. He tucks his head to his knees as dizziness washes over him, and the light narrows to a pinprick.

 

“Maybe I’d better call Mr. DiMera,” the now terrified nurse says, backing away from the figure on the bed. The man exudes menace, even when he can’t hold himself upright. I am definitely not getting paid enough for this job, the nurse gripes to himself.

 

“Touch that phone and I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it,” threatens John, swaying to his feet and fighting a rising wave of nausea. Pinning the man in his tracks with a glare, he asks, “Now, where’s the can?”

 

He stares into his face in the mirror. His face- but not. It’s been altered slightly. Plastic surgery, he surmises, wondering if it was voluntary or a result of repairs to the damage inflicted by the Soledinos. Of course, the bandages and swelling don’t do anything to make him more recognizable. Still, it seems he sees another face in his mind’s eye. Another face that belongs to him in some way he can’t place. Well, at least he can understand his current weakness. Anything not tightly bandaged stands out in purple and black. The knowledge that these are the least injured areas does little to inspire confidence. Whoever did this, he thinks, I’m going to hurt before I kill them.

 

Still, I am on my feet. Tomorrow, Stefano sees me in his office whether he likes it or not. He heads back to bed while he can still control his now trembling frame.

 

Awakening brings clarity, and the throbbing between his eyes has receded to insignificance. Is it morning, he wonders, suddenly realizing how badly he wants to see the sun. Too long in the shadows, John. Too long in this bed. It suddenly becomes abhorrent to lay there another second, regardless of how his body protests. Blinking a bleary eye, he shifts his legs over the bed, and using the resulting momentum allows his body to follow, wrenching it erect at the last moment. Swaying slightly, he orders the startled nurse,

 

“Get some clothes ready. I’m going to grab a shower.”

 

Ignoring the protestations behind him, he slams the bathroom door, and tries to figure out how to take a shower with half of his body wrapped in bandages. Screw it, he thinks, getting in and allowing the hot water to wash over him, bandages and all. He couldn’t remember anything feeling so good- ever. Lathering gently, he leans against the cool tiles, and explores the damage done to his body. Too depressing, he decides, cranking the hot water. The pain of the scalding spray draws attention away from muscles starting to protest bone-deep bruises. It’s an odd form of relief, but a relief all the same. He fades away from his body, brought back only as the water starts to cool. Cutting the flow, he tries to towel off. The pain returns, and tortured muscles refuse to answer his will. As he stumbles out of the shower dripping water, he realizes he must have been heavily drugged with pain killers that are starting to fade.

 

The realization is brought home as he comes crashing to his knees, the driving force jarring through his body. He rests his head on the ground, bent double from trying to draw breath, dimly aware the nurse is trying to lead him back to bed. With his good hand, he grasps a wrist and viciously twists, bringing the frightened man down to the ground with him. “Get the meds- whatever you’ve been giving me. I need a stimulant and some painkillers. You f**k this up, you call DiMera, and I will hurt you in ways you cannot possibly imagine. Do you understand?” he hisses into frightened eyes.

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Black,” and with the release of the painful grip, the man scurries backwards. He quickly returns, and John is pleased to see he hasn’t lost his touch when it comes to handling underlings. Once again, a needle slides through the muscles of his shoulder, joining a growing cluster of track marks. John sighs as the effect washes over him, but remains bent double, trying to catch his breath. “You got my clothes laid out?”

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Black.”

 

“Then help me off this damned floor. I’ve got places to go and people to see.”

 

*******************************

 

DiMera hangs-up the phone, pleased with the arrangements he has made for lunch. He has arranged for a celebration feast. Marlena, made compliant by her fear for ‘Roman’, whose prolonged absence can bode no good, will be joining him. Though if she knew what they were celebrating, he doubted she would make the engagement. Looking up at the casual rap on the half-opened door, he blinked back a feeling of deja vue. Leaning casually against the doorjamb, dressed in the black fatigues common to DiMera’s fighting compounds, was his Lieutenant- John Black.

 

“Like the patch?,” John inquired with a grin. “Made the nurse get rid of the bandages around my head- made me feel like an invalid. Besides, the girlies will love the eye patch. Makes me look mysterious.”

 

“What the hell are you doing out of bed. I would have posted guards if I hadn’t thought you had more sense than to get out of that bed.”

 

“Now boss, we did have a date. You said you’d fill me in when I could get here under my own power. Well, I could and I did, so stop whining and pour me a drink. I could use one. Some asshole did a real number on me.”

 

Noting the hyper-focused quality of the man, DiMera asks, “That idiot didn’t shoot you up, did he? I’m trying to wean you off of the drugs before they become addictive. John, you’re going to damage yourself if you ignore what your body tells you.”

 

“No painkillers, boss. Though I did request a little stimulant,” John lied. “What can I say, the nurse couldn’t refuse me.”

 

“No,” replied DiMera dryly, “I’d guess not. Well, sit down before you fall down. And I do owe you a drink. After all, I am the ‘asshole who did a number on you’ as you so eloquently put it.” Moving to the crystal decanter, DiMera watched through lowered brows for John’s reaction.

 

The man sank back into the leather couch, paling as the import of the words hit him. One hand bunched into a fist, and he said, very quietly, “I’ll assume there was good reason. A very good reason? Why don’t you fill me in on just what that reason was?”

 

**********************************

 

“Damn, Stephan. I can’t believe you let me stay under for nine years. What the hell were you thinking?” John sighed, raising his second glass of whiskey.

 

“You managed to escape from my men before the programming was complete, John. You were wandering around in a drugged-out daze, and Marlena was only too willing to supply you with a ready-to-wear identity. An identity as her loving husband. Without the final controls implanted in your mind, you immersed yourself in becoming Roman Brady- not that I can particularly blame you. This happened right as the ISA cracked down and the war with the Soledino’s was becoming a true threat. I needed you with me, but it would have created too much heat for ‘Roman Brady’ to disappear again. Besides, I wanted her watched and protected, and with you committed to being Roman, I knew she couldn’t be in better hands. After all, that was your original assignment. Why I implanted the memories I did. It was supposed to have been a little reprieve from the constant battling. A little break, watching over a woman who had become important to me.”

 

“Afterwards, well, you are a rather formidable force to be reckoned with. I should know, I did train you. As an arch rival, you were not someone to be casually dealt with. This time, I got lucky. Caught you away from your home ground. John, you have to realize, I almost killed you bringing you back. We were just plain lucky. How much of this is coming back to you?,” DiMera asked.

 

“Seems unreal- like a book I’d read and forgotten, but the plot comes back as you fill me in. Doesn’t feel real, though. Damn, nine years.” John stood, once again swaying slightly on his feet. “Want another cognac”, he asked, walking to the bar. “By the way, where’s my gun? Feel naked without it. Feel like you don’t trust me,” he said, fastening an intense gaze on DiMera. Stepping behind his desk, Stefano opened the bottom draw and pulled out a beautiful silver inlay 9 millimeter encased in a supple black leather belt and holster. Casually, he tossed it to the man at the bar.

 

DiMera watched as the man he had molded into the finest killing force in the business checked the clip, and then buckled the weapon around his slim waist. The weapon had been a 21st birthday gift from DiMera. Finally, Stefano was accepting that John was truly back with him.

 

He realized how much he had missed the man. Here was someone who operated as an appendage of his own will. Who relished the game, the hunt, to the same extent he did. A son born of his heart, if not his loins. His obedience was based in filial loyalty, not fear. This could not always be said of his children, either by birth or adoption. He had never evoked fear in the man, not even as a boy. The few times he had tried, it had elicited only a cold defiance, as if John were at pains to show his allegiance could not be gained through coercion. He still didn’t fully understand the link, though he believed it was because he had given a scared and bitter boy protection and more importantly a purpose to which he could apply the rage that had boiled just below the surface for as long as DiMera had known him.

 

God, he even looked almost like his old self from here. The baggy fatigues hid the heavily bandaged torso and arms. Viewed from the left side, very few bruises showed on his face, and those that did were fading. DiMera knew better though, and resolved to strap the man to the bed himself if that’s what it took to get him healed. As he moved to broach the subject, he heard a gasp from the door. Marlena had arrived for lunch.

 

Chapter 23

 

“Roman, you’re okay,” she cried, rushing across the distance separating them. As she flung herself into his arms, John sagged against the bar, letting it take his weight. “Doc,” he whispered, looking stunned. Closing his eyes, he simply held her close for a long second. Then, raising his head, he looked at DiMera with an expression of pain and confusion. He had never been a very good liar, thought DiMera. His forte was straightforward violence. DiMera watched with curiosity and not a little trepidation to see what John would do, hoping he wouldn’t regret arming the man, glancing at the gun now riding easily along John’s thigh. The gun. As John gently pushed Marlena away from him with the good arm that now grasped her shoulder, her hand dropped to brush against the heavy leather. Something is wrong she thinks. The gun . . . he’s carrying a gun. “Roman?” She stares up at him in confusion, seeing for the first time the patch covering his right eye and half his cheek. “What has he done to you?” John simply stared back, unable to answer her. Unwilling to destroy all this woman had known for the past decade. Stepping in, DiMera took over. “Ah, Marlena. I believe you know my other guest, though in a somewhat different role. I would like to introduce you to John Black, my best agent and right-hand man.” Marlena whirled on DiMera, breaking the grip of the man she thought of as her husband. “You bastard. You did it. You took away his identity. How could you?!” “Marlena, no. You’re wrong,” said John. “Stefano took nothing from me. I was Roman Brady, but only for nine years. It isn’t who I am, who I was born. It was an assignment, Marlena,” he forces himself to say. “Only an assignment. The reason I never remembered my whole past was that it was never mine to remember.” God, he just wants to get this over with. Having felt her in his arms, it is all coming back to him with exquisite detail. “Marlena, Roman Brady is dead,” interjects DiMera. “He has been dead for a decade. He died on the island- I buried him myself.” John shoots him a questioning look, which he ignores. This wasn’t what he had planned, but he intended that the outcome be the same. When this was done, Marlena would willingly choose to be with him. He just hoped that John was physically up to carrying out his part. “You liar. You think I wouldn’t know my own husband?,” Marlena cried. “Oh, I think you knew your husband only too well. And in your grief for him, you remade a hurt and confused man over into his image. I planted the seeds of Roman’s memories in John so that he could get close to you. Watch over you for me until I was free to come to you. But you took those few memories and remade John into the husband you so desperately wanted returned to you. He didn’t know any better- he wandered away from my men before the conditioning was complete. He was a walking wound, a man with no place to call home. You offered him all any man could want, and he grasped it out of desperation. If he became Roman Brady, it’s because you created him that way Marlena. No wonder you couldn’t tell him from Roman. You made him over into your version of Roman Brady.” Marlena paled. “No, nothing you say can be trusted. This is Roman Brady. I know him as I know my own soul.” “You know nothing of this man, Marlena. Nothing of who and what he really is. He is no more Roman than is the fantasy man you created from your own memories and desires. But to argue this point is an exercise in futility. Believe as you will, Marlena. It makes no difference to either myself or John. Enough of this, the cook is holding dinner. You will join us, John?” John again raised a questioning brow, but then nodded. “Of course, Stefano.” ******************************** Walking into the formal living room, DiMera worriedly noted that John was favoring his left side, tucking his arm against his body as if to support his damaged ribs. Damn, it is too soon for this. “Please,” he said aloud, “seat yourselves.” John eased himself into the chair, barely able to keep himself from slumping forward. Finish this, thought DiMera, while he is still able to handle it. Opening the wine, a fine California Merlo that he had acquired a taste for, Stefano began filling their glasses. “John, I was going to let this wait, but I have a little gift for you. You see, Marlena, one of my men took John’s return a little personally. He is the one responsible for the damage done to my lieutenant. I’ve been holding him for you John. I thought you might want to deal with him personally.” As he had expected, John’s face darkened, and his visible eye seemed almost to ice over. John had never taken a physical challenge to his person lightly. With perfect timing, a knock sounded on the door. “Care to get that for me, John?” Adrenaline and memories surging through him, John eases from his chair, hardly noticing ribs that moments before constrained his every movement. He glides to the door, breathing deeply, oxygenating his body in unconscious contemplation of the violence he feels building. At the table, Marlena looks up, confused and concerned. Uncertain of what is happening, but attuned to the rising tension in the room. At the door, two guards flank Davies. The man looks fearfully around, and tries to back away from John’s imposing form blocking the doorway. John sees only a boot smashing into his unprotected ribs and back, as many men hold him pinned helplessly to the floor. A needle . . . and pain. Pain, and blood, and . . . he reaches forward, grasping the embodiment of his pain. He grabs the man by his collar, shaking him as a terrier would a rat, the man’s feet almost leaving the floor. In a panic, Davies lashes out. One fist catches John, striking his face on his blinded side. He almost collapses with the pain, dropping to his knees, shaking his dazed head. White fire sears his vision, and he almost grins with exhilaration. Wished he had a knife, he thinks. Thighs drive like pistons, and he shoves the ground away, again grabbing the man by the throat, forcing him backwards toward the table. Hands tear ineffectively at his grip as he slams his prey into the table. Bending him over. Back pressing into the fine wood. Dimly, he hears a woman screaming, and he releases his grip in order to use his only good arm to slap the face in front of him in a series of devastating blows. Blows whose force echo through the room. There is no resistance left, and through the haze he sees blood flowing over dark wood. “F**ker,” he whispers, his hand gliding up from his thigh bearing steal- blue and silver and cold. “Mess with the bull, boy . . . ” and he shoves the barrel into the screaming mouth and pulls the trigger. Pulls and pulls and pulls, backing away from the spraying fountain of blood. He empties the 11 shot clip, and when he is done, they’ll need a sponge to get what remains of Davies’ head off of the table. Not like anyone’s going to want to use that table again anyway, he thinks. Turning on the balls of his feet, he faces DiMera, acrid gun smoke engulfing him, caught in the powerful exhilaration that always accompanies a kill. Almost sexual in its intensity, its sense of release. The feral grin still on his face, he apologizes. “Sorry about the table, Stefano. Take it out of my back-pay.” Muscles rippling beneath his skin, the icy fire flickering in his brain, he turns to search for additional meat on which to vent the power he feels surging through his veins. And locks onto Marlena’s horrified face. The strength drains as quickly as it had come, and he leans against the table in an attempt to keep his feet. Memories flood over him again, this time of children with shining faces, adoring eyes. The woman is at his side, the missing part of his soul- bringing him peace. Holstering his spent weapon, he rubs his hand against the tough fabric of his pants, futilely attempting to remove the blood that now seems like a desecration. She backs away, as pale as death. There is nothing for him to say, and he turns and strides from the room, wishing he had saved one last shot for himself. Marlena collapsed into the chair behind her, still trying to deny the evidence of her own eyes. No . . . Roman, no. It can’t be. She feels sick. He couldn’t do this . . . wouldn’t do this to her. But the gore spread across the big mahogany table still bears mute witness to the psychotic violence just perpetrated by the man she loved. “Marlena . . . Marlena, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would kill the man,” lies Stefano. “You have to understand. The man he killed had hurt him badly, beat him as he lay helpless. He just snapped, acting on instinct. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to learn of it this way.” Stefano’s defense of the violence only serves to make it more real to her. “It’s true? He really worked for you all these years? It’s not possible, Stefano. I would have known . . . it’s not possible.” “You’re right, Marlena. While he was with you, he was not himself. He believed he was Roman. But Marlena- he’s not. His name is John Black, and you have to accept that the man you remember no longer exists. He is as dead as the original Roman. I know you don’t believe it, Marlena, but I am truly sorry for your loss. None of this was meant to be. Even the death of the real Roman. I would have saved him if I could have. We were rivals, but he had my respect. And John- well John belongs here with me, Marlena. For his own safety, as well as that of anyone he comes in contact with. He is a truly dangerous man Marlena. The entire time he was with you, I feared for your safety. I’m sorry, Marlena, but that is how things are.” Choking back sobs, Marlena whispers, “Leave me alone, Stefano. Please, just leave me alone.”‘

 

Chapter 24

 

Two guards support his weight, half-dragging him back to his room. He dimly remembers collapsing upon leaving the room… leaving her- sitting stunned and wounded. The men supporting him are respectful, but he can feel their fear. He briefly considers killing them- just for the hell of it- the escape. Escape for him always seems to come in the form of spilled blood. He rejects the thought, recognizing it for the cop-out it is.

 

Dammit, he has raped her. Raped her mind, her body- all of these years taking her through a lie. Taking her in the form of the man who now rots away, locked in a cell floors below. Damn you Stefano, for letting me do this to her… Damn you for making me stop.

 

He groans aloud as the men shift him gently into the bed, the anguish more mental than physical. He opens his eyes to see Stefano leaning over him worriedly, and realizes he must have passed out for a time. Anger burning, he roughly grasps the man above him by the collar. “Damn you, DiMera. You set me up. Why in the hell did you have to hurt her like that?!”

 

“And what exactly would you have had me do, John?” DiMera coolly replies. “Do you really think you could have hidden the truth from her now that your mind is clear? Would you have wanted to try? Which would have hurt her more?”

 

John slowly releases the man above him, shattered by the reality he had tried to hide from. “What now, Stefano? What are you going to do to her? To my… to the kids?”

 

“I’m going to give her some time to adjust- just be there for her. And once she accepts that she is now truly alone, I don’t know. I’ll take her away from here. Maybe Paris, a fresh start. She will eventually come to me. You know I always get what I want in the end, John.”

 

“Yea, that I do know… Stefano, I’ve got to get out of here. Get my head back together. I can’t be around her- I don’t want to see her. Give me a mission. Something to do. Something ugly.”

 

“John, I won’t make you see her, but the only thing I’m going to give you right now is at least a month of laying around, flat on your back, healing up. Don’t think I don’t know you were as high as a kite in there. We’ve got to get the drugs out of your system. Let your body truly repair itself.”

 

Stephan repressed a shudder at the thought of John as an addict, strung-out on the powerful drugs he had been subjected to for far too long. The man was too inherently unstable to be playing with chemicals. DiMera still didn’t know what happened in the child’s past to create such a seething rage, and had long since given the inquiry into the issue up as too dangerous. A mind as twisted as John’s did not need the addition of pharmaceuticals.

 

“Now I just want you to take it easy,” DiMera continues. “I have to go to the mainland in the morning- a minor emergency. Tomorrow night, we’ll have dinner and I’ll fill you in on business. Until then, you’ve got the run of the place. But take it easy, and I’ve ordered that you receive no drugs. If you can’t move without them, take it as a sign that you probably shouldn’t be moving. Okay?”

 

“Whatever you say, Stefano,” John replies, too bone weary to fight anymore. Closing his eyes, he lets the darkness wash over him.

 

**********************************

 

In the dark, the visions come. He wears another man’s face, and he is in another man’s home. He walks in the back door, the twins under his arms. Laughter echoes, and he hugs them tight, unwilling to let them go. In his mind’s eye, he sees his face shift, growing cold, growing into the face of a killer- his face. He holds his children even closer- so close they break. The pieces crumble in his arms, drifting to dust before they can hit the floor. Laughter still echoes off of long halls as he climbs the steps and finds himself at the bedroom door. His door. His wife. And she is there, as beautiful as he has ever seen her. She glows, and the white gown shifts in an invisible wind, revealing her form. The creamy skin of a thigh. He goes to her, to her waiting arms. But in her eyes, he finds only terror… fear… loathing. He tries to scream a warning to her as his body flies toward her’s- but it is far too late for redemption. He wrenches her into his arms, forcing her back on the bed as she struggles to free herself. He tears into her, and echoes of laughter become the echoes of screams. As he penetrates her, he feels the blood welling, and the familiar release of violence, and he stares down into dead eyes.

 

**********************************

 

He awakes, retching over the side of the bed, emptying the sparse contents of his stomach and continuing to dry heave until lack of breath forces him to pass out. He comes to, a cold towel over his face.

 

“Take it easy, Mr. Black. You’re going to be okay. Just take it easy.”

 

“What happened? Where’s Doc? Get the hell off of me,” he cries, ripping the towel from his face.

 

“It’s just a dream, Mr. Black. It’s okay, it was just a dream.”

 

John lays back, shaking as the last of the adrenaline surges through his system. “Where’s DiMera?”

 

“He’s already left for the mainland, sir,” the nurse answers. “He left instructions for you to take it easy.”

 

Catching his breathe, it is clear for the first time since his capture what he must do. How he can put this travesty to rights.

 

“Give me a shot, I need to get out of this damned bed.”

 

“Sorry, sir. Mr. DiMera gave strict instructions…”

 

John choked him off, grabbing him by the throat- squeezing until the man’s face began to turn blue. “I don’t give a shit what he said. You are going to get me some pain pills . . . pain pills and stimulants. A whole f**king bottle. And if you aren’t back here in five minutes, I’m going to come find you, boy. And I will lay you to waste. This I promise you.” He thrust the man away from him, watching as he crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. “Move your ass.” And the man on the floor moved.

 

********************************

 

John levered himself to his feet, grimly aware that Stefano was right. Without the drugs, he wasn’t even able to get out of bed. Of course, now that I have the pills, it’s rather a moot point. He pulled on black fatigues, not bothering with the effort of a shower or shave. Just keep moving, he thought to himself. Keep moving, because if you stop, you may not be able to start again. Strapping his gun about his waist, he remembered he was out of ammo. That would have to be remedied. He strode out the door, only to be confronted by an armed guard. “What are you doing here?,” John snapped.

 

“Uhh, Mr. DiMera said I should make sure you’re okay. He didn’t seem to think you would get out of bed, sir.”

 

“Well he was wrong, wasn’t he. Give me a couple of clips, I’m out.”

 

“I think I’m supposed to stay with you, sir.”

 

“Fine, do what you want. Just give me the damn clips.” The man hesitantly complied, falling in behind John’s form as he headed down the hall. “Where’s Dr. Evan’s room? I need to see her.”

 

Stopping at the indicated door, John thrust it open without knocking. Marlena’s startled gaze stared up at him, and she backed away in fear as the man standing in the door suddenly swept the form of the guard behind him into the room with a quick jerk. As the guard stumbled forward, John’s knee took him in the midriff, dropping him to the floor. Drawing his weapon, he slammed the butt down on the unprotected head, and the man slumped to the floor. Two hard kicks slammed into the downed man’s ribs, these delivered purely for spite, as the form on the floor was clearly unconscious.

 

Not even breathing hard, John glared down at his lover. “Get dressed.”

 

*************************************

 

Fear quickly turned to anger. “You bastard,” she cried out, moving toward him, hand raised to slap his lying face. John grabbed the upraised arm, and twisted it sharply up behind her back, using it to lever her in close- hard up against his body. His mind burned with barely leashed fury, and the press of her tight against him made the heat rise. At this moment, he wanted only to take her. Lose himself inside of her, use her to drive away the demons in his soul. Roughly, he shoved her away. “Get dressed. Please… we haven’t much time. I’m going to get you out of here.”

 

For a second, her heart wavers. Could she have been wrong? No, the man staring coldly down on her radiates danger. He is the man who slaughtered the helpless guard the day before. He is not Roman, not her husband. Still, she finds herself obeying his instructions, unsure of exactly why. Knowing only that if he had wanted to hurt her, he already would have.

 

Chapter 25

 

He walks her toward the terrace door that looks over the long sandy beach. Two guards snap to attention at their approach, and he nods and turns to chat with Marlena. “Uhh, sir? We weren’t informed you were up and around yet. Can we help you?”

 

“No,” replied John coldly. “Just felt like seeing the sun. Been cooped up inside these walls for too long. Dr. Evans is along to make sure I don’t over do it. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” he asked, squaring up on the man.

 

“Uh, no sir, I guess not. Take it easy, sir.”

 

“See what a reputation for violence can do for you,” he whispered sardonically to Marlena as they wandered down the steps toward the beach. She didn’t respond, which failed to surprise him. They continued to walk, circling the compound, though now out of the view of the house.

 

“Where are you taking me?,” she asks, breaking the silence.

 

“Just a little further. If I remember correctly, the airstrip should be a little further inland. I’ll hide you in a maintenance building- I’ve got a little business to take care of.”

 

“Someone else to kill?” she asks bitterly.

 

“What’s one more?”, he responds, goading her for reasons beyond both his comprehension and his control. And with that, the airstrip comes into view, the jet waiting fueled on the strip in case of an emergency- just as John knew it would be.

 

*********************************

 

Alone now, he ambles up toward the front door, garnering the attention of the two guards there. “Hey, what are you doing out here? Uh, sir.”

 

“Needed some fresh air. I came around from the back. Think I’ve had enough, though. Time to head in.” Squinting at one of the guards, John asks, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

 

“No sir. Here, let me get the door,” the man stammers fearfully. John grins to himself, now certain the man must have been in on one of his beatings. Not like he would have remembered him, they had pretty much been faceless blurs. Meat to be tolerated or extinguished. With a wave, he reentered the house.

 

Out of sight, John leans against a wall for support and dry swallows a couple of stimulants. Damn, gotta keep sharp. He avoids the painkillers, they tend to blur his thinking. Take one if I have too, he tells himself. Drawing himself up, he steels himself and heads for the basement.

 

He softly draws the heavy metal door shut behind himself and creeps down the stairs. Soundproof, the door is meant to stop any cries from the cellar from disturbing those above. The door is going to serve him well. Weapon drawn, he swings his body around the corner simultaneously drawing a bead on the men in the control room. His first shot takes the man facing him through the right eye. So quickly that it sounds as if he only fired once, the second bullet speeds through the back of the second man, shattering his spine. No time for an alarm to be given, but John knows that a normal shift contains three men. He sees no sign of his last target. Damn. Then he hears it. Shallow breathing coming from behind a desk. He drifts forward silently, and sees a terrified face staring up at him. A kid, thinks John. Just a kid, frozen in place still clutching the printer cable he had been replacing. He decides not to waste a bullet, and coming around the desk, swings his gun butt down on the still unmoving body, which slips silently to the ground as the hard metal impacts on the side of the skull.

 

He moves silently down the quiet corridor, trying to avoid the memories of his last time in this place. The time his world died. His heightened senses detect the creak of a mattress spring, and he tries to control the shaking in his arm as the stimulants surge full force through his system. His head feels like it’s going to explode, and he decides he likes the buzz. Drawing up at the last cell, he once again stares into the face that used to be his.

 

“What are you doing here? What the hell’s going on. I see you’re back in uniform, you bastard,” spits out the man in the cell.

 

“Why am I here? I’m here because I owe you one- and I always pay my debts,” John replied coldly.

 

******************************************

 

Roman stares through the bars into the face of his executioner. At this point, death would be a release- but he still fights the notion, knowing that he is the only hope for Marlena now. Besides, only a cruel universe would allow the man who had stolen everything from him to take his life as well. “You coward- are you going to shoot me down through the bars, or do you have the guts to face me, one-on-one?”

 

John only smiles coolly back at him, holstering his weapon and drawing the keys from his belt.

 

As John draws the bars of the cell door back, he sees Roman lunge for the opening- just as he knew he would. Putting his weight behind the effort, he slams the heavy bars forward, sending the man crashing back to the floor. He steps in quickly, swinging a savage kick into his gut.

 

Air explodes from his lungs, and Roman doubles over on the cold concrete. It takes every bit of John’s will not to continue to smash the man at his feet into a bloody corpse. The man who has taken all he was… all he covets. “Get up,” he orders, unable to call the man by name.

 

Roman struggles to his feet, aware now that he is no match for the hired gun, despite the wounds he knows lurk under the black uniform. Still, he does not plan to go down without a fight. John sees the man brace himself for another futile attack, and against all instinct he backs away, raising his arms above his shoulders in a gesture of surrender. “Roman.” he forces the word out, “Marlena needs you. Don’t be stupid.”

 

Dimly, Roman recognizes that something odd is at work here, and hesitates to renew the attack. “What do you want?” he queries cautiously.

 

“I want your help. Marlena needs your help,” John replies simply. “You can kill me now, and fail her. Or you can follow me, and get her out of here. Get her home, back to her children. Your children,” he forces himself to say.

 

**************************

 

John strode purposefully back to the front door, trailed by an armed guard who walked with his cap pulled low. He had given in to the need for the pain pills, and he now seemed to float across the floor- intractable… invincible. Filled with power, untouchable, he descends on the men at the door. They turn, sensing danger, and his hand flashes upwards, spewing death from his automatic. The thought of subtlety is foreign, and he slams the doors wide, heading for the plane, not even bothering to glance down at the dead men he leaves in his wake.

 

Roman trails behind, stunned by the brutal force of the man he follows. Dead men in the cell block- dead men at the door. Roman knew violence- knew it intimately. He had killed in his day, when he had to, when there was no other option. Always, the taking of life had left a sickness in his stomach, a sorrow at a life cut short. The man in front of him rolled through the house like a force of nature, giving no more notice to the bleeding bodies than would a hurricane. He felt ill at the thought that this, this creature, had reared his children. Had been with Marlena. Without conscious thought, he lifts his weapon to point at the dark head directly in front of him.

 

Sensing the threat, John whirls to one side, smashing a side hand blow with the arm encased in the brace. Not even feeling the impact as the broken wrist slams into Roman’s head, knocking him to the ground. “Challenge me again, and I won’t even bring her your body,” he hisses. Jerking the downed man roughly to his feet, he shoves him toward the airstrip where Marlena awaits.

 

Something has gone wrong, thinks Marlena, peering through a crack in the rough walls of the small maintenance shed. She thought she had heard shots coming from the house, and the guards at the airstrip were looking worriedly out toward the perimeter. Where is he, she wonders, half-fearing he won’t return- half-fearing he will. And then she sees him… sees them. No, it can’t be. Roman. Roman Brady- as she had first known him. And behind him, the stranger- John- raising a gun toward Roman’s unprotected head. As the pistol belches fire, she runs toward the door.

 

They stride down the hill toward the guards on the perimeter of the airfield. John can sense their confusion… trying to determine if the two men coming toward them are friend or foe. The uniforms confuse them, make them hesitate, just as he knew they would. His drawn weapon is hidden by Brady’s broad back, and as they draw close to the milling guards he raises his weapon, firing over the man’s shoulder. Two men drop, unmoving, and the remaining two scatter as his attention is drawn to Marlena, who bursts from the shed where he had left her to wait. Cursing, he shoves Brady toward her, laying down cover fire as shots begin to pluck at the ground around them.

 

Roman flies across the scant yards separating him from Marlena. She seems oblivious to the gunfire, now cracking with regularity. He scoops her into his arms trying to shield her from the flying shells, trying to ease the trembling in the body he holds closely to him. Quickly, he shoves her behind the protection of the wooden structure from which she came. He holds her tight, lost in the feel of her after all of the years apart. Then a heavy body crashes into the wood next to him, and John is snapping orders like a general born to command. “Brady, get your shit together. I’m going to break for the dunes, draw their fire. As soon as I have their attention, you get her to the jet. Don’t worry about the pre-flight, it should be ready for take-off. Don’t waste any time- get her the hell out of her. And Roman,” he says, looking down at the man, forcing himself to use the man’s given name, “know that eventually, Stefano will come for her again.” With that, John prepares to dash from the protection of the shack.

 

“No! Wait, dammit. I can’t fly that plane. What in the hell are you talking about?” Roman shouts at him.

 

“What do you mean you can’t fly? Of course you can, what the hell kind of agent are you?” John replies harshly, grabbing the man by the shirt and slamming him against the wall. Jesus, he had forgotten. He had gotten his license after he had returned to Marlena, the training made ridiculously easy by the fact that he had been flying DiMera’s jets since he was a teenager. Shit. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t face the family. Couldn’t leave Stephan like this. But above all, he couldn’t fail her.

 

“Damn. When I start to fire, you go. I’ll be right behind.” And with that, he turned the corner and opened-up on the two remaining guards. He emptied his clip, hitting nothing, but keeping their heads down. Then he turned and sprinted after the two figures just reaching the top of the jet’s stairs, slamming the second clip home as he did so.

 

Roman pulled Marlena into the plane and out of the line of fire. He turned in the doorway, watching helplessly as John ran for the stairs, the two remaining guards rising from cover and opening up with their pistols. He could offer nothing in the way of cover fire, his pistol laying in the sand where it had fallen when John had knocked him off his feet. Please, God, let him make it to the plane. As John hit the first step, he suddenly pitched forward, hitting the metal grate hard. The gun jarred loose from his grasp, landing nearly at Roman’s feet. He grabbed the weapon, sending a wild fusillade of shots in the direction of the guards, sending them once again ducking for cover. With one arm, he reached down, dragging the now struggling body through the door. While he cranked the door shut, John staggered to his feet and headed for the cockpit. As the door clanked closed, Roman felt the impact of shots on the outer skin, just as he heard the roar of cold-started engines. He fell back as the plane surged forward, and with a sigh of relief allowed himself to sink to the floor.

 

Chapter 26

 

“Marlena… Doc? Are you okay?” Roman asked, crawling to where she lay curled on the floor next to the now sealed hatch.

 

“Roman? Is it really you?” she cried, taking his face gingerly in her hands. She stared deeply into his eyes, and then pulled him tight in a long embrace. He felt all of his reserves let go, and he sagged into her arms, relishing the feel of her. “I am so sorry… I didn’t know,” she whispered down at his bowed head.

 

“It’s okay, baby. It will all be okay now,” he replied softly. He raised his hand to touch her cheek, and she gasped at the sight of fresh blood.

 

“You’re hit, Roman. Oh God, no.” The professional in her took over. “Just lie still, I need to see how bad it is. Can you tell me where it struck? Did you feel the impact?”

 

“Doc, I feel fine. I…,” he trailed off, noticing the crimson stain on the carpet under the hatch. John had gone down on the stairs… Damn it, no. He had to be well enough to keep the plane in the air. He had to be. Trying not to let his panic show, he smiled up at her. “I’m fine, Doc. Just stay here. Let me go check on our pilot, okay?”

 

He saw the realization of what must have happened dawn in her eyes, and felt a twinge of jealousy as he saw her concern. “No, Roman. I’ll go. He might… he won’t hurt me Roman.” Touching her fingers to his face, she rushed forward to the cockpit.

 

John leaned back in the big pilot’s chair, eyes closed against the bright sun that seemed to dazzle his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he reached for his gun, only to discover it had been lost in the conflict. He allowed himself to ease back once again as Marlena burst through the open passage. She pulled up as she saw him staring at her with empty eyes. Again she felt the chill that went through her every time she saw him now. “Are you okay?” she asked stiffly.

 

“I could seriously use a beer. There’s a fridge just behind the bulkhead. Stefano keeps it stocked with Redhook, a personal favorite of mine. Why don’t you make yourself useful?” He continued to stare through her, praying she would go away. Just being near her was a personal agony. He barely noticed the fire beginning to spread through his left side.

 

His prayer was answered as she turned away, tears in her eyes, and strode stiffly back down the passage. She barely noticed as she brushed past Roman, standing just out of sight behind her. His eyes narrowed in anger, and he stepped forward into the control center of the sleek jet.

 

“Nice to see you’re feeling well enough to be an absolute bastard,” he said coldly.

 

“F**k you too, Roman. What do you want?”

 

“I want a pilot who can get us home. There’s blood in the passageway, and I know it’s not mine or Marlena’s.”

 

“Thanks for the information. Guess I’ll have to get the rug shampooed before I take the plane back to DiMera. He’s going to be pissed enough as it is. A dirty rug just might push him over the edge.”

 

Roman simply stared down at the man in the pilot’s chair. He had never seen anyone so cold. It was like there was no emotion inside the man outside of the rage of battle. Roman briefly wondered if everything he had seen the man go through chained in the cell had simply driven him insane. “Look, I just need to know if you can get this plane home. That’s really all I care about. Can you do it or not?”

 

“Oh, I can get you home alright. I’ve already got the coordinates set for the automatic pilot. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Oh, and I would appreciate my gun back. See you’ve got it tucked in your waistband. It was a gift, you see. Has some sentimental value.”

 

Roman thought he would rather stick needles in his eyes than give a weapon to this man. “Think I’ll keep it for a while. I kind of like the look of it.”

 

John simply stared through him and shoved the steering column forward, sending the plane into a sharp dive. Quietly he said, “You can give me my gun, or we can become a very small oil slick on a very big ocean.” Then he smiled a wolf’s grin, “Your call Brady.”

 

With absolutely no doubt that the man meant what he said, Roman handed the stylized weapon over. John seemed to hesitate for a long second, and then almost reluctantly pulled the plane out of the dive. “Get out of here, and don’t ever think of pushing me again. You should know that your very existence serves to piss me off. My preferred method for dealing with this problem would be to simply end that existence.” And he once again leaned back in the chair closing his eyes and draping the gun across his lap.

 

Roman backed away from the psychopath controlling the plane, and turned to find Marlene sitting dazed on the floor. “Doc, are you okay?”

 

“I think so, just lost my footing when the plane dropped. What happened?”

 

“He wanted his gun back, and decided to offer me a little incentive to comply. It’s okay. If he wanted to use the gun, he would have already. He has set the course for Salem, so I think everything will be okay. We’re going home, Doc. Everything is going to be okay now.”

 

John watched the bright lights dance behind his closed eyelids, allowing himself to sink deeper and deeper toward oblivion. For how long he lay there, he had no idea. A sudden jolt of turbulence caused him to snap his eyes open, but the instruments blurred in his gaze. So tired, he thought. With a start, he realized he was coming down. If he crashed off the drugs now, he might not wake up until it was too late. He fumbled in his pocket for the vial of pills, but it slipped from his weakening grasp. He tried to reach for it, but pain shot through him and he leaned back, concentrating on retaining consciousness. Trying hard to focus, he called out.

 

“Roman? Roman, I need a hand in here.” His voice sounded weak in his ears, but he wasn’t sure he could call out again. Fortunately, Roman came in just as he was trying to gather the will to call again.

 

“Need some pills, but I dropped them. I need to keep my eye on the road, so you get to find them for me.”

 

Roman almost turned on his heal and walked out, but he could sense that something wasn’t quite right. “Why do you need pills?”

 

“Narcoloepsy. A severe case of narcolepsy. Now will you just get the damn pills!”

 

He reached down, grabbing the bottle that rested at the base of the pilot’s chair. Holding them out to John, he noticed the crusting blood on the man’s hands. Blood doesn’t show clearly on the black material of the fatigues, but the drying crust on John’s left side was evidence enough that the man was bleeding badly. Roman leaned over to check the wound, and found the 9 millimeter thrust under his chin. “Just give me the pills and go away.”

 

Roman stood still, undecided. Then he called out in a firm voice, “Doc, can you come in here?” For a split second he thought he saw John’s finger tighten on the trigger. Then Marlena was there, her presence effectively disarming the man in the chair.

 

“Roman, what’s wrong,” she asked, carefully watching the tense scene in front of her.

 

“I think you need to check him over. Make sure he’s going to be able to land this plane once we get it home.” He backed slowly away, giving her room to look at the man who slowly lowered his gun. From behind, he heard her gasp as she took in the bloodstained hands, the crusting uniform.

 

“We have to get him in back. I need to see what kind of damage was done,” Marlena said, once again slipping into her doctor’s persona.

 

The man in the chair had once again closed his eyes tiredly. “Just give me the pills, Doc,” he said, almost to himself. “Stimulants, painkillers… keep me going. If I crash out, I might not come to. Just keep me on the meds,” he said, his voice now almost a whisper.

 

Ignoring his protestations, she turned to Roman. “Help me get him up.” Working together, they got the now almost unconscious man to his feet and half-dragged him toward the back of the plane.

 

Chapter 27

 

Marlena felt sick, staring down at the wounded body beneath her fingers. They had laid him down on the floor in the main seating area to give her room to work. She had feared the damage done by the bullet, but what she found was much worse. Pulling his shirt open, she had revealed stained bandages wrapping his entire chest. Blood crusted on his left side, and she could see the still oozing exit hole. She had sent Roman to find the first aid kit, and then gently eased the fevered body out of the shirt. The bandages continued down his arms, stained in spots with old blood. His left arm, encased in a leather and steel brace, had started to swell, and the skin was splitting where the heavy leather met the skin. Trying to maintain her professional detachment, she began to remove the bandages in order to fully assess the damage.

 

“Doc?” the man beneath her called out softly. “I’m sorry Doc… didn’t know. I am so sorry.” He was sobbing now, and Marlena could tell he had no conscious awareness. It was impossible to reconcile the wounded man in her arms with the cold-blooded killer she had seen stalking the DiMera compound.

 

“It’s okay, honey. It will all be okay. I promise. Just hang on. For me, just hang on,” she whispered to him, trying to halt the flow of her own tears. As she peeled the strapping from his ribs, he tried to draw himself up, falling on his side and knotting into a ball. She gathered his head into her lap and simply held him, waiting for Roman to get back and help her. She needed to cut the bandages loose, and she would need his help to hold the man steady so that he didn’t end up puncturing a lung. He was whimpering now, crying out in his delirium. “Don’t hurt her Stefano. Please, God, I’ll do anything you want. I beg you… ”

 

She rubbed his shoulders, willing him to relax, and felt the needle tracks that dotted his shoulders and neck. God, no wonder his mind is so messed-up. ” Easy, honey. I’m here. He didn’t hurt me. Just hang on a little longer for me.”

 

***********************************

 

Marlena sat back, exhausted both mentally and physically. John was laying peacefully now, a heavy blanket pulled to his chin, covering the fresh array of bandages that held his chest together.

 

The gunshot itself was merely an added aggravation to a body that had been pushed to its limit and beyond. It had cut in and out, low on his left side. Luckily, it hadn’t been a hollow point, hadn’t mushroomed or fragmented. She was fairly certain it had missed the kidney, though there was no way to tell for certain at the moment. She hadn’t touched his arms, afraid the pain of dressing the wounds would send him into shock. They would have to wait for a trauma unit. She started, as she felt ‘Roman’s’ hand grip her shoulder.

 

“Doc, come on. You need to lie down, take it easy. You’ve had a lot to take in, and I know you’re worried about him.”

 

“Roman, I’m sorry, I’m just so confused. I feel as if I betrayed you, and now seeing what they did to him, I feel as if I’ve betrayed him too. Roman, I thought he was you for so long. I believed it because I wanted to, I needed you so badly. But Stefano was right. He became Roman Brady because I wanted him to. He was a husband, a father, and then he was nothing again. I gave him everything, and then he had it torn away- punished for loving me, loving the children. Whatever he is now, it’s my fault. Can’t you see that?”

 

“Doc, I’ve seen this man in action. He is sick. Something is missing inside of him. You didn’t do that to him. I don’t care to think what did, but he was Stefano’s man before you ever met him. We should both just be grateful he didn’t revert to type with you or the kids. Doc, killing is nothing to him- he’s dangerous. I’m willing to let him let him leave, let him go back to Stefano. He saved you, and I owe him more than my own life. But that doesn’t mean I trust him any further than I could throw him. You can’t save some people, Marlena. You’ll only get hurt if you try.”

 

“Roman, you better radio in to Salem. Let them know we’re coming. The kids… what is this going to do to the kids?”

 

“Their father, their true father, is coming home,” he said angrily. “I don’t see the problem, Marlena!”

 

“Oh honey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. I am so sorry for all that Stephan did to you, for all of the years taken from you. But the kids, he raised them. They worship him, they think of him as their father. To tell them he works for Stephan, that he is a hired killer… It will rip their lives apart. Can’t you see that, Roman. The last time you saw the twins, they were 1 year olds. When he got back, he was going to help them practice for their driving permits.” She paused. “Roman,” she said softly, “I don’t want you to tell anyone what he is. Not yet. Tell them you are coming home. Tell them ‘John’ didn’t know who he was, that he thought he was you. That’s truth enough for now.”

 

Roman was truly angry now. How could she protect this man who had stolen so much from him. He shot back, “And just how exactly are you planning to keep what he is a secret. I think everyone’s going to notice when he wakes up and starts randomly slaughtering people!” With that, he stormed toward the cockpit.

 

***********************************

 

John came to slowly, groggily reaching for the controls of the aircraft. He brushed against skin, smooth as silk, and slowly focused on Marlena’s face hovering just above him. “Doc… what?” The drugs pumped through his system, bringing awareness. He slowly dropped his arm. “What happened?”

 

“You passed out- you should have told me what they did to you- how badly you were hurt. We need to get you to a hospital as soon as we land. R…Roman radioed ahead. Bo and Abe are going to meet us at the airport with an ambulance. It’s going to be okay,” she whispered down at him.

 

Gazing up into her face, it was all he could do to force breathe into his lungs. God, she is so beautiful, he thinks.

 

“The drugs worked- is he going to be able to fly?”, a voice cut in.

 

Sensing a threat, John reaches for his holster, resting his grip on the comforting form of the gun butt beneath his fingers. Feeling the sense of disembodiment of powerful drugs, he grins up into the face of Roman Brady. “Couple more pills, I’ll fly without this plane!”

 

“John,” Marlena chides. “Go easy- we had to give you some of those pills to bring you to- you’ve been out cold the whole trip. You shouldn’t even be conscious, but the airport is coming up, and we have to land. Just hold on a little longer, and we’ll get you some help.”

 

Trying to sit up, John failed. He opted for rolling to his side in order to gather his legs underneath himself and lever himself to his feet. He didn’t even notice that most of his weight was taken by Marlena, supporting him under his right shoulder. Swaying, his arm holding Marlena close against his side, he found himself staring into the face of Roman Brady. Suddenly, he was aware of Doc held tight in his embrace, and almost roughly, he pushed himself away, lurching toward the cockpit.

 

************************************

 

Bo leaned against the metal door of the ambulance, anxiously scanning the skies. “What’s the word from the tower,” he queried of Abe cover, who sat bent over the ambulance’s mike.

 

“The tower just confirmed them for final approach, Bo. They should be down any minute.”

 

“I just can’t believe that Roman… that Roman’s really been DiMera’s prisoner for all of these years. I can’t believe it wasn’t my brother who has been here all of these years. God… I just finally feel so close to the guy, and now I find out it wasn’t really my brother… I just don’t know what to think, what to feel, about either one of them.”

 

“I know what you mean Bo, but we just have to give it some time… have a little faith. The man who left here to go hunt Stefano is a good man, a man I’m proud to call a friend. And your brother, Roman, he is a good man too, Bo. We just have to have some faith and give the whole thing a little time.”

 

In silence, the two men watched as the sleek jet screamed toward the runway, seeming to be coming in far too fast for safety. Skipping roughly across the tarmac, smoke billowed as brakes ground and the tires skittered for traction. Still rolling, the plane skewed around sharply as the runway ran out, and in a cloud of dust the aircraft came to a halt.

 

The ambulance carrying Bo and Abe screeched to a halt near the plane’s exit before the dust settled, and Bo leaped out to the sight of his brother standing in the open hatchway. Hardly believing his eyes, he hesitantly approached the descending stairs. “Roman- is it really you?”

 

“Bo, God it is good to see you little brother. Come on up, I think I’m going to need some help.”

 

“What is it? Is it Marlena? Is she okay?”

 

“She’s fine. As soon as the plane stopped, she went up front- to him,” Roman replied, his voice sounding strangely bitter to Bo’s ears.

 

As he reached the doorway, Bo dropped all concern for the future, and took his brother into a strong embrace. “Roman, I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but I swear, this will all be okay. But if you’re all fine, why did you ask for the ambulance? The message from the radio tower said you needed medical assistance? Who’s on the plane besides the three of you?”

 

“It’s John, he’s pretty banged-up.”

 

“But I thought you said he was piloting? He’s hurt? Damn, let’s get him out of here,” Bo exclaimed, heading for the front of the plane. In his wake, Roman grimly followed.

 

******************************************

 

“Marlena, dammit. Get off the plane. I am fine, just get out of here. ‘Tower, this is nc178 requesting refueling for immediate take-off. Over.’ ”

 

Wedging himself into the cockpit, Bo put a hand to the man’s shoulder. “What’s up? What’s the problem you two?”

 

The man turned, “Bo, get her the hell off of this plane. I’ve got to start my pre-flight.”

 

Bo gasped at the sight that confronted him. “Oh God, R…Uh, John. Come on bro, we’ve got to get you to a hospital.” Beneath the bandages and swelling, Bo could hardly recognize the face of the man he had thought of as a brother for almost 14 years. Shifting his grip, he tried to help lever John out of the pilot’s chair, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a 9 millimeter handgun. Slowly he relaxed his grip and backed away.

 

“Bo, I want you to get these people off the plane right now. Take my word for it, this is best for everyone. Now get them the hell out of here,” the ravaged face hissed at him.

 

More startled than anything, Bo backed away from the look of menace emanating from a man he knew as a brother. “John? Just take it easy. We just want to help, okay?”

 

“Honey, put the gun down,” said Marlena softly, putting her hand on top of his, now trembling under the weight of the gun. Surrendering to his own weariness, the man in the pilot’s seat lowers his weapon, allowing Bo to pluck it from his hand.

 

Too tired to fight further, he tries one last tactic. Tilting his now drooping head, he squints toward the back of the hallway. “Roman… Roman, you know I’m right. It’s too dangerous for me to stay. I have to go back to DiMera. He won’t hurt me, and I can keep him from coming for Marlena. Roman, let me go back.”

 

“No, John. You can’t go back,” Marlena interjected. Taking charge, she ordered, “Bo, help me up with him. He has to get to the hospital.”

 

Grasping John around his waist, Bo could feel the heavy bandages wrapping his ribs. Trying to be gentle, he levered John to his feet. Supporting almost his full body weight, Bo half dragged him to the stairs, and as John appeared to lose consciousness, he hefted him into his arms and carried him down the stairs.

 

Chapter 28

 

“Marlena, damn him. We do not need to wait around and see how he is. Let him get out of here as fast as he can, and good riddance,” Roman said angrily. Standing in the middle of the hospital corridor, he held Marlena in place with a firm grip.

 

“Roman, I have known him for the past 10 years, I can’t just abandon him like that! Besides, he’s been so . . . so abused. We don’t know whether he really remembers who he is or not. I just can’t believe he was a killer. Not like that. I just can’t believe it,” Marlena cried.

 

Bo came striding quickly up to the couple in the hallway. “Okay, you two. I want you to tell me what is going on. What happened to him? Why is he trying to get away from here, from his family? What is going on?”

 

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, little brother” Roman stormed back. “Your ‘bro’ in there is nothing more than one of Stefano’s hired guns. He’s a stone cold killer, and all of you accepted him as me! That’s what wrong!”

 

Bo stepped back, stunned. “No way. No way. Marlena?”

 

“I… I don’t know, Bo. But… I did see him kill a man. He, he just shot him as he lay helpless. Shot him again and again. He isn’t the man I thought he was, Bo. He scares me… but… Bo, he risked everything to get us out of there. And Stefano, he beat him and drugged him, and I’m just not sure he even knows who he is right now. I can’t just write him off, Bo.”

 

“What did John say? Did he say for sure he worked for DiMera,” Bo asked, a shocked look on his face.

 

“Bo, there is no doubt. I was there when he remembered. He was yelling for Stefano to get him out of the cell. Bo, DiMera carried him out of there like he was golden. He locked-up the guy who did the damage to him, and according to Marlena, he let John kill the man. I have no doubts, John was close to DiMera, high-up in his organization. I don’t know what he was when he was living as me, but now he is just violent, Bo. A killer. I don’t want him anywhere near my family.”

 

Bo looked stricken. The man in the hospital room had been as close to him as anyone in his life. The thought that it had all been a lie… a trick of Stefano DiMera’s… “Marlena, are you sure it’s true?”

 

“John says it is. He said he had always worked for DiMera- his right-hand man. When he was here as Roman, he didn’t know who he was. He accepted that he was Roman Brady. But now… now he says he remembers who he really is. He believes it, Bo. He believes he is DiMera’s hired gun, and he wants to go back to him.”

 

“Dammit. I’ve already called mom and pop, they’re on their way down right now. This is going to kill them. Oh God… the kids. What’s this going to do to Carrie and the twins?”

 

“Bo, their father is back. They’re going to be fine. The man was an imposter- he’s gone now. It’s all going to be for the best.” Roman said, heatedly.

 

“Yeah, bro,” Bo replied dubiously. “It’s just, well it’s hard not to think of him as family. It’s going to be really hard for the kids. For everybody. Roman, I don’t know what kind of man he is now, but he has been there for all of us for so long- it’s going to be hard to adjust to.”

 

“Roman!?” The cry drew their attention, and they looked to see Caroline Brady rushing down the hall to her eldest son. “I couldn’t believe it when Bo told me. Oh, Roman,” she said, taking him into her arms and holding tightly, tears streaming down her face. For perhaps the first time in years, Roman allowed himself to truly relax, lost in his mother’s arms.

 

“Ma… it’s been so long.” he said softly.

 

Turning, Marlena brushed at the tears now falling from her own eyes. Oh Lord, she prayed. This is so unfair… to both of them. Please let this all be okay. Please God, watch over both of these men.

 

“Son, my son,” said Sean, coming up behind Caroline to grasp Roman’s shoulder. “We are so glad you are okay.”

 

The moment was broken as Mike came out from the trauma unit. “How is he, Mike?” Bo asked urgently.

 

“Is he going to be okay, Mike?” Sean echoed, the worried look in his eyes bringing Roman back to the realities of the moment.

 

“We’re still running tests. He’s… he’s been beaten badly, and he hasn’t been allowed to heal. The X-rays don’t reveal any permanent damage- some broken ribs, a broken wrist, deep bruising, but all of that should heal given time. It’s the drugs that have us worried. We analyzed the pills he’s been taking. Strong stuff. It would have to be to keep him on his feet in the condition he’s in. But the tests indicate other substances we haven’t been able to identify. It’s making it hard to know how to treat him, and we don’t know if it may result in long term effects.”

 

“Mike,” Marlena interrupted. “I don’t think Stefano wanted him permanently injured. Whatever he gave him, I don’t think there will be any lasting effects.”

 

“I hope you’re right, Marlena, because right now, there isn’t much we can do about it.”

 

Still holding tight to her son’s arm, Caroline asked, “When can we see him, Mike. I need to be sure he’s okay, that he’s still with us?”

 

“It’s going to be a while. They have to set the wrist, stabilize his right eye-socket. His arms… they’re pretty cut-up and infected. Why don’t you all go sit down, have some coffee? I’ll send a nurse once they have him cleaned up. Don’t expect too much. He probably won’t regain consciousness for quite some time. He’s been through a lot. I just want you to be prepared for it, okay?” As the Bradys turned toward the waiting room, Mike called quietly to Marlena, “Can we see you inside for a minute?”

 

“Of course, Mike,” she replied.

 

Roman watched as she followed Mike down the hall, then turned slowly to join his family.

 

*********************************

 

“What is it Mike? Is he really okay?” Marlena asked, following Mike into the trauma unit.

 

“I haven’t gotten the full story of what’s going on- though I know that ‘Roman’ wasn’t Roman. But the guy we have in there… Marlena, what did Stefano do to him? We had to put him in restraints as soon as we got him in here. He was delusional, yelling and screaming and he damn near choked one of our nurses who was trying to hold him down. I need to know what’s going on. Is it the drugs DiMera gave him? He is really out of control, and when he comes to, I need to know what to expect.”

 

“Oh, Mike. I don’t know what to tell you. It looks like John might have been one of Stefano’s operatives- at least that is what he believes. When he was Roman, well, he had been brainwashed to forget who he was, and ended up believing he was Roman Brady. Stefano drugged him- tortured him- into ‘remembering’ who he was, but I’m still not sure about it all. But Mike, he is dangerous. I watched him kill a man. He isn’t the man we all remember, so just be careful with him- especially if he’s delusional.”

 

“Marlena, have you told the family?” Mike asked worriedly.

 

“I… I want to wait until he’s conscious, until he can explain what happened. Mike, I just can’t believe the man I knew would have every willingly worked for DiMera. And I can’t tell the kids that the man who raised them is a hired killer until things become clearer. Mike, I can keep him calm until he comes around. I’ll stick around until he’s lucid, make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else. I don’t want to scare anyone with this, not if we don’t have to. Please Mike, I’ll watch him. Just don’t let it out that he’s violent, not until we know more.”

 

“Marlena, you know it’s not my job to make announcements about my patient’s mental health. I’m just worried about how best to treat him. But you have to know this is going to come out… you’d better be prepared. And Marlena, Roman’s a cop. He’s going to have to tell Bo and Abe what he knows, and then… well, you have to face the possibility that there may well be an arrest warrant out for John. It might be best to get the kids ready for that possibility. I know one thing- I sure wouldn’t want them around him the in state he was in when he was brought here. You’re going to have to tell them something, and I’ve found the truth is usually best.”

 

“Mike, I know you’re right. I just need some time. Time to figure out what the truth is. In my head, I know what I have to do. My heart just won’t let me believe the man I have loved for the past 14 years was a sociopathic killer. It just can’t be.” Marlena said, as much to herself as to Mike, the tears begining to flow down her cheeks.

 

Mike simply took her into his arms, holding tightly and letting her cry herself out. “It’s okay, Marlena. It will all be okay. The main thing is that you are back. All of you. Back safe and sound, and the rest will work itself out. Okay?”

 

************************

 

Walking down the corridor to the waiting room, Marlena stopped to lean against the wall, catch her breath. How did this all become so complicated, she wonders. Poor Roman, this should be a joyous homecoming, but all I can think of is… the other. One day at a time she tells herself, and turns the corner to go to her family.

 

She rounds the corner to find the children have arrived, and Roman is holding all three tightly to him. Stepping back, he puts his hands to Carrie’s face. “I just can’t believe how much you have grown. Carrie… my God, you’re an adult now. Look at you.”

 

At that instance, Sami catches sight of her mother, and comes to her at a run. “Mom, we were so worried,” she exclaims, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother’s waist. “Thank goodness you are okay. And Daddy, they couldn’t tell us anything. Mom, is he going to be okay?”

 

Tears streaming down her face, Marlena looks up in time to catch Roman’s frown of displeasure. Returning Sami’s embrace, she looks to her other children. “It’s all going to be okay, kids. He’s just a little beat-up and they want to keep him under observation for a while. Look, why don’t we all go sit down. I know this has to be confusing to you, but it will all work out. The important thing is we are all here, and we can face whatever comes together.”

 

**************************

 

The whole family clustered around a big dinning table in the almost deserted cafeteria. “I still don’t understand, Mom. Are you saying that our Dad, or, the guy who raised us, was really working for Stefano DiMera? That just doesn’t make any sense. Dad would never hurt us, or you Mom,” Eric stated. “There’s no way that’s right. We would have known. You have to be wrong.”

 

The children’s responses to the news were consistent with each of their characters, Marlena thought to herself. Carrie was quiet, turning inwards to process the information flowing around her. Eric was openly suspicious of both the story being laid out and of Roman himself. He was so like his father… or rather John. Expressive, confrontational, and feeling very much the need to protect his mother and sisters from any outside threat. In many way+s, though, it was Sami who had Marlena most concerned. She seemed to have distanced herself from the entire procedure, and Marlena was not certain she had really heard their explanation of the complex relationship between the man who had left town as their father, and the one who had returned. Though Rom…, no John… John loved all of his children, he and Sami shared a special bond. She was her Daddy’s girl, and did not appear interested in even engaging in a discussion that would challenge that relationship. The situation had to be handled very carefully if there was any hope of this family surviving intact.

 

“Eric… kids, we don’t know what John’s relationship to Stefano is. I’m not even sure he really knows. He was drugged, maybe even brainwashed. But there is no doubt that he is not Roman Brady. He didn’t know this until DiMera triggered his memories. He thought he was your father, your biological father. That was a mistake on DiMera’s part. John was a father to you, a good father. And he has always protected this family. He is the one who brought me and Roman back to you. It’s just that he is not the man we all thought he was. And the man who is your father, he is back after all of these years. And the only thing that has kept him going for all the years as a prisoner was his family. You owe him your respect,” Marlena said gently.

 

“Son, we are so sorry for what has happened to you,” Sean said, shifting the focus of the table to Roman. “It’s just, it was so hard when we thought you died. It was such a relief when we thought you had come back. You were different- more brittle, more intense. But over time, Roman, it just came to seem as if your time away had hardened you. He never gave us any reason to doubt him. He was always there for the family. But I am sorry, so sorry, that we accepted it so willingly. It was just that we wanted you back so badly.”

 

Fighting to control the hurt he was feeling, Roman shook his head. “It’s okay, Pop. There was really no way you could know that I was locked in some damn cell while an imposter watched over my family. I’m just glad he never hurt any of you.”

 

Incensed, Eric snorted out, “Dad would never hurt any of us. I don’t care what you say. How do we know that this isn’t some trick of DiMeras?”

 

“He’s right,” a calm voice cut in. All eyes turned to Carrie, who until this point had remained a mute observer.

 

“Carrie?” Marlena prompted, when she failed to continue with her thought.

 

“Grandpa is right. He was different. When he came back, I mean. Sami and Eric were too little when he left. They don’t remember. But, when he came back, he was different. Not just his memory. He was… more careful. I remember when he picked me up when I was little. It was like I was made of glass. Like he had never held me before, and he thought he might break me. It’s like, before, he took us all for granted. I mean, like it was just normal. To have a family, to love each other. But when he came back… Well, even now. I would sometimes watch him, watching us. It was like we were something very precious. Some rare thing that he couldn’t believe existed, and that might disappear at any time. Grandpa is right. He was different.”

 

The room was quiet, each lost in contemplation, until Sami said plaintively, “I want to see Dad, Mom. Didn’t Mike say we could see him?”

 

“Sami, why don’t you waite until tomorrow,” Roman cut in. “Mike said he wouldn’t be able to talk until tomorrow at best. Maybe you should just get some rest. Let this all sink in. You can see him in the morning, if you want to.”

 

Irritated at being told what to do by a man who pretended to be her father, Sami became stubborn, as only she could. “I am not leaving here until I see my Dad, and I don’t have to do anything you say,” she virtually hissed at him.

 

Laying a gentling hand on Roman’s forearm to forestall an angry retort, Marlena said sternly, “Samantha, you are welcome to your own interpretation of events, at least until the DNA tests come back. But you will show respect. Now, I think it might be a good idea to wait and give John time to gain strength.” Noting the stubborn glint in Sami’s eye, a look so like her ‘father’s’ when he had made his mind up about something, Marlena sighed in surrender. “However, if you really want to look in on him, Mike did say it would be okay. Just, we really need to let him rest, so try and be as quiet as you can. Okay? I’m going to stay here tonight, just to make sure he is okay, and I will call you if anything at all happens.”

 

“Thanks, mom. I’ll be really quiet. I just want to see that he’s okay,” Sami replied gratefully.

 

****************************

 

As Sami hesitantly pushed the door of the private room open, Marlena took Roman’s hand and pulled him back. “Give them a minute alone, Roman.”

 

As the door shut quietly behind the three children, Roman turned angrily. “They should not be in there. That man is not stable, and I don’t want him near my kids. He has done enough harm already. I won’t let him cause more.”

 

“Roman, you have to understand. He is the only father they have known for the past 13 years. You can’t expect that he would just drop out of their lives. We need to be able to work with him to help the children accept what has happened. If you attack him, it is just going to confuse the children, drive them away from you. It will just take some time for them to come to grips with what has happened.”

 

“Marlena, the only way for us to get on with our life together is to get him out of it. As soon as he is out of this hospital, he’s either getting out of town or he’s going to jail. This issue is not open for discussion!” With that, Roman stormed away down the long hospital corridor.

 

Sighing in frustration, Marlena gently pushed the hospital door open and went to join her children. Eric and Carrie stood together at the foot of the bed, looking down at the battered figure they could just make out in the dimmed lights. Marlena could see the confusion written plainly on their faces. It was the same confusion she herself felt. Sami, however, seemed to be operating under no such constraints. Standing beside the bed, she had John’s good hand clutched firmly in her grasp.

 

“Daddy? It’s me, Sami. Please, Daddy. Can you hear me?” she was saying softly, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Daddy, please…” she whispered.

 

They stood a moment more, looking down at the figure who had been the center of their family for so long. He lay motionless, only the gentle rising of his chest indicating that he was still alive. Putting her arms around Eric and Carrie, Marlena pulled them close. “Come on kids. We need to let him rest.”

 

As Sami showed no inclination to move, Marlena went to her and put her arms around the young woman’s shoulders. “Come on, honey. He will get better, but we need to give him time to heal. We’ll come back tomorrow when he’s awake. Okay?,” she asked, pulling Sami around to face her.

 

Unable to speak, Sami simply nodded and allowed her mother to lead her from the room.

 

Chapter 29

 

Marlena eased down into the folding chair set beside John’s bed. Sean and Caroline had taken the children home with them, and for the first time since John had appeared at her door and ordered her to accompany him, she had time to examine her own feelings about what had happened. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips, as she recognized herself slipping into ‘shrink mode’, as Ro… no, as John had always called it. No wonder she was so confused. There was so much history. So many memories. This was the man she had been married to. Roman, the real Roman, had been a part of her life for less than 2 years. They had been great years, but it was so long ago. John was the man in her mind’s eye when she pictured her husband…her family. Ruefully, she reached out and took his hand in her own. Knowing he couldn’t hear her, she spoke aloud to herself, as much as to him. “Why did it have to be like this? Why did you have to work for DiMera? Oh, John…” she said with sorrow.

 

Peering through the small window in the hospital door, Roman watched as his wife held the hand of the man who had stolen his life. Damn it, he would not let the man get away with this. He had just gotten off of the phone with Jameson, his controller from his days with the ISA, now an assistant director at the agency. While he had been very interested to find out that John Black had surfaced, he had also informed Roman that there were no warrants out for the man. While they had a dossier on Black going back to his teens, he had always been a bit too good for them to get anything that would hold up in court. Even Roman admitted that nothing that had happened on the island would put John away. In the first place, it was outside of U.S. jurisdiction. In the second place, Roman thought grimly, Marlena wouldn’t testify to anything that would see him locked up. Concealing his frustration, Roman pushed the door open and went to join his wife.

 

“Hey,” he called to her quietly.

 

Almost guiltily, Marlena released John’s hand and turned to smile up at him. “Hey yourself. Are you okay?,” she asked with concern.

 

Moving to her side, he laid a hand on her shoulder and looked down at the body of the man in the bed. “Yea, I’m fine. Sorry I was so abrupt with you. This is all just a little hard for me to take. I just,…, I missed you so much for so many years. This isn’t how I saw my homecoming. Marlena, it’s just that I love you so much. I want this to be done with. I want us to be together again.” Looking down at her face, he almost missed the glint of light reflected off of John’s good eye. Masking his recognition of the fact that John was conscious, he again focused his attention on Marlena. “Look, you must be exhausted. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll sit with him. Why don’t you go try and get some rest. Mike said we can use the empty room next door.”

 

Marlena looked uncertain, but Roman placed a hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. “Come on. Sleep will do you good. Tomorrow looks to be a long day, and you’ve been through a lot.”

 

She laughed at the understatement, and allowed Roman to lead her out of the room.

 

****************************

 

Marlena safely ensconced in the bed Mike had made available, Roman eased back into John’s room. “I know you’re awake, you bastard. Stop pretending.”

 

A low chuckle emanated from the still figure occupying the bed. “I thought you caught that,” John’s voice said weakly. “Thanks for coming back.”

 

“I didn’t do it as a favor. I just don’t want you anywhere near Marlena. Or anyone else in my family for that matter.”

 

“Nice to see we’re in agreement, Roman. While we’re on the topic, there is something I need you to do,” John said, searching the other man’s face.

 

“I’d say the odds of me doing anything for you are somewhere between slim and none, John. But I admire the gall it took to ask,” Roman replied, attempting to keep his hands from curling into fists.

 

“Oh, I think you’ll do this, Roman. I think you’ll be glad to. I need you to help me get back to DiMera.” When Roman just stared at him blankly, John continued. “You know as well as I do that I can’t stay here. It will only hurt Marlena, the kids… the whole family. I’ve got to get back to DiMera. If I go back voluntarily, I may have a chance with him. If I don’t, it only means he’ll come for Marlena and the kids that much sooner. Roman- you know you want me out of her life. Get me out of this damn hospital, and I’m out of your lives for good. What do you say?”

 

“What makes you think I’ll help you with anything, John. I don’t owe you a damn thing, not considering what you did to me.”

 

“Do you really want me here, Roman. Everyday. With Doc and the kids. Do you know, Roman… I still dream about her. I dream about how we used to make love, and I think maybe, just maybe, I can have that again. Roman, if I stay, I’ll destroy her. You’re not doing me any favors by helping me leave, Roman. You’re doing her a favor,” John said, deliberately pushing all of Roman’s buttons.

 

Roman stared down at the pale figure in the bed. This man had already stolen so much of his life. He was right. Roman didn’t want him to ever even see Marlena again. “Okay, John. Tell me what you need me to do.”

 

**********************************************

 

At 11:45 the night shift desk-nurse started her patient rounds, and as she turned the corner, the door to John’s private room slowly eased open. Seconds later, the bundled form of John Black was wheeled toward the service elevator. As the doors closed, he looked up from the wheelchair at Roman. “You contacted the number I gave you? The men are waiting in the parking structure?”

 

“Yea, John. I called D-Bar Enterprises and gave them the codewords. They said they’d have a man waiting. Are you going back to the island? Abe says they have no extradition treaty- DiMera, and you, are safe from the law down there.”

 

“Don’t really know where I’m going. I’m sure they contacted DiMera. They’ll take me wherever he told them to. Personally, I’m hoping against it being a landfill.” John said wryly.

 

Roman looked momentarily startled at the thought. “You don’t really think… ”

 

“No… not Stefano’s style. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll prefer to express his displeasure personally. Don’t sweat it. Me and DiMera go way back. In the end, he’ll take me back… Roman,” said John, turning suddenly serious. “I left a note for Marlena by the bed. It just explains some things. Would you make sure she gets it?”

 

Knuckles whitening on the grips as he wheeled John toward the first row of cars, Roman simply replied “I’ll take care of it John.”

 

As they reached the curb, a black Mercedes glided to a halt beside them, a silver haired man in an impeccably tailored suite emerging from the back. “John Black, I assume,” he asked, looking expectantly at the man in the chair. “Mr. DiMera is very eager to see you. If you will get in, we have to meet the jet in less than 20 minutes.”

 

As he had done when he helped John from his bed in the hospital room above, Roman finds he has to take almost the man’s full weight in order to lever him from the chair to the car. For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of John’s leaving so soon. Before he could give voice to his concerns, however, he felt John take his right hand in a firm grasp.

 

“Take care of her, Roman” And the black car rolled out into the night.

 

*****************************

 

High in the mountains of Europe, a servant walked noiselessly through granite halls. Rapping lightly on the double doors to the library, he awaited permission to enter. Dreading delivering the news to his master, he half hoped that his knock would go unacknowledged.

 

“Come,” a gruff voice ordered.

 

The library soared a full 3 stories, dominated on one end by a marble fireplace surrounded by stained-glass windows depicting the family history. Hesitantly, the servant approached the lord of the manor, lounging at ease behind a huge oak desk. The man’s looks belied his age. At 48, his massive body was still toned and firm. His 6’3 frame easily carrying in excess of 210 pounds, the man was built like a bear. The analogy was enhanced by the long black hair he wore pulled back, knotted with a leather band. He was dressed casually, but expensively. Fine wool trousers, in the black he always tended to favor, encased long legs. Dark chest hair, shot through with grey, peaked from the gap in the silk shirt he wore. On the middle finger of his right hand, the only piece of jewelry he wore glinted in the early morning light. The family crest, a gryphon rampant on a field of emerald green, was depicted in heavy gold, a sign of his sovereignty.

 

“Well, Ivan? What is it? You know I hate to be disturbed when I’m working,” the man snapped irritably.

 

“Sir, I’m sorry sir. A message just came in that I thought you would want to be made aware of immediately. One of our contacts in the ISA. It appears John Black has finally resurfaced. Apparently he wasn’t dead, as we had initially surmised. He’s back, and still a member of the DiMera cartel.”

 

“Damn it!,” the man behind the desk swore. He slammed a hand against the desk, the sound ringing out like a rifle shot. “I felt that he was still alive. He wouldn’t die that easily… I should know. Get in touch with our contact. I want a sample of his DNA sent here immediately. Ivan, I want that sample yesterday. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir. I will see to it.” Relieved at being able to escape the man’s presence, Ivan scurried quickly to the door.

 

As the doors swung shut behind the frightened servant, Mikovitch Alamain leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Softly, he muttered to himself, “It’s time we find out for certain if you are still out there, little brother.”

 

Chapter 30

 

Stefano DiMera sits behind the solid slab of mahogany that constitutes his desk, fingers tapping impatiently against the glossy wood. He is still fuming from the betrayal. From coming home to find his troops decimated, his captive gone, and the man he would have trusted with his life a traitor. “Damn him,” he cries, hurling the snifter of cognac, smashing it against the heavy leaded glass of the parlor windows.

 

“Um, sir?,” a hireling interrupts timidly from the door. “The jet has landed. They want to know if you want him brought here or to the infirmary?”

 

“I want him here, you fool. I didn’t bring him all this way just to put him back in a hospital.” Composing himself, DiMera sits back in the leather chair, lighting a thick cigar to give his hands something to do. He looks up at the sharp wrap on the door, and at his brisk “Enter,” two men come in, struggling under the weight of John’s unconscious form.

 

“What the hell did you idiots do to him! I told you… no one but me was to so much as touch him!”

 

The man in the suit, DiMera’s personal attorney, followed the guards into the room. “We didn’t do anything to him,” Jefferson said angrily. “This is the normal state of a human being who has been broken into pieces and then shot. What’s not normal is to have him running around raising holy hell!” Then, afraid he had overstepped his bounds, he lowered his voice. “Stefano, we didn’t touch him. He lost consciousness almost as soon as we got him into the car. He seems to be breathing easily, and I think he just needs to heal. Leave him be, Stefano. He wouldn’t feel anything you did to him now anyway.”

 

DiMera never appreciated being told his business, but in this case, his attorney was right. There was no point in yelling at a man who was unconscious. It lacked satisfaction. “Take him to the infirmary. But this time, make sure he stays strapped to a bed until I say differently. And keep two armed guards with him at all times. I do not want to give him a chance to finish destroying this place!”

 

*********************************

 

John slowly emerged from the blackness, and as coherent thought returned, wondered where he was. His question was quickly answered as Dr. Sarte bent over him, shining a penlight into his exposed left eye. “Nice to see you finally coming around. And, I am happy to say, it looks like the eye itself is completely healed. Now we just have to schedule you for surgery to repair the socket, and the rest is simply a matter of time.”

 

John tried to form a question, but couldn’t force sound from his parched throat. Seeing his dilemma, Sarte handed down a water bottle, holding it while he gratefully drank his fill. He was so groggy, and barely felt connected to limbs he could not move. “Where am I?,” he managed to say.

 

“Don’t you remember? You got ahold of one of DiMera’s contacts, and he picked you up and brought you back to the compound. The joys of no extradition treaty, you know,” Sarte said with a smirk.

 

“How pissed is Stefano?,” John asked, doing a fair job of keeping the worry from his voice.

 

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you were out of it for a couple of days. Gave him time to cool down. I don’t think he plans to kill you immediately, if that’s what’s got you worried.”

 

“Actually, I’m more worried about him killing me really slowly, but thanks for the encouragement,” John said, cracking a grin. He had forgotten what a wiseass Sarte was. One of few men who could actually stand-up to DiMera on occasion. “So, when do I see him?”

 

“When he sends for you. I’m going up now to tell him you are ready for a coherent talk, if not much else. After that, well . . . who knows with him. Good luck, John. I think you may need it.” With that, the doctor left the room.

 

John waited, tense in the silence of the small room. But DiMera didn’t send for him that day, and faced with no reply to his questions from the stone-faced guards, John succumbed to his tired body and faded back into the blackness.

 

He was jarred from sleep by the pain shooting through his left arm. Only as he reached to protect it with his right arm did he realize he had been freed. In releasing his bad arm, the guard had jarred the still mending wrist. With his body nearly purged of befuddling drugs, the pain of the movement was almost enough to make him lose consciousness.

 

“Be careful, you idiots. He’s not a sack of potatoes. Now, ease him over to the wheelchair, and be careful with his ribs,” the doctor ordered crisply.

 

“Mr. DiMera was very explicit, doctor. He wanted Black here delivered to him fully conscious and standing on his own two feet.”

 

“Well use the chair to get him to the office at least. If you go dragging him around, I can promise you he won’t be conscious when you get him to DiMera,” Sarte snapped.

 

As the two burly guards dragged his limp form to the chair, John forgot about his worries over the upcoming meeting with Stefano, and concentrated only on breathing through the waves of pain echoing through his body. “Uhhh… Sarte. I need something… some meds. Damn, my ribs are on fire.”

 

“Sorry, kiddo. DiMera was very explicit. No meds for you of any type. I had to beg just to keep you on antibiotics. Just ride it out. The first couple of days will be the worst. Go real slow, and try not to get yourself any more busted up than you already are.”

 

“Thanks a lot, Sarte!” John managed to grate out. Gasping as the wheelchair rocked forward, he concentrated on holding it together for the meeting with Stefano.

 

************************************

 

DiMera looked up from the paperwork he had been attempting to use as a distraction. “Enter,” he ordered, sitting back to watch two of his men drag in the body of John Black. DiMera was momentarily shocked out of his anger. He had known John had been hurt, had watched the wounds being inflicted. But he had seen the carnage, the bodies, left behind in John’s escape from the compound. It had been impossible to imagine that the instigator of such destruction could have been badly hurt. And he had seen John in action himself, in the massacre of Davies. He had already been thinking of the man as healed, just a few bruises left to add a little character. The man struggling in front of him to raise himself to his own feet evidenced no such recovery. Stripped to the waist, he wore only a baggy pair of hospital greens tied about his sunken waist. His entire torso and both arms were encased in bandages, and low on his left side, the crust of dried blood still showed starkly against the white of the bandages. John had managed to take most of his weight on his own now, but stood bowed, head hanging, breathing shallowly. Slowly, Stefano moved directly in front of him, and grasping his hair, pulled John up to face him. “Why, John? Why did you betray me?” he stormed at the man before him. John gazed back almost blankly, eyes striving to focus, and again Stefano’s rage was quelled.

 

Oh, God, thinks John. I have never hurt like this. His concentration focused solely on breathing, he is confused as his head is yanked up to stare into DiMera’s eyes. Sorry, so sorry he thinks. But in his mind, the fighting instinct is aroused and despite himself, he only snarls out, “F**k you!” to DiMera. Seeing the big hand raise for a blow at his already injured face, he cannot stop himself from flinching in the guards’ grip. Losing his equilibrium, his knees collapse, and he is once again held aloft by the guards, awaiting the fall of the blow.

 

DiMera halted his hand in mid-descent. He had not gotten where he was acting without first thinking things through. Looking down on the battered frame in front of him, he again tilted the man’s head back. Even as the eyes struggled to focus, John tried to drive himself to his feet, managing only a low groan of failure as Stefano held him by the shoulders and pushed him to his knees. Stefano knew he would force nothing from this man… no satisfaction could be coerced. His choice was to kill the man here and now, or bring him back in and allow explanations to come in their own time. He unholstered the gun at his hip. It was the 9 millimeter he had given John on his 21st birthday- returned to him by Jefferson. He could still remember how the young man had glowed with pride as he strapped it around his waist- an expression of gratitude for violent services rendered. Sighing, he bent down, tucking the gun into the band of the scrubs, and placed John’s good hand on the grip. Bending to his knees, he looked John in the face. “You are going to rehab for at least a month, and when the doctors say it’s okay, you’re going to come back here. I will expect you to have the decency to explain things to me at that point. Now,” said DiMera, straightening, “I want you to cause no more trouble, and concentrate on getting back on your feet. Gentlemen, please help Mr. Black to the chopper.”

 

Chapter 31

 

Lungs burned, straining in the humid air, and John relished the splash of the cool salt water churned up by his boots. He felt strong as he pounded through the surf, completing the 10 mile run around the circumference of the island. He had lost all track of time, and had no idea how long he had been at the training compound. At first, he had been in and out of consciousness, and spent blurred weeks in the infirmary. In the time he had been here, he had come to focus on the moment, blocking out thoughts of both past and future. He immersed himself in the physical, pushing his body to remember long disused skills. So caught up he was in this moment, he almost missed the Colonel signaling him that his run was over. Almost reluctantly, he trotted inland to check his progress.

 

‘Damn’, thought Baxter (Col.- Retired USMC), DiMera certainly knew how to pick fighting men. He watched in admiration as John jogged easily toward the compound. Drenched in sweat in the tropical heat, his T-shirt was plastered damply to his broad chest. His dark hair was pulled tightly back, revealing clean features, tanned bronze from the sun, and marred by a vicious scar curving under his right cheek. Baxter again checked his stopwatch. The man was performing almost as well as he had as a 20 year old- but now the physical powers were backed with the knowledge gained from a hundred dangerous missions. Time to let DiMera know his favorite weapon was back in fighting trim. Turning his attention to the man who now breathed evenly, standing at a relaxed at-ease before him, he ordered, “Hit the showers and take a break. I expect you in my office at 1900 hours for dinner. Time to think about your first mission back.”

 

************************

 

In black fatigues, John gave a peremptory knock on the office door, and stepped inside without waiting for a reply. His casual stance stiffened immediately as he saw the figure leaning back against the Colonel’s desk. Cursing himself for his inattention, he realized he should have caught the smell of the cigar before he ever opened the door. Falling back into an old pattern, he held himself stiff and waited for permission to speak.

 

Slowly, DiMera walked around the man standing at attention before him. The Colonel had assured him that John was physically sound, but he’d wanted to confirm it himself. Scars still showed redly on his wrists, and while the bones in his face had been repaired, the scar shone starkly on his right cheek. DiMera was in no rush to have the scars lasered off- he thought it might be a good idea for John to have a reminder of exactly who he belonged to.

 

“You look good, John,” he commented, stepping back. “Though you could still use some fattening up. You made sure he ate right?,” Stefano asked, turning to the Colonel.

 

The Colonel, sitting comfortably behind his desk, only grinned. “Stop being such a mother hen, Stefano. The boy is fine. Give him a couple of more months, and you’ll never know he’d been hurt.”

 

DiMera noticed as John’s eyes narrowed at the use of the word “boy”, but he evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and held his tongue. DiMera grinned to himself. He hadn’t seen the man so obedient in years. The time spent at the compound had provided a good lesson, apparently. Changing focus, he gestured toward the dining room. “Why don’t we continue this discussion over dinner?”

 

**********************************

 

John leaned back in the high-backed chair and let out a contented sigh. One thing you could say about the Colonel, he sure knew how to dine. The stuffed shrimp had been the best he’d ever had, and he’d eaten at some of the finest restaurants in the world. It was certainly better than what he’d been getting in the mess hall. Rank hath its privileges.

 

Almost idly listening to the Colonel’s report on his fitness, he was struck by a sense of de ju vue. This was just how it had been in his childhood when DiMera had received progress reports from his numerous tutors, both academic and otherwise. He had actually rather enjoyed the experience. In part, this was due to the fact that the reports, except when it came to obedience or attitude, had been exemplary. More importantly, it had been flattering to have somebody take an interest in him, and he’d worked his ass off to make the attention deserved. Noting a lull in the conversation that had flowed around him, he shifted his attention to DiMera.

 

“So, Baxter, you’d certify him fit for field duty?, ” the big man asked.

 

“He’s ready to go, Sir. He could put on a few more pounds, but that will come with time. He’s sound- take him off of my hands and put him to work.”

 

“Good enough, Colonel. Well, if you don’t mind, we need some privacy. There are a few issues that need to be cleared up between myself and John.”

 

Taking the dismissal for what it was, the Colonel rose to his feet. “The room is at your disposal, Mr. DiMera. Let me know if you need anything.” With that, he strode out the door.

 

John felt his stomach muscles clench up, and realized that this was the moment he had been avoiding thinking about ever since he had regained consciousness. He really didn’t know what he was going to say. In all honesty, he was rather surprised Stefano hadn’t already killed him for his act of betrayal. There was simply no defense. He had taken away the one woman Stefano wanted above all others, and then had the gall to come crawling back to the man who was the only real father he had known. If John had seen someone else do that to the man, he would have killed him without thought. The really sick thing was that if he had it to do over again, he wouldn’t have done a damn thing different. Having nothing to say, he therefore sat stiffly upright, and stared into the far wall, refusing to meet DiMera’s eyes.

 

Stefano leaned back in the armchair, pulling the inevitable cuban out of his coat and clipping the paper. He stifled a sigh, looking at the blank face studiously ignoring him. It was just like when the man was a youngster, and had done something indefensibly stupid. Knowing there was no good excuse for his behavior, he would shut down and cop an attitude. Though the memory served only to increase his desire to beat some sense into his recalcitrant ‘son’, it had never worked before and wouldn’t work now. A different tact was in order when dealing with this particular individual.

 

“So John, I see you’re carrying your pistol. If you remember, when I gave it back to you it was with an understanding. You would explain to me just exactly what you thought you were doing when you shot-up my compound and took Marlena and Roman out of there. Just how exactly did you see that as serving my interests?”

 

For a moment, DiMera worried that John wouldn’t answer at all. However, after a second’s hesitation, he stiffly replied. “I… Sir, there is no excuse.”

 

Well, it wasn’t much of an answer, but at least he was responding thought Stefano wryly. “Dammit, John. I expect better than that. I want to know why you did it. I need to know if you would do it again.”

 

John sighed, looking suddenly down at the table in front of him. “Sir, I couldn’t do it. I hurt her so bad already . . I couldn’t stand-by and see her kept against her will.”

 

Turning, he looked straight into DiMera’s eyes. “I won’t, I can’t, let you hurt her Stefano. You know I’d do anything you ordered me to, but not that. I… it’s like no matter what I do to protect her, I’ve already done so much damage that there is no way I can ever repay enough. I’ll do anything you want. I know I owe everything I am to you. But I can’t help you hurt her. I can’t let you hurt her,” he said, more firmly, eyes narrowing.

 

DiMera frowned. “That sounds awfully close to a threat, John. Are you planning on crossing me again? I wouldn’t advise it.”

 

Abruptly, John stood. Turning to DiMera, he drew the gun at his hip and slammed it angrily down onto the table in front of him. “Stefano, without you, I’d have been dead a dozen times over. I’d have been some strung-out kid whoring around and dying young. If you want it, say the word and I will put a bullet through my own brain. But Marlena… that is the one thing that I can’t give you.” The anger leaves as quickly as it had come, and John hangs his head in frustration. Softly, he says “Sir, I’m sorry I let you down. It’s not what I would choose.”

 

Studying the man in front of him, DiMera decided that now was not the time to force the issue. Soon enough, his plans for the good Dr. Evans would be revealed. “John, you know I have no intention of giving up on the fair Marlena. However, I see no reason we have to agree on the subject at this time. It’s even possible that Marlena may choose to come to me at some point. One never knows what the fates have in store… For now, why don’t we concentrate on more mundane assignments. As long as we stay away from Salem, do you think you are up for some field work? I need the expansion possibilities of one of my gem smuggling operations checked out. Are you up for a trip to Paris?”

 

Chapter 32

 

Vivian D’pua breezed through the gates of the Alamain Estate, flinging her wrap into the waiting arms of Ivan. “Well? His ‘royal highness’ has demanded my presence,” she said sarcastically. “I’m here.”

 

“Ummm, yes madame,” Ivan said, visibly brightening at the appearance of Mikos’ Aunt. “Let me escort you,… ” Ivan did a double-take as he saw the train of luggage being manhandled into the entry. “Umm, you and your luggage into the guest suite, and I will inform Mastor Mikovitch that you are here.”

 

Vivian scowled at being kept waiting, but allowed Ivan to guide her up the stairs toward the guest wing. She couldn’t very well get mad at the dear boy for following orders.

 

Her luggage deposited with care inside of the suite of rooms that made-up her quarters, Vivian began unpacking. Under her breathe, she cursed the day she had talked her sister out of killing her youngest son. Or rather, she cursed the day she had told the oldest son of her transgression.

 

Anna had come to her in tears. Her Mikos, her pride and joy, had pushed his younger bother into the pool. It was almost as if Mikos had sensed the danger Alexi presented, she had explained to Vivian, in a voice verging on hysteria. Her husband, Illya, must never know. Must never suspect that his first born, his heir, was begot of another man. A man Anna had loved, as she would never love Illya. Illya Mikovitch Alamain, a man she married because her parents had wanted it. A man she married because he offered the power and title of a noble house of Russia. A man whose touch she had detested, but born for the sake of her son. Her son by another man. As long as Alexander lived, he represented a threat to Mikos’ claim on the title.

 

Anna had wanted to choke off what little life remained in the boy. At only three years old, it would have been easy. Vivian, her sister, had managed to talk her out of it. Pretend, she had counseled. Pretend he died. He is your son, even if Illya is his father. Let me take him away. Let me send him far away to people who will never know who he is. What he is. Anna, you don’t want to kill your own child.

 

Vivian could not bring herself to regret saving the boy. Such a little thing. How could he harm Anna and her plans for her firstborn? Vivian had sent him away. Sent him to the United States. She might never know what happened to the tiny boy, but she would know he was safe. If only she hadn’t told Mikos.

 

A year after Alexi ‘died’, Illya too passed over. Vivian would never know if his journey to the great beyond had been hastened by his loving wife. However, she did know enough not to ask. When Anna too passed at an early age, Vivian had found herself in the unaccustomed role of guardian. Though Mikos was 19, and above the age mandated for taking control of the family, he still looked to his aunt for guidance. And one day, when the load had seemed too much for him to bear, she had made the mistake of suggesting he find his brother.

 

As the words left her mouth, she had recognized her error. She had seen it in his eyes. Mikos knew. He knew what his brother represented. Anna had told him. Had wanted him to know. He was not the son of Illya. Not the legitimate heir. He was the son of a soldier. A common soldier who had died on a common mission. She had seen the panic in his eyes, and she knew what it represented.

 

Whereas Anna, as crazy as she was, had celebrated in the forgery she had managed to pass off, Mikos was frantic. While no direct descendent of Illya existed to contest his illegitimate claim, he had reigned in his paranoia. But with a well-intentioned slip of the lip, Vivian had endangered his hold on an empire. Wisely, Vivian had never let on that she knew the truth of Mikos’ parentage. She enjoyed life far too much for such a suicidal act.

 

Looking around at the cold stone walls of the bedchamber, Vivian brought herself back to the present. Now that Mikos had the scent again, she hoped that wherever Alexi was, he was ready for the challenge that would undoubtably be coming his way.

 

**************************************

 

John settled back on the barstool, sipping the aged scotch and scanning the crowded Paris nightclub. It was all a bit surreal after the isolation and discipline of DiMera’s training compound. He realized he hadn’t even had a beer in months, and it looked like the majority of the revelers around him were on something a lot stronger than alcohol. The woman beside him tugged on his arm, pointing toward the dance floor when her voice failed to rise above the din. One of DiMera’s low level employees, she had been waiting for him in the limousine that had picked him up at the airport. A little ‘gift’ from Stefano, she had been assigned to escort him around town. What the hell, he thought to himself. It’s not like I have anything to lose.

 

The floor was packed, and the dark-haired girl pressed tight against his body, as Marilyn Manson (Mechanical Animals) screeched through overloaded amps:

 

Use me, when you want to cum

I beg, just to have a touch

When I’m in you I want to die

 

I’m not in love, but I’m gonna f*ck you

Till somebody better

comes along

 

Christ, this kid could barely be out of her teens, he thought to himself. She could be a classmate of Carrie’s- and immediately tried to drive thoughts of that other life from his mind. The girl ground up against him. Almost angrily, he put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her even tighter and dropping his head to consume her lips with his own.

 

Even on the packed floor, there was a bubble of space around the handsome couple locked in an embrace in the center of the room. Without conscious thought, the darkly dressed man seemed to emanate menace. Wearing black jeans and boots, a black silk shirt buttoned to the neck and plastered to his strong frame in the steamy club, he sent off warning vibes even to the carefree clubbers who surged around him. A wolf among sheep, or more aptly in this crowd, a lion among wolves. Still, testosterone and alcohol have a way of dulling even the strongest of self- preservation skills. There was a certain inevitability in the sharp elbow that dug into John’s broad back, as he stood bent over the girl, dominating her lips with his own.

 

“Watch what you’re doi… ” a belligerent voice started to snarl over the music. The voice was cut short, however. At the first jab in his back, John had spun to face the perceived attack. Still holding the girl with his right hand, he pivoted and brought his left hand around in a devastating backhanded blow that took a startled young man across the face and dropped him to the floor, lip already dripping crimson drops onto the dirty tiles.

 

Though John was physically sound, the force jarred a left arm that still ached from the broken wrist. Pissed-off, he drew a booted foot back and slammed it into the young man’s chest. Christ, this felt way better than kissing some kid, he thought. Drawing back for another kick, he found the girl tugging on his arm, trying to pull him off of the dance floor before security, or worse yet the cops, showed up. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led to a dark corner, adrenalin still crackling through tensed muscles.

 

“Come on, baby. You don’t need to get into trouble your first night in town, do you?” The girl said into his ear. Opening the small purse hung over her shoulder, she pulled out a vial, and cut a line on the table. “Here, mellow out. Take a little toot. We have better things to do tonight than brawl.”

 

Looking down at her head, bent over the table in the dark corner, he knew she must be very low in the DiMera cartel. DiMera did not tolerate hard drug use within his organization- he didn’t like anything to have more power over his people than he did. With something approaching a smile, John thought back to the last time he had snorted coke. He’d been a teenager, and one of the guards had hooked him up with some really pure stuff. DiMera had walked into the bathroom just in time to catch him snorting the first line. He never saw that particular guard again, and he’d been in bed for three days after the beating DiMera had had administered. Still, it had been nice to know somebody had actually given enough of a damn to beat his ass for doing something he knew was stupid.

 

The girl looked up at him, eyes bright. “How about it?,” she asked, offering him a tightly rolled bill. Screw it, he thought. DiMera was the only one who cared what he did… and DiMera wasn’t here. He bent over the table, and inhaled sharply.

 

*******************************

 

God, he loved the feel of her silky hair against his bare skin, the thought filtered through his sleep fogged brain. He was dimly aware of the sheet sliding down his body. Her hair trailing down his chest and abs. Lips nipping at his naked flesh.

 

“Doc, don’t stop,” John groaned, stretching out his long frame. As his eyes slit open, he saw a stranger’s dark mane cascading over his hips, eyes glinting brightly up at him. With a start he slapped the girl hard, flinging her halfway across the room. In the same motion, he slid from the bed and grabbed his automatic from the night stand. The girl landed hard and looked up at him, stunned, to see the black hole of the semi gaping down at her.

 

Memory returned, and John shook his head, slowly lowering the weapon to his side. “Sorry- Elena, was it? I’m just not used to waking up with somebody in my bed,” he half apologized. “Are you okay?”

 

Fear showing clearly in her eyes, she backed away from him, her hands automatically rising to cover her bare flesh. For an instant, she knew what it was to be prey. The man before her spoke quietly, but he radiated danger. Standing easily, naked but for the gun still gripped in his right hand, he looked like a hungry carnivore debating the effort it would take to kill.

 

Great, John thinks to himself. I’ve been in town for less than 24 hours, and I’ve snorted up, screwed somebody young enough to be my daughter, and then slapped her around. Maybe Stefano was wrong… he wasn’t ready to go back into the field. Maybe he needed the discipline of the training compound. He’d always had a tendency to find trouble when left on his own for too long, but this was a little much. DiMera would not be pleased. Then, catching a glimpse of the time out of the corner of his eye, he realized it was already noon. DiMera would definitely not be happy if he missed his meet with the ‘jewelers’. Not wanting to take the time to shower, he stepped to grab his jeans off of the back of a near-bye chair. His attention was drawn again to the scared girl who looked at him mutely and scooted toward the corner. Sighing, he pulled his billfold out of his jeans, and grabbed a couple of hundreds.

 

“Look, kid. I appreciate the good time, and I’m sorry if I scared you. I would take you to lunch, but I’ve business to attend to. Here, take this and treat yourself to something. Okay?” She hesitantly stepped over to take the cash, and he dismissed her from his mind. Pulling on a clean shirt, he hurried out the door.

 

********************************

 

John pulled the rental car into the warehouse parking lot, rubbing at his face and wishing he had had time for a shave. Right now he smelled like cigarettes and sex, and it was not improving his mood. To further irritate, he had fallen into his usual habit of forgetting to eat when not actually ordered to by someone else. However, his stomach was still accustomed to the three square meals of the training compound, and it was protesting almost 24 hours with no solid food. Grumbling under his breathe, he slammed the door to the BMW, and strode toward the warehouse. Opening the door, he was greeted by the hulking form of a middle-aged man too stupid looking to be anything other than muscle.

 

“Where’s Mr. Smith?,” John asked curtly. “Tell him Mr. Black is here for the meeting with him and the prospective buyer.”

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Black. They are waiting for you in the office. Just follow me.”

 

**********************************

 

John was seething, but had managed to hide his rising anger for the entirety of the brief meeting. He hadn’t believed his eyes when he had walked in the door and been introduced to the prospective purchaser of smuggled gems. His training had shown when there was no flash of recognition on being introduced to ‘Mr. James’- a.k.a. Roman Brady. As the meeting had concluded, he had casually suggested ‘Mr. James’ accompany him to the door, as he had other merchandise the man might be interested in. As soon as they round the corner, however, the facade of calm evaporates.

 

“Roman, what the hell are you doing here?” hissed John, shoving the man up against the wall of the warehouse.

 

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m out to stop Stefano, and if that means I have to go through you, I will.” Roman snarled back, all of his pent-up anger at the man in front of him coming to the fore.

 

“Why the hell would you leave Marlena alone to come to Paris tracking DiMera. In the first place, Stefano is way too smart to get this close to an illegal operation. And in the second place, your responsibility is to look after Marlena. I can handle Stefano from the inside. He won’t go against Marlena while he knows I’ll interfere. But that means you have to be there for her. I can’t believe you’d go running off under cover after such a short period. You are a selfish bastard Roman, and you are putting your anger ahead of Marlena’s needs. Now, I’m not going to narc you out to my friends, because they would undoubtably put a bullet in your sorry hide. Marlena needs you. She needs you with her and the kids. For her sake, I’m giving you until tonight to get the hell out of Paris.” Slamming Roman back against the wall, John stormed angrily out to his car.

 

You bastard, thinks Roman. You’re a criminal. Running around doing DiMera’s dirty work, and you want to lecture me on how to protect my wife, my kids. Infuriated, he turned back to the gem dealers. I’ll show you how I protect my kids, John. I’ll show you first hand.

 

*****************************

 

It’s after one a.m., John noted blearily, reaching over to grab the phone from its cradle. “Black here, what is it?”

 

“Mr. Black? This is Mr. Smith, your jeweler. We just found out that the prospective buyer appears to have been misrepresenting himself. He’s right here, and we thought you might like to come down and join our little discussion.”

 

Damn, thinks John. That idiot Roman must have gone back to finish the deal, and they had gotten suspicious. “Okay, just hold tight. Don’t do anything, you understand me. Anything at all, wait for me to get there.” Grabbing his shirt and trousers from the chair, he dresses and heads out the door.

 

Reaching the warehouse district, John pulls in beside the Bentley the dealers had left sitting in the parking lot this afternoon. Cautiously, he approaches the darkened structure, suddenly aware that something feels very very wrong. He eases the gun from its holster, and slowly edges around the half-opened door. Inside the cavernous space, the slightest of sounds echoes away into the darkness, and John finds himself shifting in response to the click of metal on stone. Sensing the danger, but not knowing its source, John ducks toward the ground but it is not enough to keep him from being dropped to his knees by the force of a heavy cargo net slamming down on him from high above. Struggling to get to his feet, he swings wildly at a dark form hurtling toward him. Slamming into metal where flesh should be, he realizes his opponents are using night vision goggles just as a blow to his back drops him once more to the floor. As he struggles now against a number of bodies in the pitch black, he feels the prick of a needle in his shoulder, and he slowly loses awareness.

 

Chapter 33

 

“Sir . . . wake-up, sir. We’ve arrived in Salem. Looks like you’re home,” the woman said, smiling down at him.

 

John blinked rapidly, confused by what was going on. “Where am I?” he asked, his memory still foggy.

 

“Salem, Illinois, straight in from the Paris to Chicago flight. You must have been tired, you’ve been asleep the whole time,” the stewardess smiled down at him.

 

“Wha… how’d I get on the plane?”

 

“Sir…?” asked the stewardess, beginning to share John’s confusion.

 

“Did you see anyone with me? Did you see me board the plane?,” he asked more urgently.

 

“Oh, your friend, Don’t worry, he just went to get a wheelchair. Too bad you banged your knee up skiing. Hope you have better luck next time!” she replied brightly, smiling at the first-class passenger who still appeared a bit groggy.

 

My knee? Thought John. My knee is fine. Though now that he stopped to think about it, he realized he was sore from the battle in the warehouse. As memory came back, John thrust himself stiffly to his feet. This smelled to high heaven of a setup, and he headed down the aisle to put as much distance between himself and the airplane as possible.

 

As John emerged from the airway tunnel, he came face-to-face with the man he had thought of as a brother. “Bo?” he burst out, startled.

 

Standing in street clothes, his badge hanging from a chain around his neck, Bo looked up and flashed a grin of recognition. Slowly, the smile faded. “Uhm… John Black. What are you doing back in Salem?” he asked stiffly.

 

“Just sightseeing,” John replied, hating the feeling that a trap was starting to close around him. “No warrants currently out for me, I’ve been informed?,” he said, mentally crossing his fingers.

 

“No, John. No warrants. But there a lot of people here your coming back will hurt. I mean, dammit, how could you!” Bo exploded at him, fully losing his composure.

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” said John coldly, shouldering his way by in an attempt to hurry away from Bo’s accusations, from the feeling of a trap being sprung.

 

“Hey, hold it,” a familiar voice rang out, and John cursed to see Roman Brady running up to him, followed closely by Abe Carver. Knew that the trap had closed.

 

“What is this? The airport having a donut sale? I would think you gentlemen would have better things to do than run around airports harassing tourists.” John snapped, barely able to control his anxiety. His urge to flee.

 

“We had a tip on a smuggling ring,” Roman replied, glowering at him. “A packet of diamonds being brought in from Paris today. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”

 

He’d been had. Set up. The only question was who was involved- and more importantly-why. Was this a personal attack, or a move against DiMera’s empire? Damn, he thought. Of all places for this to happen- but I’m sure that’s not a coincidence either. He considered escape, but rejected the idea of being a fugitive. Running did not suit him. They had lawyers to handle things like this. About time to let them earn their fees.

 

“Come on, John. You just came in from Paris- do you mind if we search you?”

 

“I assume you have a warrant?” John replied, raising an eyebrow.

 

“We can get one, I promise you that!” Roman snapped, looking like he was ready for a battle.

 

John simply smiled coldly back. “Well why don’t you get that warrant while I give my attorney a call. By coincidence, he happens to have a branch office right here in Salem.”

 

Infuriated, Roman shoved John back against the terminal wall. “I can’t believe you would do this in Salem, John. Don’t you have any decency? What do you think this is going to do to the family, you bastard!” As Bo and Abe pulled Roman away, John, stone-faced, turned away to call the DiMera counsel.

 

************************************

 

“So, where’d they find the diamonds?,” John asked Jefferson, DiMera’s chief counsel, as the man sat down across from him in the small airport holding area.

 

“Sown into the lining of your jacket. Makes sense. If it had been in the luggage, it should have been found in customs at Chicago. This way, the bust goes down in Salem-where there is more than a little animosity toward both you and the DiMera syndicate- and, it’s harder for you to deny you knew the diamonds were there… Are you sure you don’t know who’s behind this. I’m telling you, it looks like any one of those cops out there would love to have set you up.”

 

“No, it couldn’t be any of them. This brings the family too much pain. Besides,” he said firmly, “it’s not their style.” He decided to keep Roman’s Paris visit to himself for the time being. No point in getting DiMera worried about Roman. He wanted those two kept as far apart as possible.

 

The two men looked up from the small table at the rap on the door. Roman Brady walked into the room, and looking coldly at John, said “John Black, you are under arrest for smuggling. You have the right to remain silent… “

 

Jefferson patted his arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you down at the station, and you will be out on bail by tomorrow at the latest. I might even have a surprise for you,” he said with a smile. “This business will all take care of itself, don’t worry.”

 

Finishing with the Miranda warning, Roman pulls his handcuffs from his belt, reaching for John’s shoulder. “Turn around, and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered, his voice betraying his enjoyment of the situation.

 

Ignoring the command, John was almost in the doorway as Roman caught him by a shoulder, twisting him toward the wall. Instinctively, John lashed out, grabbing the extended arm in a jointlock with one hand, and with the other, grasping Roman by the throat. Dragging him into the hallway. Using their bodies’ momentum, he pivoted hard, smashing Roman against the gray cement walls. Roman sank to his knees, and John looked up to see a concerned Bo and Abe advancing up the corridor, while the security men behind them drew weapons. Jefferson had prudently remained in the small conference room, and now he was trying to gain John’s attention.

 

“John! John, listen to me. It’s going to be alright. I’ll have you out of there in a day. I promise you. There is no way they can hold you. Just don’t make it worse by assaulting the officers. You are going to end up in trouble I can’t get you out of if you don’t stop,” Jefferson argued urgently.

 

John knew Jefferson was right. Hell, he had decided to call in the lawyers himself. Still, he couldn’t control his panic, and as Bo and Abe advanced on him, he found himself in a fighting stance. “Just stay back, dammit. I don’t want to have to hurt either of you, but I will if you try and take me in. Nobody’s putting those damn cuffs on me. Not again. Now, just back off.”

 

Bo stared across at the man who had been his brother for nine years. He looked strong, not like he had in the hospital. More than strong, he looked dangerous. More dangerous than he had when he had been Roman. Maybe it’s the scars, he thought to himself. John had shed his tie and jacket, and standing relaxed and confident. It was startling to see angry lines: winding down his cheek, cris-crossing his wrists. The handcuffs… damn.

 

“Roman… no cuffs, okay?” Bo asked. “Come on John, no handcuffs. We’ll just get in the car and go down to the station. Okay?”

 

“Damn it, Bo. The guy is dangerous. He’s wearing the cuffs, and if I have to get 50 men in here and hog-tie him, I will,” Roman stated flatly from where he leaned against the wall.

 

Stepping to his brother, who was now standing without having to brace against the wall, Bo angrily replied, “The last time he was chained-up, Stefano almost beat him to death. Why don’t you give the guy a break.”

 

“I’ve seen what this guy is capable of, and there is no way I’m giving him a chance to get one of my men killed. Now if you want him to get out of this peacefully, you get him in cuffs before the riot gear gets here. If you don’t have him by then, I’m going to gas him right out of here!” With that, Roman strode angrily away to check on the incoming equipment.

 

With a sigh, Bo turned to Abe, standing beside of him. “See if you can’t stall Roman for a bit. Let me try and get John out of here without anyone getting hurt.”

 

Slapping Bo’s shoulder, Carver moved down the hall. As the hall cleared out, John seemed to relax, dropping his stance and stepping back a step. He even managed a grin, though it spoke more of cynicism than good will. “You may have your Lieutenant’s bars, Bo. But don’t let them trick you into thinking you can take me in by yourself.”

 

“John, you’re not thinking,” Bo said, moving slowly forward, his arms raised to shoulder height to show he posed no threat. “Roman is going to gas you out, and then half the force is going to jump on you and drag you out of here. Let me just walk you out, nice and easy. Okay?” he asked softly, reaching down to touch John’s shoulder. John twisted from the touch, taking another step back to find himself at a dead end, up against a blank wall with nowhere to go but forward. Through Bo.

 

“Bo, just get the hell out of here. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will,” he replied tightly.

 

“Like it’s going to hurt Marlena and the kids? To see you on the news, coming out of the gas, fighting against the cops. What if you get lucky and kill one of us. Me. Or Roman… or Abe. You think about that, John?” Again he reached for John, and this time, the man simply stood still, drawing in deep breathes, the sweat dripping from his face. Bo could almost see the panic in his eyes. “It’ll be okay, bro,” he said softly, so no one else could hear.

 

Unable to form an answer to Bo, John simply allows his head to drop, trying to ease the tension he feels flowing through him. You can do this, John. It’s the cops. It’s Bo. You’ll be in and out. Hands balled into tight fists, he slowly turns to face the wall, resting against its coolness. “Okay, Bo. Just do it.”

 

Bo eases the cuffs from his belt, but slows to a halt as he reaches to encase the left wrist. Deep scars, still pink and angry looking, encircle his entire wrist, and what look like surgical scars run from his wrist toward his elbow, disappearing beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeve. “Oh my God, John!” He can’t help but stare.

 

“Dammit, Bo. Just do this thing! It’s okay.”

 

Putting his hand on John’s shoulder to steady himself as much as John, he feels him shaking beneath his grip. As the cuff snaps around the left wrist, John flinches out of his grasp, but when Bo doesn’t fight him, he seems to relax again.

 

Moving slowly, Bo asks, “You okay?”

 

“Yea,” comes the ragged reply, as John squeezed his eyes tight shut against the images in his mind. Images in which he hangs helplessly, swinging from his wrists. It takes all of his will to force his hands behind his back again.

 

********************************

 

The police station is crowded with reporters alerted to the fact that the man who formerly acted as a police commander was being brought in on smuggling charges. As the police car pulled to the curb, they rushed toward the opening doors, eager to get a shot of the former officer.

 

Bo forced the door open against the mass of bodies, leaning back in to give John a hand out of the car. The guy was holding it together, but Bo wasn’t certain for how long. Draping his arm protectively around the man’s shoulders, he tried to hurry him past the mob of reporters. Fortunately, John seemed oblivious to the shouted questions as he walked stiffly next to Bo.

 

Entering the station, Bo reaches for his keys in order to remove John’s cuffs as quickly as possible.

 

“Leave ‘em on,” Roman orders tightly. Walking swiftly forward, he grabs John by his shoulder and shoves him toward an interrogation room. Stumbling, John wheels to face his adversary only to be met by Roman’s heavy body slamming him back hard against the wall. He slumps forward, the wind knocked out of him and Roman grabs him behind the neck and roughly thrusts him around the doorway into the small interrogation room. He connects hard with the edge of the heavy wooden table that dominates the room. Almost falling to his knees, John allows himself to collapse across its pitted surface.

 

Fighting against the white fire threatening to consume his brain, John reacts on sheer instinct as he feels Roman’s big hand grab him from behind. His left leg smashes down, kicking hard into Roman’s instep. As Roman releases his grip on John, John spins tightly around and smashes his knee into the side of his head, dropping him unconscious to the floor.

 

A rookie in blue pulls his nightstick and advances toward John, as Bo screams for him to stop. The order unheard or ignored, the young man reaches for the suspect now crouching in front of him, only to feel his jaw explode as John’s foot slams it back. The officer falls hard, his head slamming into the cold floor.

 

John breathes easily, squaring-up on the door where a squad full of officers now stand with guns drawn. God, he looks like he believes he could take us all on and win, Bo thinks with a tinge of admiration.

 

But that attitude will only get him killed Bo notes grimly, glancing toward the unmoving body of Baker, lying collapsed on the floor of the small room. If he make an aggressive move, Bo knows that the officers will not hesitate to shoot. Without pausing for thought, he thrusts himself forward and into the cramped quarters of the interrogation room. In one corner of the room, he notices Roman struggling to rise to his knees. “Easy John,” he says softly, hands raised to shoulder height. “We both know you don’t want to hurt anybody. Let’s end this right now.”

 

John studies him closely, shaking his head softly as if to clear his thoughts. As he eases his defensive posture, Bo steps forward to grasp him by his shoulder. Just as he grips the shoulder, feeling muscles tense under his touch, John yanks away from him. Confused, Bo steps back as John slams forward toward the ground. He lands hard, unable to brace himself with his hands still bound behind his back. The room explodes into confusion and noise, and Bo realizes that Roman had tackled John around the knees, knocking him to the floor, as a score of officers surge into the room and stop John’s struggles through sheer force of mass. Relinquishing his place in the heap, Roman lurches to his feet to look down on the pile of men. “Hog-tie him and throw him in a holding cell. I don’t want that bastard able to move a muscle, understand me? And someone get that ambulance in here for Baker.” With that, Roman storms out of the interrogation room.

 

Chapter 34

 

John lay back in the holding cell, hands crossed behind his head. He was tired. So tired the simple act of breathing had become a burden. Finally, he was able to think clearly now that Bo had come in, and against Roman’s explicit orders, removed the chains that had held him immobile for over an hour. Maybe he should just get out, get somewhere no one knew him. He could do it. He had no doubt of his ability to make his escape from the Salem P.D. They were good, but they weren’t in his league. But DiMera would be pissed.

 

DiMera. The man had been a father to him since he was about 14. At least, that’s what he’d guessed his age was. He didn’t really know. Damn, his head was screwed up enough as it was. He didn’t need these damn flashbacks making him even more unstable. With a grimace, he sat up to face Jefferson, who had finally made his way to the station house.

 

“Nice job, Mr. Black. I had this under control until you decided to put that young officer in the hospital,” the attorney said dryly.

 

“When I get hit, I hit back,” John said shortly. Then, softening, he asked, “How is he, anyway?”

 

“Well, he’s alive. Thankfully, it looks like you failed to actually crack his skull. You must be losing your touch,” Jefferson said with sarcasm.

 

John grimaced. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. He came at me, and I reacted as I’ve been trained. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

 

Jefferson nodded, deciding to ease off the man. “I know. But you have to control yourself if we are going to get you out of this. Now the arraignment is scheduled for the morning. As long as the officer isn’t dead, they’ll probably set bail. A very high bail, no doubt. But Mr. DiMera will meet it if, and this is a very big if, you can assure him you will keep your nose clean while awaiting trial. We’re pushing for a fast trial date, and I don’t think the D.A. will fight us. They’ll want to take advantage of the publicity. But still, it means you’ll be in Salem for a couple of weeks before this thing comes to trial. Mr. DiMera has a safe house here where he wants you to stay. But he will only bail you out if you promise to stay put there and keep out of trouble.”

 

“And where exactly does he think I was planning on going? It’s not like my social calender will be overly full in this town,” John responded dryly. “Get me out of here, Jefferson. I’ll keep my nose clean.”

 

********************************

 

John sat at the defense table wearing a suit provided by Jefferson and Associates. Not only was the material exquisite, but it was perfectly tailored. Once again, John was impressed by the efficiency of the DiMera organization. As he well knew, the devil was in the details. Having already checked the spectators’ box for familiar faces, and found none but Roman, he leaned comfortably back in his chair and allowed the attorney to do what he did best.

 

“The defense requests that the defendant be released on his own recognizance, your honor. The search leading to the incident in question was illegal. There was no probable cause. This will never result in a conviction, and the defendant is a respected businessman with a demanding schedule. It would be inappropriate and unnecessary to detain him prior to trial,” Jefferson asserted in a strong voice.

 

“Your honor, the defendant put a police officer in the hospital. His recovery is still in question. In addition, the man has no ties to the community, and there is evidence that he has connections to organized crime. Bail should be denied. He represents both a danger to the community and a risk of flight,” the District Attorney countered.

 

“Your honor!,” Jefferson said heatedly. “If the D.A. wants to assert my client has ties to organized crime, I would suggest he present some evidence or we will consider filling charges of slander.”

 

“Enough already, gentlemen. Let’s not get personal. Bail is set at two million dollars. I think that is more than enough to counter the risk of flight as long as this remains a non-capitol case.”

 

Damn, thought John, his attention once again brought back to the arraignment. That’s a chunk of change, even for DiMera.

 

“I assume cash bond will suffice, your honor,” a deep voice rang out from the back of the room.

 

Though the voice was unmistakable, John could still scarcely believe his eyes as they locked on the figure of Stefano DiMera standing in the rear of the courthouse. Dressed in a dark grey silk suit, a rose in his lapel, he looked utterly at ease, despite the many arrest warrants John knew to be pending.

 

Roman evidently had the same thought, and shaking off the shock, he quickly stepped forward. “Your honor, this man is under arrest. He has numerous outstanding complaints.”

 

“On the contrary, your honor,” Jefferson interjected smoothly. “Any warrants still outstanding have passed the statute of limitations in this state. I assure your honor, I have checked. There are no valid outstanding warrants. Of course, technically, it really doesn’t matter as concerns my client’s bail,” he finished almost smugly.

 

The judge leaned back in his chair, stifling a groan. Some days, it just did not pay to get out of bed. “Captain Brady, I suggest you check your records. I’ve never known Jefferson to make a mistake when it comes to an issue such as this. Now, as regards the issue of bail, cash bond is acceptable. The defendant is released into your custody, Mr. DiMera. If I were you, I’d keep an eye on him. Two million dollars is a lot of money.” Slamming his gavel down, the judge called for the next case.

 

******************************

 

As the limousine pulled away from the curb, John failed to suppress a chuckle. Smiling across the aisle at DiMera, he laughed aloud. “You are just about the last person I expected to see in Salem. How in the world did you pull this one off?”

 

DiMera shrugged nonchalantly. “I use the law to my advantage, John. I don’t fight it unnecessarily. This is a lesson I have been trying to teach you for years. Your failure to learn it has just forced me to put up two million dollars worth of confidence in you. I expect you to be at that trial. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Clear as glass, boss. It’s not like I have a pressing engagement elsewhere, ” John replied.

 

Sinking back into the thick leather upulstry, Stefano nodded in satisfaction. “Well, now that that’s settled, explain to me exactly what happened in Paris. This has not been an auspicious new beginning!”

 

“It was a set-up. Of that, I have no doubt. I got a call that the buyer was under suspicion. When I got there to check it out, I was jumped. Next thing I know, I’m getting off a plane in Salem with a quarter million in diamonds sown into my coat.”

 

“Do you have any idea who set you up?” DiMera asked. Sensing the slight hesitation before John shook his head, DiMera pressed the issue. “John, now is not the time to hoard information. If you suspect someone of setting this up, I need to know. Now.”

 

Against his better judgement, John followed his years of training and experience. “Roman. Roman Brady was in Paris. He was the buyer.” Immediately, John tried to cover. “Stefano, the man is no threat. He’s a loose cannon. There is no way he set this up himself. He isn’t worth bothering with, Stefano.”

 

Instead of the anger John had expected, DiMera simply nodded his head. “It makes sense. Roman has connections to the ISA. There’ve been rumors of a rogue section. ISA, NSA, nobody knows for sure. Remember the Tachei triad? Someone took the whole organization out. Just gone. None of the usual suspects fit the bill. Word is, it was a rogue section operating outside of the law. Vigilantes if you will. A bunch of damn cowboys out gunning for the worst of the worst in organized crime. According to rumor, they even have a name. ‘The Brotherhood’. If I had to bet, they’re behind this. If I’m right, that means Roman Brady is working with them.”

 

John didn’t reply. As usual, Stefano was right. It did make sense. It wasn’t just a coincidence that Roman had been in Paris, and then at the airport. He’d been alive too long to believe in coincidence. And Roman was mad. Pissed enough to tie-in with people willing to go outside of the rules to reach their goals. Of course, what John couldn’t understand was why the man was so angry. He had ended up with the prize. He had Marlena. What more did he want?

 

As the limousine slowed before the gated entry to the estate, John roused himself from his thoughts. “Stefano, Roman is off limits. You do understand that. If you hurt him, you hurt Marlena, and that is not part of our arrangement.”

 

DiMera chuckled. “You could have said that with a lot more conviction, John. Don’t tell me you are sporting a grudge over this little smuggling frame-up?,” he asked, smiling.

 

Against his will, John grinned back. “Okay, I may not be thrilled with the man right now. But you did keep him locked in a cell for the past 14 years. I guess I can forgive him a little payback.”

 

“Well, you are the one that got to experience the joys of a body cavity search. If you aren’t going to demand retribution, then far be it from me to do so,” the older man jibed. As the car pulled up to the front door of the mansion, DiMera turned serious. “However, this ‘Brotherhood’ organization bears investigation. While you’re cooped up here, I want you to make that your pet project. If we are going to war, I want to know it.” With that, the two men moved toward the front door of the safehouse.

 

******************************

 

John leaned back from the terminal and rubbed tired eyes. The trial was tomorrow, and he was no closer to identifying the members of the Brotherhood than he had been when he started. John loathed ‘book work’. He preferred the physical end of the business. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t damned good at research when he really put his mind to it. Stefano and his many tutors had seen to that. Yet after three grinding weeks of tracking every contact in the DiMera cartel, after reading every report, no matter how seemingly insignificant, he still hadn’t cracked the puzzle.

 

He had managed to narrow it down. It did appear that the core of the Brotherhood had to be ISA in origin. The operations attributed to the Brotherhood had coincided too closely to ISA ops to be an accident. The ISA was a big organization, however. John had had no luck identifying any particular individuals as members of the vigilante group.

 

He stretched his arms back, and was thinking of hitting the gym when DiMera walked in. “That is not the look of achievement I was hoping for,” Stefano commented, catching John’s grimace of frustration.

 

“These guys are good, boss. I don’t think they left a paper trail. We are going to have to get lucky to break this one,” John replied, as he levered himself out of the seat. Moving to the wet bar, he decided on a beer, and dug into the small refrigerator. “I was thinking of hitting the gym,” he called over his should. As he popped a Redhook, he turned to flash Stefano a challenging smile. “Want to put the gloves on and go a few rounds?”

 

DiMera laughed out loud. “Now John, when was the last time I was foolish enough to step into a ring with you?”

 

“Well, as I remember, never.”

 

“Well that’s when you will see me in there again.” Smiling, Stefano nodded an affirmative to John’s gestured offer of a drink. “That new Irish whiskey would do nicely.” Recovering his train of thought, he continued. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, John. A lover of women, the arts,… power. If there’s fighting to be done…, well, that’s why I have you.”

 

“Remind me again, what is in this whole deal for me?,” John questioned only half-joking, as he handed Stefano a cut glass tumbler full of amber liquid.

 

Relaxing back into the leather sofa, DiMera again gave voice to a chuckle. “John, you should be grateful. There really aren’t all that many wars to be fought these days. You gave me a soldier, I gave you a war. God knows you were born to it. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

 

“No,” John replied seriously, draining the beer. “There really is no point in pretending otherwise, is there.” Anger flaring out of nowhere, he turned and smashed the empty bottle against the paneled walls of the study. As if nothing had happened, he moved toward the open door. “I’m hitting the gym. I’ll see you at dinner.”

 

**********************************

 

Feeling relaxed after a long workout, John sank gratefully into the vacant chair at the dinning table. “You’re running late,” Stefano noted, looking up from the china plate in front of him. “Feeling any better?”

 

John glanced down ruefully. “Sorry about that, Stefano. Lately, I just seem to have a really short fuse.”

 

“Well you had better contain that temper of yours tomorrow at the trial. You could be facing 20 years if you don’t keep your wits about you.”

 

“Sir, is this really necessary? I hate being back in this town. Let me skip out. I’ll take a couple of private assignments in my spare time, and make the two million back in a month. It’s not like I had any intention of ever coming back here anyway,” John argued.

 

DiMera shook his head. “We have already had this discussion, John,” he said, shortly. “If you skip out, there will be a warrant issued. That limits your ability to work openly in the entirety of the United States. That is unacceptable. What have I told you about working within the confines of the law whenever possible?”

 

John sighed in resignation. “I have a bad feeling about this, Stefano. Nothing good is going to come out of me being in Salem.”

 

DiMera waved dismisively. “You have a bad feeling about everything, John. If I ever see you be optimistic about anything, including the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow, it’s likely to give me a coronary. But, you reminded me… Did Jefferson talk to you about the trial? He thinks my presence might be… inflammatory. You’re going to be on your own tomorrow. I want you to just sit there and do whatever Jefferson tells you. Understood?”

 

“Yea, understood. No freaking out and offing a civilian. At least not in front of witnesses.”

 

DiMera glared at him. “Eat your dinner. You’re still too skinny.”

 

Looking up from his plate, John grinned. “Yes, mother.”

 

Chapter 35

 

John entered the courtroom, Jefferson at his side. Two associates walked behind them, and it reminded John of the feeling of going on an op., leading a band of mercenaries. He smiled inwardly at the twisted way his mind worked. Then, scanning the crowd of observers, his mood suddenly became serious. Christ, the whole Brady family must be here. Sean and Caroline were barely noticeable, sitting in the back accompanied by Bo. And Marlena… Marlena and all three children were seated in the row directly behind the defense table. At that moment, John wished he had taken the first opportunity to jump bail. Screw the American theater of operations, he did not need this. Staring fixedly ahead, he ignored his surroundings and followed Jefferson to the defense table.

 

As he took his seat, the jury began to file in. As ordered, John tried hard not to look dangerous. It was not an action he had much experience with, however. He wasn’t certain how successful his attempt was. Standing as the judge entered the room, he made an effort to focus on the actions around him. However, as he sat back down in the hard chair, he could not help but think of them… Marlena and the children.

 

He had caught just a glimpse as he had walked up the carpeted aisle. But a glimpse had been more than enough. Sami sat closest to the aisle, and tears glistened in her blue eyes as she had watched him walking past. Eric, sitting next to her, had merely glared. John felt an unexpected pride at the boy’s protectiveness. Maybe the family would be able to survive this mess after all. But at the thought of the look on Marlena’s face, he admitted to himself that his guilt would not so easily be washed away.

 

From his quick glance, he had barely seen Marlena at all, and all he had seen of Carrie was a flash of blond hair. But Marlena… In that one brief instance, their eyes had locked. He knew her as he had known no other woman. As he would never know another. And in her eyes, he had seen a look out of old dreams. Old nightmares. He had seen that look in Katherine’s eyes. A look of betrayal. And he had watched that look fade, as she had died in his arms.

 

Jefferson sat down beside him, jarring him back to the reality of the trial. He realized he had missed the entire opening argument. He tried to hide the smirk he could not prevent from crossing his lips. Quite frankly, he found the entire trial a waste. He wasn’t going to prison, regardless of the verdict. He’d die before he’d be locked in a cage. At this point, if might even be the best thing. He leaned back in his chair, and tried to focus his attention as the prosecution began its case.

 

****************************

 

John stifled a sigh as the testimony entered the 4th hour. It was going exactly as expected. The judge had thrown out all evidence connected to the smuggling charge. Roman had lacked probable cause for the search, and the judge was not buying the good faith exception in this case. The charges thus boiled down to his assault on the officer in the police station. After three weeks, the man had yet to regain full consciousness. The prosecution was pressing for a conviction on a count of attempted murder.

 

So far, there had been a lot of testimony regarding the attack. At first, John had wondered why Bo hadn’t been called. Maybe the guy didn’t make a good prosecution witness, John thought. Have to make a note of it to Jefferson when we recess. Still, John was curious as to how Jefferson and DiMera thought he was going to get out of this one. The facts were pretty clear. He had tried to kick the guy’s head in. Not much to argue about there. Trying not to fidget in his seat, he wondered when the judge would call a recess.

 

As what seemed to John like the 20th cop to testify left the stand, the D.A. finally closed his case. John still didn’t understand why it had taken so many damn witnesses to establish the fact that yes, he had kicked the guy in the head. Jeesh, he really didn’t think he had the patience for much more of this farce. He was going to be convicted, he was going to jump bail while out on appeal, and he was never going to have to spend another day in this damn town. This trial was beginning to seem a useless prelude to his flight.

 

The prosecution having rested its case, the judge turned his attention to Jefferson. “We have maybe an hour before I want to break for lunch. Do you want to proceed with the defense, or would you rather recess?”

 

Jefferson was very, very good at his job. He wouldn’t have been DiMera’s lead counsel if he weren’t. He knew the importance of timing when working a jury. If they were going to be contemplating the case over their roast beef sandwiches, he didn’t want them thinking about all of those officers of the law. Every one of them in dress blues. And every one describing how his client had ruthlessly attempted to smash a young officer- who was only do his job, mind you- in the head. No, he had something much better for them to mull over with their lunch. “Your honor, the defense is ready to proceed,” he said confidently.

 

“Very well, you may call your first witness.”

 

“Your honor, the defense would like to call Dr. Burke.”

 

*********************************

 

Burke settled back into the witness chair, having been duly sworn by the bailiff. Jefferson strode slowly toward him. “Now, Dr. Burke, you have been called as an expert witness. Your speciality is human psychiatry, is that correct?”

 

Burke, a distinguished looking man in his early 50’s, fit the part. From his elegantly tailored suit to the neatly trimmed white beard, he looked like he could have been trained by Freud himself. In a strong tenor, he replied to Jefferson’s question. “Yes, that is correct. I am the research director at the Center for Behavioral Studies, and my Ph.D. is in psychiatry.”

 

“Dr. Burke, would you tell us what your specialty is within the field of psychiatry,” Jefferson asked his first witness.

 

“I specialize in PTS, or post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s a disorder most commonly found among war veterans, but is also frequently found in cases of domestic abuse and in victims of torture.”

 

“What exactly is post-traumatic stress disorder? Can you explain it in laymen’s terms for the jury?”

 

“Well, at its simplest it is a disorder that results from repeated exposure to violent, traumatizing events, such as combat or abuse. It manifests most typically in flashbacks to the violent events, nightmares, and occasionally in violent episodes.”

 

“What types of things could be expected to trigger such symptoms, doctor?”

 

“Well, anything and nothing can trigger symptoms. In part, it is the mind’s way of dealing with the feelings of fear and anger generated by the trauma. However, flashbacks and violent outbursts are commonly preceded by stressful events, especially if the situation has similarities to the events of the initial abuse.”

 

“So doctor, hypothetically speaking, if a man were kept handcuffed, and subjected to severe beatings over a period of weeks while bound and helpless, would it be possible for that person to experience post-traumatic stress disorder?”

 

“Yes, such experiences could well cause the disorder.” Dr. Burke replied.

 

“And if, even months later, the same man was once again handcuffed and held against his will, could this trigger symptoms of PTS?”

 

“Yes, such an event would be possible.”

 

“What if the man was beaten while cuffed and in custody? What would be the response of someone with PTS?”

 

“One of two reactions could be expected to occur, depending on the personality of the individual. Either the reaction will turn inward, and they will simply withdraw entirely, approaching a catatonic state. Or, at the opposite extreme, some individuals will react with extreme violence, lashing out with no concern for consequences, only seeking to escape the situation that is triggering their fear.”

 

“Now, Dr. Burke. If a person with PTS were to lash out, would you consider their actions within their ability to control?”

 

“No, definitely not. You see, when a person experiences such outbursts, they react without conscious thought- often without being fully cognizant of their present surroundings. Often they are flashing back to the original traumatizing event, and elements of the past occurrence tend to mix with their current circumstances. In such a state, they are not truly capable of fully recognizing their current reality, much less controlling their reactions to it.”

 

“Thank you Dr. Burke. Your honor, the defense reserves to recall this witness at a later time.”

 

“Very, well,” replies the judge, shifting toward the prosecution table. “Your witness.”

 

“The prosecution has no questions for this witness at this time, your honor.”

 

“Does the defense have further witnesses?”

 

“Yes, your honor. However, first we would like to present a piece of evidence that just came into our hands through an anonymous source. We would like to present a tape that directly relates to the defendant’s culpability, specifically with regards to post-traumatic stress disorder.”

 

“The prosecution objects, your honor. We have no proof as to the veracity of this evidence.”

 

“The defense would be glad to provide you with the original tapes. I propose to show an edited version, cutting out many of the hours in which nothing happened. You are welcome to present any additional footage you feel necessary. If you can come up with any evidence that the tape is fraudulent, then challenge its admissibility,” retorts Jefferson.

 

“That seems a legitimate approach, objection overruled,” the judge orders. “You may present the tape, and we will leave it to the jury to decide the truthfulness of the footage.”

 

“Your honor, the defense also requests that the defendant be excused from court. This footage could prove disturbing to him.”

 

At this, John looks up in anger. Prior to this, he had seemed totally removed from the proceedings taking place around him. His unfocused gaze had slowly traversed the room, and his features were stiffly set, betraying no emotion. Now, with an emphatic shake of his head he rejects the suggestion that he be removed from court, hissing his negation to his lawyer.

 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Jefferson?,” the judge says with a raised brow.

 

“Your honor, the defendant does not wish to leave, but for his own safety, I would recommend that you order him removed.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to go with the assumption for the moment that he is capable of knowing his own mind. If the defendant wants to stay, he can. Now, get on with showing your evidence.”

 

As the projector is being set-up, Roman leans over the railing to talk to the DA prosecuting the case. “What the hell are they up to with all of this stuff about post-traumatic stress disorder? What are they trying to do?”

 

“If I had to bet, their strategy is to show that John was not responsible for his actions, due to some kind of abuse in his background. Don’t worry, there is no way that a Salem jury is going to let somebody get off for almost killing a police officer just because he says he “had a traumatic childhood.” They are going to have to come up with something a whole lot better than that if they want to even stand a chance,” the prosecutor replied with confidence.

 

Across the center isle, Carrie squeezed Marlena’s hand and leaned in to ask, “What’s going on, Mom? What are they going to show?”

 

“Honey, I don’t know, but maybe you and the twins should go outside. If it’s film of John’s time on the island, you don’t need to see this- and I have a sneaking suspicion that that’s what it is.”

 

“How on earth could they have film from the island? And what would be the point of showing it? I don’t understand,” Carrie asked, her eyes troubled.

 

Marlena looked grim, remembering back to the nightmare she lived on the island compound. “DiMera’s compound had cameras set up all around it, especially in his interrogation room. I once had a glimpse of the monitor room- he undoubtably filmed John’s… captivity. As to why show it? I’m sure that legally, he will tie it into the Post-traumatic Stress defense- I think that the diagnosis is probably an accurate one. However, I doubt that that will even matter. If the jury sees what happened to John… Carrie, I don’t even know everything that happened, and what I do know is horrendous. If they show a tape of that to the jury, there is no way they are going to convict him, based on the sympathy vote alone. I just wish John would leave the room- he doesn’t need to go through this again. Though maybe it will make him question his loyalty to Stefano. I hope so- it would be only right for some good to come out of all of this. Carrie- please, take the twins outside.”

 

“Marlena- we need to see this. See what could make him turn away from us- abandon us without even a backward look. I want to know the man who acted like my father for 14 years. Who acted like your husband. I want to see what would make a man do something so horrible.”

 

Marlena started to respond, but at that moment, the lights dimmed and the judge called for order.

 

Chapter 36

 

The film opens on a blank dark screen, a fuzzy glowing figure occupying the center of the picture. “The first images are filmed using infrared, the cell itself was completely devoid of light. As the film will later indicate, the figure glowing green and red on the infrared is the defendant, John Black,” Jefferson comments. The jurors, as well as the numerous spectators, gaze curiously at the blurry image, beginning to fidget as the esoteric image lingers on the screen. John himself appears to be gazing at a distant point somewhere beyond the screen, completely removed from its rather benign image. Suddenly, a scream shatters the silence in the courtroom as the blurred form on the screen seems to jerk awkwardly. The image itself is too alien, and it is not possible to determine what exactly is happening. However, the screams and yells emanating from the video in front of them are haunting. Marlena looks for John’s reaction, and she finds him sitting head bowed, his hands clenched tightly together in front of him on the desk.

 

Jefferson allows the screams to continue to echo through the room. He and his team have spent hours editing the tape to achieve just the right effect. Over the sounds of the cries, he notes to the jury, “This continues for over nine straight hours. The full tape is available if you wish to view it. However, I can tell you there is little variability.”

 

As the attorney turns back to the video, the picture flickers, and the sound stops in mid-cry. The turmoil is replaced by an image similar to the first, with the outlined figure demonstrating no movement. Suddenly, the film flickers again, and the screen goes completely blank, only to be relieved by the flood of lights illuminating a body, hanging from its wrists in the center of a stone room.

 

A murmur runs through the courtroom as people recognize that the image from the infrared was that of a man now hanging limply from his chained wrists, a foot off of the ground. The camera reveals a battered body, apparently devoid of awareness. However, at the click of what sounds like a lock, the prisoner lifts his head and glares through the lights, revealing the visage of John Black. The contrast with the man siting in the defendant’s chair is striking. The prisoner is filthy, unshaven with long hair tied tightly back behind him. Dried blood cakes his upper arms, and his face is battered to the point it is difficult to recognize the man. Greater than the contrasts, though, is the similarity between the prisoner who could barely lift his head, and the accused who seemed frozen, head down and unmoving. Both seemed somehow… wounded.

 

Jefferson noted with satisfaction that each juror looked over at John, and did not fail to note the tense, almost defensive posture of his client. While this could only help their case, it was still against his better judgement for John to witness the tapes, especially in such a public way, and without prior preparation. The last thing they needed was for John to freak and attack somebody in the courtroom. That would definitely not bode well for them. Still, if John could just maintain, they were looking good.

 

On the screen, six men wielding batons surrounded the prisoner, their faces all electronically blurred. The original copy that he had been sent ‘anonymously’, and that he would share with the police, had been careful not to identify any of the figures except for John.

 

Abruptly, John’s body crashed to the ground, as someone off-camera released the tie-off. Even Jefferson, who knew John’s capacity for violence, thought the guards’ reactions overkill. In mass, they pinned the captive to the floor, though little struggle could be seen on his part. The man’s arms were once again cuffed behind him- Jefferson had been sure to include that shot- and then rope was used to tie them tightly together up to the elbows, and then looped down to bind the ankles, pulling them up until they almost met his wrists. Then came one of Jefferson’s favorite scenes, as upon leaving on of the guards turned and unleashed a series of kicks into the completely helpless man curled on the stone floor. Jefferson swore you could hear the sound of ribs giving way on the video. If that didn’t get to the jury, he didn’t know what would. Then, noting the focus of several jurors, he turned to observe his client’s reaction. At first, he appeared completely fixed, removed from the evidence of his own torture. Then, at the sound of a particularly heavy blow, Jefferson noticed him flinch. The movement was slight, but unmistakable. Great, he thought. If he has a flashback now, there is no telling what he might do- but it would definitely not be good. As the guards walked out of the cell, banging the iron door behind them, the screen once again went dark, and Jefferson took the opportunity to cut the tape off.

 

“Your Honor, the defense requests a brief recess- I think my client needs to collect himself. Further, I still think it would be in his best interests to absent himself during the viewing, and I would like the chance to explain this more clearly to him.”

 

“Very well, counselor, if the defendant needs a few moments… “

 

“Get it over with,” a voice grated out, and it took Jefferson a moment to recognize the command as coming from his client, who still sat staring down at the polished desk top.

 

“Get it over with… now,” the command came again, this time more forcefully.

 

The judge, appearing momentarily affronted, straightened on his bench. “Very well then- the choice is yours. Continue the film, counselor.”

 

There was utter silence in the courtroom as Jefferson again set the film in motion. The screen was filled with the darkened image, and Jefferson noted to the jury, “It isn’t clear how much time passed between this clip and the next, though our best guess is that is was at least several days. What happened during that period we don’t know.” As he turned back to the screen, a new image appeared, obviously taken within a different room. Numerous guards milled around a figure within what appeared to be a barred cell. The figure was bound and immobile on his knees, arms tied off awkwardly behind his back. On the screen, one guard could be seen giving the prisoner an injection, and though it was hard to make out the separate conversations with so many men in the small cell, the malevolence of the guard giving the injection was clear.

 

Marlena watched, unable to tear her eyes from the screen. “Bastard. F**king bastard. Won’t work- she’ll know. She’ll know it’s not me, you bastard.” John’s voice on the tape echo’s through the room, as the body in the cell convulses, slamming into the bars. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known how bad it had been. Marlena can watch no more of it, and shifts her attention back to John, still immobile at the defense table. At the sound of the body slamming into the bars, sobs that can no longer be stifled resound in the otherwise silent room. Marlena saw John start, as if suddenly being brought back to the here and now.

 

“Stop the tape,” John ordered, turning to search out Sami. He knew it was her. He could feel it… God, how could he have let that be shown knowing his kids were in the room. Why hadn’t he thought about it? His eyes caught Sami’s as a low groan sounded from the film, the images still flickering at the front of the room. “Stop the damn tape,” John repeated, low and deliberate. Shifting his gaze to Jefferson, he half rose from his chair.

 

Jefferson, trying to keep a bad situation from getting worse, immediately cut the tape. One of his associates stepped between him and John, trying to placate the man while being very careful not to get in a physical confrontation. Jefferson took the opportunity to motion for a recess. “Your Honor, I think my client has had all he can handle for the moment. I’d like to request that recess now.”

 

“Recess granted, we’ll adjourn for lunch. And counselor, you might want to warn me before you show footage like that again. I might decide to clear the court,” the judge commented grimly.

 

“I apologize, your honor. It won’t happen again.”

 

As the judge left the room, Jefferson and his assistants herded John into a near-by conference room.

 

**************************

 

“John, will you please calm down!,” Jefferson hissed at the man as he stalked through the conference room. Muscles tensed, he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to shatter something… someone.

 

“No more tapes,” was the ragged reply. Forcing himself to stop his pacing, John turned to face the attorney. “You’ve done enough. My kids did not need to see that crap,” he almost shouted, his voice angry.

 

“They aren’t ‘your’ kids,” Jefferson retorted, instantly recognizing his mistake as John stepped to him, fists clenched. With a shake of his head, he seemed to regain control.

 

“No more tapes,” he repeated quietly, his eyes hard.

 

“Mr. DiMera is not going to like this,” Jefferson noted, the comment meant as a warning.

 

“I don’t much care,” was the sharp response.

 

With a mental shrug, Jefferson gave the man before him a nod. “Okay, no more tapes. I think our point has been made anyway. But John, you have to maintain your control. If you snap like that again… you are going to scare the jury. We want them feeling sympathy, here. Not fear. Do you understand?”

 

Running a hand through his hair, John nodded. “Yea, I understand.” Turning, he said softly, “Let’s just get this damned thing over with, okay?”

 

“Soon, John,” Jefferson placated. “Another day. Two at the most. There aren’t that many facts to debate. This will be over soon. You just have to maintain a little while longer.”

 

Moving to sit at the long conference table, John gave voice to a grim chuckle. “Maintain… yea, I just have to maintain.” Sighing, he loosened his tie. “How about some lunch? I’m starving.”

 

********************************

 

The bailiff called the court to order, and John once again relaxed into his chair. Though he had caught a glimpse of Shawn and Caroline in the back of the room, he had been pleased to note that Marlena and the kids were gone. His mind again wandered, as the testimony echoed around him. As the hours slowly ticked bye, he lost himself in the drone of voices. Only when he heard a familiar name did he drag his attention back to the trial itself.

 

“The defense calls Lieutenant Bo Brady,” Jefferson stated, drawing a low mummer from the spectators.

 

John looked-up as Bo was sworn in. He had mentioned the fact of Bo’s omission from the prosecution’s witness list. The attorney must have seen it as a weakness in their case.

 

John suppressed a smile as Jefferson slowly walked over to where Bo sat in the witness box. Looking distinctly uncomfortable in his dress uniform, Bo was visibly attempting not to squirm in the hard chair.

 

“Lieutenant Brady, I believe you were present at both my client’s arrest, and the subsequent altercation in the station house. Is that correct?,” Jefferson asked in a conversational tone.

 

“Yes sir,” Bo replied, keeping his answer brief, as instructed by the district attorney.

 

“In fact, you are the one who put the handcuffs on my client. I was there when you did it. Did you have any reservations about that?”

 

Fighting the urge to tug at his collar, Bo gave a slight shrug. “Um, maybe a little.”

 

“And why was that?,” Jefferson asked, turning and walking over to the jury.

 

“Well, he seemed kind of… tense. I could see the scars, the scars on his wrists, and I knew the cuffs spooked him. So I thought, maybe it would be better not to try and force it.” Glancing toward the prosecution table, he added hastily, “But it is standard procedure. I mean, the rule book says we have to put the cuffs on when we take them in,” he finished, almost defensively.

 

“Of course. Must follow the rulebook,” Jefferson said smoothly, making eye contact with the jurors. Turning back to Bo, he leaned against the rail separating him from the jurors.

 

“So, you followed the rules. You put the handcuffs on… Just how did you manage that, by the way? We’ve heard a lot of testimony about what a dangerous man my client is. What did you do? Mace him? Use your nightstick? Just how exactly did you put cuffs on this ‘dangerous man’?,” the attorney asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

 

“Well,… ” started Bo, looking uncomfortably up at the ceiling. “He said it was alright. John did, I mean.”

 

“Ahh, so he went along with it. Why do you think he did that, Lieutenant Brady? Do you think he was scared of you? Do you think you could have forced the cuffs on him?”

 

Bo snorted a short laugh. “No. He wasn’t scared of me. He just didn’t want any trouble… ,” his voice tapered off. “I mean, eventually, we would have taken him by force. If he had resisted… there were just to many of us.”

 

Jefferson sagely nodded his head, turning to look at the jury once again. “So, he let you put handcuffs on him. Went to the station house willingly. My client didn’t want any trouble- I’m using your words here… What do you think happened that made him change his mind?”

 

Bo just shrugged, looking down at the floor in front of him.

 

“Well, did he just walk into the station house and go ballistic? Nobody touched him? Nobody layed a hand on him? Come on, you were there. Tell the good people what happened,” Jefferson said, voice rising. Walking over to stand directly in front of Bo, he put his hands on the witness box. Leaning in, he said softly, “Tell us what happened, Lieutenant Brady.”

 

“Nobody hit him,” Bo said, looking to the jury for a moment before again dropping his head. “Nobody hit him, but he was shoved around a little. He knocked into a table in the interrogation room, and he seemed to just lose it for a moment.”

 

Jefferson nodded, and turned from Bo to pace across the courtroom floor. “What exactly do you mean by ‘shoved around’, Lieutenant?”

 

Bo gave a slight sigh of resignation, and looked directly at the jury. “There was nothing excessive, but he was shoved pretty hard a couple of times. Normally, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But I could tell he was just barely holding it together. I had felt him shaking when I put the handcuffs on him. I knew what had happened to him, how he had been chained up before. I knew something bad was going to happen, I just couldn’t stop it.”

 

Jefferson gave a nod of appreciation to Bo. “I appreciate your candor, Lieutenant… The defense has no further questions for this witness.”

 

As Bo walked from the room, eyes fixed straight ahead, John again found himself drifting away from the proceedings. Barely paying attention as Dr. Burke was recalled. As Jefferson and the prosecutor debated the validity of the PTS diagnosis. He was lost in the dance of dust motes, caught in the fading rays of the sun, when the judge brought his gavel down, ending testimony. Oral summation would begin in the morning.

 

***************************

 

Marlena looked around the table at the children. None of them were eating, though they had stopped to pick-up pizza on the way home. She couldn’t blame them, she thought, looking down at the poor mangled slice that she had done nothing with but poke with a fork for the last five minutes.

 

“We should have stayed, Mom,” Carrie said, breaking the silence. “I want to go back tomorrow. I want to know everything that happened,” she stated with certainty.

 

Marlena glanced over at Sami, who was not even making a pretense of eating. “I didn’t want to watch anymore, Carrie. I don’t want to know more than I already do.”

 

Carrie sighed loudly in frustration. “Don’t you see? This is why he did it. This is why he left us. DiMera hurt him so bad… It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault he left us. Stefano… broke something… changed him. I knew there had to be a reason he left, and this is it. I want to see everything. I want to understand how it happened,” she finished heatedly.

 

“Maybe Carrie’s right, mom,” Eric chimed in, voice tinged with hope. “Maybe what happened messed his head-up or something. Like that doctor said. Maybe John didn’t have a choice when he left us. It might not be his fault, mom.”

 

“I never thought this was his fault,” she replied softly. Their hurt was so evident, she would have done anything to make it better. But she wouldn’t let them live in some fantasy world, believing that at any moment the man who had raised them would walk back into their lives. It was a fantasy that would only do more damage in the end.

 

In a low voice, she told them what she should have said months ago. “I never thought what happened was his fault. Not any of it. And I don’t blame him for any of it. I know what happened to him in that cell. I know he fought as hard as he could to hold on to being Roman. To hold onto us. But what Stefano did to him… it didn’t break him. It didn’t change him. What it did… it made him remember. It made him remember who he really was.”

 

She focused her gaze on Carrie, who seemed on the verge of disagreement. “I was there, Carrie. I was with him when he shot an unarmed man. He was so cold. It was like I didn’t know him. And when he took us out of that compound…,” her voice broke, and despite her control, she felt the trickle of a tear on her cheek.

 

She continued, a sad smile on her face. “I won’t tell you he doesn’t still remember us. That, in his own way, he still loves us. I almost think he would have to, to have endured what he did. Risked what he did. But he is not your father. And he won’t come back. And the reason is the same reason he left. It’s because he knows who he is now… He knows ‘what’ he is.”

 

Carrie reached over to clasp her hand. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you with this. This just all seems so wrong,” she said, giving the hand a tight squeeze.

 

Sami shot suddenly to her feet, her face red, but her eyes dry. “You’re all wrong. He isn’t any different. DiMera couldn’t make him stop loving us, and he will come back.” She looked straight at Marlena, her eyes angry. “You’ll see, mom. He will come back. Nothing will stop him. I know it!” Turning, she almost ran for the kitchen door, retreating to the solitude of her room.

 

As Carrie and Eric silently began clearing the plates, Marlena sat and debated the wisdom of attending the trial in the morning.

 

************************

 

John walked into the courtroom, fidgeting under the constraint of another silk tie. He’d almost go back to being a cop again if it meant he could stop wearing these damn business suits. Trying to pretend to himself that he wasn’t looking, his eyes searched the packed room for her. His stride breaking slightly as he saw her sitting on the far side of the room. Surrounded by her children, her face seemed to glow. It took a conscious effort to wrench his eyes forward. Focus on getting through another day of this interminable trial.

 

Moving through the preamble to the summation, his actions were wooden. He didn’t even try to fake being a ‘nice guy’ for the jury. At this point, he really couldn’t summon the will to care. Leaning back in his seat as the prosecution droned on about the evidence against him, he allowed himself a bitter memory.

 

She had been nearly hysterical, trying to escape from him. He had grabbed her arm, and slapped her…

 

She stopped struggling, stunned to realize that he would actually hurt her. As much as she believed that this stranger, this man with no memory, was Stefano, she had been equally certain that he would not hurt her. No matter what he had blustered at her, dragging her through the thick woods, she had never thought he would purposely hurt her. She held a hand to her face. Looking bewildered. Betrayed.

 

The instance he did it, he wished he could take it back. Would give anything to make it right. He had gone to her. Gone to apologize for the anger he had allowed to flare out. The anger that was a constant part of him. He was angry with himself, not with her- he wanted to say. When he raised his hand to wipe her tears, she had shied away from him, and he had wished he were dead…

 

John shifted in his chair, attempting to drive the memories away. Hell, even then he should have known he was a danger to her. Should have known to stay away. He would not make that mistake twice. Willing the trial to end so he could get out of Salem, away from her, he refocused his attention on the judge as he ordered that jury deliberations begin.

 

***************************

 

Marlena stood outside the courtroom, trying to decide whether to go in to hear the verdict read. She knew if she went in, he would see her. And if he saw her, he would come to her. She wasn’t certain she could face that. Face being with him again. Looking into those blue eyes… She suppressed a shudder, of what she wasn’t sure. Wrapping her arms around herself, she decided to wait outside.

 

He only realized he was looking for her when he felt the disappointment of not finding her. The kids were back in the corner, but she was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t certain if it was a good sign or a bad one. Sighing inwardly, he stood to face the judge, as the verdict was read.

 

Pacing the hall, Marlena finally decided that trying to hide from him was worse than seeing him. Getting it over with. And… she had to know that he was all right. That they wouldn’t try to lock him in a cage. It would destroy him, and the thought of it sickened her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she walked in the door just as the judge read the verdict.

 

He stood and tried to stir-up some interest in the verdict being read. Either way, he was out of here tonight. DiMera had already cleared his return to Europe, and he had no intention of visiting the states again any time soon.

 

He almost missed it when the judge said, “The defendant, John Black, is found not guilt… this court is adjourned.”

 

He tried to put some enthusiasm in the ‘thanks’ he delivered to Jefferson, but his eyes were drawn away. Drawn to the back of the room. To where she stood. For a sliver of a second, she froze, staring back at him. As she turned and slipped out the door, he glimpsed her form silhouetted in the fading light.

 

His breath caught, and he stood staring at the place she had been. The image burned into his brain. Her face… her eyes… and beneath the flowing dress, the full breasts… and the swell of her belly.

 

*********************************

 

Angry shouts echoed off of cold stone walls, as Mikos Alamain raged at the man on the other end of the telephone line. “I told you this entire business was foolhardy to begin with. I have given you resources, access to information, every possible assistance. I wanted only one thing from you. I wanted the body of John Black. I wanted it lying cold and dead before me.”

 

“Mr. Alermain,” the voice on the line placated. “That was not possible. The lead operative would never have accepted that assignment. If John had been locked away, we could have controlled the situation. Eventually,… well accidents do happen in prison. Especially to former police officers.”

 

“I did not want him locked-up in some prison. I did not want him in your control. The only place I want John Black is here, under my control. Mine, ” he said with emphasis. “Dead or alive, I don’t care- but I want him here,” Mikos shouted. “Now you tell me you could not even succeed in your misguided attempt to frame him. The man is not a fool. All you have managed to do is put him on his guard. I am holding you to your end of the deal. Dead or alive, I want the man delivered to me. If not, that little secret empire you’re building is going to crumble before your eyes.” Cutting off any reply, Mikos slammed the phone into its cradle.

 

Angrily, he stomped to his desk. Snatching up the file, he again looked at the face of the man he hunted. A hunt that began when he first learned his brother still lived. At first, he had felt relief. Relief that he had not killed his own brother… his own blood. But fear followed the relief. What if his brother knew. What if he knew who he was. Knew that he was the rightful heir. Mikos would not give it up. Would not give up the power he was born to weald. Not even for a brother. And so the hunt had begun.

 

At first, he had not known what he would do if he found his brother. Or at least, he had lied to himself that he didn’t. But long ago fear had turned to anger, and now… he would kill rather than allow any man to threaten his empire. Even his brother.

 

His brother. Looking at the pictures in his hand, there was no doubt about it. The DNA tests had merely confirmed what he had already known. John Black was unquestionably of the blood. The even features, the square jaw gave him away. But most of all, it was the eyes. Those cobalt blue eyes. Mikos recognized the eyes. They were his ‘father’s’- Illya Mikovitch Alamain. A man with a blood claim on the throne of Russia. Looking at the picture of Alexander, his brother, he knew that those eyes would darken when he was angry. Would shine the blue-black of midnight. Would put the fear of God in a man with no soul.

 

Even if Alexander did not know he was the true heir, Mikos might have to kill him. If for no other reason than those eyes. For having his father’s eyes.

Chapter 37

 

John paced across the length of the study for the third time before Stefano commented dryly, “John, you won the case. Against all odds, we got you off. You kicked a policeman in the head in front of a dozen other officers, and they didn’t even convict you of assault. Will you please stop trying to wear a hole in that very expensive rug and tell me what the problem is?”

 

John looked-up at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Sorry, Stefano. I was just thinking.”

 

“While I realize that is a fairly rare occurrence, and one which I must say I applaud, you are not usually so… intense about it. Would you please tell me what it is you are thinking about that has you so agitated?”

 

In an unconscious action, John ran his hand through his hair, and once again began walking the length of the office. “It’s Marlena. She was at the hearing.”

 

“Really?,” asked DiMera, his interest peaked.

 

“You sound surprised,” noted John, with an undercurrent of suspicion in his voice.

 

“Well,” replied DiMera smoothly, “Weren’t you? Given the circumstances, I would not have expected a show of support. Weren’t you surprised at her presence?”

 

“Yea. I guess I was,” he answered, shrugging as he continued pacing. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here. There’s something I have to take care of. I’ll see you in the morning,” John said abruptly. As he left the room, Stefano leaned back in his seat, wondering just how much John had learned at his trial. Perhaps this was not the time to leave the man to his own devices. He rose from his seat and headed out the door, already knowing where he would find John Black.

 

***

 

John pulled the truck he had borrowed from DiMera’s garage into the driveway of the house. God, he had thought that he would never see this place again. He flashed back to a nightmare. In his dream, he had entered this house and destroyed everything- everyone- inside. He would not let that happen, he swore to himself. I will not do that to them. To her. Almost, he made himself turn the truck around. Drive away. Never see her again. Almost… but not quite. Knowing it was wrong. Knowing nothing could come of it, he slammed the truck door and walked to the house. She would be waiting… some things were fated.

 

***

 

She stands, blocking the doorway. “What are you doing here? What do you want?, ” she asks coldly.

 

He simply froze for a moment, looking down at her. Drinking in the sight. His eyes hadn’t deceived him, and he could see the gentle swell of her stomach. A child. His child. Looking into her eyes, he forces out the words. “I want to talk. May I please come in?”

 

For the tiniest fraction of a second, she pauses, then shakes her head. “I don’t want you in my home, John. You were right when you left. You aren’t a part of our lives anymore.”

 

The fact that he agrees with her serves only to make him angry. “Oh, I think I am still a part of your life. A very big part,” he shoots back, looking down at the evidence of her pregnancy.

 

Infuriated, Marlena moves to slam the door, but John slaps his hand against the edge, stopping her cold. His left hand holding the door open, he grabs Marlena’s wrist with his right. Holding tightly, he forces his way through the door, shoving her into the center of the room. “I have a right to know. Is the baby mine?,” he demands.

 

She wrenches her hand away, and he lets her. Turning away from him, she looks down at the floor. “No,” she lies. “The baby is Roman’s.”

 

God, how can she lie to him like this… about this. Angrily, he grabs her shoulder and spins her around. Backing her up. Cornering her against the wall. “No more lies, Marlena. I’ve had enough deceit in my life. I will not let you lie to me about this,” he says, his voice rising. “Now who is the father, dammit,” he virtually shouts at her. His anger sparking, he slams his fist into the wall to emphasize his point.

 

And sees her shrink away from him. Sees the fear in her eyes. Realizes that she is afraid he will hurt her. Slowly, he steps away. Unable to meet the eyes that stare up at him, he drops his head. Softly now, he asks again. “Please… who is the father?”

 

In a voice so low he can barely hear, she whispers raggedly, “You are.”

 

He wants it to be true. He knows he shouldn’t, but he wants it more than anything. As he looks up, looks again into her eyes, his voice catches in his throat. Before he can form words he knows he shouldn’t say, a deep voice cuts in from the doorway.

 

“No, Marlena. John is not the father of your child. I am.”

 

***

 

DiMera stands in the open doorway. This is the moment he had been living for. The moment he tells Marlena the truth. John being in Salem was a complication, but not an insurmountable one. He would have found out eventually anyway. As John turns to face him, Stefano shifts his focus from Marlena to the threat represented by the angry man in front of him.

 

“You can’t be the father of Marlena’s baby, Stefano,” John states flatly, stepping forward in an aggressive pose. “Like it or not, this baby is mine.”

 

Smiling, DiMera simply shook his head. “No, John. There is no doubt. Would you like to know what I did the night that I knew for certain that Marlena would eventually be mine? You remember- the night you blew Davies’ brains all over my dinner table, right in front of Marlena? That night, I had Marlena artificially inseminated. The child she bears will be our firstborn.”

 

Anger flaring, John steps forward and grasps Stefano by the collar, pulling him in close. “You lying bastard” he hisses into DiMera’s face.

 

Marlena pales as the possibility hits her. The baby was Stefano’s. Without knowing why, she recognizes the statement as the truth, and feels the bile rise.

 

“No,” she whispers, sinking to the ground, her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. John immediately turns to her, releasing DiMera from his grip. But just as quickly, Stefano is there.

 

“Marlena? Is it the baby?” DiMera asks gently, grasping her hand in his. With a growl, John shoves him away.

 

“Don’t you touch her! Not ever again without her permission. Do you understand me?!” he snarls out, low and dangerous.

 

“Dammit, John, you know I would never hurt her- but it is my child she is carrying, and I have a right to protect it. Now, back-off John. I refuse to fight you over her,” DiMera snaps, his anger rising at the challenge to his authority.

 

“DiMera- I don’t care if you are the father- after what you just told me, there is no way you are coming near her. Not until she tells me herself that she wants you to.” John states, looking up from where he kneels at Marlena’s side. Switching his attention to her, he asks gently, “Marlena? What is it Doc? Is the baby okay?”

 

Marlena is pale, and her skin seems clammy, but she shakes her head, “No, it’s okay. I’m just a little shocked. Just give me a minute, I’ll be…” and suddenly she doubles over gasping and clenching at her stomach.

 

Wasting no more time on talk, John sweeps her up in his arms and strides rapidly out the door toward his truck. As he pauses to open the passenger door, he is stopped by Stefano’s firm grip on his shoulder. He spins angrily around, but DiMera has already backed-up, hands half-raised in a show of peace. “Use my limo, John. There is room to lay her down, and the driver can worry about getting us there, so Marlena can be watched over on the ride.”

 

“Stay away from her, Stefano. I will not let you hurt her any more than you already have,” John replies.

 

“Forget your anger for a second and think of her needs, John,” Stefano challenges back, his words halting John’s opening of the truck door. After a second’s hesitation, he turns and moves toward the limousine, not even glancing back at DiMera who follows in his wake.

 

***

 

John anxiously paced up and down the hospital corridor. DiMera simply leaned against the concrete block walls, arms folded across his chest.

 

“Dammit!,” John exploded, running his fingers roughly through his long black hair. “When are they going to let us know something?!” Angrily, he stalked toward DiMera.

 

“John, calm yourself. They will let us know when they let us know. There is little we can do about it.” Unleashing a grin on the irate man in front of him, Stefano unwisely suggested, “Why don’t you practice those underused self-control skills of yours?”

 

Shaking his head, John simply stared at Stefano in dismay. “My under used self-control skills? I’m not the one who got an unconscious woman pregnant! Who are you to lecture me on self- control?!” It was all John could do not to grab DiMera by the throat. Squeeze that self-satisfied smirk off of his face. “You know, you are unbelievable. And I don’t mean that as a compliment,” John said, poking a finger into Stefano’s chest. Squaring up on the man, he feels the rage building. Only his fear over Marlena, his fear for the baby, prevent him from lashing out.

 

Stefano wisely bit off further comment as Mike Horton approached them. “John? Marlena told me to tell you that both she and the baby are fine. She wants to see you.” Studiously ignoring DiMera, Mike grabbed John’s arm as he started to pass-by on the way to Marlena. “John, she doesn’t need any more stress in her life right now. It wouldn’t be good for her or the baby. Do you understand me?”

 

Gently, John pulled away from Mike’s grasp. “I won’t do anything to hurt her, Mike. I promise you that.” Brushing by Mike, John hurried on toward Marlena’s room.

 

Softly, he rapped on the door. Hearing no reply, he pushed slowly forward into the room.

 

Marlena lay in the narrow hospital bed, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She tried to stop shaking. Tried to fight down the nausea that rose every time she thought about what had been done to her. The baby wasn’t John’s. It was Stefano’s. She was going to have Stefano’s child.

 

Watching from beside the door, John could feel her grief. It was a palatable thing that hung heavy in the air. “Marlena? Are you okay?,” he asked softly, squinting through the dimmed lights.

 

Startled, she looked over at him. “Mike says I’m going to be just fine. It was,… well, such a shock,” she replied, trying to give him a smile. But her reserve crumbled, and her voice broke as she continued. “I thought this baby was yours, John. It just didn’t occur to me there was another option,” she said, tears in her eyes.

 

He found himself at her side. As he took her hand in his own, she gave a grim approximation of a chuckle. “Of course, this does explain why her development has seemed so slow. She’s really three weeks younger than I had thought possible!”

 

“She?” John said, smiling. “Are you sure it’s a baby girl?”

 

Despite the circumstances, Marlena was touched by John’s reaction. As the reality of the situation struck her once again, she felt the tears flow over her cheeks as she nodded.

 

“Oh, Doc,” he whispered. “You’re going to have a beautiful baby girl. That’s nothing to cry about.”

 

“I’m not crying about,… I’m not sorry about that, John. It’s just, I wish she was yours. I wish that with all of my heart. When I found out, I was so scared. But- well, we never had a child of our own. I guess I just wanted to hold onto a piece of the man you were. The man you used to be when we were a family,” she answered, running her fingers lightly through his hair. Looking straight into the blue of his eyes, she saw him only as the man who had been her partner, her soulmate, for as long as she cared to remember.

 

Ever so slowly, ever so gently, John slipped his arms around her seemingly fragile form. With his left arm, he pulled her close, while his right hand came to rest with a feather touch on Marlena’s stomach. Burrowing her face into the warmth of his neck, Marlena allowed herself to simply be held for a moment. How she had missed this. This feeling of utter safety. Utter completion. For this moment, she would allow herself to forget everything but this feeling.

 

As Marlena felt the tension begin to ease, the door burst violently open, and Roman stood in the doorway. His eyes widened as he took in the scene, and he took one step toward John, fists clenching spasmodically. “So, I guess you told him?” he asked rhetorically. Shifting his attention to John, he ground out angrily, “Don’t pretend that your times with Marlena were anything more than rape, John! You lied to her. She wouldn’t have been with you otherwise. So don’t you go thinking you have any claim on this baby.”

 

Reluctantly, John let Marlena go, and stood to face Roman. “I wish I did have a claim on this baby, Roman. And when you hear the whole story, you just may feel the same way. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll give you two some privacy.” Flashing Roman a bitter smile, John slipped out the door as Roman Brady went to his wife.

 

***

 

“Well, John? I’m waiting. How is she? Is the baby okay?,” DiMera asked, suddenly allowing his anxiety to show through.

 

“What happened to all that self control you were just lecturing me on?” John asked coldly. The rage had died down, but he would not forget how Stefano had taken her. How he had raped her in order to get a child. In order to get the child’s mother.

 

“John…,” DiMera growled out, in anger and frustration.

 

Sighing, John shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Congratulations,” he said sarcastically. “You’re going to have a baby girl. She appears to be perfectly healthy, and as you already know, she is due in another four months.”

 

Unable to resist, John continued his analysis. “Of course, you will probably never see her up close, never be allowed in the same room with her. Marlena was not exactly asking for your presence when I was in there. I’m not certain how this little plan of yours works out in your favor. From where I sit, it looks like you’ve got one more irrate kid who hates your guts!,” he finished hotly.

 

The man’s attitude irritated DiMera. He would have his daughter. He would have Marlena as well. “Thank you so much for your input, John,” he spat back. “But I think you seriously miscalculate if you think I won’t get legal visitation. As we work out the details of child rearing, we will grow closer. Over time, she will come to count on me. And in the end, Marlena will come to me on her own.”

 

“You’re forgetting Roman, Stefano. He isn’t about to let you get anywhere near his wife and kids.”

 

Stefano gestured dismissively. “Brady isn’t an issue. I doubt it will be another month before he is out of that house. When my daughter arrives, Marlena will most definitely be in need of support.”

 

“You aren’t going to drag Roman Brady out of that house without a team of mules, DiMera. I’d put good money on it.”

 

DiMera laughed, the sound grating on John’s nerves. “Well, then you would lose, John. My sources tell me he has been sleeping in the guest room since his return. On the rare occasions he has been in Salem at all. I doubt they have even been intimate. The man is a stranger to Marlena. She won’t just jump from your bed into his. Give her a little more credit.”

 

“So you’re going to rely on her strong morals for the execution of your plan. I hope you appreciate the irony, Stefano,” John replied, the anger once again building.

 

“I always appreciate the ironies of life, John. You know that. Now, as much as I hate to leave my daughter-to-be, and her mother, I think it might be best. We could do without another confrontation with Captain Brady.”

 

“Brady isn’t the one you have to worry about. If you go near Marlena again, you will deal with me,” John said, his mind suddenly clear. Standing firmly in place, he reached out and gently straitened DiMera’s tie. Hands ominously close to the man’s neck. The gesture was very clearly a threat, and Stefano recognized it as such. Speaking very softly, John continued “If you want to finally establish which of us is the best, try going near her again. One of us will die, Stefano. I promise you. And we both know who the better soldier is.” Drawing his hands back, John stalked down the hall, leaving DiMera standing alone.

 

***

 

As he always did, as he always had, John went to the one place where he felt the most complete to find the answers to his questions. The one place where he could wrestle the demons in his head and win. He stared out across the water, deliberately rejecting the memories that always intruded when he was here. It was quiet on the pier. He could think. Think about her, and how he could serve her best.

 

He should be grateful it was not his baby. His daughter. He didn’t need any children. Didn’t want any children. He would only fail them. Let them down. He flashed back on Katherine. Her body, laying limp and helpless on the bed. He had pulled the sheet up, covering her pale skin. Her naked form. The crimson stains that spotted the mattress beneath her. He was her protector, and all he had done in the end was cover the body.

 

Feeling more sorrow now than anger, he considered that maybe it was for the best. DiMera’s children usually ended up hating him, but at least they were alive. Damn… where to go from here. It would be easiest just to leave. Get the hell out of this f**ked up town. This f**ked up situation. He had more than enough money to last a lifetime. Maybe he could go to some nice warm Carribean island and drink himself to death. The image forced a chuckle from him, and the tension in his body began to ease. He would make a terrible drunk. He would get bored in two days. If he wanted to off himself, he should just use a gun. Take the coward’s way out. He snorted at the thought. Too many people wanted him dead. He’d be damned if he’d make it that easy for them. Turning from the pier, he headed for the Salem Inn. He would stay there. See what happened. Watch over the family until he knew they were safe. Safe from DiMera. Safe from himself.

 

There would be time enough later to find another war.

 

Chapter 38

 

Roman sat in the small hospital chapel and truly prayed for the first time since he had been back. He prayed for guidance. It had all gone so terribly, terribly wrong. All he had wanted to do was pick-up where he left off. To have the family he had dreamed of for the long years locked in that damn cell. But that family was gone. He had finally realized it when he had entered the house. The home he had created with Marlena and his children. The home that wasn’t his anymore.

 

Everything he saw, everything he touched. It belonged to someone else. Someone who was gone, but whose presence lurked in every picture. Every piece of furniture. Every damn poster on his kid’s walls. Baseball players, Yankee pennants. Roman didn’t even like baseball, yet there was ‘his’ mit sitting in the corner with Eric’s own. Waiting for their weekend game of catch. With a sigh, Roman recognized that he had been free for over four months, and he still hadn’t played that game of catch with his son.

 

The fault was his. He had let his anger consume him. The bitterness over the fact that they had accepted someone else in his place. Even, Roman finally admitted to himself, the fear. The fear that maybe he wouldn’t be as good a father as the one they had had. He had let it all drive him away. He avoided his family by focusing on the men who had taken him away from them. Now he might have lost them for good.

 

God, the baby could not be DiMera’s. He had been angry when he found out that Marlena was pregnant. The baby… it would be a constant reminder of how she had betrayed him with another man. He had been angry at both of them. But in his heart, he knew that John wouldn’t claim the child. Would not try and take it from Marlena. And there had been satisfaction in knowing that the man would watch from afar as Roman raised his only child. There had been a cosmic justice in that, he had thought. He had felt almost guilty at John’s trial. Seeing the things that had been done to him. Remembering the evidence of his own eyes. No, it had been time to let it go. He had actually been relieved when the man had been set free. He had thought it signaled a new beginning. A fresh start. How wrong could one man be?

 

Stefano was not John. He would not let go of this child. He would not care what Marlena wanted. No, he would use it to his advantage. Use it to draw her closer. God, he prayed. Forgive me. Help me to protect them. Help me to be there for them. Forgive me, father, for I have sinned…

 

***

 

He held her arm as he walked her up to the front door.

 

“Roman!,” Marlena laughed. “You do not have to be so careful with me. They only kept me in the hospital overnight for observation. Mike says I am perfectly fine.”

 

“You are not fine, you are pregnant. And I am going to cater to your every whim from this point on.” Matching words to actions, he bowed before her as he unlocked the front door.

 

With a grin, Marlena took the proffered hand and walked in, only to be greeted with a shouted, “Surprise!!” The twins were waiting in the living room, a cake with burning candles on the table. “Welcome home, mom!” Sami cried out, a smile on her face.

 

She laughed, recognizing the fact that they were trying to take her mind off of her problems. The scare of a miscarriage. The knowledge of the baby’s father. Startled, she realized it was working. “So what are the candles for?,” she asked.

 

“Why, to decorate the cake, of course,” Roman replied teasingly.

 

“Well then, what is the cake for,” she asked, sighing in mock exasperation.

 

“The cake is for all those chocolate urges you get when you are in this… hormonal state.”

 

“Oh, now really. I’m not that bad. Am I, you guys?,” she asked, looking around at her children for support. Without hesitation, they collectively nodded their heads, and she burst out laughing. “Well, come on then. Let’s dig into this cake.”

 

***

 

Marlena lay back in the king-sized bed. After all these months, it still felt wrong to be sleeping in it alone. Unconsciously, her hand floated across the empty spot where John should be… couldn’t be.

 

Still, for the first time in a long while, she felt hope. John had been right. It didn’t matter who the father of her baby was. It was hers. She laid a hand on her belly, and marveled at the feel of an elbow poking her hand. Oh!… maybe that was a knee! She smiled, not realizing how she had missed the feel of this. Wishing she had someone to share it with.

 

Roman. He had tried so hard today. He finally seemed to be trying to get past his anger. Trying to reconnect with his family. She owed him that chance. She just wasn’t sure she could take him back into her bed. Into her heart. But if he were willing to try, so was she. He was her husband. By both God’s law and man’s, he was still her husband. The least she could do was try.

 

She glanced at the clock, noting it was only 10:30. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for a little snack before she turned in for the night. Roman had been right on target. The hormones made chocolate more a need than a desire. Quietly, she eased out of bed and tiptoed out of the room.

 

She reached the kitchen door, noting the light showing from under the crack. Wondering who it was raiding the icebox before her, she hesitated as she heard Roman’s voice raised in anger. Hearing John’s name, she froze in place.

 

“I told you, John Black is not the primary target. DiMera is the head. He is the one we have to take down,” Roman’s muffled voice argued. There was a long pause, and Marlena realized he was talking to someone on the kitchen phone. Suddenly, his voice cut through, louder this time. “No! That is not an option. It makes us no better than they are. Killing him is not an alternative. What is your problem? DiMera is the one in charge. Even if you took Black out, the cartel would still go on. If this is some kind of personal vendetta, you can count me out… No, don’t you even pretend to threaten me. I have enough on you to take you and your whole organization down. If you start killing people, that is exactly what I will do!” As Roman angrily smashed the phone back on its hook, she pushed the kitchen door open and stood looking at him.

 

Turning from the phone, Roman started as he saw her. Glancing back guiltily, he asked, “How long have you been standing there?”

 

“Long enough,” she replied. “Roman, tell me what is going on. What are you involved in?” Going to the kitchen table, she sat down and looked at him, worry reflected in her hazel eyes.

 

Roman gave a sigh. “Look, it’s just work stuff. Nothing you have to be concerned about.”

 

“It didn’t sound like work, Roman. It sounded like threats. Now, I have a right to know, and I want you to tell me!”

 

Easing himself down in the chair opposite her, Roman wearily dropped his head. “I will take care of this. Now is not a good time for you to be getting upset about things.”

 

“I worry about the things I don’t know. Now, please… tell me. Did you have anything to do with John and the diamonds?,” she asked quietly.

 

Roman looked up at her. “Remind me not to forget what a smart woman you are, Doc,” he said almost sheepishly. “But, as to your question. Yes, I helped set John up on the smuggling charges.”

 

Looking steadily into his face, she simply said, “I want to know everything.”

 

***

 

“Roman, why? Why would you go along with such men?”

 

He shrugged, knowing he didn’t have good answers to her questions. “I was mad, Marlena. I saw Stefano getting away with it. Getting away with everything he had done to me. To us. At the time, it just seemed like bending the rules to get to somebody like him… it seemed worth it. I swear to you, I was after DiMera. I didn’t know John was involved in the operation. But when I saw him… When he started to lecture me about being here for you and the kids. Well, I guess it struck a nerve. All I could think of was bringing him down. Showing him up. I called my contact, and told him I had a high level member of the cartel located. I told him how we could work it. I’m sorry, Marlena. I know it was the wrong thing. But I promise you, I will make sure it all works out.” Anxiously, he awaited her response. And then she smiled.

 

“I know you will make this right, Roman. I trust you. You should know that. But what are you going to do? That conversation I overheard sounded distinctly unpleasant,” she said, concern in her voice.

 

He nodded an affirmative. “They wanted me to help set John up again. But this time, the goal was to get him out into the open. To get a good shot for a sniper. They wanted me to help them kill him.”

 

“They want him dead?,” she asked, her face going pale. The fear evident in her voice, she continued. “They would do that. Just shoot him down in the street?”

 

He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. John isn’t even the head of the organization, but it’s like they are fixated on him. I get the distinct impression that I am doing somebody’s dirty work, and that is going to stop. It wasn’t an empty threat when I told my contact that I had evidence against the members of the Brotherhood. I’ve managed to identify most of the members, and have good intelligence on their operations, funding and structure. I’m going to turn it all over to Jameson, and bust this organization wide open!”

 

Instinctively, Marlena reached over and held his hand in her own. “Are you sure it’s safe? These men sound dangerous.”

 

“It’s the only option. If I won’t go along with them, they are bound to view me as a threat. The safest thing for me to do is get the information to the authorities,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “It really will be okay. Now, why don’t you get back to sleep. You and the baby need your rest. And I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to get these files in to Jameson tomorrow.” Standing, he offered his hand and she took it. As he helped her up, she spontaneously leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Roman. Thank you for being honest with me. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” Turning, she started for bed.

 

***

 

He half stumbled into the kitchen, still tired after too little sleep. “Well, hello sleepyhead!,” his wife greeted him from the table. “You missed the kids, they already headed off to school,” she informed him.

 

He flashed her a smile as he sat down across from her, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. “Sorry I missed them. Stayed up later than I thought working on this report,” he replied, tossing a thick file on the table.

 

Ignoring the folder, Marlena turned to the issue that had haunted her dreams. “Roman… does John know you were the one who set him up in Paris,” she asked bluntly.

 

“Probably,” he replied, looking at her curiously. “It’s not that hard to figure out. Why?”

 

“You don’t think he would do anything about it, do you?” The worry showed in her eyes, and he could tell she feared his reply.

 

Honestly, he answered. “No. I really don’t think he will. I mean, he could have been waiting for the outcome of the trial, but he’s had enough opportunities already. If he wanted to… to retaliate, he probably already would have. I did not get the impression that subtlety is his strong point,” he finished with a grin. “I don’t think we need to worry about John. Once I bust this whole Brotherhood organization, he might even thank me.”

 

As he had hoped, this elicited a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t count on that, but I think you’re right. He knows how important you are to everyone. To the family. Just, last night, I couldn’t help worrying. It’s like I don’t know him anymore, and that scares me. Sometimes… he scares me. I know in my heart he wouldn’t hurt me. Wouldn’t hurt us. But, still… “

 

Roman again felt a twinge of jealousy at the emotion in her voice. The longing that still showed through. With an effort, he pushed it aside. “Doc,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. “After today, this will all be over. I called Jameson, the Assistant Director. Told him the whole story. I’ve got to meet him at 11, turn over the files, and then this is all out of my hands. And Doc, when I see him, I’m turning in my resignation as well. I’m going back to being just a plain old policeman. We won’t have to worry about DiMera, or John, or the ISA again. Okay?”

 

Smiling back at him, she took his hand. “It’s more than okay, Roman. Thank you.” Becoming uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze, she drew back. “Why don’t you go get a shower, I’ll clean up in here.”

 

***

 

Roman came back into the kitchen, dressed in a suit and tie. “Better?,” he asked, looking down to find her engrossed in the file he had left sitting on the table.

 

Looking up, she flashed him that dazzling smile. “Much,” she replied.

 

“Doc, you really don’t need to be worrying about that stuff,” he said. Coming over, he looked at the pile of pictures she had strewn across the table.

 

“Sorry, I just meant to take a peek. This is fascinating, Roman. Do you really think all of these men are involved in the Brotherhood?”

 

“Marlena, that’s really a pretty small group for an operation like this. I’ve probably missed one or two, but I’ve got dossiers on 18 men who I know are involved on the organization and planning end. Those are the pictures I had put so nicely in order,” he teased. “The names list is mostly just soldiers. The enforcers they send out to do their dirty work. Given enough time, though, this group could have built-up a real power base. It’s a good thing I’m getting it in to Jameson before they can get completely entrenched. Now, help me get this stuff together. I need to get out of here.”

 

As she walked him out the front door, he almost casually reached down to hold her hand in his. Walking arm-in-arm, he thought for the first time that he might actually have a chance to get his family back. Reaching the car, he turned to face her, leaning against the door. Wanting nothing more than to touch his lips to hers, he could still see the hesitancy in her eyes. He opted for a quick peck on her cheek. “Hey, how about tonight, we go out. Do a little celebrating, just the two of us. After I drop this file off, we’ll finally be able to concentrate on us for a change.”

 

She avoided his eyes, and he held his breath as once again she hesitated to commit to him. Sensing his hurt, she gave him a quick hug. “Of course, Roman. I would love to go out, just the two of us.”

 

“It’s a date, then,” he said smiling. “Wear something slinky!”

 

“Oh, right,” she laughed. “I’ll look really sexy with this bowling ball in my belly!,” she said as he slammed the door shut. As he started the engine, she turned to go back into the house, already trying to figure out what she had in her closet that still fit. None of her maternity wear was really suited for a night on the town.

 

Before she got 10 feet from the car, she heard a honk and turned to find him still in the drive, watching her. “Make sure it’s something red.” he called out. “I love you in red.” Laughing, she gave him a wave of acknowledgment. Still holding her eye, he shifted into reverse – and the car went up in a flash of light.

 

His smile was the last thing she saw before the white fire consumed her.

 

Chapter 39

 

John slammed through the doors of the emergency room. He had heard it on the radio. A car had blown-up. A policeman dead. His wife injured. Foul play suspected.

 

Damning himself. He was supposed to protect her, and he hears it on the radio.

 

Damning DiMera. He had said that Roman would be out of that house within the month. He had been right.

 

Hell, he had known DiMera might end up killing Brady. But that the man would risk Marlena… risk his own child… He was a dead man, John swore to himself. A dead man.

 

He swung around the corner into the small private waiting area. The place for those who had loved ones in emergency surgery. And rounded on the man whose death he had just promised.

 

Without hesitation, John launches himself at DiMera, intent on choking the life from him. “You son of a bitch. What have you done to her?,” he grunts, squeezing his hands tight around the thick neck. Ramming him against the wall. Holding him there, fingers striving to crush the larynx.

 

Faintly, he is aware that men are screaming at him. Someone has him in a choke hold. He ignores them. They can’t stop him in time to save DiMera. Closing his eyes, he puts his entire will into killing the man before him.

 

And he is wining. The man before him is sagging, his body growing heavy in John’s hands. He maintains the grip, even as a voice begins to penetrate the fog. ‘She needs you… she needs you… ‘

 

“John!,” Mike yelled, horrified. Afraid that he was watching a murder being committed, right before his eyes. A bodyguard and two security men were dragging at John’s arms. The bodyguard even moving to put a fist hard into his kidneys. The man was immobile. They weren’t going to stop him in time.

 

“John! Marlena needs you. She needs you now, more than ever. Please, John. She needs you now!,” he yelled, trying to break the man from his daze.

 

Abruptly, John yanked DiMera’s body forward, then shoved it back hard against the wall. Letting it go. Letting it slump to the floor. The rage still coursed through him like a drug, and he turned on Mike. Moving in close, he seemed to tower over the young doctor.

 

Fastening intent eyes on him, John simply asked, “Is she alive?”

 

Motioning the guards back, Mike said very calmly, “Yes. She is out of surgery. She’s okay. Just calm down.”

 

Coldly, John looked at him. “I am calm. And this is the best way I can help her. This is what she needs.” And he turned back to DiMera, now gasping for air on the floor.

 

“Get up, old man. Die on your feet,” he hissed. Reaching down with his left hand, he dragged DiMera up by his collar.

 

“Damn, you John. I didn’t do it. Listen to… ” Stefano gasped out. John’s right fist stopping his plea as it smashed into the side of his face, knocking hin once more to the floor.

 

Fighting for consciousness, fighting for his life, he forced the words out. “I would never put her in danger. I would never put my child in danger. You know that, dammit!” He could barely make-out John’s features as the man loomed above him. Only the eyes, staring darkly down at him.

 

Not wanting to hear, not wanting to know, John screams at the downed man. “Get up. Get the f*ck up.” Slamming his fist into the wall. Feeling the knuckles split. Doing it again… again… again. “Get up!”

 

And Mike moves in, wrapping his arms around John’s upper body. Not forcing it, but bringing the man’s arms slowly down. Blood stains the stark concrete walls, and John sinks toward the floor. Falling to his knees. Resting his head against the cool of the stone. Letting the sobs well up.

 

“Get out. Leave us.” DiMera rasps from where he lays against the wall. “Bryce, get them out.”

 

As the bodyguard moved to herd them from the room, security looked over at Mike. Nodding his head, Mike motioned for them to leave. He wasn’t about to try and have John forcibly removed. It would be a bloodbath. If those two wanted to kill each other, let them. As long as they did it quietly.

 

***

 

The chaos that had fractured the very air of the room is replaced by silence. A silence broken only by Stefano’s gasping. By the almost inaudible moan that seems to emanate from John’s soul, as he kneels hunched against the wall. Almost like a supplicant to some lost God… some vengeful God… he bows beneath the slowly sagging blood stains.

 

“I didn’t do this.”

 

Long minutes pass.

 

“I know,” John finally whispers.

 

“Whoever did, they are dead.”

 

“I know that too.”

 

***

 

John walked from the room as if nothing had happened. Leaving Stefano sitting. Waiting.

 

Searching the floor, he found Mike at the nurse’s station. “Mike, how is she?,” he asked.

 

Startled, Mike looked up. Seeing who it was, he took a step back, only to be brought up short by the desk behind him. “Uh, John. Look, let’s go get you fixed up. Your hands are bleeding pretty bad there. I’ll tell you about it while I work, okay.”

 

“You’ll tell me about it now,” John replied without emotion. “How is she?”

 

“Let’s just go into an exam room. That blood is a health hazard. Besides, we’re still waiting for the family to get here. Come on.” Reaching out, he attempted to lead John by his bicep.

 

Without so much as a change in his expression, John twisted his arm away. In the same motion, he grasped the back of Mike’s head, fingers weaving tightly through his hair, and bent him awkwardly back over the desk. “I won’t ask again, Mike.”

 

Mike fought to keep his breathing steady. John looked right through him, and he knew he had no more relevance for this man than did a bug. He would tell John what he wanted to know, or he would get squashed. He had never felt fear quite like this before.

 

Keeping his voice low and steady, he replied. “She’s going to be okay. She had some first and second degree burns. A concussion. A few bruises from where the blast knocked her down. But she will recover. She just needs to rest.”

 

“And the baby?”

 

Against his will, Mike shifted his eyes away from John’s own. “The baby died, John. The force of the fall caused a miscarriage. We weren’t able to save her. I’m sorry.”

 

For a second, it seemed that he had forgotten how to breathe. That he was being crushed beneath some terrible weight. With a start, he realized he still held Mike bent back against the desk. Releasing him, he turned on his heal and started back up the hall. Back to DiMera. Back to tell him his daughter was no more.

 

As he walked down the long halls, his mind numb, one certainty accompanied him. In the end, this was his fault. Somehow, someway… it was his fault she died. He should never have stayed. Should never have given in to his desires. He should have left, and he didn’t. And now, a little girl’s life was lost. A little girl was dead… and once again, it was his fault.

 

***

 

John stood silently in the doorway, watching DiMera as he sat and stared into the ground beneath his feet. Sensing a presence, Stefano looked up. His eyes locked with John’s, and he saw the reality written plain. Rejecting the possibility, delaying the inevitable, he asked the question anyway.

 

“How are they?”

 

“Marlena will be okay. But… the baby is dead,” John stated bluntly. Knowing there were no words that could lessen the blow. He watched, as DiMera seemed to age before his eyes.

 

Elbows propped on his knees, hands supporting the head he shook in negation, the man for once showed his vulnerability. “No,” he replied softly. Voice becoming louder, he repeated it. “No… no no no no… “

 

Knowing he could not help, John stepped forward anyway. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” he said quietly, not knowing if the words would register.

 

“Damn you!,” DiMera exploded from the chair, his face damp from the tears. Using anger to fight back the pain, he stood and strode toward John. Putting all of his hurt behind the blow, he slapped John hard across the face, snapping his head to the side. “If you hadn’t deserted me! If I hadn’t been preoccupied… I should have had someone watching them… I should have done something… ” He trailed off, the anger again submerged by the pain. Hiding his face behind a meaty hand, the silent sobs again wracked his body.

 

John simply stood there, wishing DiMera would hit him again. Beat the guilt from him. Not knowing what else to do, he gingerly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the man. Holding tightly, he shared the agony. “It’s my fault… It’s all my fault. I f*cked everything up. I am so sorry,” he whispered.

 

For a long moment, they simply stood there, immersed in the sense of loss. A slight sound at the door alerting John to another presence, he broke his grip and turned around. Shawn and the kids stood in the doorway, watching with startled eyes.

 

“You did this? You did this to my son?” Shawn forced the words out. He would have never believed that the man he had thought a part of himself for so long would ever hurt the family, but he had heard the admission with his own ears. John had done this thing. He had killed his eldest son.

 

The guilt overwhelming him, John found he could not meet the blue of Shawn’s eyes. Ignoring the question, he again looped a long arm around DiMera’s shoulders. “Stefano, we should get out of here.” He expected no response, and he received none. Gently, he led the man out of the room, past the accusing eyes of the family that used to be his.

 

Chapter 40

 

She tried hard to open her eyes, as visions of flaming bodies flittered through her mind. Groggy, she called out. “John?”

 

“Shhh. It’s okay, Marlena. It’s going to be okay,” she heard a deep voice say soothingly. Finally bringing herself back, she opened her eyes to see the worried face of Shawn peering down at her. “You’re going to be okay, darlin’,” he said gently.

 

Memories washed over her, and instinctively her hand went to protect her belly… her unborn child. She was gone. She didn’t need the touch of her hand to tell her that horrible truth She could feel it in her very bones. Some piece of her, some important part was missing. Tears flowing, she asked, “My baby? How is my baby?”

 

Shawn simply took into his strong arms, and she could sense Eric holding firmly to the hand she had laid on the spot where her daughter should be.

 

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Shawn replied, rocking her gently. “You lost the baby. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.”

 

The loss was immeasurable, and she clung tightly to the older man. “Roman, where is he? He should be here,” she gasped out, burying her head in Shawn’s chest.

 

The old man’s voice broke as he tried to form the answer. “He’s gone too, Marlena. He was killed instantly by the explosion. Don’t you remember?”

 

“No… ,” she moaned softly, trying to deny the images that once again intruded. Roman, smiling at her. Holding her hand. Calling to her. And then fire… flames searing her vision. Obliterating the smile. “No,” she sobbed into Shawn’s chest.

 

***

 

She lay alone in the private room surrounded by flowers. It felt like a morgue. Staring at the ceiling, she almost wished it were. The loss was so all consuming. So overwhelming. He couldn’t have done this. Wouldn’t have done this. Not to her. Not to her child. She would not believe it. But Shawn’s words echoed in her mind, tearing at her soul.

 

“Why, Shawn. Why would someone do this to him? To us?,” she cried.

 

“Darlin’, don’t worry about that now. You just need to rest. Get your strength back,” he replied, trying to calm her. But something in his voice gave him away, and she knew he had the answers she sought.

 

“You know! You know who did this.” She pulled away, looking up at him, her eyes glistening. “I want you to tell me. I want to know. I have the right!,” she said almost angrily.

 

Taking her free hand in his, he had looked down on her with pain filled eyes. “It was John. I heard him admit it with my own ears. He told DiMera that it was his fault. All his fault. He said he was sorry,” Sean finished bitterly.

 

She shook her head, pulling away from both Sean and Eric. Crossing her arms across her chest. Shutting herself down. Protecting herself from words she didn’t want to hear. She had feared what John was capable of. She had feared that she didn’t know him. But in her heart… in its darkest recesses… she had never doubted. Never doubted him. Never doubted that he loved her. That in the end, he would never do anything to hurt her, or those she loved. Turning on her side, she had curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes tight. He would never have done this. Never have hurt her. Never have taken her baby… her daughter.

 

As the minutes stretched out, they had thought she slept. Silently, they had left the room. Left her to her thoughts. Her overwhelming loss.

 

A soft rap on the door drew her attention, and she looked up as Shawn poked his head in. “You awake?,” he asked softly.

 

“Yes. Just thinking. Come on in,” she replied. She was surprised when Shawn was followed by a man she had never seen before.

 

“This is Director Jameson, from the ISA. He was hoping that you were feeling strong enough to talk with him. But if you aren’t, just say the word,” Sean said protectively. Looking down at Marlena’s pale face, he thought that perhaps this was a bad idea. As much as he wanted to get the man responsible for his son’s death, he thought that it might be too soon for Marlena. She had been through so much, he was not going to allow anyone, including the ISA, to hurt her any more.

 

Almost distractedly, she nodded her head. “It’s alright, Sean. I’d rather get this over with.”

 

“I appreciate this, Dr. Evans. I know how hard this must be for you. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Roman was one of the best, and I considered him a personal friend,” the stranger said, coming over to sit in the chair next to the hospital bed. Pointedly, he looked over at Shawn, who refused to take the hint. “I’m sorry,” Jameson continued. “But this really needs to be a private conversation, Mr. Brady. Some of the discussion might concern classified information. I promise you, I will stop as soon as she shows any signs of tiring.”

 

Sean looked to Marlena, who nodded for him to go. “It will be fine, Sean. Thank you.”

 

As Sean softly closed the door behind him, Jameson once again turned his attention to the woman in the bed. Looking down with kind eyes, he asked “Are you sure you are up to this? I can put it off if you aren’t.”

 

“No, it’s all right. It’s actually good to have something to focus on. Now, what is it that you think I can help you with?,” she replied.

 

“We think that the bomb that… We think the bombing was done by a professional. I want the man who did it. Is there anything, anything at all that you can tell me that might help the investigation?”

 

When she simply looked at him without replying, he continued, gently.

 

“Your father-in-law seems to think a man by the name of John Black was responsible. I wanted to know what you think about that.”

 

Without hesitation, she replied from her heart. “No. John would never do anything to hurt me. It had to have been somebody else. Maybe Stefano DiMera. He might have had somebody do such a thing. But not John. Never.”

 

Jameson looked away for a moment, not wanting to meet her eyes. Studied the flowers covering the table at the front of the room. Softly, he replied “If DiMera ordered the hit, then John’s the one who did it.” Turning again to face her, he continued. “Roman contacted me when he returned. Told me about what had happened. About John Black. I sent him the dossier. The file goes back 20 years. He is DiMera’s number one assassin. Even if DiMera hadn’t wanted him to know, it would have been difficult to hide an operation of this type from his second in command. John is too good at what he does. And what he does is kill people. If DiMera ordered the hit, John did it,” he repeated with certainty.

 

Still refusing to believe, she shot back. “Then it wasn’t DiMera. Maybe it was the Brotherhood. I know he was meeting with you. That he was going to help you destroy the organization. The night before, he was talking with them. Arguing. There were threats. They must have done it It wasn’t Stefano at all,” she said desperately.

 

Startled, he said, “You know about the Brotherhood? That is classified information.”

 

“I know, but… I heard him arguing. I had to know. And then I looked through the files. They are professionals. Right? They could have set the bomb. They must have set it.” She looked at him, eyes pleading for confirmation.

 

Slowly, Jameson shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. I talked to Roman last night. He told me what was going on. That’s why I made the trip out here so quickly. We didn’t want to give them time to act. That car must have been rigged in the middle of the night. There is no other way they could have been sure of getting away undetected. There simply was not enough time after his discussion with his contact in the Brotherhood for them to have set this up. I’m not saying they wouldn’t have done it. But in this case, they couldn’t have.”

 

As she continued shaking her head, denying the reality of the situation, he reached out and grasped her hand. “I am sorry. I know the relationship between Black and your family. I know how hard this must be for you. But in my own mind, I know he is the one responsible. Your father-in-law, and your children, heard him admit it. I just have to figure out how to prove it in court. Is there anything you can tell me that would help?”

 

He said it with such finality, and she could not help the tears that began to flow. Again, she shook her head. “No. Really, I didn’t notice anything before the explosion. I was just walking him to the car. We had just made a date for dinner,” she said, a bitter laugh escaping. “I didn’t know anything was wrong until…” Her words tappered off, the thought too painful to complete.

 

“Okay… It’s okay. Look, I don’t want to bother you. If you want to do this later?,” he asked, looking at her worriedly.

 

“No. I just don’t know what else I can tell you…,” she trailed off.

 

“Well, did you actually see the file on the Brotherhood? Our investigators have done a thorough search. Nothing was left after the explosion. Your family allowed us to search the house, and there was nothing there, either. We still want to get those men. Roman was our best chance.”

 

Relieved that she could do something, help finish what Roman had started, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I saw the whole file. I didn’t read it all, but I remember the pictures. Roman had pictures of 18 men. Men he said were at the core of the conspiracy. I have a good eye for faces. I would know them if I saw them again. And they were all ISA. I remember he said that. All members of the same agency he worked for.”

 

“You’re sure you can recognize them? We have files on all of our agents. If you’re sure, I will have them brought over. But, this could put you at risk. We have to keep it completely under wraps until we bring them in. Are you sure you’re up to it?” Jameson asked.

 

“I’m sure. I want to do this. I’ll help you any way I can. But, are you sure they aren’t the ones responsible for the bomb?”

 

“I’m sorry, but there is just no way this op. was theirs. We are going to have to look elsewhere for the men responsible for the bombing. Now, you get some rest. I’m going to get some men over here to keep an eye on you until we can get the Brotherhood case wrapped up. When you’re ready, I’ll have some pictures sent over. Okay?”

 

Nodding, she tiredly closed her eyes. “Whenever you want. I’m ready now.”

 

Halfway to the door, Jameson stopped. Putting his briefcase on the table, he opened it and pulled out a thin file. “I wasn’t certain whether I should show this to you or not, Dr. Evans. But, I think you ought to know a little more about the kind of man John Black is. If only for your own protection. I had the basics pulled from our files. The core of what we know about the man is here,” he said, taping the file he held in his hands. “Some of it is pretty rough reading. Maybe you shouldn’t look at it now But I’m going to leave it with you. I think you have the right to know just who it is you’ve been defending.” Crossing back to her, he laid the file down on the table next to the bed. “Again, the agency appreciates your help, Dr. Evans. And we will get the man responsible for Roman’s death. Have no doubt of that,” he said grimly.

 

***

 

The images ripped through her mind leaving bloody trails. Images of John… his face, cold… his eyes, dark… his soul, missing.

 

With her own eyes, she had watched the destruction. Bodies… so many bodies. Davies, draped helplessly over the table. His face dissolving… a red mist rising… bullet after bullet impacting at high velocity.

 

With her own eyes, she had seen the pictures. Bodies… so many bodies. A corporate executive who made the mistake of trying to steal the money he was laundering for DiMera. Pictures of a mansion, shining white walls rising out of the green hills. Blue Aegean sparkling in the background. Pictures of dead guards, their weapons held uselessly in limp hands. Pictures of a bedroom. White curtains caught swaying in the breeze. White curtains, spotted with red. The bed itself shining almost blue-black with drying pools. The body, lying stuck to the sheets. Butchered. Neck hacked through with brutal force. A gory signature she would see repeated. Over and over in picture after picture of bodies.

 

As she flees into the refuge of sleep, she dreams. And in her dreams, she sees… bodies. A flash of flame. A flash of heat… a car. And in the dark before the fire… a man. In the dark, she sees his face. John’s face. As he slips into the car and sets the bomb.

 

Chapter 41

 

John sat in the chair behind DiMera’s desk as the first rays of the sun peeked through the windows. Absently, he rubbed at the knuckles of his right hand. He felt the crusts of blood scrape like sand beneath the pad of his thumb. Without conscious thought, he dug harder, releasing a thin trickle of sluggish blood. Surprised himself with his ability to still feel. The pain a welcome respite from the emptiness. Giving a half-groan, he shook his head. Found himself sipping on cold coffee, and pulled the pack of Marlboros toward him. Last night had seemed like the perfect time to start smoking again. Leaning back in the seat, he stretched out aching muscles and sucked the acrid smoke into his lungs. Let it mix with the bitterness of the old coffee. And realized just how bone-deep tired he was.

 

When he was younger, he had gone for days on almost nothing but caffeine and nicotine. At the moment, however, all he was feeling was exhausted and vaguely ill. His mind seemed to have gone numb, as if his brain was simply too tired to think. Instead, he let the memories play through his mind. Tried to see what he had missed before.

 

Consumed with worry and guilt, he had simply been unable to deal with DiMera. To deal with the issue of what he owed, and to whom. He had gotten Stefano home, and tried to put him to bed. His focus on one thing. The only thing that mattered. Marlena. Marlena and those that threatened her.

 

When the old man had brusquely refused to leave the study, John had simply left him sitting, alone on the couch. Left him to the pain he had brought down on himself. And turned his efforts to finding the men who had hurt her. John had put the entire DiMera organization into high gear. Every operative, every contact had been given one over-riding order. Find out who was responsible for the hit on Roman Brady.

 

At first, the hours had passed swiftly. Leads came in. Were evaluated. Were dismissed. And as day turned to night and the darkness deepened, the leads became fewer. Possible suspects were eliminated. Contacts came-up empty. It had been well after midnight before they had exhausted the available alternatives. It was after 2 a.m. when he had half-carried Stefano up to bed. Pulling his shoes off, he had rolled the spent man into the king sized bed, and thrown the thick covers over him. Leaving DiMera to his nightmares, he had come back down to continue the search. And still he sat. Trying to find some sign, some subtle hint that would lead them to their quarry.

 

The hit on Roman simply made no sense. If anyone was going to kill him, it would have been DiMera. But John would stake his soul on the fact that, perhaps for the first time, the man was actually innocent. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have killed him. But he would never done it in such a sloppy way. Never done it in a way that could possibly endanger Marlena and her children. Especially her unborn child, John thought to himself, a grimace of pain showing on his face.

 

It hadn’t been DiMera. But it was obviously a professional. They had already gotten the initial police and arson squad reports- through ‘informal’ channels, of course. It had been C-4, triggered through the gear-box. The car had gone-up when shifted into gear. Actually, the fact that it was a pro was probably the only thing that had saved Marlena’s life. The explosion, while powerful, had also been directed. The force of the blast had disintegrated the interior of the car, and everything in it. But it had been focused. The flash of heat instantaneous. The destruction localized.

 

John sighed, dragging deeply on the cigarette and fighting the urge to cough. The fact that it was a professional hit had eliminated 99% of the street punks who might have wanted to see a police Captain laid out. But there just wasn’t any reason for anyone else to be interested in Brady. Since he had been back, the man had devoted all of his attention to bringing down DiMera. He hadn’t had time to piss off anyone else!

 

The ‘Brotherhood’ was the only other option John could come-up with. They were the only other professionals Roman had been connected to. But it was not an alternative that made much sense. Roman was working with the organization, of that John had no doubt. There was no reason they would kill one of their own. And if they had wanted to… well, they would probably have just ‘disappeared’ him. There was no reason the organization should go to such dramatic lengths to take him out.

 

He’d even run down the possibility that Marlena had been the target. Some deranged patient with a military background, perhaps. There was nothing. Groaning in frustration, he realized he had killed off the last of the stale coffee.

 

Briefly, he considered going back to the Inn. Trying to get some sleep. He could imagine nothing more depressing than laying in that strange bed. Staring at the ceiling. Seeing the images of Marlena and fire and dead children…

 

He lurched to his feet, and moved to the wet bar. Grabbing the first bottle that came to hand, he half-stumbled back to the chair. Not bothering with a glass, he sank into the thick leather and let the vodka flow down to make war with the coffee that was already busy trying to burn a hole in his stomach. Lighting the third cigarette in a row, he considered the costs and benefits of sitting there behind DiMera’s desk and getting puking drunk. He would still dream, but maybe he wouldn’t remember it when he woke up.

 

Startled from his reverie by DiMera’s heavy tread, he opened his eyes to see the man stalking toward him dressed in his clothes from the night before.

 

“Get out of my chair,” he snapped irritably as he walked into the room.

 

John continued to lean back in the chair, giving DiMera an insolent stare. Noticed the dark bruise, covering the right side of the man’s face. Felt the satisfaction of knowing he had put it there. Slowly, he again brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. Suppressing a shudder as the liquid fire spread through him, he arrogantly rose from the chair. Stepped to Stefano. His physical proximity a thinly veiled threat.

 

“Fine,” he said coldly. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

 

With no idea where he was going, John was almost to the door when he felt DiMera’s big hand grab his shoulder. Turning quickly, he didn’t even notice as his hands curled automatically into fists.

 

Stefano stepped back, releasing John as he saw the expression of barely contained fury on the younger man’s face. Matching it with a glare of his own, he said forcefully, “You are not going anywhere John. You created this mess. You are damn well going to clean it up!”

 

“I did not do this!,” John shot back, trying to keep his fear from showing. His fear that DiMera was right.

 

DiMera’s anger and hurt were the equal of John’s own. Heedless of the risk, he stepped closer. Jammed a thick finger into the younger man’s chest. “You took Roman out of my compound. It was your action that put her at risk! Then, when I should have been concentrating on Marlena…on my child!… No, I am busy tracking you down. You should have been here and you were not. You should have obeyed and you did not. You did this to her, John. You!” DiMera almost roared.

 

Slapping the arm away from his chest, John tried to fight the words. To deny the reality. The knowledge of his fault… Tried and failed. But he would not go down alone. “You made me do this to her, DiMera! You made me tear her whole life apart!,” he screamed back. And as the last of his reserves crumbed, he felt the burning rage wash over him.

 

He needed it to belong to someone else. The guilt. The blame. Needed it to belong to someone else, so that he would have something to break. The fire in his head consumed him, and he lashed out. Swung wildly. Like a child. And felt the joy at the first impact. The joy of the feeling of forgiveness…the feeling of redemption.

 

The blow is a glancing one, but shatters DiMera’s nose. Knocks him back, scattering the papers on the edge of the desk. He sees the wildness in John’s eyes. Sees the animal that lurks within. And finally knows the fear that he has unleashed on so many souls now lost.

 

There is no skill in the attack, and John simply grabs the big man by the collar. Rips him off the desk… slams him against the bookshelves… hammers him with his fists.

 

The intent is not to kill, but to destroy utterly. To pulverize the body before him. Beat it into dust, and make it as if it had never existed. His vision narrows to a pinprick, and he almost misses the shadow that shifts in the corner of his eye.

 

The glimpse of movement, reflected in the big mirror over the bar, demands him. Swinging around, he is aware of Stefano’s heavy body falling to the floor. His booted foot smashes Jensen in the groin before his mind even recognizes the man’s face. Wanting only to finish what he has started, to finish DiMera, he is stopped as Bryce runs through the still open door. The young man stands in the center of the room, stunned by the scene before him, and John’s shoulder takes him in the gut. Lifting him off of his feet, John sends them both crashing into the hard brick of the fireplace. The force of the impact dropping Bryce to the ground.

 

And John reaches down. Fingers curling in a familiar gesture around the smooth wood of the thin long log. The heft of it in his grip is right, and he turns back to DiMera’s groaning form with the trace of a smile.

 

Thought is unnecessary…unwanted. The movements of this dance are already seared into his soul. He advances smoothly across the floor. Holds his club high. And sees what he has become reflected back at him in the gold framed mirror.

 

As he slams the stick into the face of the man who owns the guilt, the glass shatters around him. It slices through his flesh as he pounds the face into a million shimmering fragments. Splintered diamonds that turn to dust beneath his feet.

 

He stops only when he feels the wood crack beneath his bloodied hands.

 

Staggers back, accompanied by the crunch of the glass.

 

He shines beneath the sparkling dust. The razor sharp shroud of glass. Looking tiredly over at the huddle of guards gaping at him from the door, he drops the broken club and stiffly orders them to call the doctor.

 

***

 

He sat behind the big desk. The sun slanting through the windows behind him the only illumination. Sitting in the shadows, he watched the glint of light as it caressed the silver of the metal. The weapon a perfect balance of form and function.

 

The room was quiet. A tomb of his own creation. The servants and guards too afraid to approach him. Too afraid to come near. With a sigh, he thought to himself he should check on DiMera. Know the extent of the damage. Instead, he looked back at the gun. Took it in his hand. Dropped the clip. Checked the chamber.

 

When they had carried Stefano out, the man had been only half-conscious. The pounding John had given him more than even his heavy frame could take. Bryce had managed to walk out on his own. Jensen had refused to even try to stand. As they had taken the wounded from the room, he had felt their fear pervading the air. He had known then that the organization was his for the taking. No one who worked for DiMera would oppose him. Their fear of John was now greater than their fear of the old man. A victory of sorts, he thought hollowly.

 

In celebration of his victory, he brought the barrel of the gun under his chin. Cocked the hammer. Pulled the trigger. And felt the expected disappointment as the pin clicked on an empty gun.

 

Closing tired eyes, he prayed to whatever Gods would listen for the day she would be safe. The day he would be free. That day, there could be a live round in the chamber of his gun.

 

***

 

John stepped quietly into the darkened room. Watched DiMera as he slept, face pale against the pillow that cradled his head. He moved soundlessly to sit in the chair beside the big bed. Noting the darkening smear of the bruises that marred the flesh, he winced at the knowledge that they were his gift to the man who had raised him. The man who had taught him to control the rage that had always threatened to engulf him. With a sigh, he lay his head back to stare beyond the ceiling and thought to himself that Stefano had not taught him quite enough.

 

“Are you here to finish the job?,” a voice croaked at him.

 

Looking back to DiMera, he saw the glint of a dark eye. Noted the dreamy quality of a mind befuddled by the drugs that fought off the pain. And the challenge that shone through, despite the chemicals. Despite the pain.

 

John allowed himself a tight grin at the recognition that the man had no fear. No fear of him. No fear of death. He wondered if it was the will of some sick and twisted universe that the two of them had found each other.

 

“The guard should not have let you in here,” the voice continued to ramble, undeterred by John’s failure to answer.

 

“The guards do what I tell them to do,” was John’s dry response.

 

DiMera’s attempt at a grim laugh turned into a groan of pain, as bruised ribs protested the slight movement. “Ahh…The king is dead… Long live the king,” he managed to grate the words out.

 

“You are hardly dead, Stefano. Sometimes I think you never will be. That you will live forever…the one constant in my life,” John said softly. His words both an accusation and a plea.

 

“If you are asking my forgiveness, John, you will have to do better than that. Much better,” Stefano answered him, his voice gaining strength.

 

John’s laugh was bitter. “You raped her, Stefano. You took her against her will. You made a child that should never have been yours. I’m not sorry for your pain. I’m sorry for hers.”

 

“Then why are you here? Why did you stay?”

 

With a shrug of resignation, John once more turned his face to the heavens. “Where else do I have to go?,” he said, closing his tired eyes.

 

For a moment, Stefano managed to make his mind focus. Studied the man slouched in the chair across from him. Even in the relaxed pose, the muscles of his neck seemed to twist. The body primed to explode. The quick pulse of his vein an indicator of the shortness of the fuse. Closing his own eyes, Stefano allowed the drugs to once more carry him away. As consciousness faded, he thought to himself that those who played with fire should not complain when they were burned.

 

***

 

With a sigh, he kicked his bare feet up to rest on the heavy desk. Dressed only in an old pair of gray sweatpants, he enjoyed the feel of the smooth leather against his back. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. His only relief in the past two days the couple of hours he had napped at DiMera’s bedside.

 

He had awaken to find Stefano still lost in the dark solitude of sleep. Moving quietly, he had left him there. Taken a shower, washing away the last of the glass that had buried itself in his body. The sting of the cuts a welcome distraction from his own black thoughts. Sleep had been an impossibility. The threat of dreams a Hell he was not ready to visit. Instead, he had returned to the office. Felt the relief at seeing the carnage of the morning wiped clean by obsequious servants.

 

As the night descended on the world outside, he had studied the reports. Stared at the pictures. The picture of her. Her family.

 

The picture was grainy. Clipped from the afternoon paper. Yet even in the blurry photo, he thought she looked lost. An abandoned child, left alone by those who should be there for her. It was the picture from Roman’s memorial. Held at the hospital so that she could attend.

 

He was lost in the picture of his family when he sensed the presence of another in the room. Looking up, he was unsurprised to see DiMera on his feet.

 

“You should be in bed,” John said mildly. Through the loosely tied robe, he noted the bandages that wrapped the man’s chest as Stefano moved gingerly into the room.

 

“And you should stay off of my desk,” DiMera shot back gruffly, coming toward him. Asserting his authority.

 

Not wanting another fight, John wordlessly got to his feet. Allowed the man his dignity. Watched as Stefano eased himself down into the padded chair. As he settled in, John walked away to collapse across the arms of an overstuffed chair.

 

“What have you discovered about Brady’s death?,” DiMera asked, attempting to focus on the mission at hand.

 

“There is nothing, Stefano. Nothing new has come out since you went to bed last night,” John answered, easily immersing himself in the familiarity of this game. This role as Stefano’s soldier. They both knew that it was not the same. But he was willing to pretend for the moment.

 

“There has to be something. You are missing something. I know it,” the older man replied, his voice tinged with anger.

 

John merely sighed. Gestured toward the files strewn across the desk. “Look for yourself. There’s nothing there…,” he trailed off, unwilling to debate the issue.

 

He allowed his eyes to drift across the room. Softly, he said, “There’s a picture of her on the desk. Today’s paper. It was taken at Roman’s memorial service.” He avoided looking at Stefano as the man picked-up the scrap of paper. Looked down at the woman he had wanted for so long.

 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she,” Stefano said softly. Speaking to himself as much as to John.

 

“Yea. She really is… We should never have tried to touch something so pure, Stefano. We should have known we would end up destroying it.” John’s voice was tinged with sadness. Sorrow for the woman. Remorse for what had been done.

 

“This is not what I meant for her, John. You know that. I never meant her any pain,” Stefano replied, his voice softening.

 

“Neither did I. It’s rather moot now, isn’t it?,” was John’s only answer.

 

“She will be all right, won’t she?,” DiMera asked, certain that John would know.

 

“Yes. Physically, she will be fine. There’s a copy of the doctor’s report in there somewhere. They will keep her for another day or two, but I think that is mostly Bo’s doing. He wants to keep her someplace safe while he tries to figure out what’s going on. We were lucky. All she lost was a child and a husband,” he finished bitterly.

 

Stefano simply gave him a hard stare, and turned his attention to the files piled up on his desk. As he searched the papers for an answer, John closed his eyes and surrendered to the dreams.

 

***

 

This was the last place on earth he wanted to be. But two days had passed, and they were no closer to discovering those responsible for the bombing. The only person left to talk to was Marlena- if she would see him, John thought with a grimace.

 

As he walked down the long corridors of the hospital, he could not help but recall his encounter the day before with Bo Brady.

 

He had been cooped-up in the study so long it had seemed he couldn’t remember being anywhere else. When he had reached the point where his agitated pacing and snide comments had become more than Stefano was willing to put-up with, he had finally been ordered from the room. Not wishing to break the uneasy truce that existed, he had complied.

 

DiMera had been right. An hour spent working out with the heavy bag in the gym had taken his stress level back down into the merely psychotic range. The long shower he had indulged in afterward had restored him to the human race. If he wasn’t happy, he was at least able to focus past the anger, and he moved to the study to check-in with a lighter step.

 

As he entered the paneled room, however, any sense of optimism was immediately dashed. Bo Brady was stretched across DiMera’s desk, attempting to establish a choke-hold as the older man fought him off.

 

Moving on instinct, John was across the room and wrenching Bo’s head back in a grip of his own without stopping for thought. Using his leverage, he pulled Bo off of Stefano, tossing him to the side of the room where he fell against the couch.

 

Immediately Bo shot to his feet, advancing angrily on John. “Figures you’d be here. After all, you’re the one who does his dirty work.” His anger overshadowed his training, and when he swung on John, it was a wild roundhouse, easily blocked.

 

“Bo, dammit! Will you calm down!,” John shouted at the enraged man before him.

 

Heedless, Bo rushed forward again, trying to wrap one of his arms around John and bring him to the ground. John took an outstretched hand and turned it sharply. The pain of the jointlock stood Bo up, and John hit him hard in the diaphragm. The punch dropped him to his knees, gasping for breath.

 

Taking a step back, John allowed the adrenaline to finish coursing through his body. Looking down on Bo, still trying to catch his breath, he asked, “What’s the problem here?”

 

When Bo was unable to answer, he shot a questioning look to DiMera who still sat in the chair behind him. DiMera stopped rubbing his throat long enough to shrug, his eyes showing his anger. “Jensen allowed him in because he showed police I.D. and said he needed to question me about the bombing. We were expecting that, so he brought him right up. Once the door closed, the man simply attacked me. From what I could gather, I do believe he blames me for his brother’s death.” He shot John an evil grin, and continued. “Or rather, I should say he blames ‘us’.”

 

“Don’t bother denying it. Either of you,” Bo wheezed, looking up at them. Fixing his eyes on John, he hissed, “Pop heard you, John. He heard you apologize for f*cking up your mission! He heard you admit your fault. God! How could you do this?,” he cried out, struggling to rise to his feet.

 

Standing shakily, he glared at the men before him. “You were still like a son to them. You know that?! They still had the pictures of you around the house. When Roman would say something about you, they always defended you. You killed their son, John! Do you know what that did to them. What that did to all of the Bradys! Most of all, the kids. You remember the kids, don’t you,” Bo said with heavy sarcasm. “They were yours for 14 years! You should remember them. But no…you leave them to come and work for this…this monster. And if costing them one father weren’t enough, you kill the man that gave them life!”

 

Bo stood, staring at John with a look of disgust. “You are going down. Both of you. One way or another, I will see to it that you both pay,” he said, his eyes cold as he turned and stalked to the door.

 

Bo’s words echoed in his mind as he approached the door to her private room. She was to be released from the hospital today, and he had not wanted to have to approach her in her own home. In the home they used to share.

 

The police officer at her door held up a hand, eyeing John suspiciously as he pulled-up at her door. Looking almost disgruntled to find the man’s name on the list of visitors Marlena had permitted, he gave John a grudging nod. “You’re cleared to enter. Do you have any weapons, Mr. Black?”

 

With a sigh, John stripped the should-holster from beneath his jacket. With a careless toss behind him, he turned the gun over to his own man, standing at his assigned post directly across from the door. Giving the officer a dry look, he said, “Nope. No weapons, officer.”

 

Brushing past the frowning guard, John softly pushed the door open and walked into the room. Not wanting to give her a chance to kick him out, he pulled the door tightly shut before calling her name.

 

“Marlena.” Her name echoed softly in her ears, and she knew he had come.

 

Not wanting to see him, she left her eyes closed shut. Tiredly, she asked, “Are you here to apologize?”

 

Walking softly forward, he studied her face. The bruises that still ringed her eyes. That shone darkly from her pale face. The surge of fear and anger at what had been done to her made thought difficult.

 

“Apologize for what?,” he rasped, coming to a halt beside her bed.

 

“For killing my husband…. My baby,” she whispered, as she finally opened her eyes to search his face.

 

He stood stunned. Unable to defend himself when he knew the guilt was deserved, if not for this crime then for others.

 

His failure to respond to her challenged caused Marlena’s temper to flare. Siting up, she glared at him. “Don’t bother telling me you would never do such a thing!! I have seen your files, John. I have seen the bodies!! I know what you are capable of!”

 

He groaned inwardly at the thought of what she had seen. The depth and breadth of the path of destruction that was his life. Tightly, he replied. “Then you ought to know I would never be so careless in my work. If I had killed Roman, I would have done it up-close. Personal. With a knife. I would never have put you at risk.”

 

“Oh, yes. I will have to try that one the next time I am defending you to the ISA. ‘John says he would have used a knife to kill Roman’,” she mimicked, her voice sarcastic.

 

“Marlena,” he said quietly, trying to placate her. “Why would I kill Roman? I got him away from DiMera so he could be with you. Why would I kill him?”

 

“I know why you killed him. He told me. Told me how he set you up in Paris. God, John!!” She cried in anguish, her fear that he had betrayed her all consuming. “If you had only waited! He was going to turn the whole ‘Brotherhood’ gang over to the ISA. That very morning, he was going to turn them in. He was going to make it right with you…” she trailed off. She hugged her arms tightly around herself, and tried to stop the shaking in her body.

 

His eyes narrowed, as the puzzle came together. Trying not to show his agitation, he asked, “You know about the Brotherhood?”

 

“He told me everything,” she replied more calmly. Looking away from him, she studied the far corner of the room. “You didn’t have to kill him, John. He was coming clean about Brotherhood.”

 

“What did he have on them? Do you know?,” he asked, trying not to break the spell. Praying that she would answer him.

 

“He had everything, John. I saw it. Enough to break the entire organization.” Turning to face him, she wore a sad smile. “You would have had your revenge on the men who framed you, and you wouldn’t have had to kill him,” she finished bitterly.

 

“Marlena, this is important,” he said, his voice betraying his worry. “Can you identify the members of the Brotherhood. How much do you know?”

 

She gave a hard laugh, and shook her head. “I have to admire your focus, John,” she shot at him. “All you care about is protecting DiMera! His organization! Well don’t you worry. I know everything. Roman told me it all. I even saw their pictures, John! I’m meeting with the ISA to identify the rogue agents. You can set your mind at ease!”

 

“Marlena,” he shook his head, stepping closer to her. Willing her to understand. “This isn’t about DiMera. You aren’t safe. As long as you have this information, you are a target. The ISA is compromised. You won’t be safe working with them.”

 

“Oh, and I would be safe with you?! Was this the plan all along. Kill Roman so you can get me to come back to Stefano? Let him ‘protect’ me?” She shifted away from him on the bed. “I think I’ll take my chances with the ISA,” she said coldly.

 

“You aren’t thinking…,” he tried to argue, only to be cut-off.

 

“Get out. Just, get out, John. Don’t come back,” she said tonelessly, staring down at the thin sheet. Trying to stop the flow of tears that until now, she had controlled.

 

He watched a moment more, as she sat forlornly on the bed. When the sobs grew to wrack her pale form, he turned and left.

 

Chapter 42

 

“Are you sure?,” Stefano asked, eyes intense as he leaned against the desk. The bruises on his face had already started to fade, and his voice was again commanding as he questioned John.

 

“No doubt about it. The Brotherhood was responsible for the hit on Roman,” John said with assurance. Leaning back with satisfaction in the leather armchair, he lit a cigarette and washed the first drag down with a swallow of bourbon. He smiled to himself, relaxing into the hunt. He had a target now. The rest would follow.

 

“Will you put that damn thing out! It reeks,” Stefano snapped at him in irritation. The old man bit back further comment as he caught a glimpse of John’s face.

 

When he looked up at DiMera, the man felt a shiver of what would pass as fear. “John,” he warned. “You do not need to do anything hasty. We will sit back and identify the members of the group, and then we will decide how best to deal with them. There is no need to rush.”

 

John looked down at the drink in his hand and took another drag off of the cigarette. The rake of his fingers through his hair an indicator of his agitation, he said, “Yea, Stefano. There is a rush. Marlena is in danger.”

 

The words hung laden in the air. When John turned to meet DiMera’s eyes, the older man no longer saw the look of a hunter. Stark fear had replaced the cold fury. “She told a director at the ISA that she could identify the members of the Brotherhood. Had seen pictures of them! If there is a leak…anywhere along the line, they will know she is a threat…,” he broke off.

 

Slugging back the remainder of the bourbon, he stood stiffly and tried to gather his thoughts. “We have to do something, Stefano. Right now. We have to do something,” he almost whispered.

 

DiMera knew the man was right. If the Brotherhood was aware that Marlena could identify them, they would not hesitate to eliminate her, just as they had Roman. He gave John a lopsided grin and shrugged, pleased with the implications. “Our response is obvious, John. You go get Marlena, and bring her to one of our compounds. We can protect her until the problem of the Brotherhood is solved.”

 

“She won’t do it, Stefano. There is no way Marlena will come away with me. If there is one man on this earth she trusts less than you, it’s me,” John stated with assurance.

 

“I wasn’t suggesting that you deliver an invitation, John. I was telling you to go get her. Bring her in so that we can protect her. Her willingness to be protected is not relevant to that mission,” Stefano replied, the sarcasm creeping into his voice despite his attempt to suppress it.

 

“Damn it, Stefano! I have already made it clear, I will not hurt her for you,” John returned, his agitation clear.

 

DiMera started angrily toward the man, his annoyance barely held in check. “Stop being naive, John. I trained you better than this. Our first priority is to protect Marlena. The men after her are professionals. They will tear through anything the Salem P.D. can put in their way like it’s tissue paper. You know that. The only way to be sure she is protected is to do it ourselves. Do you disagree with that assessment?” DiMera asked pointedly.

 

John sighed. He had never meant to suggest that Stefano’s understanding of the situation was lacking. Neither would it occur to him that the planned response would fail to be the most logically viable. He knew the man far too well to underestimate his abilities when it came to strategy. However, the thought of delivering Marlena once again into DiMera’s hands seemed a cure that was as bad as the disease.

 

“Stefano, there has to be a better way. To do this right, we have to take not just Marlena, but the three children too. If they’re left exposed, they can be used against her. She’d do just about anything to protect her kids. So, we do it right, and we end-up trying to keep four people, three of whom are rebellious teenagers, contained. And we don’t want to hurt them, or even restrain them if we can help it. On top of that, we have to do it while keeping professional hitmen from getting to them. This is not what I would consider a sound approach. There has to be a different tact.”

 

Stefano grinned, almost amused by his recalcitrant agent. “And just what would you suggest, John. I am always willing to consider a creative alternative.”

 

John smiled coldly back, the idea coalescing quickly in his mind’s eye. “It’s easy. I kill all of the ISA guys.”

 

“Well, yes John. That would be my preference too. I will see the men who killed my daughter destroyed. The problem, of course, is that we do not know who the members of The Brotherhood are. Only Marlena has seen the pictures. Only she can identify the members of the group. We need to get her to a safe house so we can have the time to go through our files and have her identify the ones she recognizes. That was rather the whole point of bringing her in,” DiMera said, his impatience showing in his voice.

 

John shook his head, still grinning a predatory smile. “You misunderstand me. I don’t mean I kill The Brotherhood off. I mean the whole ISA- or at least all of it that we have identified in our files. I can organize it tonight. By tomorrow morning, any ISA agent still alive will be too busy running to worry about Marlena, regardless what she knows about the Brotherhood. We have enough agents in place Stefano. I could pull it off,” John said with confidence.

 

DiMera was impressed. The man’s hubris truly knew no limits. He was willing to go to war with a government agency just to draw attention from Marlena and her family. And a war would ensue, there was no doubt of that. Even if John obtained optimum results, the structure of the agency would remain, and new personnel would step in. Given such a vicious attack, other enforcement agencies would be drawn in. DiMera would be lucky to stay alive, much less maintain his empire. Once he went outside of the rules of the game, he knew there would be no holds barred on either side. Though the very audacity of the plan did have a certain appeal, the costs were simply too great. Almost regretfully, Stefano shook his head in negation.

 

“I’m afraid not, John. Though I would dearly love to observe the carnage that would result if I unleashed you on them, the costs to my empire would be too great. The best approach is to stay within the confines of the law. Well, the loose confines, anyway…,” he smirked. “Bring Marlena and the children to the Blue Ridge compound. I’ll meet you there. Once we have the members of The Brotherhood identified, we can turn the information over to someone we can trust. I’m sure Bo Brady would like to know the identities of the men who killed his brother.” Stefano grinned in satisfaction. “If you’re very good, maybe I’ll even let you take them out yourself. Either way, the first point of business is to get Marlena under our protection.”

 

Admitting to himself the wisdom of the plan, if not its ethics, John reluctantly nodded. “I’ll gather the men and equipment. I should deliver the family to the Virginia compound within 48 hours. But Stefano, there is one thing you should know.” Standing directly in front of DiMera, John stared straight into his eyes. “You will not so much as touch Marlena or her children. If you force her to do anything, even when she is unconscious, it’s not the ISA who will bring your empire down…” With that, John turned and strode from the room.

 

***

 

The utility van parked across from the Brady house had been there for hours, and except for the occasional trip into the manhole, little actual work had been demonstrated. In this sedate neighborhood, however, scant attention was paid to the workers and their equipment.

 

Within the shrouded confines of the van, however, a flurry of activity had been sparked. “Mr. Black?” a man in a gray jumpsuit said urgently into a radio. “The car is on the move, sir. They headed west, just as you expected. There’s no sign of a tail car, but Dr. Evans did have a driver. Plain clothes cop if I had to bet. Do you want us to maintain our current position?”

 

Several blocks away, John sat in the passenger seat of a dark green Jeep. As he had half expected, Marlena was going to pick the kids up from bible school herself. With only a single officer to watch over them, they would be vulnerable. Clicking the mike he held in his hand, he issued the orders that would put his plan into action.

 

***

 

“Mom, bible school is stupid. We are way too old for you to be forcing us to go to some youth group. In fact, I’m having trouble seeing why I should go to church at all,” Eric complained, slamming the car door shut behind him. Sami sat listlessly in the seat next to him, removed from her surroundings as she had been much of the time lately.

 

As officer Williams pulled the car away from the curb, Marlena turned in her seat. “You know how important church is, Eric. Especially at a time like this. Everybody needs someone to lean on, in the bad times most of all.” She looked worriedly at her only son, as he refused to meet her eyes. When John had left, and Roman tried to take over as head of the family, Eric had bristled. He had seen it as his place to watch over his mother and sisters, not trusting anyone else to do the job. However, with Roman’s death, feelings of responsibility had changed to feelings of rebellion. Right now, Eric was angry. Angry at everything and everyone around him. Marlena no longer knew how to reach him.

 

Turning to once again face the road, she gasped as she saw the shape of the semi blocking both lanes as they came out of a sharp curve. She couldn’t help crying out, as at the same instant, she heard the squeal of the brakes as Williams attempted to slide the car to a halt rather than hit the big rig in their path. As the car screeched to a stop, scant feet from the body of the trailer, Marlena managed to catch her breath and focus her attention on the backseat and the frightened children.

 

“That was too close,” gasped Eric, looking suddenly young and vulnerable.

 

“Is everyone okay?” Williams called out, already picking up his cell phone to call in.

 

Marlena relaxed, as both of her children nodded that they were fine. Only then did she notice the reason for the tractor trailer’s precarious position. The rear of the rig had fishtailed, and a small passenger car was wedged between it and the guardrail. A man in jeans and a baseball cap could be seen furiously working with a crowbar to get the bashed-in door open. Without thinking, Marlena reached for the door in an effort to go and help. She started as a heavy hand pulled her back into the car.

 

“Dr. Evans, you and your family need to stay put until I can check this out. Ambulances are already on the way and will be here shortly. All of you need to stay in the car. I’ll be right back,” Williams ordered.

 

Against her will, Marlena settled back into the car seat, willing to wait at least until a patient had been freed from the wreckage before insisting on offering her medical expertise. Nerves tense, she watched as Williams swiftly approached the mangled passenger car, hand held firmly on his weapon. As he reached to help the man working on the door, he suddenly staggered back, clutching at his chest. Marlena was shocked, but not at the sight of the detective dropping unconscious to the ground. Instead, her eyes were locked on the figure that stood beside the downed officer. She would recognize that body, that stance, anywhere. Fighting the urge to panic, she shifted to the driver’s seat and fumbled with the keys as John Black sprinted toward the car.

 

As the officer leaned in to get a better glimpse of the trapped passenger, John shifted to face him. Raising the taser in his right hand, he fired point blank into the officer’s chest. The man looked like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer, dropping to the ground without a sound. Leaping over the body, John ran toward the car, wanting to contain the situation as quickly as possible. The longer it took to get Marlena and the kids under their control, the greater the opportunity for something to go wrong, for someone to get hurt. Right on cue, the black van squealed around the corner, coming to a stop directly behind Marlena’s car just as she got the key to turn. As she moved to shift into drive, John caught up with her. With the crowbar he still held in his left hand, he swung hard, shattering the driver’s side window. As the safety glass rained down on her, Marlena ducked, giving John the time he needed to reach through and grab the key.

 

Not even bothering to catch his breath, John popped the lock on the driver’s door, and grabbed Marlena by the arm. Once she was secured, the kids would be more willing to listen to reason. As he pulled her from the car, she stumbled getting her footing, and he drew her closer to steady her. He noticed the heat her touch generated at the same instance he noticed Eric’s enraged form surging over the backseat toward him. Still holding Marlena firmly, he shifted so that he was between her and the car just in time to meet Eric as he came tumbling out, swinging his fists blindly.

 

“Get your hands off of her, you bastard. You have no right,” Eric yelled, charging John with utter recklessness. One wild shot took John square on his lip, jerking his head back just as one of the men from the van grabbed Eric and slammed him back against the car. As more men arrived, John thrust Marlena toward one of them. Turning to help with the still struggling Eric, John was too slow to stop Eric’s antagonist from delivering two quick rabbit punches right to the solar plexus. Eric dropped like a rock, face turning pink as he found himself unable to breathe.

 

***

 

Eric drops, and John’s vision blurs. Through a red haze he lashes out, his fist catching Eric’s assailant in the neck, stunning him. John sweeps the man’s feet from beneath him, and as he crashes to the cement, he focuses on nothing but stomping the life from the man who hit his son.

 

As the sound of distant sirens echo through the air, the guards watching the beating in stunned silence finally reacted. “Sir! Mr. Black, we have to go!” yelled Simon Bryce, John’s appointed second in command.

 

Reluctantly, the sound of the sirens now rushing him, John took a step back from the car. Drawing a deep breathe, he ordered, “Get them in the back of the van and tape them up. And nobody had better a lay a hand on them. Am I understood?,” he asked, glaring around at the forces surrounding him. Then, nodding to the bloodied man unconscious at his feet, he ordered “Clean this mess up, and let’s get out of here.”

 

As Marlena and the now gasping Eric were quickly carried toward the waiting van, John opened the rear door of the car. Sami sat huddled and unmoving, clutching her knees to her chest in an approximation of the fetal position. Despite the need for haste, John tried to keep the impatience from his voice as he said softly, “Sami? Samantha, come on out. It’s going to be okay.”

 

Eliciting no response, John gently reached into the car. Gathering Sami into his arms, he quickly stood and carried her to the waiting vehicle.

 

***

 

John eased down against the wall of the van, Sami still cradled in his arms. As Bryce latched the door from the outside, John felt the van accelerate quickly away from the scene of the wreckage. Hearing no sounds of pursuit, he finally allowed himself to relax, looking down at Sami, who lay sobbing in his arms. “Sami? Peanut…don’t worry. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. I promise,” he whispered to her softly.

 

Still sobbing, Sami wrapped her arms tightly around John. “Daddy, I missed you so much. Please don’t go away again,” she murmured into his chest. “Please, don’t go away again…”

 

Fighting back tears that unexpectedly began to form, John rocked Sami slowly from side to side. “Shhh…I’ve got you Sami. You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you.” Closing his eyes tightly, he concentrated only on this moment. This moment, and the little girl who clung to him.

 

As Sami’s sobbing eased, John opened his eyes, taking stock of the back of the van and its occupants. The only source of light was the dome, burning brightly in the center of the ceiling. There were no windows, and the rest of the van was heavily padded in order to muffle any sound from reluctant passengers. His gaze came to rest on Marlena, lying on the floor directly across from where he rested against the right side of the van wall.

 

As ordered, she was bound hand and foot with duct tape. Lying propped against the wall of the van, her mouth was taped shut, but her eyes were fixed on John and her daughter. Gently easing Sami’s limp frame to the floor, John shuffled across the lurching floor of the vehicle. Grasping the tape covering Marlena’s mouth, he gave a strong jerk, tearing the tape away. Marlena gave a sharp cry, and bent over, gasping for air.

 

Slowly, almost fearfully, he laid his hand on her back to steady her. “Take it easy, Marlena. Everything is going to be okay. We’re here to protect you, not harm you.”

 

Angrily, Marlena forced herself upright. “Where are you taking us? John, please. Don’t do this to me again. Don’t do this to the children!,” she cried out, beseechingly.

 

“Marlena, calm down. This is the only way to keep you safe. There are men who are after you- professional assassins. They killed Roman because they knew he would bring them down. They will kill you for what you know. We have resources the cops don’t have. We can help you identify the men in the Brotherhood. We can stop them.”

 

Marlena shook his hand off of her shoulder. “And who is ‘we’, John? Are you taking me to Stefano? Are you taking me back to your ‘master’?,” she hissed, her face twisted in fury. “I would rather die than go back to him, John.”

 

John’s face hardened, and he pulled away from the bound woman. “Your death is not an option, Marlena. You, and your children, will stay at one of DiMera’s compounds until this thing is resolved. After that, you will be free to go. You have my word on it.”

 

“Your word, John? Your word means nothing to me. Now, if you care about us at all, you will let us go. Right now, John. You will let us go,” she said in a low voice, holding his eye.

 

“That’s not an option, Marlena,” John replied wearily. Shifting slightly, he leaned over and pulled the tape from Eric’s mouth as the boy glared irately up at him. “Now why don’t you both get some rest. We have a long drive ahead of us.” That said, he leaned back and draped his arm over Sami’s shoulders as she sat hunched against the side of the van.

 

Staring at the line where the side of the van met the roof, John attempted to let his mind go numb. Zoning out, he felt Sami slump against him, fading into sleep. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Marlena slowly relaxed into the hum of the road. Eyes fixed, he still could sense Eric’s glare, as his hostility seemed to pervade the very air.

 

As the time ticked by, he felt his mind drift into the nothingness, only to be jarred back to the present by Eric’s voice.

 

“Does it hurt?,” the young man asked, his voice neutral.

 

With a start, John looked over at him. He lay trussed-up along side his mother, his gaze level. “Your lip. Does it hurt?,” Eric repeated.

 

Gingerly, John touched the dried crust where his lip had split and started to swell. “Of course it hurts,” he replied, his tone even.

 

Holding his stare, Eric simply said, “Good.”

 

With an almost sigh, John leaned his head back against the wall and again sought the nothingness.

 

Chapter 43

 

Dusk was falling as the helicopter landed in the big open field. Peering out of a side window, Marlena saw only virgin forests and the lights of one large home flickering in the distance. She wasn’t even certain what state they were in anymore. After hours in the back of the van, they had transferred to the helicopter. The landscape below gave no indication of where they were. It offered no hope of an easy escape.

 

The blades of the chopper began to slow, and she was brought back to the reality of her captivity as John reached forward to grasp her hands. Before she had time to be afraid, a sharp knife sliced through the tape that had bound her wrists.

 

“Sorry about this, but I didn’t want you two thrashing around in the chopper,” he said, as he efficiently freed Erik’s hands in a similar manner.

 

“And now you don’t have to worry about us trying to escape…?,” she asked cautiously, trying to elicit at least a little information about their current conditions.

 

Recognizing her intention, he simply flashed a tight smile over his shoulder as he turned to open the hatch. “Subtle, Marlena. Very subtle,” he said dryly. Stepping down into the tall grass he helped Sami out before offering a hand to Marlena.

 

Brushing past his extended arm, she jumped lightly down. She stepped away from him, studying the panorama around her.

 

He gave a small sigh, and spoke quietly. “If it makes you feel better to know… We are in Virginia. Out in the heart of the Blue Ridge mountains. There isn’t any sign of human habitation for at least 20 miles. That’s 20 miles of rugged country, Marlena. You can shout all you want, and no one will ever hear. The only realistic way in or out is by helicopter, and last time I checked, you weren’t a pilot. My advice is too simply sit back and enjoy the scenery, because you aren’t going anywhere until this whole mess is resolved.”

 

As Eric jumped from the open door, Marlena turned to look-up at John. Her face a pale blur in the quickly darkening field, she replied coldly. “When I want your advice, I’ll be sure and let you know. Now, if you would care to lead us to our cell, the children and I are tired and hungry.”

 

Thinking to himself he would much rather be butchering ISA agents, John gave a muted sigh and led the small party out of the field.

 

***

 

As they emerged from a small stand of trees, Marlena momentarily forgot her fear and anger. The lodge stood before them, glowing warmly in the soft light thrown up by the many floodlights. It was a massive structure built entirely from the heartwood of huge redwoods. The giant trunks notched to fit snugly over each other.

 

As John opened a massive front door, intricately carved from a single slab of wood, the true beauty of the place struck her. Standing in the doorway, she looked across to a sunken great room that stretched across the full width of the house. Opposite the entry, a wall of glass surrounded a field-stone fireplace that towered upward, disappearing into the cathedral ceiling. Rounded beams of wood bisected the roof, rafters bearing the load of the immense structure.

 

Hesitantly, she stepped forward. The slate stone of the entryway was hard beneath her feet, and she thought to herself that this was definitely a man’s domain. From the heavy leather furniture to the elk head hung above the fireplace, it appeared to her the epitome of a hunting lodge. Massive of scale, and designed and decorated with no expense spared, but a hunting lodge none-the-less.

 

As she stood, soaking-in the calm of the structure, Eric and Sami gathered at her sides, she suddenly froze. Sitting calmly in a corner of the great room, ensconced in a leather wingback chair, was DiMera.

 

Her breath caught in her throat and her hands knotted into fists as he rose to approach her. She felt an involuntary surge of relief as John stepped through the open doorway and planted his body between her and the image of Stefano, moving easily toward her. Even from behind, she could see the corded muscles of John’s back through his T-shirt. Could sense the tension in his pose.

 

Stefano tore his eyes from Marlena, confronted by the intimidating form of John. “Ahh… I see the mission was a success,” he noted, coming to a halt and looking into the younger man’s face.

 

“Of course,” John replied shortly. Maintaining his position between DiMera and the family, he tried to convince himself that this whole thing would be for the best. Fighting back the urge to simply take Marlena and the kids and leave, he instead asked, “What about Carrie? Have the men assigned to her reported in?”

 

DiMera noted Marlena’s sharp gasp at the mention of her other daughter, but simply replied, “Yes. They are on the way in right now. They picked her up off campus, and she’s already on the plane. ETA’s in approximately two hours.”

 

Her concern for Carrie breaking her from her trance, Marlena stepped forward to stand beside John. Focusing on DiMera, her eyes glaring, she asked coldly, “What have you done with my daughter?”

 

“Ah, the fair Dr. Evans. It is such a pleasure to see you here,” DiMera replied, the ghost of a smile crossing his features. Noting the way John’s entire body seemed to coil at his words, Stefano thought better of attempting to kiss Marlena’s hand. Instead, he placated her. “Your daughter is fine. We just thought it best if the entire family were present for this little vacation. Of course, the children being here… That was John’s idea.”

 

She looked up at John, eyes wide. He simply ignored her unasked question, and lightly touched her elbow. Shifted her toward a curving stairway set to the right of the doorway. “I’m going to see Marlena and the children to their suite. We can compare notes when I get back,” he said stiffly.

 

Stunned, Marlena allowed herself to be led up the stairs, Sami and Eric mutely following.

 

***

 

“There are three bedrooms and a bath off of this lounge. I thought Sami and Carrie could bunk together. There are two beds in one of the rooms,” John said, gesturing around the well appointed sitting area. A card table took-up one corner of the room, while the other side of the room was dominated by a couch and two overstuffed chairs. “I’ll have Jensen bring up some dinner for you. As soon as Carrie arrives, she will be brought here. Why don’t you all try and get some rest, we can discuss the situation in the morning,” he finished, backing toward the still open door. Wanting nothing more than to leave. To escape the glare of their accusing eyes.

 

Her words halted him in his tracks. “John, why are we here? What do you want from me,” Marlena asked, watching his face intently.

 

He repressed a hysterical laugh. Buried his urge to admit that he had no idea what he wanted from her anymore. That his life was so screwed up at this point, he could no longer understand who he was, much less why he did the things he did. Instead, he gave the easy answer. “Marlena, I have already told you. This is for your own protection. The children’s protection. But now is not the time or place to get into this,” he said with a nod to where Sami and Eric stood uncertainly behind their mother.

 

“Why not, John? After all, it’s your fault the children are here. It’s your fault that Roman- their father- isn’t,” she snapped at him with heavy sarcasm. Wanting him to deny it. Wanting him to make her believe.

 

His anger flared. She was the one person he would sacrifice everything for, and she doubted him. Doubted his devotion to her and her family. “I didn’t kill Roman,” he shot back, taking an involuntary step toward her. He resisted the urge to shake her. Shake her until she admitted that everything he did, he did for her. “I have told you already, I would never have endangered you, and I did not kill Roman. Are you just going to believe Jameson when he tells you that I did it? That the Brotherhood was not involved! I will not let you endanger yourself- or our children- with your stupidity!!,” he almost yelled at her, his frustration evident.

 

She should have been afraid. After everything she had seen, after everything she had learned, she should have been very afraid. Instead, she was mad. Furious at the thought that he had delivered her, and her children, to DiMera. It only made his betrayal more real. Her eyes glowed gold, and she stepped forward. “You took my daughter, John,” she hissed, slapping him across the face.

 

The sound of her hand striking him echoed in the small room. Froze them both in place. Made evident how very far they had fallen. Their eyes locked, and for a moment they shared the agony of how very much had been lost. Finally, John dropped his head in shame.

 

Marlena gathered the shreds of her dignity. Wished she had never been brought to this. Wished her children had never had to witness it. “I cannot believe you would do this to me… to my children,” she said quietly.

 

“I know you can’t,” he replied, looking down at her with unreadable eyes. Turning, he moved quickly from the room. Leaving them to the silence.

 

***

 

The birds sang in celebration of the dawn as the sun slowly climbed above the distant mountain peaks. John looked out over the fields, noting that the trees were starting to change color with the coming of fall. He gave a sigh that was almost content as he sipped at his coffee. Striking a match, he watched the flame dance for a moment before touching it to the paper of the first cigarette of the day. Lost himself in the act of creation as he drew the smoke deeply into his lungs and then set it free. Watched it rise into the sky, twisted about by a gentle wind.

 

He had always been content in this place. In the days of his youth, before he knew what happiness was, he had thought he was happy when he was here. The memories reinforcing old patterns, he almost rose to his feet as DiMera joined him on the big porch. Instead, he gave the man a reserved nod.

 

Stefano was struck by a feeling of nostalgia as he walked out into the cool morning air. Though he himself preferred the city, John had always loved this place. They had come here often, and DiMera had learned to appreciate the gentle beauty of the mountains. The soothing nature of the woods. It all came back to him as he watched John, sitting with his feet kicked up on the wooden railing of the porch.

 

“You did a good job yesterday, getting Marlena and the children out of Salem. The Salem headlines are screaming recriminations at the police department. I do believe you have once again managed to shock people with your audacity,” he said.

 

“It wasn’t that difficult, and you know it. But, thanks anyway,” John replied, managing a small grin. Trying hard not to shatter the last vestiges of the bond that existed between them. The only bond to another human being that he could allow to exist.

 

As Stefano eased a still sore body into the chair to await his breakfast, he nodded to John. “I assume Carrie made it in safely last night?”

 

“Yea, the plane was delayed by weather. I waited up, and made sure Jensen got her squared away. She’s fine, if a little frightened. Of course, Jensen’s still not talking to me. I keep worrying he’s going to spit in my food or something,” he finished wryly.

 

Stefano gave a genuine chuckle at that. “You should learn to show more respect to the servants, John. The man really is too good to be abused.”

 

As the object of their discussion walked onto the porch, studiously ignoring John, DiMera changed the subject. “We should meet with Marlena once they have eaten. Jensen will be serving them in their rooms,” he said, nodding to the man setting his place. “After that, I want you to get her and bring her to the study. The sooner this matter is resolved, the better.”

 

John was hesitant to go near Marlena or her children, and it showed in his voice. “She thinks we are responsible for the bombing. She thinks I am responsible. She isn’t going to want to help us,” he replied, his voice low.

 

Looking at John’s broad back, DiMera said, “If you would prefer, I could conduct the interview alone…”

 

“Don’t make me wish I had killed you,” John replied, turning to give Stefano a hard look. His voice was mild, but his eyes shot a warning.

 

Stefano gave a slight shrug, and picked up his fork. “It was just a suggestion. And I could say the same to you,” he returned, a note of menace creeping into his voice.

 

Turning back to study the mountains in the distance, John was silent for a moment. “Why haven’t you?,” he finally asked, his tone neutral.

 

DiMera looked up, startled by the question. Uncertain of the answer.

 

As the silence stretched out behind him, John continued, “You have never allowed anyone to challenge you, Stefano. I should know. I’ve killed many who have tried. Why am I still here?”

 

DiMera gave voice to a small sigh, addressing an issue he himself had been avoiding. “I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose I need you. You are the very best I have seen…,” he trailed off. Focusing on his food, he said in a voice so soft John almost failed to hear, “Besides, I do believe I would miss you.”

 

Almost choking on his coffee, John turned to give Stefano his full attention. A genuine smile split his face as he said sarcastically, “Oh yea, we have such good times together!”

 

Looking back at him, DiMera allowed an answering smile. “You are never boring, John. I appreciate that quality. It keeps me young.”

 

Uncomfortable with the mixed emotions their discussion was generating, John rose to his feet and slapped a hand to the hard muscles of his stomach. “Well, I’ve always said you would live forever. Now I know why. However, I do believe it is time for me to take a walk around the compound. Work off those pancakes I had for breakfast. Meet you in the study about 10:30?,” he asked.

 

At DiMera’s brief nod, he turned and left the porch, intent on refamiliarizing himself with the area.

 

As he watched the man stride confidently away, looking like he owned the very earth on which he walked, Stefano remembered to another time.

 

The recoil from the 20 gauge, even loaded with birdshot, knocked the boy back. Oblivious to the pain in his shoulder, he exclaimed loudly. “Shit!! I can’t do anything right!”

 

Stefano repressed a smile, knowing it would be a blow to an already fragile ego. Instead, he admonished firmly, “Watch that mouth of yours. I do not surround myself with street trash, and will not have you smarting off like some hooligan.”

 

The boy shot him an angry look, but didn’t pursue it, so Stefano continued. “Now, pull the butt of the gun tight into your shoulder. Follow the line of the target. You need to lead it just a little. Relax into it, you’ll hit what you aim at. Trust me.”

 

The boy again readied himself, pumping another shell into the chamber. At a nod from DiMera, another clay pigeon flew across the open field. This time, the angry roar of the gun was accompanied by the sight of the disk, shattering in mid-flight.

 

“Yea!,” whooped the boy, unable to contain his delight. He turned back to Stefano, his excitement showing in his eyes.

 

This time, DiMera allowed himself a chuckle. “Better. Much better,” he said, grinning as the boy’s face lit up at the compliment. Caught-up in the boy’s exuberance, Stefano could not help but step forward. He tousled the dark head roughly. “But don’t get cocky,” he had said with a smile. “Let’s see how you do with two birds…”

 

Chapter 44

 

He moved down the hall, Marlena following stiffly a step behind him. She had refused to come at all until he had threatened to hold the meeting in the suite. Knowing she would want DiMera kept as far from her children as possible, he had hoped that the offer would make her comply. He had been right.

 

She followed him down the hallway, trying to make sense of the emotions that tore at her. That had invaded her sleep ever since she had seen the file. Seen the evidence of his brutality, dating back to when he had been more a boy than a man. The knowledge in her mind doing battle with the feelings in her heart, she stared at his broad back and silently pleaded for an explanation. For some hint that would allow her mind to believe what her heart told her. Instead, he strode coldly ahead of her, taking her to the one man on this earth that she hated. The one man who had destroyed all that she had held dear.

 

The muscles of his back clenched spasmodically as he felt her gaze. Sensed her anger. With dark humor, he recognized that he was grateful she was unarmed. At the moment, he had little doubt that she would plant a knife in the center of his back given half a chance. Resolving to stay as far from her as possible, he halted at the door to DiMera’s study. Holding the door for her, he politely motioned her inside. She moved by him as if he didn’t exist, and he tried to control the ache that her proximity generated.

 

“Marlena. So nice of you to join us,” Stefano’s deep voice rang out from the far side of the room. Rising from his desk, he came toward her, gesturing to the sofa and chairs before his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

 

“Unlikely,” she replied, moving to perch on one of the large chairs positioned across from the couch. DiMera sank down opposite her on the sofa, while John moved to the far side of the room. Resting against the desk, he stared sightlessly at his boots and tried to become invisible.

 

Marlena found herself almost relieved to be facing DiMera. Her feelings for him were clear. She hated the man. For everything he had done to her. To her family. Even for what he had done to John.

 

Her anger was stronger than her fear, and she settled more comfortably in the big chair. “I am only here because I am forced to be, Stefano. Don’t think I am willing to help you in any way.”

 

“Marlena, you and your children will stay her until this matter is finished. If you wish the stay to be a lengthy one, then by all means, refuse to cooperate. As you well know, I am enchanted by your presence, willing or not,” DiMera answered her smoothly.

 

Against her will, she found her eyes darting to John’s dark figure lurking in the background. Catching the glance, Stefano spoke out, “John, I do not believe Marlena accepts my word on this. Would you care to explain the situation to her?”

 

John’s body stiffened at the request, but he raised his head and sought out her eyes. Without emotion, he said firmly, “You will stay here, Marlena. You will stay until it is deemed safe for you to leave. We didn’t plant that bomb. And if we didn’t, the Brotherhood did. You aren’t leaving here until you tell us everything you know. About the organization. About Roman. About what got him killed.”

 

She believed him. Knew he meant the words. And the fear rose at the reality of their captivity. But greater than the fear was the hope. Because if she believed that John would allow DiMera to keep her here, maybe she could believe him about the bomb as well.

 

“If I tell you what I want to know, you will let us go?,” she asked, shifting to look at DiMera.

 

“Once we put the Brotherhood out of operation, you will be free,” he corrected, surprised at her willingness to concede so quickly.

 

She hesitated. Worried over whether DiMera would keep his word. Finally, she said, “On two conditions. First, any information I give you must be turned over to the authorities. You will allow the law to handle this. You will not harm any of those men, and you will not let John. My second condition… you let us go. Let us go and give me your word you will stay out of my life. Out of the lives of my children.”

 

Stefano sat back and studied her for a moment. Saw the determination in her eyes. Slowly, he nodded his head. “If that is what you truly wish, Marlena… I give you my word.”

 

He held her gaze firmly, and Marlena willed herself to be able to believe him. She was still undecided when John’s voice cut in, low and hard.

 

“No. Those stipulations are not acceptable. Those men will be mine to do with as I see fit. He cannot promise they will not be harmed.” John was not certain of DiMera’s plan, though he doubted the man had any intention of keeping his word. If he wasn’t lying out-right, then he undoubtedly had some way of circumventing the intent of the agreement. John didn’t much care either way. He simply refused to lie to her again.

 

She no longer recognized him, she realized. Standing against the desk, backlit by the sun, he was a dark void she could not see into. She clasp her hands before her as a shiver ran down her spine, and for a moment felt pity for the men he sought. They would receive no reprieve from this creature that stood apart from her, bathed in the shadows.

 

Her voice an almost whisper, she looked into the dark where his face should be and asked, “Will you let us go? Will you promise me that, John?”

 

He hated himself for doing this to her. For causing her this pain. Involuntarily, he stepped forward. Went to her. Bending gracefully, he half knelt before her, their faces level. Under the bright light of the chandelier, his eyes blazed an electric blue that threatened to stop her heart. Meeting her stare, he said quietly, “I give you my word of honor. If you will identify them, I will remove the threat. When that is done, you will go home. No one will ever bother you again. Not me. Not DiMera. Not anyone.”

 

As she lost herself in that clear blue, she saw the glimmer of the man she knew. The man she loved. She felt the trickle of a tear as she realized that he was telling the truth. That he had not set the bomb. Had not betrayed her. The strength of the emotion that ran through her made her catch her breath. Grasp at the heavy padded leather of the arm of the chair. As her fingers brushed against his own, she felt her heart stop.

 

He had been trapped by the tear that rolled down her cheek. Frozen by the knowledge that she was crying. Crying because of him. Cursing himself for bringing her nothing but pain, he started violently as her hand touched his. Jerking himself to his feet, he stood before her, head bowed. His right hand rubbed at his eyes in frustration, and he said in a broken voice, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t trust me…” Turning from her, he started to cross back to the desk.

 

“No. No…I do trust you,” her voice called to him. He stopped in his tracks, unable to believe what his ears had heard. He turned back to her to see her sitting, arms crossed. “I believe you…I believe everything you say… But I don’t want you to kill those men, John. I won’t help you do that,” she finished, her tone low.

 

He swung around to face her. His voice even, he answered. “I will promise you this, Marlena. If I can protect you, and still leave them alive… I will.”

 

He meant every word he said, and she knew it. Granting him a grudging nod, she gave him what he desired. Softly, she said, “I will tell you what you want to know.”

 

***

 

She pulled the door shut behind her and gave an exhausted sigh. At her presence, all three kids shot-up from the table where they had been sitting, playing cribbage.

 

“Mom, are you all right,” Carrie asked, coming over to where she stood at the door of the large room.

 

“You were gone for hours. We ate lunch without you,” Eric chimed in, moving to sit on the sofa.

 

Rubbing at tired eyes, she walked slowly over to sit next to Eric on the couch. Leaning back in the thick cushions, she allowed her defenses to drop for the first time that day. “I was meeting with Stefano and John. It took longer than expected, and I ate in there.”

 

Seeing the alarm in their faces, she waved a hand casually and flashed them a small smile. “Don’t worry. I think everything is going to be okay. I think,…I think that they had nothing to do with the bombing. With your father’s death,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. Not wanting to admit to herself the immensity of the relief.

 

At her words, both Carrie and Eric looked puzzled. Eric looked angry even. But Sami’s eyes lit up. “I told you,” she said, delight in her voice. “I told you he didn’t do it!”

 

“Mom, what makes you think they are innocent? We were so sure. They even heard John say he did it?!,” Carrie said nodding to Sami and Eric.

 

“Mom, they kidnapped us! What more proof do we need!,” Eric cut in, his face flushed in anger.

 

“Everyone! Please! I will answer your questions, but you need to slow down. Sami, Carrie. Come sit down. Let me explain what happened,” Marlena said, her voice rising to pierce the din.

 

“Sorry mom,” Carrie replied sheepishly. “Go on. Tell us what went on.”

 

“Well, Stefano wanted to talk to me about why we are here. He says he is protecting us from the Brotherhood. It’s a,…, a vigilante group. Stefano says that they are responsible for the bombing. He says that they would come after me next,” she finished.

 

“Mom, that doesn’t make any sense,” Eric spat out immediately. “Why would they be after dad? Much less you?”

 

Not wanting to go into Roman’s involvement with the group, she simply said, “Your father had evidence on the organization. Evidence he was going to turn over to the authorities. The Brotherhood knew that he had it. And now, Stefano and John think that they know I have seen the evidence. That I represent a threat. That is why they say they brought us here.”

 

“That still doesn’t explain what we heard John say, mom. We didn’t make that up,” Eric shot back.

 

She merely nodded, growing tired of Eric’s attacks. “I asked John… What exactly did you to hear him say?”

 

“He was talking to Stefano. He said that it was all his fault. That he messed up, and was sorry,” Sami said softly. Willing Marlena to explain away the ugly words.

 

Eric nodded his affirmation and fixed his eyes on his mother.

 

Hesitantly, she tried to explain. “He was sorry… When he found out about the baby. Found out what Stefano had done. He broke away from DiMera. Quit working for him. And then when the explosion happened… Well, he felt it was his fault. That if he had been doing his job, if they hadn’t both been distracted, he could have somehow stopped it.” She nodded to Sami and Eric. “That’s what you heard. He was sorry that he had left. Felt that if he hadn’t, I might not have been hurt. Your father might be alive,” she finished, her voice trailing off.

 

There was quiet for a moment. Sami and Eric both remembering that moment. Deciding if it fit with John’s story. Slowly, the smile of satisfaction returned to Sami’s face, and she nodded her head. “Yea! That does make sense, mom. Right Eric?,” she said, turning to look at her brother.

 

His face still troubled, the young man merely shrugged. “Could be. No way to know for sure.”

 

Noting the undercurrent of bitterness in his voice, Marlena studied her only son. He sat almost defiantly, arms crossed before his chest. He was too young to look so jaded, she thought. Cringing again at what had been done to her family, she tiredly rose to her feet. “True enough, Eric. You will have to make-up your own mind. Now, I think I need to go soak in a hot bath.” Flashing them a wan smile, her departure was halted by the sound of Carrie’s voice.

 

“Are they going to let us go, Mom? Do you know what’s happening?” Perched on the seat, her legs crossed beneath her, she looked more curious than afraid Marlena noted.

 

“They said we would be free to go as soon as the Brotherhood is brought in. John gave me his word,” she stated.

 

“And you believe him?” Eric’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

 

Catching her son’s eyes, she looked at him and said firmly, “Yes, Eric. I do believe him.” Leaving the children to their thoughts, she went to her room.

 

Chapter 45

 

John walked back into the study, stretching his arms high above his head. Feeling the knots in his shoulders protest. He flopped onto the couch, and picked at the remains of the fruit laying on a platter on the coffee table.

 

“You were gone for quite some time,” DiMera noted from his desk, eyes intent on the papers in his hand.

 

John gave a shrug. “She had something she wanted to ask me about,” he said briefly.

 

With a sigh, DiMera rose from his chair. Went to the small bar tucked into the corner by yet another of the many fireplaces that dotted the lodge. Moved to address the subject he had been avoiding. As he filled a glass with Irish whiskey, he said quietly, “You wish I had never brought you back, don’t you? Never made you remember?”

 

Again, John shrugged. Refused to turn and meet Stefano’s eyes. “I was living a lie. I know that,” he replied without emotion.

 

DiMera walked over to sink into the chair opposite John. “That is not what I asked, as you well know.”

 

Not wanting to argue, John raised his head to meet Stefano’s gaze. Allowed the pain to show through. “Okay… You’re right. I wish I had never remembered. Wish I had lived that lie until the day I died. Lived it until they buried me at her side. Is that what you wanted to hear, Stefano?,” he said, the anger now showing in his voice. “That I would have chosen to stay with her? Never come back to this life?” His emotions overwhelming him, he lurched to his feet. Paced across the room, trying to work off the nervous energy that surged through his body.

 

Stefano simply sat back. Watched the man stalk across the room, filling the space with his anger and pain. Not wanting to interrupt the outburst, he remained silent.

 

John paced silently for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. Trying to ease the tension, force back the feelings of loss. Quietly, almost to himself, he said, “You don’t know. Can’t know… It was so perfect, being with her. With the children. Thinking they were mine. I took it all for granted, and didn’t even realize it until they were gone.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. Stopped stalking through the room, and turned to face Stefano.

 

“She is the most incredible woman I have ever known. To have her love you… it’s a gift. I would have done anything not to have lost that,” he finished gently, dropping his eyes. Staring into the carpet beneath his feet.

 

DiMera was many things. Cold. Ruthless. Controlled. He had a genius for recognizing human emotions. A genius for exploiting them. The one thing he was not, was a fool. He had seen the undercurrent of feeling that existed between John and Marlena. The anger and pain… the sense of betrayal and guilt. But beneath it all, he saw the passion. The love that was the impetus behind all of the other feelings.

 

“I think she still loves you,” DiMera said quietly. “She wouldn’t watch you like she does if she didn’t love you. You couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t care.”

 

John made no reply. No acknowledgment. He would not discuss Marlena with this man.

 

Studying John over the rim of the tumbler, DiMera continued. “You can’t have her. You do know that?,” he said in an even tone.

 

After a seconds hesitation, John looked at him. “Neither can you,” he answered flatly.

 

Their eyes locked, neither willing to back down. Finally, DiMera gave a short nod of acknowledgment, if not agreement. Not for the first time, he wondered if they would both be standing when this whole thing ended. “We should concentrate on the Brotherhood for now,” he broke in, ending the stalemate.

 

Willing to let it go for now, John returned to his seat on the couch. Picked up a knife, and began to absently peal an apple. More concerned with his skill at the carving than the food itself. As he watched the long thin string of red slide away in a single thread, he turned his mind to assuring her safety. “The first step is easy,” he said. “We take Jameson out. He’s the head of the organization. We chop off the head, and the body will die.”

 

DiMera repressed a grin at John’s choice of words, and again hoped it would not come down to a battle between the two of them. “That might be a little hasty, John. It is not even certain that Jameson is the one in charge.”

 

At this, John did look up. Shot Stefano a wry look. “He told Marlena that the Brotherhood could not be responsible for the bombing. That there was no time for them to act. We both know that’s a crock, Stefano. They could easily have done it. And they had the motivation. We didn’t. Yet he directs the blame at us. Dismisses the Brotherhood. Hell! He was Roman’s contact. He’s the one that knew for certain that Brady was going to give them up. He set this whole thing in motion, and then stepped in to play the hero. When did you become so naive?,” he finished, his words a challenge.

 

This time, Stefano could not contain a small chuckle. “Naive is not a term generally used in connection with me, John. I prefer the word ‘cautious’. But I do agree. Jameson is involved, and most likely the head of the organization. His position in the ISA makes this the most likely scenario. But it is still not certain, and Marlena has only had time to identify three of the other men involved. We need to take the time to gather information. Identify all of the members of the organization. Then we will act.”

 

His impatience flaring, John flung the knife down, burying the tip deep in the hard wood of the table. Finally, he gave a resigned nod, acknowledging the wisdom of DiMera’s counsel. “Please tell me you weren’t serious when you suggested we would turn this information over to the authorities?,” he wearily replied.

 

DiMera’s face hardened, his buried anger flashing through for an instance. “They killed my child, John. I want them in the dirt. Each and every one of them. Have no doubt of that. When the time is right, they all die. On this we are agreed, are we not?”

 

“Oh yes, Stefano. Their deaths are a given,” John replied in a tight voice. “It is the one thing I am sure of.”

 

***

 

John knocked hesitantly on the door, trailed by three of the guards, their arms laden with equipment. The door opened silently, and he found himself confronted by Carrie. She stood blocking the doorway, looking uncertainly up at him.

 

“Um…, I have some computer equipment that Marlena needs,” he began. Not knowing what to say to the young woman who had been his daughter, he simply stood. Awaited her reaction to him.

 

“John!,” she said, a smile flitting briefly across her face before noting the guards behind him. “Uh, sure. Come in.” She backed from the door, allowing it to swing inward. “Mom is taking a nap, she was really tired…”

 

As he stepped forward, Carrie’s voice was stopped short by Sami’s cry from the corner of the room. Rising from where she reclined in a chair reading, she ran forward to John.

 

“Dad!,” she cried happily, throwing her arms around him. Burying her face in his chest, she muttered, “I knew you didn’t do it. Mom said you didn’t set the bomb. Said you didn’t do it,” she said, holding on tightly.

 

He froze, stunned to find her in his arms. His baby… she had always been able to break him to her will. Aware of Carrie watching him, her eyes inscrutable. Of Eric, glaring at him from his seat at the card table, shuffling a deck restlessly through his hands. The guards at his back. Ignoring it all, he slowly wrapped his arms around Sami, and hugged her back. “I would never harm any of you. Any of the family. You should know that,” he said softly, looking down into the gold of her hair.

 

Sami held tight for another moment, then stepped back to brush away happy tears. “I did know,” she said with a shy smile. “I never thought you did it,” she continued, shooting a sharp look at her brother.

 

He flashed her a smile, then gestured behind himself to the guards. “Where can we set this stuff up?”

 

“Use the card table, John. What is all of that for, anyway?,” Carrie asked, watching curiously as Bryce and the others carried in various PC parts.

 

“We have some computerized files your mother is taking a look at. I thought she might be more comfortable working in here,” he said. The less Marlena was around DiMera, the happier he would be.

 

The men began setting up the equipment, and Eric reluctantly moved from his spot to go slouch in one of the lounge chairs. As he sat, Sami grabbed John’s hands and pulled him toward the couch. Keeping one watchful eye on Carrie as she observed the guards at their work, he allowed Sami to pull him down onto the couch.

 

In a seemingly casual gestured, Sami picked up the deck of cards Eric had dropped on the coffee table. Shuffling them through her hands, she began to deal out four hands. “Why don’t you stay for dinner, Dad?,” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

 

Absently, uncomfortable with Carrie’s proximity to his men, he shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Sami,” he replied. Picking up the cards set before him, he was relieved to see Carrie turn and come to join them.

 

As Carrie moved to the sitting area, John caught Bryce’s appreciative glance at her retreating figure. Filing it away for later, he relaxed as Carrie plopped down in the other lounge chair and picked up her cards.

 

Without meeting anyone’s eyes, Eric casually scooped up the cards in front of him and slapped down the two of clubs. Without further discussion, they immersed themselves in the familiar competition.

 

***

 

Marlena awoke with a start, jolted from a dream she could not quite remember. Hearing the sound of her children’s laughter in the next room, she allowed her head to sink back into the fluffy pillow. She indulged herself in a smile at the knowledge that they were still able to find some happiness, even in this place. Looking around, she admitted that under any other circumstances, she would love it here. The rustic logs seemed to exude a warmth of their own, and the big window allowed in the light of the setting sun. The view of the woods and mountains better than any artwork. With a sigh, she rolled from beneath the cool crisp sheets and went to tug on a pair of jeans. Not bothering with shoes or to tuck in the oversized white linen shirt she had found hanging in her closet, she opened the door. At the sound of his voice, she halted in the doorway. Unseen, she watched the small group intent on their card game.

 

“I can’t believe you shot the moon again, Carrie!,” John said in exasperation, sitting back on the couch as she gathered the cards strewn around the table.

 

With a small laugh, she replied, “What can I say. You taught me well.”

 

My God, she hadn’t realized how much she missed him, Marlena thought, watching as he played with their children. For so long she had been consumed by the big issues. The loss of her husband, the husband she had thought John to be. Her time away from her family, and the baby that she had carried. Roman’s return… her attempts to bring him back into her life. Back into the life of her family. And finally, the fear. The fear that she had never really known him. Never known the man who had been her husband, her partner, for so many years.

 

Watching as he sat with the kids, she recognized that he would always be a part of her. That he would always claim a piece of her soul. She had forgotten that it was the little things that had made her life so complete. The little things that bound them together.

 

The Friday ‘movie nights’, when they would rent cheesy movies and sit around eating pizza and popcorn. The inevitable popcorn fights that always seemed to end-up boys against girls. Watching out the window, as father and son had played catch, every Saturday morning without fail. Back then, she had worried about the day Eric would end up ditching his dad for a hot date, or a morning at the mall with his friends. Now, she could only wish their play had been ended so simply. She sighed to herself, remembering the way he had brought her coffee in bed, every morning Even now, she woke expecting to find a steaming cup beside her. His face, hovering above her. All of the memories made the ache inside her grow, as she watched them try to recapture something that had been destroyed. Made it all the more difficult for her to end the sad charade they were playing out.

 

Sitting quietly, as he had the entire time, Eric caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, and a look that was almost guilty swept across his features. “Mom?!”

 

As the word registered with John, he jumped awkwardly to his feet and turned in her direction. Struggled to breath as he saw her standing, hair still mussed by sleep. Surrounding her face in a golden halo. “Oh… hi. I was just… I brought in a computer so you could check those files from here,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. Still facing her, he backed from the table. From her unreadable eyes. “Uh… I should go,” he finished, giving a brief nod in the direction of the children. As he reached the door, he stiffened at the sound of her voice.

 

“John… I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” she said quietly.

 

Swallowing convulsively, he again faced her. Trying not to fidget, he stood mute, awaiting her direction.

 

She walked over to where he stood rooted to the floor, shooting a look at the children. “Why don’t we step outside for a minute?,” she asked, trying to sound casual. Trying not to betray her pain over what she would ask of him.

 

Without a sound, he held the door for her and followed her into the hall. Uncertain of her intent, he simply looked into her eyes. As she let the silence continue, he finally said softly. “What is it, Marlena? If there is anything…” He trailed off as he saw the tears begin to puddle in the corners of her eyes.

 

Against his will, his hand crept to her face. “Doc, I…”

 

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped at him, slapping his hand away before it could make contact.

 

Stunned, he stepped away from her. Then, as the familiarity of the scene struck him, he couldn’t help a bitter chuckle. “Seems like old times,” he grated out, running his hand through his hair.

 

She turned away from him. Crossed her arms in front of her chest. And allowed a bitter laugh of her own at the memory. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her tone more gentle.

 

“You shouldn’t be,” he answered. “The fault is mine. I had no right…”

 

She swung back around, angry that he apologized. Angry that he had had to “No. You should have every right. You were here for us for 14 years. That gives you the right. It just… it can’t be,” she finished weakly. The mix of emotions too much to express in mere words.

 

They stood in silence, neither wanting to speak. To risk more words that would hurt. Finally, Marlena gave a long frustrated sigh. Unable to meet his eyes, she told him why she had called him out. “John, I know this isn’t your fault. That you don’t mean any harm. But, the children… I know you don’t mean to… to unsettle the children But…I don’t want them to be confused. Not any more than they already are,” she said, as gently as she could. Wanting to take him into her arms. Erase the hurt she saw in his eyes. Knowing it would only make it more difficult, she pressed her lips together and stood silent.

 

He looked away. Unable to meet her eyes. Unwilling to show how the rejection cut him to the core. Finally, he spoke. “I know. I didn’t mean… it just kind of happened, Marlena. I didn’t intend to… to make false promises to them.” He forced his head up. Forced himself to hold her gaze. “It won’t happen again, Marlena. I’m sorry.”

 

His words had a finality that scared her. Made her want to take it all back. Instead, she simply watched as he walked past her down the long hallway. Walked away from her and her children. Walked back to DiMera.

 

***

 

Marlene stared at the screen. At the last face in the files. The indicator that she was done with her end of the bargain she had struck with DiMera. For two full days, she and the children had stayed in the suite. She had clicked through file after file. Marking the pictures that matched the images in her mind. Two days of staring at the screen as her children had read. Played cards. Stared at the TV that now sat in a corner of the room. As their nerves had frayed, and friendly banter had turned to sniping, she had sat, going through file after file. Their little world disturbed only by Jensen. The meals he brought marking the time they spent locked in this gilded cage. And now that it was done, she felt not joy, but emptiness.

 

When she had sent him away, she had meant it. Not wanted it, but meant it none the less. He could not be a part of their lives, and it was cruel to pretend otherwise. But every minute that had passed, she waited for him. Expected him. Was disappointed when the knock on the door didn’t come. And now she was done, and they would leave. Soon they would leave. Go home to a house that would feel empty because he wasn’t there. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer. A prayer that one day she would wake up, and her world would no longer feel empty.

 

***

 

“You want me to kill him while he sits in his office?! It’s a federal building!,” John said, incredulous. Startled from his pacing, he halted before DiMera’s desk. The nerve of it striking an immediate chord. An ugly smile curved his lips, as he asked, “Why? Why the office? I could walk into his home on a whim and splatter his brains across a wall. Why a federal building?” Realizing as he asked that he didn’t care. The idea itself captivated.

 

Stefano steepled his hands on the desk and smiled at the eagerness he saw on John’s face. “We need to send a message, John. Can you think of a better way?”

 

With a sharp laugh, John shook his head. “No. Killing an assistant director of the ISA while he sits in his office is certain to catch attention. I’m just not sure why we want that attention.”

 

“If you would leave the gym once in a while, you might have a better feel for the situation, John,” Stefano gently chided.

 

John merely shrugged, refusing to be baited. “I get antsy. You know that,” he said simply.

 

Stefano snorted at the understatement. John had spent the past two days working himself to the point of exhaustion. He had pounded on the guards until they had refused to spar with him. Deprived of human bodies, he had taken his anger out on the heavy bag. Spent hours slamming his callused fists into the canvas. When he had grown bored with that, he had spent time on the range. Firing shot after shot into the human shaped targets. He was unpredictable to the point that only DiMera would willingly approach him. DiMera had designed this mission to give John a focus for his rage. The manner of Jameson’s death was not really so important. But this way had style, and it would give John the challenge he needed.

 

“‘Antsy.’ So that is what you call it. I would have said insufferable,” DiMera commented with wry humor. “However, if you must have it explained to you… Marlena has gone through the files. Identified all of the faces she recognized. But there is no way we have them all. Our files are not complete, and it is doubtful that Roman knew of all of the members. Jameson is proof enough of that. We already have men observing the members we know of. We have their phones tapped. Their mail monitored. What we need now is an emergency. Something that will shock the organization into action. If our surveillance teams do their jobs, we will be able to trace the lines of communication. Confirm that the men we have identified are members. Find out who we have missed. Jameson’s death can give us that emergency.”

 

John nodded. Recognizing the wisdom of the plan. Recognizing he didn’t really give a shit as long as he got to have Jameson. And to take him right under the nose of the feds …. “So, when do we start?,” he asked with a cold smile.

 

***

 

The four man team sat around the conference table that had been set-up in the media room. They stared attentively at DiMera while John slouched against the back wall. He tried to contain the desire to smash something, at least for a little while longer. With a start, John realized it had been years since he had gotten to kill someone he truly hated. And he did hate Jameson. He remembered listening to the tape. Jameson’s voice easy to identify. His words gloating over the death of the traitor in their group’s midst. That death had cost Marlena her husband. Her child. The thought of it sent the beginnings of the icy fire racing through his synapses. Made it hard to concentrate as Stefano laid out his entry. Laid out his escape. The only escape that concerned John now would be found in Jameson’s death.

 

He needed this kill. Needed to vent the black thoughts that twisted in his brain. That tied his stomach into knots. He was going insane, stalking through this house. This hell of his own design. To know she was there, and not to be with her. His mere presence an abomination. A threat. He would use what he was to serve her this one last time, and then he would set her free from his taint. Forcing his mind back to the logistics of death, he buried the fire deep inside.

 

***

 

John felt sharp. He had forgotten. This is why he did it. This is why he put up with all of the bullshit that constituted his life. It was for this. This feeling. Sharp…sharp as the hardened steel blade of his knife. Pure…with a purpose. One purpose. To kill. God, he missed this.

 

Complete, he moved to the office where his prey waited. Sheep to the slaughter. He lived to see the look in their eyes as they died.

 

Outside the door, he waited. Savoring the anticipation. The cold fire that consumed him…that tempered him. This was so right. Drawing in a breath of the artificial air, he lunged forward, slamming the door wide. Filling it with his form. Bone, blood and sinew existing for only one focused purpose. Jameson’s eyes stared up at him. Denying the reality of his immanent death. With a smile on his face that he didn’t know existed, John glided across the industrial carpet, blade held easily in his hand. “I believe you’ve been looking for me? Well, here I am. Enjoy.” Feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, John crossed the floor in the time it took Jameson to blink. Wrenching the smaller man’s head back, he struck.

 

The blade bit through meat and cartilage, the sound a grisly indicator of the force behind the blow. A crimson fountain exploded from the severed artery, as the director’s hands came up in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow. His life slipping through his hands, he looked up into the smiling face of death. “Stefano DiMera sends his regards,” John whispered.

 

***

 

Time seemed to snap back into focus. Moving quickly now, he finished sending the message that Stefano had dictated. Completing his grisly task, he quickly striped out of the suit he had been wearing, revealing the janitor’s jumpsuit that had been hidden beneath. Checking his watch, he realized that he had only minutes before he had to be at the security checkpoint. Grabbing the trashbag from the bin beside Jameson’s desk, he hurried to the door. Giving a last glance back, he smiled grimly. The message would be hard to miss. Closing the door on the sight of Jameson’s severed head sitting in the slowly congealing puddle of blood on the desk, he moved to meet the exit team.

 

As he expected, none of the busy people in suits paid any attention to the janitor carrying his load of trash through the halls. As he reached the security desk for the front door, however, both guards looked curiously up at him. It was not standard practice to carry the trash through the front hall. Keeping his head ducked low under the brim of his cap, he just kept walking and prayed that his team was on time.

 

Right on cue, the front doors slammed open. Gas grenades exploding everywhere, the four man team swept inside. Dressed in black fatigues and masks, kevlar protecting them from the small arms carried by security, they opened fire.

 

Dropping the bag to the floor, John ran for the exit. As visibility became almost nonexistent, he hit the desk and vaulted over it. Muscles tensed in expectation of a bullet as he made his way through the dense smoke. Gunfire cracked with regularity, bringing home the danger. Damn, wish he could have managed to sneak a vest in through the metal detectors. While his men had orders to fire into the air, their presence meant largely as a diversion, he doubted that the security forces now pouring toward the entry would be so accommodating.

 

Moving as quickly as possible through the shrouded chaos of the room, he slammed into an unseen body before he was halfway to the door. Sensing it was one of his own, he yelled through the haze. “Fall back! We’re out of here!”

 

The team ducked out of the double doors, as the gunfire behind them became more regular. Smoke billowing behind them, they raced for the open doors of the waiting van. Coughing to clear his lungs, John collapsed onto the hard metal floor, tears streaming from stinging eyes. As the last man was pulled aboard, the van roared out into the deepening twilight. 30 minutes after cutting Jameson’s throat, John and his team were on a chopper back to the Blue Ridge.

Chapter 46

 

Stefano studied the figure slumped on the couch. The man’s exhaustion showed through in the slouch of his body, the droop of his eyes. The tense, almost explosive energy that had made him snap at anyone around him seemed to have dissipated. At least for the moment, the killing seemed to have achieved its dual purpose. It had eliminated the man who had dared to touch one of his own. Who had dared to take his child. It had also brought back a modicum of control to his most volatile agent.

 

John leaned back, half reclining on the leather sofa, and rubbed tired eyes. He gave a sigh of appreciation, and lit the big cigar DiMera handed him.

 

“So, everything went according to plan?” DiMera asked, sinking back into the chair opposite John.

 

“Like clockwork. The boys did a good job. That Bryce is a good kid. We should keep our eyes on him,” John replied, sipping at one of Stefano’s finest scotches. He let it roll down his tongue and sear his throat, enjoying the smokey taste. With a start, he realized he would fall asleep if he wasn’t careful. Sitting up, he concentrated on his report.

 

“I hit the target just like we planned, Stefano. Don’t worry, Jameson knew exactly why he died. He went to hell with your name still ringing in his ears,” John said with an ugly smile.

 

“You did as we discussed? The other members of the group will understand the message?”

 

John gave a sharp laugh. “Oh yea. Nobody is going to doubt that Jameson’s death was a message. I left the guy’s head sitting in the middle of his damned desk. A desk that resides within a secured federal building. I don’t think we have to worry we were too subtle! Now we just have to wait and see which of our little rats start scurrying around, and follow them down the holes when they do. We’ll have them, Stefano. Every last one of those bastards will pay with his life.”

 

“Then we’ll wait,” DiMera said simply. “Now, why don’t you get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

 

Standing, John crushed out the last half of his cigar. Stretching like a cat, he gave DiMera a grin. “That’s what happens when you work for a living, old man. You should try it sometime.”

 

DiMera allowed a tight grimace in response to the crack, and chided him. “You should have more respect for your elders, John. I’ll expect you at breakfast?”

 

“I’ll be there.” As he moved toward the door, John stopped at DiMera’s chair. Though he continued to look straight ahead, he hesitantly put a hand on DiMera’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “He’s the one, Stefano. He’s the one that gave the order. He’s the one that had her killed. And he died with my blade in his throat and your name in his ears. It’s a good start.”

 

DiMera sat silently staring into his glass as John walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

***

 

John fairly loped down the staircase to the main floor, feeling better than he had since…well, since the explosion. A full night’s sleep, a shower and a shave, and he was a new man. His mind seemed clear for the first time in a long while.

 

He strode through the main room, and moved to the porch where he and Stefano usually ate when the weather was good. Dressed in jeans, T-shirt and hiking boots, he planned to go out and enjoy the fall weather in the mountains. It would be a few weeks before their contacts would be able to positively ID all of the members of the organization. He planned to spend that time in the woods. Just let the quiet soak into his bones. Wash away the blood on his hands.

 

This had always been his favorite retreat, and he planned to make the most of the Indian Summer. He only wished he could share it with the children. Share it with her. Pushing the thoughts away, he planned the route for his hike as he approached the porch.

 

He stopped short as he rounded the doors and found Carrie and Sami seated at the table with DiMera. The silence was both icy and obvious, and John fleetingly wondered whose terrible idea this had been.

 

“Mom said we could come down if we wanted to,” Sami said defensively as she noticed his arrival.

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he replied, taking his seat at the table.

 

“John, I cannot stay locked-up in those rooms anymore. It’s driving me nuts,” Carrie interjected, giving him a sharp look. “Besides, Mr. DiMera did say we could have the run of the compound.” She nodded coldly in Stefano’s direction.

 

John gave a shrug. “Okay. Okay. I’m not arguing. I just didn’t expect you at breakfast. Where are your mom and Eric?”

 

When Carrie didn’t reply, Sami hesitantly said, “They thought they would rather eat in today.”

 

Without comment, John nodded his understanding and reached over for the blueberry muffins. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sat back in his chair. Peering across to the distant peaks, he tried to ignore the uncomfortable silence that settled around the table. Tried not to notice his building tension at having the two parts of his life in such close proximity.

 

Growing bored with the strain at what was usually his favorite meal of the day, Stefano addressed John. “You’re going hiking? Are you going to walk up to Dragon’s Tooth today, or stay in the valley?” DiMera asked.

 

“Think I’ll stay in the valley. Most of my old gear was gone, so I had to pick-up new boots. I want to break them in slowly,” John replied, glad for DiMera’s distraction.

 

“That reminds me, did Jensen set you up with a new kit? Everything fit okay?”

 

“Like a condom, boss. Jensen’s good…”John broke off suddenly, flushing bright red as he realized the girls were at the table.

 

Carrie couldn’t help it. She snorted milk out her nose, half choking herself as Sami merely looked at John in shock.

 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry…I mean…,” John jumped to his feet uncomfortably, as all three of his companions burst out laughing. Embarrassed, he stalked over to the railing and looked out over the woodlands. Catching his scattered train of thought, he turned. “No, I really am sorry,” he said, red-faced. “And I had better not hear either of you talking like that. It is totally inappropriate.”

 

Stefano could not quite contain another snort at that one, and John shot him a dirty look.

 

“Oh come now, John. It wasn’t as bad as all that. Come eat before it gets cold,” he said, dabbing at his eyes and trying to catch his breath. As John hesitantly sat back down, DiMera could not help but comment. “I would imagine that breakfast at your house was something else!”

 

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable pause. Then John flashed a grin. “It was that,” he said, almost wistfully.

 

“Of course, you weren’t this good a cook,” Carrie interjected with a half-smile.

 

“Well I’m way better than your mother. You have to admit that,” John shot back, unable to prevent himself from taking the bait.

 

Sami merely rolled her eyes. “Everybody is way better than mom!”

 

DiMera reclined in his seat, stifling a contented sigh as he let the easy banter wash over him. He had so rarely seen John relax. Let down his guard. And even in those brief moments, he had seemed to keep a hard edge of cynicism. But here, with the children, there was a gentleness. With a start, Stefano realized that he would look forward to the following weeks. Away from the everyday business of his empire. The sound of laughter in the house. He realized that he was going to enjoy watching John in this ‘fatherly’ role. Imagine, John Black lecturing someone on ‘inappropriate language’! He smiled to himself as the meal began to wind down.

 

“Can I come too, Dad?,” Sami was saying, as DiMera shifted his attention back to the conversation at the table.

 

“Sure…,” John replied with a smile, his voice tapering off as he remembered his promise to Marlena. Looking into the bright face of his daughter, he was unable to deny her. Instead, he added more hesitantly. “But,… you better check with your mom first. If it is okay, grab a swim suit. There’s a nice lake about 3 miles out. A dip will probably feel good by the time we get out there. I’ll get Jensen to pack a lunch. Carrie, you in?”

 

“I think I’m going to stick around, here. Thanks anyway, John,” she replied, darting a quick look in DiMera’s direction.

 

“Okay, we’ll see you all later then,” he said, moving toward the kitchen.

 

“Dad!” Sami called out. “It’s not like I packed any clothes!”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” John said, looking back at her. “I told you Jensen was good. Check the dresser in your room. There ought to be something in there that will fit. And make sure to wear good shoes. It’s a fair hike.”

 

As John left, Sami following quickly after, Carrie turned to face Stefano. “Well, nobody ever accused you of being unprepared.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, Stefano nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you”

 

Picking up her cup, Carrie muttered into her coffee. “It wasn’t exactly a compliment.”

 

***

 

Sami came flying down the stairs, pulling up as she saw John sitting on the couch in the main room, loading a shotgun.

 

“Hey kiddo. Your mom say it was all right for you to tag along?”

 

Avoiding his eyes, she replied, “Mmm…it’s fine. But, what’s that for?”

 

DiMera stopped in the doorway, observing the exchange. Carrie at his side.

 

“It’s turkey season,” he replied. “The woods around here are full of them. Thought I might get a chance to bring home dinner.” He continued loading buckshot into the modified 8 gauge. It would take seven rounds, including the one in the chamber. At close range, he could cut a man in half with it. Turkey weren’t the only thing he would be watching for. Giving Sami a smile, he continued. “I used to hunt these woods all the time when I was younger.”

 

“That’s sick, Dad. I don’t want you to shoot a turkey,” she said, trailing him to the kitchen door where a pack lay waiting.

 

“Samantha Brady. I have seen you hoarding the drumsticks at every single Thanksgiving since you were two years old. Where did you think they came from? It’s not like those birds committed suicide or died of old age or something!”

 

“Well still,…” the sound of her voice dying out as she and John headed out the backdoor.

 

As silence once again descended on the house, Stefano was startled by a soft voice at his side.

 

“Why did you do this? Why did you do this to him? Why did you have to destroy him like this?” she asked quietly.

 

Turning, he looked back at her. She was so like her mother. So like Marlena. It was hard to believe the two did not share the same blood. As she looked him steadily in the eye, he shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Carrie I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more at ease. He remembers who he is, and he accepts it. I didn’t destroy anything. I just brought him back to himself. To who he is. What he is.”

 

“I saw what you did to him. At the trial…I was there. You tortured him. You drugged him. And finally, you broke something. You took away the man who was my father, and I want to know why.”

 

“You’re mistaken. If John is…damaged, I’m not the one who did it. When he came to me, he was already ‘broken’,” DiMera said dryly. “I gave him a place. A purpose. But I didn’t create him. I didn’t make him what he is. He came that way,” he finished, meeting her eyes in a level gaze.

 

The doubt showed clearly on her face, and despite his better judgement, he wanted her to believe that it was the truth. Giving a sigh of frustration, he gestured toward the house. “Look, if you want to know how he came to work for me, I’ll tell you. But we may as well get comfortable, because it’s a long story.”

 

***

 

John lay back on the flat boulder, soaking in the sun. He felt at peace for the first time in a long while. He had been right. A swim was the perfect thing after the long walk out to the lake. The noon day sun sparkled down out of crisp clear skies, and the temperature had to be in the 80’s. He enjoyed the sensation of the water drying on his skin as he lay baking on the rock. Looking over to where Sami was similarly laid out, he wondered if she was dozing.

 

“Hey, peanut. You up for some lunch?,” he called softly, not wanting to wake her if she was asleep.

 

Barely opening her eyes, she replied lazily. “Sure, dad. What’d you bring?”

 

Wrenching himself upright, he moved to the pack. “Well, Jensen came through again. Looks like we have a choice of ham, roast beef or chicken salad. You have a preference?”

 

“Mmmm. Chicken salad sounds great. Not a lot of vegetarians out here, I guess,” she teased with a grin.

 

“Come on now! We’ve got apples, oranges. Must be tea in the thermoses. Jeesh, no wonder this pack was so heavy! Score!!…we have chocolate chip cookies!” he exclaimed, holding the bag aloft triumphantly.

 

“Oh, like you made them yourself!” She said with heavy sarcasm. Coming over to dig through the pack, she realized that she really was quite hungry. “You know, I think this whole servant thing is making you lazy! When’s the last time you actually cooked something?”

 

“I never realized you thought so highly of my culinary skills?! Just for that remark, I might have to make dinner tonight,” he replied with a smile.

 

“No…no. That’s okay. Forget I said anything!” Leaning back against the rock, she bit into the chicken salad. John was right, this really was good.

 

“Heads up,” he called, tossing her an orange.

 

With a grin, she caught it. “Thanks dad.”

 

Leaning back against the sun warmed rock, he stared up at the sky. Closing his eyes, he allowed the motes of light to spark across his vision. Dance through his mind. Softly, he asked, “Why do you still call me that?”

 

“Hmmm?” Sami mumbled through a mouth full of chicken. “Call you what?”

 

“Dad.”

 

“Uh, cause you are,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable with the change in topic.

 

“Sami, you know I’m not Roman. The DNA tests left no doubt. I’m not your dad.” Opening his eyes, he looked at her. For so long he had thought she was his. So much of her mother showed through. The long blond hair, almost dry from the sun’s rays. The clear skin, that so quickly blushed pink when she was embarrassed. And her eyes. The blue of her eyes that almost matched his own. He gave a wistful sigh. “I wish I was, but I’m not. Roman was your real dad.”

 

“So I guess Marlena isn’t Carrie’s mom?,” she challenged back, suddenly glad for the opportunity to voice what she had been feeling.

 

“No…no, it’s not the same,” John replied with a grimace. “I’m not the same man I was when I raised you. You and Eric and Carrie. What I remember…what I have done. It’s not the same.”

 

“You don’t seem that different to me.”

 

“What, you mean aside from the trail of bodies? Aside from the fact that I work for Stefano DiMera? Sami, I’m not the same. There is no point in pretending otherwise. Who I was when I raised you guys is not the same man I am now,” he said in exasperation.

 

“You aren’t different in ways that matter. After you remembered, you still brought mom home. And the explosion…I never thought you did that. I knew you wouldn’t hurt mom like that. I was right about that. And now…bringing us out here. You did that to protect us right? How is it any different? You’re still doing what you always have. Protecting the family. None of that has changed. The only thing that has changed, is that now you say you aren’t our dad anymore. You try and pretend it’s true. You try and stay way. But as soon as we need you, there you are. I wish you would stop pretending you don’t care about us anymore!,” she said, as against her will the tears started to trickle down her cheeks. She turned her face from him, ashamed at her loss of control.

 

He was startled by the anger in her voice. “Sami,” he said gently, looking over to her. “It’s not that I don’t care. I will always care. About you. Your brother and sister… Marlena. I stay away because I do care. Because I put you at risk. I can’t protect you from that, so I stay away. I can’t be the father you want. The father I used to be.”

 

“You can. You just won’t. If you wanted it bad enough, you would find a way,” she stated flatly, staring at the ground.

 

He shook his head and flashed her a quick smile. “You are very stubborn, you know.”

 

“I get it from you,” she replied, looking up at him with a glint in her eye.

 

Walking over to where she still sat, he crouched down. “How about this. I can’t tell you what is going to happen in the future. I can’t even say where I’ll be. But what if we both agree, just between us- You will always be a daughter to me. If you call, I will be there. If you need me, I will come… How about it?” As she refused to meet his eyes, he took her into his arms and pulled her close. She stiffened slightly, but then hugged him tight.

 

“I want you to come home. I want you to come home to stay,” she almost whispered.

 

Gently, he kissed the top of her head. “Sami, if anything happened…if any of you got hurt. I don’t think I could live with it. I know I wouldn’t want to. We can’t go back to what we had, Sami. I won’t risk it.”

 

“I know you would never hurt me, dad,” she said softly into his shoulder.

 

Stroking her back in a gesture from her childhood, he held her close and made a silent promise to never allow anyone or anything to ever hurt her again.

 

Pulling back slightly, he looked down and caught her eye. “I will always watch over you. That much I can promise. Okay?”

 

“Okay, I guess,” she replied, wiping at her eyes. “But…is it still alright for me to call you ‘dad’? You don’t mind, do you?,” she asked, suddenly anxious.

 

Letting her go, he chuckled. “I don’t mind at all. Believe me, I’ve been called a lot worse.”

 

“I can imagine,” she replied with half a grin, wipping away the traces of her tears.

 

“Oh, nice. We get this father-daughter thing worked out and two seconds later, you’re already disrespecting me. I tell you…ungrateful children!,” he answered with a smile.

 

Moving quickly, he bent down and scooped her up in his arms. “I should have been stricter when you were young!,” he shouted above her shrieks as he splashed out into the lake and dropped her in the cold water.

 

***

 

As they walked silently back through the fields, John saw three huge birds winging their way in from the distant treeline. Two hens and a giant gobbler settled into the thick grass 50 yards to their fore. Grabbing Sami’s arm, he whispered, “Stay here. I see dinner up ahead.” As he started to creep forward through the tall grass, he felt a small hand clutch his shoulder.

 

“Don’t dad. I don’t want to see you kill anything. Please?”

 

Startled, he stopped and looked down at her. “Even if it meant no dinner?,” he asked, breaking into a sudden grin.

 

“I could stand to miss one meal,” she replied with an answering smile.

 

Chuckling, he laid the shotgun back against his shoulder. “I’m going to remind you of this come Thanksgiving! But, okay. Nothing dies today. Now, let’s go flush those birds up anyway. I love to see them on the wing.”

 

Her face beaming, she replied, “Bet I get there first!,” and took off running through the high grass.

 

Their laughter echoing back from the soaring hills, they sprinted through the grasslands. With a roar of angry feathers, the big birds took flight, soaring up into the blue of the Virginia skies.

 

Chapter 48

 

“Samantha Brady!,” Marlena called sternly, as her daughter attempted to quietly sneak to her room. “Would you care to tell me where you have been all day?”

 

“Umm, Mom!,” Sami cried, starting guiltily. “I was just around. You said it was all right for us to leave the suite.”

 

Marlena rolled her eyes. “I did not say you could stay gone all day! Sami, I was ready to panic when I couldn’t find you. We are being held here against our will, and you just disappeared. I only knew you were with John because Carrie told me!”

 

Sami flushed, looking down at her feet. “I’m sorry, mom. I should have told you where I was going. But…,” she looked up at Marlena. “Well, I thought maybe you wouldn’t let me go…,” she trailed off, holding her mother’s gaze.

 

Marlena gave a sigh, and sank back down on the couching. Patting a cushion, she gestured for her daughter to join her. As Sami tucked herself into the corner of the sofa and turned to face her mother, Marlena commented, “You’re probably right. But Sami, you still should have asked. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Sami muttered, nodding.

 

Softening, Marlena continued more gently. “So…do you want to tell me about it? What did you two do?”

 

Sami brightened immediately, looking over to her mother with sparkling eyes. “It was great. We hiked out to this big lake, and had a picnic and went swimming…You should come with us mom! It was…like before,” she ended simply.

 

“Honey, you shouldn’t get your hopes up, you know,” Marlena said, her eyes sad. “He isn’t coming back.”

 

Sami shrugged, letting her gaze wander. “I know. Dad and I talked. He said he couldn’t come home. But…I think he would if you asked him to,” she said with conviction, her eyes now locked on her mother’s.

 

Concerned with her daughter’s unwillingness to accept the reality of the situation, Marlena replied, “He isn’t your dad, Sami. You know that.”

 

“He said it was all right! He said I could call him that. That he would always come if I needed him,” Sami shot back, her anger beginning to flare.

 

Marlena sat back, surprised. “He shouldn’t have…”

 

“What?” Sami cut her off. “Shouldn’t have said to call him dad?” She rose quickly to her feet, feeling her face flush.

 

“He is my dad, and nothing you say is going to change that!” she said determinedly. Turning, she ran to her room before Marlena could say more.

 

***

 

“Hey,” Carrie said distractedly, coming over to flop on the double bed opposite the one Sami rested on. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. “Mom said to tell you dinner would be up soon. She told Jensen we would be eating up here tonight.”

 

Sami cracked an eye, and turned her head to look at her sister. “I’m not hungry. How about you?”

 

“Nope, not really,” Carrie said, closing her eyes tiredly.

 

Still studying her sister, Sami hesitantly asked, “Why were you so mad at Dad? When Stefano told us about his past. He couldn’t help any of that, you know?”

 

Carrie released a deep sigh. “I know. I wasn’t mad about that. It’s just,..” Turning over reluctantly, she faced her sister. “I guess it was important to me that when John left us, it was against his will. You know, DiMera forced him somehow. Then they’re sitting there talking about how Stefano took him in. How he saw something ‘special’ in him. And John was sitting there blushing like DiMera was some boastful father!”

 

Her eyes narrowed at the memory, and she collapsed back against the pillow. More softly, she said, “I think I was actually jealous. I thought that John had left because he wanted to be with Stefano more than he wanted to be with us. It just…really hurt.”

 

Sami propped herself on an elbow. “That isn’t why he left, Carrie.”

 

“I know,” her sister replied. “We talked about it. I think he left because he was afraid he would hurt us.”

 

“I know that’s why he won’t come back. He told me so,” Sami replied. Sitting up on the bed, she wrapped her arms around her legs and looked to her sister.

 

“But…I think he would come back if mom asked him,” she said quietly, trying to gauge Carrie’s response.

 

When Carrie made no comment, Sami prodded, “You want that, don’t you?”

 

Before she could reply, a brief knock sounded, and Eric walked in. “Hey, come on you two, supper’s almost ready.”

 

“We’re busy, Eric. We’ll be there later, okay?” Sami said shortly, giving him a hard look.

 

Rather than take the hint, Eric simply closed the door and went to sit on the end of Sami’s bed. “So? What’s up?” he asked curiously.

 

Sami merely rolled her eyes, not wanting to get into another argument about John with her twin. As the silence stretched on, Carrie sighed and sat up. “We were just talking about John, Eric.”

 

“Why?,” he asked, his eyes narrowing in anger. “I thought that was a dead issue. He’s gone and he’s not coming back! He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

 

“He is hardly ‘gone’, Eric. I mean, he’s just down the hall. All you would have to do is yell, and he’d come running in!,” Sami responded, her irritation evident.

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!,” he retorted.

 

“Enough, both of you!,” Carrie said, her voice raising. “I can’t stand any more of your arguing. Sami, you just aren’t being realistic when you pretend nothing has changed. Even John says he isn’t the same man he was when he raised us!”

 

As Eric shot his twin a superior smirk, Carrie focused her gaze on him. “And Eric, you aren’t any better. We know John didn’t set that bomb. He isn’t the one who killed, … Roman. And you can’t even come close to understanding why he left the family after he remembered his past. You don’t know enough to judge his actions!”

 

“Oh, and you do?,” he shot back, his face flushing.

 

“Look, let’s just drop this,” she said, getting to her feet.

 

“No! You brought it up. I want to know. Why do you think he left? What is it that makes you so ‘knowledgeable’?,” he said snidely.

 

Carrie glared down at her younger brother. She still wasn’t certain how she felt about John, and she resented having to defend him. “Fine, Eric! You want the truth, I’ll give it to you John told us about how he went to work for Stefano. He had no parents. No family. He was living on the street, robbing people. Selling drugs. Who knows what. He went to work for Stefano when he was younger than you Eric.”

 

As she continued, the anger flared. Anger over how John had had to live. Anger over how many of the people she cared about ended up leaving her. Anger that John had left. The anger showed in her voice, as she virtually yelled at a now cowed Eric. “He didn’t just work for Stefano. He killed for him. That’s what he did. It’s what he is, Eric! He was good at it…he even liked it! He remembers all of that, and those memories make him different. They make him dangerous. That is why he left, Eric. He left because the man he is now is dangerous!”

 

She wiped a tear away in frustration, and turned to the door. She didn’t think she could take much more of this. This endless debate over what had caused their family to be torn apart. The truth was, it would never be the same. Carrie was no longer certain the reasons mattered.

 

As she opened the door to leave, Sami’s quiet voice stoped her. “You never did give me an answer, Carrie. Do you want John to come back?”

 

Carrie turned and looked at her younger sister for a long moment. Without answering, she stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

 

Sami and Eric sat silently. Shocked by the outburst from their normally quiet sister, neither knew what to say. Finally, his eyes still locked on the door Carrie had slammed angrily behind her, Eric asked quietly, “You really think he would come back?”

 

“He will. I know it.”

 

Chapter 49

 

John collapsed across the back of the couch, allowing his body to sink gratefully down into the soft cushions. Giving a small grunt, he kicked his bare feet up to rest on the top of the sofa’s backrest, popped open his beer and lit a cigarette. With the remote, he flicked on the TV in the media room and settled in to catch the Pat’s game.

 

He had exhausted himself, hiking Dragon’s Tooth trail. The effort had been worth it, though. He had eaten lunch perched on an outcropping of rock 200 feet above the forest floor. The view had, at least for a while, distracted him from wondering why none of the family had come down for either dinner the night before or breakfast this morning. With the help of a hot shower, he was now hoping the game could take his mind off of his present situation for at least a little while longer.

 

He tensed at the sound of a light tread on the stairs to the basement, but forced himself to ease back down as he caught a hint of her perfume. Knowing that her presence could bode nothing good, he concentrated on the television and willed her to go away.

 

Looking down at him, she knew he was aware of her, despite his seemingly relaxed pose. Stretched out over the big couch, frayed jeans and an old football jersey making him look like some indolent teenager, she could still see the play of the muscles in his back as he tried to hide his discomfort at her presence. He should be nervous, she thought to herself.

 

The sound of the Sunday paper made a loud ‘Slap!’ as it hit the coffee table in front of the sofa. Almost leisurely, John shifted around to sit cross-legged on the couch. Looking at her as she stood by the opposite end of the couch, he merely raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Was there something you wanted to watch?,” he asked innocently.

 

“Perhaps the news,” she replied, looking down at him with a frown. “I wanted an update on one of the stories in today’s paper. Right there…front page. You can’t miss it,” she said, her tone angry. She gestured to the paper spilling across the small table. “A terrorist attack on a federal building. Someone broke through security and killed an Assistant Director of the ISA while he sat in his office. I believe the article said the assassin escaped in ‘a hail of gunfire, aided by a four man team.’ Would you care to know the name of the Assistant Director who was killed?” she asked, staring down at him pointedly.

 

“Marlena, if you want to know if I killed Director Jameson, you should just ask me,” he replied mildly, relieved that she wasn’t angry about the time he had spent with the children. As to killing Jameson… his conscience was clear on that one.

 

Folding her hands across her chest, she almost decided that she really didn’t want to know. Might be better off if she didn’t know. She asked anyway. “Did you kill him. Or, have him killed?”

 

Looking into his face, she almost thought she saw a grimace of pain cross his features. And then he smiled a small innocent smile at her. Looking straight into her eyes, he replied, “Of course I killed him. With my own hand, I cut his throat. You didn’t think I would let him live, did you?”

 

She had been right all along. She really hadn’t wanted to know. Hadn’t wanted him to confirm what her heart had told her. The worst of it was his utter lack of regret. Of remorse.

 

“You are going to kill all of them, aren’t you?,” she asked. Her face going pale with the sudden realization of just exactly how far John was willing to go.

 

He gave a half-nod in recognition of her insight. “They represent a threat to you and the children. Of course I’m going to kill them. Jameson, on the other hand…I destroyed him for the sheer pleasure of the act. He killed your child, Marlena. Almost killed you. Taking his head… that was pure pleasure.”

 

He continued to stare up at her, his face untouched by emotion. Willing her to see him for exactly who and what he was. Willing her to stay away from him, as he was no longer certain he could ever make himself turn away from her.

 

She had known what he was capable of. Known it all along. Yet her face went white as she realized that he was still the killer described in the files. Still the man who had walked through the island compound leaving a trail of corpses. The man who haunted her dreams. Softly, she said, “You promised. You promised me you would let them live.”

 

He shook his head, and replied just as gently. “No. I never promised you that. I said I would let them live if I could be certain you were safe. I know the system a little too well, Marlena. I have seen it manipulated by the master. I won’t trust the ‘authorities’ to protect you. I won’t trust anyone but myself. And while those men still breathe, you are still in danger. I will not allow that, and so they will die. But…I never broke my promise,” he finished quietly, returning her gaze with clear eyes.

 

She simply stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around the inconsistencies. He looked almost vulnerable, sitting cross-legged on the old couch. The faded denim of the jeans bringing out the blue in his eyes as he looked up at her. Denying the possibility that he would lie to her. Yet- he was completely at ease with slitting a man’s throat. Untroubled by the prospect of dozens of more deaths. All of them done in her name. A shiver ran through her, and she rubbed her arms together to fight the sudden chill.

 

As she tried to gather herself to address her second reason for seeking him out, she noticed the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside John. Momentarily confused, she asked, “When did you start smoking?”

 

Seeing the almost motherly concern that washed across her face, he stifled a chuckle at the vagaries of women and leaned over to crush the butt. “When I was about nine, if I remember correctly,” he answered agreeably.

 

“Well, I hope you don’t do it around the children,” she said with a frown.

 

Affronted by the thought, he exclaimed, “Of course not!”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t do it at all,” she said, more pointedly.

 

He gave a loose shrug. “Okay. I just quit.”

 

She sighed loudly, recognizing how ludicrous the conversation was becoming. “You will quit smoking because I ask you to, but you won’t let those men live. Would you care to explain this to me? Really. I’m a psychiatrist, you know. The way your mind works… or rather, doesn’t work…,” she trailed off. Half-amused, half-horrified she awaited his answer.

 

He gave a small grin. “I’m really not all that complex, Marlena. I would do anything for you. Anything you ask. The only thing I won’t do is put you at risk. Allow someone else to put you at risk. Other than that… You know I have never been able to deny you,” he finished softly. No longer able to meet her eyes, he glanced away.

 

Unconsciously, she hugged her arms tighter. Moving almost stiffly, she sat in the lounge chair at the opposite side of the table. Unable to prevent a single tear from trailing down her cheek, she none-the-less held her voice firm. “Why is that, John?”

 

Shifting uncomfortable, he shrugged again. “You know why, Do… Marlena. There is no point in us having this conversation…,” he trailed off, shifting to get to his feet.

 

“I know you were out with Sami most of the day yesterday.”

 

Confused by her change in subject, he sank back down into the couch. “So? You said it was okay,” he replied guiltily, still avoiding her eyes.

 

“Nothing happened? She is okay, isn’t she?,” he asked, becoming anxious as she failed to continue. He worried that something he had said to the girls had hurt them, and looked to her with apprehension.

 

“She still thinks you will come back. That eventually you will come home. John… I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t spend too much time around her. It just feeds into her fantasy,” she finished, more gently than she had intended. As her words had registered, he shut down all of his emotions. But not before she caught the glint of pain in his eyes.

 

Struggling not to reveal the hurt that her words caused, he simply nodded. “You don’t want me around the kids. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… she was there. And I didn’t think about it. I just wanted to spend time with her. I’m sorry. I was being selfish.”

 

Despite herself, she said, “John, that’s not what I mean. If they want to see you, that’s okay. I was wrong to try and stop that. I know they still have a lot of questions, maybe it’s better if they can talk it out with you. Understand why you left. But… I don’t want you to lead them on, John. I don’t want them to think that you are coming back. Because you aren’t.”

 

She had meant her words to be a statement. That he was leaving. That he would not come back to them. But the words formed a question as they hung in the air.

 

He studied her face, and wondered why he could no longer read her. No longer be sure he knew what she was thinking. What she wanted. He had always known what she was feeling. Words had been unnecessary. But now… What he thought he sensed in her could not be. His desire made him see things that weren’t there. Hear things that weren’t said. With a frustrated sigh, he reassured her. “You don’t have to worry, Marlena. I won’t be back.”

 

As she silently stood and moved toward the stairs, he turned his attention to the TV and wished he could have a cigarette.

 

***

 

In black T-shirt and fatigues, John slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached for the door. He always made a check of the inner perimeter once the night shift was in place. Game or no game, he would check tonight. He wanted no one getting careless with his family on the scene.

 

“John!,” Eric’s voice called as he came down the stairs. The boy was wearing boots and a flannel shirt, and John wondered if he had been waiting for him to go out on his nightly rounds.

 

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Eric attempted to sound casual. “Umm, thought you might want some company?”

 

Wondering what was up, John gave him a nod. “Just checking the perimeter. You’re always welcomed.” He walked through the door, Eric following without comment at his heels.

 

As they moved quietly through the darkened woods, Eric couldn’t help but ask, “How can you tell where you’re going? It’s pitch black out here.”

 

Laughing quietly, John replied, “Years of practice. This isn’t my first time running a security force, Eric. I’m very good at it…you guys don’t need to worry.” The last thing John wanted was for their walk to alarm the boy.

 

“Yea… I was talking to Sami and Carrie. They kind of told me about… stuff. I kind of figured you must be pretty good at this sort of thing.”

 

“Mmhm… what ‘sort of thing’ are you talking about,” John asked cautiously. Sensing that this was why Eric had followed him out into the woods.

 

“Stuff like killing people.” The boy was trying to sound flippant, but it came across as distinctly uncomfortable.

 

John let the silence hang, moving slowly on through the dense underbrush. “Yea,” he finally said. “I am pretty good at ‘that sort of thing’.” John’s words faded into the night air, and without reply, Eric simply concentrated on following the faint sounds that marked the passage of the man in front of him.

 

They covered three-quarters of the perimeter in silence, and it was beginning to wear on John’s nerves. He had gone over every possible horrid reason Eric had wanted to have this little talk. He just wanted to get it over with. As they broke out of the treeline into a small meadow, John pulled-up. Gesturing for Eric to catch-up, he sank down on his heels at the edge of the tall grass. The boy’s face shone pale in the moonlight, as John looked over at him.

 

“Eric, why exactly did you follow me out here. What is it you want to say?,” he said in a low tone, not wanted to announce their presence to the world.

 

Eric looked away, refusing to meet John’s eyes. Instead, he stared out over the field, shimmering under the white of the moon. “Sami says you’re going to come back home…. Is that true?”

 

John’s lips pressed into a tight grimace. Marlena was right. Sami still hadn’t accepted the reality of the situation.

 

Thinking John’s prolonged silence an indication of hesitance, Eric continued haltingly. “It would be okay with me if you came home. I mean, if you were wondering… I would be all right with that.”

 

John couldn’t form a reply. The offer so unexpected. So at odds with the recrimination he had envisioned. “I wish I could.” The whisper of words escaped his lips without conscious thought. Seeing the grin spread across Eric’s face alerted John to his mistake.

 

“Eric, I wish I could, but I can’t It just…it isn’t possible to go back to that. My being with you, it might end-up getting somebody hurt,” he continued, more harshly than he intended.

 

His chest tightened as he saw the beginnings of a smile replaced by a bitter grimace. “Yea. Sure… whatever,” Eric replied woodenly.

 

“Eric, it isn’t because I don’t love you. Or want to be with you. You do understand that, don’t you,” John asked gently, reaching out to clasp the young man’s shoulder.

 

Eric ducked his head, hiding his face in the arms he had crossed over his knees. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his face to look up at John. Tears shone at the corners of his eyes. “It’s just,… I really miss you. I mean, playing ball. Watching the game on Sundays….” Eric sighed out a weak chuckle. “You letting me have a sip of your beer when mom’s not around. I really miss you. I want you to come home,” he finished, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.

 

This time, it was John’s turn to drop his gaze, unable to meet his son’s eyes. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to mean it. Instead, he ground out, “I’m sorry, Eric. I can’t do that.”

 

Eric rubbed briefly at his eyes with his sleeve. Looking back over the meadow, he stood abruptly. “Well then, I guess we might at well go back to the house,” he stated, his voice cold. Without looking at John, he trudged forward to the cabin.

 

Chapter 50

 

“Sami, he isn’t coming back. Now stop bugging me about it!” Eric said angrily, rising from his perch on Carrie’s bed. “I do not want to have to go down there and eat breakfast with the man. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I’m not going to go begging him on my knees!”

 

“Jeesh, Eric. I never told you to just walk up and ask him to come home!! Come on! He obviously has a few issues he is dealing with here!!” Sami shot back in exasperation from where she lay stretched out on the bed.

 

“Well, I don’t know why you have to turn everything into such a damn soap opera, Sami! I mean, if he wanted to be with us, he would come home. It’s that simple,” he retorted.

 

“Don’t be so dense. I cannot believe we are related! If you would open your ears, you would realize… Dad keeps saying he ‘can’t’ come home. He never said he didn’t ‘want’ to. He just needs to be persuaded that we are safer with him than without him. And nobody is better at persuading him than mom!”

 

Eric allowed himself a small grin at that, and moved restlessly to lean against the dresser. “Yea. She pretty much could get him to do anything she wanted him to. Remember the Halloween she got him to dress-up as Tarzan?!” he asked with a chuckle.

 

Sami snorted in return. “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone so embarrassed in my life! But when mom came down in that ‘Jane’ get-up… he didn’t say a word in complaint. Just gave her that big smile of his, and trotted out the door behind her,” she replied with a smile.

 

In a gesture reminiscent of his father, Eric ran a hand through his short hair. Sighing, he gave in. “Okay… Maybe you are right. If mom asked dad to come home, he would. But… Do you really think that is going to happen? I mean, she just found out that he killed that director guy with the ISA. From the little bit of the news I managed to watch, it was pretty gruesome!”

 

Sami shrugged indifferently. “Mom said he was the one behind the bombing. He made mom lose the baby, Eric. He killed Roman. What would you expect dad would do?”

 

“Damn! Remind me never to piss you off!” Eric said with a grimace. “Sami. He cut the guy’s head off!! I mean… maybe… just possibly… he could have called the cops or something!!! Called Uncle Bo, at least. Even you have to admit, this was a bit extreme!”

 

Sami rolled her eyes up to stare at the ceiling. “Well, yeah. Maybe it was a little overboard. But, you know he was just protecting mom. When dad was a cop, he had to kill somebody once. This isn’t really that different.”

 

“I’m not sure mom sees it that way Sami. And even if she did… It does make him kind of scary. Maybe mom doesn’t want him to come back,” Eric stated hesitantly.

 

“Eric, tell me. Does the Y chromosome have ‘stupid’ written on it, or is it just you? All you have to do is open your eyes when they are in the same room. Any idiot could see that it kills mom every time he walks out of the room. Could see how she lights up when he comes back,” she said, bringing her eyes down to look at her brother.

 

“You know, Sami… I think I just realized why you don’t have a boyfriend… ,” Eric began dryly.

 

With a smirk, she cut him off. “Thank you Casanova. When I want dating advice, I’ll ask. Now come over here and help me figure out how we can get mom and dad back together.”

 

***

 

“I didn’t realize you were planning on carrying a shotgun as a regular thing, John,” DiMera commented as he walked onto the porch, nodding at the gun that rested against the rail.

 

Looking up from his coffee, John pawed at tired eyes. He had gotten no sleep the night before, and had ended up going out to the woods a little after three in the morning. “I was walking the posts earlier. Had it with me, so I thought I might go down and shoot some skeet after I ate. You want to join me?” he asked, moving his hand to scratch at the rough stubble on his face.

 

“I would, but I have a conference call scheduled. The business doesn’t run itself, John,” Stefano replied, as he stirred his coffee.

 

John managed a smile at that. “Shooting is my business, Stefano. Or had you forgotten?”

 

“I hadn’t realized I would be dining with John Wayne,” DiMera rejoined, sipping at the hot coffee.

 

John’s reply was cut off as Sami came bounding out the door, followed closely by her brother.

 

“What are you two doing here?” John asked uneasily, straightening in his chair.

 

“We are having breakfast. What are you doing?” Sami shot back with a smile.

 

John chuckled, slumping back into his seat. “Okay, smarty. Does your mom know you are here? And this time, I would like a straight answer,” he said, giving her a hard look.

 

“Mom said it was all right. Really. Right, Eric?”

 

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Eric gave a shrug as he picked up a glass of juice. “She said we could come down for breakfast if we wanted. She just wants us to check-in if we are going outside.”

 

John simply gave them a cautious nod. “So… what are you guys planning to do today?”

 

“Actually, we were thinking we’d just check out the house. Maybe walk around a little… ,” Sami tapered off.

 

“You said there was a media room,” Eric said, taking over. “We thought we could maybe watch movies tonight. The Marx brothers, or Monty Python or something.”

 

“Better yet, we could see “Something About Mary’ again. I love that one!” Sami cut in. She had really wanted them to watch Titanic. It was just so romantic. However, Eric had pointed out that the guy does end up dying in the end, so maybe it really wasn’t such a great choice after all. She had been forced to agree with him on that one.

 

“You guys have the run of the house. As long as it is okay with your mom, you can go down anytime you like,” John said.

 

“Dad!! We want to have a ‘movie night’. You know… popcorn… movies… everybody there… ,” Sami trailed off, trying not to sound hurt.

 

In frustration, John rubbed his hand across his eyes. He had known what she meant. He had just hoped she wouldn’t back him into a corner over it. “Sami… I don’t think your mom wants me around that much. I think it would be best if I didn’t come,” he said softly.

 

“Da . . . Uh, John. I really don’t want to be the only guy down there,” Eric said, studiously examining the muffin he was holding.

 

“It’s okay with mom. Really!” Sami interjected.

 

He ignored the glare of DiMera’s eyes and the flush he could feel creeping up his neck at the thought of being with her. With forced casualness, John said, “Okay. How about seven o’clock?”

 

Sami’s face beamed, and Eric gave a shy smile. Feeling a vague sense of guilt, John got to his feet and picked-up the shotgun.

 

“Where you going?” Eric asked, studying him with bright eyes.

 

“I thought I would do a little skeet shooting. Do you want to come along?” John asked, well aware of the young man’s hesitancy around him.

 

Slowly, Eric nodded. “Yea, I would. If it’s alright?”

 

“I’d like it,” John replied. “But, you need to… ” “Ask your mother,” Sami parroted, with a grin.

 

Her good humor was infectious, and John couldn’t help but smile. “Please tell me you don’t want to come too! The thought of Sami Brady armed with a shotgun must, at this moment, be striking fear into the hearts of young men everywhere,” he teased.

 

“Why do I get no respect from the male gender?!” Sami responded, rolling her eyes. “No. You two go ahead. This sounds like a guy thing to me,” she finished, giving her brother a smile.

 

As John chuckled, he gave Eric a nod. “Go on… I’ll meet you back here. Want to go get a 20 gauge for you to use.” As one, the two men moved to the house, leaving Sami to sit with Stefano.

 

Against her better judgement, she allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. “Why is it that he never looks that happy when he is with you, Stefano?” she asked.

 

DiMera simply studied the young woman across from him for a long moment, recognizing for the first time that she did make a formidable adversary. Smoothly, he replied. “He won’t leave me, Samantha. I won’t let him. People will only get hurt if you try and change that.”

 

The anger flaring in her eyes, she rose from the table and said coldly, “If you try and stop him, you’re the one who will get hurt.”

 

***

 

“I can’t believe your mother let you go see that movie!” John said, wiping the tears from his eyes and trying to catch his breathe. “Saddam Hussein and Satan as lovers… ,” he again broke into laughter. “Did this film have any redeeming features?”

 

Smiling easily, Eric unrepentantly shook his head. “Not a one. It was truly horrible, and I loved every minute. You have to see it, Dad. Really!”

 

John was distracted by the conversation, and they were almost to the porch before he noticed Marlena sitting there, watching them walk in. She was dressed in faded jeans, and wore a white silk shirt that draped casually off of her shoulders. Her hair was loose, and strands of it were twisted about by the gentle breeze. As he realized he was staring, he felt his face begin to flush.

 

“Hey,” he said softly, looking up at her from the bottom of the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting to see you down here.”

 

She couldn’t help the smile that his appearance elicited, and she didn’t try. “I decided I couldn’t stand being in that room for another minute. I know you told me it might be a couple of weeks before this is over, and we can leave. I decided I might as well try and relax. Enjoy the end of the summer,” she replied.

 

“This is a good place for that…. ,” he answered, bobbing his head and trying to think of something intelligent to say. “Um… the weather is really great this time of year,” he lamely trailed off.

 

“The weather. Yes… the weather is nice… ,” she answered distractedly, looking down at him.

 

Eric simply watched bemused, as the two adults in his life acted like school girls with crushes. With chagrin, he admitted to himself that Sami was a lot smarter than she looked. Wanting to give them some space, he muttered a quick, “See ya later,” and moved rapidly to the door.

 

“I think we bored him,” Marlena said with a laugh, watching as her son retreated into the recesses of the lodge.

 

“I’m not much of a conversationalist, I must admit,” John answered ruefully. He climbed the stairs and hesitantly eased himself down into the chair opposite Marlena.

 

“You seemed to be doing all right with Eric a moment ago. Was everything okay between you two?” she asked with curiosity and not a little concern.

 

“Yea… Yea,” he repeated, almost surprised. “Everything was good. We didn’t really talk about anything. Just… spent time together. I really miss him… ,” he finished awkwardly. Wishing he hadn’t brought it up.

 

“It’s been really hard on him, John. He’s the only man in the house now… I think that hit him hard. It would be good for him if you two can make peace,” she said gently.

 

With a bitter snort of laughter, he met her eyes. “I hadn’t realized we were at war. But… Yea. This was good. I couldn’t stand knowing I had hurt him. Hurt him so bad he hated me. It was nice to let that go for a while.”

 

“Maybe it’s time we all made peace, John. I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” she said in a low tone.

 

This time, his chuckle was genuine. “How can I fight with you, Marlena? You are always right. It would be pointless,” he said with a grin.

 

“Well, I am glad you realize that, John! Now, would you mind showing me around this compound of yours? I have been cooped-up inside for way too long.”

 

Rising to his feet, he gave a small bow. “It would be my honor,” he said, gesturing for her to lead the way down the steps. As they walked out beneath the morning sun, he left the shotgun where it lay.

 

***

 

She curled on the sofa, watching him as he lay on the floor next to Eric. Their poses were identical, stretched out on their stomachs and propped up by their elbows. The big bowl of popcorn between them was rapidly dwindling, as they kept up a running commentary on the show. While the video collection had been rather sparse, they had found an old favorite, “Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail”, and were busy repeating lines they knew by heart. She allowed her eyes to travel the room, glancing over at Carrie, propped against the opposite end of the couch as she studied the television. Took in Sami’s form, as she lay across an overstuffed chair. Appearing completely content as she absently flicked popcorn kernels at her brother. Attempting to get one to stick in his hair.

 

The thought of the fleeting nature of this moment was a sadness she forced her mind to turn from. After a long sleepless night, she had decided she was tired of pushing him away. Tired of patrolling the walls she had built to keep him out. He would always be a part of her. A part of her family. Even if he could never come back to them, he would still hold a place in their hearts. She had decided to use the time at the cabin to gain some closure. Collect some happy memories before they returned to build a life without him. Watching as he joked with his son, she could not bring herself to regret the decision.

 

Chapter 51

 

“Baseball mitts. You want me to get baseball mitts,” Jensen replied quizzically.

 

“Yea. Baseball mitts. You know. Big leather gloves. People use them to catch baseballs. Any sports store will have them,” John answered, grinning at Jensen’s perplexed expression.

 

“Sir. In my tenure here, I have procured many items for you and the DiMera cartel. Weapons… explosives… women. If I remember, I was once even asked to obtain a ‘pound of dank’, as you put it. I do not believe you have ever requested baseball mitts before,” Jensen said, his tone verging on distaste.

 

Shrugging, John said, “Times change, Jensen. Get with the program. I need baseball mitts.”

 

“Baseball mitts… Of course, sir.”

 

***

 

Marlena awoke smiling, the smell of fresh brewed coffee wafting in to her from the sitting room. John had taken to bringing up a fresh pot every morning and then sitting with the kids as they made plans for the day. It wasn’t coffee in bed, but it was the next best thing. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she crawled out of bed and tossed a robe on over the sheer white nightgown she had slept in. Moving slowly, she went to the door to get a cup before taking her morning shower.

 

“Mornin’,” she drawled, surprised to see him sitting alone on the sofa.

 

“Howdy,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “Well, stop the presses. Dr. Marlena Evans is actually out of bed before her children. This is one for the record books!” Sitting back, he watched with pleasure as she walked with unconscious grace to pour herself a steaming mug. He loved the way she looked when she was fresh from sleep. The artless beauty… the dreamy sensuality. With a start, he pulled himself back to the present, and tried to ignore the flash of leg that peeked from beneath the gauzy material of her gown. Realizing he hadn’t heard a word of what she had been saying to him, he simply grunted an “Um hm,” in reply to her questioning look.

 

“‘Um hm’ what?” she asked, a mischievous look in her eyes.

 

“‘Um hm’ to whatever you said,” he answered sheepishly.

 

“I said, you really pooped them out. You guys were gone all day, hiking up to the mountain. They were exhausted last night when they got in.”

 

He allowed himself a chuckle. “Yea, I’m feeling it myself. I swear, they can run me into the ground now. They grew up so quick… I forget they aren’t little kids anymore. I was so lucky to have them in my life,” he finished with a small sigh.

 

“You were a good father to them,” she answered softly, touched by the sense of longing in his words. “We raised three beautiful children together, John. They were lucky to have you for a father. You will always be a part of them. A part of who they are.”

 

Staring into the steaming mug he held in his hand, he contemplated her words… and prayed that she was wrong. The shame of what he had done washed over him, and he replied softly. “I’m sorry, Marlena. Sorry for everything I stole from you. From the children. I tricked you into letting me into your life. Tricked you into… into caring for me. I had no right to be with you.” He shifted guiltily, and fought the urge to flee. The urge to hide from the hurt he had caused her. The damage he had done. Yet he could contain the words no longer. Knowing she could never forgive what he had done, he still craved absolution.

 

She looked down on his bowed head and was struck by how alone he now was. For fourteen years, he had raised their children. Had slept in her bed. And now he was reduced to stolen moments of time. Stolen moments that would soon come to an end. Slowly, she moved to sit across from him. Resisting the sudden impulse to take him in her arms, she instead said gently, “You have nothing to be sorry for, John. You didn’t know who you were when you came to me. You are no more at fault than I am. I am the one who told you that you were Roman. It was my decision to bring you into my life. The fault doesn’t lie in you John.”

 

He gave a sharp shake of his head, and shot back bitterly, “I should have known I wasn’t Roman. I should have realized that I wasn’t a man you could love. I didn’t see it because I didn’t want to see it, Marlena.”

 

He raised his head, and she found herself caught in the haunted depths of his eyes. Her heart would not allow him to believe such a lie, and she spoke without thinking. “I didn’t fall in love with you when I thought you were Roman. I fell in love with you despite who I thought you were. I have never loved anyone like I loved you. I never will,” she finished almost sadly.

 

Her soft words cut him like no knife ever could. The anger flared and he shot abruptly to his feet. Pacing stiffly away from her, he tried to distance himself from the ache her presence created. “You would never have loved me if you had known what I was… the things I had done. If you had known, you would have run. You would have run as far and as fast as you could.” He grated the words out. Hating himself for what he had done to her. Hating the fact that in his soul, he knew he would do it all again.

 

He was right. She would have run. If she had known what he was, she would have put oceans between them. Yet her heart told her it wouldn’t have mattered. In the end, only death would have kept them apart. Despite her better judgement, she stood and moved toward him. She stopped only when she reached his side. “I hate what you have done, John. I hate that you have killed. Killed for Stefano. But I know you. I know you as no one else ever could. John, that isn’t who you are. The man who raised my children… he was a good man. He was the man I wanted to grow old with. That man is a part of you, John. You could be that man again.”

 

He heard the longing in her voice, and it struck him like a blow. He would give her anything. Anything she asked. Anything but this. Slowly, he shook his head. Turning to face her, he was taken by her beauty. Gently, he reached out and pushed a strand of golden hair from her face. “You should be home. You should be home with your husband and your children. You should never have been touched by this ugliness. But I brought you to this, Marlena. I brought you to this ugly place because it is what I am. . . . Pain and blood and death. It is what I was born to, Doc. I’m sorry that I ever made you believe otherwise.”

 

He watched as her eyes widened. As unshed tears made them brighten in a bitter parody of joy. Finally, he dropped his hand from her face and turned away. Abruptly, he said, “I’m meeting with Stefano in a few minutes. We should be moving on the Brotherhood soon. You will be home within the week. I just came up to tell the kids I won’t be around this morning.” As he walked out the door, he could still sense her eyes as they followed him from the room.

 

***

 

“Hey! What ya thinkin’ about,” Carrie called out, moving toward where he sat beneath the branches of a large old maple tree. Leaning against the rough bark, his attention was fixed on the baseball he was tossing casually into the air.

 

“Trying not to think,” he replied with a small grin. Breaking his rhythm, John tossed the ball over to Carrie.

 

With a nod of understanding, Carrie lobbed the ball back and sank down beside John on the grass. Sitting next to him, their shoulders touching, she relaxed against the tree and studied the surrounding meadowland.

 

“You picked a good spot for that,” she said evenly. “What is it that you are ‘not’ thinking about?” she asked.

 

He gave a faint chuckle and tossed the ball high into the air. Watched it as it hit its zenith, hanging for a moment high in the air, before crashing back toward the earth. The leather slapped hard against his palm as it landed and with a sigh he dropped the ball onto the dirt beneath him. “I hurt your mother,” he finally answered. “I always hurt her, even though it is the last thing on earth that I want to do.” Grimacing, he rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension he felt building there.

 

Carrie sat in silence, uncertain how to respond. Finally, she said softly, “She was crying. When I got up this morning, she was crying. She tried to pretend she wasn’t. When I asked what had happened, she just said she was happy. She was happy because you told her we would go home soon. But… she didn’t look happy.”

 

John leaned his head back and gave a long sigh. Watching the last of the bright leaves as they danced in the breeze, he replied, “She wants me to be something I’m not. She keeps clinging to this illusion. This fantasy that… I don’t know, that I’m a ‘nice guy’ or something. That Stefano turned me into something… made me be something I’m not. She won’t see that the sickness is inside me. It’s not something I can choose! Something I can… excise.” In exasperation, he picked up the ball, and flung it far out into the field.

 

She chuckled at his phrasing and picked absently at the grass around her. “That’s what Sami thinks. Eric too,” Carrie replied simply. “They think you are just protecting them. Protecting mom. I think Sami sees you as ‘Super-cop’ or something. Roman Brady with an edge,” she finished with a smile.

 

“How about you? What do you think?” he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

 

Sitting forward, she tilted her head to face him. Almost gently, she said, “I think you still like it. I think you still like to kill. I think it makes you feel good, and I don’t think you ever feel guilty about it.”

 

Startled, he looked over at her. Her eyes were clear, and for an instance he would have sworn she must be his blood. Finally, he gave a small grin. “Well… I am starting to feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty. That’s got to count for something.”

 

Against her will, she smiled in return. “Very faint praise,” she replied, once again leaning back against the rough wood.

 

“How’d you get so smart?” he finally asked.

 

“I did what you said,” she replied, absently twirling a long blade of grass between her fingers. “I thought about what you told me. About everything that I knew. I finally figured it out.”

 

“Enlighten me,” he prodded, curious despite himself.

 

“Well,” she began hesitantly. “I thought about how you met Stefano. About what he did to you while you were on that island. I thought about what you did to bring mom home to us. What you are doing now to protect all of us. I figured it out. You’re scared. Your whole life. You’ve always been scared. And the only time you aren’t scared… I think you fight because it is the only time you aren’t scared.” She studied the blade of grass as it whirled between her fingers. Finally, she looked over to him. “Anyway, that’s what I think.”

 

He nodded his head and grimaced in amusement. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being afraid,” he said wryly.

 

Meeting his eyes, she answered, “I’m not anyone. I’m your daughter. I can see it in your eyes. Every time you look at Marlena. Every time you look at Sami, or Eric, or me. Every time, it’s like your watching… waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to take them away from you. I told you… I’ve lost a lot of people I loved, so I know that look. I’ve worn it myself, too many times. You’re afraid you are going to lose them, so you push them away. I know the feeling.”

 

“You are too young to have so much experience with loss,” he said sadly, studying the ground beneath him.

 

“So were you,” she answered, searching his face. “You never did tell my why you were all alone when Stefano found you?”

 

“Nope, I never did,” he admitted with a smile, tilting his head in order to catch her eye. Holding her gaze, he continued, “You know what’s worse than always fearing you are going to lose the people you love? What’s worse is knowing that you are the one who will destroy them.”

 

His words frightened her. The certainty of his belief. Finally, she replied. “You would never do that, dad. I know that you would never do anything that would harm us,” she said, her voice a whisper.

 

Giving an ugly chuckle, he looked away from the innocence he found in her eyes. Gruffly, he asked, “Do you ever wonder… Ever think that sometimes God is angry? And in his anger, he spits out a curse?”

 

“I don’t believe in curses,” she replied, watching him as he levered himself slowly to his feet.

 

Looking down at her, he flashed a small smile. “Stick with me and you will.”

 

Watching his dark form as he cut through the high grass, Carrie thought to herself, ‘We make our own luck, Dad.’ With a small smile of her own, she concluded that his fear didn’t seem like much of a reason for keeping her father away from the family. Jumping to her feet, she trotted to catch up with him.

 

***

 

“Sami, of course I got you a glove too!! I am not the misogynist you and your mother are always making me out to be!” John said with a grin as he tossed her a glove from the big bag Jensen held open.

 

“What’s a misogynist?” Bryce asked from his perch on the railing, watching the proceedings with interest. Dressed in jeans and a Korn t-shirt, his short blond hair glinting in the sun, he looked just a little older than Eric.

 

“Basically, think male chauvinist pig, Bryce. You’re probably familiar with that term,” John replied with good humor, giving the young man a smile.

 

“Hey!! Not me. I’m one of those crunchy-groovy new age types. I do my own laundry,” Bryce answered in a wounded tone, all the while being very careful not to let his eyes wander in Carrie’s direction.

 

“Good God, Jensen. How many bloody gloves did you think we needed?” John asked, distracted by the seemingly never ending supply in the big shopping bag.

 

“You wanted mitts, you got mitts,” Jensen answered almost haughtily. “Besides, I thought you might want to round out the team. I have played the occasional game, you know.”

 

John had not known. Jensen had been a fixture in DiMera’s house ever since John could remember. The thought of him sliding face-first into a base was incongruous. “You play baseball?!” He said, his doubt showing through.

 

“Well, play might be too weak a term. I prefer to think of what I do on the diamond as ‘art’,” Jensen answered blandly.

 

Sensing a challenge, John smiled broadly. “Do you now? Bryce, why don’t you see if any of the boys want to join in. Looks like we got ourselves a game.” As Carrie and Sami began tossing a ball back and forth, John and Eric moved out into the big field and dropped the chair cushions that would serve as the bases.

 

***

 

Marlena stepped onto the back porch and found herself greeted by the crack of a bat. As she moved to take a seat, the half-smile she wore faded. Sinking into the chair farthest from DiMera, she gave him a cold nod of acknowledgment. It was the first time she had seen him in days, and she had almost managed to banish his presence from her mind.

 

“You look lovely as always, Marlena,” his deep voice intoned.

 

Sighing in irritation, she turned to face him. “Stefano, please. I came out to watch my children. I have no desire to engage in one of your stupid mind games,” she said sharply.

 

“And a good afternoon to you too,” he replied, his tone dry.

 

She didn’t bother with an answer, and instead allowed the game to draw her attention. With a wistful smile, she watched John gleefully slap Sami a high-five for completing a double play from her post on first base.

 

“He’s changed. The time he spent as Roman… he isn’t the man he used to be,” Stefano said quietly.

 

Made curious by the man’s reflective tone, Marlena again shifted her attention to her old enemy. “Changed for better or worse, in your opinion?” she asked with interest.

 

DiMera released a dry chuckle, surprised she was actually speaking to him. “A little of both, I would say. You know, I think he is even more ruthless now. More dangerous. Can you believe, he even suggested we attempt to destroy the entire ISA when he learned that the Brotherhood represented a threat to you? I almost let him. I actually thought he might pull it off,” Stefano finished, smiling almost wistfully.

 

“You must be very proud of what you created,” she said in a bitter voice.

 

DiMera looked back at her with an amused grin. “Oh, I can’t take the credit for what he is, Marlena. I just made sure he survived to realize his potential. You really should thank me. He would have self-destructed long ago if I hadn’t taken him in.”

 

“Gratitude is not what I feel toward you, Stefano. You don’t know how many times I have wished I were a better shot,” she replied, glaring at him from blazing eyes.

 

“John would have probably killed you if you had succeeded. Do you realize that?” he said in irritation, tired of being the monster in her little fantasy. “He was never one for killing women, but in your case I believe he would have made an exception. You should have seen him when he came home from Europe to find me on the brink of death! He wanted blood, Marlena.”

 

She ignored the ugly words and looked back to the field. To her children, laughing as they played with the violent young men that John had surrounded himself with. “He would never hurt me. Never,” she said. Her voice was soft, but her belief unwavering.

 

DiMera was forced into a reluctant nod. “No. Not now… I told you he has changed.”

 

***

 

Stefano looked up from his seat on the porch, nursing a glass of port and enjoying the last cigar of the day. In the distance, he saw John’s lithe form cutting through the tall grass. As he approached through the deepening twilight, DiMera made out the big turkey hen slung over his shoulder. With a smile, he called out. “Good hunting, I see?!”

 

A broad grin on his face, John leaped the stairs to the porch and lay the bird down on the deck. “Yea. A nice bird. I’m going to leave it to Jensen to pluck this sucker. I owe him one for homering on me,” he said with a laugh. “Hell, I even had a shot at a deer. Nice eight point buck. Passed it up, though. Figured the kids would eat the turkey, but that I’d never hear the end of it if I shot a deer. The mere thought of Sami, going on and on about me killing Bambi… I shudder to think!”

 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with them, haven’t you?” Stefano noted, keeping his tone even.

 

At the question, John tensed. “Yea. Some.” He shrugged.

 

Seeing that John had no intention of elaborating, Stefano continued. “The baseball game this afternoon was impressive. I wouldn’t have thought that Marlena would allow her children to interact with my men. I suppose she trusted your judgement. Personally, I would not have allowed it. Neither would I allow myself to get so close to them, knowing that it will make it that much harder when they leave. Or… Were you planning on keeping them here indefinitely? Pretending to Marlena that the danger still exists, even after we have eliminated the Brotherhood?”

 

“Don’t be insulting, Stefano. That is something you would do!!” John replied, unconsciously tightening his grip on his shotgun.

 

“Of course it is something I would do. Don’t be obtuse. I get what I want, John. You know that. If I want Marlena, I will have her. Eventually, she might even want to be with me. How would you react to that?” DiMera said, an ugly smile on his face as he watched for John’s response.

 

“Hell, Stefano! Admit it. Half of the attraction is the fact that she doesn’t want you. You could have almost any woman you desire. You’ve had more beautiful women than I can count. Part of the attraction is the fact that she doesn’t want you. She never will!” John snapped in irritation. “The fact that she used to love me… that just makes it worse, doesn’t it? You know… she actually fell in love with me when we both thought I was you. I should have recognized then that there was no possible way I could have been the ‘Phoenix’!”

 

Stefano shrugged, recognizing the truth in the words. “Half of the joy of conquest is the difficulty of the challenge, John. If she could fall in love with the ‘Phoenix’ once, she could do it again,” he said.

 

John simply rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head tiredly. “How much do I not want to be having this conversation with you, Stefano?”

 

“We will have this conversation for as long as it takes for you to realize, you are not going back to Marlena. The time you spend with them here is an illusion. It isn’t real. I don’t want you to forget that.” The words carried a threat, and Stefano stared over at John with hard eyes.

 

“I know that, dammit! Christ! Can’t you allow me this time with them?!” John replied, moving to prop his gun against the rail. Not wanting the temptation of the heavy metal in his hands. “You set this into motion, Stefano. You left me with them for fourteen long years! Don’t bitch because it is hard for me to let them go!” His voice was angry, but the anger was for himself as much as for Stefano.

 

He knew being with them now was only going to hurt them all more later. Knew he should have settled for making peace with them and then stayed away. Maybe he would get lucky and take a bullet when they went after the rest of the Brotherhood. It would solve all of their problems. In frustration, he rubbed his hand across his eyes. Smelt the gun powder that lingered on his skin. A fitting signature for what he was. A reminder of what he couldn’t be.

 

He raised his eyes to meet Stefano’s. “I know I can’t go back. I know I can never be a part of her life. As long as you recognize that you never will be either, we have no argument.”

 

As he turned to carry his kill into the kitchen, Stefano’s parting words followed him. “I hope you know what you are doing, John. Now is not the time for mistakes.”

 

***

 

Marlena sat, sipping at a warm mug of herbal tea and contemplating going to bed. She looked up as Carrie emerged from the small bathroom off of the main suite and padded over to sit with her. Her hair still damp from her bath, she looked like a little girl.

 

“Hey, are you doing okay?” she asked with concern, sitting down across from Marlena.

 

Marlena suppressed a chuckle at how grown-up her little baby really was. “I’m fine, Carrie. Why?”

 

Carrie gave a small shrug. “I saw you sitting with Stefano. That couldn’t have been fun. And… Well, I was talking to John earlier. I thought maybe… maybe he scared you. What he is now. What he is capable of doing,” she tapered off, watching her mother’s face.

 

Marlena knitted her brow, surprised by the question. “Does he scare you, Carrie?”

 

“What he’s done… Yea. That scares me. He’s done things dad would never have condoned. I mean, John, when he was our dad,” Carrie shook her head at her own confusion. “He isn’t the same, and I figured the things he has done must make you afraid of him. I guess that’s why you don’t want him to come back. Right?” she asked curiously.

 

“The things he has done…,” Marlena sighed. “But… That doesn’t scare me. It saddens me. I know he would never do anything to hurt any of us. You know that too, don’t you?”

 

“Well, yea!” Carrie answered with a smile. “You should have heard what he told Bryce he would do if he ever caught him around me!” She said laughing. “Really!! Bryce was scared… I thought it was kind of sweet. I knew he was just doing it to protect me, though. I never thought dad would hurt us. I just sort of assumed you did… ” She looked quizzically at her mother, trying to understand exactly what it was that was keeping her from him. She thought she understood now why John tried to stay away. She wanted to know why her Marlena let him.

 

“And just when exactly were you talking to Bryce, young lady!” Marlena asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

 

“Jeesh, mom. You’re as bad as dad! He is way too old for me, and I’m not interested in the slightest. He’s just a nice guy, and he was around one day when I was eating lunch. And please, don’t tell dad!! He really might go off the deep end,” Carrie said in exasperation. Sometimes they treated her like such a kid!

 

Marlena forced herself to relax. “Okay. I won’t tell ‘your dad’,” she said with emphasis. “But it had better not happen again.”

 

Carrie flushed a little at her slip-up. More and more, she found herself thinking of him as her father, despite her best efforts to the contrary. “It won’t. Don’t worry. But… If you aren’t afraid of John… Why do you keep him at a distance. Why don’t you ask him to come home? You know Sami is right. If you asked him to come back, I think he would do it.”

 

“Carrie, I thought you understood this. John isn’t the same man. He can’t be a part of our lives anymore,” Marlena replied, trying to fight down her irritation at having to rehash this.

 

“I never said he was the same. He isn’t. But… He still loves us… ,” she said softly. “If you aren’t afraid of him, why can’t he come home? There aren’t any legal charges against him. At least, none that could be proven if he brought us home. What’s to prevent him from coming back?” Carrie asked, wanting to understand her mother’s reasoning. She could see the love they both still shared. She could no longer understand what held them apart. Her father’s fear was no good reason, and Marlena’s reasoning was simply beyond her.

 

Tired of the discussion, Marlena waved her hand dismissively. “Carrie, he just… can’t. That’s all.” Rising to go to her room, Carrie looked to where Marlena sat alone on the big couch. “Doesn’t seem like a very good reason to me,” she replied softly.

 

***

 

“What are you two up to now?” Carrie asked in vexation, walking in on the twinners immersed in a deep discussion.

 

“Nothing!” Sami chimed innocently, looking over at her big sister.

 

Carrie gave a sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes. Why did everyone in her family insist on making things difficult?! Looking over to where her brother and sister stared impishly back, she made her decision. “Well, if that ‘nothing’ has anything to do with getting mom and dad back together… Count me in!” she said with a grin.

 

Chapter 52

 

John walked into the kitchen and was surprised by the sight of Carrie standing in front of the stove. “Since when did you volunteer for kitchen duty?” he asked, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Since Stefano told me he had sent Jensen out to take care of some business for him. I thought I’d try my hand at some pancakes,” she replied with a smile.

 

“Well, it sure smells good.” Coming closer, he peered over her shoulder. “They look great! Want me to grab some plates?”

 

“Please,” she nodded. “Of course, this is my second batch. You can check out my first attempt. They’re over there in the garbage pail!”

 

Chuckling, he brought over a serving plate, holding it for Carrie as she piled the pancakes high.

 

“Well, this looks familiar,” came a voice from the door. Marlena, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, went to the coffee pot. Flashing the two a smile, she said, “Hope you haven’t lost your touch with a frying pan.”

 

“Hey, don’t look at me!” John replied, moving to place the plate on the counter. “My chef’s hat appears to have been usurped!”

 

“Hey, are we eating in here or out on the porch?” Sami asked, walking in trailed closely by her brother.

 

“The porch,” John and Marlena answered simultaneously.

 

Chuckling, John continued. “Well, the rain finally stopped, and we should enjoy it. We’ve been stuck in the house for the past two days, and the weatherman said a cold front is moving in tonight. We may as well appreciate the last of the warm days while we can. Winter comes in quickly up here.”

 

With everyone pitching in, they quickly moved the feast out to the back porch. DiMera was already there, staring out at the sun-drenched fields. A cup of coffee in his hands, he was enjoying his morning cigar.

 

“Hope that’s not all you were planning on having,” John called to him, setting the serving plate in the center of the table.

 

DiMera turned, quirking an eyebrow as he saw the juice and fruit being laid out beside the pancakes on the table. “I hadn’t realized we had a substitute cook on the premises. It looks good. My compliments to the chef.”

 

“Thank you,” Carrie replied, bringing up the rear and giving him a nod of acknowledgment.

 

“So what’s everybody up to today,” Sami asked cheerfully, plopping into a padded chair. She smiled to herself, pleased with how the days had passed. Lounging around the house, a sense of easy comradery pervading the air, it had almost been possible to pretend that they were a family again. Two days had passed without seeing tears in her mother’s eyes. Even DiMera’s presence was becoming tolerable, at least when he stayed away from her mother. Shifting her thoughts to ways of getting her parents alone together, she looked at her father in anticipation.

 

“I should probably start catching up on some paperwork. It’s starting to pile up on me,” John replied over a fork-full of pancake, noting Sami’s interest.

 

“On a day like this? You should be outside. Maybe we could take mom up and show her the lake.” Turning to Marlena, Sami continued enthusiastically. “You’d love it mom. It was a great hike.”

 

John fastened his eyes on Marlena’s face, uncertain whether he wanted her to say yes or no. He felt his face flush when she nodded. “That does sound like a good idea, Sami. Count me in. How about the rest of you?”

 

“Me too,” Eric said, smiling.

 

“Carrie?”

 

Carrie sat staring at her sister quizzically. With a start, she realized she had been asked a question. “Um, let me see. I think I might be doing something. I’m… into this book…” she tapered off.

 

“Well, you can always change your mind. Now, if we are going to go, I really should get some work done,” John said, rising to his feet. “How about we meet back down here at noon?” Receiving no disagreement, he headed up to the study.

 

***

 

He looked up from DiMera’s desk, surprised by the older man’s entrance. “I really am going to have to get you a desk of your own in here,” Stefano said mildly. Waving John back into his seat, he moved to one of the padded chairs set before the desk.

 

Given DiMera a distracted nod, John turned back to the papers in his hand. “We’re close, Stefano. A few more days, a week at the outside. We should get ready to move,” he said, looking up to catch the old man studying him.

 

“You really want this to be over, don’t you?” DiMera said, his tone puzzled.

 

“The brotherhood is a threat. I want them gone. The faster the better,” John replied, not seeing the problem.

 

“John… When the Brotherhood is gone, so is she. You did mean that, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I meant it! Stefano… All I care is that she is safe. What I may, or may not, want is irrelevant. I won’t let my own selfishness put her at risk!” John was insulted by the insinuation, and stared back at DiMera with angry eyes.

 

Stefano raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay…,” he placated. “I meant no offense. I just wanted to be certain I knew where you stood.”

 

“Well, now you know,” John said shortly, immersing himself once more in the paperwork.

 

“And yet, you are still going to go out on a picnic with the family,” DiMera said, unwilling to let the matter drop. “John! Those children want you back in Salem with them. They are not exactly subtle about it!” DiMera said wryly. “They think you are going to go home with them, and it is time you made them understand. That is not going to happen.”

 

“For f*ck’s sake, will you get off me about the kids, Stefano!” John said in exasperation, slamming his pen down on the table. Shooting to his feet, he moved to the bar and poured a stiff drink. Turning to look back at Stefano, he said more calmly. “Damn… You’re even hanging out with them now. You don’t have any room to criticize.”

 

Stefano gave a snort at that. “John, I would hardly say I am ‘hanging out’ with Marlena’s children. I hardly see them beyond breakfast and the occasional dinner. As, I may add, you ‘suggested’. However… I was surprised when you did not protest my watching the football game with you and Eric last night.”

 

John shrugged. “I didn’t want to fight about it at dinner. Besides, Marlena didn’t seem to object. Hell, I actually kind of enjoyed it. I mean… I never thought you were bad father, Stefano. Believe me, I know the difference. It’s not like you ‘perverted my innocence’ or something. Your own kids… They keep their noses clean. Hell, I even like Tony.”

 

“Ah, Anthony. He did turn out to be a fine man. Of course, some would suggest the fact that I was around them so rarely might be why they turned out so well,” Stefano commented without rancor.

 

“Yea, well there is that,” John replied with a faint smile. “Still, I don’t think there’s much reason for me to worry about the kids picking you as a role model. Not that you wouldn’t be an improvement over me… But, it worries Marlena.”

 

Stefano smiled grimly. “Yes… I do seem to make her a bit nervous.”

 

“Well, you did kidnap her about 80 times… and then there was that time she shot you. I don’t think it’s that odd the woman wouldn’t want you around!” John muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

 

“Your flair for exaggeration is not one of your more endearing qualities, John,” Stefano replied with a grimace.

 

“I have so few good qualities. One has to work with what they’re given, you know,” John stated with the ghost of a grin.

 

“How you ever managed to raise a boy like Eric… He is a very impressive young man, John,” Stefano said with a sincere nod of appreciation.

 

John couldn’t help a proud smile. “Yea. I think he was even tolerating you by the end of the game! …. He really is a good kid, isn’t he?”

 

“Nothing at all like you were,” Stefano could not help but note.

 

John chuckled at the comparison. “No… I was never a good kid, was I? Sometimes, I don’t know how you kept from strangling me with your bare hands. God… remember the time I got piss drunk on your best scotch and decided to take the Mercedes out for a spin! I swear, I thought you were going to have an aneurism when you found out I crashed it through the front gates!”

 

Stefano did not see the humor. “Yes. I distinctly remember considering selling you to a whore house at that point.”

 

Still smirking, John answered, “Gee. Aren’t you glad you didn’t!?”

 

“Only infrequently,” was the wry answer. Looking to where the younger man leaned amicably against the bar, Stefano gave a small sigh. “John… I do not want this to end ugly. And it will get ugly if you try to go with them. Do you understand me?” he asked softly.

 

John merely nodded and sipped at his drink. “I won’t go back, Stefano. I’m not stupid enough to think I could be a part of their lives. You are the only person I have touched and not destroyed. The only one strong enough to resist whatever Gods I appear to have pissed off. I won’t bring that misery down on the kids. I promise you,” he said firmly.

 

***

 

He ran down the stairs, silently cursing himself. “Sorry, I’m late. Had to take a call,” he apologized, jumping down the last three steps. Looking around, he found only Marlena, smiling at him with a bemused expression.

 

“Where is everybody,” he asked. “I’m not that late!”

 

Marlena gave a soft chuckle. “I think the children are conspiring. Carrie decided that she just had to finish this cheesy romance novel. Even less convincing was the excuse Sami and Eric gave. They told me they were in the ‘World’s Championship Monopoly Game’, and couldn’t make it either.”

 

“Umm… okay,” he muttered vaguely. Shifting uncomfortably, he wasn’t certain what she was getting at.

 

“Of course, I think a hike sounds great, so…,” she tapered off, looking at him expectantly.

 

“Umm … okay,” he repeated, realizing he was nodding his head up and down like the village idiot. Making his body stand still through sheer force of will, he suddenly realized that what he wanted most desperately in life at this moment was to jump into that big lake of icy water. Taking a deep breath, he moved rapidly toward the kitchen, refusing to meet Marlena’s eye. “Then we better make some lunch and get going,” he called over his shoulder to her. “The faster we get up there the better.”

 

***

 

She sat, staring out across the still waters. It was incredible. They had hiked out of the deep woods into a field of high grass. White-gold with the coming of winter, it surged like the tide in the gentle breeze. They had moved through the waves, leaving a wake of crushed fronds. Their paths sometimes converging, sometimes not, they had walked in companionable silence. Until they came over a hill, and Marlena had seen the lake, sparkling in the distance. She had stopped then, and shot him a look. A silent challenge. As one, they had torn off down the hill, racing to be the first one in.

 

Marlena chuckled aloud as she realized with a start what this place had reminded her of. “I know why Sami suggested we come out here,” she said. Giving a contented sigh, she stretched out on the big rock beside John. He was laying on his stomach, chin cradled in his hands. She looked down at his tanned body, the drops of water still glittering on his skin.

 

“Why’s that?” he muttered sleepily, breaking her out of her revery.

 

“Doesn’t it remind you of something?” she asked softly.

 

Refusing to turn and meet her eyes, he simply mumbled, “Maybe. What’s it remind you of?”

 

Reclining on her back, she closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her. “It was a long time ago. Right after we first discovered… first thought that you were Roman. Back before the time I went down in that plane crash. We were walking in the woods. Just the two of us. And we came out into a big meadow. It was filled with wildflowers, and there was a lake in the center. Right out there, in the middle of that field, you pulled me down into the flowers. And we made love beside the lake… We were so happy, then. So at peace. Do you remember, John?”

 

“I remember everything I’ve ever done with you,” he said simply, from behind closed lids.

 

The sense of longing in his voice caused her to open her eyes. Sitting up, she once again looked down at him. “This must be so hard for you,” she said with sudden realization. “Being with me… with the children… “

 

“No,” he said, almost to himself. “No, this has been easy. Leaving again… that will be hard.” Retreating into the recesses of his own mind, he pushed away all thoughts of the future. A future without them. He would not face that reality until he had to.

 

Slowly, almost without realizing she was doing it, she reached over and trailed a single finger along his spine. He lay immobile, as if carved from the stone itself. She allowed her finger to travel down, slowly circling the ugly scar low on his left side. The entry wound from the bullet he had taken getting her and Roman out of DiMera’s compound. A sign of what he was willing to sacrifice for her.

 

Against her will, her eyes and her hand strayed to his shoulder. Traced the black wings of the Phoenix, raised in triumph as it emerged from the flames. A sign of ownership, branded into his flesh long before she had ever known him. Beneath her hand, he began to tremble, and a low moan she felt more than heard split the silence.

 

“Doc, please stop,” he ground out, squeezing his eyes tight shut. Trying to maintain his control. Trying to ignore the burning where her flesh had met his.

 

She held the contact for another long second before reluctantly pulling away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

Staring down at him, the grief suddenly washed over her. Tears sprang to eyes, and she realized she could not lose him again. Would not lose him again. The words flowed unbidden from her lips. “You don’t have to leave.”

 

Once released, the invitation hung heavy in the air. Time seemed to slow, and she repeated softly, “You don’t have to leave us. You could come back when this is over. Come home, John. I know it is what you want. It’s what I want too.”

 

Leaning away from him, she saw the tracks of tears glistening on his cheeks. But the only reply he made was a shake of his dark head.

 

“John?”

 

His tears were flowing freely now, but his response was wooden. “No.”

 

She could feel his agony. It was a palpable thing. She wanted nothing more than to take him into her arms. Rock him gently, as she had when she had the children after a bad dream. Afraid of his reaction, she held back. Instead, she simply asked, “Why not?”

 

As the seconds stretched on, she thought he would not respond. That he would wrap himself in his own misery and shut her out.

 

Finally, he broke the silence.

 

“Everyone I love, dies. Everyone I try and protect.” The words were said so softly that she had to strain to hear them.

 

“John… the baby wasn’t your fault. There was no way you could have known. Nothing you could have done. No one blames you for that,” she said, trying to ease his pain.

 

Abruptly he rolled over. Away from her. Putting his hands behind his head, he stared up into the sun. Sighing, he said, “It’s not just the baby, Doc.”

 

“Then what is it?” she asked, watching his face. Searching his eyes. Seeing them darken with remembered sorrow.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“If this is what is keeping you from me, from your family, I want to know. I deserve to know,” she replied gently.

 

He lost himself in the blazing yellow sun. Wishing its fire would come down. Cleanse his soul with its flames. Burn away his many sins. Suppressing a groan, he turned his thoughts to the first time he had failed someone he loved.

 

“No one knows. Not even Stefano… ,” he began, his voice detached. “It was long before I came to DiMera. I was a kid. Living in New York City. A Russian enclave- we called it ‘Little Moscow’. Anyway, I don’t know what happened to my parents. I was raised by ‘Uncle Mike’,” John said with distaste. “I was little when I went to him. Don’t really remember it. I was three maybe four years old. So I was with Uncle Mike. I never have figured out why. The man always hated me. Told me he wasn’t really my uncle. Wasn’t my blood. I think now, someone paid him to do it. I don’t know…”

 

“Well, uncle Mike was not the nicest of men. I guess about the best that could be said about my childhood was that he didn’t care what I did, as long as I stayed away from him. When I didn’t, … uh, when he was drunk, which was usually, he had a tendency to beat on me. Even broke my arm once. I remember that one. Only time he ever took me to the hospital… ,” John trailed off, lost for a moment in the memory.

 

With a soft sigh, he continued. “Okay, so Mike was a bastard. But I learned how to stay away most of the time. And I was getting fast enough, he had trouble catching me. So everything was pretty much all right. And then Kat came into my life.”

 

“I was nine years old when she came to live with us. Katherine was her name. I never really figured out why she was there either. I remember the first time I saw her. I came in from school, and snuck back to the little room that was mine. Somehow, Mike had managed to cram a cot into the corner. She was sitting there watching me. This tiny little thing. Just seven years old, watching me with these big blue eyes. Blue like the sky today. Like you just wanted to lose yourself in them.”

 

“Anyway, one day she was just there. Mike told me she was my new sister. Nobody in their right mind would believe it. Here I was, this black hair, big for my age. A tough, wiry kid, full of attitude. She was my opposite. She was small, delicate even. This straight white-blond hair that fell halfway down her back. And she just had this gentleness about her. She was so at peace with herself… ” He laughed softly at the memories. “I used to call her ‘my angel’. Especially when things were bad. It always cheered her up.”

 

“At the time… Well, at the time, the one ‘fatherly’ thing Mike did do was make us go to church. Russian Orthodox. Every week. So I… I believed. And in my heart, I used to think that God had sent her to me. Sent her to save me.” Again, he stopped. Stared at the sky in silence. The quiet lasted until Marlena wondered if he would continue. But he was lost in the telling of the story, the words themselves demanding release. His voice again broke the peace of the wilderness.

 

“The only bad thing about it… I had to be at home more. I wouldn’t leave her alone with Mike. I either took her with me, or I stayed home. Mike only tried to hit her once when I was around. It was right after she came. We were eating dinner, and he was actually home for once. As kids do, Kat spilled a glass. Mike didn’t even think about it. He just slapped her across her face. Knocked her out of the chair.”

 

“He did that… When he hit her, I wanted him dead. I grabbed a knife off the table and went for his chest. He was a big guy, and strong. Real strong. Well, he got hold of my arm. I missed his chest, but slashed him a good one across his face. Almost took an eye… “

 

“When I came to, it was dark. He’d locked me in the closet. I kind of freaked out a little. I was hurt. I thought I was going to die in there. Locked in a closet in the dark, the roaches crawling around in the corners… Anyway, Kat let me out. I stuck around the house for a couple of days, healing up. He didn’t come home for a long time. I think I scared him. I think he was scared to go to sleep around me for a long time. It was the only time he hit her, though.”

 

“So this went on. Actually, it was okay. I had the routine down. We were surviving. Then, one day when I was 12, Kat got sick. A bad flue bug. I was home with her for a week, and finally she started to feel better. She knew me. Knew I had to be going nuts, locked up in that damn apartment. So she told me she wanted some time to herself. Told me to go play ball with the guys. Let them know she was all right, and would be at the games herself in a couple of days.”

 

“So I was selfish, and I was stupid, and I went. I mean, at the time… I didn’t think Mike would come home. And I didn’t think he would hurt her. So I went. Had a great game. Stayed gone ‘till after dark. Had a homer and knocked in two runners,” he said, his voice bitter.

 

“So… It’s dark, and I go home. And it’s quiet. I tiptoed back to my room… She’s just lying there. She’s on my bed. All white… I really thought she was an angel, lying there on that dirty mattress… God!” he cried out, jerking upright.

 

He grabbed his knees and buried his head in his arms. Rocking himself back and forth slowly, he seemed not to notice Marlena at his side. Rubbing his back. Trying to ease the anguish that engulfed him.

 

“Shhh… it’s okay, honey. It’s okay,” she whispered.

 

He shook his head, not looking at her. “No… no, it wasn’t okay. She was dying. He had… when I was gone, he came home. And he was drunk. And he raped her. She was 10 years old!” he said in an agonized voice. “She was too little… it tore something inside. And she was laying on my bed bleeding to death. And it was all my fault, and there was nothing I could do to fix it… ” His words trailed off to a whisper.

 

Marlena eased down beside him, taking his now shaking frame into her embrace. Rocking gently with him, she held tight as unvoiced sobs wracked his body. For long minutes, she simply sat, rocking him.

 

Finally, she felt him tense in her grip. Pull away from her arms.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I just haven’t ever told anybody. I’m sorry.”

 

Reaching out, she took his face in her hands. Turned him to face her. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, John. You should have told somebody a long time ago. You were just a little boy, John. None of that was your fault.”

 

Looking straight into her eyes, he said with certainty, “Of course it was my fault. I was careless, and she died. And I was careless again, and your baby died. It is my fault, Marlena. And I will never let it happen to you.”

 

Knowing it was pointless, she argued with him anyway. “John, you did all that you could. You were just a little boy. You were younger than Eric. You couldn’t have stopped him. Even if you had been there, you could not have stopped it.”

 

He flashed a grim smile, and shifted away from her to gaze out over the water. “You think not? Do you know what happened to old ‘Uncle Mike’? I covered up Kat’s body. And I went and I got my bat. I told you I was good with a bat, right? So I got my bat. And I crept down that hallway. Like I had so many times in my dreams. He was right where I knew he would be. Passed out on his bed, the TV flickering. I went over, and I just watched him breath for a while. And I wondered how Kat must have felt. This giant body… smothering her. Tearing her… I took my bat, and I hit him as hard as I could. I smashed him in the forehead…Damn, he was strong. It was a good hit, and he still came-up off of the bed. I had to hit him two more times to put him on his knees. And I kept hitting him. I hit him until I saw his brains.”

 

He sat still, staring out over the water. Finally, he turned to look at her. Seeking acknowledgment. Recognition of the truth. “Don’t you get it? I could have done that any night. I thought about it lots of nights. But I was scared. And I thought I didn’t have to do it… But I was wrong, and she died because I was wrong. Because I didn’t protect her. So you see… In the end, it was my fault.”

 

When she reached for him again, he got to his feet. Not meeting her eyes, he said, “I’m going for a swim,” and walked away.

 

Chapter 53

 

Marlena lay back in the big bed, unable to sleep despite the late hour. Her thoughts kept going to John. To the life he had led. No wonder he had been so willing to accept that he was Roman Brady. No wonder he had fought so hard not to remember his life as John.

 

He hadn’t said more than a word to her since his confession about Kat. He had shut down. Shut her out. They had walked back to the house in silence. On their return, he had gone straight to the basement gym. He had been there all afternoon, working himself to the point of exhaustion. When dinner came and went, she had gone down after him. Had tried to get him to talk.

 

He had ignored her completely. Standing in place. Slamming his fists into a heavy bag. Over and over again, putting his entire body into the blows. Finally, she had left him to work it out in his own way. He would talk to her when he was ready. If he was ever ready, she thought worriedly.

 

A sudden scream rent the air, jerking her from her thoughts. She grabbed her dressing gown and ran to the door. Wondering if the police had finally found them. Worrying that they had. As she entered the main sitting area, Eric stumbled out of his room still tugging on his jeans. “What’s wrong, mom?” he asked sleepily.

 

“Go get the girls up and stay here,” she ordered. Opening the door to the hall, she found it jammed with guards. They were running down the long hall, and she could make out the sounds of a struggle. Hesitantly, she followed and found herself being pushed aside by Stefano as he rushed by her.

 

As he came even with John’s doorway, she saw him stop. Looking into the room, he yelled out, “Let him go! Get out, all of you.”

 

Reaching DiMera’s side, she stood back to let three guards slip by, supporting a fourth man who was nearly unconscious. Peering into the room, she saw John.

 

He looked wild. Crouched in the middle of the room, his eyes were wide. Dripping sweat, his hair was plastered back against his head. He looked like he wanted to go for their throats.

 

“It was a dream, John. Just a dream,” DiMera’s deep voice called out softly. “Calm down, John. It was just a dream.”

 

John’s body was still tensed to fight, but he straightened, nodding his head. Closing his eyes. Trying to bring himself under control. “Yea, I know. It’s just a dream.” Gulping a deep breath, he opened his eyes and flashed Stefano a quick grimace meant to pass for a smile. “Sorry. Haven’t done that in a long while.”

 

“Are you allright?” DiMera asked, his tone betraying his concern.

 

“Yea… yea, just a dream. I must have yelled out, and that poor guy came running in to see what the problem was. I dropped him before I knew what was going on.” Ruefully, he shook his head, sitting back on the bed. “Sorry,” he repeated.

 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Stefano said, almost gently.

 

Glancing up at him, John noticed for the first time, Marlena, standing behind him. “Um… no, nothing I want to talk about,” he replied awkwardly.

 

Suddenly, Marlena pressed past Stefano. Going to where John sat staring at the ground. “Stefano, will you please tell the children everything is fine. I will be back in a little while,” she asked, her voice a command. She looked him in the eye, daring him to say no.

 

DiMera shot a sharp look at John who sat lost in his own thoughts, but then nodded in acquiescence. “I’ll let them know.” As he turned, he pulled the door shut behind him.

 

Marlena looked down at John, resisting the urge to simply take him in her arms. Despite the cool autumn night, he was soaked in sweat. She could see his racing pulse in the throb of the vein in his neck. Gasping for breath, she could tell he was still struggling for control Wearing only a ratty pair of sweat pants, he looked incredibly vulnerable. Gingerly, she sat down on the bed beside him.

 

“What happened?” she finally asked as he seemed to calm.

 

He shrugged. “Just a dream. I used to have them as a kid. Stefano knew…. I can, sort of lose control. Not know what I’m doing for a minute. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finished, looking awkwardly over at her.

 

“You apologize too much,” she teased, trying to get him to relax.

 

He rewarded her with a faint smile. “That’s cause I do so many things that warrant it.”

 

Unable to help herself, she reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair back from his face. “Was it about Katherine?” she asked gently.

 

He shrugged, and pulled his head back. “I don’t know… don’t really remember,” he mumbled, glancing away.

 

Knowing he wasn’t ready to talk, she let it drop. “Come on,” she said briskly, standing up. “You need to lie back down and get some sleep. It’s after three in the morning.” Putting actions to words, she reached out and tried to push him back on the bed.

 

“Doc… no. I’m too tense. I can’t get to sleep now. I’ll go downstairs. Maybe lift some weights until I get tired,” he said, struggling to rise.

 

“Enough with you and that damn gym!” she replied, shoving him back down. “Now lay down, right this minute,” she ordered.

 

Looking at her in surprise, he said, “Yes ma’am!” and rolled onto his back, supressing a grin.

 

“Better,” Marlena granted him a smile. “Now roll over.”

 

This time, he actually chuckled. “What is this? Obedience school?” But he complied, stretching out on his stomach. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her sit down on the bed and rub cool hands over his shoulders.

 

Marlena stifled a chuckle as John’s body seemed to leap a foot off of the bed at the contact. She could actually feel the tremors running through his lean frame. Finally, though, he accepted her touch. Began to relax into the soothing caress. She smiled to herself, and put her weight into it. Kneading hard muscles, easing away the knots. His breathing became more regular, and his eyes began to close. He had almost nodded off when he jerked suddenly upright and rolled away from her, a scared look on his face.

 

Gulping air, again he again offered an apology. “I’m sorry. I just…. I really don’t want to go to sleep right now. Okay?” he finished, almost timidly.

 

And she understood. He didn’t want to dream. He was scared he was going to dream, so he didn’t want to go to sleep. Unable to prevent it, she felt the tears spring to her eyes.

 

John saw the tears, and knew he had hurt her again. “God, I’m sorry Marlena. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m just jumpy. You should probably just stay away from me right now.” At this, Marlena could not help laughing. He was so paranoid about hurting her. “John, I was not scared of you! I was just… sad. “

 

“Yea, well I don’t want you to be sad, either,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Look,” he said, as he scooted to the side of the bed. “I’m going to fall asleep if I stay here. I’ll just be in the gym for a little while. Or maybe watch TV or something,” he added hastily.

 

Catching his arm, she halted his progress. Serious now, she said, “You are going to have to sleep John. You can’t avoid it. You’re just going to get really grumpy if you try!” she said, flashing a smile. Again, she smoothed his hair back. “It will be okay. I’ll stay with you. You will be okay. I promise.”

 

He reluctantly let her pull him back until he lay looking up at the ceiling. His head resting on the pillow, he was distinctly aware of the heat of her body as she eased down beside him. He started to get up then, deciding that the gym was the only hope for his sanity, when he felt her hand drop across his chest.

 

He froze, unable to move. Dimly, he heard her speaking.

 

“John… Come on John. Roll over, you’re hogging the bed.” He looks terrified, she thought to herself as she reached down to tug the blankets up over them both. Briefly, she wondered if he was more afraid of the dreams or of her. She thought it was probably a toss-up.

 

The blankets clutched in her hand, she snuggled back down into the bed, tucking her body in behind his. Ignoring for the moment the fact that he was holding himself completely rigid, she pulled the blankets around their shoulders. Sliding one arm under John’s neck, she let the other fall across his waist and pull tight against his chest. Burrowing her head into his shoulder, she allowed herself to simply relax against him.

 

Minutes passed as she held him tight, and she could still scarcely feel him breath. The only sign of life was the heavy beat of the heart as it pulsed against her hand. Finally, he seemed to shudder, letting the tension wash away. His body sank back against hers, and she felt him draw a ragged breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“Anytime,” she whispered back.

 

She felt his fingers entwine with her own, and his breathing became more regular. For a long time after he fell into a dreamless sleep, she simply lay holding him. Luxuriating in the feel of his body against hers. Finally, she too drifted off.

 

***

 

He was so tired, he couldn’t focus. Who the hell was pounding on his door!? “What?” he yelled irritably. Rolling over, he tried not to disturb her.

 

“Uh, it’s me, Dad,” Eric’s voice answered hesitantly. “I’m just checking… Is mom in there with you?”

 

“Yea, sure…” The words were out before their import sank in. Staring down at her face, her eyes just starting to flutter awake, he realized that she really was here. In his bed. The reality hit him as her eyes blinked opened to find him propped above her. He was caught by the hunger reflected back at him. He found himself slowly sinking down. Grazing her lips with a feather’s touch of his own. Never closing his eyes. Drinking in her face. Her feel.

 

He pressed back up, hovering over her. Burning with the desire to be with her. To be in her. And then she touched him. Just the barest scratch of fingernails through the thick cloth of the sweats.

 

He arched off of the bed like he had been electrocuted, scrambling away from her. Backing into the far wall. Pale-faced, he sank down to crouch on his heels. Eyes still fixed on her face, he took deep breaths and shook his head. “I’m sorry… I can’t do this,” he rasped out thickly.

 

Stunned by his reaction, she shifted so that her head rested at the foot of the bed. Propping her chin in her hands, she studied him. “You certainly ‘look’ like you can,” she stated, staring pointedly at his crotch. His need was obvious, and a sly smile creased her face. “I’m certain that if I were very, very creative, I could probably help you out there,” she teased.

 

His eyes were locked on hers, his gaze intense. “Just looking at you makes me want to cum,” he stated bluntly.

 

She stared at him for a second, shocked. Then, laughing hysterically, she collapsed onto her back. Through the giggles, she brokenly responded, “That is probably… the most romantic thing… you have ever said!”

 

Disgruntled, he got to his feet as she still lay gasping for breath on the bed. “I’m so glad this is amusing you, but I think I am going to take a shower.”

 

His awkward gate as he moved to the bathroom sent her back into a giggle fit, and he shot her a sour look as he closed the door behind him.

 

Marlena lay back on the bed, listening to the sound of the water splashing down in the other room. Smiling to herself, she realized how much she needed him in her life to feel whole. She would not let his fear keep them apart.

 

She was startled from her thoughts as the door opened and John walked into the room wearing only a towel. Studiously ignoring her, he crossed to the closet. Despite his seeming nonchalance, Marlena could see that he was blushing furiously.

 

She gave him a puzzled look. “Would you care to explain why you leap from my bed as though you can’t stand my touch, and then come prancing through here dressed only in a towel? Are you purposely being a tease?” she asked in a quizzical tone.

 

Picking through the closet to avoid facing her, he replied “I don’t usually use a robe. By the time I realized, it was too late. I was already in the shower, and my sweats were in a damp heap on the floor. Hence the towel… And I didn’t ‘prance’,” he finished dryly, turning to face her.

 

“Mmmm, okay. You didn’t prance. But, I still want to know why you jumped out of my bed,” she said seriously.

 

He sat at the edge of the bed, discretely pulling jeans up over cotton boxers. “You know why,” he replied awkwardly, aware of her eyes burning a hole in his back.

 

“No, John. Actually, I don’t. I want you to tell me. What you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. I know you want to be with me. I don’t understand your fear.”

 

She wanted him to say it. To recognize what was keeping them apart. It was the only way he might come to terms with it. She was simply relieved he was willing to talk about his feelings at all, given his reaction yesterday.

 

With a sigh of resignation, he turned on the bed to face her. She caught his eye for a second, and then he looked down, plucking at the threads of the thick quilt. “I can’t be with you just once. We both know that. If I… if we made love, I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t be able to make myself leave.” He shrugged, his eyes drifting across the room. Voice catching in his throat, he repeated, “So I can’t… be with you. Because I can’t stay.”

 

Sitting up on the bed, she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Focusing on his face, she asked softly, “Why can’t you stay, John? I want you to. So do the kids, if you hadn’t noticed. I know it’s what you want too. So you tell me, why can’t you stay with us.”

 

Clearly uncomfortable, he stared down into the fabric of the quilt before raising pain filled eyes. “Because it would hurt you. In the end, ‘I’ would hurt you.”

 

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to lightly cup his face in her hand. “And this doesn’t hurt me?” she asked, voice breaking.

 

He turned his face in her hand. Kissed her palm with dry lips. Looking up at her, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Doc,” and stretched his hand to her face. Wiped a tear gently away with the pad of his thumb. The despair washed over him as she began to tremble at his touch.

 

The move more an act of desperation than desire, he shifted forward. Taking her into his arms, he crushed her body against his. Felt the anguished sobs that shook her. And knew he would do anything to stop her pain.

 

“Shhh,” he whispered, easing his grip. He allowed a hand to travel up her back… play with a strand of hair.

 

“Shhh. Don’t cry, Doc. Don’t cry. It’s okay,” he gentled, rocking her slightly. Closing his eyes on what he was doing, he whispered to her what she wanted to hear.

 

“Don’t cry…. I’ll stay.”

 

Chapter 54

 

Stefano squinted his eyes shut against the glare of the rising sun, its harsh rays slanting in on him from the windows along the far wall of the office. Swinging his legs over the side of the sofa, he lurched into a sitting position and realized that he was drunk. His head seemed to buzz, and he felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache pounding away in back of his tired eyes. Stifling a groan, he looked down at the mounds of pictures scattered haphazardly over the coffee table. Moving hesitantly, he reached down and gently picked-up the top picture.

 

An unconscious smile lit his face as he studied her form. One of many pilfered snapshots, it was perhaps his favorite. She was wearing a simple white dress that flowed softly over her slim form. The gauzy material was whipped about her by a light breeze, and her skin shone smooth and tan in golden contrast to the white of her dress. He gently trailed his finger over the graceful silhouette and studied her eyes. It was the look in their hazel depths that made his heart ache. Caught by surprise, she looked up with sparkling eyes, a faint smile gracing her lips. There was a promise in those eyes. A promise of nights of passion and days of laughter. Irritably he admitted to himself that it was a promise made to another man. A man who had taken the one thing he had desired and never managed to own. The black anger stirring in his befuddled mind, he crumpled the picture between his blunt fingers and threw it down to join the growing pile at his feet.

 

For a fleeting moment, he wished that he had sent John to punish her. After the shooting, he had considered it. The white-hot pain that had twisted his guts in the aftermath of the many surgeries had almost pushed him to it. Even now, he found it impossible to believe that she would actually shoot him. That she would dare to pull the trigger and try to wipe him from the face of the earth. The gall of it had enraged him. Had intrigued him. And so he had sent the man who was like a son to watch over her. And when the time was right, to bring her home. Home to sit at his side, the only woman he had ever found worthy. But instead of gaining the woman, he had lost the son.

 

The drink made him morose, and he pulled out yet another fat cigar. Fondled it almost lovingly as he cut the end. He gently twirled the cylinder of tobacco above the flame of his lighter and tried to pretend that he wasn’t still listening for the sound of her footsteps. Tried to ignore the knowledge that she had stayed the night. But in his heart, he had no doubts. He had spent the long hours waiting for her to leave, yet each time he had thought he heard her light tread it had been nothing but his mind playing cruel tricks.

 

Groaning audibly, he stumbled to his feet and moved again to the bar. Deciding against drinking himself into unconsciousness, he reached for the seltzer and let the cool liquid ease away the dryness in his mouth. Blearily he attempted to collect his thoughts. Debated whether his men would obey if he ordered John’s death… whether they would be successful if they tried. He had never seen another man who could take punishment the way John Black could. The man would not be stopped by anything short of death. And the man died hard…

 

His thoughts traveled back, and he remembered the boy who had burst so violently into his life. Remembered the feel of the cold steel of the knife as it pressed against the thin skin of his neck. In that instance, he had known what death looked like. Had seen it in the eyes of the boy. Had recognized it as the look that stared back at him from the mirror. Those blue-black eyes with nothing behind them. No empathy. No remorse. No soul. A kindred spirit, Stefano had been unwilling to watch him bleeding his life out into some gutter on a nameless street. He had taken him home and given him a purpose…

 

DiMera watched with pride as the young man slammed a fist into the face of his sparring partner. Even with the protection of the pads, the instructor’s head snapped back and he staggered. Taking advantage of his opponent’s weakness, John slammed a knee to the man’s groin and delivered a two-fisted blow to the face that swung obligingly forward. The instructor dropped to the ground, groaning slightly.

 

With a chuckle, Stefano moved from the observation window to the door of the gymnasium. Ruefully, he debated the merits of trying to find another trainer. At only 17, the boy was a match for all of the martial arts instructors DiMera normally used. His skills needed honing, but they had hit the point of diminishing returns in his training. Stefano had briefly considered sending John into the military. Navy SEAL training would be extremely useful to a man of John’s character. But the training would interfere with college, and Stefano was adamant concerning the importance of that. He would not have some uncouth barbarian acting as his second in command. John would start his studies at Oxford in the fall, whether he wanted to or not.

 

DiMera walked into the large training room to find John circling his downed opponent. The man struggled to rise and John lashed out, sweeping his legs from under him. The thud of the body against the mat brought Stefano’s focus back to the lithe figure who now dominated the center of the room. Sweat trickled down the bare back as the young man danced lightly on his feet. DiMera grimaced in distaste as the long ponytail of dark hair swung between his shoulder blades. That hair was coming off before John went to Oxford if Stefano had to have a dozen men hold him down while the barber cut it. His attention focused on the irritatingly long hair, he almost failed to note the dark scaring that marred the shoulder blade itself. As the image caught his eye, he felt the blood rush to his face.

 

“What the hell is that?!” DiMera roared from the doorway.

 

Startled, John whirled around on the balls of his feet, his body prepared for combat. Seeing only Stefano, glaring at him from side of the room, he dropped his hands and gave an innocent shrug. “What’s what?” he asked.

 

With three long strides, Stefano closed the gap between them. Grabbing the startled teen by his arm, he wrenched him half around. Stabbing a thick finger against the scabbing surface of the mark, he growled out, “That’s what, you young idiot!”

 

Angrily, John jerked his arm from Stefano’s grasp and stepped away. “Jeesh! Lighten up. It’s just a tattoo! I was going to show you once it healed! Christ! What’s your problem, Stefano?”

 

Sulkily, the boy stood looking at him, absently rubbing the still tender flesh of his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Stefano tried to calm down. Knowing it was futile to start a fight, he still had the urge to slap some sense into the youngster before him. Instead, he ordered gruffly, “I want you to clean yourself up and then meet me in my office. Fifteen minutes, John. Do you understand me?”

 

For a moment, John merely held his gaze. For a moment, Stefano considered what he would do if the boy refused. Finally, the young man gave a grudging nod. “Fifteen minutes,” he replied, turning to head to the locker room.

 

***

 

The knock on the door was hesitant, which Stefano took as a good sign. For added measure, he let the young man wait outside the door for a minute before calling out, “Come in.”

 

Leaning back behind the big desk, DiMera watched the young man open the door only to stand fidgeting at the far side of the room. The silence lingered until John could stand it no more. “It’s just a tattoo,” he said, avoiding looking directly at the older man. “It’s a phoenix,” he added hopefully.

 

With a sigh, Stefano looked down into the polished mahogany beneath his fingers. Keeping his voice even, he replied, “It comes off. Tomorrow you go to the doctor, and the tattoo comes off.”

 

Startled, John finally shifted to look at DiMera. “No way! I earned this! I got it after I killed Reilley. I made my bones, Stefano. I earned the right to wear this mark!”

 

Stefano rolled his eyes in disgust. “Who have you been talking to? You ‘made your bones’? I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to take the Reilley assignment. You are not some street thug, John! You are going to Oxford next year. You will play tennis with the sons of some of the most powerful men in the world. You will be gracious and intelligent and well mannered. You will be groomed to take your place in the circles of the elite. You do not do that with the symbol of a criminal empire branded into your flesh!” he concluded vehemently.

 

“I am not going to Oxford, Stefano! You aren’t going to stick me in some damn school in England and forget about me. You need me here! What the hell was the point of all of this training if you are just going to send me away?” John shot back, his anger growing to match Stefano’s own.

 

“I do not ‘need’ you here, John. If you hadn’t noticed, I managed to build an empire all by myself. I do not believe that empire will crumble in your absence. You will go to Oxford, and we will not discuss this matter further,” Stefano replied shortly. Turning his attention to the paperwork before him in a gesture of dismissal, Stefano attempted to ignore the young man’s angry glare.

 

“F*ck you.” The words came out flat and hard, and Stefano’s head jerked up at the sound of the hurt behind them.

 

“F*ck you!” John repeated, his voice rising. “You think I need you? You think I need your bullshit?! You aren’t my father Stefano! You can’t make me go! You want to throw me away? I got a dozen other guys who will hire me tomorrow. You want me out of here? Fine! I am gone!” he yelled.

 

Stunned, Stefano lurched from behind his desk, his protest lost in the sound of the slamming of the door.

 

***

 

“Where did you find him?” Stefano asked tiredly, pulling his dressing gown more tightly around his large frame.

 

“He tripped the alarms climbing over the front gate, sir. We found him passed out on the front lawn,” the senior of the two guards answered.

 

Looking at the young man who swayed beneath the support of the guards, Stefano reached out and grasped the lolling head under the chin. Bringing John’s face up to meet his own, he asked with deceptive calm, “What did you take, John?”

 

His eyes blearily straining to focus, John muttered, “Didn’t take anything. Damn, know you hate that stuff. Just drunk,” he finished with a challenging grin.

 

“I am not overly fond of seventeen-year-old drunks, either, John,” Stefano shot back. With a curt gesture to the guards, he motioned to the living room couch. “Put him down in there, gentlemen.”

 

As the guards left the room, DiMera pulled a chair up directly across from John’s slouched form. Rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, he glanced at the clock and debated the wisdom of coffee at three a.m.

 

“Don’t look so pissed. I just came back to get my stuff. I’m out of your hair in the morning,” John slurred out, raising his head to meet DiMera’s gaze.

 

“John, you are going nowhere. Now, would you care to explain your behavior tonight?” Stefano asked quietly, determined not to get into another shouting match with the angry young man before him.

 

“F*ck off,” was the less than eloquent response.

 

As DiMera watched, the dark head lolled forward and the long hair swung across John’s face like a shroud. With a weary sigh, Stefano reached to push the dark locks back from his face. “Well at least you get points for consistency,” he muttered softly. Deciding discussion would have to wait for the morning, he bent down and looped one of John’s long arms across his shoulders. Levering the young man to his feet, he guided him to the stairs.

 

“Don’t want to leave. I’m sorry… don’t want to leave,” John mumbled the words out, jarred into semi-consciousness by the effort of climbing the staircase.

 

“You don’t have to leave, John. Right now, you just have to get some sleep. We will talk about it tomorrow,” Stefano placated, guiding him up to his room.

 

As they turned the corner and halted at the door to the bedroom, John jerked away. Slamming against the wall, he leaned against it for support and stared at DiMera with accusing eyes. “Thought you’d be proud! I killed Reilley. Killed him clean. Now you want to send me off somewhere… What the hell did I do wrong, Stefano? Tell me and I’ll fix it… swear, I’ll fix it…,” he trailed off. Closing his eyes, he sank against the wall and struggled to keep his feet.

 

“You did not do anything wrong, John. It was a good job. I told you that. But John, you are too young. You have been completely out of control for the past two days. You know you are going away to school, yet you argue with me at every turn. You reject my authority… you are not ready to handle the baggage that comes with killing. I should have known that… I should never have allowed you to be in that position, no matter how skilled you are. You weren’t ready, and your behavior is the best indicator I could have of that fact.” Stefano watched John’s face, looking for some sign that his words had penetrated the haze of the alcohol. To his surprise, John’s eyes opened to fasten on his with a clarity that belied the booze.

 

Smiling a cold smile, John hissed out, “I’ve been ready my entire life, Stefano. Killing Reilley didn’t bother me. He was a threat to you. I enjoyed sticking a knife in his guts. I enjoyed watching his eyes when I told him why he was dying. I wanted to pay you back. For everything you have done for me. I can kill, Stefano. It’s the only thing I’m good at. And I know it’s why you brought me here. You saw it in me. You knew I was a killer. It’s the only reason you keep me.”

 

With a snort of laughter, Stefano shook his head. “I want you to be more than some hired killer. I want you to be a force in this business, John. This stupidity with the tatoo… you know better than that. You do not advertise the fact that you are a part of a criminal cartel. What exactly were you thinking?!”

 

Sighing audibly, John allowed his eyes to again close. With a shrug of his shoulders, he said softly, “I wanted everyone to know where I belonged. I’m not your blood. I’m not anybody’s…,” he muttered, almost incoherently. Slowly, his eyes cracked open. His gaze locked on DiMera’s own, he said with surety, “I would kill for you. I proved that with Reilley. I guess I thought it would make me good enough…” His laugh was bitter, and he slid down the wall to crouch on his heels.

 

Looking down on the desolate form at his feet, Stefano finally recognized his mistake. Since the day he had brought the boy home, Stefano had treated him as an equal. Or, as near an equal as he had any man. He had chosen to give the boy his independence rather than risk breaking his spirit. He had thought it a gift. A gift of freedom to one who would accept no less. Yet now he recognized that to the boy, it had been a threat. A sign that he was expendable. Replaceable. Accepted only for his worth as a weapon. It was why the boy had trained so hard. Pushed himself beyond reason… beyond pain. He would prove himself worthy to stay, or he would die in the attempt.

 

Slowly, DiMera crouched down. “John, you have nothing to prove. I have always known you were good enough. I have never doubted it. I have never doubted you. Do you understand me?” he asked, his voice low.

 

John flashed a bitter grin at the question. “Tony wasn’t your blood. You still made him your son.”

 

Startled by the comment, Stefano hesitated a moment. It had simply never occurred to him that John would compare himself to Anthony. Finally, he nodded in agreement. “No. No, Anthony is not my son by birth. I adopted him when he was young. He needed the tie. Needed the connection. It is what binds us together. Makes us family.”

 

DiMera noted the grimace that twisted the younger man’s features at his words. Almost gently, he continued. “John, where is Tony now? Where has he always lived, John?”

 

“Jeesh, Stefano. Forget I brought it up,” John said, struggling now to rise. Clearly uncomfortable with the discussion, he appeared to be sobering rapidly.

 

Firmly, DiMera reached out and shoved the teen back against the wall. More forcefully, he repeated, “Where has Tony always lived?”

 

“Europe,” was the sullen reply, as John met Stefano’s stare with a hard look of his own.

 

“And who has always been the one to stand at my side?” DiMera asked gruffly. When the boy refused to respond, Stefano reached out and grasp him roughly by the back of his neck. “Who did I choose to stand with me, John? I chose you! I did not think you needed it formalized with some trick of a lawyer’s pen. I did not think you were that weak. Was I wrong?”

 

Finally, John dropped his eyes. Numbly, he shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

 

A second longer, DiMera held firmly to the dark head. Finally, he ruffled the thick mane of hair in a familiar gesture of affection. Rising, he tugged at John’s arm. “Come. Let’s get you into bed. You are a morose drunk, and I believe it is time you slept it off. We will discuss your excesses in the morning.”

 

“I’m keeping the tattoo,” John muttered, stumbling along in DiMera’s grasp.

 

“Fine. You can keep the bloody tattoo if you like,” DiMera replied wearily.

 

“And I’m still not going to Oxford,” he continued arguementively, as Stefano guided him through the darkened room.

 

With a groan of pure frustration, Stefano allowed the heavy form flop onto the bed. “I need you to do this. I have more than enough hired muscle at my disposal. You will wield more power than a king, John. I need you to learn how to use it.”

 

“Don’t want to go…,” John grunted, struggling not to fall asleep.

 

“I did not ask what you wanted, John. I told you what I needed from you. Now… will you go?”

 

Giving a sigh of irritation, John allowed his tired eyes to close and gave in to the inevitable. “Yea… I’ll go,” he said grudgingly. “You knew I would,” he mumbled to himself as he succumbed to darkness.

 

For a long moment, Stefano simply stood and watched the sleeping figure. Finally, he reached down to pull a thick blanket over the slumbering form. “Of course I did,” he said quietly.

 

The memories fueled the headache that was now threatening to split his skull in two. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Stefano reached into a drawer of the big desk and pulled out the bottle of aspirin. Washing down a handful of pills, he let his tired body collapse into the padded chair. Without considering his actions, he leaned over to open the bottom drawer. Hesitantly, he pulled out a thick file and sat it on the desk. His fingers brushed over the thick lettering that identified the file’s contents: JOHN BLACK.

 

Almost unwillingly, he flipped open the file. A picture stared up at him. A family, lounging happily on a checkered blanket, the remains of a picnic scattered around them. John lay laughing, his head in Marlena’s lap. The twins, barely more than babies, were cradled against his chest while Carrie posed with her head resting against his stomach.

 

It was this picture that had confirmed that something in his plan to take Marlena had gone terribly wrong. Eight months had passed with no contact from John. All attempts to reach him through regular channels had been ignored. Known operatives had been passed-by unacknowledged. Reports indicated that John had assumed the identity of Roman Brady, a role he had never been instructed to take. Though the man had broken away from his handlers, his mind befuddled by the hypnosis sessions designed to provide him with a basic knowledge of the players in the Salem operation, he should never have departed so drastically from his assignment.

 

At the time, Stefano had considered the possibility that the hypnosis had interacted with the various drugs the man had in his system in the aftermath of the Soldino fiasco. He was still on heavy pain medication, his face not completely healed from the brutal damage done by the knife. Stefano had gone so far as to include some rather experimental psychotropic drugs, designed to calm the man down. The rage that was a product of the torture had made him unstable to the point it had actually been cause for concern. Stefano had chosen this mission as a way of keeping John occupied while still giving his mind and body the time to heal. But none of that could explain John’s failure to make contact. This picture had been all the explanation DiMera had needed.

 

There was a look of peace and contentment on the man’s face that Stefano had never seen. Surrounded by a family, ‘his’ children in his arms, the man in the picture was nothing like the boy DiMera had raised. The haunted look, the tense watchfulness was gone. In the instance he saw the picture, Stefano had recognized the truth of the matter. The man had no memory of his life beyond that of Roman Brady. The confused mind had found the sanctuary it had always sought, and the blood and pain of the young man’s past had been buried deep inside. In time, Stefano had come to accept the loss. The risk of challenging the man who was now Roman Brady had been too great. On his home ground, Brady himself had been a dangerous foe. The man who had usurped his place was capable of so much more. Rather than risk his empire, DiMera had let John play out the fantasy. Had found some solace even in the fact that the boy had finally gained some peace. But fate itself had lent a hand. Destiny seemed to demand that this game be played out to the bloody end.

 

The first time, it had been a former associate. An independent operative with a property he was certain DiMera would be interested in. Orpheus’ prize, the fair Marlena plucked from the sea. He had had her cared for in the hopes that one day she would awaken. But when she finally did, she had slipped once again from his grasp. And once again, he had reconciled himself to the loss and watched as she led a pedestrian existence in the small town. Over the years, he had wondered if John had softened. If his life as Roman had made him weak. But in his heart, he knew that if he could not give up Marlena after all of the many years, neither would John. If he took Marlena, John would come. It was a holocaust he had been unwilling to initiate. And then again, fate had woven their lives together.

 

DiMera sighed aloud and gently closed the file. Leaning back, he stretched his arms out above his head and wondered just how many times he could be expected to allow Marlena to escape his grasp. If he wanted to posses her, he would have to kill John. It was the one sure thing in the equation. Marlena’s price would be payed in blood.

 

He should have known that bringing John back his memories would not erase the feelings he had for Marlena. The woman was the antithesis of all that John was. All that he lacked, she could give him if she chose. It was the same quality that drew Stefano to her. A man could find peace in her arms. But it was a peace that would be bought with death.

 

DiMera hated indecision. Despised it as a weakness. For him, a bad decision was still better than no decision at all. He would allow this battle with John to go on no longer. It was time to decide whether Marlena’s body was worth more to him than John’s life.

 

Chapter 55

 

She lay quietly in his arms, finger absently twirling a curl of thick chest hair. They had been the words she had most wanted to hear. The words she had most feared. ‘I’ll stay.’

 

She looked up at his face. Propped against the headboard, he seemed completely at ease. Sensing her gaze, he looked down on her and smiled. “You okay?”

 

“What will Stefano do?” She asked, her face troubled.

 

John shrugged slightly. “He won’t be happy, but we’ll work it out. Before we leave here, it will be settled. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Marlena could not believe it would be that simple. She could not believe that Stefano would let it be that simple. “John, I think we should leave now. Call Bo. Tell him everything we know. Let the law handle this. You don’t have to do this anymore. Let’s just go home,” she said, sitting up.

 

He turned to her in surprise. “You don’t honestly think I am going to allow any of those men to live, do you? While they live, they represent a threat to you. I will not accept that risk. We don’t leave until they are all dead.”

 

He smiled a sad smile, and reached to brush his fingers down her jawline. “Marlena, I will always watch over you. I can’t help that. And if you think I will ever tolerate a threat to you, you are wrong. None of that is negotiable. But it is up to you whether you want me in your life… your home. If you don’t want me, I would understand it,” he finished softly, drawing his hand away.

 

She knew he meant it. Knew she could not stop him from killing the men behind the bombing. And it scared her. He scared her. He was not the same. Could never be the same as the man he once was. The scars simply ran too deep. But of one thing she had no doubt. “I want you,” she stated simply.

 

“Then I will stay,” he replied. Bending over, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

 

***

 

He fidgeted in his room, stalling. Not wanting to go down and face the kids. Face DiMera. Marlena had gone back to her room to shower and change. He was taking the coward’s way out, trying to wait until he was certain she would be down at the table. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he cringed at what the kids must be thinking. Unable to control his impatience any longer, he stalked to the door.

 

He walked onto the porch, unsurprised to see only the three children sitting there.

 

“Hi dad,” Sami called, an innocent grin on her face. “You look hungry.”

 

He felt his face flush, and kept his eyes fastened on the table. Sitting stiffly down, he tried to gather the words to address them. To explain why their mother had been gone all night. The sound of Eric clearing his throat interrupted his thoughts.

 

“Um… really sorry about waking you. I was just… worried when mom didn’t come back. I didn’t totally trust what Stefano had said,” the boy said awkwardly.

 

Taking his opening, John answered, “Don’t worry. You didn’t interrupt anything. Nothing happened,” he finished pointedly, glancing up at them.

 

“Of course not,” Sami said, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

 

“Not that there would be anything wrong if something had happened. Theoretically speaking, of course,” Carrie chimed in, barely suppressing a smirk.

 

“Theoretically speaking, I would have to agree with you,” Eric joined in the teasing, a shy smile crossing his face.

 

“Nothing happened!” John said heatedly, blushing furiously.

 

“Of course not,” three innocent voices parroted back in sync.

 

“Dammit, we did not sleep together!” John virtually shouted out in exasperation.

 

“Really, John! Do you think that is an appropriate conversation for the children,” Marlena chided with a grin as she breezed through the French doors.

 

He started to retort, but the sight of her took his breath away. She was wearing a simple silk dress that flowed over her curves. Reaching almost to the floor, the dark velvety brown color highlighted the hazel of her eyes. The gold of her hair, that she had pulled back in a simple pony tail.

 

“What is it?” she asked curiously, catching his stare.

 

Breaking the contact, he looked away. “Oh, nothing. You just look really nice, that’s all,” he said, feeling the blood once again run to his face.

 

As she settled into the chair next to him, he rubbed ruefully at the stubble on his chin. Dressed in fraying jeans and a stretched out old sweater, he felt like a peasant in the presence of his queen. He tried to focus on the eggs and bacon in front of him, but the food lay like sawdust in his mouth. All he was aware of was Marlena, sitting at his side. And DiMera, conspicuous in his absence.

 

He suddenly felt a pressing need to get it over with. Deal with Stefano here and now. Standing rather abruptly, he gave a quick nod to the kids. “Have some business that really needs taking care of. We’ll get together tonight, watch movies or something.”

 

At their distracted nods of agreement, he turned to go up to DiMera’s study. Having easily read his intentions, Marlena reached out and grabbed his hand. Squeezing tightly, she said in an almost whisper, “Please, be careful…”

 

Without allowing himself time to debate, he bent down to her and briefly touched his lips to hers. Watching her face as she flushed… responded. And then he drew slowly away… remembered to breathe. “I will be… I promise,” he swore to her, as he broke the contact and went to meet DiMera.

 

***

 

The three children stared in stunned silence as John walked from the room.

 

“Mom! What did happen last night?” Carrie asked with a slight smile.

 

“Okay, dish mom,” Sami said less tactfully, leaning forward eagerly in her chair.

 

Marlena cocked an eyebrow at her youngest daughter. “May I just say, I pity the poor boy you set your sights on.”

 

“Mom, come on,” Carrie prodded. “We want to know what’s going on. You and John… is he going to come home?”

 

All three looked at her expectantly, and she was uncertain what to tell them. Uncertain what the truth was. Hesitantly, she stated, “He’s going to try. When this is done. When the threat of the Brotherhood is over. He is going to come home. He told me he would,” she finished firmly, trying to convince herself. The tears once again threatened, and she wondered if it could be. If he could really come home to her. If DiMera would let him.

 

***

 

John tapped on the study door, knowing that the man was waiting for him within. After a second’s hesitation, he heard the deep voice call out, “Come in.”

 

John stood in the doorway, not knowing what to say. “We missed you at breakfast,” he began at random.

 

“I’m sure,” Stefano commented dryly, sitting straighter behind his desk.

 

Entering the room, John pulled the door firmly shut behind him and moved to one of the armchairs set in front of the desk. DiMera silently watched him, face expressionless. Sitting on the edge of the cushioned seat, he looked up at DiMera and felt like a schoolboy about to be lectured- and realized instantly that it was the effect the arrangement was meant to have. It was too much for his already frayed nerves, and he rose quickly to his feet. Moving away from DiMera, giving himself some space to breathe, he rested a lean hip against the back of the couch.

 

“So?” DiMera said coldly. Expectantly.

 

For a moment, John simply studied him. The man who had raised him for half his life. The closest thing he had to a father. He owed him an honest answer.

 

“She asked me to go back with her when she goes home. When we are done with this mess.” Looking firmly at DiMera, he added, “I said yes…. I meant it.”

 

“Ah,” DiMera replied nodding, unsurprised. “What about that promise you made. Your vow never to put the children at risk?” DiMera asked coldly.

 

Unwilling to debate the issue, John simply said, “I lied. You should be familiar with the concept.”

 

“Of course,” Stefano nodded, his annoyance barely held in check. “So… May I assume you are here to ask for my permission?”

 

Expressionless, John shook his head. “No, Stefano. I’m not asking. I’m telling. I will go home to her. To my children. If you are going to have a problem with that, we should settle it now.”

 

“John, please tell me you have not been reduced to making threats. If you are going to do something, be a man and do it!” DiMera snapped out. Feeling angry… feeling betrayed.

 

John let out a snort, and stood up. “Give me a little more credit. I owe you more than that, and I know it.” Moving to the desk, he reached behind him and pulled his gun from its holster where it had been hidden by the loose sweater. Chambering a round, he set the weapon down on the glossy wood in front of DiMera.

 

John took a step back, and continued almost gently. “Sir, I am going with her. She has my first loyalty. Stefano… if I ever think you pose a threat to her… I’m not Roman Brady. I would find you, and I would come for you. I don’t ever want to have to come for you.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I have enough of an Oedipus complex as it is!”

 

Sobering, John nodded down to the gun. “I am giving you this chance, Stefano. This one time, I’m putting you ahead of her. If you want to stop me, you can. You can pick up that gun, and end this now. If you want to force her… or keep me from her… use the gun right now. It will save us all a lot of grief in the long run.” He stood, eyes unwavering, waiting for DiMera’s decision.

 

Almost casually, Stefano lifted the gun. Admired the cold, deadly lines. The piece was as much a work of art as it was a tool of destruction. The cool wood of the grip balanced perfectly in his hand, and he looked over at John. “You’re sure of this?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

 

“I’m sure,” was the reply from the man standing before him, unmoving.

 

His decision made, DiMera moved rapidly around the desk to John’s side. Raising the weapon, he jammed the barrel into the side of his dark head. Pressed hard, shoving the head to the side with the force. John closed his eyes and waited for the impact of the slug. The release of oblivion. At least his death would mark the last time he would fail her.

 

He almost missed the question DiMera hissed out at him. “Why? Why did you agree to go back?”

 

He took a shuddering breath, wishing Stefano would get it over with. Put an end to his longing. An end to his loss. Eyes still closed, he let the air ease back out of his lungs. “It hurt her more for me to say no,” was the steady reply.

 

The moment stretched out, until abruptly the hard metal pressing against him was replaced by one of DiMera’s thick hands. Grabbing his hair. Shaking his head in a rough gesture of affection. “You have been nothing but trouble since the day you came to me,” a harsh voice grated in his ear.

 

Ruffling the thick hair, Stefano released him. Turned away. “If you two have a child, it had damn well better be named after me,” he said gruffly.

 

John stood stunned, for a moment not recognizing his reprieve. The relief that washed over him almost dropped him to his knees. Managing a weak grin, he asked, “What if it’s a girl?”

 

“Stephanie is an acceptable alternative in that case,” DiMera replied, letting a bitter smile crease his lips as he leaned back to rest against the desk.

 

“I’ll get right on it,” John promised dryly, once again propping himself against the couch. Not wanting to leave quite yet.

 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, this time in concern for the man himself.

 

“Not particularly,” was the honest reply as Stefano moved to the bar and poured himself a tall drink. “But I am not an idiot, and this was not a complete surprise,” he said. Settling back on the couch, he motioned John to the chair opposite him, and he willingly obeyed.

 

“Mmm. Is that why I’m still breathing?” John asked softly, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity.

 

“I do not kill my own children, John. That is why you are still alive. At the moment, it is the only reason,” Stefano replied, his face grim.

 

John could not help the flush of pride at the old man’s words any more than he could resist the shame he felt at the response. He had placed Marlena’s chance at happiness, perhaps her very freedom, in the hands of a man capable of so much evil. The fact that he had been right granted him no absolution. With a sigh, he propped his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples, wondering just when the hell it was his life had become so complicated. When he was younger, if he couldn’t shoot it, f*ck it or drink it, he generally hadn’t bothered with it. Now all he did was juggle betrayals and lies and broken vows. He simply wanted it all to be over with.

 

All he asked was the chance to build a life with the woman he loved. Yet every time he thought of her, every time he watched her move through a room, the joy she brought him was tempered by the fear. By the tight knot of worry that twisted in his breast, signaling him that it was not meant to be. It was never meant to be for him. In his heart, he knew that his desire for her would burn her out… burn her through, leaving nothing but a shattered shell.

 

“Have you thought about the consequences?” DiMera asked quietly, breaking John from his reverie.

 

John gave a shrug, trying to shake off the dark thoughts. Shifting his eyes to study book-lined walls, he allowed himself a grim smile. “I haven’t thought of anything else. Not since you brought me back.” Against his will, he met DiMera’s gaze. “It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong… I’m going to do it anyway. Even if I can’t be what she wants, can’t give her what she needs, I’m willing to die trying.”

 

DiMera merely rolled his eyes and took a deep swallow from his glass. “Have I mentioned your penchant for melodrama?” he noted rhetorically.

 

John gave him a wry grin and tried to be optimistic. “Maybe once or twice. But you’re right. If everything is okay between you and me… if we can wrap-up this little problem with the Brotherhood…. Well, I’m stronger than I used to be. Maybe I can make this work.”

 

They sat together, content in the silence. Finally, DiMera broached the subject uppermost in his mind. “So,… I guess you will be leaving my little family?” His voice was deceptively calm.

 

The question startled John. “Huh? You must be joking. If I am going to protect her, it will be from a position of strength. I need you behind me…,” he trailed off. “Unless you are asking me to leave?” he asked. Trying to control the hurt, the fear that he would not be strong enough on his own, he kept his voice carefully neutral.

 

Stefano quirked an eyebrow. “No, I’m not asking you to leave. I want you at my back. You should know that. But… Marlena isn’t going to like it.”

 

“She doesn’t have to,” John answered coldly. “I will not allow her to be hurt through my own weakness, Stefano. I will do whatever I think necessary to see that nothing and no one ever hurts her or the children again.”

 

With a nod of understanding, Stefano raised his glass in mock salute. Recognizing the sense of relief that coursed through him, surprised by its intensity, DiMera dropped his eyes to study the amber depths of the whiskey. Each man lost in his own thoughts, the silence once more descended.

 

Chapter 56

 

John walked slowly down the stairs to the main room. Distracted by his thoughts, his relief over Stefano’s acceptance at odds with his worries for the future, he failed to see Marlena waiting for him.

 

He had been gone so long, and her fear of DiMera’s reaction had grown as numerous scenarios ran through her head. None of the outcomes she imagined had been good, and she had almost gone to the study a half-dozen times. Sensing his presence, she was jarred from her dark thoughts by his light tread as he came down the stairs.

 

Her smile lit up her face, and she simply watched him moving gracefully toward her for a moment before she spoke. “I guess everything went all right?”

 

Startled, he looked over. A wide grin split his face, and he drank in the site of her. Caught in the rays of the sun that poured through the wall of glass behind her, she glowed. His heart seemed to swell, and he knew he would sell his soul to buy one more moment at her side.

 

When his eyes caught hers, she saw all of his defenses drop. Recognized that she was the only one who could make his pain go away. No matter the risk, she would not allow him to be taken from her again. Realizing that he hadn’t heard a word she had said, she chuckled and patted the cushion next to her. “Well? Come tell me what happened. I do believe the discussion involved me too.”

 

Snapping back to the present, he moved quickly to her. Sinking down on the far end of the couch, almost afraid to get too close to her, he offered-up a shy smile. He would not ruin this moment with the thought of anything ugly. Trying to sound nonchalant, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Nothing to it. I told you, we would work it out.”

 

“Mmm hmm…,” Marlena muttered, looking suspiciously over at him. “What did you have to do? Offer up our firstborn?”

 

“Of course not!” he said, smiling. “I only offered to name it after him.”

 

As her eyes widened, he continued, his expression innocent. “In fact,… I did promise to get right on the assignment. There are certain… technical details that need to be addressed before I can accomplish the mission,” he said, a leer on his face.

 

As he watched the flush creep up her neck, he could barely suppress the laugh of sheer joy that bubbled within. It was not the time for doubts or worries for the future. They were free to be together, and it would be enough for now.

 

Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes flashed with gold fire as she thought of the two of them discussing the name of a child yet to be. “You didn’t!” she exclaimed, sitting straighter.

 

Suddenly worried he had angered her, he tried to cover. “I’m sorry. I mean… we were just kidding. I know you’re too…,” he trailed off, realizing he was only digging the hole deeper.

 

It was her turn to suppress a laugh, and she fought to keep her amusement from showing in her eyes. Almost leaping across the cushions separating him, she straddled his legs. Taking advantage of his shock at the sudden contact, she grabbed his wrists and trapped his hands against the back of the sofa. Bending over so that they were almost nose-to-nose, she said in a deceptively mild tone, “Too what, John? Too old to have more babies?”

 

He struggled to breathe. The warm weight of her resting on his knees. The scent of her filling his mind. The glare of her eyes, inches from his own. He wanted nothing more than to allow himself to be lost in her forever. Instead, he managed to choke out a strangled reply. “No! Of course not! I meant, too… too beautiful… too sensitive… too wonderful to ever deign touch a wretch like me,” he finished with a sly grin. His composure regained, he gave her a cocky look. Dared her to call him a liar.

 

Still holding his arms against the couch, she sat back slightly and studied his face. Very slowly, she allowed her expression to soften. Allowed her head to lean down, her lips drawing closer to his own. Softly, she whispered to him, “I almost believe you…”

 

He was mesmerized by her nearness, and failed to note the warning glimmer in her eyes. Suddenly, her right hand snaked to his ribs. Burrowing under his sweater, she attacked him with her fingers, just below his rib cage, and yelled, “Almost, but not quite!”

 

Despite her weight on his legs, he half-jumped over the padded armrest in an attempt to escape those devilish hands. She had always been able to tickle him into submission, and though he tried to be careful of her, they ended up in an unruly pile on the floor. She rode him all the way down, ending up sitting on his stomach, torturing him unmercifully as he tried to squirm away.

 

“Oh God!” he half-yelled through tears of laughter. Her giggles shaking the body she held wrapped around him only added to his torment. “I’m sorry! I swear, I’m sorry. We’ll have 10 more babies and name them all after you. Please, just stop. Have mercy!!” he cried.

 

She was not about to let him off so easily, but at the sound of a door opening, she stopped to look up. Sami and Eric stood at the French doors, staring down at them with wide eyes. As Marlena watched, Sami broke into a wide smile. “Um… we heard shouting. Is everything okay in here?” she asked, her amusement creeping into her voice. Eric merely stood at her side, mouth agape.

 

Matching her daughter’s aplomb, Marlena gathered her feet under her and elegantly rose. Laying at her feet, John rolled to his side and gasped red-faced for air.

 

“Everything is fine, Sami. Thank you for being concerned,” Marlena replied, a smile in her eyes. Reaching down, she gave John a friendly pat on his butt, and chuckled. “Just giving your father a sorely needed lesson in etiquette.” Beneath his already pink face, she could see the blush that accompanied her touch, and thought to herself that it served him right.

 

Sami nodded at her in mock seriousness. “Yes, he never has been very strong in the manner’s department, has he? I think it’s a guy thing,” she said, giving her brother a slight shove with her elbow.

 

Going to her daughter, Marlena took her arm and nodded to her conspiratorially. “Well, hopefully a little discipline will whip him into shape.” As they moved out onto the patio, Marlena’s fading voice drifted behind her through the door. “You should hear what I did to him the time he…”

 

Moving to John’s side, Eric looked down to see him wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. “Dad… they really scare me when they get like that,” he said quietly, looking at Marlena and Sami as they moved to the porch swing.

 

Finally catching his breath, John flopped over to lay flat on his back. Looking up, he caught Eric’s eye. “They should scare you son. They’re women.”

 

***

 

She leaned back in his arms, completely content. The day had passed in sheer unadulterated idleness, unmarred by even the appearance of DiMera. As the chill of the night deepened, she stretched her toes out to the remains of the bonfire and snuggled back into the warmth of John’s chest.

 

“Are you cold? Do you want to go in?” he whispered into her ear. The feel of his breath sent a shiver down her spine.

 

“Mmmm…,” she almost groaned, arching her head back to rest in the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to move. Ever. I just want to sit here with you until the earth falls into the sea.”

 

He bent his head, and nuzzled her ear. “My butt’s going to get tired if we sit here that long,” he complained, eliciting a chuckle from her.

 

“Okay, my gallant warrior. How about we stay here long enough for me to roast one perfect marshmallow,” she said smiling. Tilting her head, she gave him a kiss on the cheek before bending to retrieve her ‘roasting’ stick.

 

Behind her, she distinctly heard him mutter, “Can we opt for that earth falling into the sea thing? It’ll be faster.”

 

Cocking an eyebrow, she turned to face him. “Surely you are not insulting my culinary skills?” she inquired archly.

 

“Uh… no. Of course not. I would never do such a thing. But… perhaps marshmallows really aren’t your forte. You know… they’re just too ‘simplistic’ a fare for a chef such as yourself.”

 

She stared at him in amazement. He really wasn’t the man she knew. He had actually managed to keep a straight face through the entire bald-faced lie. Narrowing her eyes, she decided to back him into a corner.

 

Haughtily, she sniffed. “I will have you know, John. I am an excellent marshmallow cook. My abilities are legendary!”

 

“Marlena! Every single marshmallow you roasted caught on fire!” he said in exasperation.

 

“I like them that way,” was her stubborn response.

 

“Doc, your hotdog caught on fire too!” he cried, unable to stifle the laughter that now rang out full force.

 

“Pork should always be cooked well-done. It prevents bacteria,” she shot back, poking him with her stick to emphasize her point.

 

He fell back against the cool grass, chuckling. Giving-up the battle, he managed to rasp out, “Okay. You win. You are a brilliant chef with a penchant for roasting marshmallows.”

 

Seeing him stretched out before the fire, the flicker of the flames sending shadows dancing across his form, she lost interest in the marshmallows.

 

She shifted so that her body intersected his, and rested her arm across his taut stomach. Propping her head in her hand, she looked down at him “Do you know how much I love you?” she asked gently, trying to see his eyes through the shadows.

 

“So much it hurts?” he asked, his voice the barest whisper.

 

“Mm hm,” she confirmed, reaching out to brush her fingers down his jawline.

 

“Then, yea. I do know,” he said quietly. His eyes opened, and he stared up at her. Blue fire seared her, as his eyes reflected the burn of the stars. The heat of the flames.

 

She shifted again, sliding up his chest. Lacing her fingers through his thick hair. Cradling his head in her hands. Chest to chest, she held herself above him on her elbows. Holding his eyes, she allowed her lips to descend. Catch his in a cool, dry kiss.

 

His eyes closed, and he melted into her, only to feel her draw back. Reluctantly, he stopped himself from rising to her. Felt his heart slow. And opened his eyes to see her again gazing down at him.

 

“I want you to promise that you will never leave me. I want you to swear it, on our love,” she said simply, once again allowing her fingers to skim the side of his face.

 

A sly smile crossed his lips. “I do believe this is sexual blackmail, Dr. Evans.”

 

Refusing to allow him to change the subject, she brought her hands to the sides of his face. Holding his gaze, she firmly repeated, “Promise you will never leave.”

 

Seeing her determination, he gave a soft sigh and rolled over, taking her with him. He caught her gently in his arms, and sat-up. Cradling her to him as she sat across his legs, he looked down to whisper to her. “I promise I will never hurt you. I swear it on my life.”

 

She felt a shiver of fear run through her, and wrapped her arms tightly around his broad chest. “That isn’t what I asked of you. It’s not the same thing,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

 

His chuckle was grim, and he locked his arms around her. “No… most likely it won’t be. But I can promise this. If I leave, I will always come back to you. I will come back, or die trying,” he finished quietly.

 

Pulling back, she turned to look into his face. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she answered.

 

This time, his short bark of laughter was genuine. “Doc, people have been wanting to kill me for years. I don’t die that easy. Really. It’s been tried.” His smiled and reached to brush away a tear.

 

Regaining her composure somewhat, she sighed raggedly. Managing an answering grin of her own, she simply shook her head. “I’m not certain that makes me feel any better. Haven’t you ever consoled a woman before?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Doc! You are the only woman I have ever cared about, so it’s not like I had a lot of practice. I mean, when we were together, I don’t remember ever doing anything to upset you. It’s hard for me to learn a skill I never have to practice.”

 

“Never upset me?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Never upset me!!! Do you remember the time you had me sign those damn check-in sheets at the hospital? Do you remember the time you stayed out all night for Bo’s bachelor party, and called me at three in the morning to sing ‘Isn’t she Lovely’ with a barroom full of drunken cops?!! Or what about the time you were out all night on a bust, and then didn’t even call to tell me you had been shot in the face?!!! Upset me!!! No one has ever been able to ‘upset’ me to the extent you do!!!” she said, voice rising. Resisting the urge to throttle him, she simply sat and glared.

 

“Oh… Um, yea. I kind of forgot about that…. And, hey! I did not get shot in the face. Those were just some wood splinters kicked up by the bullet,” he said defensively. Shifting slightly, he linked his hands together behind her, and allowed himself to lean back and watch her expression.

 

“A bullet that hit an inch away from your face, John. Fortunately, they were aiming at your hard head, so there probably wouldn’t have been any damage anyway. But believe me- it still upset me plenty!” she said, involuntarily relaxing back into the warmth of his hands as the perch against her hips.

 

Snuggling his hands down so they crept just below her belt, he quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, so maybe a couple of times you were mildly upset with me. I can’t quite remember what I did to console you,” he said innocently.

 

She simply looked at him. “Well, generally, we had sex,” she said in a conversational tone. “Wild, freaky, hanging from the chandelier monkey sex,” she continued slowly, the ghost of a smile showing in her eyes as she stared him down.

 

He simply nodded, his blush lost in the darkness. “Oh, yea. I vaguely recall…. Does that work?” he asked, trying to match her nonchalance.

 

“Only if you do it right,” she replied, fighting back a smile.

 

“Mmm… Did we do it right?” he asked, pulling himself forward with his arms so that they were almost face-to-face.

 

“Baby, did we ever,” she laughed, giving up the war.

 

Seeing her smile at him beneath the star light, he suddenly felt as if his heart would burst. Impulsively, he bent down and captured her lips. Allowed himself to be consumed with her. By her. By her taste… her feel… her scent.

 

The feel of her hand on his thigh startled him, and he broke the contact. Pulled himself back. Tilting his head to the heavens, he let loose a stifled moan of frustration. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that,” he managed to say, as he swallowed great lung fulls of the cold air.

 

“Oh yes. Really. You should have,” she said with a satisfied smile, trying to still her own rapid breathing.

 

Reaching to his upraised face, she gently pushed back the lock of hair that always seemed to find its way to his eyes. “Let’s go upstairs,” she said, her fingers continuing to weave through his long hair.

 

She felt a tremor run through his body, and then he gave a sharp shake of his head. Pulling himself back to the present, he looked down at her, eyes expressionless. “We should wait, Doc. Wait until this is all done….” he tapered off.

 

She simply sat looking at him in exasperation. He was acting like she was a sixteen-year-old virgin. “John, I want you to take me upstairs. Right now. And if I hear one more complaint about making love to me, you are going to see just how ‘upset’ I can get,” she said.

 

Her voice carried the promise of a wrath of biblical proportions, and he wasted no more time. Rising easily to his feet, her body still griped lightly in his arms, he managed a quick “Yes ma’am,” as he carried her through the patio doors.

 

She was conscious of nothing but the pounding of his heart, the heat of his body through the soft flannel of his shirt. Her eyes fixated on a curl of dark hair, and her fingers moved to his top button. Slipped it open. Slipped inside.

 

She was jolted from her exploration when she felt his steps falter. Felt them stop. It was only then she recognized the roar of the TV. Saw the bright eyes of her children, staring up at her as they lay propped about the great room.

 

“I thought you guys went to bed?” John managed to growl out in a husky voice.

 

Marlena could feel the sound echo in his chest, and with a start realized that she still had her hand buried in his shirt. Flushing, she pulled it out, and clasped both hands loosely in her lap. Looking back at her children, she tried to appear innocent as she lay curled in John’s arms.

 

“South Park’s on,” Carrie said from where she lay reclining across the arms of an overstuffed armchair.

 

“We made popcorn,” Eric chimed in, motioning absently to a big bowl as he again turned his attention to the screen.

 

Raising herself to a sitting position on the couch, Sami looked curiously over. Her face broke into a broad smile. “So, mom. Did you hurt your ankle or something?” she asked, her tone mild.

 

Marlena simply allowed herself a self-satisfied smile, and relaxed against John’s warm body. Listened, as he tried to explain their current state.

 

Instead, his gaze firmly fixed on the television screen, he asked, “Why is that guy farting on that other guy?”

 

“It’s Terrance and Phillip. It’s what they do,” Eric replied over his shoulder.

 

“Um, earth to dad!” Sami said more loudly. As she caught his eye, she gestured toward her mother. “Why are you carrying mom?”

 

At her question, Carrie too shifted to look at her parents. “Uh… she was cold,” he finally stammered, his face beginning to flush. As they simply continued to stare expectantly at him, he blundered on. “Oh, yea. She was sleepy, too… And, uh… I think she hurt her ankle…” he trailed off lamely, brought low by the blue-eyed gazes of his daughters.

 

“Okay…,” Sami muttered, more to herself than to them. With a roll of her eyes, she gave a shrug. “Well, we’ll be down here for a while, if you want to take mom upstairs…” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

 

At her offer, his face went scarlet, and Marlena realized that there was no way she was going to get him upstairs now.

 

“Oh, no! Here will be just fine,” he stammered, bending as if to set her down. She locked her arms behind his neck, and gave him a look of warning. “Or, better yet… why don’t we take the couch, Sami?”

 

With a small smile at their silliness, Sami flopped down beside her brother on the hemp rug and refocused her attention on the show.

 

Marlena popped him sharply on the back of his head, and he looked down at her with a rueful grin. Moving to the couch that Sami had just vacated, he settled gingerly down and realized that Marlena had absolutely no intention of letting go of him. He shifted until he was lying on his back, head propped against the padded cushion. He turned to the TV in a vain attempt to ignore Marlena as she wiggled around on top of him getting comfortable. As she finally stilled, resting her head against his chest and peacefully closing her eyes, he gave a gentle sigh of relief.

 

Listening to the beat of his heart, the sound of her children’s laughter, she allowed herself to drift away. As she carried him with her into her dreams, she vaguely heard the words that accompanied the movement of his chest. She let the words drift by, too ludicrous to process.

 

“What’s that guy doing to that chicken…?”

 

Chapter 57

 

Marlena stretched out in the big bed, the early morning sun streaming through the open window. Her only regret the fact that she woke up alone, she rolled out of bed and followed the scent of the coffee.

 

“Mom! Good morning,” Carrie called with a smile, as her mother walked into the sitting room. “You look very relaxed today,” she teased, seeing the contented expression on Marlena’s face.

 

Marlena chuckled, moving to join her daughter on the couch. She poured a mug from the steaming pot set on the coffee table, and snuggled comfortably back against the padded arm of the sofa. “I am relaxed. Very relaxed. In fact, I can’t quite remember how I made it back to my room last night!”

 

Carrie flashed a sly smile. “What? You don’t remember dad carrying you up the stairs around midnight? Sami and Eric were taking bets as to whether he would make it all the way up here without having to take a break!!”

 

Laughing, Marlena asked, “Well don’t keep me in suspense. Who won?”

 

“Actually, nobody. We all figured he would make it. But… I was wrong about one thing. I would have bet every cent I have that he would have stayed the night. Instead, he was very conspicuous when he left. When did he become so shy, mom?” Carrie asked with a curious grin.

 

Rolling her eyes, Marlena sighed loudly. “I know what you mean. Every time he is around me, it’s like a first date all over again!!” Giving her daughter a devilish smile, she continued, “It was kind of sweet the first time, but it is getting a little old! I think it is one habit I will have to break him of!”

 

Thinking back to the many times she had walked into a room, only to find her mom and dad making out like highschoolers, Carrie gave her an agreeable nod. Raising her mug, she toasted her mother. “If anyone can do it…”

 

***

 

John stared out over the porch railing and drew in a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Realizing he was grinning like an idiot, he was still unable to wipe the smile from his face. He had forgotten what it was like to actually feel good. For long months, he had been lucky to wake up and not feel the pain… the rage… that seemed to form the very core of his existence. The days he had managed not to feel anything were the days he had counted as good. God, he had forgotten what ‘good’ really felt like.

 

“You look pleased with yourself this morning,” a deep voice cut in, snapping him from his reverie. Startled, John turned to find Stefano seating himself at the table.

 

“I wondered if you would come down today,” John replied, his tone amicable.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” DiMera shot back in vague irritation.

 

Not wanting to get into it with Stefano, John simply ignored him. Picking up his coffee cup, he washed down the last of his breakfast.

 

“So….? How did it go yesterday? I suppose Marlena was delighted to have her whole little family back?” Stefano prodded, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.

 

“Stefano… you really don’t want to hear about it, and I really don’t want to discuss her with you. Why don’t you just let the matter drop?” John responded grudgingly. “Marlena isn’t any of your business anymore. I thought we had established that.”

 

“I believe that we established the fact that I was not willing to shoot you in order to have her, John. That does not mean I am out of her life.” Seeing the sudden flare of anger in John’s eyes, Stefano gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “John, calm down. I do not mean to interfere in your lives. But… she will always be on my mind. You know that. It isn’t as if I particularly enjoy the fact myself.”

 

John allowed the anger to dissipate and gave a rueful groan. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he looked over at Stefano and shot him a tight smile. “She does have a way of getting under a man’s skin, doesn’t she?”

 

Contemplating his coffee mug, Stefano merely nodded. “That she does. I hope you never take her for granted…” he trailed off.

 

“Never again,” John said softly, as if to himself. Turning his gaze back to the mountains, he was surprised when Stefano again broke the silence.

 

“Did you tell her? Did you tell her you still intend to work with me?” he asked, curiously and with some trepidation.

 

John had pushed the issue from his mind, not wanting to face what he suspected would be an ugly scene. As he turned back to answer Stefano, he was cut short by the sight of her standing alone in the doorway. Her face was pale, and he silently cursed his weakness.

 

“John?” she called softly. Waiting for him to deny it. Waiting for him to swear to her DiMera was gone from their lives for good. For a fleeting second, even hoping for a flash of the violence she knew lurked within him. A flash of violence that would end that evil man’s existence. Instead, he turned away from her, unable to meet her eyes.

 

In the uncomfortable silence, DiMera rose from his chair. Surprised that he found no satisfaction in the tension between the two, he simply nodded politely to Marlena and made his way into the house.

 

Left alone, John rubbed at the bridge of his nose and sought the words that would make her understand. “Marlena… I’m sorry. I should have told you yesterday. I just… Stefano was not the first thing on my mind,” he finished with a rueful smile.

 

Her gaze softening somewhat, she moved to sit with him. “Was this the deal you made? That you would work for him, and he would let us be together? John… That’s the devil’s bargain. You shouldn’t have to sell your soul to buy us peace.”

 

He smothered an ugly chuckle, thinking grimly to himself that she still didn’t understand. Wishing he could live with the lie, he instead told her the truth. “Doc… Stefano didn’t make me do anything. I asked him, not the other way around. I can leave the organization any time I want,” he said gently, raising his eyes to meet hers.

 

As he watched, her face hardened. The hurt showing in her voice, she asked, “Why? You know how much I hate that man. You know everything he has done to the family. Everything he has done to you! Why do you want to stay with him?”

 

Trying to keep his voice neutral, trying to make her understand, he replied gently. “Marlena, have you thought about what will happen when we go home? I mean… really thought about it? They still think I killed Roman. I’m sure the authorities have a pretty good idea I killed Jameson, even if they won’t be able to prove it. I have more money than we will ever be able to spend, but I need someone I can trust to back me up. I need to know you are protected, even if I can’t always be there with you. I need Stefano, Marlena. I trust him.”

 

“Well, I don’t,” she said, her voice cold. Standing stiffly, she walked away from him. Moving to the railing, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared into the fields. Seeing nothing and feeling only a bone deep chill.

 

He had known he would end up hurting her. Known that he was not the man she still pretended him to be. He just hadn’t realized it would happen this quickly. He dropped his head back and stared into the blue of morning sky. “Damn…” He breathed the word out, a quiet protest to the laughing Gods.

 

“I shot him…. Do you remember that? Do you know what it took for me to try and kill another human being? Do you know the fear that drove me to that?” Her voice rang out emotionless.

 

He was surprised she was still talking to him, and his voice was soft as he answered her. “I wasn’t around when it happened… But, yea. I know. I know all about it. And I still can’t imagine how he must have hurt you to push you to that extreme.”

 

She turned on him then, the anger shining in her eyes. “Then how can you do this? How can you let him be a part of our lives?” she asked.

 

“Because I am afraid. Afraid I won’t be strong enough to protect you by myself. I have failed too many times. I’ve failed too many people. I won’t risk failing again. Not when it can cost me you,” he answered simply.

 

“John, he is the danger. He’s the one you should be afraid of! I can’t have him in my life,” she said, her voice now shaky.

 

Rising from his chair, he went to her. Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and simply held her for a long moment. Finally, he felt the tension begin to ease from her form. He bent his face to whisper the words in her ear. “He won’t be in your life. I promise. I will keep him away from you. From the children. I won’t accept any assignments… I promise you this, Marlena. But… he is a part of my life. I still intend to use the organization to protect you. To protect the family. Think of it as the least he owes you…” he trailed off.

 

Turning in his arms, she tilted her head back to face him. “I don’t trust him, John. I never will.”

 

Caught in her eyes, he slowly moved a hand to her face. Traced the delicate line of her cheek with one finger. “You don’t have to trust him, Marlena. The question is, do you trust me?”

 

“Always,” she replied without hesitation. As the relief washed over the blue of his eyes, she granted him a kiss to seal her promise.

 

***

 

John gave a quick tap on the office door and then entered to find Stefano immersed in paperwork. Startled, DiMera shot him a quizzical look. “I wasn’t expecting to see you up here,” he noted.

 

With a shrug, John moved to his familiar perch against the back of the sofa. “We did have a meeting scheduled for this morning,” he replied.

 

“And should I assume you have worked everything out with Marlena? Or are you here to tell me you are taking the family and returning to Salem?” Stefano asked in an even tone.

 

“Don’t be dense,” John answered shortly. “And what I have worked out with Marlena is none of your business.”

 

“You can leave if you are going to be insulting,” DiMera said dryly, turning his attention back to the files on his desk.

 

For a moment, John considered it. Considered taking the family and leaving now. Going back to Salem and letting the chips fall where they may. As his thoughts drifted through the possibilities, so did the image. The frozen picture of Katherine, depicted in white and red. “I’m sorry,” he grated out, running a rough hand over his face. “It’s just… She doesn’t want you in our lives. It isn’t easy for me to deny her,” he said weakly.

 

Looking up from his desk, Stefano’s expression softened. “No, I would expect not,” he replied, almost sympathetically.

 

Shrugging dismissively, John changed the subject. “So, why did you need to see me? What’s up?”

 

DiMera leaned back in the big chair and smiled grimly. “It’s time to make our move John. Our men have completed mapping out the Brotherhood. We can take them out whenever you are ready. I’m going to send you to D.C. tomorrow to coordinate the main attack.”

 

***

 

John absently checked the clip for the third time, trying to find something to do to fight the rising tension. Trying to find a reason to stay in the ordinance room and avoid having to face her. Avoid telling her he was leaving in the morning. With a sigh of frustration, he slammed the clip home. His nerves stretched thin, he spun around, gun in hand, as he sensed another presence.

 

Startled, she simply looked at him. Dressed in dark fatigues, his face was a cold mask and she could almost believe he would pull the trigger on the submachine gun he held trained on her. As her form registered in his mind, the barrel of the gun dropped to the floor, and he turned away shamefaced.

 

“Didn’t hear you,” he muttered, focusing his attention on once again stripping down the weapon in his hands.

 

“I guess not,” she answered cautiously, not moving from her spot at the door. As he continued to ignore her, engrossed in the weapon, she continued mildly. “Where were you? You disappeared after breakfast, and never came down for lunch.”

 

“Something came up,” he answered abruptly. “A mission. Stefano wants me to go out tomorrow.”

 

She watched worriedly as he continued his expert ministrations on the big weapon in his hands. He was leaving her in the morning, and yet he already felt gone. She hadn’t felt such a coldness in his presence since the time on the island. The time she had watched him kill, and never blink an eye.

 

“Is this how you always are before you go out to kill someone?” she asked quietly.

 

Startled by the question, he looked up to meet her eyes. An amused grin tugged at his lips, and he said, “This is how I always am when you aren’t with me.”

 

“I’m here now,” was her reply, as she moved across the room to him. Putting her hand atop his, she pulled him away from the gun that now lay in pieces on the rough workbench.

 

Sighing gently, he gave her a faint grin. “You shouldn’t be. Your presence is… distracting.”

 

“Distracting enough that you won’t go out tomorrow,” she teased, trying not to let her fear show through.

 

Thinking to himself that she was so ‘distracting’ he was liable to walk into a bullet and never even notice, he instead said, “If you put your mind to it, I’m fairly certain you could make me forget to breathe.”

 

As he relaxed back against the edge of the table, she smiled up at him. His face again familiar, the father of her children stood before her. Slowly, she drifted closer to him until only the whisper of a space separated their bodies. He stood frozen, his hands gripping the edge of the table, as she stretched upward to capture his lips with her own.

 

As she touched him, he realized that this was what he had feared. This intimacy that would bind them together. That would make them one. She was his weakness, and he would be her death. With a jerk, he yanked his head back. Opened his eyes. Breathed.

 

“Doc, no,” he grated out in a rough voice.

 

Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him. “Do you love me?”

 

“Doc…,” he ground out roughly. This was not how he wanted to come to her. Not how he wanted this to be.

 

“Do you love me?” she repeated.

 

“Yes, I love you… I will always love you,” he whispered, trying to avoid her eyes.

 

She touched his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Do you remember what you told me. You said you would not make love to me because it couldn’t be only one time. If we made love, you would have to come back… John, I want to know you will come back to me. That you will come back tomorrow, and every day afterwards. I want you to make love to me, John.”

 

He was caught in the gold of her eyes. Trapped in amber, he could fight no longer. He lowered himself to her lips, and felt a tear roll down his face. When she kissed him back, he knew he was lost.

 

She parted her lips, and let him enter. Sucked gently in an old familiar dance, only to falter as he found a new rhythm. A demanding rhythm. As he wrapped thick fingers in her hair, she felt the press of his body. His heat and his hardness. When he finally broke from her, she gasped for air. Pulled herself into his chest, and tried to still her ragged breathing. Above her, she heard him give a low groan of pure pleasure.

 

Slowly, she became aware of the sound of his voice, a throaty whisper of a sound. “Not here, Doc. Please…”

 

She shivered slightly as she felt his body move. Finally able to speak, she asked softly, “Why not?”

 

His chest shook as he released a small chuckle. Gently, he grasp her arms and eased her back. Waited until her eyes opened. Until they focused.

 

“Marlena, I don’t want to cheapen this. To cheapen you,” he said gently.

 

Trying to ease the intensity of the moment, she smiled. “Being with you will never lessen me, John. Besides, how much do you really think I’m worth on the open market?” she teased, running a finger lightly along the side of his face.

 

He refused to allow her to belittle her value to him. Stepping close, he caught her hand in his own. “You are worth everything, Doc. My blood… my life… my soul.” Slowly, he raised her hand. Holding her eyes, he touched his lips to her palm. “I would give everything I am, everything I will ever be, for you. It still wouldn’t match your price,” he finished softly, gazing up at her from beneath lowered brows.

 

She couldn’t help but smile. “John, you’re here. That makes this right,” she answered him gently, reaching to again run a finger down his jaw. Down his neck.

 

“This place is beneath you, Marlena. Hell, I am beneath you!” he said, trying to maintain his control. Trying to make himself pull away while he still could.

 

“Only if you are very, very good,” she replied slyly. Taking a quick step forward, she pushed up against him, knocking him back across the work table.

 

Startled, he could not help the smile that lit his face. As she leaned over him, bending him back across the table, he knew he couldn’t resist her. Her lips came down to claim him again… and the door burst open.

 

***

 

“Uh… Sir!” Bryce said, shifting automatically to attention, he stood red faced for a second. Finally, he managed to sputter, “I’ll come back later, sir. I thought… thought we had a briefing…” Back-peddling frantically from the sight of his boss bent across a table, a beautiful blond pinning him down, he slammed blindly into the wall behind him. With a “Whoof’ of exhalation, he dropped to the ground.

 

John could not help a throaty chuckle, and took the opportunity to slip from Marlena’s grasp. Turning to face the far wall, he rubbed a hand roughly through his hair and tried to collect himself. He finally managed to growl, “No. Stay. We were done here anyway…” As his voice trailed off, he could not help but dart a glance back at Marlena. At the look on her face, he decided he was safer if he just kept staring at the wall.

 

“Really, Sir! It’s alright,” Bryce was still stammering, as John breezed out the door. Grabbing a fistful of shirt, he dragged the young man behind him, heading for higher ground.

 

***

 

It was silent around the big dining table. An uncomfortable tension flashed through the room, cutting off the chatter that usually accompanied a meal. Stefano leaned back in his seat at the head of the table. Poking irritably at a piece of lamb, he thought to himself that you could actually feel the waves of fear wash the room. Grimacing at his own weakness, he considered pulling John off the mission.

 

“Mom says you are going out tomorrow? That you have an assignment…,” Carrie’s strong voice finally broke the silence. Expectantly, the kids all looked to their father, sitting quietly opposite DiMera.

 

John looked up from the meal that had held his total attention for the entire dinner. Sighing gently, he nodded. “I’m supervising a mission. The last one before you guys can go home. It’s no big deal. I probably won’t even see the field,” he said with a grin meant to be reassuring.

 

“You are coming home with us. Right, dad?” Sami asked, her face troubled.

 

“I promised you I would. When this mission is finished, we can all go home,” he reassured her, his eyes glancing to Marlena, who had avoided looking at him the entire evening.

 

“You want to play cards or something later?” Eric asked hesitantly, feeling the undercurrent of emotion between his parents.

 

“Uh… I can’t, Eric,” John muttered uncomfortably. Dropping his eyes, he continued, “I already have something I have to do.”

 

From the corner of his eye, John could see the irritation evident on Marlena’s face. When the meal finally wound down, and they moved to leave the dinning room, he called softly to her. “Marlena… Doc. Could I talk to you?”

 

“John?” she asked, puzzled. “What is it? I thought you had to prepare for the mission?”

 

He shrugged, moving to her. Stopping only once she was close enough to touch. “Bryce can handle the briefing. I thought there were more important things…,” with an irritated sigh, he searched for the right words. Nervously, he shifted on the balls of his feet, avoiding her questioning eyes. “Marlena, I know how you love surprises…”

 

Chapter 58 – NC~17

 

“Can I please open my eyes now?!” Marlena called out, laughter in her voice. The warmth of her breath was a sharp contrast to the icy air, and it sent a shiver down his spine that threatened to drop him to his knees.

 

“Don’t you dare,” he managed to croak out. Holding her easily with the arm that curled beneath her legs and back up to her hip, he fumbled with the latch to the old bunkhouse. Marlena felt a blast of warm air and heard the crackling of a fire. As she heard the door slam closed against the chill of the night, she lay back in his arms and wondered where he had taken her.

 

“Well? What do you think?” he asked quietly, his voice echoing back at them oddly.

 

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Found herself staring into blackness, as she looked straight-up into the dark recesses of a high-pitched ceiling. As her eyes drifted down, drawn to the glow of a fire that raged at them from the far side of the room, she thought for a moment they were in a cave. Finally, she realized they were in a stone cottage. Folded cots lined the walls, and she knew it was one of the bunkhouses that dotted the compound.

 

A bemused expression crept over her features as she realized that the only light in the room came from the fireplace and the candles. Hundreds of candles that covered the room, driving back the shadows in a sparkling shower of light. Between the islands of light, she glimpsed flowers. Vases and bowls of filled with wildflowers, their colors flashing out in response to the dancing lights. The clean scent of flowers and flames engulfed her, and she let out a laugh of pure joy. “What are you up to?!” she exclaimed, smiling up at him.

 

Eyes intense, he bent slowly to nuzzle the side of her neck. “Marlena… Never doubt that I love you. It hurts me…,” he said roughly, the touch of his breath tickling her ear.

 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she raised a hand to wipe away the tears she saw in his eyes. “In my heart, I have never doubted you. I never will,” she said, her voice unwavering.

 

Finally, he smiled. His eyes reflected the light of the candles, and he whirled in place, Marlena in his arms. Laughing aloud, he gestured with a nod to the room around them. “You like?” he asked, his tone joyous.

 

“I like,” she answered, ignoring the room. Looking only into his eyes.

 

With an embarrassed grin, he caught her meaning. Holding her gaze, he moved slowly down the room to the big fire that snapped sparks up into the chimney above. Moving easily, he went slowly to his knees and she found herself sinking into the soft caress of satin. Startled, she leaned over to look at her bed, and realized she lay on top of a number of sleeping bags covered by a down mattress. The smooth white sheets that enveloped her were just one of many layers of softness. She looked back up to find him smiling at her. “How on earth did you do all this?” she asked in amazement.

 

Grinning, he hoped she couldn’t make-out his blush in the flickering light. “Well… Jensen did help out…” he admitted grudgingly.

 

“Ahhh. I should have known. Maybe I should be going out with Jensen,” she said in a contemplative tone as she reached up to cup the side of his face. Suppressing a smile, he eased forward and propped himself above her.

 

“Gee. I always liked Jensen. Shame I’ll have to kill him…,” John replied, his tone an indication that he was kidding. Or- mostly kidding, anyway.

 

Chuckling, she relented. “Well, maybe Jensen wouldn’t be so great after all. I mean, he really isn’t as cute as you are.” Looking at him speculatively, she continued in an almost clinical tone. “You have much bigger biceps than he does,” she said, reaching to wrap her hand around the hard muscle of his right arm. “Yep…your biceps are much nicer. And your chest….” Her eyes glued on his, she let her hand drift over to run across the broad width of his chest. Scrapping his skin beneath the soft flannel shirt. “Yes…Your chest is much nicer than his,” she said almost dreamily. “And your butt… What can I say about your butt?” she almost sighed. The laughter sparkling behind her eyes, she reached down and trailed tiny circles against the tight denim of his jeans.

 

His body leaped spasmodically at her touch, and he found his teeth starting to grind. “Doc… If you want to kill me, won’t you please just use a gun,” he managed to groan out between his clenched teeth.

 

She gave a throaty chuckle, and allowed her body to relax back against the cool sheets. Staring up at him, she tried to capture this moment for eternity. Let the image of him sear itself into her soul. With a start, she recognized the feel of his still cold hands running lightly along the open V of her silk shirt. Lost in his eyes, her body began to shiver as she felt him slowly unbutton her blouse. The smooth material sliding across her skin in a whisper as he delicately revealed the pale marble of her flesh. The only sound was the ‘pop’ of the fire, and he looked down on her with hooded eyes as he reached for the front snap on her bra. She lay motionless, watching him watching her. As she revealed herself to him, he sank back on his knees. Slowly, he leaned back on his heels and turned his head to the heavens. She was captured by the heat of him as he straddled her. Lost in the play of light, she watched mesmerized as the muscles in his neck corded in tempo with his suddenly ragged breathing. “Thank you…” he hissed into the blackness. As his head dropped and he sought her eyes, he said again softly, “Thank you.”

 

He looked down on her, lying beneath him. The glow of the fire washed over her. Bathed her in the flames, and her body glistened. A pristine form, undefiled by the sins of man. He burned with the need to be inside her, and with a soft moan, he lowered himself slowly. Drank in her essence, his dark head drifting above her white form. Their bodies a war of darkness and light, he watched as her skin puckered in response to the faint touch of his breath. He crept slowly up the length of her, awaiting the moment she would stop him. The moment she would realize his very touch would corrupt her. He hovered above her face, their bodies separated only by the fraction of a space … a chasm of fear. And as he looked into the molten gold of her eyes, he finally found the peace he sought. “I will love you beyond death,” he whispered his vow. And then she claimed him.

 

His need was beyond any she had ever glimpsed. Any she had ever imagined. In long years of helping damaged souls, she had never seen anyone so broken. She would pay any price to stop his pain. She raised a hand and touched his cheek. Allowed her fingers to slide over the clean planes of his face. Knotting her hand in his thick hair, she slowly drew him down to her. As his lips met hers in a hesitant kiss, she opened her mouth and consumed his soul.

 

He could not breathe and he did not care. He closed his eyes, and lost himself in the sensation. The feel of her lips against his… the taste of her mouth… the scent of her flesh. Finally, she pulled back to lie gasping on the satin sheets. “I will love you forever,” she answered him, her voice raw. Gently, she touched his face. Wiped away the trail of tears that glittered against the dark skin. Holding her eyes, he again bent down to her. Brushed his lips cross hers. Feathered kisses down her throat.

 

He felt the throb of her pulse beneath his lips. Sensed her life’s blood surging against the fragile skin of her neck. Moving slowly down, he grazed her nipple. Felt the hands grasp his head roughly, as she bucked beneath him. He tightened his control… fought the impulse to grind against her. His tongue flicked out, and she rewarded him with a muffled moan of pleasure. The tiny bud hardened beneath his touch, and beads of sweat made her skin slick. As his lips moved down the firm skin of her stomach, his hands reached up to finish the job his mouth had started. He sucked gently as his rough hands caressed the flawless skin of her breasts. His tongue swirled lazy circles around the dimple of her belly button as his thumbs danced across her now hard nipples. As he felt her begin to peak, he allowed his hands to slide away. Skimmed his fingers down her sides, barely touching the curve of her waist. Turning his head, he rested for a moment against the silken hollow of her stomach as his hands stroked the flair of her hips. He sensed her sigh… heard the frustrated moan in the back of her throat… and turned his attention to the tight jeans that impeded his exploration of her body.

 

She stretched her arms high above her head. Felt the delicious tension that curled in her belly… burned in her groin. She ached for him… for his touch… for the feel of him inside of her, making them one. The heat of the fire licked her flesh. Fought with the chill of the night air that prickled her damp skin. And above it all, was the pleasure/pain of his touch as it burnt through her flesh and splintered her bones.

 

She barely noticed when her groan of desire echoed from the rafters and she lifted her hips to let him pull her jeans down the length of her long legs. She was brought back to the moment only by the touch of his hands, gliding up the outside of her bare legs… teasing across her hips… cupping themselves beneath her, and running back down her inner thigh.

 

She had been with him a thousand times before… a thousand lifetimes they had completed each other… and she would be with him for a thousand lifetimes more. Yet this time was their first, and he worshiped her with his body, his touch a silent prayer. He was so focused on her needs, his own were forgotten. A distant throb of flesh that paled into insignificance against the pleasure he wanted to bring her. He felt her twitch beneath his smooth caress, and knew he could make her wait no longer. He let his hands trail up the inside of her legs… curve over the soft skin where her long legs joined the flaring hips. He cupped his hands beneath her and took her weight. Lifted her slightly, and let his heavy breathing ruffle the white-gold of her curls. As he moved to taste her, he heard her moan out. “John… No. Please… don’t,” and knew she had come to her senses.

 

“John, please don’t,” she sobbed the words out. And felt him freeze in place. Felt the long sigh that echoed back from the stone walls.

 

“I’m sorry,” his whispered words floated up to her. The pain and rejection a palpable force. And she felt the anger at the thought he still believed she would renounce him. Roughly she reached down. Grasped the dark head that hovered now above her hips. She pulled him to her until his face floated above hers, and then she told him what she wanted.

 

He stared down into blazing eyes, shocked by the passion that flared up at him. “I want you inside of me… The first time… I want to feel you inside of me when I cum. I want to see your eyes and taste your mouth and feel your release,” she demanded, her voice husky. Her words, almost incoherent. He thought he would lose it at that moment. The very sound of her voice overpowering his control… his will. Drawing a deep breath, he moved to give her what she asked.

 

Smoothly, he stood. Towered over her pale body. His eyes never left hers, yet he was aware of her flesh, twitching below him on the smooth pillow of white. Without thought, he ran his hands down his shirt, the buttons popping loose. As he shrugged out of his shirt, he was already moving to toss the jeans he had slipped out of into the far corner of the room. Naked, he stood before her looking down. And realized that this was the image he would see as he drew his dying breath. A Goddess in gold and white, he would never be worthy of her.

 

He was a statue in bronze. Knotted muscles and flat planes, he was rock hard. The scars that shone on his flesh the only thing that tied him to the realm of the human. She smiled with the knowledge that he was hers. She would own him, and he would possess her. An endless circle that would exist beyond time. He bent to take her, and flesh met flesh. For a tiny eternity, the world held still. Then the thick rod of muscle penetrated her, and she cried her pleasure at his touch.

 

He eased gently down, afraid he would crush her with his weight. Holding himself off of her with his arms, he felt one slender hand pull against his back. Felt a spasm as the other hand wrapped around his hardness. As he smoothly entered her, she bucked beneath him and he realized he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He buried himself inside of her, and felt the instance of her release. Her hands grabbed at his hips, and he felt the muscles contracting around him. It was then he thought his back would break, and he reared his head and screamed the agony of his self-denial.

 

She fell back against the sheets and he followed her down. As she gasped for air, she felt him shudder. Felt his hardness still filling her. His eyes were cobalt fire, and they seemed to swallow her as he crushed his lips to hers in a devastating kiss. As his tongue skimmed the roof of her mouth, he pumped into her. The rhythm was smooth and slow, and she instantly responded. Dug her fingers into his sweat slickened back. Felt the bristles of his chest hair as he rubbed against her. Her fingers sought the hard muscles in his flank, and she pulled him deeper. Urged him faster. As she again reached the limit of endurance, he finally came and her spine seemed to shatter.

 

They collapsed together before the embers of the dying fire. Bodies entwined in a frozen dance, it was no longer possible to tell where one began and the other ended.

 

INTERLUDE

 

Note from the author: A friend sent me this- and I thought it was beautiful. My story is many things- but beautiful isn’t one of them. I liked this so much, I asked my friend for the citation in the hopes that I could post it with my story. It really does summarize how I saw John and Marlena’s union. Imagine my surprise when I was informed it was not drawn from some published work of poetry. I post it here in the hopes that you will see in it what I did. Thanks- Robin

 

In This Moment

by Farnaz Faghihi E.

 

In the still of the night,

The quietest sounds are distinctively loud;

Each beat of the heart,

A drum roll in the parade;

The dance of souls,

The march of hearts,

As the body rises to meet the tides of emotion

Slashing through it

Killing it,

Rebirthing it,

Releasing it.

 

The pleasure and the pain;

The invisible line between heaven and earth,

Its slow disappearance with the warmth of each kiss

Upon welcoming lips;

The ability to fly with the touch of the fingers upon skin;

Smooth,

Rough,

Texture and complexity of love

 

Each fingertip awakens a dream.

With the soft movement of flesh upon flesh

Dreams grow wings;

The final union powers the wings,

The simple trust within the core:

Center to center

Fire to fire.

The slow agonizing flaps,

The soaring of wings that finally take flight,

Faster and faster,

Harder and harder,

Higher and higher.

 

Oh, finally the stars,

Twinkling lights of magical entities,

The ultimate union of earth and skies,

The timeless hole in the universe,

With two mortal bodies and one immortal soul.

 

The stillness of wings;

The enjoyment of souring at the height;

Sky the limit,

Heaven the destination.

 

Oh, yes, the serenity of hearts,

The satisfying sigh from within,

Total bliss.

 

Opening the eyes looking at the ones gazing back,

A soft brush of fingers upon the lips,

Paradise,

Here,

Now,

In this moment,

In these arms

 

Chapter 59 // Pt. 1

 

He awoke at the first sounds of the birds, heralding in the false dawn. For a moment he lay still, lost in the feeling of her bare skin pressed tight against his own. In that instance, he recognized that this was the reason for his existence. It was the only reason. His stomach clenched tightly with the sudden realization that he had to leave her. He had to leave now or he wouldn’t leave at all. Fighting the urge to burrow beneath the covers and once again seek the safety of her warmth, he instead drew in a deep lungful of the sharp air and released her from his loose embrace.

 

It must have dropped below freezing outside, and without the heat of the fire, John was surprised his breath didn’t fog the air. With an effort, he narrowed his focus to the demands of the day and tried to ignore the ache of leaving her lying all alone. Silently slipping from the smooth sheets, he started the beginnings of a new fire on the still warm remains of the old. Only as the flames licked angrily along the dry wood did he go to gather his scattered clothes. Within moments after waking, he was dressed and ready to meet his men. Only then did he allow himself to turn back to the peacefully sleeping figure of the woman he loved.

 

With his absence, she had curled herself into a tight ball. Laying on her side facing away from where he stood at the side of the bed, only the blond of her hair showed above the white covers. Crouching next to the still form, he resisted the urge to run his fingers through the silken locks of hair that curled across the pillows. Resting his arms on his bent knees, he rubbed at his temples and imagined her fury when she woke to find him gone. But he was too afraid to face her now. He would deal with the anger when he returned. If he tried to say goodbye, he knew she would try to stop him. Knew she would plead for the lives of the men he sought. If she asked him now, he doubted he would have the strength to deny her.

 

In his weakness, he would allow them to live. He would make himself believe they did not have to die. And his weakness would doom them all. The strong survived and the weak perished. He would not break that sacrament. Would not allow her to sacrifice herself on the altar of some benevolent God. Some impotent God whose children found peace only in death. He would make his own peace, the only way he knew how. With a sigh, he stood. Looked down on her, and remembered the night before. Remembered how she looked as their flesh became one. He would bathe in an ocean of blood if that was what it took to keep her safe. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode to the door. He didn’t look back as he gently pulled it shut and walked away.

 

***

 

She sat suddenly up in the bed, her heart pounding as if it wanted to escape from her chest. Faster than thought, she knew he was gone. As the heat of a roaring fire blazed at her back, she called his name anyway. The cry of her voice echoing back from the cold stone walls was the loneliest sound she had ever heard. Her eyes tearing, she hugged her knees to her body and listened to the faint whirl of rotor blades fading swiftly away in the still morning air.

 

***

 

She walked slowly through the tall grass, oblivious to the beauty that surrounded her. The early morning sun shone down from a cloudless sky, the frost-covered fields shimmering under its touch. She burrowed herself deeper into the thick barn jacket that he had left tossed over a chair and tried to escape the bone deep chill that had nothing to do with the crisp fall air. To her eyes, it all appeared a brittle facade that would shatter into ugly jagged pieces at a single careless touch.

 

Careless touches…. She hated the fact that he had left her. Hated that he had touched her on a level she had not thought possible, and then stole away like a thief in the night carrying away with him some irreplaceable piece of her soul. In her heart, she had known he would not leave. Had known that he could not leave, not after they had found each other once again. And yet when she awoke, he had been gone.

 

As she slowly climbed the stairs to the porch, she suddenly realized that she was not alone. The reek of the cigar hung bitterly in the air, and she looked up to see him studying her over the rim of a steaming cup of coffee.

 

“Marlena. You are up early on this beautiful morning. Would you care to join me for breakfast?” the deep voice called to her, a hint of amusement in its tone.

 

“I would rather starve,” she snapped back coldly, bristling at the sudden intrusion of the man’s noxious presence.

 

He chuckled and shot her an evil smile, once again surprised by the feelings this woman stirred in him. She still had the fire that had drawn him to her those many years before. It was an odd sensation to have something he wanted so badly standing within his grasp yet not reach out and take it. He decided it was not a sensation he was in any hurry to experience again. Still, if he could not have her, he could at least toy with her a bit.

 

“Ah… Well, I do not think that John would appreciate it if I were to allow that to happen, my dear. After all, he did ask me to watch over you in his absence,” Stefano replied agreeably.

 

“You lie! He doesn’t want you anywhere near me, Stefano. I don’t know what twisted hold it is that you have over him, but he would never trust you. Not around me, and not around my children!” she exclaimed, drawn into the argument despite the fact that she knew better.

 

“Yes… This would, of course, be evidenced by the fact that he brought you to my compound? Or is it the fact that he has left you here, alone with me, on… what, two occasions now? Marlena, really. You are much too perceptive a woman for such extreme self-delusion,” he noted, looking up at her with an innocent gaze.

 

The man infuriated her, all the more so when he was right. “You made him go, Stefano. It is some perverse game of yours where you twist things around until he thinks it is the only way he can protect his family. The only way he can protect me. I don’t know how you did it, but he would never have gone otherwise.”

 

“I did not ‘make’ John do anything, Marlena. I never have. Actually, I sincerely doubt that such a thing would be possible. John took this mission because he wanted to. He took it for the same reason he has taken every mission I have ever put before him. He enjoys it, Marlena. If you think that is going to change simply because you are sleeping with the man, you had best reconsider,” Stefano replied mildly.

 

She flushed at the comment and fought down her urge to slap the man. “You talk to me of self-delusion! John was only with you because you beat him, and you drugged him, and you twisted his mind until you thought you had created the perfect little puppet! The hell you never ‘made’ him do anything! You ripped him from his home and his life and his children. You ‘made’ him into some broken thing that you thought would serve your will. And it kills you that despite all you have done, you still can’t control him. You still can’t destroy the love we share. When this is all said and done, he will go home to his family. And when he does, Stefano, your hold over him will finally be broken!” She fought back the tears of rage, refusing to let the man see her cry. Standing in the center of the porch, she glared down at DiMera with hate filled eyes. And it was joy, not fear, that she felt as his face twisted in anger at her words.

 

Slowly he rose to his feet, his features hardening into a bitter mask. It was all he could do to resist the desire to move toward her. To break her with his hands, or to ravage her with his lips. Either option would have sufficed at that moment. Instead, he spat out words he knew would hurt. “I am not the one who created a lie, Marlena. You did that. You turned him into something he was not. You played house with him in some fairytale existence where you were the princess and he the gallant knight. And for a long while, it worked. It worked because the lie was so sweet that he wanted to believe that it was true. But it was still a lie, Marlena. And what is true is that I am John’s family. I always have been and I always will be and nothing that he feels for you will ever change that.” Before she could respond with words that might drive him past the edge of reason, he turned stiffly around and strode to the door.

 

***

 

John fidgeted irritably and tried not to pace. The men surrounding him were keyed up enough without their commander stalking around the room like some madman. But the thought of Marlena waking to find him gone burned white-hot in his mind. He needed this to be over. Needed it to be done, so that he could return to her and never leave again. But as hard as he tried, he could not quite make himself believe that it would ever happen. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he had never felt before. Something very bad, something very ugly, was going to happen. He was going to fail her, and it would cost him everything. A shiver ran through his frame at the knowledge, and for a moment he thought he was going to puke. Closing his eyes tightly shut, he pushed down the feeling of dread and turned back to his men, trying to focus his thoughts on the mission at hand.

 

The men gathered around him as he spread the big map of the D.C. area over the conference table. They had identified 21 men as known members of the Brotherhood, not counting Jameson. Almost half of those men resided in D.C., the rest scattered throughout the world. The foreign hits had had teams assigned to them days ago. Those op.s were less complicated. They didn’t require the coordination of the concerted attack on the D.C. members. The teams assigned to them were given the freedom to pick their time and place so long as they didn’t move until after the first D.C. hit was scheduled.

 

John was coordinating the D.C. operation himself. Nine dead men and a two-man team assigned to each. One spotter and one sniper, with John and Bryce remaining to back-up any team that needed assistance. John hoped that no one would. There would be no room for any delay. With this type of concerted attack on multiple targets, deviations from the timetable would likely spell disaster. Tossing a stale donut down in disgust, John sipped at cold coffee and bent to go over team placements one last time.

 

***

 

Marlena walked into the sitting room and was surprised by the smell of coffee that permeated the air. For a moment, she almost made herself believe he was there. That by some miracle, he had returned to her. Was sitting waiting, that boyish smile on his face as he anticipated her reaction.

 

“Mom? I didn’t think you would be back this early. Where’s dad?” Carrie asked, her voice jarring Marlena from the fantasy she had tried to create.

 

“Mmm. Oh, John had to leave. He flew out early this morning,” she replied, her tone detached. Noting the mug of coffee Carrie held in her hand, she drifted over to the table and poured herself a cup more out of habit than desire.

 

“Are you okay, Marlena?” Carrie asked, noting the stiffness in Marlena’s posture. Her usual easy grace had been replaced by stilted movements. She looked somehow… wounded.

 

“I’m fine Carrie. Just a little tired, I guess,” was the wooden reply.

 

Carrie bit back the kidding response that had immediately popped to mind. She knew when John had led Marlena away the night before, shooting the kids a wink and telling them not to wait up, that he had planned a special night with her. She had thought that the night would signal an end to the pain and longing she had glimpsed in both of her parents. This sense of hurt was not what she had expected in the aftermath.

 

Slipping to her feet, Carrie padded over to wrap her arms around her mother in a tight hug. “Marlena, what’s wrong? I thought that you and John… I thought that you would be together. I thought that was what you wanted. What happened?” she asked softly.

 

Against her will, Marlena felt the tears begin to fall, and she gasped for breath in a shuddering sob. She did not want Carrie to see this. Her children did not deserve any more pain in their lives. But the feelings were overwhelming, and her defenses crumbled under the pounding of her grief. “He left, Carrie. When I woke up this morning, he was gone. He didn’t even say goodby, and he was gone,” she whispered brokenly.

 

“Mom, what happened last night? I thought… I thought everything was going to be okay between you two. What went wrong?” Carrie asked softly, unnerved by the way her mother stood shaking uncontrollably in her grip.

 

With a bitter laugh, Marlena broke from Carrie’s touch and angrily swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Nothing went wrong. Carrie, it was so… so perfect and so right and… I love him so much, Carrie. And then he left! He left to go on some stupid mission for that bastard DiMera!” Her mind drifting back to her confrontation with the old man, she slammed the coffee cup down on the table, the glass shattering with the force.

 

Startled, the two women looked down on the broken shards. With a weary sight, Marlena bent to clean up the jagged pieces, slicing her fingers in her haste.

 

“Mom, stop. Please. I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you go get a shower?” Carrie said, putting her hand to Marlena’s shoulder.

 

Reluctantly, Marlena nodded in agreement. “Honey, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to lay this on you. I’m just… tired,” she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice.

 

“Mom. Really. It’s okay. There’s nothing broken here that can’t be fixed. Okay?” Carrie asked, studying her mother with a worried look.

 

Forcing what she hoped was a smile to her face, Marlena turned to leave. So softly the words barely carried, she whispered, “I hope you are right, Carrie. I really do.”

 

***

 

John tried to relax in the hard seat. The beat-up old van had not been built for comfort and had definitely seen better days. However, the tweaked out eight cylinder engine under the hood had been designed to get them where they were going in a hurry if the need arose. Sipping at yet another cup of too strong coffee, he wearily hoped that the need would not arise. He wanted this thing over and done with. A clean hit, wiping out the organization entirely. Ending the threat. Images of Marlena danced through his mind, and with a short nod he signaled Bryce to move the van out. As they pulled carefully into the heavy D.C. traffic, John heard the crackle of static come over the radio as the first of his teams reported that they had reached their destination.

 

They cruised the highways, making good time despite the heavy D.C. traffic. The route he had picked was a long loop halfway around the beltway and back. It put them roughly at the midpoint of the action, in position to respond quickly to any team that ran into trouble. Being certain to keep his hands out of sight, John again checked the action on the light submachine gun he held in his grip.

 

“You look nervous, boss,” Bryce cracked with a grin, his eyes darting over to the dark figure that perched restlessly on the seat beside him.

 

“The wages of sin, Bryce. You do this kind of op a hundred times, you won’t be so bloody cocky either,” John grunted, checking his watch for the fourth time in the last half-hour. This was always the worst part. The long moments that stretched out before the action began. The excruciating wait before he could lose himself in the immediacy of the violence.

 

“I’d think this would get easier with age. By now you ought to be able to run an operation like this in your sleep!” the younger man replied. Oblivious to the tension that held John firmly in its grip, he reached over to crank the radio. He suppressed a smile at the look John shot him and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as Kid Rock blasted through the speakers. As much as he admired John, the guy was just way too serious. Bryce almost hoped that they would get called in to back-up one of the hit squads. He was too young to just sit around on his ass out in the middle of a blasted forest. The fact that the only cute girl he had seen in weeks had a daddy who was more than willing to rip his arms out of their sockets if he so much as looked in her direction hadn’t helped. The thought of Carrie Brady lit up his face with a happy smile, and he leaned back in the seat and bobbed his head to the music. Cruising down the freeway, he couldn’t imagine life getting any better than this.

 

“Bryce, turn that crap down!” John voice snapped, jerking him out of the almost hypnotic trance of the road. “We’ve got calls coming in. The targets are starting to fall.”

 

As he turned his attention to the shortwave, John couldn’t help but note the spark of excitement that lit Bryce’s eyes. He knew the man was bored acting as back-up, but had decided it was time to start giving him some experience at directing a large operation like this one. Still, he could hardly blame the young man for wanting to be a part of the action. He could barely stand it himself, waiting and listening while others made the kill. Still, John hoped that this was one mission he could sit out. If he and Bryce saw action, it would mean that something had gone bad with one of the hits. This was not a mission he could afford to have go bad. Trying to ignore his sense of unease, he turned his attention to the voices that called from the radio.

 

“So? How’s it looking?” Bryce asked, the excitement showing in his voice.

 

“Ease of the accelerator there, Bryce. We don’t want to get pulled over,” John muttered in distraction, trying to match the reports crackling in over the radio with the list of targets in his head. Unconsciously, he nodded in satisfaction. The first wave of four had dropped without a hitch. They had been the most worrisome, taking place out in the suburbs. Too many houses, too many families, and not enough cover to make things easy. With the most complex part of the mission a success, he began to relax into the flow of the action and a small smile creased his face.

 

“Head us into the city, Bryce,” he ordered, his satisfaction evident in his voice. “Anybody has a problem now, it’s going to be the folks downtown.”

 

As Bryce obligingly steered the van toward an exit, he couldn’t help but comment. “You don’t have to look quite so pleased that we aren’t going to see any action, boss. I mean, I’m still young! I could do with the opportunity to show DiMera what I’m capable of when things get ugly.”

 

Suppressing a chuckle at the younger man’s eagerness, John raised an eyebrow and replied mildly, “Well, let me just get my walker out of the back of the van and you can drop me off right here, Bryce. I’d hate to think I’m cramping your style.”

 

Chapter 59 // Pt. 2

 

Chuckling, Bryce gave a shrug and headed the van down the crowded street toward the Loop. “Hell, boss. It’s not that you’re old. I mean, damn! You must be doing something right to get with a woman like that Dr. Evans. Wow! The way she had you bent over that table in the munitions room…” Bryce’s voice died abruptly as he noticed the ominous silence filling the suddenly tight confines of the van.

 

“Uh… I just mean… She is really pretty,” he said nervously, trying to ignore John’s eyes boring into him.

 

“Pretty like her daughters?” John asked, his tone low and even as he studied the young man who sat sweating beside him.

 

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I never look at her daughters,” Bryce replied, his knuckles whitening with the ferocity of the grip he had on the steering wheel.

 

“Good answer, Bryce,” John finally said, leaning his body back against the worn seat. Cracking a small grin, he muttered, “But, she really is a hottie, isn’t she?!”

 

Keeping his eyes glued firmly to the road, Bryce fervently replied, “Yes sir!”

 

***

 

She had lain for hours in the big bed, seeking the black nothingness of sleep. Seeking the oblivion that would wash away the bitter sound of DiMera’s words. Searching for a place where John belonged to her and only her.

 

‘I am John’s family. I always have been and I always will be…’ The words echoed like some dark curse, invading every recess of her mind. She wanted it to be a lie. Wanted to deny it as the rantings of a madman. But the reality of it was that John had gone. He had shared himself with her in a way she had not thought possible. The memories of his touch… the depth of feeling in his eyes… it still sent a shiver through her. But despite all that they had shared, he had still gone. It was the one thing he could have done to make her realize that she did not know the man. It was the only thing he could have done. But his leaving had forced her to acknowledge that the man she loved was also a true son of DiMera. He was stronger than she could ever have imagined. He was a force she could not understand, and one she was uncertain she would like if she did.

 

Groaning, she buried her head in the pillows, trying to escape the smell of his touch that still lingered on her skin. The subtle reminder of how very much she loved him a constant ache in the face of his absence. She admitted to herself that he had done it to protect her. He had left in order to protect her. To eliminate the danger to her and her children. But in protecting her, he was willing to kill. He would exterminate a dozen men like they were bugs, all because he thought they were a threat to her. Human beings, with wives, with families. He would kill them all, and he would feel nothing but relief at the loss. The conflicting thoughts roiled in her mind, and the only label she could find for the feelings was anger. Anger at him, for being something so… evil. And anger at herself, for not being able to make him whole through her love alone. And ultimately, the anger was because she knew she would love him no matter what he did.

 

Unable to wrestle her dark thoughts any longer, she slid from the bed and moved to the shower. She allowed the hot water to pound against her flesh, washing away the last traces of the scent of him. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry. But the tears leaked out, mingling with the stinging stream of water that flowed over her body and swirled down the drain. As the water washed over her, it somehow felt that she was losing the last little piece of him. The last sign of the love that they had shared. And with that recognition, she finally acknowledged to herself that it was not anger she felt at his leaving. It was fear. Fear that he would not come back.

 

***

 

Shit! It was all going to hell. The police response was so much quicker than expected. The city teams were reporting a heavy police presence, and John knew that some of the members of the Brotherhood must have been calling them in at the first reports of the attacks in the suburbs. The men would eventually have to explain why they were the targets of a hit. Eventually, their lies would unravel and they would end-up in prison. But John didn’t want them in prison. He wanted them dead.

 

“F*ck! Step on it Bryce, or we are going to lose that team,” he ordered tightly, slipping off his jacket to reveal a S.W.A.T. team kevlar vest over his tight black T-shirt. Both he and Bryce were dressed to blend in with the D.C. forces, and it gave them an excuse to wear the black ski masks that would hide their identities. He yanked the mask out, ready to pull it over his face the second the van reached their destination. The adrenalin surged through his body, and the icy calm that had carried him through a hundred battles engulfed his mind. He was unaware of the ugly smile that marred his features. He was aware of nothing but the immediacy of death.

 

He chambered a round and rested his index finger on the safety, willing the van to go faster. At least his men were responding as ordered. Three city hits had gone down without problem, and his men had already slipped away to vanish into the crowded city streets. But the last two teams were in trouble. One team had failed to report in after their last message. John could only hope they had managed to take down their mark as he had been led out to a waiting police car.

 

The other team was stationed on a rooftop, and had been biding their time. Watching as their target finished his lunch at the diner he always went too. When the police had come screeching up to the building, they had called for back-up, knowing that they could not escape from the third floor once they took down their mark. The police would know their location, and they would be trapped. John had ordered the hit to proceed, and now he and Bryce sped through the city streets in order to reach them in time. Lay down the cover that they would need to make their escape. With speed, deception and precision, he knew he could create a diversion and give the men their chance to rappel down the rear of the building and fade away into the city.

 

As they careened around the last corner, John saw the flashing lights of three police cars. The officers milled behind their cars, just starting to spread out to approach the building John knew housed his team. With grim satisfaction, he noted the crumpled body that had been pulled behind one of the cars and knew that his team had been successful. Whatever else happened, at least he knew that the Brotherhood was broken. It would never threaten Marlena or her children again. Pushing the thought of her away, he grasped the doorhandle and waited impatiently to be released into the fray. As the van slid smoothly to a halt, John pulled the mask over his face and left the vehicle at a dead sprint.

 

He charged toward the nearest police car, hoping that no formal chain of command was in place and that his S.W.A.T. gear would generate enough confusion to allow him to pull this off. If it didn’t, this was going to be a bloodbath. As he ran, he grabbed a grenade from the pouch on his belt. With a casual toss, he lobbed an incendiary directly into the doorway of the building. With a brilliant flash of light and heat, the doorway exploded just as John slammed hard into the rear fender of one of the police cars surrounding the building. The noise and the fire drew him in, and he was lost to the wildness.

 

“They’re coming out,” he screamed in a voice of command. His attention fixed on the doorway, he ignored the startled look on the face of the officer at the opposite end of the car and opened up on the doorway with his weapon set on full automatic. The crackle of gunfire filled the air, and as he had expected, the other officers responded with withering fire of their own. The entryway to the building disintegrated under the assault, and he almost grinned at their predictability. Street officers really weren’t trained for this sort of operation. Jazz them with a little adrenalin, and they would generally forget their training and open fire on anything another cop was shooting at. Caught in the moment, it was all he could do not to charge the building. He had no doubt the young officers would follow him. He held them in the palm of his hand. Forcing himself back to the goal of the mission, he eased of the trigger and popped in a fresh clip. Time to finish off this little diversion.

 

The cops were completely fixated on the building, and John backed slowly away from them. Almost casually, he eased toward the van that drifted up the street toward the patrol cars and their flashing blue lights. The gunfire was slacking off as he popped the door, and the sound of sirens racing toward their location urged him to hurry. Refusing to be rushed, he reached into his pouch and tossed three smoke bombs toward the still oblivious officers. Leaping lightly into the van, he slammed the door and leaned out the open window as the first of the grenades exploded with dense gray plumes of smoke. As the startled cops shifted to face the new threat, he opened up with his automatic, stitching the police cars with a deadly hail of metal. As the startled officers scattered, John realized that he was purposely aiming for metal rather than flesh. That he cared at all was an unexpected weakness, and in sudden confusion he ceased firing and simply watched the running men.

 

The smoke bombs had been the signal Bryce had been waiting for, and with a squeal of tires he sent the van racing backward down the city street. As the van slammed into motion, John slipped down into the seat and pulled his seatbelt tight. The cops were milling about in the middle of the street, a few firing futile angry shots after the form of the retreating van. Recognizing that the cops were now totally focused on the van, John again allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. If that hadn’t provided his team with enough of a diversion to rappel down the back of the building, nothing would.

 

The satisfaction died abruptly, however, as Bryce spun the van around to head back toward the beltway. Two cruisers skidded to a halt a hundred yards ahead of them, effectively blocking the roadway. Without hesitation, Bryce floored the accelerator. The big engine screamed with power, and by the time they blasted through the center of the cruisers they were hitting 50 miles an hour. The impact was staggering, and John lurched hard against the restraint of the belt as Bryce fought for control of the van. The van lurched sharply to the left, and John knew the rear tires had blown. With a tight grimace, John braced for impact. At least he would die with the knowledge he had ended the threat to his family.

 

The van swerved wildly and Bryce pumped the breaks in a hopeless attempt to control the shuddering vehicle. With a loud ‘thud’ the tires hit the curb and they went airborne. The sound of the front tires blowing out was the last thing John heard before they slammed into the thick telephone pole head-on. The impact flipped the van and it continued to shoot across the pavement on its side, the tortured metal sending up a shower of sparks.

 

As the skidding wreckage finally slid to a halt, John tried to gather his bearings. His right arm felt like it was on fire, and he realized the cold pavement lay under his right side. Completely trapped by the fact that the van was lying on the passenger’s door side, he felt the rage blossom in the center of his brain. He would not go down like this. He raised his feet and kicked against the shattered safety glass of the windshield. “Christ, Bryce! Give me a hand here!” he yelled in irritation, looking up to meet the gaze of the man who hung above him, secured by his safety belt. As the glass suddenly popped loose, he finally noticed that the entire front driver’s side had collapse. Blood dripped down from the top of one of Bryce’s thighs, and John thought he glimpsed bone where the steering wheel had been smashed down across the man’s legs. With calm eyes Bryce held his gaze, helplessly pinned by the twisted metal.

 

With a curse, John shoved the glass away and crawled out the window. They had to run. They had to run now, or they were dead. Forcing his right arm to function despite the numbness that was rapidly replacing the burning, he grabbed the remains of the steering wheel and tried to wrench it back from the broken legs of the young man who stared at him with dulled eyes. They had to run now.

 

With a sudden ‘Whoosh’ of air, black smoke began to fill the interior of the van, and a bright tongue of flame shot across the top of the vehicle. In sudden desperation, John braced his leg against the frame of the window and levered himself backward. He thought he sensed a slight give in the metal as the inside of the cabin burst suddenly into flames, ruptured gas exploding with the heat. The hair on his arm crinkled instantly, and he dropped his head to shield his eyes. He ignored the pain and gave another desperate yank, the flesh of his hands starting to burn. The last thing he saw before the tears blurred his vision was Bryce’s blond hair scorching to black cinders. And then the screaming started.

 

John had heard a sound like that only once before in his life. Walking through the woods, the shrill shriek had pierced the peace of the afternoon. It was the sound of the damned in hell, and John could not believe it was made by a living thing. He had traced the sound to its source, only to find a rabbit, caught in the steel jaws of a trap. Its rear legs were crushed. Mangled almost beyond recognition. The rabbit lay looking at him, howling that ungodly sound from its tiny throat. The screaming had stopped when John reached to touch the animal. It had stopped when he had firmly grasped its head and snapped its neck.

 

He would never have thought a sound like that could come from a human’s throat. ‘But hell, I wouldn’t have believed a rabbit could have done it either’, he thought with detachment as he released his hold on the melting rubber of the steering wheel. The flames licked the air around him as his finger gently squeezed the trigger of the automatic. Even through the dense black clouds that engulfed him John could see the spray of the blood as round after round ripped through flesh and bone. He could feel the splatter, as the heat of the flames finally forced him back. And in that instance, he could hear it. The beautiful sound of silence as the screaming finally stopped. Without hesitation, he turned and ran.

 

Chapter 60 // Pt. 1

 

Without bothering to knock, she pushed the door to the study open and stepped inside. As much as she hated the thought of facing DiMera, he was the only one who could ease the sick feeling of dread that burned through the very fiber of her being. She could feel it in her gut. Something had gone wrong. Something had happened to John. The surety of it coursed through her with every breath she took. She could only pray that DiMera would tell her she was wrong.

 

She watched his thick form from the doorway, sensing his outrage. Seeing it in the shrug of the broad shoulders as, facing the big windows at the back of the room, he yelled into the phone. “Dammit! I do not care how many police officers they have crawling the streets. I want every man we have at our disposal out there. The reports tell us they found only one body. That means he is out there somewhere. I want him found and I want him found now! If I lose him because you incompetent cretins are afraid of clashing with the local police, I will teach you the real meaning of fear! Do I make myself clear?!”

 

Angrily the big man turned and slammed the phone down. It was only then that he became aware of her presence. Standing in the doorway, a haunted look in her eyes, she clasped her arms around herself and tried to stop the tremors that shook her slim frame.

 

“What happened?” she asked in a whisper.

 

With a silent sigh he cursed himself for his carelessness and decided it was time to start locking his office door. Trying to keep the fear from his voice, he replied steadily, “Nothing has happened, Marlena. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Now, please… I have work to do.”

 

He was not surprised when she ignored his invitation to leave and instead crossed the gap between them with stiff stilted steps. “Something is wrong. Please, Stefano. I am begging you. Tell me where he is,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

 

“You show a disturbing lack of confidence in the man, Marlena,” he replied gently, gesturing her toward the big leather sofa. “You really don’t know him very well if you think he would fall so easily at the hands of a mob of inept local cops. Really now! John will be insulted by your lack of faith.”

 

She allowed herself to be led to the sofa, failing to notice DiMera’s light touch on her arm. She was aware only of the overwhelming fear, and dropped her head to her knees in an attempt to draw air into her lungs. It was only when she choked on the harsh taste of the brandy from the glass Stefano forced to her lips that she was brought back to her present reality.

 

“You said there was a body. I heard you say it!” she almost accused, staring up at the man through eyes bright with tears. “Stefano, I have to know!”

 

Rubbing irritably at the back of his neck, Stefano picked up his own glass and settled into the armchair opposite her. Recognizing the futility of argument, he told her what he knew.

 

“Marlena, the mission was a success. The Brotherhood has been utterly destroyed. Their entire leadership was wiped out, just as we had planned. However… John was supervising the mission. He went to provide back-up for one of the teams. The team managed to escape, but the vehicle John was in was completely destroyed. We haven’t heard from him since the accident. If he was able, he would have made contact by now. My men are sweeping the area for him. The will find him. They know better than to fail,” he finished, his tone grim. Dropping his eyes from Marlena’s gaze, he took a long swallow of the bourbon he had poured for himself and allowed his head to fall against the padded back of the chair.

 

“And the body? Whose body did they find, Stefano?” she prodded, fearing to hear his answer.

 

Closing his eyes, he took another long sip of the whisky. His voice emotionless, he replied. “The van John was in flipped over and caught fire. They found one body in it. It was burned beyond recognition. Bryce was John’s partner on the assignment. I assume that the body is his.”

 

“But you don’t know, do you Stefano? You can’t know that the body isn’t John’s!” she said, an empty coldness in her voice.

 

“Marlena. You know John. You have seen what he is capable of. Do you really have any doubt that if one man made it out of the wreckage, that man was John?” Wearily, DiMera fixed his dark eyes on her face. He did not miss the look of relief that crossed her features.

 

“No… No, you’re right. He got out. If it was possible, he would do it,” she said, nodding to herself. Feeling the certainty of it, even through the fear that had clouded her mind. As the fear subsided to a manageable level, she grew ashamed. Ashamed that a young man, barely more than a boy, was dead. And all she could feel was the relief that it was not John.

 

“Marlena, why don’t you try and get some rest. I will call you as soon as I hear anything,” DiMera’s voice broke in, his tone betraying the worry that still gripped him.

 

Curling her knees up beneath her, she shook her head. “No, Stefano. I want to stay here. I want to stay here until we know.”

 

He studied her form. Saw the determination in the set of her shoulders, the tightly clenched fists. Without argument, he shrugged and again lay his head against the back of the chair. Sipping deeply from his glass, he tilted his head back and studied the faint cracks in the plastered ceiling. In the tomblike silence, the two enemies sat and waited.

 

***

 

He allowed his aching body to collapse against the cold brick wall of the alley. Unable to keep his feet, he slowly dropped to his knees and let his head fall forward to rest against the hard pavement. Breathing in great lungfuls of air, he tried to focus his eyes despite the dizziness. As the pounding in his ears subsided, he sat up and attempted to plan his escape.

 

The fact that the van had caught on fire was the only thing that had saved him. The thick black smoke had concealed him from the searching eyes of the police. And as the heat of the fire had set-off the munitions in the back of the van, the cops had dropped for cover. It had allowed him to reach the temporary safety of a side alley, and from there he had simply started running. With a grimace, he realized that there was no way he could run fast enough and far enough to escape the net they would throw out for him. It was time to stop running and start thinking.

 

He suppressed a shiver at the touch of the cold fall air and glanced down at his bare arms. He was covered in black soot, and beneath the grime he could make-out reddened skin already blistering from the heat of the flames. The reek of gasoline and burnt flesh clung to him, and with an irritated shake of his dark head he pushed back the images of Bryce, wreathed in flames and dissolving under the assault of the bullets. John’s bullets. John’s gun.

 

He stumbled to his feet, pushing the ground away from him. Pushing the memories away. But while his mind was willing, his body was weak. With the barest whimper, he fell again to his knees. Huddled against the wall. Assessed the damage that forced his body to betray him. The right sleeve of his shirt was completely missing, scrapped away by the asphalt as the van had slid across the road on its side. The flesh itself was rubbed raw, and the blood still oozed down in a slow trickle. With trepidation he attempted to make a fist, and was relieved to see that the muscles still responded to his will. His ribs ached, and he could feel the tremors shaking his body as the aftershock set in. None of that would kill him. None of it would stop him. He could make his body function, despite the damage to the flesh. However, there was no way he was going to blend in with the crowd. Not like this. He looked like a refugee from the losing side of some war.

 

Unconsciously clenching his right hand into a fist in an effort to keep the limb from completely stiffening up on him, he slowly rose to his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and it was only with a conscious effort that he held his feet. Dimly, he realized that he would have to go to ground soon. He would not be able to function for much longer. It was time to hide.

 

Studying the doors that let out onto the grimy alley, he realized he was behind a restaurant. The door was firmly locked, and he briefly considered kicking it in. But in this area, there was sure to be an alarm system. There had to be another way to get off of this blasted street.

 

As he examined his surroundings, he noted the fire escape, its bottom ladder pulled up far beyond his reach. But the windows… The lower windows had a lattice work of bars, sealing them off from easy entry. They had a lattice work of bars that a strong man could use to pull himself up the side of the building.

 

Ignoring the protests of his right arm, he jumped up high and grabbed the bottom bars on the second story windows. Grunting with the effort, he pulled himself slowly upward, climbing the bars like a ladder until he could jam the toe of his boot onto the lowest grate. He was still a good five feet away from the tantalizing lower rung of the fire escape. If he tried and failed, he knew he would lack the energy to make a second attempt. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he thrust his body across the empty space.

 

For an instance, he didn’t think it would be enough. For a split-second, he thought his tired body would fail him. And then the hard metal slapped against his right palm and he clung to it with all his might. As the torn muscles screamed in protest, he clawed for a perch with his good left hand, and slowly pulled himself up to the security of the first landing. Mind and body exhausted, he simply sat for a moment, clenching his knees to his chest. His vision narrowed to a pinprick, and he thought for an instance that he would pass out. Numbly, he forced himself to stumble to his feet. Staggering to the nearest window, he pushed against it with all he had left. He was not surprised when it failed to budge. Fighting down the urge to simply smash through the pane of glass, he pushed his lank hair back from his eyes and studied the lock. Steadied his breathing. Tried to concentrate. Fumbling in his back pocket, he pulled out a set of picks. Using a long slim rod, he reached through and jiggled the simple mechanism until it slipped from the metal bracket that had secured the window. With the last of his fading strength, he tugged the window open and fell inside.

 

***

 

The mumble of a deep voice pulled her out of the nightmare, and it was with relief that she made her escape from the clutches of sleep. Her dreams had been filled with fire and the screams of dying men. Even the sound of Stefano’s hated voice was an improvement over that. Groggily she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked over the back of the sofa to see him gently setting the phone back in its cradle.

 

“What is it? What did you hear?” she asked, the hope and the fear warring in her voice.

 

Tiredly, he shook his head. “There’s still no word. Dammit!” he suddenly yelled in frustration, slamming a thick hand to the face of the desk. The sharp sound of the impact making her flinch. Oblivious to her reaction, he rose irritably to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head in an attempt to release the tension. Shaking his head from side to side like a wounded bull, he muttered to himself. “I should never have let him go on this mission. Dammit, I knew better!”

 

As he stalked past her, clenching his meaty hands into fists, she could not help the curiosity that his words inspired. “What do you mean ‘let him go’, Stefano? You sent him on this mission. Don’t try and pretend that this is not your fault!”

 

Her accusation brought his pacing to a halt, and he swung around to face her with angry eyes. “Marlena, I have told you. I do not ‘make’ John do anything. I tried to pull him off the mission this morning. The plans were already laid out. His presence was not necessary for the success of the mission. And after your ‘night together’,” he spat the words out bitterly, “I thought he was too distracted to be in the field. But no! He insisted on supervising. He was unwilling to trust your safety to another man. He went to protect you, despite my wishes. And if he was careless, I am certain that it was because his thoughts were on you! You make him weak, Marlena. And one of these days, that weakness will get him killed!”

 

He turned from her in sudden irritation. Irritation with the woman, and the hold she had over John. Irritation with John, for not being here. Most of all, he turned in irritation with himself for letting this woman get to him yet again. With a groan of frustration, he moved to collapse into the big armchair and take up his vigil yet again.

 

Marlena simply stared for a moment in shocked silence. Finally, she could contain herself no longer, and let out a chuckle that was tinged with hysteria. “‘You’ are mad at ‘me’! You are actually mad at ‘me’ for putting John in danger! Do you realize the insanity of that! I was a witness to your tortures, Stefano! I saw how much you care for John. I saw it in the bruises on his body. I saw it in the marks of the chains. Do not pretend you see him as anything more than some wounded animal you have trained to kill on your command!” Her eyes wide with amazement at the man’s twisted view of the world, she could not bring herself to be angry. The man was too bizarre for anger. His thought processes too perverse.

 

“Marlena, I have no desire to discuss my relationship with John. I am sorry if I have offended you, but frankly, you do not have any idea what I feel for John,” DiMera answered her, his tone dismissive.

 

“I have no wish to understand what you think or what you feel, Stefano. The very possibility sickens me,” she snapped back tiredly, goading the man more out of frustration than anything else.

 

It should not have mattered to him what she thought. It had never mattered to him what anyone else thought. But as he looked wearily across at her, he realized that it did matter. “Marlena, have you never wondered why I allowed John to stay with you? For 14 years, I let him believe he was Roman. I let him live that life. I could have brought it down with a single command, yet I did not. Why do you think I did that?”

 

His question took her by surprise, and she studied him with suspicious eyes. “I… He would never have believed you Stefano. To make him believe he wasn’t Roman, you had to drug him. You had to torture him. You had to have him in your control. You never destroyed his life because you couldn’t. And the first chance you had at him, you took it!” she replied, her voice gaining certainty.

 

“Marlena, all that I had to do was release Roman. The ‘real’ Roman Brady. If I had wanted to shatter John’s life, that is all it would have required,” he answered her, looking firmly into the depths of her eyes.

 

Uneasily, she shifted her gaze away. Suddenly unsure that she wanted to continue this discussion, she gave an uncomfortable shrug of her shoulders. “I am certain you had your reasons, just as I am certain that it was done in your own self-interest. The fact of the matter is, you did shatter his life. You destroyed the only life he wanted to know. That is all that matters now.” He gave a grim chuckle. “You avoid my question, Marlena. Is it because you fear you will not like the answer?” When she failed to meet his eyes, he simply continued softly. “Marlena, I wanted him back. I wanted him to remember just exactly who and what he was. And yes, the first chance I had to do that safely, I took the risk. But if I had simply wanted him out of your life, I would have allowed Roman his freedom. The man meant nothing to me once he was beaten. I kept him only as insurance for the future. It would have cost me nothing to release him. And one way or another, that would have driven John from your life.”

 

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” she whispered, looking away from the dark figure that sat across from her.

 

“I know it, and you do too, Marlena. If Roman had returned, it would have driven John mad. As you say, he would never have admitted that he was not the real Roman. He would never have admitted it to himself! I don’t know if you have realized this yet, but John is not the most stable man on the planet. In the end, he would have killed Roman. Or he would have killed himself. In either case, it would have destroyed him. And Marlena, that was never what I wanted.” The soft words were said with a certainty that was undeniable. Irresistible. And it was the truth of the words that she hated.

 

“You are evil, Stefano. Everything that you have done to me. To my family. For God’s sake, what you did to Roman. You are evil, and I don’t want you anywhere near me or my family. And more than anything, I don’t want you anywhere near John!” She hissed the words at him, finally raising her head to meet his eyes. And in those hazel depths, he could read a threat.

 

Chapter 60 // Pt. 2

 

“Ah, Marlena. There is no need to be nasty. In the end, it is not what you want, or what I want, that matters. In the end, it boils down to what John wants,” he rejoined, flashing an ugly smile that never quite reached his eyes. As she tore her eyes from his, glancing angrily away from the sight of him, he let the smile broaden. With silken words, he twisted the knife.

 

“Marlena, when you call me evil, you are mistaken. I do not choose to follow the rules that bind most people. I have the power and the will to make my own rules. It is what sets me apart from other men, my dear. I accept no higher authority than my own will. But this does not make me evil. It makes me amoral. You should learn to distinguish the difference. After all,” he finished with whispered words, “it is what sets John apart as well.”

 

***

 

The pulsing music brought him back to consciousness, and he suppressed a groan as he attempted to sit up. He tried to focus his eyes in the thick gloom, realizing that he must have been out for several hours. The sun was a fading memory beyond the dirty panes of the window, and the bright light flickering in from the far room was the main source of illumination. Squinting against the glare of the entryway, he realized that the doorway to the small room in which he sat was marked by long strings of black chain. As his head began throbbing in time to the pounding of industrial music, he wondered just where the hell he was.

 

When he tried to get to his feet, a wave of dizziness shot through him and he fell to his knees gasping at the pain. His right side was on fire, and he realized that his arm was now completely useless. Gingerly, he reached over and probed at his aching side. He could feel the rip across the kevlar vest, and he followed it to the side closure. As soon as he tore open the velcro, he could feel the crusted blood that soaked the T-shirt he wore beneath the vest. Gritting his teeth, he explored the damage with his fingers. A shallow cut that had sliced through his skin in a three inch long grove. He had no idea when it had happened. At least it explained his weakness. Between the cut on his side and the abrasions on his arm, he had lost enough blood to make him shocky. With a wry grin, he held tight to his injured side and slowly levered himself to his feet. Figuring that it couldn’t get any worse, he carefully crossed to the doorway and peeked out into the main room. It was then that he realized that things could indeed get worse.

 

He was in a bar. He was in a gay bar. He was in one of the gay leather bars off the Loop. A couple of pretty young men sat at the bar, tight jeans and T-shirts appearing to be the uniform of the day. With amusement John watched the two young men shooting looks in the direction of a giant bruiser of a man who sat at one of the small round tables that edged the dance floor. The man wore a black leather duster, even in the heated confines of the bar. John supposed it was made bearable by his lack of a shirt underneath. Watching the less than subtle flirting, he fought down the urge to chuckle aloud as the thought ran through his head that at least he shouldn’t have any problem finding someone to give him a ride home. Leaning heavily against the wall, he struggled to contain an almost hysterical laugh, and with a sudden start, he realized that he was not entirely lucid. He needed to contact DiMera and get the hell out of D.C. before he got careless. The police were certain to still be searching for him, and his escape was far from complete.

 

His mind again on the business at hand, he limped from the doorway and looked for another way out. For a moment, he wondered why no one had found him when they opened the bar up. The room he stood in was still shrouded in blackness. The only light that penetrated was that which danced through the curtain of chains. Finding no door but the one that led to the main room, he perched on the arm of the couch. Absently, he searched through the debris on the end-table beside him. A sodden mass of crushed out cigarettes. The crinkle of a hand-rolled butt, its pungent smell indicating it was not tobacco that the fragile paper contained. A half-empty box, a half-dozen vacuum wrapped condoms its silent offering. With a start, he suddenly realized the purpose of the small dark room in which he sat.

 

Again the humor of the situation struck him, and he figured at least he didn’t have to worry about having stained the couch with the blood and grime that covered his body. Deciding the best way out was the way he got in, he turned to ease himself out the window. However the sound of distant sirens reminded him of his rather conspicuous appearance, even for this part of town. With a slowly spreading grin, he decided that his best bet was to wait here. It was certain that eventually, his manner of escape would come to him. Moving stiffly, he went to crouch in the shadows beside the entry to the small dark room. Settling back on his heels, he cocked his head and listened for the sound of approaching footsteps through the din of the loud music. The tortured screams of the vocals tore through his head, and he lost himself in the lyrics.

 

you let me violate you

you let me desecrate you

you let me penetrate you

you let me complicate you

 

Unconsciously, he freed the burnt roach from the fist that had cradled it since its rescue from the ash tray. The flashing strobe lights painted splintered pictures across the far wall, the postmodern images a rapid fire assault that hurt his eyes. Made him struggle to remember why he was here. Made him wonder why he was at all. With a flick of his nail, a match burst into life and he drew the pungent smoke deep into his lungs.

 

help me

i broke apart my insides

help me

i’ve got no soul to sell

help me

the only thing that works for me

help me get away from myself

 

‘Stupid, John. Stupid.’ The tiny voice yammered at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. ‘Gotta stay sharp. Gotta stay clear.’ The placid smoke stilled the voice and he allowed himself to drift along below the surface of the assaulting waves of sound. He didn’t need to be sharp for this. How many times had he crouched like this. Alone. In the dark. Waiting. He didn’t need to be sharp. He needed to be numb.

 

i want to f*ck you like an animal

i want to feel you from the inside

i want to f*ck you like an animal

my whole existence is flawed

you get me closer to God

 

‘Oh God. Not this. Please not this. Please not now. I don’t want to think of her. Not in this place.’ He clasped his hands over his ears. Tried to reject the images of Her. Gold and white and pure. The images overwhelmed him. He had never been able to reject her. Not in any form. Not in any way. She was the only sin he had ever wished to repent.

 

you can have my isolation

you can have the hate that it brings

you can have my absence of faith

you can have my everything

 

He had clutched her body against his, striving to protect it from the bitter cold that permeated the cave. She had let him hold her. He hadn’t thought she would. She had let him hold her so tight that she had believed her ribs would break. Despite everything he had done, despite everything he was, that night she had given him her trust. He had gazed down on her still body, the peaceful look on her face taunting him. Challenging him. It was then he had known that he would sacrifice all that he was in order to be the man she wanted him to be. In a cold dark cave in the West Virginia wilderness, John Black had prayed for the first time since Katherine had died.

 

help me

you can have my reason

sweet sex i can smell

help me

you make me perfect

help me think i’m somebody else

 

Tears burned bloodshot eyes, and he tried to make himself sorry he had believed the lie. Tried to give contrition for living another man’s life. Tried and failed. He could not regret knowing her. Being with her. He would die rather than see her hurt, but he could not make himself free her from his taint. His curse. He would fight the heavens rather than lose her again.

 

i want to f*ck you like an animal

i want to feel you from the inside

i want to f*ck you like an animal

my whole existence is flawed

you can get me closer to God

 

(Nine Inch Nails ‘Closer’)

 

The pungent smoke washed away the stench of the room, and he rocked gently on his heels. Studied the glowing ember of the butt. Saw in the tiny flicker of light the glow of flames reflecting off of alabaster skin. Felt the moan in her throat, rumbling through the flesh that he pressed against. Knew again that fragment of eternity in which he could finally see clearly. That shining moment when he lost himself in her and became more than he had ever imagined possible. The moans in his memories mirrored the rasp of the guitar. Became the screams of the song. The flickering flames in his mind’s eye shifted. Grew. Attacked and consumed. Bryce’s face contorted under their heat. Shriveled, charred, blackened. His bullets smashed through the ashes, scattering them to dust. As the pulsing rhythm died, he opened glittering eyes. With frightening clarity, he knew his purpose. He would return to her. It was the only thing that mattered. He crushed the last remains of the joint into the dirty floor and clamped down on the pain that had threatened to overwhelm him. With the smile of a predator, he turned toward the approaching sound of heavy footfalls.

 

The chains across the doorway rattled an unnecessary warning, and the slim form of one of the boys passed before his watchful eyes. Then, as he had hoped, the big body of the bruiser stalked in close behind. Gritting his teeth at the pain the movement caused, John moved smoothly to his feet and reach out with his left hand to swing the larger man around. As John’s knee connected with the soft tissue of his genitals, the man dropped without a sound. Certain that the man would be out for a few moments, John reached out for the boy. Grabbing him by the thick chain he wore around his neck, John pulled him close and looked down into frightened eyes. For a moment, he considered snapping his neck. But he was a kid. Just a kid. She wouldn’t like it. Besides, it wasn’t necessary.

 

“What are you doing with a punk like this, boy? You don’t belong to him, do you? Because this asshole took something of mine, and I plan to get it back. If you belong to him, maybe I’ll just take you and we’ll call it even,” he growled out menacingly, knowing the effect he would have on the youngster.

 

Backlit by the light, the kevlar vest adding even more bulk to John’s muscular frame, the image almost caused the boy to piss himself. “No… no sir. I’m not his. Really. I was just…” he stammered in fear and confusion.

 

Struggling to keep the grin from his face, John shoved the young man toward the door. “Then get the hell out, ‘cause I have business to attend to,” he said gruffly, turning his attention to the man on the floor. Swiftly, he bent down and tugged the jacket from the motionless form. As he bent to yank the man’s belt from his waist, he was startled by the sound of the boy’s voice.

 

“Um… I could stay. If you want me to, I could stay,” he said, gaining confidence as he looked over the dark figure that dominated the small room.

 

John looked back in exasperation, wondering if he had made a mistake in letting the kid live. “Boy, get the hell out. Run on back to daddy and come see me when you grow up.” With a rough jerk, he yanked the belt from the still form, and the boy scuttled from the room with one wishful glance back.

 

As John flipped the man over to bind his hands, he saw the glint of metal hanging from a loop at the thick waist. ‘My, my. This is just too convenient,’ he thought to himself as he tugged the handcuffs loose. Efficiently, he snapped the steel cuffs around the wrists, and swiftly secured the man’s ankles with the belt. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it wouldn’t have to. He simply needed enough time to put a few blocks between himself and the bar. He had the distinct impression that no one around here would be calling the cops over the theft of a jacket. Hell, depending on who found him, the bound man might actually get a good time out of their little encounter.

 

Rising from the prone form, John settled the heavy leather jacket over his shoulders. Reaching into a pocket, he found a not unexpected pack of tissues. Grateful that his unwilling partner was a fastidious man, John scrubbed furiously at his tender face, attempting to wipe away the worst of the soot and blood. Deciding it would have to do for the moment, he buttoned the front of the jacket and moved to the window. The drop to the ground was not going to feel good, but it was better than the risk of walking through the bright interior of the bar. He was fairly certain that he would not pass through unnoticed. It was past time to leave. He wanted to be home, and the ladder was the fasted route there.

 

Moving carefully, he eased his way down the stairs. He reached the end, dangling a moment from his left arm. Grimacing in anticipation of the impact, he let go and fell awkwardly to the pavement. He crouched for a moment, waiting for his vision to clear. If he wanted to be with her, he would suck it up and make himself move. Slowly, he straightened to his full height and walked down the dim alley to join the early revelers who already strolled the streets.

 

***

 

She paced the width of the room for what seemed like the millionth time on this, what to had to be, the longest day of her life. “Stefano, damn! Why hasn’t anyone called? If you have so much power, why can’t you find one single man who has to be within a few miles of where the van wrecked?!” She snapped the words out irritably, not even bothering to worry about the man’s reaction. They had managed to survive this most excruciating of days without killing each other, and she was past the point of being afraid of him. She was past the point of feeling anything at all toward him. He was a tool for her to use, and until John had been found she would look on his presence as an irritating necessity. Nothing more and nothing less than that.

 

DiMera lay back on the sofa, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “Marlena, there is nothing more to be done. My men will call when there is news. There is nothing to do but wait.”

 

“I hate this. Oh God, I just hate this so much,” she sighed out in frustration. Exhausted by the strains of the day, her worry for John and her constant battling with Stefano, she collapsed across the legs of the big armchair.

 

“I hate it too,” was the weary reply.

 

Staring straight at DiMera, she said in a determined voice, “I want you to promise me that you will never send him out like this again. I want you to swear it to me now, or so help me I will see you dead.”

 

He looked over at her in surprise, and the look that was in her eyes was one he had seen before. It was the look she had had when she shot him. The memory of that day sent a sharp shiver down his spine, and he sat slowly up on the couch to face her. “I do not take threats well, Marlena. Not even from you. But… I will not have him as an operative while he is with you. Never again. You make him weak and you will get him killed. I will not risk him in the field while thoughts of you cloud his judgement. That, I can promise you.”

 

The response was not what she had expected, no matter that she had meant the words. She studied his face curiously, and found that she could almost believe the man. Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone on DiMera’s desk. At the sound, her heart seemed to stop. Hardly daring to breathe, she watched as Stefano cautiously lifted the phone.

 

He stood wordlessly, intent on the voice at the other end of the line. Finally, he gave a brief nod. “Well done. Bring him out when you are able. We will expect you tomorrow at the latest.”

 

As the words registered in her mind, she felt the beginnings of the relief. When Stefano turned to her with what was the only genuine smile she had ever seen from him, she knew it was going to be all right. “He’s okay?”

 

Stefano released a loud laugh. “He’s fine. A little banged-up, but he will be fine. He will be out here by tomorrow morning. I wanted the doctors to examine him before he flew back to the compound. See… I told you he would be fine!”

 

She rolled her eyes at his ego, but even DiMera could not stop the smile that crossed her features. “He’s okay. He really is?”

 

“Would I lie to you, Marlena?” Stefano asked, his smile taking on its usual slightly sinister cast.

 

“Not about this,” was the firm reply. “You would know better than to lie about this, Stefano. And your promise… You will keep your promise to me as well. John will never go out like this again. I have your word on it?”

 

“You have my word,” he replied with a slight nod.

 

Chapter 61

 

Stefano raised his head tiredly, the soft knock on the door waking him from a light doze. Stiffly, he sat up in the big chair behind his desk and called out, “Come!” The door swung open to reveal the battered form of a his second in command.

 

“Hey. Wasn’t sure you’d still be up,” John said softly, moving haltingly into the room.

 

“I waited,” was the dry response. “I had serious doubts about your ability to stay put until dawn. I do hope you at least took the time to have the doctor examine you?” Dimera asked, looking the man in the doorway over with a critical eye. Wrapped in a leather duster that was two sizes too big, swaying slightly with the effort of keeping his feet, the man looked like shit.

 

“Yea. All the basic parts are still there. He sewed me up and gave me some meds. I just need to sleep for a month and then I’ll be fine,” John retorted, walking over and easing down on the sofa. Closing his eyes for a moment, he almost passed out where he sat. At the sound of Stefano’s heavy tread, he cracked an eye open and with a grunt of gratitude took the proffered glass.

 

“Thanks,” he said hoarsely, tilting the glass to his lips and letting the amber fluid burn away the bitter taste of fire and smoke.

 

Fighting the urge to cough, he noted wearily, “At least it’s finally over.”

 

“I hope you are right, John,” was the muted response from Stefano as he sank down in the leather chair.

 

At John’s quizzical look, Stefano gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Something about this entire scenario seems wrong. There is something about the cartel’s actions that doesn’t quite make sense. Some agenda that we don’t know about. John, there may be another player in this game. After all, it almost seemed as if you were their main target.”

 

“Yea… Yea, I noticed that,” John replied with a tight grin, forced to address an issue he had hoped to ignore. With a shrug, he dismissed the uneasy feeling that nagged at him whenever he stopped to consider the Brotherhood’s actions. “It had to be Roman’s doing. Hell, it doesn’t make sense any other way. I’d been out of the business way too long to be the main target. Roman wanted me out of Marlena’s life. And if the Brotherhood wanted me, it was only in order to get to you,” he noted, trying to convince himself as much as Dimera. This had to be over with. The Brotherhood had to have been the threat. The thought that he might still be putting her in danger was simply unacceptable.

 

“You are probably right, John,” Stefano answered, knowing that man was unwilling to face the possibility of a deeper conspiracy. If a third party was involved, it would come to light soon enough. For now, he would allow the younger man the illusion of safety. In the morning, he would begin the search for the missing piece to this puzzle. The mystery could wait that long at least.

 

Shrugging his broad shoulders, Dimera shifted the discussion to the reality of the here and now. “Have you considered what to do about the hit squad the Brotherhood had doing their dirty work?”

 

Settling back into the thick leather, John took a deep swallow of the whiskey that was his preference. With a casual wave of one hand, he evaded the question. “It’s up to you, Stefano. They’re mercenaries, you know that. Without the Brotherhood directing their actions, they’ll fade back into the woodwork. They’re soldiers. They do what they’re paid to do. You want me to hunt them down, I will. But I doubt there’s any point to the exercise.”

 

His surprise evident, Stefano cocked an eyebrow. “I had not expected such forbearance on your part, John. Perhaps Marlena has had a positive influence on you!”

 

Dimera let out a low chuckle in response to the angry glare of the man opposite him. “But if you are willing to let the matter drop…,” he trailed off with a faint grin.

 

“I want this over and done with,” John responded grudgingly, as if admitting to some fatal flaw.

 

With a look that was almost sympathetic, Stefano nodded in agreement. “Well, if the mission is now complete, would you care to tell me what went wrong? I sat here all day waiting for some word from you. My only company, by the way, was the always charming Dr. Evans.”

 

At the mention of her name, John sat up abruptly, his eyes locked on Dimera’s own. “God damn you! Why did you tell her there was a problem? You shouldn’t have said a thing until you knew for certain!”

 

“John, I did not have to tell her a thing,” the big man placated. “She just… knew. So we sat. And we waited.” At the memories of the afternoon, Stefano gave a painful chuckle.

 

Seeing the tension on the older man’s face, John smiled grimly. “Glad I wasn’t here for that,” he commented softly, allowing his body to slouch back into the padded couch.

 

“You should be. That woman can be extemely unpleasant when she puts her mind to it. But, the evening was not a total loss. We did come to an agreement that you would never go out in the field again,” Stefano said evenly, his eyes searching John’s face for a reaction.

 

John was too tired to be pissed. “So glad to know that you two have been planning out the rest of my life for me. And I do so appreciate your informing me.” Unable to help himself, he pictured the two of them sitting together through the long hours. The grim chuckle that escaped him sounded like a groan of pain to his own ears. Sighing, John closed his eyes and tried to turn his mind from the image of Stefano and Marlena, sitting in this room together for hours on end. God, if she hadn’t been mad at him before, she would be now. Hesitantly, he asked, “Where is she, Stefano?”

 

The old man had wondered how long it would take John to ask. He was so predictable where she was concerned. “I sent her off to bed. I told her you weren’t expected in until the morning. Besides, that was the literal truth.”

 

“Gee, where did this sudden concern for the truth come from, Stefano,” John snorted in grim amusement, his eyes slitting open. “Still… It’s just as well. She doesn’t need to see me right now. Think I’ll just go to bed.”

 

“I doubt she would agree with you,” Stefano commented.

 

“Christ! I stink of death and you know it!” John retorted shortly.

 

On that, Dimera had to agree. “Where did you get that awful duster, anyway?” he asked curiously.

 

Levering himself carefully to his feet, John merely shrugged. “Long story, Stefano. A long, strange story.”

 

“I can image,” Dimera said with a small smile.

 

“I doubt it,” was the muttered reply, as John walked out the door.

 

***

 

He had stumbled to his bed, barely having the energy to shrug the duster from his shoulders and kick the boots off his feet. But as he lay in the darkness, the thoughts that tore through his mind made sleep impossible. God, how could he face her in the morning. He had known she would be angry with him for leaving, but he had pushed it aside as a necessary evil. He could not have taken the risk of leaving those men alive. He did not think she would take this as a good excuse. After sitting all day with Dimera, waiting to discover whether he had lived or died, no excuse would be accepted. Cursing his stupidity, he wondered how it was he managed to fuck up everything that ever mattered to him. As his worried thoughts shifted into twisted nightmares, his breathing deepened and he achieved a semblance of sleep. The hours passed in restless tossing that ended only with the scream of an alarm.

 

He was jolted out of his nightmare visions as the panic alarm sounded throughout the main house. Instantly he was out of bed, grappling for boots tossed carelessly in a heap only hours before. The night still showed pitch black through the window, but the interior of the lodge glowed dimly with emergency lights. Grabbing his holster, he was out the door and on the way to the guest suite less than a minute after the alarm had pierced the quiet.

 

Gun in hand, he moved quickly down the long hall as security forces surged around him. Each of Dimera’s compounds had specified security responses, depending on the level of threat identified. The alarm still shrieking in the night air signaled a full scale attack, and Dimera’s men moved to their stations with an assurance bought with long hours of drill.

 

John was less confident. He knew instantly that the attacking force was the Brotherhood’s assault squad. He could feel it in his bones. The cops wouldn’t be attacking, not in the middle of the night. This was a hit squad, not a rescue. Dammit! He had been too willing to accept that it was over. Someone else had a stake in this game, and they still had access to the ISA mercenaries. Cursing his stupidity, he fought down the rising sense of panic and broke into a run.

 

The mercs were good. Damn good. At full strength, they should have at least 20 trained veterans, and it was unlikely that his 8 men could hold out. Given the scenario, the only option was to bug out, and he hoped that Dimera was already in route to the chopper. That hope was quickly dashed, however. As he slammed his fist against the suite’s locked door, Stefano came striding quickly up, a guard following at his heels. Shots rang out on the outer perimeter just as Marlena anxiously opened the door.

 

She had known it was him. From the moment the alarm had roused her from a restless sleep, she had known that he would come for her. The certainty of it had overpowered even the fear caused by the shriek of the sirens. The sight of him in the doorway, wild-eyed and half-dressed with a weapon clasped firmly in his grip, it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

 

For an instance, everything around him disappeared and she was the only thing that existed. As she swept into his arms, he was jolted back to reality by the knowledge that this time, if he failed she would pay the price. Not taking the time to argue with either her or Dimera, John pushed his way through the open door, his arm locked around her slim form in unconscious desperation. Stefano, the guard at his side, followed close behind. Pushing her to arms length in order to allow himself to think, he was pleased to see she had already pulled on jeans and a sweater. Unable to say what he really wanted to, he instead ordered gruffly, “Grab the kids. We have to get out of here. The compound is under attack.”

 

As he tried to move her toward the kids’ rooms, she stopped him with a soft grip on his forearm. He had come back to her. Her family was complete. It was time for the fear to end. “John, it’s okay now,” she said softly. “Just let this all be over. Please, don’t let Stefano drag us away to some new prison. We can stay here. We can explain to the police that you never kidnaped us. Please, for all our sakes. Let this be over,” she implored.

 

Impatiently, he tugged against her grip. Shame washed over him as he realized that once again he would be the one to cause her pain. Unable to meet her eyes, unwilling to tell her that nothing was over, nothing was ended, he instead wrenched his arm away from her touch. He reached the door to the kid’s bedroom just as Eric groggily pulled the it open. Looking blearily about, he finished tugging a tee shirt over his head. “What’s up with the alarm? Is it a fire?”

 

“Get a jacket and grab your sisters. We have to get out of here right now,” John snapped at him. Shifting his attention from the startled boy, he forced himself to focus on Marlena. “Doc, these ain’t the good-guys,” he said roughly, hating the words that gave evidence of yet another failure on his part. “They’re a Brotherhood assault team, and they are coming to sanitize this entire area. If you stay, you and the kids are dead. Just do as I say, and we’ll get you all out of here.”

 

Seeing her hesitate, the fear broke through his reserve. “Please, Doc. I’m begging you!” he pleaded. He moved closer, reaching out to gently take her hand. Gripping her hand between his own, he looked into her puzzled eyes. “Marlena… Doc. If you have ever trusted me, trust me now. Those men will kill us all. I can’t force you and the kids to come. I don’t have the manpower to do that and still cover our flanks. If you stay, it will get us all killed.”

 

His eyes were locked on her face, yet he was still aware that the small arms fire outside had already reached a peak. The shots were becoming more scattered, less frequent. It was an indicator that the perimeter had been breached. Men were down. His men.

 

“John…,” Stefano grated a warning from where he stood in the open door.

 

Seconds before they reached the point where he had decided he would simply sling her over his shoulder and attempt to carry her out, she nodded. Glancing to where the children now stood, dressed in jeans and sweaters, she said, “Let’s go.”

 

John attempted to hide the exhalation of breath that signified his relief, but he caught her quick grin and knew that she had noticed. Pushing aside his doubts and his fears, he concentrated on getting his family out of this mess alive. With a sharp nod, he ordered Patrick, the guard at Stefano’s side, to take point while he covered the rear, the others closely spaced between them. Afraid they had already wasted too much time, he followed the small procession down the back stairs, his automatic held at the ready.

 

As the group hurried out the back door, John could already hear the sounds of sweepers moving through the front of the lodge. There was no time to lose, and he swung the door softly shut behind him, hoping to buy them a few more seconds before their absence was discovered. Patrick had joined the two rear guards, waiting at their assigned station in the mudroom. “Is it clear?” John hissed almost soundlessly, tugging a camo jacket over his bare shoulders and pulling one of the emergency packs from the wall. Allowing himself a brief glance toward his family, he noted the look of determination on Marlena’s face. If there was the slightest risk to her children, she would waste no more thought on doubts or might-have-beens. She caught his glance with one of her own, and shot him a tight smile. With a start, he realized that she was the strongest person he had ever known. Flushing guiltily, he shifted his eyes away and swore to himself that he would never put them in danger like this again. No matter what it cost him, he would see to it that they were safe. He was jarred from his thoughts by the quiet voice of one of the guards.

 

“They fired a few shots at the rear of the house, sir. Just testing us, I think. We have good cover to the tree line, it should be clear,” the older of the two rear guards said in a whisper.

 

“Okay, I want two on point,” John ordered quietly. “Bolen, you’re in charge of looking after the kids,” he ordered his most experienced man. “Stefano, keep close to Marlena. I’ll take the rear. When you hit the chopper, take off whether I’m there or not. I’m going to try and slow them down, provide some cover. If I don’t make the chopper, I’ll hike out. Now, let’s move it out. Everybody just try and be quiet, and move as quick as you can.” The two guards in the lead, the small band moved quickly out into the dark Virginia night.

 

***

 

They had made the tree line without drawing fire, and the rest of the small group had crept into the high grass of the field. John hung back at the edge of the clearing as the others headed across the 200 yards of thigh-high grass between them and the chopper. ‘It had been too easy,’ the thought ran through his head. He could feel the movement of men around him, though he could make-out nothing in the blackness of the trees. These guys were too good to leave the backdoor wide open like this. He peered again across the open field, but could discern no movement despite the sliver of moonlight that shone down on the open grassland. He heard the cough of engines as the pilot started the helicopter. John doubted that the group had made it that far yet, but the man had standing orders to have the chopper ready for take-off in the event of a class three breach. Knowing it was time to go, he bent low and started toward the field just as a glimmer of light caught his eye.

 

The phosphorescent glare sparked brightly, and John abandoned all attempts at concealment as he began to sprint through the grass toward the chopper. “Down! Get down, dammit!” he screamed out with all he had as the spark bee-lined for the chopper.

 

***

 

She crawled slowly through the damp grass, her wet clothes now plastered tightly to her body. Desperately, she tried to force her body to stop shaking. The cold night air seemed to pervade her very bones, and the only sounds she could hear were the slither of the grass and the chattering of her own teeth. Knowing it was pointless, she could not stop herself from glancing back in the direction of the cabin. The inky blackness revealed nothing, but it still seemed as if she could sense his presence. She hated that he had hung back, even while she understood it. He would protect her family. It was as certain as the fact that the sun would rise in the morning. Her fear was not for herself, but for him.

 

With a start, she realized that the young guard Patrick had come to halt and she settled down next to him in confusion, Carrie at her side. Though she could not see his features, she could feel the heat of Dimera’s heavy body close by, and she had to stop herself from pulling away. As they rested in silence for a moment, she tried to get some sense of where Eric and Sami were, but the darkness was impenetrable. She could only hope that Bolan and the twins were right behind them in the cover of the grass.

 

After what seemed like hours, she heard the shrill sound of a whistle signaling them to make the final dash for the helicopter. Gripping Carrie’s hand firmly, she half-rose to her feet. Her legs were cramped from the crawl through the field, and she bit back a groan as she stumbled into a quick jog. They had crossed only the first couple of feet toward the chopper, its engine a steady hum 30 yards to their fore, when John’s panicked cry stopped her in her tracks. Pulling Carrie to a halt beside her, she looked back in confusion. With a sudden flash of light, he was revealed. His face shone stark white in the glare, and she could see the fear in his eyes even from where she stood. Before she could make sense of the swiftly moving figure, the force of the explosion washed over her and she was knocked to the cold ground.

 

***

 

He had covered less than 20 yards before the entire field exploded. From where the chopper had sat a ball of flame shot-up high into the air. Through the orange fire that destroyed his night vision he thought he caught a glimpse of a body standing in the field, consumed by the inferno.

 

‘God,’ he prayed, as he ran toward the glowing mass of metal that had been their way out. ‘God, please let them be safe,’ he implored. Though if asked to what god he prayed he would have been unable to answer, he sent his plea into the void in the hopes that it would be heard.

 

Less than 50 yards from the wreckage that was now sending up pale blue spikes of fire as the fuel exploded, he pulled-up short. A body loomed out of the grass, and he had drawn a bead with the sub-machine gun before he recognized Eric’s dazed form in the flickering light thrown out by the fire. Though the heat could be felt even at this distance, Eric appeared unhurt, if a little dazed.

 

It was only as he came to a stop that he realized that rifle fire was again cracking in the clear air. Without preamble, he looped an arm around the boy’s chest and pulled him down into the cover of the grass. With a sigh of relief, he realized that Eric still clutched Sami’s hand in his own. She sat in the grass knees clenched to her chest, staring at him with eyes made black by the darkness surrounding them.

 

“Are you both okay?” he asked urgently, keeping his head low.

 

“Yea Dad,” Eric replied shakily.

 

Sami only nodded an affirmative. In the dim light, John couldn’t see to make his own evaluation and so took them at their word. Focusing on the need to find the rest of the group, he asked, “Where’s Bolan?”

 

“He told us to stay here,” Eric answered, seeming to regain his focus. “He went to find everybody else.”

 

“Okay, I want you two to head east.” John pointed off toward the side of the field. “Can you make-out that big tree over there? I will meet you there once I find Carrie and your mother.” Removing the backpack from his shoulders, he handed it to Eric. “Keep this with you. Emergency supplies are there if you need them. Now, I want you to crawl out of here. Keep your heads low. You don’t have to hurry, but stay low. We’ll be right behind you, I promise.” Eric simply nodded grimly, slinging the pack over his back as he started easing himself through the tall grass in the direction indicated. Sami hesitated a moment, her eyes still locked on John’s, before she silently followed her brother into the night.

 

John felt a sense of pride rip through him. God, they had been through so much, but they still kept going. He should never have allowed them to be caught-up in this mess. Turning his focus to what he could do for them in the present, he slithered forward searching for their mother.

 

The fire from the burning aircraft was already dying down, and he was grateful that it had been a wet fall. If the grass had caught, they might all have been burned to death in the field. As the darkness deepened, he relied on his ears for some sign of life in the rustling grass. He knew the hunters were out, sweeping across the field on a mission of destruction. But they would be slow. Going carefully, knowing that those they sought were more predator than prey. He had time, if he could just find them. If they were still alive.

 

Suddenly, he sensed a presence. Off to his left, something was there. Someone was there. There was no sound, but he could feel it in his gut. He was too good at what he did to just dismiss the feeling. Drawing his knife, he slipped silently across the damp ground. He was on top of the figure almost before he saw the dark form squatting low in the grass. His arm snaked around from behind the man’s back and he had him in a headlock before he could utter a sound. As a flicker of flame shot up from the burning aircraft, he made out Patrick’s features staring fearfully up at him and eased off just a bit.

 

“Sir?” Patrick managed to croak out.

 

John forced himself to stifle a chuckle as the sense of relief washed over him. The young guard certainly had a great deal of confidence in him, to assume it was John who had crept up on them out of the darkness. He released the young man and squinted through the darkness at the form he knew instantly to be Marlena. “Everybody okay here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

He could see the glint of moonlight reflected back at him from Marlena’s eyes, and he noted worriedly that she appeared to be hunched over a still dark form. However, it was Bolan who answered his question. “It’s Mr. Dimera, sir. Apparently, he got hit by the debris. Dr. Evans says his pulse is strong, but he’s out cold, and it’s too dark to tell how bad he’s hurt.”

 

Worry again washed over him, and he leaned forward to check Stefano’s pulse for himself. Breathing a sigh of relief as he felt the blood still pumping strongly through the veins of the man’s neck, he was startled when Marlena clasped his shoulder.

 

“The children?” She asked anxiously. “Bolan said he left them back in the grass. Carrie’s here, but you have to go back for Sami and Eric,” she almost commanded, her fear evident.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay. They’re fine. I told them we’d meet them in the trees. But we have to get you out of here before the assault team gets here. They can’t be far, and they know we’re in the field,” he replied. Against his will, he found his hand going from Dimera’s throat to her cheek, gently wiping away the tears that glistened in the moonlight. “They’re okay, Doc. I promise, they are just fine,” he said, gentling her.

 

Fighting the urge to simply take her into his arms, he turned back to Bolan, for the first time making out the dark form that must be Carrie crouching in the grass to the man’s left side. Not wanting to alarm Marlena or Carrie, he leaned forward and said quietly into the man’s ear, “We don’t have much time. I want you to take Carrie and Marlena out of here. Meet the kids under the old oak on the eastern treeline. It’s almost dead center on the north-south axis of the field. You know where I mean?”

 

“Yes sir, but what about Mr. Dimera?”

 

“If we go dragging him through this grass, they are bound to hear us. I want you guys safely out of the field. I’ll give you 15 minutes to get clear. I’ll give you that long before I move. I can carry Stefano out over my shoulder. It will be quieter, and fewer bodies in motion will make it less likely we’ll draw attention. Bolan, I don’t want you waiting. Give it 10 minutes, and if you don’t see me, take the family and get out of here. If you hear concentrated fire, it means we’ve been seen. I don’t want you laying down any cover. You just take the distraction and get Marlena and the kids out of here. Head down the gulch and go south. It’s 20, 30 miles of rough going, but eventually, you’ll hit highway 81. Understand?”

 

Bolan hesitated, somehow managing to convey his discomfort even in the darkness of the night. “Sir, there’s no way you can carry him out of here all by yourself. I mean, even if you get him up, you aren’t going to be moving fast. You’ll be an easy target out in the middle of this field. Patrick can lead them out. I should stay back with you. You’ll need the help with Mr. Dimera,” he replied quietly.

 

John smiled grimly. “I would think that you knew better than to question my orders by now,” he said shortly. Then, giving the man a break, he said more easily, “Look, it’s risky. But there is no sense in everybody getting killed. If Dimera and I both go down and you manage to avoid immediate detection, they may not bother coming after you at all. Either way, you are the most experienced man I have. I want you with my family. Now, you head for that tree, and I don’t want you waiting for me to show up. If it goes bad, get them out of here. And Bolan… know that if you get them hurt, I will take you apart one piece at a time. Got it?”

 

Bolan fought down the urge to swallow and simply nodded. “Yes sir, I got it.”

 

Turning back to Marlena, John took her hand. Knowing it might well be the last time he would see her. Acknowledging to himself that it would probably be for the best if he went down in this field tonight. Yet he still hated the idea of leaving her alone and in danger. For a moment, he almost went with her. But if he was the real target, the farther he stayed from the family, the safer they would be. Trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, he said quietly, “Doc. You need to follow Bolan. He’s going to get you and Carrie out of here. He’ll take you to Sami and Eric. It’s all going to be okay” “No, John. You come too. You can’t stay here,” she argued in a low voice, unwilling to risk him again.

 

“I’m just be bringing up the rear. Really, I’ll be right behind you.” Seeing the gleam of determination in her eyes, he played his trump card. “Marlena, the children need you. Please!”

 

She didn’t look convinced, even in the dim light. But as Patrick grabbed Carrie’s hand and fell in behind Bolan, Marlena followed suit. As their dark figures quickly faded from view, John sank back to the ground to listen and wait. The last glimpse of her face, pale in the moonlight, playing through his tired mind.

 

As the sounds of his family moving away from him died out, he began to shake. The adrenalin that had been keeping him on his feet now set his limbs to quivering. Exhausted, he wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to figure out how he was going to get Dimera out of this damned field. As the sounds of the woods drifted about him, his head started to nod. The muffled crunch of grass jolted him back to watchfulness, and he sensed a body gliding past him in the still night. He knew he should take the man. One less pursuer in the wake of those he loved. But as he tried to gather his feet beneath him, he realized that the man was not alone. Slumping silently back down, he held his breath and waited for the sounds to fade. The quiet of the night once more descended, and he knew that he had to get out of the field now or never. With an inaudible groan, he bent beside Dimera’s heavy body and pulled the man’s arms over his shoulders. Dropping to all fours, he shifted until he carried the weight across his back. Holding onto Dimera’s arms with his protesting right hand he kept his belly low to the ground and started crawling across the dark field.

 

***

 

White lights danced before his eyes and once more he collapsed face down into the dirt. He had hurt until he had gone numb, and still he had continued to pick his way silently across the field. He no longer even knew why he was doing it. He only knew that he couldn’t stop. Not when he was this close to his goal. They would have been gone for an hour at least, and he would never catch up to them in the dark of the night. With a sigh to himself, he admitted that he had never had any intention of catching up. It was the only reason he had chosen to stay with Dimera. The only reason that he had sent them off without him. Stefano had been right about the target of the attacks. Their attention had been on John all along. If they wanted him, they could have him. But before he went down, he would buy his family the time they needed to make their escape.

 

Recognizing the futility of the action, he clawed his way back to his knees and fought to cover the last 20 feet that separated him from the drooping branches of the big tree. Stefano moaned out in a low voice, but John didn’t bother trying to quiet him. If his cries brought the guards, it would simply end this misery a little sooner than he had planned. He wanted to make the treeline. Wanted to hide the heavy body in the woods and give the old man at least a fighting chance at survival. But if it didn’t happen… Well they had both pushed their luck further than any man had a right to. There would be no room for complaint.

 

When he heard the sound of movement coming toward him from the very destination he had been seeking, he almost laughed aloud. A wildness washed over his mind, and he finally allowed Dimera’s form to slip from its perch. With a wicked grin on his face, he rose smoothly to his feet. The pain and fatigue fell away, and he faced his death without regret for the loss. The power flowed through him and he burned with the desire for first blood. He would leave a legacy of death in this damned field. It was the only epitaph he would need.

 

Chapter 62

 

As the figure coalesced out of the blackness, his finger began to gently squeeze the trigger. Her voice whispered to him on the wind, and he felt as if he had been kicked in the gut.

 

“John? John, is it you?” the words said, barely rising above the sounds of the night.

 

The blood drained from his face and he took a hasty step forward to find her in his arms. “God, Doc, no! You shouldn’t be here. You should be gone,” he moaned the words out through dry lips.

 

Tightly she clung to him. “We weren’t leaving without you, John. You should now that by now,” she whispered fiercely, anger showing in her voice. She had suspected that he had no intention of following them. She had known he would not put them in the hands of a stranger if he had intended to go with them. She would not allow him to throw his life away for her. Not now, and not ever.

 

He felt the steel in her grip, and knew that argument was pointless. His guts twisting in fear, he pushed her back into the cover of the trees. As Bolan came up to him, he didn’t even bother cursing the man. Instead, he gave a curt gesture behind him. “Dimera’s a few feet out. You and Patrick go get him. I’m going to lead the way out.”

 

His voice was hard and ugly, and the two men didn’t stop to argue. Holding Marlena’s hand in his own, he silently led the small band into the cover of the woods. He only prayed that they had not wasted too much time waiting.

 

***

 

To John’s ears, they sounded like a herd of elephants trampling through the dense brush. The woods were starting to lighten with the coming of the dawn, and while it would make their passage easier, he still wished that the covering darkness could have lasted just a little bit longer. There was no way they were going to make it to the destination he had in mind without being spotted. There were too many pursuers. There was too much noise. He was going to get them all killed out here in the quite solitude of the wilderness, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent it. This was what he had always feared. That this… this destruction would be his final gift to her. He should have known that he would be her death.

 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he fought down the urge to speed their pace beyond that of a slow crawl. Silence was still their best hope. There had to be mercenaries combing the woods that flanked the field. If they tried to move any faster, the noise was certain to draw attention. As he slipped soundlessly beneath the rotting hulk of a fallen tree, a muffled sob halted him in his tracks.

 

He crouched beneath the massive log, resting his hand on the velvety moss that encased it, and looked back on the ragged band that followed him. They stumbled through the silvery mist of the fog that lay heavy over the damp forest floor. Eric’s bright eyes gleamed a soft blue, the only spot of color in a landscape painted in shades of gray. Sami and Carrie trailed close behind, Sami seeming to draw strength from her older sister through the hand she held firmly in her grip. He had known before he saw her tear stained face that it was his little girl’s quiet cry that had brought him to a halt. Coming to a stop beside Eric’s still form, Sami sank to the ground and tried to hold back a sniffle of pain. Ghostly pale, she seemed to be at one with the mist that surrounded her. The only sign that she was not a spirit from his past was the red of the blood that trailed down her cheek like a ruby tear. Slowly, he eased toward her. Dropping to his knees beside her, he wrapped his arms around her shivering frame and pulled her close.

 

“Sami, it will be okay. I will get you out of here. All of you. I promise.” The words sounded hollow, and he didn’t know why she should believe him. It was a lie, and he knew it.

 

She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, her long blond hair running over the back of his hand like the softest of silk. “I know you will, Daddy,” she replied softly. She smiled up at him, her pale eyes without guile. Without doubt. It was the same look she had had the first time he had held her. When she was still a baby, and he and her mother had been her whole world. The look of trust seemed to shatter something inside of him, and he knew in that instance that he would not fail her. Not again. Not ever again. The man didn’t exist who was strong enough to take his family away from him.

 

An icy clarity descended, and he reached out to dab at the bloody drops on her cheek. The tiny pricks of a thornbush marring the white of her skin. “I want you to stay here, Sami. Stay here with your mother, and I will be right back. Okay?” he asked softly.

 

Mutely, she nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss on the top of her head and rose smoothly to his feet. His gaze locked on Marlena, and for a moment he again felt the crushing fear that he would fail them. Awkwardly, he glanced away. “Stay here and catch your breath,” he said in a low voice, directing his words to Bolan. “Be ready to move quickly when I get back.”

 

From where he knelt beside Dimera’s silent body, Bolen gave a silent nod. John dropped the pack he was carrying and propped his machine gun against it. Without comment, he turned to scout the terrain that lay ahead. As he moved swiftly past Eric, the boy fell into step behind him. Startled, John came to a sudden halt.

 

“Eric, I need you to stay here. I’ll be back in a minute, and we are going to have to move out quickly when I’m done,” he said tightly, the urge to hurry becoming undeniable.

 

“Dad, I want to come. You need another pair of eyes. I can be quiet, I promise,” the young man said, his voice determined.

 

“I don’t have time to argue. You stay here,” John hissed in a hard voice, his mind already on the task at hand. Abruptly, he turned and began weaving his way through the trunks of the trees, leaving the boy standing in his wake.

 

***

 

He snaked silently through the brush, making good time now that he was alone. If he couldn’t slip his family past the soldiers he knew to be lurking in the woods, the next best option was to remove the soldiers. They had to be spread thinly in order to cover the territory. One or two men at most stood between his family and temporary safety. All John had to do was find those men. The last thing they would be expecting was for him to attack.

 

The woods themselves were silent, as if threatened by the presence of so many humans. The lone voice of an owl echoed oddly, its call muffled and warped by the thick air that swirled tendrils of fog about the boles of barren trees. His senses stretched to pick up the slightest sign of his enemy, John seemed almost to test the wind itself for a scent of his prey. At the angry chatter of a squirrel, he slid his knife from the sheath at his waist. The darkened blade swallowed the light around it, a deadly shadow with a razor’s edge. His breathing deep and steady, John drifted across the carpet of wet leaves moving toward the sound of the agitated animal. From deep within a thick tangle of briars he glimpsed a flash of movement and dropped soundlessly to lie behind the trunk of a thick maple. With only the slightest crackle of branches to serve as a warning, a heavy body burst from the thicket and thundered directly toward him. His pistol was half out of its holster before his mind registered his attacker as a white-tailed deer. The big doe stampeded by him so close he could almost touch her and then disappeared as swiftly as she had come.

 

John hugged his body to the cold damp earth, not even daring to risk a glance around the tree-trunk. If the doe had left her refuge so suddenly, it was only because something had disturbed her. Someone was hiding in that thicket. Someone was waiting for him. The only question now was whether they had seen him. If they had seen him, they would call for help. That, he could not allow.

 

Gingerly, he eased himself backward, slithering on his belly across the wet earth. Only when the thicket was completely obscured by the dense brush around him did he slip cautiously to his feet. With practiced care, he circled his target. Using the cover offered by the rugged land, he edged ever closer to the tangled brambles. When he reached the Southern edge of his circle, he spotted the faint game trail that led into the shelter of the thicket. For long moments, he simply stood and watched. Unmoving, his camouflaged form blending into the woods around him, he patiently waited for his enemy to reveal himself. Finally, he saw it. A glint of light off of metal. The betraying wink of a surface far too smooth to belong in this primal place. Staring past the point where he had glimpsed the slight imperfection in an otherwise flawless ambush, John slowly began to make-out the features of the man he stalked. Small pieces, here and there. The square form of a shoulder. The rounded curve of a helmet. The man was facing away from him, scanning the woods to the west. The man had guessed wrong, and now he was dead.

 

Leaving his pistol snug in its holster, he held the knife low in his right hand and crept quietly toward his target. Bending almost double, he halted beside the narrow passage between the thick mats of sticker bushes. He couldn’t go through without sound, which meant he would have to hope that speed alone would be enough. He couldn’t afford the sound of even a single shot.

 

The sudden snap of a branch echoed like a shotgun blast, and for a split second John thought the target had opened fire. He surged through the narrow opening, hoping to at least take his enemy with him when he died. His left hand clamped firmly over the man’s mouth before he had the chance to realize that not a shot had been fired, and the sniper had been aiming in the opposite direction from John.

 

The man in his grip was strong and fast, his elbow slamming into John’s side even as the knife bit deep into his throat. The sharp blow opened up the stitches in his side, and as John winced at the pain his quarry slipped from his grasp. The man lurched backward, one hand going to the gaping hole in his neck while the other tried to bring the rifle to bare. Lunging after him, John slammed the man to the ground with a flying tackle, the gun tangling uselessly between the heavy bodies of the fighting men. The sharp thorns tore at the thin skin of the human predators, the long vines impeding their movements. Only the muffled grunts of the combatants broke the stillness as the forest seemed to hold its breath. A sharp cry of pain rang out. Then nothing. The stillness of death descended.

 

Slowly, he lurched to his feet. With a low hiss of pain, he bent to retrieve his knife. He had to brace a leg against the cooling body in order to pry the knife from between the ribs. With an ugly screech, he released it from its sheath of flesh. It had taken a deep thrust to reach the heart from that angle. A sloppy kill. Almost angrily, he stooped to wipe the blade against the jacket of the dead man. Too damn much blood all over the place, he noted in irritation. With a small sigh, he straightened and moved to sheath his knife. It was then that he noticed the source of the broken branch.

 

Eric stared at him, eyes round with shock. He had never seen anything like this. Never imagined anything like it. John looked down on him with the eyes of a stranger. The knife was held in a hand still stained red with blood, a dead man lay sightless at his feet. All of the air seemed to suddenly leave the young man’s body, and it was as if he were watching the entire scene from somewhere outside himself. Somewhere far away from the reality of the blood soaking into the moldy earth on which the dead man lay. Eric fell to his knees, not even noticing the jarring impact as his stomach emptied itself onto the forest floor. He couldn’t breathe through the heaves that shook his frame, and for a moment he thought he was going to die. Then he felt the grip of a strong arm. The reassuring contact of a warm hand, rubbing gently at his back. As his father’s whispered voice washed over him, he drew in a shuddering gasp of air that quickly turned to a sob.

 

“Eric… Eric, go easy. Just relax. It will be alright. Just breathe,” John whispered quietly, holding the shaking boy in his arms. Silently he damned himself for his carelessness. His inattention. He should have known Eric would follow him. If he had been listening, he would have heard it in the boy’s voice. To have his son see him for what he was… He almost wished that his was the corpse that lay crumpled on the icy ground.

 

“I’m sorry,” the boy gasped out brokenly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know you were going to…” The words wouldn’t come and Eric could only sob quietly, allowing John to rock him slowly back and forth as they huddled together on the damp leaves.

 

“Shh… It’s okay, Eric. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing is your fault,” John soothed in a low voice.

 

Finally, his breathing began to ease, and he tugged away from John’s grasp. Embarrassed, he stumbled to his feet and away from the evidence of his weakness. Trying to gain some sense of normalcy, he dashed away the tears in his eyes.

 

John allowed the boy the time to regain his composure, ignoring the need for haste. Finally, the younger man turned to face him, looking down at him where he still knelt. “I’m sorry,” Eric repeated in a whisper, his eyes refusing to meet John’s own. “I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I just wasn’t expecting anything like… that.”

 

John nodded briefly, struggling to find the words that would ease the fear he heard in his son’s voice. “It’s ugly. You shouldn’t have had to see it, Eric. I’m sorry that you did.”

 

Unconsciously, the boy rubbed his hands together. “Ugly…,” he muttered, nodding almost absently. “Did Stefano teach you to do that?” he finally asked. “Did he teach you to kill people?”

 

With a small sigh, John struggled to his feet, his hand going involuntarily to his damaged side. “No,” he replied honestly. “Stefano didn’t teach me to kill. He simply taught me to do it well.”

 

Startled by the answer, Eric finally met his eyes. “You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You’ve done it lots of times?”

 

John had to force himself to hold Eric’s eye. Force himself to confirm a truth that Eric already knew. “Lots of times,” he replied with a nod, his hand going to rest against the butt of his gun as the blurred memories whipped through his mind. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the past. “It’s what I did, Eric. It’s what I was before I met your mother.”

 

Silently, Eric studied the man before him. Saw him as he had been in the time before. He saw the scars… the darkness… the danger. Finally, he dropped his eyes. His voice barely above a whisper, he said again, “I’m sorry.” This time, John could hear no fear in the words. No fear. Only pity.

 

Chapter 63

 

With a muted sigh of frustration John studied the clear sky, the morning sun already burning away the last of the fog. Looking down the steep ravine, he knew that they would be fully exposed to view for last hundred yards of the hike to the cave he planned to hold-up in during the light of day. They had made good time through the woods, the need for silence eliminated with the death of the perimeter guard. It still hadn’t been enough. Their last sprint to safety would have to be made without the benefit of cover.

 

Knowing there was nothing to be done about it, he focused his mind on getting them safely down to the valley floor. The fallen leaves under his feet were slick with dew, and he was forced to grab at the saplings around him with both hands in order to keep his feet. He could not quite hide the hiss of pain as the movement pulled again at the ripped stitches in his side. The warm trickle of blood down his side had already told him that the stitches had given way hours earlier.

 

Keeping his face neutral, he reached a hand up and helped Marlena over the lip of the drop-off. He could see the concern in her face, but was relieved when she didn’t press the matter. Despite his anger at her stubbornness, he still couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face at her touch. Even tired and dirty, she was the best looking thing he had ever seen. He knew she had read his thoughts by the sly grin she shot him as she went past him on the way down the steep hill. Damn! He just couldn’t stay mad at the woman.

 

She picked her way down the steep incline, grasping at the trunks of trees to keep her balance. Fighting not to pick-up so much speed that she had no control at all, she still felt like she was careening down the hill. As she finally made the valley, she pulled herself to a gasping halt and looked back up the mountain. The children were rapidly making their way to her. Wet, tired, and shivering with the cold, they were a bedraggled bunch. Sensing her gaze, Eric looked down and caught her eye, flashing her a tight smile and she sighed with relief that so far they seemed to be taking it all in stride.

 

At the very top of the hill, John and Bolan could be seen trying to juggle Dimera’s limp body between them. Slipping and sliding under the load, they crashed down through the bushes on their knees as often as on their feet. As Carrie stumbled to a stop beside her, she turned her attention to getting her children safely out of sight and rapidly moved off to the cave John had pointed out to her.

 

***

 

Gently, John slid his jacket under Stefano’s head, relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped. The old man moaned out softly as John pulled a wool blanket from one of the packs and settled it over the still form. He looked up in surprise as Marlena crouched down on the opposite side of the body.

 

“Didn’t think you’d want to even touch him,” he commented, watching her with curiosity.

 

“I can’t very well let him bleed to death,” she said matter-of-factly, peeling the field-dressing away from Dimera’s forehead.

 

Sitting back on his heels, John watched as she efficiently pulled the bandages away and rummaged through the first aid kit. She never failed to surprise him. Every time he thought he understood her, another facet would be revealed.

 

The depth of her compassion for others was something he would never be able to understand, and sometimes it scared him. He feared it would be her downfall. He knew all to well that God was jealous of such purity of spirit, unwilling to let it linger too long on the face of the earth. The bitterness surged darkly through his thoughts. ‘Dammit, if she hadn’t waited for him to come out of the field, she would be safe now!’

 

His anger at her stubbornness flared, and he rose to his feet. Her presence a constant reminder of his failures, he had to escape from her. “Do what you can for him. I’m going to relieve Bolan,” he said coldly, stalking toward the long corridor that led to the cave entrance.

 

Startled from her work, Marlena glanced up to watch him walk resolutely away. With a sigh of consternation, she returned her attention to Dimera’s groaning form.

 

***

 

Quietly she crept through the narrow passage to where John stood leaning against the rock wall, peering out at their surroundings. He had chopped down a small bush and wedged it in the narrow crevice that marked the cave’s entrance. Unless you were right on top of it, you would never even know the cave was there.

 

“Do you think anyone saw us?” she asked in a low voice, watching his face closely.

 

His eyes still fixed on the surrounding woods, he gave a brief shake of his dark head. “No. No, I don’t see anyone. I think we’re okay for the moment.”

 

Though he refused to turn and face her, she could sense his anger. Could see it in the clenched muscles of his jaw. Trying to break him from his self-imposed isolation, she asked softly, “What happened with you and Eric? He was very quiet when you returned from your scouting party.”

 

For a long moment, he continued to gaze out across the clearing. When he turned to face her, his eyes were emotionless voids, purposely shutting her out. “He watched me kill a man. He was somewhere he never should have been, and that was the price he paid,” he replied coldly.

 

His anger was a palpable force, and she refused to allow it to stand between them. Knowing he didn’t want to broach the subject, she asked anyway. “Are you mad at me?”

 

He sighed out an ugly chuckle at the understatement. “I am furious with you,” he answered in a strangled voice.

 

Though she had known the answer to her question before she asked it, his response goaded her. All of the past hours of worry and frustration had built up to this point, and the emotion exploded out of her with a force that surprised her. Reaching out, she grabbed him by his arm and yanked him back toward her. Stumbling, he fell against the cave wall directly across from her. Separated by mere inches, he looked into her face and saw the fire in her eyes.

 

“Well welcome to the club!” she hissed up at him. “How do you think I felt when I realized that you were going to stay behind and draw those men away? How do you think I felt when I knew that you planned to buy our chance at escape with your own life?!”

 

The fury that blazed in those golden eyes startled him. He couldn’t fight with her. He could never fight with her. The only way he could ever go against her wishes was when he didn’t have to face her. This was simply too much for him to take. Putting on an innocent look, he stared into those amber eyes and said sarcastically, “I thought you would feel really proud of my manly bravery.”

 

He didn’t know what he had expected her to say in the face of the lame attempt at humor, but he sure hadn’t expected her to hit him. He doubled over in surprise as the blow took him right in the ribs. He crashed down into her, knocking them both against the hard rock wall. Despite everything that was happening, he could not hold back the tears. Gasping for air through the gales of wheezed laughter, he said brokenly, “I cannot believe you hit me! I have never, ever seen you hit anybody!” Rubbing at the tears, he looked into her face and repeated in disbelief, “You actually hit me!”

 

Dumbstruck by her own actions, she stared for a moment into his smiling face. She couldn’t believe she had done it either. But his… his stubbornness had driven her past the point of rational thought. And she had hit him. Suddenly remembering what had made her so angry in the first place, she reached both hands up to grasp him firmly behind his neck. At her touch, he froze.

 

“John Black, if you ever try something like that again, I will hit you somewhere that won’t have you laughing. You got me!? A marriage is a partnership. If you think that by letting yourself get killed or captured it somehow saves me from hurt, you had better think again, buddy!” Her voice was hoarse with emotion, and from the way his eyes darkened she knew that her words had affected him.

 

Suddenly serious, he looked down on her upturned face. “Doc, we aren’t married, and we aren’t partners. The only vow I have made is to keep you safe. If I can be with you, I will. But if not, so be it. I will never take a vow that keeps me from protecting you with every skill I have. And in the end, if I die fighting for you, I will die happy,” he said, his tone low and firm.

 

“That would not make me happy, John. Don’t you see that?” she shot back, tears of frustration springing to her eyes.

 

“Maybe not. But it will make you alive, and I will settle for that,” he whispered gently, fighting the urge to touch her.

 

The finality of his words struck like a fist, and she again reached up to grasp his head between her hands. “I won’t settle for that, John. I will never settle for a life without you. Not again,” she muttered with fierce determination.

 

With a strength he couldn’t resist, she pulled him down to her. He tried to keep his body stiff. Tried to keep the space between them that would allow him to think. But as her lips met his, his body moved forward with a will of its own and he melded his form to hers in a quiet desperation unlike anything he had ever known. God, she made him weak.

 

She was senseless at his touch. Blind to everything around her but the heat of his body, she ran her hands down his sides and tried to pull him even tighter against her. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, and tore at the clothes that kept him from her. He gasped out, his groan a mingling of pain and pleasure so entwined as to be indistinguishable.

 

As she scrapped her nails against his naked flesh, he growled deep in his throat and slammed up against her hard enough that she left her feet. Her back was pressed firmly against the rough rock walls, and her long legs moved to clench around his waist. He propped his hands beneath her and held her so that she was above him. He looked up at her, pupils dilated so that only the barest gleam of blue encircled the black. “Don’t stop, Doc. Please don’t stop,” he panted out in a guttural tone, his lips drawn back in a snarl of need and desire.

 

She had no intention of stopping, and brought her fingers up to trace the line of his lips. It was then that she noticed the blood. Her hand dripped crimson drops, and she was struck by the metallic smell of copper. Suddenly scared, she looked down into his eyes. The eyes were wild, and at the sign of the blood on her hands, he merely grinned a predatory smile. “It’s okay, Doc,” he whispered harshly. Shifting so that he could grasp her head in one of his big hands, he pulled her lips down to meet his.

 

Firmly, she pushed against him, aware enough to know that something was wrong. “John, no,” she said, tearing her lips from his as her mind began to clear.

 

“Yes,” he grunted out, crushing her against the wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs.

 

The impact of it stunned her, and she knew she couldn’t fight him. She wouldn’t fight him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she whispered into his ear. “John, stop. Please.”

 

She felt his body freeze, and for a long moment she simply held him tight. Finally, she let her long legs unwrap themselves and sink back down to the reality of the dirt. Shaking with the aftershocks, she stood with her body pressed tight against his.

 

“I’m sorry, Doc. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he gasped out, hanging his head over her shoulder and trying to stop the shuddering in his body. “Baby, you didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. It’s okay,” she gentled, running her fingers in easy circles over the broad expanse of his back.

 

His breath came out in sharp gasping sobs that were painful to hear, and she simply stood and held him until his breathing finally eased. “Are you okay?” she finally whispered up at him.

 

“Yea,” he whispered back.

 

Drawing her head back, she waited for him to meet her eyes. “Do you want to tell me about the blood?” she asked, holding his gaze.

 

He gave a slight shrug and stepped back from her. “I got cut in the accident. It’s no big deal, Doc.”

 

She reached out to take his hand, knowing that he could not deny her when he was close to her. “John, let me look at it. At least let’s stop the bleeding, okay. That only makes sense, right?” she asked, feeling like she was dealing with a wounded animal that would shy away at the first sign of pain.

 

Abruptly he shook his head and pulled away from her grasp. “Doc, not now. Later, okay. I’ve got something I need to do.”

 

“John, it can wait,” she said firmly, no longer willing to take ‘no’ for an answer.

 

His grim chuckle was not the response she had expected. “Marlena, I need to lay a false trail. It’s daylight. The men after us can track our passage through the forest. There was just no way I could cover our trail last night. That means I need to lay a false trail for them to follow. I need to lead them down the valley and away from the cave. I can use the blood to do it.”

 

“No!” she said, her surprise showing in her voice. “No, you aren’t going to do that. Someone else can go. You are staying here.”

 

“Marlena, no one else can do this. Patrick and Bolan are decent soldiers, but they aren’t woodsmen. They don’t know what they are doing. I will lay down a trail and be back within the hour. It’s the only way,” he said softly, knowing that she would not accept it.

 

“I don’t care! You aren’t going. You’re… you’re hurt. You can’t go,” she stammered, looking at him with wide eyes. “You can’t go,” she repeated.

 

With a small smile on his face, he reached out to run a finger along the smooth skin of her cheek. “Yea, Doc. I can go…. I will go,” he said sadly.

 

***

 

Silently he moved through the dense underbrush, working his way back up the small creek bed. The tracks would lead them here and then disappear into the muddy water. It would be impossible to guess where they had gone from here. Even if the hunters decided to backtrail, there was no way they would be able to tell where their quarry had split off after the passage of so many bodies through the woods. With a tired sigh, he turned to make his way carefully back to the cave, his ears perking up at a distant noise. Freezing in place, he waiting for the sound to clarify itself.

 

His mind identified the rotors tearing at the air just before the chopper swung over his head on a direct course for the cave. With a silent curse, he swung around and sprinted into the thick underbrush. Heedless of the branches that clawed at him, he crashed through the woods at a dead run, pushing his body to cover the more than two miles of rough terrain before the chopper could land. It was a hopeless race, but he clung to the knowledge that Patrick and Bolen could hold the cave almost indefinitely, no matter the forces arrayed against them. The entrance was too narrow to be rushed, and the rock walls would provide more than enough cover for two men with automatics to hold off an army. John would arrive in time to take his enemy from behind. With luck, he would fly them all out in the chopper. His plan of attack already sketched out, he topped the last rise just in time to see the chopper taking off into the morning sky.

 

For an instance, John simply froze. Standing at the top of a steep hill, he watched as the helicopter slipped away. Knowing that she was on it. Feeling it in his gut, as the icy fear clamped down on his soul. He thought he would break then. Shatter into a million tiny pieces. Jagged shards that would rip through the core of the world, destroying everything in their wake.

 

Silence fell across the meadow like a shroud as the sound of the rotors slowly faded. The echoes of her passage rang out at him mockingly, and he filled his lungs to scream his rage. A cry of war to summon his executioners. Then the sound of voices drifted up to him from the valley floor, and he let his breath escape in a silent hiss. Released the fire of the rage, and let the cold empty peace that was death take its place. With an almost feral tilt of his head, he crouched and focused on his prey.

 

“Dammit, this was not my fault!” Bolen snapped angrily, his voice carrying easily to John’s ear. “It’s not like I had any way to signal you. All I had was the damned tracker. It isn’t my fault you guys showed up while Black was off in the woods!”

 

“Did it not occur to you to hold the man at gunpoint and simply wait for us to follow the bug?” a man in fatigues shot back in irritation.

 

“Hey, I contracted with you guys to identify the location of the compound. Hell, I even agreed to stick close to Black and wear a homing bug. I did not agree to commit suicide for you! If you want John Black so badly, you go get him. I fulfilled my end of the deal, and I expect my payment.”

 

“Fine.” With a gesture, the senior officer motioned a man forward. Digging into the back of a small pack, he pulled out a square pouch. “Enjoy it,” he said, his voice indicating his disdain. Tossing the pile of bills to Bolan, he gestured at a bound figure slouched beneath the trees. “What are you planning on doing with your buddy over there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Bolen looked up, startled by the question. “Hell, he’s your prisoner. You can do whatever you want with him,” he said with a shrug, not even looking over to where Patrick lay trussed up.

 

“We don’t care about the hired help, Mr. Bolen. As far as we are concerned, he is free to go. Now you, on the other hand… I would think you would be worried that it will get out that you betrayed Stefano Dimera. But, like I said, it’s not our problem.” With a formal nod, the soldier turned away and began walking to the south.

 

From his perch in the thick underbrush, John observed with interest as Bolen looked over at Patrick. Even from a distance, John could see the fear on the young man’s face. With two quick steps, Bolen suddenly stood before the bound body and drew his sidearm. A sharp report rang out, and the man on the ground flopped soundlessly over. Without glancing at the body at his feet, Bolan turned to trot after the man in fatigues and two mercenaries who followed him.

 

“How are we evac’ing, anyway?” he asked almost anxiously as the men strode down the center of the narrow valley. They passed directly in front of where John crouched, masked in the shadows. Ignoring the temptation to simply shoot them all down now, he instead watched and listened.

 

“Who said we are evacuating?” the senior mercenary replied with barely concealed loathing. “Our main target is John Black. We get the big money when we get him. He can’t be too far, even if the sound of the chopper scared him off. We are going to hunt him down. You… you’re on your own.”

 

***

 

John slipped silently through the woods, secure within their shadows. He followed Bolen by the sound of the leaves crushing beneath his feet, the sound of the branches slapping at his skin. The man was panicking. Left in the woods on his own, imagined enemies at every turn, he had completely forgotten his training. Around every bush, he expected to find John, waiting to leap at him from the dark places. It made him rush. It made him careless. And when John did finally slip from the shadows to loop a thick arm around his neck, it made him dead.

 

“Wake up, Bolen. It’s time to pay for your sins,” John hissed quietly into the bound man’s ear. His voice promised pain, and Bolen groaned into his gag as he came around. He found himself stretched awkwardly against a stout old tree. His hands were firmly tied behind him, looped together around the trunk of the tree. He was held upright by another restraint around his neck. The cords around his neck were tied to a high branch, and he had to stand tall to keep from choking. As full consciousness returned, he became aware of the chill of the fall air on his skin, and realized that his shirt and jacket had been used to tie him in place. Stretched out half-naked against the tree, he felt completely vulnerable. When he looked over into John’s face, he prayed for the first time in years.

 

“Ah… You finally awake, Bolen?” John’s whispered words carried a knife edge. He circled slowly, soundlessly, in front of the bound man. Reaching out, he took the man’s belt in his hands. “You sold me out, didn’t you Bolen,” the quiet voice almost taunted. “You know what I am going to do to you for that? You’re lucky, Bolen. I’m only going to kill you for that.”

 

Slowly, John tugged the thick leather belt from the man’s waist. When he grabbed the man’s fly and tugged the pants down to his knees, Bolen’s legs began to buckle. “Oh no, Bolen. I’m not going to let you strangle yourself now,” he said, his grim chuckle drifting on the night air. Pushing the suddenly sweating body firmly against the tree, he leaned forward and put his lips inches from Bolen’s ear. “You betrayed me, and I am going to kill you. But for what you did to the woman I love… Bolan, I am going to gut you for that,” he murmured softly.

 

He trailed the razor sharp blade of his knife along the bottom swell of the man’s stomach, and couldn’t help grimacing as the man’s body voided itself in its panic. When the frantic cries began to leak past the gag to the point of irritation, John slammed a hard fist into the man’s throat. Not enough to kill him, but enough to shut him up for the moment.

 

“Shut the fuck up, you coward. You want to save yourself a world of pain, you will listen to me Bolan. I am only going to give you one chance. Now, you tell me what I want to know, and I will kill you quick. Do you understand me? ‘Cause if you piss me off, I am going to slice you open and let you hang here watching you intestines ooze down to your knees. Do we understand each other?” he said, his voice cold as he studied Bolen’s eyes with almost clinical detachment.

 

At the other man’s frantic nod of agreement, an ugly smile passed over John’s face. “I thought we could come to an understanding,” he said encouragingly. “Now, I want you to whisper it to me. I want to know the name of the man who hired you. I want to know the names of the men you worked with. You will whisper this to me when I take the gag out, or I will show you a vision of hell that would make the devil envious. Do you understand?” he asked again, already moving to take the gag from Bolen’s mouth.

 

The man was so afraid, he didn’t even try to call out. His whispered words rushed out as if the confession could buy his redemption. The ISA hit squad, turned independents and out to the highest bidder. The call in the night, and the obscene amount of money if he would do just one little thing. Give one little bit of information. And finally, the name. The name of the man who had set the price for the capture of John Black. The man who took Marlena. Alamain. It was all that John needed to know.

 

He looked with disgust at the blubbering form of the man who sagged against the tree, pleading for mercy. Begging for pity. John leaned in to slip the gag back into place before the sound of it made him sick. He stood staring at the man for a long moment, waiting until he again had his full attention. Finally, he stepped forward.

 

Almost like a lover, he tucked his left hand behind Bolan’s thick neck and leaned across the tight stretched body. He whispered the soft words into the man’s ear, close enough that his breath caressed the sensitive skin on its passing. “I lied, Bolan. Welcome to Hell,” the words said as he slipped the knife into the soft flesh of the abdomen and sliced open the muscle and skin. Stepping back a pace, John looked calmly into the eyes of the sobbing man. As he sank against the bonds at his neck, he began choking for air and John reached around to cut the restraint away. As his head came forward, John could make out his shrieks of pain, even through the muffle of the gag. His face was expressionless as he commented softly, “I hope it takes you hours to die.”

 

Silently, he slipped away into the cover of the trees, never to realize what a disappointment Bolan was. The man didn’t last thirty minutes.

Chapter 64

 

‘Oh, this is all just so very exciting,’ thought Vivian, as she rushed around her bedroom getting ready for breakfast. They had prisoners. Actual prisoners.

 

She had glimpsed them being brought in late last night when she should have been fast asleep. As she had lounged in the first floor study, flipping through the dusty books for something to read, she had heard the sound of voices in the hall. Thinking that it never hurt to have every piece of information one could in this family, she had stood at the partially opened door and listened without revealing herself. Through the crack, she could see a pretty blond woman and three teenagers that had to be her children. These guests appeared even more reluctant than she to be visiting.

 

Two girls and a young man. A very handsome young man, Vivian had noted with a discerning eye. But the children were eclipsed by the form of the woman. Standing before her children, she had stared up at Mikovitch Alamain. Prince of Russia. Last of the line of the Czars. She had stared up at him and her golden eyes had blazed her defiance. With scorn in her voice, she had demanded to know where they were. Had ordered him to explain himself. Instead, with uncharacteristic calm, Mikos had turned and told the servants to escort the captives to their rooms.

 

The ‘guests’ had departed, and still Vivian had watched, peering out at the commanding form of her nephew. When he finally tore his gaze away from the long hall down which the woman had vanished, the man had actually appeared shaken. Stunned, Vivian had quietly eased the door shut and gone to pour herself a glass of port. Mikos was not a man who easily showed emotion, and his reaction to the spirited blond suggested that things were about to get interesting.

 

Smiling at herself in the ornate mirror, Vivian felt a shiver of anticipation at the events she could sense unfolding. Tucking a stray lock of hair back, she began planning how she could make this work to her advantage. With a light step, she turned to go down to breakfast.

 

***

 

She stared out the thick leaded glass panes, searching the slowly lightening landscape for some hint of her location. There was nothing. Rocky wilderness stretched out before her as far as her eye could see. She didn’t even know what day it was, much less her current location. She could still feel the effects of the sedatives forced upon her and the children in the form of the headache that pounded away behind her tired eyes. With a frustrated growl, she turned from the window and paced once more across the width of the big bedroom. She had just about had it with being kidnaped!

 

Her anger flaring, she tugged once again at the knob of the thick wooden door, already knowing it was a futile gesture. The richly appointed bedroom suite was decorated in the finest of furnishings. From the Turkish rugs that covered the floors to the rich velvet drapes that hung from the windows, it exuded taste and wealth. It was still a cage, and Marlena recognized it as such. With a last pointless kick at the door, she moved to sink down on the large canopy bed.

 

Wearily, she rubbed at her throbbing temples, attempting to force her mind to find a way out. Searching for some explanation of where she was and why she was there. Tears unexpectedly sprang to her eyes, and she dashed them away, ashamed of the sign of weakness. Ashamed of her refusal to face the fact that she already knew why she was here. She had known it since the moment Bolen had turned them over to the squad of mercenaries that had descended on them from out of nowhere. Those men hadn’t wanted her. They hadn’t wanted her children. They hadn’t even wanted Dimera. She was here because she was bait. Bait in a trap for the one they really wanted. She was here because they wanted John.

 

A tremor ran through her at the thought of him. God, she needed him so badly. Wanted nothing more than to feel his strong arms wrapped around her, assuring her that nothing would ever harm her. She never felt safer than when she was in his arms. But if he came for her this time, she knew that she would lose him. The fear took her firmly in its grip, because she knew that he would come. No matter where she was, she knew that he would find her. And he would come. And they would kill him.

 

She pulled her knees up against her chest and fought back the sobs that seemed ready to overwhelm her. ‘Oh God, please let him be all right,’ she prayed silently. ‘Please, be all right…. John, where are you? John, please don’t come for me.’

 

***

 

Dammit! Where were they?

 

He fought the urge to scream. Struggled against the blackness he could feel creeping in on his mind. The rage flared and he lashed out with one grimy fist, knotting his fingers into the stark white collar of the man beside him. “Find them, God dammit! I want them here or want your bleeding heart on a fucking plate! Do I make myself clear?” he grated harshly into the startled man’s face.

 

Jensen simply froze. Staring into those eyes was like staring down the barrel of a gun. Black fire seared him, and he had no doubt what-so-ever that John meant what he said. With a convulsive swallow, he nodded his head. “Yes sir, Mr. Black. We have agents blanketing the Alamain holdings. Men are in place to cover every lead. It is just a matter of time, sir,” he replied, pleased that his voice remained steady.

 

For a long moment, John simply held him close. Time seemed to stretch, and Jensen was aware of nothing but the man in front of him. The smell of sweat and dirt and blood. The throb of the vein in his temple. The look in his eyes, as if seeking an excuse to destroy. Any excuse. For a fraction of a second, the fingers seemed to tighten around his throat. Then, with a grunt of frustration, John shoved him away.

 

“Get out. Don’t come back until you have news,” John said woodenly, turning his back on the man. Without a sound, Jensen left him standing alone.

 

Christ, it had been almost two full days since she had been taken. Two endless days. Anything could have happened in two days.

 

Cursing the amount of wasted time, he sank down into the leather chair behind the big desk. Yet another study in yet another safehouse. After a while, they all seemed to blur together. He couldn’t even seem to remember what state this particular study occupied.

 

He tried to make his eyes focus on the lines of the map. Tried to trace the roads that led out of the Virginia wilderness. The image before his eyes blurred, an endless sea of gray with no secrets to reveal. With a groan, he rubbed at gritty eyes and gave up the search. Too much wasted time. They could be anywhere by now. He had been too damn slow, and now she was lost.

 

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four wasted hours it had taken him to hike out of mountains and make contact. Hours spent dodging search patrols, crawling on his belly more often than not. Another three hours wasted in transit to a Dimera base. By the time the search had started, she had already been lost.

 

He had been using every resource at his command, and after twelve solid hours of work, he still had nothing. There was simply no sign of Marlena and the kids. No sign of Dimera. So tired he couldn’t think straight, his head dropped down to rest on his crossed arms. The stink of blood was on his hands, and he distantly thought that he should shower. Eat. Function. He couldn’t remember why it was he should do such things, so he didn’t.

 

He sat. His mind drifted. As always, it drifted to her. He dozed off, sitting at the desk. And in his mind, he saw her face. A small smile curved his lips before he recognized the dream for the nightmare it was.

 

It seemed his eyes had been closed only seconds before he was jarred back to reality by a persistent knocking at the door. Dismissing the ugly images in his dreams, he prayed for good news. “Come in,” he called sharply, glancing down at his watch to check the time. Five more wasted hours. A scowl on his face, he nodded brusquely to Jensen, who entered accompanied by two guards.

 

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long, dammit. You better be here to tell me you have some word,” John said, straightening in his chair and rubbing irritably at the back of his neck.

 

“Yes sir. We just got a call from the kidnappers. Untraceable, we checked,” Jensen replied.

 

“Well?” John commanded, looking up with glittering eyes.

 

“No details on where they were, sir. Just a voice, claiming to have Mr. Dimera and the Bradys. We were told that we were to contact them once we have you in custody. They want a trade. You for Mr. Dimera.” Jensen said the words in a monotone, his eyes not quite managing to meet John’s own.

 

“Aaah,” John replied, nodding. “And what are you going to do?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone, rising slowly to his feet.

 

“Whatever you tell me to sir,” Jensen replied, finally forcing himself to meet John’s gaze.

 

“Good choice, Jensen,” was the dry reply. “And these two?” John asked with a nod to the two armed guards.

 

“These two are to make sure that everybody else does what you tell them to. Sir,” Jensen replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

At this, John actually cracked a grim smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think bodyguards are necessary. Now, let’s figure out how we are going to get them back. I assume you taped the call? I want to hear it. I’d like to be able to recognize the voices of the men I’m going to kill.”

 

***

 

Marlena walked slowly down the long staircase, followed closely by her children. She suppressed the desire to tug the black shawl closer around her slim body. Though she had been grateful to relinquish the pair of dirty jeans she had worn in favor of a long soak in a massive clawfoot tub, she was uncomfortable with the thought of wearing clothes that had so obviously been chosen by someone else.

 

The burgundy dress seemed to cling to every curve, the velvet whispering slightly with every movement she made. The dress fell almost to the floor, and while she was glad of the warmth it provided within the cold stone walls of the castle, the plunging neckline still managed to leave her feeling somehow exposed. The black lace shawl she had found draped in the armoire had seemed to provide her with a sense of cover. At least it had until she reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself trapped in the gaze of the man who awaited her.

 

“Dr. Evans. You appear none the worse for wear this morning, I am happy to say,” the man said, rising from his seat at the head of a massive mahogany dinning table.

 

He strode confidently across the room, and once again she was struck by a sense of familiarity. There was something about this man that she should know, but she could not place what it was. His body was thick but well proportioned and he moved like an athlete. Grey streaked the temples of his thick mane of hair, but failed to touch the majority of the glossy black hair tied loosely behind his neck. When he came to a stop before her, she realized that the breadth of the man’s shoulders had caused her to misjudge his height. He towered above her, inches taller than she had first thought. His physical presence was intimidating, and she sensed that he used this to his advantage. Resisting the urge to take a step back she held her ground and was startled when he took her hand and raised to his lips.

 

Something about this man was very wrong, and a shiver ran down her spine at his touch. She knew he had felt it when he stood up and caught her eyes with his own. As she stared into his face, she suddenly recognized what she should have seen at the start. John’s face gazed down at her. John’s face, but not John’s eyes.

 

With a gasp, she jerked her hand away and took a sudden step back, unable to tear herself away from those dark orbs. Their black depths bore into her, and her breath caught in her throat. Scary things lurked behind those eyes. Scary, ugly things. She knew that she didn’t want this man anywhere near her or her children.

 

“Who are you?” she asked coldly, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to the man who stood before her.

 

“Ah, yes. We weren’t formally introduced last night, were we?” the big man said sardonically, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. “I am Mikovitch Alamain. I am honored to have you in my home, Marlena. You and your children,” he said, stepping back a step and looking over the small group before him.

 

“I do believe that this beautiful young woman must be your oldest child, Carrie?” he stated, giving a nod to the young woman. “Of course, she isn’t truly your child by blood, is she?” he asked, glancing back to Marlena.

 

“My children are none of your business, Mr. Alamain. I want to know why you have brought us here,” Marlena responded, reaching out to take Carrie’s hand in her own.

 

Ignoring her, the man turned to regard Sami and Eric who stood to Marlena’s left. Raising an eyebrow, he gave a half-bow. “Samantha and Eric, the twins. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, looking as if he were enjoying some private joke at their expense.

 

Studying Sami’s face, he reached out a hand and ran his finger below her chin, causing her to jerk violently away. “Such beautiful children you have, Marlena,” he said, with a nod of admiration.

 

“Keep your damn hands off my sister,” Eric growled out, stepping in front of Sami to stare up into the face of the man who towered above him.

 

“Watch your manners, boy. I do not tolerate ill-bred pups without the sense to respect their betters,” Mikovitch snapped out, his face taking on a dangerous scowl.

 

“Eric, don’t,” Marlena interjected worriedly, tugging her angry son away from the man whose very presence seemed to send shivers of fear running through her.

 

“You should listen to your mother, Eric. I would think you have more sense than to insult your host,” Mikovitch said, turning abruptly away to move back to his seat at the table. With a broad sweep of one arm, he indicated that they should sit. “Of course, I guess I shouldn’t expect too much of them,” he commented, his eyes once again coming to fasten onto Marlena. “After all, all of your children are the brood of your first husband. Roman Brady, I believe his name was?”

 

Though the words were said casually, his eyes studied her intently, and Marlena immediately knew that it was somehow very important that none of the children were John’s. Allowing some of the anger she felt to creep into her voice, she replied. “Yes. Roman is their father. He was a good man, and I will not hear you suggest otherwise.”

 

For a moment he simply sat, staring into her face. Finally, he gave a stiff nod. “Of course. You are quite correct. I apologize to you all.”

 

Before she could form a response, a shrill voice rang throughout the room. “Oh, now really! We have guests for the first time in ages, and you don’t even wait for me to beginning dinning!”

 

The words were closely followed by the form of a petite redhead who breezed into the room in a manner usually reserved for hurricanes. “Honestly, Mikos! What were you thinking?!” the woman chastised, coming to a stop behind an empty chair at the big table.

 

“My apologies to you too then,” Mikos said, only the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice. Gesturing to the empty seat, he continued. “And the food was waiting upon your arrival. Now, if I may? Vivian D’pua, I would like to introduce you to our ‘guests’,” he said, flashing Marlena a lazy smile. “This is Dr. Marlena Evans, and these are her children, Carrie, Eric, and Samantha.”

 

“It’s Sami,” the youngest girl corrected, shooting a challenging look towards the head of the table.

 

“Sami…. What a lovely name,” Vivian interjected smoothly, ignoring her nephew’s grim visage. “It is just such a pleasure to have company in this dreary old castle of Mikos’,” she continued with a bright smile.

 

“We aren’t exactly here voluntarily,” Marlena responded dryly, not quite certain what to make of this seemingly ditzy redhead. Beneath the flashy exterior, Marlena could sense a steel edge as sharp as any she had known.

 

“Well company is company. One can’t be all that choosey around here, you know,” Vivian answered with a careless flip of her hand. Reaching for the cup of coffee in front of her, Vivian turned to focus inquisitive eyes on Marlena. “Now my dear, why don’t you tell me all about yourself? It has been so long since I’ve had anyone other than Mikos to chat with over morning coffee.”

 

“Vivian, please refrain from pumping our guests for information. It is unseemly,” Mikos commented from his seat at the head of the table, his attention focused on the smoked herring that was his usual morning fare.

 

“Why exactly are we here?” Marlena asked, her food lying untouched before her.

 

“You are not one for small talk, I see,” he replied, looking up at her with amusement. “But, if you wish to spoil breakfast by discussing such unpleasantness, then so be it. Your presence here is an accident. A most pleasant accident, I might add,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

 

“Your attack on the compound in Virginia did not seem ‘accidental’ to me,” Marlena shot back, her eyes narrowing in anger.

 

Again, Mikos could not help but smile. “No, perhaps not. But it was the only way for me to issue my… invitation for a meeting. I have business with one ‘John Black’. I believe that you are familiar with the man? He was even a husband of sorts, unless I was terribly misinformed.”

 

‘Ah!’ thought Vivian. ‘This was all starting to make sense.’

 

“I ‘am’ married to John Black,” Marlena responded, emphasizing her words. “It may not have been under his own name, but we are still husband and wife.”

 

“Of course you are,” was the condescending reply.

 

“My ‘husband’ has no desire to do business of any sort with you. And if you are unaware of it, he has the ability to make your life very uncomfortable. I would suggest that you release all of us immediately,” Marlena said hotly, her anger overriding her fear.

 

“‘John Black’ is not a threat to me,” Mikos replied, his voice growing threatening. “He will do as I command him to or he will suffer the consequences!”

 

“You aren’t fit to shine his boots!” she spat out, rising from her chair and flinging her napkin to the table. Without another word, she turned and walked quickly from the table back toward the privacy of her room. The children followed quickly in her wake.

 

***

 

He watched in admiration as she stalked angrily away. He had found her intriguing when he read her file. Independent, intelligent, and very very beautiful. An aristocratic beauty with hair of spun gold, she looked more like royalty than any queen he had ever met. ‘At least his brother showed good taste in women,’ he had thought at the time. Little had he realized, the pictures did not even come close to capturing the reality of her.

 

He had thought that she would be cold, reserved. Above all, frightened. Instead, she seemed to generate heat by her very presence. There was fire inside that woman. He had seen it blazing out from her eyes when she thought he wouldn’t notice. ‘He would not go to sleep with his back turned on that one,’ he thought wryly. It made him want her. The fact that she had belonged to his brother made him want her even more.

 

His brother. The boy had done quite well for himself. He now had control of one of the most powerful criminal cartels in the world. How he felt about that, Mikos was not quite certain. On the one hand, it only made sense. After all, blood will tell. Alexander was his brother. Half-brother, at least. It should come as no surprise that he had risen to the top of his profession. In a sense, the man had won a kingdom of his own.

 

And then Mikos recognized the problem in that scenario. There was only room for one ruler in the Alamain line. There was only room for one king. Little Alexi showed an appalling lack of respect in trying to build a kingdom of his own. His place would be to serve, not to rule. As for the woman…. Well, little brother had no right to aspire to such a one as that.

 

For a moment, the image flitted before his eyes. His brother on his knees before him, head bent in respect. Paying him the homage that was his due. The woman at Mikos’ side, her eyes never leaving his face. It was a lovely image. Perhaps having a brother would not be such a bad thing after all. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back in the armchair and raised his eyes to the heavens.

 

‘Ah…. Alexi,’ he thought. ‘Hurry home little brother.’

 

Chapter 65

 

Hot water beat down on tender skin and he rubbed hard with the rag in an attempt to remove the ground-in dirt. His arms stung, still reddened by the heat of the flames that had consumed Bryce. He ignored the sensation, the buzz of the amphetamines racing through his mind. Detached from the world around him, he was numb to everything but the desire to have her back. The need for her burned in his blood.

 

An ugly smile curved his lips, and his hands clenched in anticipation. His anger now had a direction. A point of focus. Jensen had come through for him again. A contact had reported that their plane had landed in Spain.

 

He would follow. He would find her. And he would punish those who had taken her.

 

He breathed deeply, trying to control the restless energy that made his muscles crackle and knot. He wanted nothing more than to go to her. Take her. Crush any who stood in his way. Only his years of training held him back. Made him wait. Made him think. He could not be careless with her life. Would not risk her through haste. He would follow her, but before he did, there was something he needed to get. There was someone he needed to get.

 

***

 

Bo walked into the silent warehouse, every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave, to at least call for back-up. Instead, he yelled into the darkness. “I’m here. I came alone. Just as you asked.” His words echoed back from the high rafters and he heard the flutter of wings as disgruntled pigeons took flight.

 

The quiet again descended, and Bo was left with the recognition that this was probably one of the stupidest things he had ever done. When the tip had come in, he should have told someone. Should have asked for cover. But there were too many rumors. Rumors that the recent rash of killings in the ISA were connected to a section of rogue agents. Rumors that the corruption might reach high levels. Bo was no longer certain he could trust the enforcement agencies. Abe was the only man he was sure of. But Abe would never have allowed him to make this meet without back-up, and Bo was unwilling to extend his trust that far. Thus he stood, alone in the silence. Waiting for an informant who would help him find Marlena.

 

Suddenly, though he heard no sound, Bo realized that a dark shadow was coalescing in a shrouded corner of the building. Slowly, not wanting to frighten the man away, he moved forward. Squinting to make-out the man’s features, he kept his tone calm. “You said you had some information for me? That you knew the whereabouts of Marlena Evans and her children?”

 

He could see the man clearly now, standing silently beside a large packing crate. Even before he processed the man’s face, his hand flashed to his shoulder holster. He cocked the hammer as he aimed and fought the urge to pull the trigger. “Raise your hands, John. And you better move slow. I even think you’re going for a gun, and I will allow myself the pleasure of killing you right now,” he grated, his eyes hard.

 

Casually, the man in the shadows stepped forward, raising his hands out to his sides. “Not a very cordial greeting for someone who is trying to do you a favor,” he chided, the whisper of an ironic smile gracing his features.

 

Eyes narrowing in anger, Bo snapped “On your knees, John. I want to see you on the ground, with your hands on your head. Right now, John. Or you are a dead man.”

 

John studied the man before him. He looked willing to kill. Hell, he probably even believed he would do it. But John had been trained by the very best. He had no doubt that Bo would do as he wanted him to in the end.

 

Slowly lowering his arms to his sides, John gave a slight shrug. “Mmm… I think not, Bo. I think that as long as you want to find Marlena and the kids, you are going to do exactly as I say.”

 

Their eyes locked, and Bo reluctantly lowered his weapon. John felt a pang of remorse as he recognized the flash of helplessness that crossed Bo’s face. It was the same feeling he had had ever since she had been taken. Bo would just have to live with it, just like he was.

 

“What is it you want from me?” Bo asked hoarsely, holding his revolver at his side. Unwilling to holster it while John still stood before him. The odd smile returned to John’s face as he replied. “I want a second in command. I want you, Bo.” Turning abruptly, he started toward the open bay at the back of the warehouse. His voice carried over his shoulder to Bo. “We haven’t got much time. I will explain it all to you on the plane.”

 

Against his will, Bo found himself moving to catch up to the swiftly fading figure as it stalked into the night.

 

***

 

His patience wearing thin, Bo sank into the thick leather of the chair and pulled the belt tight across his hips. The engines of the private jet whined with barely leashed power and with a sudden surge the plane sprang forward into the air. His temper rising, Bo shot a hard look in the direction of his ‘host’. The bastard just sat there, lounging behind the narrow table that dominated the far side of the Lear jet. Staring into space, his face revealed nothing. Dead eyes drifted over to meet Bo’s gaze, and a chill ran down his spine.

 

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you care to inform me as to where we’re going?” Bo asked tightly, his anger showing through in his voice.

 

Gods, he did not want to talk about this. He didn’t even want to think about it, but there was nothing he could about that. If he wanted Bo’s help, he’d have to talk about it too. With a smile that failed to reach his eyes, John shrugged. “Like I said, we’re going to get Marlena. I thought I had made myself clear.”

 

Wanting nothing more than to slap the smug look from his face, Bo slipped free of his seat and stood to confront the man he had called ‘brother’. “The only thing that is ‘clear’ from where I stand is that you are a lying son of a bitch,” he hissed from between clenched teeth.

 

Leaning back in his seat, John studied the angry man in front of him. It was a pose he had seen many times. Bo, standing in the interrogation room, his sleeves rolled up and a combative glare in his eyes. It was a pose that had elicited many a confession from cowed suspects. Almost amused to find himself on the receiving end of that glare, he dryly commented, “It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your ability to comprehend the obvious. You’ll go far as a cop.”

 

Bo’s patience came to an abrupt end, and with startling speed his hand flashed forward to latch onto John’s collar. Putting his weight behind the effort, he wrenched the man half out of his seat and leaned across the narrow table. His words growled out like the threat they were. “You are going to tell me where Marlena is. You are going to do it right now, or so help me God, I will take you apart one piece at a time.”

 

Unmoving, John simply stared back. Finally, he straightened to his full height. “If I had her, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?” he answered softly.

 

It was not the response he had expected, and reluctantly Bo allowed the silk of the shirt to slip from his grasp. “Why do you need me?” he asked more calmly.

 

John turned his head away and moved to the bar at the front of the plane. If he hadn’t known better, Bo would have sworn he had seen a glimmer of pain in those cold blue eyes. In lieu of an answer, the man reached for a bottle and poured a tumbler full of straight bourbon. In one fluid motion, he drained the glass and poured another. Almost as an afterthought, he reached into the small fridge beneath the bar and pulled out a bottle of Redhook. Casually, he turned to toss the bottle to Bo. “Try a decent beer for a change, why don’t you,” he said, walking back up the aisle.

 

“Why do you need me?” Bo repeated, emphasizing the words as if speaking to a particularly dense child.

 

Giving a small sigh, John rubbed one hand wearily across his face and gestured to the table. “We might as well sit. It’s going to be a long ride. Even in the jet, Europe will take seven hours.”

 

“And we are going to Europe why?” Bo said, easing himself down into one of the chairs at the table and beginning to feel like he was talking to a retard.

 

“We are going to Europe because that is where Marlena is. Why did you think we were going?” John answered, raising a brow and taking another deep drink from his glass. The hundred proof went down like water, doing nothing to make him forget. What was the point of drinking if it couldn’t make you forget?

 

“John, are you drunk?” Bo blurted suddenly, trying to make sense of the man’s disjointed ramblings. John stifled a chuckle, and looked into the amber depths of his glass. “I don’t get drunk,” he muttered almost to himself before taking another swig.

 

“Okay…” Bo drawled out, watching John with a mixture of concern and distrust. “So we are going to get Marlena. Where exactly is she?”

 

Still staring into his now empty glass, John shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice a whisper.

 

Exasperated, Bo replied sharply, “John…”

 

“I don’t fucking know! What part of that don’t you understand!” John yelled, slamming his glass to the table and once again shooting to his feet. Unable to contain the restlessness that set his nerves to fire, he paced to the end of the aisle and leaned against the wet bar. Staring into the green marble of the top, he absently traced a streak of white quartz with his finger. When he finally spoke, his voice was detached.

 

“Alamain. Mikovitch Alamain has her. Her. The kids. Dimera.” He snorted at the image, and then closed his eyes and shook his head as if to dislodge the thought. “He took them all. Right out from under me. He took them all. He has connections and properties all over Europe. We traced a plane out of D.C. to Spain. They were on it. Of that we’re certain. After Spain…” he again shrugged.

 

“John, are you trying to make me believe that you didn’t kidnap Marlena and the kids from Salem?” Bo said in a hard voice.

 

With an ugly chuckle, John turned to again face Bo. “Christ no. You aren’t stupid enough to believe that. I do give you a little credit, you know.”

 

“Your confidence is touching, John. Really,” Bo muttered sarcastically, wondering if it was too late to pull his gun and force the pilot to change course for Salem.

 

‘Fuck you, Bo,’ he sent up in a silent curse. He did not want to talk about Marlena. To name the ways he had betrayed her would only make it more real. “Did you figure out I didn’t kill Roman?” John asked, startling Bo with the sudden change in topic.

 

At the mention of his brother’s death, the pain of the loss came flooding back. His hands tightened into fists, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. “I had my doubts,” he finally answered, his tone cold. “It didn’t fit your M.O…. Besides, it appears there was some link to an ISA operation. It’s starting to look like maybe there were some rogue agents. Roman may have been on their trail.”

 

Meeting Bo’s eyes, John merely nodded his head. “That sounds more likely,” he answered simply.

 

“I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?” Bo commented suspiciously.

 

At the memory of what he had done to Jameson, he had to fight a hysterical laugh. Jameson would look like a mercy killing compared to what he wanted to do next. With the hint of a smile showing, John gave a slight shrug. “Nothing that bares discussing now. But… I don’t think you need to worry about the men responsible for Roman’s death, Bo. I have a feeling that that account has been settled.”

 

“Do you, now?” Bo said in a low voice.

 

Holding his gaze, John nodded. “It’s a very strong feeling.”

 

“The assassinations in D.C.?” Bo asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

 

“The account is settled, Bo. Let’s leave it at that,” John answered, turning back to face the bar. Drawing in a deep breath, he reached again for the half empty bottle of bourbon. Dispensing with the need for a glass, he titled the bottle to his lips and let the liquid fire burn a path down his throat. With a slight shudder, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. Softly, he commented, “She was supposed to be home by now. Did you know that? Marlena was supposed to be home by now…. But I fucked up. I was weak and I was careless and I lost her. Another of God’s little jokes,” he said, breaking into a bitter laugh.

 

The facade cracked, and he violently slammed the bottle against the marble counter, the glass shattering in his hand. The sound of destruction was a relief, and with a sweep of his arm he ripped a rack of glasses from the wall, sending them smashing to the floor.

 

Bo was on his feet in an instance, the distance to John covered without time for thought. He wrapped his right arm around the man’s shoulders and tried to pull him back from the broken glass. At the contact, he felt the sharp blow of an elbow to his ribs and staggered back in surprise. John’s form whirled around, his hand flashing up from his shoulder holster. Lips drawn back in an ugly snarl, his eyes were black as he drew a bead with his automatic. Bo could make out every detail of the stylized weapon as John’s finger flicked off the safety and he cocked the hammer.

 

“You fuck!! You lousy fuck!” he yelled, stepping forward to press the barrel to Bo’s forehead. Bo froze in place, not daring the slightest movement that might set the man off. For a long moment, John held his pose. Finally, he drew in a great gasp of air and allowed his suddenly shaking hand to drop to his side. The sound of the safety clicking into place carried clearly in the tension filled silence. As Bo watched, the mask of calm once again fell into place. Almost as if he were afraid to hold the gun, John tossed it carelessly to the floor.

 

“Don’t worry about the mess. Somebody will clean it up when we land. I’m going to get some sleep in the back,” he said as if nothing had happened. Without further comment, he brushed by Bo’s shaken form and strode up the aisle to the back room of the plane.

 

***

 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only lie there, staring out the window. Watching the clouds race by far below. Seeing her face.

 

Her face. He had loved her from the first moment he laid eyes on her. He saw her now as he had seen her then. Golden hair. Porcelain skin. Eyes that a man could lose himself in. The first time she had touched him had been the first time he had truly known peace.

 

The images paraded through his mind, an unnoticed grimace curving his lips in anticipation of the things he knew were to come. She had lunged at him, a knife in her hand, her eyes spitting fire. Her hatred had been a hurt greater than any he had ever experienced. Greater than any he could have imagined. He would have done anything to erase that look of hatred. He would have given anything to make it go away. In the end, he had given up everything that he was. It had been a small price to pay.

 

He wrapped his arms around his body and squeezed his eyes tight shut. Still the memories came. The first time he had held his daughter. Those bright eyes staring up at him with such a look of trust. Sami had owned his heart from that day forward. He would never forget the feeling of awe, knowing that the tiny being he held in his arms was his. Knowing that the little girl had been created from the love he shared with her mother. He would never forget that feeling, no matter how hard he tried.

 

He curled his legs to his chest, huddling in on himself. Trying not to feel the silk of her skin beneath the pads of his fingers. Trying not to smell her perfume, the heady scent which always made it hard for him to concentrate on anything but her. The sound of satin sliding across her body as he slowly slipped her nightgown away. Oh God, the way she had looked at him the first night they made love.

 

He knew what would happen next. What always happened next. He grit his teeth, a low moan building in the back of his throat. The fire raged upward in his vision, the house burning to cinders, Marlena inside. The first time he had killed her.

 

The plane, rocketing into the sky. The feeling of having his lungs ripped out as he watched the twisted metal plummeting into the sea. The wish to die. The second time he had killed her.

 

The betrayals, one after the other. Her face, as he shot a man down in front of her. The fear in her eyes when he had come to lead her out of the compound. Bullets and blood and fire. A dead husband. A dead child. A brief reprieve. Bliss. And then she was gone.

 

The last vision was always the worst vision. It was a vision of things to come. A room. A bed. A dark figure. Thick. Strong. Male. A scream in the night. When the man finally rises from the figure lying motionless on the bed, he wears John’s face. The third time he killed her.

 

Lurching from the narrow cot, he fell to his knees, retching into the small metal trash bin until past the point of exhaustion. The dry heaves finally eased, leaving him feeling bruised and beaten. Raggedly, he pulled himself up to again perch on the cot. Drawing his knees up to his chest he sat, rocking gently back and forth. His head buried behind his knees, he closed his eyes and accepted his punishment.

 

Seeing her face. He had loved her from the first time he laid eyes on her. He sat and watched her face. The first time he had killed her…

 

Chapter 66

 

She stood silently, pulling the shawl tightly around her as she watched the door close firmly shut. The lock clicked with finality and she was cut off. Cut off from freedom. From her children. From John. Tears once again threatened as the anger she had felt turned to despair. She had handled the meeting with her captor so badly, letting her emotions get away from her. She knew better than that. Alamain had liked it when she lost her temper. She didn’t want to do anything that that man liked.

 

Where was Stefano? At the very least, he might have some idea of the reason for this vendetta against John. If only she had used her head instead of her heart, she might have discovered something useful from the horrid encounter with Mikovitch Alamain and his eccentric aunt. Frustrated with herself, Marlena moved to collapse onto the soft cushions of the bed.

 

Closing her eyes, she tried not to think about the way he had watched her. There was something very… possessive in the way he had followed her every move. That was the only way to describe it. As if she were some shiny item he wished to own. Marlena had no desire to be owned.

 

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic she moved to sit at the large window, staring out into the open country side and its promise of freedom. Somewhere out there, she knew he was searching for here. He was coming for her. She could sense it. Now was not the time for tears, it was time to plan. She had to be ready when he came. She would not lose him.

 

***

 

“The first thing we have to do is meet with Jensen,” John said, walking stiffly toward the waiting limo. His movements were jerky, as if every step required a conscious act of will. Dark circles were under his eyes, and his face was deathly pale. Bo wondered how it was possible for the man to keep his feet.

 

“Dammit, Bo! Pay attention. This is serious,” John snapped sharply, startling Bo back to the needs of the moment.

 

“Yea. I heard you. We meet with Jensen. No problem,” Bo muttered irritably, sliding into the plush leather of the car and shooting the chauffeur a nasty look. As the door slammed shut on the outside world, he turned to John and asked “So who is this Jensen guy again?”

 

Reigning in his impatience, John forced himself to go slow. “Jensen is the defacto next in charge after me. He’s actually a brilliant tactician. Not much for field work, but he is Stefano’s closest adviser. He knows every facet of the organization. We need him if we are going to get Marlena and the kids back.”

 

“I thought you said he was the cook?” Bo noted, watching as John leaned his head back against the seat and stared blankly at the ceiling. “He’s a bit eccentric,” was the weary reply. “But he’s a good man. He knows his business.”

 

“So this is the guy you trust to get Marlena back?” Bo asked, his face clearly expressing his doubt.

 

John gave a grim chuckle, tilting his head to give Bo an ugly smile. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. In the end, his first loyalty will be to Dimera. He’d put a bullet in my back and leave Marlena and the kids to rot if that’s what it took to get Dimera. Hell, it’s one of the reasons I admire him.”

 

The big car hummed along the road, and for a moment the two men simply sat in silence. Finally, John said softly, “That’s why I need you Bo. I need someone I can trust to put Marlena first. You are it. If I go down, you’re in charge. You damn well better be there for her.”

 

Bo looked over at the slouched figure beside him. He was so cold, so empty inside. The only emotion he seemed to own was rage. God, how had the man who had been his brother turned into this? “What makes you think you can just tell these guys that I’m second in command and they’ll buy it?” Bo finally asked.

 

“Easy. They know I’ll kill them if they don’t,” was the stoic response.

 

***

 

“Jensen, meet Bo Brady. After me, he’s in charge. Got that?” John said, walking through the office door without bothering to knock.

 

Unperturbed, Jensen looked up from the map draped across Dimera’s large desk. “Understood, sir,” he noted calmly.

 

Giving the man behind the desk the once-over, Bo had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. This guy looked like an accountant. From the school tie around the neck of his stiffly starched shirt to the polished wingtips on his feet, the man seemed to exude prissy English propriety. ‘No wonder John had to call me in,’ he thought smugly.

 

“So? We got any new leads,” John asked without preamble, moving to study the large map.

 

“No sir, not yet Mr. Black. Mikos Alamain has four separate residences in Europe alone and more holdings than I care to contemplate. Many of his properties are in hard to reach areas. So far, none of our contacts report any indication of Mr. Dimera’s presence,” Jensen answered briskly.

 

With a distracted nod, John rubbed at the back of his stiff neck and tried to decide on a course of action. Any action. If he didn’t find something productive to do, he thought he would probably lose his mind.

 

“Um, sir?” Jensen interjected hesitantly. “We did have another contact from the people holding Mr. Dimera. They called several hours ago, while you were still on the flight.”

 

“Well?” John asked, raising his head to fasten glittering eyes onto Jensen’s suddenly pale face.

 

“They think we are stalling, sir. The kidnappers ordered us to turn you over to them within 48 hours. If we don’t, they said they would start by sending the Brady children over in pieces. They said they would work their way up to Mr. Dimera.”

 

When John failed to make any reply, Jensen noted, “They want us to meet them here, in Europe. England, specifically. Guess they didn’t want to try and risk smuggling you through customs, which suggests they want to keep you alive. It bought us the extra time, sir. We still might find them before the meet.”

 

They would hurt his children. To get to him, they would hurt his children. He’d put a bullet in his brain himself rather than risk that. With a sigh of resignation, John looked down to the map once again, hoping its secrets would reveal themselves to him. There was nothing. “Are we going to find them in the next 48 hours, Jensen?” he asked, his voice emotionless.

 

“No sir. I don’t think we will,” was the quiet reply.

 

With a slight shrug, John straightened his shoulders and stood to look Jensen in the eye. “Then what do you suggest we do?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Holding his eye, Jensen replied. “We give them what they asked for, sir.”

 

***

 

Bo tread lightly down the darkened hallway, careful not to rouse the attention of any of the wandering guards. It was almost dawn and the big house was wrapped in silence. If he was going to try and call home, now was the time. Slipping quietly across the hardwood floors, he stopped at the doorway to the office where he had spent the evening going over the details of the Alamain holdings with John and Jensen. To Bo’s relief, the door was unlocked. The thick wooden door swung open without protest, and he quickly stepped into the shadowed room. Glowing embers from the brick fireplace bathed the room in a reddish light and his eyes slowly adjusted to the point he could make out the shape of the furnishings. With a sudden start, he realized he was not alone.

 

A pair of eyes studied him, the red of the flames dancing across their surface. For a moment it seemed as if he had entered a realm of demons, for there was nothing of humanity in gaze that held his own. “Bo?” a low voice intoned out of the darkness.

 

The sound broke him from the spell and he recognized the dark void that was John’s form. A crackle of sparks briefly dispelled the darkness, and in that instance Bo saw the cold shine of the chrome-plated pistol clutched in the big hand. The gun pointed toward the ceiling, cradled against the side of John’s head, and Bo had a moment to wonder who it was intended for. The sparks faded swiftly, and as the darkness once more enveloped them Bo could feel the tension radiating from the man behind the big desk. The hair on the back of his neck rose in response to a threat he did not yet understand. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked, his mundane question an unconscious effort to restore a sense of normalcy to the scene.

 

A harsh chuckle rippled through the darkness. “Waiting for my salvation,” was the detached response. When no elaboration was forthcoming, Bo slowly moved to the fireplace. Careful not to initiate a confrontation, he kept his eyes fixed on the dying flames. Casually, he reached to toss another log on the embers, stoking the fire to produce enough light to see by.

 

“You figure you’ll find salvation in the barrel of a gun?” he asked, his tone low and gentle as he watched the leaping flames.

 

Again the laughter echoed through the room. “I always have before. Why should this time be any different?” John replied with words that slurred tiredly together.

 

Backing from the heat of the now roaring fire, Bo turned to face the man at the desk. He was not surprised to see an almost empty bottle perched beside John’s left hand. “A little liquid courage to help you on your way?” he asked, contempt coloring his words.

 

John offered a cold smile in response. Bo was an idiot if he thought it took courage to die. He wasn’t afraid to use the gun, he was tempted to. Lowering the weapon, he reluctantly clicked the safety on and let it rest on the desk before him. He gazed at it with something akin to longing, his fingers reluctant to relinquish the cool comforting feel of death from their touch. To give his hands something to do, he reached over to grasp the bottle. Draining its contents in a single motion, he gave a long sigh that verged on a moan and tilted his head back to study the ceiling.

 

The silence lingered until Bo thought he would get no response. Finally, John muttered almost dreamily, “Kills the pain. Makes it all go away. That’s what whiskey’s supposed to do, didn’t you know that Bo? Hell, I thought you listened to country music.” His chuckle rasp out like sandpaper over glass, painful to hear.

 

Bo could feel the agony in the whispered words, and despite himself he searched for something to ease the man’s hurt. “You lost her before and got her back, John. Remember when she went down on the plane. We thought we lost her for good then. But she came back. She came back to you. To her family. We’ll get her back again,” he said softly.

 

John simply stared at the heavens, his breath rasping out harshly in the silence of the room. Finally, as if losing the fight to his inner demons, he lurched to his feet and began pacing across the floor. He stalked the room, grinding his fists into tired eyes in an effort to drive away the assaulting waves of memories. “Yea, Bo. I remember that. I remember it all too well. Do you remember?” he shot out harshly, turning to glare at Bo with tortured eyes.

 

Not knowing what the man was driving at, Bo simply stared at him mutely. Angrily, John stepped to him. “I remember every time I put her in danger. I remember every time she paid the price for being with me! And I remember being at Mom and Pops when you told me what I didn’t want to know! I remember everything! How’s your memory, little brother!” John spat out, sending Bo lurching backward with a sudden shove.

 

Bo stumbled, trying to keep his feet. His eyes narrowed, and he fought the urge to take a swing at the man before him. “What the hell is your problem?!” he snapped out.

 

“What? Did you forget? You’re the one who first knew the truth, Bo! You’re the one who told me Marlena’s ‘death’ was my fault the first time I lost her! I couldn’t deny it then, and I can’t deny it now! Every fucking time she has needed me, I have failed her. Jesus, Bo! The woman taught me the meaning of love and I repay her by hurting her, over and over again!” Unwilling to face the disgust he knew Bo must feel for him, he turned away. Ever muscle in his body burned with the rage that surged through him, washing away the exhaustion of endless hours without sleep. His fists clenched until blood stained his palms, the need for violence so intense he could not see past it. Every conscious thought intensified the hurt and he ached to lose himself in the chaos of destruction. The light touch of a human hand was all the excuse he needed, and he whirled around to smash a hard fist into the face that appeared before him.

 

The impact of the unexpected blow slammed Bo’s head back and he crumpled to his knees with the taste of blood in his mouth. Dazed, he gazed up at John’s looming form. The look in those black eyes was not entirely sane and the muscles in the man’s shoulders seemed to knot with barely constrained fury. “Get the fuck out of here, Bo. Get out now,” John hissed almost incoherently.

 

There was murder in those eyes, and Bo could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Crouching on his knees, he held very still. “No,” he answered, his tone almost gentle.

 

John’s lips pulled back in an angry snarl, and his arm snaked down to yank the younger man to his feet. As Bo’s hand came up to grab at his wrist, he stepped forward and slammed him hard against the wall. The air ‘whooshed’ from his lungs, and Bo sagged in John’s hand gasping for breath. With a low groan, he turned his head to spit out the foul taste of the blood from his split lip. “Is this what you want, John?” he coughed, grabbing on to John’s arm and struggling to keep his feet.

 

John’s eyes narrowed to slits, and for an instance Bo thought that he would be in a fight for his very life. With a growl of frustration, John abruptly dropped him and turned away.

 

Harsh breathing was the only sound that broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, shaking his head from side to side like a wounded bull. “Christ, Bo. I’m sorry.”

 

Leaning against the wall, Bo bent of to rest his palms on his knees. Trying to catch his breath, he dabbed at the still bleeding cut on his lip. “Yea, well you should be, man. Dammit, I can’t believe you split my lip like that!” he muttered indignantly.

 

“If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you wouldn’t be bleeding right now, would you?” John sniped in spite of himself.

 

Straightening slowly, Bo shot him an ugly look and moved to the wet bar. He reached for the tub of ice, muttering “Always such a hardass,” under his breath.

 

As intended, the remark drew a reluctant chuckle. Turning to face him, John ran a hand through his hair and shot Bo a rueful grin. “Hell, you usually deserve it.”

 

Wincing as his lips curved in a slight smile, Bo commented, “Nice apology. You better work on it before you try explaining to Hope why you kidnaped me and carried me off to Europe. She’s not nearly as understanding as I am.”

 

At that, John could not help an amused grunt. “No way I’m explaining this to Hope. She’s your woman, you deal with her.”

 

“Oh! I’m telling Marlena you said that. She is going to jerk a knot in you, boy,” Bo snapped back, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

 

Jarred from the moment by the mention of her name, John glanced guiltily away. “Hope she gets the chance,” he said softly.

 

Stepping to him, Bo cautiously reached out to grip his shoulder. “We will get her back, John. We’ll get them all back and take them home. I promise you,” he said, giving the older man a firm shake.

 

Stepping back, John broke the contact. His face suddenly cold, he locked eyes with Bo. “We better,” he said, and Bo could not tell if it was a promise or a threat. His jaw clenched tightly shut and John walked back over to the bar. Absently, he ran his finger over the label of a bottle of 20 year old scotch.

 

“Hey, John. It’s been a long night. Why don’t you call it a day and get some sleep?” Bo broke in, trying to draw him back from his bleak thoughts.

 

Stiffly, the man shrugged and pulled the bottle to him. “I can’t sleep, Bo. I just lay there in bed and think of her. Think of what they might be doing to her…. No point in my even trying to sleep,” he said, his voice breaking.

 

“So, what? Your plan is to drink until you pass out?” Bo noted, raising an eyebrow as if to emphasize the stupidity of the idea.

 

Nodding agreeably John grunted, “Basically, yea. That was the plan.”

 

“I’ve heard better plans in my day,” was Bo’s wry response. “Look, I don’t need a partner who is terminally hung over. What say we sit and chat. Hope says I’m the best bedtime story teller there is. If I can’t put you out, nothing will.”

 

“You want to tell me a bedtime story?” John said, shooting Bo a disbelieving look.

 

“Well, I don’t exactly ‘want’ to do it, but it would beat sitting here and watching you drink till you puke,” Bo noted, moving to sit on the long couch.

 

“So who said you had to sit here and watch? And what are you doing in here, anyway?” John answered, putting the bottle down and going to recline wearily in the wingback chair by the fireplace. Hunching down in the chair, he flopped one leg over the padded armrest and studied Bo’s face curiously.

 

Surprised by the question, Bo flushed and looked away. “Well… I was going to call Hope. Let her know where I am. You haven’t let me call her, and she’s got to be going out of her head by now. Hell, you know her, John….” he trailed off sheepishly.

 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, John simply shook his head. “No calls, Bo. This is need-to-know only.”

 

“She is not going to be thrilled with me running off to Europe with you of all people as it is. John, she is literally going to kill me if I don’t call her,” Bo answered, hating to sound like he was begging but willing to do it if John would let him call Hope.

 

John merely snorted, amused by how well trained Hope had Bo. “How is that wife of yours anyway?”

 

Flushing, Bo glanced away. “Beautiful as always, man. Her and Sean Douglas are doing fine.”

 

“You did Pops proud there, Bo,” John commented, glancing over. Suddenly uncomfortable with the topic, he dropped his eyes. “How are Ma… Um, Sean and Caroline. How are they?”

 

Bo gave a shrug. “What do you think? They’re worried. Everybody’s worried John. Marlena and the kids missing. Now me. Dammit, John! It’s only been a few months since we lost Roman! You got to let me call them. Tell them everything’s okay.”

 

Rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose, John said softly, “Everything is not ‘okay’, Bo. Nothing is okay. You know that.”

 

“They think you killed Roman. They think you took Marlena. John, that almost destroyed Pop! They need to know it wasn’t you. You owe them that much,” Bo argued, his voice tight at the memories of what his family had suffered.

 

“You all should have known that I would never do anything like that. Anything to hurt the family,” John replied irritably, hurt that they would doubt him. Saddened that they had good cause.

 

“Yea, well you didn’t give us much reason to believe in you, now did you? You just ran off and deserted everybody. You didn’t even try and stay… try and explain what happened. That didn’t exactly inspire anybody’s confidence,” Bo retorted, glad of the chance to say what he felt.

 

“It was for your own good, and you know it,” John shot back almost angrily, looking over to where Bo sat.

 

“That wasn’t how it felt, John. It felt like you betrayed us. You betrayed us and turned to a man who has done everything in his power to destroy our family. That’s how it felt!” Bo accused, daring the man to deny the truth of his words.

 

Instead of answering, John turned his head to stare into the shifting flames. He wouldn’t argue the point. He couldn’t. Bo was right. “If you need to call, then do it,” he finally said, his tone detached.

 

For a moment, Bo studied the man’s features, seeking some sign of his thoughts. When no revelations were forthcoming, he gave a sigh and rose to retrieve the phone. As he dialed the number he shot an irritated look in John’s direction, wishing the man would give him some privacy. The tiny ring in his ear focused his mind on more important issues. “Alice?” he said into the phone.

 

John tried to submerge himself in the dance of the flames. Bo’s conversation was none of his business. None of his concern. It wasn’t his family.

 

“Alice, let Hope know I’m alright. I’m searching for Marlena. I got a lead. Look, I’ll call in the morning and fill her in. And Alice. Can you do me a favor? I need to get a message to Mom and Pops…”

 

It wasn’t any of his business, John repeated the mantra in his head, lulling himself away from his surroundings and losing himself in the twisting cinders of wood as they contorted under the heat of the flames. He had almost managed to make himself not think when Bo’s voice broke him out of his stupor.

 

“John! Hey, John. Come on. Mrs. H wants to talk to you!” he said, shoving the phone in John’s direction.

 

Out of it, John stumbled to his feet and brought the phone to his ear. Holding the phone almost gingerly, he hesitantly said, “Mrs. Horton?…. Yes ma’am. Alice…. No, ma’am. I didn’t have anything to do with that…. Yes ma’am. I won’t let anything happen to Bo… Yes, I know what Hope would do to me…. Yes ma’am, I’m really sorry we called and woke you up. It was very inconsiderate. I told Bo that…. Yes ma’am, sometimes he is pretty thoughtless. I’ll speak to him about it. I promise…. Yes, I’ll personally make sure he calls in the morning once Hope is home…. Yes ma’am. I will…. Goodnight, Mrs. Horton… Alice. Goodnight.”

 

Stunned, John pulled the phone away from his ear and gently sat it back in its cradle. He turned to fasten wide eyes on Bo. “Jesus, she is worse than Stefano,” he said in amazement. “How on earth do you handle her?”

 

“Generally, I try and stay on her good side,” Bo answered with a wry smile, the relief he felt at hearing the familiar voice making him almost giddy.

 

“Hey. Um…. Thanks for letting me call,” he added, slightly uncomfortable with the mix of emotions he was feeling toward John. “They were worried. Hope was down at the station, helping set up a search for me. Alice is going to straighten it out. I don’t want the family worrying,” he finished, with a slight edge to his voice.

 

Absently, John nodded. “No. Wouldn’t want the family worrying…” he replied softly, moving to sink back down in the chair by the fire. “Look, why don’t you get some sleep, Bo. You’ve done what you came to do. Go to bed.”

 

“I don’t follow your orders anymore John. I think I’m going to sit here just as long as you do,” Bo responded, moving to resume his perch on the couch. There was no way in hell he was going to leave that man in a room by himself.

 

Tearing his eyes from the fire, John looked to Bo and said dryly, “I promise to neither shoot myself nor get drunk. I don’t need a nursemaid. Go to bed.”

 

Not deigning to respond, Bo snuggled down into the thick cushions and pulled a woolen throw across his body. With a happy sigh, he shot John a contented smile and allowed his eyes to close. Briefly he wondered if John was relieved by his refusal to leave or whether he was actually pissed off. Bo kind of hoped it was a little of both. His thoughts turned to how he was going to explain this whole mess to Hope in the morning. Preferably it would be in a way that would not have him sleeping on the couch for the next month. Just before he drifted off into sleep, he decided to blame the whole thing on John.

 

John studied the peaceful man spread out over the long sofa and wondered at the cause of the slight grin he saw on his face. He watched without moving until Bo’s chest rose and fell in untroubled slumber. Grateful for his presence. Irritated with his intrusion. With a sigh of his own, he finally turned back to the waning fire, wondering if all little brothers were such a pain in the ass.

 

Chapter 67

 

They were finally going to allow her to see Dimera. She couldn’t believe the sense of relief she felt at the thought. But after three days of isolation, relieved only by the brief glimpses of her children she was granted at mealtimes, she desperately needed contact with another human being. Dimera qualified, barely. And though she hated to admit it, he had knowledge of a side of John she had avoided seeing. He would know how John would react. He might even know the cause of this very dangerous game in which she had suddenly found herself a player.

 

Alamain wanted something from her. She could see it in his eyes, every day as they sat across the table from each other in the cavernous dining room. And every day, she could see the need growing stronger. He used her children against her. They were pawns that he shuffled around the board, forcing her into situations where she would have to abide his presence. The only time she was allowed to see them was when she came down to eat. Always, he would be awaiting her arrival, rising from the table to greet her with courtly grace. Each time he touched her, it was all that she could do not to let the revulsion show on her face. She would rather starve than endure his touch, but she would do anything to see her children. He was using that. She knew he was doing it. There was simply nothing she could do to resist.

 

The click of the lock startled her, and she rose hurriedly to her feet, trying to prevent her desperation from showing on her face. She had to see Stefano. She needed to understand what was happening to her. She needed to know so that she could plan.

 

Soundlessly, she followed the servant down the hallway, unable to prevent a wistful glance at the door beside her. She knew that the girls were housed there. Had watched as they were locked away each day after meals. At least they were together. Had each other to lean on. Eric was alone, locked in the room across the hall. The strain was showing on them all, but Eric most of all. She could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw clenched with barely suppressed anger. She had to get them out of this place before someone broke and Mikos’ thin veneer of civility was stripped away to reveal the monster she knew lurked beneath.

 

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when the servant stopped at a door at the end of the long hallway. Pulling a heavy keyring from his waist, he unlocked the door and motioned her inside.

 

“Thank you, Ivan,” she said softly, watching as the man flushed at her words. He seemed extemely uncomfortable with his role as jailer and Marlena thought it wise to establish whatever connection she could with the man.

 

“Madam,” he replied with a nod, gesturing her into the room.

 

She was unsurprised to hear the click of the lock behind her. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway, peering through the shadows that blanketed the large bedroom. A small table-lamp was the only source of light and its soft glow revealed the heavy form of Dimera stretched out beneath a thick blanket. “Marlena. It is an even greater pleasure than usual to see you. May I say, you look as lovely as ever, even in these trying circumstances,” his deep voice intoned, black eyes shining brightly in the glow of the lamp.

 

“Every time I see you, it is a trying circumstance,” she replied with the ghost of smile. Her tone lacked its usual vehemence when dealing with Stefano, and she wryly thought to herself ‘Better the devil you know’.

 

Chuckling, Stefano turned his head to face her. “I see your present captivity has not improved your manners any,” he replied with a small smile of his own.

 

Gracefully, she walked to the side of the bed. White bandages wrapped his head, but his eyes seemed clear and focused and she resisted the temptation to examine the wound. “You are looking much better than the last time I saw you,” she commented.

 

“I feel much better, though I must admit, I remember very little of the time between the explosion and when I woke up in this well appointed cell,” he replied with a slight nod.

 

“Take my word for it, you didn’t miss much,” was her dry response.

 

“I’m rather surprised I’m here at all. I seem to distinctly recall being carried out over very rough terrain. I would have thought you would relish the opportunity to simply leave me in the woods,” he prodded, giving her a curious look.

 

She merely shrugged. “The decision wasn’t mine to make. John carried you out. He was rather insistent about it.”

 

“Of course,” Stefano said, the look of pride flashing across his face in a way that irritated her to no end. “I suppose that if it had been left to you, I would no doubt be nourishing the worms by now,” he finished with just a touch of sarcasm.

 

With a sigh, Marlena crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Stefano, I know that John cares for you. In some twisted way, he feels that he owes you. I won’t begrudge him that. But if it is up to me, you will never be a part of our lives in any way, shape or form.”

 

Again his grim chuckle floated through the air. “Well it appears that the fates disagree, Marlena. It seems that once again our paths are linked, and this time not even you can believe that I am to blame.”

 

She hated it when he was right, and he was right so often. With a slight shake of her head, she turned her thoughts away from her continuing battle with Dimera. In a quiet voice, she asked “What will he do?”

 

“Who? John?” Stefano answered, his eyes widening in surprise at the question. “Isn’t it obvious? He will find us and he will kill Mikos Alamain. In fact, I’d say it is likely that he will kill everyone even remotely associated with the man. Really, Marlena! I had thought you’d stopped deluding yourself when it came to recognizing what John is capable of!”

 

She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness ran through her.

 

“Marlena? Marlena, are you all right?” Dimera’s voice called to her, sounding as if it came from very far away. She was aware of his hand grabbing her own, and she jerked away to stumble backward, her eyes flying open to find him staring at her.

 

Concerned, Stefano studied her pale face. “Marlena, do you feel well? Will you sit down? Please?” he said, gesturing to a chair set at the opposite side of the bed.

 

Unsteadily she walked over and allowed herself to sink down on the thickly cushioned chair. “I’m sorry,” she said distractedly. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been able to sleep much…” she trailed off.

 

“Marlena, you really shouldn’t concern yourself. John knows his business. He will find us and he will come,” Stefano said gently, worried by the paleness of her features.

 

Unexpected tears threatened, and she muttered softly, “I don’t want him to come. Something bad will happen if he does. I know it, Stefano. I can feel it in my bones,” she said, her tone becoming hard and desperate as she raised her head to fastened haunted eyes on him.

 

An ugly thought flashed through Dimera’s head and he asked sharply, “Alamain hasn’t done anything to you, has he? He hasn’t touched you?”

 

The sudden protectiveness from Stefano of all people forced a half-hearted laugh from her. “No. No, he hasn’t done anything to me, Stefano. I just…. When I look at him, I am so afraid. I’m afraid for John. Afraid for my children. Myself…” again her voice faded out, and she rubbed her hands briskly against her arms as if fighting a sudden chill.

 

“Marlena, you are being silly now. John is the only man on this planet who could make me back down. I am rather insulted that you don’t think him capable of handling some puffed-up royalty wannabe,” Stefano said almost haughtily, trying to prod her out of her black thoughts.

 

Her eyes seemed to darken and she looked directly into Dimera’s face. “I have hated you for years, Stefano. I’ve hated you and I’ve feared you, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing will ever change the evil you have done to the people I love. But Alamain…. Stefano, I look at him and I feel ‘unclean’,” she said with distaste.

 

Her eyes shifted to stare down at the plush carpet beneath her. “You play games, Stefano,” she continued softly. “You play games with peoples’ lives, and I hate that. But you would never force…. I never thought you would force me to do… anything…. Mikos Alamain would use force, Stefano. He would enjoy it,” she said with emphasis.

 

He could feel the anger growing with every word she spoke. John would have to hurry or Stefano would kill the bastard himself. Trying to keep his voice calm, he said gently, “Marlena, John will be here soon. There is nothing you need to worry about. Stay away from the man and wait for John.”

 

Angrily, Marlena shook her head and again raised her eyes to fasten on his. “No! You don’t understand. Mikos enjoys hurting people. He gets pleasure from it. He knows John will come. He’s counting on it! When John comes, Mikos will use me against him in a way you never would. He will use me to destroy him, and he will enjoy it!”

 

Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but anger warred with the fear. Anger won. “Stefano, we have to stop him. We have to stop him before John gets here,” she said stiffly, iron in her words.

 

Once again, Stefano was reminded just how strong this woman could be when those she loved were threatened. Involuntarily, his hand moved to rub against the faded scar of a bullet wound. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked quietly.

 

It was a question to which she held no answers, as her frustrated sigh gave signal to. Shaking her head, she searched for a solution. “I don’t know. Have you any idea why this man is so fixated on John?” she asked, glad to be focusing on something other than the fear.

 

“It’s not ‘company’ business, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never even heard of this Alamain fellow. He has dropped in to chat with me during my convalescence, but he has yet to explain the point of this little exercise. However,” he continued, giving Marlena a quisical look, “I would think that you would have noted the same resemblance that I do. It is rather striking, after all.”

 

She hadn’t wanted to pursue this, but if Stefano saw it too, it could no longer be ignored. “They are family, aren’t they?” she said softly.

 

“At a guess, I would say brothers. The resemblance is quite strong,” Stefano confirmed with a nod.

 

“Why would he want to destroy his own brother? Stefano, it can’t be,” she whispered softly.

 

“Of course it can,” was the stoic response. “It’s a story as old as time.”

 

***

 

The black stretch limo pulled smoothly to a halt 15 feet from the edge of the cliff. The chauffeur remained at the wheel with the engine running as three bodyguards emerged to take up their stations at the front and rear fenders. From behind mirrored shades, they stared across the rocky ground separating them from the two Mercedes that faced them. In silence, the men who had hunched together smoking cigarettes spread out from the Mercedes to form a rough line 20 feet away. The first fat drops of rain fell from the overcast skies as thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. As the tension rose, fingers fumbled nervously over weapons scarcely hidden by thick overcoats. When Jensen finally crawled from the far door of the Limo, all pretense vanished and automatic weapons were raised cautiously to the ready.

 

Adjusting the blue silk tie at his neck, Jensen peered over the roof of the limo at the men arrayed against him. The two black Mercedes squatted aggressively, their headlights glowing dimly in the early morning mist. Seven men in dark suits faced him, weapons in hand and faces expressionless. ‘This is all just too cliche,’ he thought in annoyance, hating the necessity of being in the field. With an aggravated sigh, he reached into the backseat and pulled at the arm of the man who was the focus of all of the intrigue.

 

A figure stumbled into view behind the long body of the limo, and it became evident that he was bound and hooded. For a moment, he shrugged off the hands that grabbed at him. Then a fourth guard exited the backseat, and the man was dragged to the front of the car and slammed across the hood. Tiredly, the figure slumped down, the man resting his head against the warm metal. Without preamble, Jensen reached down and ripped the black hood away from the bound man’s face. Linking a hand in the long hair, he pulled John’s head back to face the men in front of the Mercedes.

 

“We kept our part of the bargain!” he shouted across the distance. “It’s time for you to keep yours. If you don’t want more trouble than you can handle, you will deliver Mr. Dimera to us unharmed.”

 

From the center of the line of men in front of the Mercedes, a tall blond man stepped forward. His short hair was almost white, and his thick body spoke of a brutal physical power. If the sneer on his face was any indication, Jensen’s threat didn’t worry him in the least. “You will get Dimera once Mr. Black there has been delivered to our employer and not before. That was the deal. Take it or leave it,” he called back in a cold voice. At his words, the men behind him raised their guns a fraction.

 

Trying to restrain his temper, Jensen pulled John roughly to his feet and shoved him forward. Seemingly disoriented, John stumbled to his knees. As Jensen and the bodyguard reached to pull him up, he shot suddenly to his feet, ramming a shoulder into Jensen’s midsection. The two men slammed against the front fender in a tangle and then the bodyguard had John by his knees, bringing him to the ground.

 

At the first sign of struggle, the big blond man had stepped swiftly forward only to be confronted by the steady guns of Dimera’s men. He relaxed marginally once the bodyguard pulled John back into view, one thick arm wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. Jensen slowly lurched to his feet, anger plain on his face. Stepping to John, he unleashed a vicious slap that rocked the man’s head to the side. “It’s about time you got yours. I will never understand why Dimera has tolerated you all of these years, but that is at an end,” he spat out, his words carrying clearly in the still air.

 

Blood trickling from the side of his mouth, John turned back with an ugly grin. Taking a deep breath, he spat straight in Jensen’s face and brought his foot down hard against the bodyguard’s instep. As the hold about his neck slackened, he stepped forward to jam a knee straight into Jensen’s gut. With a muttered curse, he crumpled over and John stepped back, the light of battle in his eyes.

 

Sensing the loss of his quarry, the blond man stepped forward despite the machine guns still facing him. The blond moved just as Jensen’s bodyguard jabbed a fist into John’s unprotected back, sending him stumbling toward the cliff’s edge. He stepped to wrap thick arms around the still bound man and was dropped by a kick to the head, falling soundlessly to the ground.

 

The blond charged around the front of the limo heedless of everything but the need to take John down. John stepped forward to meet him with a grin, looking ready to take on death itself. He was going to get his chance. Helpless to prevent the disaster he could see happening, the blond could only scream out in frustration.

 

“Noooo…” the protest echoed over the rocky terrain as shots cracked out thinly in the air. Grim-faced, Jensen knelt, his gun aimed directly at John’s chest. Carefully, he pulled the trigger again and then again. Watched, as the impact staggered the man. Three hits, dead center. Pushing him back, clawing at the blood welling from his chest. For an instance, he glanced up, searching for Jensen’s face. His eyes were almost amused as he toppled from the 300 foot cliff.

 

***

 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” the blond screamed, rounding on Jensen’s crouched form. Though beside himself with anger, the fear of failure was even stronger.

 

Coldly, Jensen shrugged. Pulling a kerchief from his pocket, he dabbed fastidiously at the spit that had hit his cheek. “You wanted John Black? Well get a boat, the body has got to be down there somewhere,” he stated, indifferent to the man’s anger. Rising stiffly to his feet, he glanced at the blond in disdain.

 

“I have had enough of your threats. I want Mr. Dimera back immediately. I was willing to give you Black because, quite-frankly, the man was more trouble than he was worth. But the Dimera cartel is done bargaining. Why don’t you tell ‘Mr. Alamain’ that we know who he is and we know where he lives. We will be coming for him if Mr. Dimera does not contact us with other instructions. That is really all I need to say to you,” he finished, shooting the man a superior look. Without further comment, he turned and marched back to the limo. Settling back into the seat, he could not quite repress a self-satisfied grin as his men eased in around him.

 

“Sir, you almost looked like you enjoyed shooting John,” one of the men commented.

 

As the limo backed carefully away, Jensen permitted himself a small chuckle. “Who says I didn’t?” he replied.

 

***

 

The dark limousine disappeared over the hill, the blond watching it until it was out of sight. Muttering a curse in Russian, he edged to the side of the cliff and searched for any hint of a body. A broken wall of rock dropped straight down 300 feet, its base ringed by jutting boulders. The rough seas slammed against the jagged rocks, sending plumes of white spray shooting into the air. He could discern nothing in that seething mass, and the sheer height made him sway dizzily.

 

“We’ve got a couple of blood splatters here, sir,” a voice called out.

 

Shaking his head to clear it, he stalked irritably over to crouch beside the indicated area. Cautiously, he reached out a finger to dab at the already drying stains, black droplets that stood in stark contrast to the pale rocks. With a grunt of frustration he stood, wiping his fingers distastefully on his jacket. “Let’s get out of here,” he ordered gruffly as he started to the cars. He slammed the door behind him, already wondering where he could find a boat in this godforsaken place.

 

Chapter 68

 

Mikos was furious. She had thought him irritated when he had been called away from breakfast in order to take the phone call. But on his return, the man was absolutely livid. She sat quietly at the table, trying not to draw the notice of the enraged man as he stalked to the table and slammed meaty fists into its polished surface. His shoulders heaved with his ragged breathing and a sudden swat of his hand sent a set of centuries old china smashing to the floor. As if the brittle sound awoke him to his surroundings his head snapped up to focus red-rimmed eyes on the face of his favorite captive.

 

“You thought I was no match for him, did you?” he hissed out, an ugly sneer on his face. “You thought he would come riding in to save you from me?! You were wrong, my lady,” he said, his voice rising to an almost shout. With one long stride he was beside her, wrenching her out of her seat with an iron grip around her upper arm.

 

Sudden fear flashed through her and with a sharp jerk Marlena tried to rip free of the man. Her struggles drew harsh laughter and he gave her a rough shake that snapped her head back and made her dizzy. Her knees felt suddenly weak as he pulled her tight against his chest, wrapping his free hand in her hair and wrenching back until she had no choice but to face him.

 

His face hovered above her own, staring down at her with eyes clouded by anger and fury and something more. For an instance he simply stared, and then his lips crushed against hers in a sudden attack. She tried to flinch away but he held her firm, bending her backwards until she thought her bones would break. With a muffled sob her right hand flew upwards to slam against his face without effect. Then a hoarse scream sounded and Mikos collapsed suddenly to the ground as she staggered free.

 

“You son of a bitch!” Eric yelled, his voice tight with fear and anger as he stepped back to unleash another kick, this time at the big man’s head. The blow behind the knee that had dropped the man in the first place singing through his veins like a drug, he wanted nothing more than to hit him until he couldn’t get up. No one would touch his mother like that. Ever.

 

The fury made him strong, but not strong enough. His slender frame lacked the mass to do damage to the giant before him, and strong hands reached out to easily block the blow. With a hard yank Eric crashed to the floor, the breath exploding from his lungs in a painful gasp. Teeth bared, Mikos drove himself to his feet and ripped Eric’s limp form up to dangle in his grip.

 

“You need a lesson in manners, boy,” he ground out, his open hand crashing into the right side of the young man’s face to send him tumbling once again to the ground.

 

“Mikos don’t!” a voice called fearfully as he stepped forward to ram the toe of his shoe into the pit of the boy’s stomach. The retching sounds at his feet brought a smile to his face and he could only wish that the boy had been his brother’s son as he moved to kick the moaning form again. At the frantic tug on his forearm he casually turned with his hand upraised, suddenly enjoying this little exercise in discipline.

 

“Mikos, stop. Please stop! I will do whatever you want, just stop this,” she pleaded, her hands linking themselves around his arm in a grip he found he could not break. A grip he wasn’t certain he wanted to break.

 

Her eyes stared up at him, wide with fear. He had thought her incredible when she was angry, but fear was an improvement even over that. Her eyes shone, golden flecks dancing in amber pools. The glowed up at him, begging, pleading, yearning. It was intoxicating. A smile lit his face and he leaned down to brush his lips across her cheek, the slight flinch at the gentle contact causing his groin to tighten.

 

Straightening slowly he nodded down to Eric’s groaning body, his sisters now at his side looking fearfully up at the madman in their midst. “Are you certain the boy is yours?” Mikos asked with a slight chuckle. “He evidences none of your persuasive abilities Marlena.”

 

Ignoring him, she started toward Eric, her only thoughts on her son. With a sharp yank, Mikos reached out and pulled her back. “I will have him taken to his room, Marlena. Really, you spoil the boy fussing over him so.”

 

She spun angrily around, her eyes flashing and he greeted her with a look of warning. “I had thought we were done with our lessons in manners for the day, Marlena. I hope I wasn’t mistaken?” he asked almost gently.

 

A tremor ran through her body, and it was everything that she could do not to launch herself at the smug face. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to keep the anger from her voice. “Mikos, please. He’s hurt. At least let him stay in my room where I can check on him. Mikos, something could have been broken,” she finally pleaded, the desperation overtaking the anger.

 

Appearing to consider her words, he raised a hand to rub idly at his chin. “Well… Because you ask so nicely, Marlena, I will allow him to be taken to his sisters’ room. The boy isn’t hurt, but this is my little gift to you,” he said with a courtly nod.

 

She simply stared at him, her hatred like a living thing. A man who would use children to get his own way…

 

“An expression of gratitude is usually customary when one is given a gift,” Mikos chided with a hurt expression as at his signal servants moved forward to pull the groaning boy to his feet.

 

Her hands clenched involuntarily, and in a dead voice she replied, “Thank you, Mikos.”

 

Turning to follow her children, she could not help but think of John. God, she feared his coming. She feared the damage that this man would do to him. But in her heart of hearts she wished that he were here. For once she wished for a glimpse of the violence and death that she knew lurked within the man she loved.

 

“Oh. A moment,” Mikos said, his words halting her in her tracks at the foot of the stairs. Her face carefully blank, she turned to look back at him.

 

“I had forgotten what I came here to tell you, Marlena,” he continued mildly, studying her with that look of amused condescension. “I thought you might like to know about my phone call. It was one of my men, calling to report that John Black is dead.”

 

The words refused to register. She could see his lips moving. See the cruel smile in his eyes. But he spoke in a foreign tongue. Words she couldn’t understand. Words she couldn’t accept.

 

“No,” she whispered hoarsely. “John is not dead. He isn’t. I would know.”

 

Her words rang hollow, lost in the vastness of a world gone suddenly grey. Numbly she stood, her life disintegrating around her. Her soul dying. She stood in the eye of the storm, slowly collapsing in on herself as her very being was striped away. She stood until all that was left was a single cold hard certainty. Pain crept across the surface of eyes that had gone dead. Pain and pride. Her back straightened and she held her head high as she stared into the gloating face before her. Her words were hard and brittle, matching the ice that surged through her veins. “John is not dead. You did not kill him. You could not. You aren’t man enough.”

 

With stilted steps, she turned and went to her children, staring wide-eyed from the landing above.

 

***

 

Vivian stood beside the antique bureau, absently rubbing her fingers across the age-stained file. Surprised at the depth of loss she felt for one she had hardly known, she swiped at the tears that trickled down her face. It was well that she hadn’t allowed her emotions to surface in front of Mikos. The man was unstable. She had known it for years. But the anger he had shown at the news of his brother’s death still shook her. She had watched his torture of the woman and her children. Had seen the anger and known better than to become involved. When Mikos was in a mood, there was no one who could stop him.

 

A shiver ran through her at the sickness that was her nephew. She knew that the anger was not over the death of his brother. It was an anger born out of his twisted need to dominate. His need to look into his brother’s eyes as he destroyed him.

 

Gods! Vivian had failed to realize how she had come to count on Alexander’s return. Finally, she had found the chance to rid herself of the ever present threat her nephew represented. She was tired of living in fear, always awaiting the moment when she would say the wrong thing. Give the wrong look. Set Mikos off on a rampage. Every night when she went to bed, there was always the tiny fear that this would be the night a dark figure would slip through her door, knife held at the ready. Mikos was capable of it. Had done it before for some perceived slight. No one around the man was safe from his paranoia. She had hoped that Alexi would change that.

 

With a resigned sigh, she looked at the yellowed sheets of paper beneath her hand. The faded medical reports she had held for years, too afraid to use herself. Evidence of the one thing that Mikos most feared. Evidence that Mikos was not the heir.

 

For a brief moment, she considered bringing the truth to light. Turning the papers over to a lawyer, someone far removed from the intrigues of the Alamain court. It would be her death sentence and she knew it.

 

Alexander might have been strong enough to stand against Mikos. She was not. And now, her only hope of escaping the grasping clutches of a madman lay dead. With a sharp shake of her head, she dismissed what might have been. Gingerly, she folded the faded sheets of paper and tucked them back into the concealed draw at the bottom of the desk. Closing the drawer with finality, she turned her thoughts in a new direction. An intriguing direction. She might not be strong enough to stand against Mikos, but there was still one who might be. A calculating smile crept across her face, and she wondered what Stefano Dimera was doing.

 

***

 

“Dimera, your men just made a mistake. Possibly a fatal one,” Mikos said, barging into the room without bothering to knock.

 

Looking up from the chair in which he sat drinking his morning coffee, Stefano merely raised a brow. “My men don’t make mistakes, Mikos,” he answered calmly, gathering the folds of his dressing gown about him and settling comfortably back in his seat.

 

Irritated, Mikos pulled to a stop before the self-possessed figure in front of him. The woman, he could handle. Her children made her weak, and beyond that… Well, she ‘was’ merely a woman. Dimera however made him uneasy, despite his placid demeanor. For once, Mikos was uncertain how to respond. “Well they made a mistake this time. John Black is dead. I wanted that man delivered to me, and your goon squad couldn’t even do that without fouling it up. Now all I have is a missing body and no good reason for letting you live,” he grated threateningly, intent on wiping that superior look off of Dimera’s face.

 

Stefano went cold, his eyes narrowing dangerously. For an instance, Alamain caught a glimpse of the man responsible for deaths too numerous to count. Then Stefano smiled tightly, and the spell was broken.

 

“John is dead?” he noted, his voice unconcerned.

 

“His body is at the bottom of a cliff. The flaw in that scenario is that I wanted his body here!” Mikos snapped out, attempting to assert his dominance over this encounter.

 

Turning his attention back to his coffee, Stefano muttered distractedly, “Yes, it does appear that you have a problem. Why do you bring it to me?”

 

The man was infuriating! Mikos wanted to step forward and smash him into the ground. Smash him until he learned to show respect to his superiors. Condescension from a mere thug was worthy of nothing less than death. But deep beneath the bravado, a tiny voice warned caution. Unacknowledged fear whispered that to kill Dimera would be to invite a war he might not win. For now, Dimera would have to be handled with kid gloves.

 

Forcing his breathing to slow, Mikos said more calmly, “This problem is your problem, Dimera. At the moment, I have no reason to set you free. No reason at all.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Dimera retorted sharply. “We both know what will happen if you lay so much as a finger on me. I have an army of men searching for me as we speak. They will burn your businesses, they will loot your companies, they will cut down your associates. And Mikos, one day soon, they will find you. All it will take is a single bullet, and your entire empire will crumble.”

 

The man sat there completely at ease, his eyes glinting coldly. His words were said not as a threat but as a statement of fact. This was not how Mikos had envisioned this conversation going.

 

“Perhaps something might be worked out,” Mikos said smoothly, struggling to keep his distaste from his voice. “After all, we are both businessmen.”

 

“Something has already been worked out,” Dimera replied, glancing down to inspect a ragged nail that appeared to have caught his attention. Not bothering to look up, he stated coldly, “You will let us all go. After you have done that, you will offer me an apology and hope that I have the good grace to accept. That is what has been ‘worked out’, Mikos.”

 

His anger flaring, Mikos virtually growled out a threat. “Or I could simply kill you and take my chances with your army. After all, I do not think they will waste their time avenging your death while they could be busy making money.”

 

Blandly, Stefano glanced up. “Yes, you could do that,” was his reply.

 

For a moment, Mikos merely stood glaring. Finally, he slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a cell phone. Almost grudgingly, he set it on the table next to the cup and saucer. “Your men appear to becoming impatient with your extended absence. I want you to call them and warn them of the consequences of doing anything… rash.”

 

“Why on earth would I do that?” Stefano asked, his tone indicating that he thought he was addressing an imbecile.

 

“No one is leaving here until I am certain that John Black is dead. Once that is confirmed, you will of course be free to go. I would hate for any unpleasantness to occur before a peaceful resolution is achieved. It is even possible that we may find cause to do business together in the future, Stefano. Make the call. A day or two more or less can make little difference at this point,” Mikos explained smoothly, abandoning the attempt to use threats to attain his goal. He would settle accounts with this pompous peasant eventually, but now was not the time for a war.

 

The temptation to deny the man was strong. Only a fool would willingly choose to do battle with the Dimera cartel, and Mikos was not a fool. Insane perhaps, but not a fool. But there was a desperation in the man’s eyes. A glimmer of need that seemed oddly familiar. There was something that Alamain wanted badly enough to fight for. To press the man now would be dangerous. Besides, there was a truth that Dimera had to know. With a slow nod of his head, Stefano reached for the phone.

 

“One day, Mikos. I will give you one day to recover the body. After that, I will leave or you will be a dead man. Now, what is the contact number?” he asked with a glance upward.

 

Jensen’s familiar voice rang in his ear, explaining the events of the day. Describing the scene at the cliff. Asking for direction. The words droned on, and the possibility of John’s death became a probability. A certainty. An impossibility and a numbness. Hollowly, he gave the order to stand down, to wait for orders. Even as he spoke, Dimera began to plan the method of Alamain’s destruction. The means of his death. It would most definitely involve a knife. Finally, there was nothing left to say, yet still he clutched the phone to his ear. Closing eyes that had suddenly seemed to have seen too much, he gave in to his weakness. His voice dropped, and he asked softly, “Jensen. Are you certain about John?”

 

The words rang out clearly over the lines. “I’m certain, sir. Three shots in the chest, dead center. The phoenix is dead, there is no doubt.”

 

Without another word, Stefano cut the line and tossed the phone to Mikos, who stood impatiently waiting.

 

“You have twenty-four hours,” Stefano said shortly. “Now, get out.”

 

Tilting his head back to rest against the cushions of the chair, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. He heard the click of the lock, and allowed the words to flow through his mind. ‘The phoenix is dead…’ Ever so slowly, a broad smile crept across his face.

 

***

 

Bo clung tightly to the rock wall, not even risking the sound of a drawn breath. Every muscle in his body seemed to be cramping, but he held rigidly still awaiting the all clear signal. Finally, the tingle of the pager shivered silently against his skin and he allowed himself to exhale. Only then did he looked worriedly down into the face of the unconscious man he held firmly in his grip.

 

“John! Hey John! Come on, nap time is over,” he said sharply, shaking the man’s limp body. Dammit, this was never going to work! Trying not to get careless in his need for haste, he reached to fasten John’s harness securely to a crampon wedged deeply into the rock wall. His hands finally free, he unzipped John’s bloody leather jacket. Three holes showed plainly through the material, and torn blood packets hung limply from where they were fastened to his tee shirt. Quickly Bo ripped open the velcro fastenings and reached behind the heavy vest to search for any sign that a bullet had penetrated. Finally, he sighed in relief and withdrew his hand. Grabbing the key that hung from his belt he shifted the limp form until he could reach the steel cuffs that imprisoned the man’s hands. A twist of the wrist and the shackles fell away. Worried that the man showed no signs of returning consciousness, Bo gave the body a firm shake. They didn’t have time to waste.

 

“Come on John, stop slacking on me,” he muttered, resorting to slapping at the pale face lightly with one hand as the other moved to rummage in his hip pouch. He pulled out a slender tube and held it below John’s nose, looking away as he popped the glass vial in two. Harsh chemicals assailed him, and he dropped the vial into the distant ocean as he felt John start to choke.

 

John hands moved to clutch at his chest as his eyes blinked blearily open to find Bo staring down at him. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Bo sang out in a falsetto, grinning wickedly in order to hide his relief.

 

With a groan of pain, John coughed harshly and dropped his head, trying in vain to curl his body up into a ball. “What the hell hit me?” he grunted out.

 

“Near as I can tell, three bullets and the side of a cliff. It appears your plan is off to a brilliant start,” Bo answered brightly, thinking to himself that John didn’t look so self-righteously cocky right now.

 

“Try and contain your concern for my injuries,” John muttered in irritation, the effort of drawing breath into his bruised chest still taking a conscious act of will.

 

“Hey! I told you that if you jumped off a cliff and fell 30 feet down a rip line it would hurt. But did you listen to me? Nooo… God forbid you ever take my advice!” Bo said sarcastically.

 

“Jeesh, Bo! Give me a break. I fell off a damn cliff!” John snorted, grimacing with the effort of holding his head up.

 

“Batman never complains,” Bo noted smugly, his face innocently blank.

 

For a second, John merely stared at him in disgust. “Thank you. That was a tremendous help. Thank you so much!” he replied.

 

“Anytime,” Bo offered, cackling slightly. “So? You ready to get the hell out of here?”

 

John sucked in another deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodding determinedly, he motioned for the rope. “Yea, I’m ready. I just need to go slow,” he commented, snaking the nylon rope through the straps on the front of his harness. Finally secured, he released himself from the tie-off and nodded up at Bo. With the slice of a knife, the rope at his back was cut away, and he began to slowly work his way down the side of the cliff.

 

***

 

“Was it really necessary to shoot me three times, Jensen?” John asked, his words slurring as the sedatives started to take effect.

 

Jensen glanced over to where John lay, stretched out on the couch. Bundled in a thick terrycloth robe, a hot water bottle clutched tightly to his chest, he lacked his usual sense of menace. Jensen puffed thoughtfully on a cigar and took a pull on his brandy before replying. “Well, no. I couldn’t honestly say three shots were necessary. I do believe those last two bullets were done for the sheer pleasure of the act.”

 

John allowed his head to loll to the side and studied the two men who shared the room with him. Jensen lounged in the wingback chair beside the fire, nonchalantly examining the glowing tip of the cigar. In his pinstriped suit and button-down shirt, he looked like a banker taking a break from a stockholder’s meeting.

 

Bo was his antithesis. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of Dimera’s big oak desk, he wrapped his bare arms around jean clad legs and grinned down at the proceedings like some deranged Buddha. “Christ, I am so screwed,” John muttered weakly, closing his tired eyes.

 

“Not very grateful, is he,” Bo noted to Jensen from his perch.

 

“No. No he’s not. Just one of many character flaws, let me assure you,” Jensen responded.

 

“Oh, I know all about his flaws,” Bo noted in an airy tone. “You should try having him as a big brother sometime. I’m just jealous you were the one who got to shoot him!”

 

“I am still in the room, you know,” John muttered from behind closed eyelids.

 

“A fact for which you have yet to thank either of us,” Jensen replied, raising an aristocratic eyebrow. “If I had aimed six inches higher, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And you were very lucky I was able to attach the rip-line. Your struggles behind the limo were realistic enough to make it difficult, to say the least. Especial given the fact that my eyes were still watering from a knee to the groin.”

 

For a moment, Jensen simply stared contemplatively into his glass. “You know, now that I consider it, I would think you would be grateful I ‘only’ shot you three times!”

 

With a soft sigh, John rubbed gently at his bruised chest. “Fine. I am so sorry for my crassness. You are both the flower of manhood. I kneel in awe in your presence and beg that you accept my humble thanks,” he drawled out, his words running together as he began to lose his grip on consciousness.

 

For a moment, the two men simply sat and watched his still form.

 

“Sarcasm. That’s another one of his flaws,” Bo finally noted from his perch on the desk.

 

“We could make a list?” Jensen suggested.

 

“Mmm… I doubt there’s enough paper in the house,” Bo replied, casting an eye at John to see if he was still awake.

 

The minutes ticked past, and John’s breathing gradually deepened as he slowly faded away. Finally, Bo swung sore legs over the side of the table. Nodding at Jensen, he said in a serious tone, “I want you to keep him sedated for a while. Let him get some sleep. I don’t think he’s had any for days.”

 

With a shrug, Jensen agreed. “For now, I’ll see to it. But as soon as word comes in about Alamain’s hideaway, I’ll have to wake him. He wouldn’t tolerate anything else, and I won’t go against his wishes.” The words were polite, but they carried a steel edge.

 

“Fair enough,” Bo replied, studying Jensen with a newfound respect. Glancing away, he asked more softly, “Do you think this is going to work? Will they release them now that they think John is dead?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll know tomorrow once Stefano calls back. But…. We have Alamain’s men under surveillance. We know every word they say. Every place they go. We will find them, of that you should have no doubt,” Jensen said, certainty in his voice.

 

With a slight nod, Bo raised his head, his face suddenly cold. Emotionless. “Good,” he stated flatly, the single word a threat of violence to come.

 

A quick shake of his dark head, and he again buried the anger and fear. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he continued in a normal tone, “Now, I’ve got some personal calls to make. I’d just as soon do it in here so I can keep an eye on him, if you don’t mind?”

 

“No sir, not at all, Mr. Brady,” Jensen said graciously, rising smoothly to his feet. “Mr. Black made it very clear. All of the services of the Dimera organization are at your disposal. Let me know if you require anything, and I will inform you as soon as there is any word.”

 

Watching Jensen’s retreating back, Bo wondered why the offer made him feel somehow creepy. Settling down in the desk chair, he started to reach for the phone. His eyes were drawn to a pad of stationary, and he involuntarily ran a thumb over the familiar image. Dimera Industries, the words depicted in shiny black lettering. Beside the words, the symbol- the phoenix rising, screaming its defiance to the heavens. His hands rubbed nervously at the smooth wood of the table top, and it hit him that everything and everyone around him belonged to Stefano Dimera. Suddenly needing very badly to hear Hope’s voice, he reached almost desperately for the phone.

 

***

 

He floats in darkness, drifting just below the surface of consciousness. Dimly, he hears Jensen and Bo, bantering back and forth. When the ever present rage dies down enough that he can think clearly, he recognizes what they are trying to do. Hell, he even manages to appreciate it. The words are starting to fade away, and he fights against their loss. The words are the only thing that keep back the visions he can sense creeping around in the recesses of his mind. It’s a fight he can’t win, and the drugs take him deeper into the void. He sinks into a stupor, the images flashing by, and all he sees is pain and blood and death. But the drugs are a blessing, and they pull him down, dragging him away from the memories of his life. His love. His loss. Dragging him down until there is nothing but the dark. Nothing but the void. He has an instance to wonder if this is what death feels like. An instance to be grateful. Then even that is gone, and he drifts along in peace.

 

Chapter 69

 

He was a liar. He was the king of liars. He would say anything to hurt her. Anything to make her give up hope. Nothing he said could be believed. Marlena knew all that and more. It still didn’t ease the tight knot of dread that made her stomach cramp and her mind to go numb with fear.

 

Her thoughts raced, flitting from memory to memory in a desperate attempt to avoid the possibility of John’s death.

 

Mikos had been angry. Murderously angry. And Mikos had wanted John brought to him alive. He would have been angered by John’s death. It could be true, if it wasn’t impossible.

 

John gone. It ‘was’ impossible and her thoughts shifted back to Mikos. How he had nearly salivated over the thought of having John brought before him on his knees, as if somehow it would prove that he was the better man. Marlena had no idea the cause of the rivalry, but it had become painfully clear to her that Mikos wanted to humble John almost as badly as he wanted to posses her. And he did want to posses her, of that she was now certain.

 

Her hand rose to scrub at her tender lips, as if she could rub hard enough to erase the memory of his flesh pressed against hers. God, she had sensed it from the moment she had seen him. The way his eyes had followed her every move, hungry for the sight of her. She had ignored it. Pushed it from her mind. But the scene at breakfast had left no doubt. The man had wanted her. Wanted her in a way that made her skin crawl. She had thought herself a tool in the sick game Alamain insisted on playing with John. Now she recognized that she had become the prize.

 

Mikos would not win. She would not let him. John would not let him. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the man’s anger. The psychotic rage she had watched him display could easily have been the result of losing his chance to show his brother who was the better man. The chance to show her who was better. Again her mind shied from the thought of John, his body lying cold and lifeless in some dark alley, some abandoned building. Life without him was unthinkable and she refused to acknowledge even the chance that it could be true.

 

Wrapping her hands around her stomach, she rose and paced the room. Her posture was hunched, her step, faltering. Yet her body was a mere reflection of the agony that flickered through her mind. A dark serpent, worming its way into her every train of thought. A serpent whose whispered lies she tried desperately to avoid.

 

Her thoughts fled down the long corridors of her mind.

 

Eric. Eric was hurt. She should be with him, yet Mikos would not allow it. An added torture, as if the loss of the man she loved was not enough.

 

The loss of the man she loved. John’s death. John was dead. The words screamed from within the deepest recess of her mind. Unavoidable. Unalterable.

 

Doubling over, she ran awkwardly to the bathroom. The cramps seemed to come from the core of her soul, forcing the breath from her body. She shook uncontrollably as she retched up the meager remains of the breakfast that she had managed to force down. For long moments it was all she could do to hold herself upright as she gasped for air between the bouts of violent cramps. Finally, tears streaming down her face, she allowed her body to collapse.

 

Spent and aching, she dropped her head to the cool tiles of the floor. Curling into a small tight ball, she tried to make herself numb. Shut herself down. Shut herself off. Mikos’ voice would not be denied. The look in his eyes as he watched her. The touch of his lips that still burned against her flesh. And above it all, his voice. His voice telling her that John was dead. His voice haunted her, even now that she was alone. Especially now that she was alone.

 

Alone. John had promised her she would never be alone. He had promised to always be with her. To always protect her. With a raw sob, she turned to him. Held him to his promise. Begged for him to take her away from this place. And as he always had been, he was there for her.

 

“Mmm…,” his deep voice whispered seductively in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her waist. “What is the most beautiful woman in the world doing in front of a stove?” he asked, feathering a trail of light kisses down her neck.

 

She arched reflexively at his touch, leaning back to let his unshaven face scratch against her own smooth cheek. The loud ‘splat’ of the egg shattering against the kitchen floor bringing her back to the present, she stared down in dismay. “John, I was ‘trying’ to make scrambled eggs for breakfast! It’s the first day of school!”

 

Running a light hand through her golden hair, he leaned forward to plant a satisfied kiss on her lips before walking over to retrieve the paper towels. “Well, you got the scrambled part right anyway!” he replied with a wry smile, bending down to clear away the sticky mess.

 

He scooped distractedly with the towel, unnerved by the sudden realization that he was now eye level with the most fantastic pair of legs it had ever been his pleasure to observe. With the lightest of touches he ran his fingers up the back of her right calf, eliciting a gentle sigh and the ‘splat’ of yet another egg as it fell to join its mate on the floor. Cackling, he leaned forward to brush his lips against her kneecap, irritated that the nylons kept him from the taste of her creamy skin.

 

“Jeesh, why don’t you two get a room!” Eric’s voice called from the doorway as he loped into the room to straddle one of the chairs at the table. Flashing his parents a cocky smile, he grabbed the box of Frosted Flakes and let loose a chuckle as his Mom gave John a none to gentle shove that resulted with him sitting on his backside in the middle of the floor. Chagrined, John looked up at his son. “Hey! Have a little respect! I just saved you from a breakfast feast prepared by your Mother. She seems to think that a steady diet of sugar and processed foods will somehow stunt your development. Here, want some of her eggs?” he asked with a smile, holding out the gooey towel.

 

Snorting, Eric merely shook his head and downed a glass of orange juice with a single swig. “If this stuff hasn’t killed me yet, I doubt it ever will. Save Mom’s cooking for my little sister,” he replied, looking up as the object of his discussion walked into the room.

 

A grin of delight lit Eric’s face, and with one long arm he scooped his sister up to perch in his arms. “You ready for your first day of kindergarten kiddo?” he asked the dark-haired doll in his arms.

 

Nodding emphatically, she repeated the words her big brother had taught her. “I’m ready for anything!” she lisped out, the challenging tone startling in such a tiny slip of a girl.

 

With a proud smile Marlena turned from the stove, giving up on the idea of cooking, at least for the time being. What she saw before her caused the smile to drop from her face and her eyes to widen in astonishment. “What in the world are you wearing? Honey, where is the pretty dress Mommy laid out for you? Who on earth helped you dress this morning?”

 

Without guile, her daughter looked up at her from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “Daddy did!” she parroted happily.

 

With only the vaguest hint of guilt in his pose, John gave a shrug and lifted himself from the floor. Knowing he was in the doghouse, he muttered weakly, “Hey! She picked it out. I just helped her put it on!”

 

Joining Eric at the table, he reached over and took his daughter into his arms. Snuggling contentedly against his chest, the little girl peered up at her Mother. Trapped by two pairs of the bluest eyes she had ever seen, it was all Marlena could do to remain steadfast. “You are not going to your first day of school wearing blue jeans and a Yankees cap!” she made herself exclaim loudly, fighting down the urge to laugh.

 

One of those pairs of eyes narrowed slightly, and with a slight pout of her lower lip her daughter replied, “Am to!”

 

Irritated now, Marlena shot John an accusing look.

 

“Don’t look at me! She gets that stubborn streak from you!” he said innocently.

 

“John Black! She does not!” she replied, her hands on her hips and the beginnings of a frown on her face.

 

“Does to!” he shot back.

 

“Does not!” she replied vehemently.

 

Looking to Eric, John gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “See what I mean?!”

 

The two men cracked up, and with a roll of her eyes Marlena finally joined in the laughter. Grinning, she sank into the chair next to her husband and ruffled his hair fondly. “You are incorrigible,” she said, half compliment and half accusation.

 

With a slight smirk, John reached for the juice. “I know. You really should punish me,” he replied, glancing mischievously at her over the top of their daughter’s head.

 

Beneath the table, their hands seemed to find their way to each other. She settled back in her chair, watching in total contentment as her youngest attacked a bowl of Cocco Puffs with gusto. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “What would I do without you?” she asked softly.

 

Pulling her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “You’ll never have to find out. I’m here to stay, pretty lady. That’s a fact!”

 

Lying on the cold floor of the bathroom, she gave a low moan, her hands wrapping protectively around her abdomen. Tears stained her face as she softly called his name. Knowing that he would hear. Knowing that he would come. Knowing that none of this was over yet.

 

***

 

The gelding reared as the quirt bit deeply into its flank. He sawed hard on the reins, forcing the big animal over the four-foot jump despite its reluctance. He rode the beast hard, foam lathering the horse’s neck as Mikos took his irritation out on the dumb brute.

 

It had not been a good day. Dimera alone was enough to deal with. The man was deadly, his organization a power to rival Mikos’ own. The threat of assassination was not one Mikos held lightly. He’d employed such tactics enough himself to know their value. As much as he would like to, he could not simply dispose of the impertinent criminal as he deserved. Tomorrow, he would have to arrange for the man to be set free, whether the body was found by then or not. The risk of doing otherwise was simply too great.

 

Dimera he would have to let go, at least for now. Accounts with that man could be settled sometime in the future. With a small grin, Mikos allowed himself to briefly consider the wide variety of ‘accidents’ that could befall even the most cautious of men. In the end, Dimera would pay for his insolence.

 

Feeling slightly better, he pulled the heaving animal to an abrupt halt and slipped from the saddle. Tossing the reins to the trainer who was instantly at his side, he walked toward the main house, quirt tapping against his leather riding boots. Yes, Dimera would be released. It was decided. The woman…. The woman was something else entirely.

 

A sadistic smile curved his lips at the thought of her. He would swear that he could still taste her on his lips. Sweeter than the finest wine, she was incomparable. He’d had more than enough women to know. Sweet and soft, but with a core of steel. He had thought to break her with the news of her lover’s death. And lovers they had been. It was undeniable. He could see it in the way her eyes shot fire at the very mention of his brother’s name. Oh how he had wanted her to watch as he had taken Alexi apart, piece by piece. Taken him apart and then put him back together, a humble willing servant as he had always been meant to be. In the end, Mikos would have broken his brother just as surely as he had broken that horse. There would have been no doubts in anyone’s mind who the heir to the empire was. Even the woman would have been forced to recognize that she belonged to Mikos, not Alexander. That moment would have been oh so very sweet.

 

The recognition of the loss of that moment brought his irritation back full force. Growling deep in his throat, he slammed the whip against his boot. Damnation, it had been a bad day! Not only did he have to deal with Dimera and his arrogance, his own men appeared incapable of performing the simple act of retrieving a prisoner. Now, not only was Alexi dead, Mikos might be deprived of the opportunity to view the body. To lay it to rest, and with it, all possible challenges to his throne. He was surrounded by arrogance and incompetence, and on top of it all, he had to deal with that stubborn woman and her blasted pride!

 

Her lover lay dead. Her only hope of freedom, of rescue, eliminated. Yet did she crumble at his feet? Did she come to him on her knees, full of fear and anguish? Did she beg for her freedom? Plead for her life, the lives of her children? No! She had virtually spat in his face! Would have spat in his face if she had been close enough. He would bet on it. God, how he wanted her!

 

What he wanted, he would have. The woman might not break at the loss of her lover. She might not break, even at a threat against her own life. But she was not without weakness. Her children were her Achilles’ heel. While he controlled them, he controlled her. He needed no greater demonstration than the one she had given him at the breakfast table. Her whelp of a son had actually done Mikos a favor with his show of insolence. She would have done anything to stop the well-deserved beating. Anything at all.

 

A tremor ran through him at the thought of her lying beneath him, moaning out his name. Begging for his touch. His hands clenched tightly at the memory of golden hair wrapped around his fingers, the scent of flowers as he held her close. He would have her. He would have her and he would never let her go.

 

***

 

He looked up at the sharp rap on the door only to discover that his visitor was wasting no time waiting for an invitation to enter.

 

“Mr. Dimera. Stefano, isn’t it? I thought you might enjoy some company at dinner for a change,” the petite redhead said.

 

Stefano sat in stunned silence as the woman bustled about the room, the blond servant trailing in her wake like a well trained hound. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she swept the newspaper from the table in the corner of the room and stood back to supervise as Ivan arranged two covered plates on the now bare surface.

 

“I do hope you enjoy goose,” she commented over her shoulder, scooping up the corkscrew that Ivan had placed in the center of the table.

 

Turning to the tall slim blond that now stood behind her observing everything with a watchful eye, Vivian stood on tiptoe to buzz a light kiss against the side of his face. “You are a dear, Ivan. But you may run along now. Mr. Dimera and I require some privacy,” she said in a teasing voice. When the tall man seemed to hesitate, she reached out and grabbed his shoulder, leading him toward the still open door. With a pat on the butt that was almost a shove, she pushed him into the hall. Calling a cheery “Ta ta!” she slammed the door firmly behind her.

 

Finally regaining his composure, Stefano rose from his seat beside the window. The woman faced him from across the room, red lips curved in a smile that was almost a challenge. The tight black dress clung to her curves as if it had been painted on, the dark material lending a pale glow to the flesh revealed by the plunging neckline. “Um… Ms. D’Pau, is it?” he managed to grate out as she stalked toward him, her hips swaying with each stride of her long legs.

 

“Oh, why the formality, Stefano? Call me Vivian. Please?” she said, a smile in her eyes as she approached him.

 

She carried the bottle of wine before her in outstretched arms and for a moment he wondered if she planned to impale him with it. She stopped only when the cool glass made contact with his chest.

 

She looked up at him, catching his eyes in a direct stare. Her large green eyes twinkled mischievously as she said softly, “You wouldn’t mind opening this for me, would you? I’m just a helpless woman when it comes to such things.”

 

Clearing his throat, he reached to take the corkscrew which dangled from her fingers. Walking toward the table, he replied, “I have difficulty imagining you incapable of anything.”

 

Her high heels rang out sharply against the floor as she moved to follow him. With a silky laugh she commented, “My third husband used to say the same thing!”

 

He pulled the cork from the wine as she sank gracefully into a chair, all the while watching him with a calculated look.

 

“Your third husband?” he noted with distraction, searching for some way to establish his control over the conversation.

 

“Yes, a dear man. It was tragic when he died so soon after the marriage. A heart attack, would you believe. He was only 52, and he dies of heart attack while in bed.”

 

Once again thrown off guard, Stefano sat down and reached for the bottle. “I am sorry for your loss. At least you can take comfort in how he passed on. There are worse fates than dying in one’s sleep.”

 

Giving Dimera a slight nod of thanks, Vivian raised her now full glass to her lips. Over the rim of her glass she studied the man across from her over. “Who said he was asleep?” she commented in a conversational tone.

 

Stefano choked as the wine went down the wrong way. Red-faced, he gasped for air as the fumes from the alcohol burned in his nose.

 

“My goodness! Are you all right?” she asked with amused concern, her hand reaching out to take his in a surprisingly strong grip.

 

Nodding almost frantically he pulled away and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I am just fine. Thank you,” he panted raggedly.

 

Picked up her knife and fork, she turned her attention to the meal. “Well, don’t you worry. If you have any trouble, I do know CPR.”

 

“I’ll bet you do,” he muttered to himself as he took another sip of wine and tried to make himself relax. He realized that she had heard him by the tight grin that flashed across her face.

 

“Ahem…. Uh, Ms. D’Pau…”

 

“Vivian, please!” she said, shooting him an irritated look.

 

With a resigned nod, he continued. “Vivian…. While I am grateful for the pleasure of your company, I am curious as to the reason for this sudden visit. Is there something I can help you with?”

 

Leaning back in her chair, Vivian chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Hmmm. I believe the better question is, ‘Is there something I can do for you?’.”

 

Raising a brow, Stefano replied, “And what might that be?”

 

“Well, Mikos is my nephew. A sweet boy, but sometimes he tends to act before he thinks. Thus your rather reluctant visit to our home. Perhaps it would be possible for me to intervene with him on your behalf.”

 

Stefano could recognize a player when he saw one, and this lady was definitely a player. Feeling a bit more at ease as he immersed himself in this new game, he nodded thoughtfully. “That would be very kind of you, Vivian. Certainly there must be something I could do to repay your act of kindness?”

 

“Oh, I am sure that we could work something out,” she answered smoothly.

 

With a sardonic grin, he said, “I am sure that we could. However, I don’t believe your intervention will be necessary. Your nephew and I have come to an understanding. He recognizes the inappropriateness of his actions. The risk involved. We will be leaving you tomorrow.”

 

The news startled her, her eyes narrowing in consternation. “Mikos plans to release you?”

 

“Within 24 hours. I was very specific regarding my expectations. But it is almost a shame you and I will not be doing business together. I find the idea rather intriguing,” he said, enjoying having the little spitfire on the defensive.

 

With a casual shrug, Vivian reached out to run her fingers along the rim of the wine glass. “Yes, that is rather a pity, isn’t it? But I must say, I am surprised that you would leave Dr. Evans all alone in the tender care of my nephew.”

 

“Dr. Evans and her children will be accompanying me,” he answered sharply, a hint of danger in his tone. “I will not be leaving without them.”

 

Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. “Then perhaps you will not be leaving us after all. You do not know Mikos very well if you think he will relinquish the woman to you. He is very jealous of his toys.”

 

“So am I,” Dimera stated flatly.

 

The smile came back to her face and she rose abruptly from her chair. “Perhaps it would be best if we continue this conversation tomorrow, Stefano. I believe that I may be seeing you again for dinner after all.”

 

With a barely discernable wink, she turned and strode confidently to the door, leaving Stefano to his own thoughts.

 

Chapter 70

 

“Hey little brother. You feeling any better this morning?” Carrie asked as she smoothed Eric’s hair back from his sleep dazed eyes.

 

“Umm… feel like I got run over by a truck,” he muttered groggily.

 

“Well he certainly sounds better,” Sami chirped as she flopped down onto the bed beside her brother.

 

“Please tell me that’s breakfast I smell,” the young man said, sitting up in bed and ignoring Sami for the moment.

 

“Yep. Ham and eggs, yet,” Carrie replied with a nod. “It sure beats those random fish parts they usually eat around here! And you should be hungry. You didn’t eat anything yesterday.”

 

“I didn’t feel much like eating,” he answered in a subdued voice.

 

“You did get pretty banged up,” she said, ruffling his hair as she rose to get his breakfast.

 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said almost resentfully, watching her with an accusing glare.

 

“I know what you meant,” she answered, not meeting his eyes as she settled a serving tray across his legs. “I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

 

“Alamain was lying, Carrie. Dad’s not dead. I’ve seen what he can do. There’s no way he’s dead!” Eric snapped, tears springing to the corners of his eyes.

 

“I hope you’re right Eric. I do. But… what if Stefano’s men betrayed him? What if they took him by surprise? I’m just saying, you have to be careful. You have to think before you act. If you keep making Mikos angry, he will hurt you again, and we can’t be sure that Dad will be there to save us. Not this time.”

 

Carrie hated the look of pain and doubt in Eric’s eyes. Hated knowing that she was its cause. But she was afraid for him. Afraid he would do something rash, and that the next time, her mother would not be able to save him.

 

“Carrie, you are wrong,” Sami said, reaching out to take her brother’s hand. “Dad will come. He’ll come and when he does, he’ll make Mikos pay.”

 

Sighing softly, Carrie met her sister’s blue-eyed gaze. “Sami, even if you’re right, it might be too late. Did you see the way that man looked at Mom? The way he kissed her?”

 

“Carrie, I do not want to talk about this!” Eric interjected, uneasy with the memory of Mikos’ hands on his mother.

 

“We have to talk about it!” Carrie shot back. “We have to be smart. We have to think about what we are going to do. Eric, the best thing we can do right now to protect ourselves is to just go along with whatever Mikos wants. He will use us against Mom if he can. You know that! It’s what he did yesterday.”

 

“So we’re just supposed to sit back and be polite to that asshole?! I don’t think so!” Sami snorted, her temper getting the better of her.

 

Frustrated, Carrie rose to her feet and looked down on her sister. “Sami, it’s not like I find the thought appealing. But it’s smart. We play along, buy some time, and wait for our chance to escape. If we keep fighting him like this, we’re only going to get hurt. Or worse yet, we’re going to get Mom hurt. Now as much as it pains you to be polite to that man, you ‘are’ going to do it because it may be the only way for us to get out of this mess!”

 

Hating to admit her sister was right, Sami simply muttered, “Dad’s going to kill him when he gets here.”

 

“Well we have to make certain that we are all okay when he does get here. So from here on, we try and be polite obedient little prisoners. Agreed?” Carrie asked, her eyes darting from Sami to Eric and back again.

 

“Yea. Agreed,” Eric replied grudgingly.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Sami merely nodded.

 

Relaxing slightly, Carrie sank back onto the bed with her two hot-headed siblings. “Good enough. Now, Eric, let’s figure out how we can play up your injuries so you can stay in the room with us. It’s time to start finding a way out of this mess.”

 

***

 

Mikos rapped gently on the bedroom door. “Marlena? Marlena, open the door please.”

 

He was not surprised by the lack of a response, and after a moments hesitation he cracked the door slowly open. The room was shrouded in darkness, the heavy drapes holding back the morning sun. Dimly he could make out her pale form, lying beneath the satin comforter on the big bed.

 

“They told me you refused to come down for breakfast,” he said, his tone kept purposefully gentle.

 

“I’m not hungry, Mikos. I just want to be left alone. Please respect that,” she replied wearily, closing her eyes so that she did not have to see him.

 

“I came to apologize, Marlena. My actions yesterday…. It was inexcusable. I was… I suppose I was in a state of shock,” he said as he walked over to stand at her bedside.

 

“I won’t ask you to forgive me my hasty actions, but I do wish you to understand,” he continued smoothly as he gazed down at her perfect features. “There is something you do not know. Something you need to understand about me. About John. When I was informed that he had been killed…. I never wanted that. I never wanted him hurt in any way. Marlena, John is my brother.”

 

Why was he telling her this? Why now, as if it would make any difference? Mikos was nothing like John. Nothing at all. Turning her head away from him, she said softly, “So what?”

 

Her indifference irritated him. He had thought she might soften toward him, thinking that he too shared her loss. Even better would have been the heat of her anger, raging out at him for taking the life of his own brother. Her anger excited him, made him want her all the more. But this, this apathy… there was no satisfaction to be found in that.

 

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted, his voice growing hard.

 

“The physical resemblance is striking, I had guessed that you were related. Unfortunately you lack his character. I suppose that is why you had him killed?” she asked in a monotone, the entire conversation serving only to make her tired.

 

“From what I know of my brother, he was hardly a paragon of virtue,” Mikos replied snidely. “He was a killer. A hired gun for a criminal cartel. According to my reports, in the last several months he has been arrested for smuggling and assaulting a police officer, has killed several agents for the U.S. government, kidnaped you and your children and quite possibly killed your husband. Compared to my brother, I am a saint!”

 

She sat up suddenly, her cheeks flushing. “You don’t know him. You don’t know anything about him, and I assuredly do not have to defend him to you!”

 

Stifling a pleased smile, Mikos raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I am sorry! I meant no offense. Only… I wished to know my brother. You can understand that, can you not? But… he was a dangerous man. An unpredictable man. And the circumstances under which he was lost to the family…. I felt that I needed to be careful in our first meeting. I felt I needed to protect myself.”

 

Despite herself, Marlena interest was aroused. “Why was he lost? Why was John raised apart from his family?”

 

Sighing gently, Mikos dropped his head in order to hide the smile that curved his lips. He had no intention of allowing his brother to live on as a martyr in Marlena’s eyes. If he couldn’t personally destroy the man, the least he could do was tear down his character. “We were very little. Alexander, that was his given name, he was always more… aggressive than I. Anyway, he was just a toddler. Maybe three years old. I was eight. The big brother. The heir to the family legacy. Alexi always seemed to resent me, maybe that was why. Whatever the reason, one day when we were out alone, I was sitting beside the pool. The next thing I knew, there was a shove and I was in the water. I would have drowned if one of the servants hadn’t come by. I would have drowned while Alexi stood and watched. After that…. Well, my father was a very protective man. Very protective of the heir to his legacy. I told him that it was an accident. I told him that Alexi was too little to know what he did. But my father…. He had Alexander sent away so that he would never pose a threat to me again.”

 

His fable winding down, Mikos looked up at Marlena to gauge her reaction. “Do you understand now? Do you see why I was so cautious about meeting my brother again? I meant him no harm, but I wasn’t certain how he would react to me. I wanted to control the circumstances of our first meeting. Knowing what I do about the man, I felt I needed to protect myself in case he decided to lash out. I loved my brother, Marlena. I wanted him in my life. Yesterday… the way I acted…. That was out of grief, Marlena. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

 

Marlena merely looked at him, wondering if he actually expected her to believe that load of crap. She knew how John felt about family. Knew how deeply loyal he was, even to a monster like Stefano. The thought that he would ever hurt a member of his own family was simply ludicrous. Keeping her face carefully neutral, she merely nodded. “I see. Thank you for telling me. But with John gone, I don’t suppose it matters anymore.”

 

Again she surprised him with her acquiescence. Quirking his brow, he reached out to take her hand in his. “I am so glad you understand, Marlena. You can’t know how much that means to me.”

 

Despite her better judgement, she could not help but pull free of his grip. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she nodded dismissively. “What’s done is done, Mikos. It is in the past. Now my only concern is to take my children home. They have been through so much this past year. We need to go home and get back to our lives.”

 

“I am afraid that may not be possible, Marlena,” he said gently, watching closely for her reaction.

 

Her stomach tensed as she realized that this was the reason behind Mikos’ feigned kindness. He had no intention of letting her go. She was his prisoner and she would remain so. But there was something he wanted from her. Something she could give him. Thus he sought to trick her with kindness, as if she could ever forget the feel of his hands on her skin. As if she could forget what he had done to her son. Forget what he had done to John. Her eyes were cold as she turned to look at him. “I want to leave, Mikos. I want to go home. You no longer need me to get to John.”

 

“Marlena, I have come to care about you. To care very deeply. You are the woman my brother loved. That makes you my responsibility. I take my responsibilities seriously. If you were to return home, I could not protect you. I could not protect your children. Marlena, you would not want your children to come to harm, would you?”

 

Her eyes narrowed in recognition of the veiled threat. “Who would harm my children, Mikos? What is it that you think we need ‘protection’ from?”

 

“Marlena, I don’t mean to upset you, but you know it’s true. Every report I have indicates that Stefano Dimera has been obsessed with you for years. I can’t hold the man here. I have already agreed to his release. And now… well, there is nothing to prevent him from simply taking you away now that… now that you’re alone. I care too much for you to allow that to happen. I owe this to my brother,” Mikos said earnestly.

 

His dark eyes mocked her as his words tried to ensnare her. “I am not afraid of Stefano,” she answered him coldly.

 

“You should be. He is a dangerous man. I will not allow you to leave this castle while a threat to you exists.”

 

“So I am to be a prisoner for the rest of my life? Is this how you repay your brother?!” she spat out, anger and frustration overwhelming her.

 

He smiled as she gave him the opening he had sought. “No. Of course not. There is another way, Marlena. A way that will benefit us all. Marlena, if you were married to someone with the strength, the power, to stand against Dimera…. You would be safe. Your children would be safe. You would be free to go anywhere you wished and never worry.”

 

She stared at him in shock, unable to believe what he was proposing. The gall of the man, to think that she could love him.

 

He could not help a small smile of satisfaction at her expression. She had never expected him to go this far. Had never imagined that his desire to posses her ran this deep. In time she would come to understand that he owned her, body and soul. Reaching out, he again took her hand in his. “Marlena, I am asking you to marry me,” he said gently.

 

As if his words brought her back to reality, she ripped free from his grip and scrambled from the bed, hugging the comforter around her. Eyes wide with sudden fear, she shook her head from side to side. “No. Mikos, no. I don’t love you. I don’t want you. No, I will not marry you!” she said, stunned by the very idea.

 

Smiling at her from across the other side of the bed, he tried to hide his irritation. “You don’t have to decide now, Marlena. I know this is sudden. But,” he said, his voice growing hard, “You will not leave here unless it is as my wife. After all, your children’s safety depends on it. I know you would never forgive yourself if something were to happen to them.”

 

***

 

He walked down the long hallway, a self-satisfied grin on his face. The look in her eyes when he had asked her to marry him had been priceless. For once her defenses had dropped and he had seen a glimpse of the fear that she normally hid so well. She would do as he asked, he had no doubt of it. Her love for her children would leave her no choice. He could have chosen no one better to sit by his side. To bear ‘his’ children. Once she carried his child, she would never be able to escape him. He doubted she would even try. Now if Dimera could be dealt with as successfully, nothing would stand between him and his destiny.

 

With a peremptory knock, he entered Stefano’s room, his confidence making him almost jovial. “Stefano? May I assume that you are anxious to prepare for your departure? We simply need to decide on the ‘when and where’ and then inform your men. If you wish, you can be out of my home tonight.”

 

Irritated at the man’s intrusion, Stefano put down the novel he had been reading and rose to his feet. “A wise decision on your part, Mikos,” he said dryly. “However, it has occurred to me that we might not have been clear on all of my terms. When I leave here, I am taking Dr. Evans and her children with me. You do understand that?”

 

Stefano’s directness threw Mikos momentarily off balance. “Well, I do understand your interest in the beautiful doctor, but I am afraid that that is simply not possible,” he replied defensively.

 

“It is more than possible, Mikos. She is under my protection. If anything were to happen to her or her children, I would take it as a personal insult. An insult that would be dealt with most harshly,” Stefano stated, his anger showing in his voice.

 

Mikos’ hands clenched tightly as his temper flared. “Marlena is staying, Dimera. She no longer requires your ‘protection’. In fact, the lady is soon to be my wife! As such, she will have all of the protection she needs. The only question now is whether you present a greater threat to me dead or alive.”

 

Dumbfounded, Stefano stood in shocked silence. Marlena would never consent to marry this arrogant psychopath. He had pursued her long enough himself to know the futility of it. There was no way she would be coerced into a union with a man like Mikos. Then the obvious answer presented itself and he gave a grudging laugh. “You blackmailed her. You used her children, didn’t you?” he asked, smiling faintly.

 

Dimera would never believe him if he denied it, and Mikos didn’t much care what he thought anyway. Shrugging modestly, Mikos gave a half-bow. “I’m surprised you never tried it yourself. My reports show that you wanted her badly enough.”

 

“I preferred to think that eventually, she would come to me willingly.”

 

“I prefer to know that she doesn’t,” Mikos said with an ugly smile.

 

Stefano’s jaw clenched slightly at the reply, but he gave no other indication of his thoughts. “My congratulations, then. You have achieved a prize I had long sought. I don’t suppose there is anything I could offer to convince you to turn her over to me?”

 

Still smiling, Mikos shook his head. “Oh no, there is nothing you have that is her match. If I must go to war to keep her, I will,” he said grimly.

 

Nodding in resignation, Stefano replied, “No, there is no point in a war. I am, after all, a businessman. War is bad for business. However, if you are going to deprive me of the fair Marlena, I believe that some form of compensation would be in order.”

 

Mikos’ interest was peaked. Dimera was accepting his defeat much more graciously than he had anticipated. Perhaps the man and his contacts might prove useful in the future. Cautiously, Mikos asked, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

 

Stefano eased back down into the armchair and flashed Mikos a smile. “Well, I have had some time to think lately. I believe that there are undeveloped business opportunities in this part of the world. With the dissolution of the Soviet Union, it seems there are newly independent countries almost every day. New countries, hungry to experience the wonders of capitalism. The joys of freedom. Fertile ground for a man with my resources. However, I would need someone who knows Eastern Europe. Someone with connections, prestige, perhaps even a royal title to lend legitimacy. Do you happen to know anyone like that?”

 

It was Mikos’ turn to be surprised. “You are proposing a partnership?” he asked, incredulous.

 

Chuckling, Stefano shook his head. “I don’t think either of us trusts enough for that. But I would like to explore the possibilities of a ‘loose working relationship’, if you could call it that. I assure you, I am not the sort of man who allows my personal life to stand in the way of a good business opportunity. And I do believe it only fair that I receive something for the aggravation of this little kidnaping of yours. This is a business proposition, plain and simple.”

 

Mikos was suspicious of the man, the ease of his surrender seeming uncharacteristic. However a criminal such as Dimera was probably so lacking in honor that he wouldn’t know how to carry a grudge if he wanted to. His only concern would be profit, and Mikos had been very impressed with how profitable the Dimera cartel appeared to be. “Your proposal is not without a certain appeal,” he replied contemplatively. “At the least, it is worth considering how our two interests might intersect.”

 

“Yes, the possibilities are intriguing, aren’t they. With your permission, I will call my men and inform them I will be staying on for a few days more, this time as your guest,” Stefano said, smiling as he observed Mikos’ reaction.

 

Alamain regarded him doubtfully, finally giving a grudging nod. “It is worth exploring, anyway. Though I am sure you will understand my request that you not leave your room without the company of an escort?”

 

“How very kind of you to be so concerned for my safety,” Stefano responded wryly.

 

“Yes, well I would hate for you to be tempted to abscond with Dr. Evans. Any such effort would result in an abrupt end to our business dealings. An abrupt and ugly end,” Mikos said.

 

“I can well understand why you would be protective of your bride-to-be,” Stefano answered sarcastically. “However, before we finalize our plans, I will have to insist on seeing Marlena.”

 

Mikos’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t see why that is necessary.”

 

“Then let me rephrase. Before I call my men and tell them ‘not’ to start blowing up your businesses and shooting your relatives down in the street, I ‘will’ talk to her. I may not be prepared to go to war in order to possess her, but I will not leave here without talking to her one last time.”

 

“What is it that you need to say to her?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Dimera gave a dismissive wave of his hands. “Mikos, I have been… interested in this woman for years. I wish to speak with her. What is it you fear I will say? We both know that her only choice is to do as you wish. I will not tell her otherwise if only for her own sake. Now, before I call my men, I wish to see her,” he finished expectantly.

 

Mikos was reluctant, but he could see no real danger. As Dimera said, the best advice that could be offered was to play along. With a grudging nod, he agreed. “I will have her join you for lunch. Perhaps you can even get her to eat something, she was looking rather pale this morning. When you are done talking, I will have a phone brought in so you can contact your people.”

 

***

 

“Marlena?” Stefano said with concern, rising from his chair to meet her at the doorway. “Come sit down, you don’t look well.”

 

“Kidnaping disagrees with me,” she said dryly, but she didn’t resist as he took her arm and led her to one of the armchairs set at the small table.

 

“Mikos was right, you do look pale,” he said, putting a hand out to check her temperature.

 

Angrily, she slapped the hand away. “I do not need you telling me that anything about that man is ‘right’,” she snapped.

 

Stefano drew back, eyes wide with surprise at the outburst. “Well it is nice to see that captivity hasn’t affected your sweet temperament!”

 

“Don’t start,” she answered tiredly, her hands moving to rub at her temples in an effort at staving off the pounding headache that threatened.

 

“Marlena, are you all right?” Stefano asked more seriously.

 

Somehow the tears she had denied herself in Alamain’s presence sprang to her eyes now that she was alone with Stefano. “No, I’m not all right. How could I be? Did he tell you about John?” she managed to gasp out.

 

Crouching beside her chair, Stefano reached to take one of her trembling hands in his own. “Is that what this is about?” he asked, a faint smile on his face.

 

Angrily she jerked away. “Of course that’s what this is about! John may be dead, at least you could pretend like you care!” she virtually shouted at him.

 

Chuckling, he rose and seated himself across from her. “I cannot believe that after all you have seen, after all you have been through, you will simply accept the word of that cretin that John is dead! John will be highly insulted when I tell him.”

 

Brushing at her eyes, she shot Dimera a hard look. “If you know something, you had better tell me right now.”

 

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I know John, isn’t that enough? You don’t really believe that he would be killed so easily do you?”

 

“No. No, I don’t. But Stefano, sometimes things go wrong….”

 

Nodding agreeably, he replied, “True. Very true. I will admit, even I had a moment of doubt. It was why I agreed to make a call to my men. I wanted to hear it for myself. I wanted to know if it was true.”

 

“Well?!” Marlena prodded in exasperation.

 

“From Jensen’s own lips, I heard the news. ‘No doubt, the Phoenix is dead’,” Dimera said with satisfaction.

 

When Marlena continued to simply stare at him in puzzlement, he gave her a tight smile and lifted a glass of wine as if in salute. “Don’t be silly, my dear. You should know better than anyone. The Phoenix never dies.”

 

For a moment it seemed as if she hadn’t understood his meaning. Then a sudden smile lit her face and laughter peeled out full force. She dropped her head to the table and held her sides as she gasped for air, tears streaming freely down her face. “Please tell me you’re serious,” she managed to choke out.

 

“I am always serious,” he replied with a broad grin, her joy seemingly contagious.

 

When the last of her chuckles died away, she wiped at her tears in embarrassment. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice, glancing away from him. “You don’t know how scared I was. I can’t lose him. Do you understand that?”

 

“I understand, Marlena. I do,” he said softly, resisting the urge to reach out to her.

 

“What… what do you think happened? Mikos seemed so sure that he was dead.”

 

Stefano shrugged. “It’s not like faking a death is a novel idea. I trained the boy well. Be assured, it is part of some plan to free us. So far, it appears the plan is working,” he concluded with a smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a dry chuckle, straightening in her chair as she tried to compose herself. “I must seem an emotional wreck.”

 

Stefano gave a dismissive snort. “Hardly. Dealing with Alamain is enough to drive a Baptist to drink. He told me of his latest plan for you. A marriage?”

 

Her face grew hard at the thought. “That will be a cold day in hell,” she said shortly.

 

Not wanting to disrupt the tenuous truce they seemed to have established, Stefano said hesitantly, “Marlena, perhaps you should consider going along with it?”

 

“What?!”

 

He raised his hands as if to deflect her anger. “Please! Hear me out. Marlena, John will come. We can count on that. But it may take him time. If you go along with the wedding plans, it could buy us that time. It will put Alamain off his guard.”

 

Adamantly she shook her head. “I cannot stand that man! Stefano, he hit Eric! He, he kissed me. In front of my children. And then he hit Eric… No. There is no way I can pretend I will marry him. My God, what would John think!”

 

“John would think you were doing what was necessary. Necessary to protect your children. Necessary to protect yourself! Marlena, have you considered what Mikos will do if you deny him?” Stefano challenged.

 

Her only reply was to glance away, her arms moving to wrap protectively around her chest.

 

Dimera felt the anger growing at what Alamain was doing to her, and consciously tried to soften his tone. “Marlena, if you fight him, he will use force. Do you understand that? If you appear to go along with his plans, however reluctantly, he will relax. He will take his time. He will toy with you. But if you deny him… he will use force. If you can pretend to go along with the marriage, it will buy John the time he needs to find us.”

 

For a long moment she said nothing, merely staring at the ground. Finally her head rose to meet his gaze. “I hate him,” she whispered vehemently. “I hate to be in the same room with him. To agree to marry him? I don’t know if I can do it.”

 

He smiled grimly at her response. “That’s because you are not a very good liar, Marlena. An obvious flaw in your upbringing. But not to worry. I’m here to help you, and I am a very good liar. When we are done with Mikos Alamain, he won’t know what hit him.”

 

Ever so slowly, a matching smile crept across Marlena’s face. “I guess if I’m going to learn, it might as well be from the best.”

 

Chuckling, he replied, “Thank you for the compliment.”

 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” she noted with a grin.

 

With an agreeable nod, he gestured at the dinner plates. “Enough with the insults. Eat your lunch, you are looking far too pale lately. You need to keep your strength up. Who knows, we may even get out of here without waiting for John.”

 

As she twirled a strand of pasta around her fork, Marlena looked up curiously. “Do you have a plan or are you just bragging?”

 

Leaning back in his chair, he sipped at his wine and considered how best to classify Vivian D’Pau. “Hmm. For the moment, let me just say I have an intriguing proposition and let’s leave it at that.”

 

Deciding that she would never truly understand Stefano Dimera, Marlena merely shrugged, content for the moment with the knowledge that John was alive.

 

***

 

“Look, we don’t need to wake him up now. Wait until your men report back with something. There’s nothing we can do ‘til then anyway, and this is just going to upset him,” Bo hissed out in a low voice.

 

“I was to inform him as soon as we heard anything,” Jensen whispered back in irritation. “I held off about the phone trace, but he has to be told now that we’ve heard from Mr. Dimera. If I don’t wake him up now, he is quite capable of killing me when he does finally find out!”

 

Jensen tried to get around Bo’s big form, but the man shifted to block his path once again. The two were almost to the point of exchanging blows when a groggy voice interrupted from the couch. “Tell me what?” John muttered hoarsely.

 

Bo threw his hands up in resignation as Jensen sidled past him, going to stand before John who was sitting gingerly up on the big couch.

 

“So? What’s the word?” he asked, rubbing at his sore chest.

 

“Well, sir. We have good news and bad news…” Jensen trailed off, suddenly wishing he had left this job to Bo.

 

“Jensen, stop screwing around and tell me what happened,” John grunted in irritation, his eyes locked onto Jensen’s worried face.

 

“Yes. Well, the good news is that we did manage to trace an outgoing call from one of the men we were following. The call went to a little town in Slovichnia called St. Julien. It’s a small country out in the middle of nowhere, formerly a part of Russia. I dispatched a team to check it out and they should be on-sight any hour now. It won’t be hard to discover if Alamain is holding them there.”

 

John nodded in satisfaction, his mind already going through the requirements of an assault team. “I want everything you have on that town ASAP Jensen. We’ll take out the whole town if we have to, but I want Marlena and the children back, and I want it done yesterday. Now, what’s the bad news?” he asked, rising unsteadily to his feet.

 

Unconsciously, Jensen took a half-step back. “Sir, we finally got the call from Mr. Dimera. It seems that Mr. Alamain was unwilling to release Dr. Evans and the children. According to Mr. Dimera, he has chosen to stay and work on a business proposal with Alamain. I assume that means he wants to remain on-sight and aid any rescue attempt from the inside.”

 

John gave a half-shrug and ran a hand through his hair, trying to wake up. “Well, I was hoping they would let them go once I was thought dead, but this isn’t too much of a surprise. It’s not a crisis Jensen.”

 

“Um, no sir, it’s not. But…”

 

“But what?!” John snapped in irritation.

 

“Sir. Mr. Dimera also informed me that Alamain has announced his impending wedding…. to Dr. Evans.”

 

Chapter 71

 

“John? Hey John, what ya doing?” Bo asked, peering around the door into the study.

 

The soft glow of the table lamp was the only source of illumination. Caught within its circle of light, John’s still form gave no acknowledgment of Bo’s presence.

 

Gingerly he entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Standing silently, he watched John as he sat at the desk, his black hair hanging down around his shoulders in damp strands. Water droplets fell unnoticed, forming pools on the polished surface of the desk. Oblivious, the man remained hunched over the desk, his attention focused on a glint of metal held between his fingers.

 

Feeling suddenly like he was intruding, Bo loudly cleared his throat. “Uh, John! Jeesh, ever think of drying off when you get out of the shower?! I tracked you down by following the puddles on the floor!”

 

As if it took a great effort to bring his thoughts back to the present, John slowly lifted his head and focused on Bo. “What do you want, Bo?” he asked mildly, his hands clenching tight shut around the shining bits of metal as if to conceal them from prying eyes.

 

“Well, right now what I want is for you to finish drying off and then come eat some dinner. A shower was a nice first step in rejoining the human race, but you’ve still got a ways to go before you’re done,” Bo answered with a forced smile.

 

“Bo, I am not hungry and I don’t need a mother. Now go away,” John said tiredly, dropping his head to again study the desktop.

 

With an irritated sigh, Bo stepped forward to grab a throw off of the couch. Moving to John, he said, “First off, I don’t care if you are hungry. You haven’t eaten in at least 24 hours, thus you need to eat, hungry or not. As to the second point, you do need a ‘mother’ or you wouldn’t have bothered to spirit me out of Salem in the first place. You aren’t worried about trusting Jensen! Hell, the man is a bulldog where you are concerned. I thought he was going to jump me for trying to make him wait to tell you about Dimera’s news. The only reason you had for bringing me along was because you knew you were going to need somebody who wasn’t afraid of you and who wouldn’t accept your cap when you decided to get all moody! In short, you do need a mother and I am it!” Bo stated emphatically, finishing his lecture by throwing the blanket across John’s wet shoulders.

 

Tugging the blanket about his body, John gave a low groan and stretched back in the thick leather desk-chair. He felt suddenly cold and tired, as if remaining upright took more effort than he had to give. “I really did bring you because you are the only one I trust, Bo. I trust you to put her above everything else. Even me,” he said softly, allowing his eyes to fall closed.

 

“I know,” Bo answered more gently, perching a hip on the edge of the desk. “But John, right now what’s best for Marlena is keeping you healthy. You need to take care of yourself if you want to help her.”

 

When his efforts received no response, Bo leaned forward to nudge a shoulder. “John, come on. You’ve hardly said a word since you found out about the marriage. I wish you’d talk to me, dammit!”

 

John snorted in grim amusement. “What is it you want me to say, Bo? What is it you want to know? My darkest fears? My deepest dreams? You want to know what I wish for, Bo?”

 

“If you really want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said, sitting up suddenly to look the younger man in the eye. “I wish she ‘was’ getting married. I wish she was marrying some nice normal guy who worked in accounting or something. Some guy who will come home to her every night and tell her that he will never hurt her and that he will always be there for her, and actually be telling the truth! That’s what I wish for Bo!” he almost yelled, the sound of his fist impacting against the desktop ringing out in the room.

 

Startled by the sudden flash of anger, Bo backed away from the man seated at the desk. “Take it easy, man. This isn’t doing anybody any good. You can’t dwell on what might have been, John. Losing your temper isn’t going to help get her back!”

 

For a moment, John simply sat contemplating his closed fist. Finally, he took a deep breath, trying to make himself relax as he exhaled. “I hope you recognize the irony of you lecturing me on controlling my temper,” he muttered weakly.

 

With a wry grin, Bo replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Sighing tiredly, John looked over at him. “Thanks for trying to help Bo. I do appreciate it. But right now…. I just want to be alone, okay?”

 

“What about dinner?” Bo prodded.

 

With a shrug, John glanced back down at the desk, his fingers absently twirling a gleaming bit of gold. “I want to hear from the men in St. Julian. Once I know where she is, I’ll take a break and get some dinner. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Bo replied reluctantly, his eyes following the path of John’s vacant gaze.

 

“Um, what you got there?” he asked, gesturing at John’s hand.

 

Glancing up in distraction, John seemed to notice what he was doing for the first time. Opening his hand, he studied the two rings that lay cradled in his palm. Almost reverently, he reached out with his left hand and picked up a simple gold band. A faint smile crossed his face as he held it up to the light. “My wedding ring,” he said softly, his fingers rubbing gently over the smooth metal.

 

“You still wear it?” Bo asked curiously.

 

The smile fading from his face, John lay the ring down in the center of the table. “No. No, I don’t have the right,” he said, his voice emotionless.

 

“I was there when she put that ring on your finger,” Bo said softly. “Remember that?”

 

“Like it was yesterday,” he answered, bitterness in his tone.

 

“She was happy then. As happy as I have ever seen her. You need to remember that too, John. You brought her much happiness. Nothing that happens can take that away from you.”

 

“Don’t fool yourself, Bo. The man who wore that ring no longer exists. He never did. He was a lie I told myself. The fact that I believed the lie doesn’t make him any more real. It simply makes him pathetic,” John stated harshly.

 

Stiffly, John rose to his feet, the blanket falling away. Clad only in a pair of faded jeans, the dark bruises stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. In the dim light, he was all muscle and sinew, as hard as stone and just as cold. “Do you want to know who I am now, Bo? Do you want to see what I’ve become?” he asked, the words hissing out in a dangerous growl.

 

Bo took a step back as the man before him raised his hand, muscles rippling beneath taut stretched skin. In the cupped palm sat another ring, white-gold holding a massive ruby. In the center of the stone was the familiar sign of the phoenix, depicted in onyx inlay.

 

“Dimera’s ring,” John said quietly, his thumb running across the face of the stone. “The kidnappers sent it as proof that they had them.”

 

John’s blue eyes glanced up at Bo, their expression unreadable. “Do you know who this ring belongs to, Bo? It belongs to me. Stefano promised it to me on my twenty-first birthday.”

 

Almost as if it were an act of defiance, John slid the ring over the middle finger of his right hand. His hand clenched into a fist, the dark stone flashing blood red in the light. “This is who I am. Neither of us should forget that.”

 

Bo simply looked at him, wondering how he could ever have believed the man before him to be his brother. Questions he had avoided thinking about could no longer be avoided as suppressed anger suddenly surged to the fore. “Why did you do it, John? Why the hell did you ever try and take my brother’s place?” he shot out tightly.

 

“What? Don’t you get it yet? That was my job, Bo! That’s what I did! Stefano wanted the woman. What he wanted, I did!” John replied, his body coiling itself as if for a fight. “What in the hell do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?!” Startled by the frank admission, Bo stuttered, “Well… I thought he made you work for him or something. You were coerced. Forced into it…” he trailed off almost hopefully.

 

For a moment, John wished he could lie about it. Tell Bo some story that he would be only too willing to believe. But if couldn’t make himself believe the lies, it wasn’t fair that Bo should. “Look around you, Bo. Who do you think is in charge of the Dimera cartel? Jensen? Hardly. I am the one who is in control, Bo. It’s how Stefano wanted it. I’m his second in command and I always have been. I am the one man he would trust to watch over his empire, and believe me, that trust was earned. I have done things for him that would make you puke and I’ve never even given it a second thought. He never ‘made’ me do anything I didn’t want to!”

 

Dropping his eyes, he gave a resigned shrug. “The man was a father to me. I respected him. I would have done anything he asked of me, and been glad of the opportunity. Bo, the truth is that I went to Salem in order to take Marlena away. If things hadn’t… ‘gone wrong’,” he said with a snort, “I would have brought her back to Dimera and considered it a job well done. End of story.”

 

Disgust colored Bo’s features. Warred with the disbelief. The impossibility of John ever betraying her like that. His voice was harsh when he finally managed to find the right words. “So you had to sleep with her to do that? Was that part of your ‘job’? I guess I didn’t realize you were Dimera’s whore!”

 

John allowed himself an ugly chuckle. “Nobody had to pay me to sleep with Marlena, Bo. Trust me on that one.”

 

A snarl on his face, Bo’s hands latched onto John’s collar, yanking the man violently forward. “You son of a bitch,” he grunted, hate flashing in eyes.

 

Coldly, John knocked the offending touch away with one quick movement of his own. Stepping back, he simply shook his head, his hands raising in a placating gesture. “That’s not what I meant, Bo. I didn’t…. My relationship with Marlena. That wasn’t something Stefano ordered. Hell, it was the last thing he wanted!”

 

Turning away, John moved to put some distance between himself and the angry young man behind him. The man deserved to know the truth. He deserved to understand. With a heavy sigh, John searched for the words that could convey the truth of his life as Roman Brady. “I was… It was a bad time for me, Bo. I was hurt. Angry. I think maybe I was losing my mind. Stefano… I think I scared even him. He had me on some experimental drugs. Something to calm me down. Make me… controllable. I was only supposed to observe Marlena. The family. Get close enough so that when the time came, I would be able to take her out of Salem in such a way that no one would know what happened. But the drugs… the hypnosis to implant Roman’s knowledge of Salem, of the family…. I don’t know, Bo. Something happened. I was out on my own. I didn’t remember anything. Didn’t remember who I was… what I was. Hell, I probably didn’t ‘want’ to remember anything. And then I met Marlena, and everything changed. For a while, I changed.”

 

Turning to again face Bo, he said calmly. “I would have never hurt her. I would have done anything to protect her. To protect the family. Never doubt that.”

 

“What about now,” Bo asked, doubt still evident in his voice.

 

“Now?” With a shrug, John again allowed his fingers to play across the crest on the ring. “Now I remember who I am. I want her safe, Bo. I want to see her happy. But I can’t pretend that I can give her that. I won’t fool myself that way again. Anybody… ‘anybody’ who threatens her, I will make them dead! But I can’t be a part of her life. I’m no longer the type of man she would ‘want’ in her life. She may refuse to see that, but I don’t. I can’t. Not if it places her in harms way.”

 

Bo studied the man who stood before him. Knew that he meant the words he said. Knew that he believed them. Carefully he reached out and picked the simple gold band up from the table. Holding it up before John, he asked, “And what about this? Does it mean nothing to you anymore?”

 

For an instance, John’s face seemed to soften and he reached as if to take the ring. With a sudden start, he checked his movement and turned away. “Go away, Bo,” he said softly. “Please, there is no point in talking about it.”

 

“Did your life together mean so little to you?” Bo shot back, angry now for reasons he could not name.

 

Without reply, John walked away, retreating to the big window at the back of the study. Peering out into the darkness of the night, he searched for the words that would make sense of his thoughts. “Our life together meant everything to me. ‘She’ means everything to me,” he finally said. “But do you know what I see when I look at that ring? I see a lie. I see a symbol of all of the ways I have betrayed her. I see every broken promise. Promises of a future I can never give her, Bo!”

 

Turning his back on the night, he again faced the man he had called brother. “If I really loved her, Bo, I would set her free. Free of me! Of my curse! She has known nothing but evil through me. If I had the strength, I would spare her that. If I had the strength, I would leave her,” he finished quietly.

 

With firm steps, he approached Bo’s silent form. Taking the ring from Bo’s fingers he laid it in the younger man’s palm. “Maybe that’s why I needed you, Bo,” he whispered softly. “If I’m not strong enough to set her free, you have to be. I count on you to protect her. From everyone. Especially from me.”

 

“What are you saying, John?” Bo asked uncertainly, his fingers tightening around the slender band of gold he held in his hand.

 

“I am saying that if you sense a threat to Marlena, I want you to kill it. Any threat, Bo. Especially if it’s from me,” he replied flatly. “I want your promise on this, Bo.”

 

For a moment, the two men’s eyes locked. Finally, Bo dropped his head, no longer certain what to think. The man who stood before him now was not his brother. He was nothing like Roman Brady. He wasn’t even the same man he had been during his time in Salem. That man he would have trusted with his life, brother or not. But what stood before him now…. There was an ugliness there. A danger. The only thing he knew about John Black was that he was a very dangerous man. A dangerous man who loved Marlena with every fiber of his being. Bo was no longer certain that that was enough. Finally, he raised his head to meet those cold eyes in an unblinking stare of his own. “I promise,” he replied softly.

 

With a brief nod, John turned and moved toward the door. He was halfway out before Bo’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

 

“What if I think the only way to keep her safe is for you to be there for her?” he asked hesitantly, his thoughts in turmoil.

 

John thought a second before finally replying. “If I can make her happy? Keep her safe? Then I’ll be wanting my damn ring back. Better make sure you don’t lose it,” he said with a half-smile. Feeling suddenly better, he turned and strode down the hall, seeking word on the report from St. Julian.

 

Alone in the room, Bo tucked the tiny band of gold into his pocket. There would be time enough later to decide whether he would ever give it back.

 

***

 

“Ah, Vivian! I hoped to have the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight,” Stefano said, moving forward to take her arm in his.

 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Vivian replied with a sly smile, linking her fingers around the proffered arm. “I was worried that you might choose to leave us today and I would be deprived of the opportunity to continue our… relationship.”

 

Holding out the chair for her, Stefano allowed himself a small smile. “You need not concern yourself, Vivian. I hate to leave unfinished business, and my dealings with the Alamains are just starting to get interesting.”

 

She smiled politely as he took the seat across from her. “Yes, I heard that you and my nephew are exploring the possibilities of a working partnership. I must say, I was a bit surprised at how quickly your concerns regarding Marlena were dropped.”

 

“I am a pragmatic man,” Dimera answered with a slight shrug. “And may I say, I am impressed by how much you seem to know about what goes on in this house.”

 

“Oh, I know all of the dirty little secrets,” she replied, shooting him a challenging look from beneath lowered lashes.

 

“Do you, now?”

 

“Oh, yes. For example, I know that you have no intention of allowing the wedding between Marlena and my nephew to proceed,” she said nonchalantly, hoping that she had judged the man correctly.

 

His jaw clenched in anger and a dangerous look darkened his eyes. “And how exactly would you know this?” he asked, his voice somehow threatening.

 

She met his look with a direct one of her own, lips curving in a slight smile at the fact that once again, her instincts had been correct. “A man like you does not give up so easily Stefano. If you cannot force Mikos to turn Marlena over to you, you will take her by stealth. The one thing you will not do is admit defeat. Certainly not this easily.”

 

He relaxed slightly, relieved that she had no hard evidence of his plans. “Perhaps I do still have some slight interest in Dr. Evans. However, I see no practical way to extricate her from this situation. Not without help, anyway,” he said, watching her expectantly.

 

She nodded as if lost in thought. “Yes, alone it would be very difficult. But with the proper aid, the proper accomplice, it might be possible.”

 

“Have you anyone in mind?” Stefano asked, an amused grin tugging at his lips. The woman across from him certainly knew how the game was played.

 

“Well, I might be persuaded to help you. As long as your cause is just, of course,” she answered, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

 

He gave a short bark of laughter at that. “My cause is always just, dear lady. But you would be taking a great risk. Surely there must be some way I could repay your kindness.”

 

He studied her closely, wondering what it was she wanted from him. Of one thing he had no doubt, Vivian D’Pau was not motivated by altruism. She would get something out of this bargain, and he preferred to know the price before their dealings went any further.

 

Reaching across the small table, she took his hand in hers. “It will be my pleasure to help you and that poor woman. But… If you insist on repaying the favor, there is something you might do.”

 

When he failed to respond, she gave a slight sigh and released his hand. Sinking back in her chair, she dropped all pretense. “Stefano, I want my nephew removed from power. He is a dangerous man. An unstable man. He wastes the resources of the family stupidly and recklessly. He sees enemies behind every corner. No one who is close to him is safe from his paranoia, and I grow tired of living in fear.”

 

“You want me to have him killed?” he answered in surprise. He had thought Vivian more subtle than that.

 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant. He is my nephew. My closest relative. I… I want him neutralized, Stefano. I have the means to do it, but I lack the contacts, the power to do it safely.”

 

Confused now, he asked shortly, “What is it exactly that you want me to do, Vivian?”

 

She glanced down at her hands, trying to collect her thoughts. “Mikos is the head of the family by right of blood. As the first born son, he inherited all of his father’s wealth and power. You must understand, the Alamain bloodline traces back to the Czars. His power rests on the fact that he is the Prince.”

 

“So?” Stefano said indifferently, unimpressed by the royal pedigree.

 

“So I have proof that Mikos is not the heir. Proof that his father was not the Prince. He is not the heir, Alexander was. With his death, the bloodline ends. The Alamain power is fragmented, leaving Mikos with nothing.”

 

An ugly smile lit Dimera’s face. “You have proof of this? Proof that will stand up in court?”

 

“Oh, yes. I have letters from my sister, naming Mikos’ true father. I even have a medical report that proves Illya could not have been Mikos’ father. The proof will stand up. I simply need someone with the resources to make certain that the evidence isn’t somehow ‘lost’ or the judge bribed or intimidated. Mikos will fight this with everything he has, and he will fight dirty. That is the reason I have never tried to bring this to light myself. It would have been futile and I would have ended up in an early grave. I enjoy life far too much to take that risk.”

 

“But you assume that I will be willing to do this for you?” he asked with a grin.

 

“Am I wrong?” was her reply.

 

“No. No, you’re not. In fact, I rather like the idea of watching Mikos fall from power. And this news does have some interesting repercussions,” he said thoughtfully, already considering the benefits to his empire if John were to take over the Alamain holdings.

 

“Then we are agreed?” Vivian asked, breaking him from his musings.

 

“It is an interesting proposition. However, before I agree to anything, I need to know how it is that you can help me. Do you actually have a plan to get Marlena and her children out of here, or are you simply offering to lend moral support?” he asked, watching her with a critical eye.

 

Feigning insult, Vivian arched her brows. “You think so little of my offer of aid? Of course I have a plan.”

 

She sat across from him, returning his stare with one of his own until finally his patience ran out. “Well? Are you going to make me beg? What is your plan?” he asked in exasperation.

 

Smiling sweetly, she continued. “I don’t know if you have noticed Ivan? The tall blond, one of Mikos’ most trusted servants? You know, the one with the cute… Anyway, Ivan is very dedicated to me. He will do anything I ask of him. As part of his duties, he makes a weekly trip into town in order to pick up some of the more exotic supplies that Mikos has shipped in. Typically, he drives in after dinner and does not return until late at night. I believe that Marlena and her children could be hidden in the back of the van. The little town of St. Julian can offer no safety, but if Ivan drove straight through, they could reach the city of Stanburg before it was ever discovered that they were missing. I have associates in the city. They would be safe until they could contact your people and be picked up. Of course, Ivan would have to be put under your protection. But he is a dear boy. He would be an asset to your organization, and I am certain that the two of you could work out some mutually beneficial arrangement.”

 

“You are certain Ivan could be trusted to do this?” he asked doubtfully.

 

“I am very certain,” she replied with a confident grin.

 

“And how would Marlena and the children reach the van?” Dimera asked, already running the options over in his mind.

 

She chuckled, “Stefano, this is a castle! Didn’t you know, all castles are laced with secret passages?”

 

He shot her an incredulous look. “Are you saying that there is a passage out of our rooms?”

 

“Well, possibly. Actually, I only know of one in the room the two girls are staying in. It is imperative that they all be together in that room for our plan to work. But if they are there, Ivan can lead them out. Of that, I am certain.”

 

He gave an appreciative nod. “You have thought this out, haven’t you?”

 

Modestly, she shrugged, a teasing smile on her lips.

 

The scenario was not without flaws, but it was the only viable option he could think of. With a pleased nod, he said, “Vivian, I believe that we have a deal. If you help me get them out, I will promise to bring your nephew to his knees. Now, how soon can we put this plan in action?”

 

“Unfortunately, Ivan has already left on this week’s delivery run. It will be another week before we can make the attempt. Of course, that will give us the time to work out the details. Besides, I am rather enjoying your company.”

 

Raising his glass, he clinked it lightly against hers in a silent toast. “Then let us drink to the success of our union,” he replied, a pleased smile creasing his face.

 

“To us,” Vivian said agreeably, her eyes holding his in a challenging gaze as she rose slowly to her feet and closed the gap between them.

 

He leaned comfortably back in his chair, watching in appreciation as she came to stand at his side. Her warmth pressed against his hand, but he gave no response, waiting for her to make the first move. Taking her time, she bent slowly down to brush her wine sweetened lips against his in a delicate kiss. “To seal our bargain,” she said softly, her breath whispering in his ear.

 

His blood quickened and he rose swiftly to his feet, the chair falling to the floor behind him. “You know I’m not going to let you stop there, don’t you?” he asked, his voice suddenly thick with desire.

 

“Who says I want to stop?” she replied, her body pressing tight against his.

 

He laughed at her audacity, realizing it had been far too long since last he had indulged himself. With one deft move, he swept her into his arms, unleashing a kiss meant to show her exactly who was in control.

 

She answered the demands of his mouth with a fervor that took his breath away, shoving him back until they both collapsed on the big bed. Red nails slashed his shirt open, and he had but a moment to think that perhaps he had finally met his match. Then his body jerked in response to her touch and he was forced to concentrate on the task at hand.

 

Chapter 72

 

“You’re late Bo,” a hard voice accused as he walked in the door.

 

Rubbing bleary eyes, he stifled a yawn and threw a nasty look in John’s direction. “Are you the idiot who was pounding on my door? It’s only 6 a.m. for Christ’s sake!”

 

“Well get yourself some coffee and shag your ass over here. Jensen and I have been working on this for two hours already. I want you in place by tonight at the latest,” John retorted irritably, looking up to glare at Bo from over the top of the paper strewn desk.

 

Bo didn’t bother with a reply, his attention focused on the scalding hot coffee as he chugged down one cup and then poured himself a refill. “What are you talking about?” he asked, strolling toward the desk as he nursed the second cup.

 

“The men in St. Julien made a follow-up report, and we’ve had every researcher at our disposal digging through every scrap of information that can be found on that town. Mikos is holed up on an old family estate. Marlena and the kids are with him. Unfortunately, the place is a fortress. A medieval castle fortified with the latest in security technology.”

 

“Hmm. What do we have on it?” Bo asked with interest, coming to peer over John’s shoulder at the map spread across the desk.

 

“It’s right here on the outskirts of a small town, a village really, called St. Julien. Castle Chërnobog, named after the Slavic God of the underworld,” John said, his finger indicating a circled area nestled amid the Ural mountains.

 

“The God of the underworld?” Bo snorted. “Your telling me Alamain is hiding in Castle Satan?” he said, his amused cackle earning him another dirty look from John.

 

“Whoop it up, laughing boy. I’m sending you in first to scout the area,” John replied dryly as he spread a row of satellite surveillance photos on top of the map.

 

“Me?! I figured you’d be leading an assault team in first thing? What’s up?”

 

John stalked restlessly from the table, stretching his arms out and trying to work the kinks from his back. “Bo, I have been up all night going over the plans we have on this castle. The damn thing is built into the side of a cliff. They have more electronic equipment than NASA does, and it is all designed to detect the slightest movement on the cliff wall. The air currents prohibit a parachute drop. We’d have to go in under cover of night, and we’d lose two-thirds of our forces before we hit the ground. The only option that leaves is a frontal assault through the front door. I’ve got the manpower to blast our way through, but it wouldn’t be quick and it sure wouldn’t be quiet. Alamain would have more than enough time to do anything he wanted to with Marlena and the children. I’m not going to risk her life, Bo. We aren’t going in until I know that she will be safe. That means I need to get someone on the inside. Someone who can find out where they’re keeping her. Find out her schedule, how the guards are placed. Hell, Bo. You know the drill!”

 

“Yea, I know the drill,” Bo muttered distractedly, his attention fixed on the sketchy floor plans of the castle. “Why me? I’m surprised you aren’t going yourself,” he noted absently.

 

“He wanted to,” Jensen interjected, walking in the door bearing a tray laden with scones and fresh fruit. “I explained to him what a patently idiotic idea that was,” he continued acerbically. “It only took me two hours to talk him out of it, Mr. Brady,” he concluded, glaring at Bo.

 

“Oh, yea. I guess Alamain’s men might be on the lookout for you, huh John?” he said, looking up sheepishly.

 

“At the very least, some of his men have been shown picture of him. After all, John was Alamain’s apparent target. It would be suicide for him to try and enter the castle grounds. However, why he chose you in his stead…” Jensen trailed off, rolling his eyes.

 

“I wanted somebody I could trust,” John replied with a shrug, his hand raising to catch the apple Jensen deftly flipped in his direction. “And will you please stop trying to force feed me fruit!” he grunted, taking a bite despite himself.

 

“I don’t suppose you speak Russian?” Jensen asked, looking at Bo hopefully.

 

“No, I don’t speak Russian! Why the hell would I speak Russian!?”

 

“He can pretend to be mute,” John stated flatly, chucking the remains of his apple at Jensen’s head.

 

“I am not going to pretend to be mute!” Bo burst out.

 

“Don’t be moronic,” Jensen interjected.

 

“Christ, I don’t care how you do it! Figure something out, Jensen. Make him a God damn exchange student for all I care! I want his ass on-sight and I want it done by tonight, do I make myself clear!” John yelled, his patience at an end.

 

“Very clear,” Jensen replied tightly, his face betraying nothing as he bent to gather the coordinates for the nearest airport.

 

Bo stood in the tension filled silence, wondering if the two men had been going at it like this all night. The muscles in John’s neck seemed about to pop he was gritting his teeth so hard, and Jensen exuded all of the warmth of an iceberg. He searched for something to say to break the stalemate, but for once in his life, wisely chose to stay silent.

 

The moment stretched out until Bo was certain that violence would ensue. Finally, with a muffled sigh that must have taken every drop of air from his lungs, John stepped forward. Resting his curled fists on the top of the table, he leaned in toward Jensen who was studiously ignoring him.

 

“Jensen? I’m sorry. You are right. This is a lousy plan. Bo has no business going in there. But if I can’t go, then I need him to. Can you please try and understand that? I am going insane here waiting. The only way I can do it is if I have someone in there who cares about her just as much as I do. Now if anybody can pull this off, it is you. I am asking you, will you please do this for me?” The words were soft, but there was no doubting their sincerity.

 

Jensen finally glanced up, only to find himself caught in a pair of eyes so blue they seemed to burn. He allowed himself a ragged sigh, nodding his head reluctantly. “I will get him in, John. Someway, I will find a cover that will get him on the grounds. The first thing to do is get him to St. Julien. We have two men there now and between us we should find some way of getting him into the castle.”

 

With a nod of his own, John turned away, his hand reaching out to clutch briefly at Jensen’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said quietly, before breaking the hold.

 

“Um…. Well, glad that that’s settled and everything,” Bo broke in uncomfortably. “But are we sure about this? I mean, what if somebody’s seen a picture of me? They have to have some intel.”

 

John gave a casual shrug. “There is no way they would suspect I would bring you in. As far as they know, we’re not even on speaking terms. Still… Just in case, it’s probably a good idea for you to lose the beard. Nobody will recognize you without the fur. Hell, as I remember, you’re just a baby-faced kid under all that stubble,” John said, a wicked grin suddenly lighting his face.

 

Bo straightened from his contemplation of the map, looking positively livid. “No way! You aren’t turning me into some yuppy wus boy!” he stated emphatically, shaking his head.

 

With a chuckle, John advised, “Shut up and count your blessings. It’s not like I’m making you cut that shaggy hair of yours.”

 

“Hell, you might as well cut off my balls,” Bo muttered under his breath in irritation, never knowing when to leave well enough alone.

 

“Uh uh! Those belong to Hope. I’m pretty sure she wants them back intact,” John teased, watching in amusement as Bo colored at the comment.

 

Jensen even managed a chuckle, as much at his enjoyment of Bo’s discomfort as anything. “I’m going to make the arrangements with the plane,” he cut in, the smile still on his face. “Be ready in three hours, Mr. Brady. I will send someone to fetch you when the car arrives.”

 

Feeling as if everything was spinning out of his control, Bo simply nodded reflexively, watching until Jensen was out the door. “You really think this has a chance of working?” he finally asked.

 

John shrugged, his fingers knotting together as his thumb caressed the surface of the ring he now wore, a nervous gesture of which he was unaware. “We know where she is, Bo. That’s what counts. I just want somebody near her until I can figure out what to do.”

 

Turning, he finally focused his attention on Bo. Seeing the uncertainty on his face, he forced a tight smile that never reached his eyes. “Bo, I don’t expect you to get her out. I will find a way to do that, you don’t have to worry. I just…. I need to know she’s not alone. Even if she doesn’t know you’re there, I will know it. Does that make sense to you?” John asked, watching Bo curiously.

 

Bo flashed a grin of his own. “Not really, but it doesn’t have to. I will be there for her. The reasons don’t much matter.”

 

“They matter to me. Thanks Bo. For everything.”

 

“Save it for when this is over. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a couple of calls home before I go incognito?”

 

Flashing a wry smile, John nodded. “Give my love to Hope. And Bo, before you take off, I want to see you. Okay?”

 

“Yea, sure. I’ll be down in a little bit. And John…. We will get Marlena back. I promise you that,” Bo said, watching the older man with concern.

 

“Oh, I know that, Bo. I will take that castle apart brick by brick if I have to. But the one thing I do know is that I will have her back,” John said softly, the look in his eyes sending a shiver of fear down Bo’s spine.

 

The feeling of unease lingered long after John had left the room. It wasn’t until he picked up the phone to dial Hope that he realized its cause. The look in John’s eyes had been the same one Stefano had every time he looked at Marlena. With perfect clarity, Bo realized that John intended to destroy anything and anyone who stood between him and the woman he loved.

 

***

 

Bo looked up, jarred from his thoughts by a knock on the door.

 

“Bo? You done in here? You really need to get packed,” John said, coming in to stand before the desk.

 

“Hmm. Oh. Yea, I was just…. I just said ‘bye’ to Hope,” he answered, his attention still not completely on the man standing across from him.

 

“Everything okay?” John asked, concern in his voice.

 

“Oh, yea. Everything’s fine. I just… miss her,” Bo replied softly, a distant look in his eyes. With a shake of his head, he forced a smile. “By the way, she wasn’t real pleased with me shaving off the beard.”

 

“She’ll get over it,” John said, smiling faintly.

 

“You better hope she does. I told her it was all your fault,” Bo answered with a grin of his own.

 

“Thanks so much,” was the dry response.

 

“My pleasure,” Bo said with a chuckle as he rose to his feet. “But you’re right. I really do need to get packed. What’d you want to tell me before I took off?”

 

“Nothing important,” John said with a shrug, his eyes shifting so he no longer had to face Bo’s penetrating gaze. “Just…. Bo, be careful. The Bradys have already lost one son to this thing. They can’t afford to lose another one. Watch your back, okay?”

 

“Hey, I thought that was your job,” Bo joked, slapping a hand against John’s shoulder as he moved by him toward the door.

 

“Bo, I’m serious,” John snapped shortly, reaching out with one big hand to stop Bo in his tracks. Holding the younger man in place, John faced him squarely, his eyes hard and worried. “Alamain is not a fool. He’s a very dangerous man. He was good enough to take Dimera. Good enough to get by me. You get careless, he’ll send you home in a box. I do not want to have to tell Mom and Pop I got their only remaining son killed. I sure don’t want to tell Hope she’s a widow. Do you understand me?”

 

“John, I will be careful, I promise. Don’t worry. We’re going to get Marlena and the kids out and then everybody is going to go home,” Bo answered, his voice softening in response to the concern he saw on the other man’s face.

 

Quirking a faint smile, John started to nod agreement, his movements slowing as he caught the glint of gold peeking from the open neck of Bo’s shirt. Wordlessly he reached out, pulling at the leather thong to expose the ring that dangled from its end. His fingers caressed the warm metal, surprised by the flash of jealousy that burned through him at the sight of his ring carried by another man. With an effort, he fought down the urge to rip it from Bo’s neck, instead allowing the band to fall reluctantly from his fingers.

 

“You told me not to lose it,” Bo said softly, the pain in John’s eyes unmistakable. “I won’t.”

 

Turning away, John gave a sharp shake of his dark head. “I don’t deserve the ring and I sure as hell don’t deserve her! But…. You take care of them both for me. You are the only one I would trust to do that, Bo. Don’t you dare let me down.”

 

Bo nodded his agreement, almost willing to let it go, but the conversation from the night before still worried at his mind. His stubborn nature interfered and he could not help but ask in exasperation, “What about when we get her back, John? What? You plan to just crawl into some dark hole and die? Have you forgotten what you promised her? You told her you were meant to be together. I was there when you swore it to her before God. I remember the words John, do you?”

 

“Of course I remember! Don’t be an ass,” John spat, his fists clenching in anger. His fingers ran across the face of the ring he wore, as if to remind himself of what he was. Almost to himself, he muttered softly, “‘They can take a human being and they can do a lot of things to him, but they can’t take away his love….’ It’s one of the few truths I told her.” With a grimace, he turned to again face Bo.

 

“I will never pretend I don’t love her, Bo. I can’t. But maybe sometimes when you love a person, the only way to prove it is to set them free. I will set her free before I risk hurting her again. That ring is a promise I can’t keep. I won’t wear it as long as that is true.”

 

With a shrug, Bo said simply, “I’ll keep it safe for you until this is all over. Nobody has to decide anything until then.”

 

“When this is over, you better think long and hard about whether you want to give it back, Bo. You better think about whether she is really better off with me in her life,” John answered coldly.

 

The words made Bo uncomfortable, reminding him of decisions he was not ready to make. “Look, I should really be going. I’ll radio in as soon as I know anything, okay?”

 

Dismissively, John replied. “Yea, you should go. Like I said, just be careful.”

 

“Scout’s honor,” Bo replied, holding three fingers up in a failed attempt to ease the tension he saw on other man’s face. It was a relief when he finally left the room and the feel of those dark eyes that had watched him go.

 

***

 

“Marlena! You are even more beautiful this morning than usual,” Mikos called out with a mocking smile as he rose from his chair. “Might I assume you have come to some conclusion considering my proposal? Is it too much to hope that that is what has brought a bloom to your cheeks?”

 

She had to make an effort not to roll her eyes. Instead, she focused on what had to be done to keep her family safe. “Where are the children?” she asked, approaching the dining table cautiously.

 

“I thought it might be better if we had some time in private. The girls did not seem to mind. They appear to share your overprotective instincts with regard to your son, and preferred to eat in the room with him.”

 

“I wish you would let me see him. At least let me make certain he wasn’t injured?!” she said, hating the begging tone in her voice.

 

“I only wish I could, Marlena,” he replied silkily, holding the chair out for her as she reluctantly took her seat. “However, that would require some level of trust between us. Perhaps if I knew you were committed to your new life here on the Alamain compound, I might be more willing to extend such trust.”

 

She ducked her head as he took his place at the head of the table, not wanting him to see the hatred in her eyes. Her voice was carefully neutral as she said, “This is happening very quickly, Mikos. You pressure me for an answer I am not ready to give.”

 

He merely chuckled, watching with pleasure as her cheek flushed pink, her body betraying her emotions in ways she would never suspect. “There is no pressure. You may take all of the time you need. However, I am afraid that it might be best if you not visit the children until your mind is clearer.”

 

“You can’t keep me from them!” she spat out in dismay, turning to look on him with disgust.

 

“Yes, I can and I will. At least until you can show me that you are willing to be… reasonable,” he replied, raising a glass to her in mock salute.

 

She turned away, unable to stand the sight of him. Clenching her hands tightly in her lap, she closed her eyes and tried to fight down a rising wave of nausea. Breathing deeply, her skin seemed to burn beneath the tracks of a single tear that managed to find its way down her cheek. She tried to remember Dimera’s words. It was simply a lie. One small lie. She could tell a lie to protect herself. To protect her children, she could do anything. Concentrating on her children, she managed to keep the tremor from her voice as she uttered the word he was waiting to hear. “Yes,” she whispered.

 

Mikos glanced sharply at her bowed form, certain that she would not have capitulated so easily. “What was that?” he prompted, a pleased smile creeping across his face.

 

Tilting her head, she met his gaze. Almost proudly, she squared her shoulders, her hand rising gracefully to dash the tear from her cheek. Golden eyes blazed condemnation as she coldly repeated, “Yes. I accept your proposal.”

 

He regarded her with new found admiration, this ice queen who now sat before him. He had thought that her acquiescence would signal her defeat. Instead, it was simply the start of the war between them. She would fight him every step of the way. She would still be fighting, even when he lay her down and made her his own. His blood quickened in anticipation, his breath catching in his throat as he realized that it could take years before the fire in those eyes was quelled. On shaky legs, he managed to stand. Clearing his throat slightly, he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small box. “This is unexpected, Marlena. You once again exceed my expectations. Fortunately, I had this removed from the vault last night, in anticipation of this… happy moment.”

 

Moving smoothly forward to stand beside her chair, he reached down and took her unresisting hand in his. The muscles in her jaw clenched at his touch, the sight of it making him flush hot with desire. With an unsteady hand, he opened the black jeweler’s box and set it gently on the table. “It was my mother’s,” he said, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. “It is beautiful, is it not?”

 

“I am sure that she would be very proud of the way you have chosen to use it,” she answered, finally deigning to look up at him.

 

For an instance, anger hardened his features, and he pried the ring from its resting place. “Let us do this properly,” he said, fastening his eyes on hers and raising her hand slightly. “Marlena Evans, will you marry me?”

 

She started to pull away, her composure faltering. The look of amused condescension on his face stopped her, and she forced her body to hold still. She didn’t blink as she hissed the words out like a curse. “Yes, Mikos. I will marry you.”

 

It seemed to take an eternity for him to slide the gleaming band of gold over her finger, the metal itself biting coldly into her flesh. Light-headed, she watched from somewhere outside of herself as he gently raised her hand and touched his lips to the ring. “We will be together forever. I promise you,” he growled out, his hands rising to lightly frame the sides of her face.

 

She sat unmoving as his lips brushed against hers, their faint touch the most intimate of invasions. He held the pose for a moment more and then drew slowly back, searching her face for a reaction. Any reaction.

 

She gave him nothing. “May I see my children now?” she asked in that same distant voice, as if none of it had happened.

 

Vaguely irritated, he stepped back. “Of course you may,” he answered, the effort at courtesy, however feigned, beginning to wear thin. “Ivan! See to it that my fiancee meets with her children. I am certain that she is eager to share the happy news,” he finished, his voice turning ugly as he watched her expressionless face.

 

Stiffly, she rose to follow Ivan up the long staircase. Knowing Alamain’s eyes followed her every move, she resisted the temptation to wipe her hand across her lips. She would not allow him even that small satisfaction.

 

As she reached the door to her room however, her steps faltered. “Ivan? Could you allow me a moment in my room? There is something I need to do. Could you please come back for me in half an hour?” she beseeched, ashamed of her weakness but unable to fight it.

 

“Of course, Madam,” he replied, eyeing her curiously.

 

Her hand on the door knob, she looked back uncertainly. “You promise you will come back for me?”

 

“I give you my word, Madam,” he responded with a bow.

 

Only when the door pulled tight shut behind her did she allow the tears to begin to fall. With a vicious yank, she tore the ring from her finger and dropped it to the floor. Standing in place, she pulled the blue silk dress over her head, the soft material falling to puddle at her feet. Moving with an urgency she tried to ignore, she stripped every bit of clothing from her body. Completely naked, she bent to gather the strewn garments in her arms. With rapid steps she crossed to the fireplace, tossing her bundle onto the still flickering fire. She stood watching, her hands wrapped tightly around her shaking body, as the fragile silk disappeared beneath the hungry flames. When there was nothing left to burn, she finally permitted herself to enter the shower. Standing beneath the pounding streams of scalding water, she pretended that she could wash away the memories of his touch.

 

Chapter 73

 

“You have a good run?” Jensen asked, looking up as John swung the office door open.

 

John nodded briefly, running a towel through hair still damp from the shower. “Yea, the ribs aren’t so sore today. I’m hoping that’s a sign you’ve found something useful for me to do.”

 

Slinging the towel over his shoulders, he slumped down onto the couch, snagging a cup of coffee from the table. Expectantly, he looked over at Jensen who was tucked behind the desk. “So? Any word from Bo? He’s been there two days already. You must have found him some way into the castle?” he prodded.

 

Jensen gave a casual shrug. “He should be on-sight as we speak. He radioed in last night that he would be taking the place of one of the grounds keepers today. I expect that he is in for a long day of shoveling snow.”

 

John leaned forward, a broad smile on his face. “Well don’t be so modest! Damn! Nice job. How did you manage it?”

 

Hesitating for a moment, Jensen reluctantly replied. “Well, it wasn’t exactly my doing, sir. Mr. Brady appears to have managed this on his own.”

 

Cocking his head, John gestured for him to continue.

 

“Yes, well it seems that Bo had our two operatives take him to the only Inn, which also serves as the town bar. After a few too many rounds of vodka, a poker game commenced between our men and some of the local laborers. Brady managed to draw several men who work at the castle into the game. He then proceeded to lose every cent he had on him. He estimated that it was around two a.m. by the time the only thing he had left to bet was a day’s labor. The man who won the pot, with a straight flush may I add, was both very drunk and one of the ground’s keepers at the estate. By four a.m. it had been decided that a bet was a bet. The other castle personnel agreed to pass Bo off as ‘Cousin Yuri’, the not too bright relative from some place even more backward than St. Julien. He should, at this very moment, be busy shoveling dirt and grunting moronically at anyone who asks him a question.”

 

Chuckling, John gave an admiring nod of his head. “The man does have a certain flare for this type of work,” he commented almost proudly.

 

“Remind me never to play poker with him. I suspect he cheats,” Jensen responded with much less enthusiasm.

 

“Lighten up! ‘Cheating’ may be a sin, Jensen. But ‘cheating well’, that is an art. Haven’t you learned anything from Stefano?”

 

“Mostly I’ve learned to keep my hand on my wallet,” Jensen replied dryly.

 

Shaking his head as if in dismay, John said sadly, “You were born without a soul. I swear, you have no appreciation for the pleasures in life.”

 

“Of course I do,” was the smug response. “For example, I am going to take great pleasure in the huge bonus you are going to give me when I tell you I may have found a way to get ‘you’ inside the castle.”

 

John’s casual demeanor dropped as the very thought set his adrenalin pumping. His right hand moved to rub against the butt of the handgun he wore strapped to his thigh as he rose swiftly to his feet. “Show me what you’ve got,” he said simply, moving to join Jensen at the desk.

 

“Look at this set of blueprints. It’s the most recent copy we could find. There’s no doubt that the place is laced with secret passages we don’t know about. Some have even been mentioned in historical documents. We don’t know where most of those passages are, but we do have the basic floor plan and it does show one passage that everyone knows about. See right here? It connects the castle to a cave in the side of the mountain,” Jensen said, his finger trailing a ragged blue line that ran from the castle to halfway down the mountain itself.

 

“Jensen, if everybody knows about this passage, I fail to see how it is going to do us any good,” John noted impatiently, wishing the man would just hurry up and tell him how to get to Marlena.

 

“Ah. That is a fair question. Well, first you must understand. The passage was originally created as a means of reaching a popular hot spring that was located deep in a cavern at the base of the mountain. Apparently, a young noble thought it inconvenient to have to walk down in the snow. A tunnel was hammered out from the castle all the way down to the cavern, and the hot springs were made the exclusive property of the castle.”

 

Warming into his tale, Jensen stood up before the blueprints and clasped his hands behind his back. Looking every inch the Oxford professor, he rocked back on his heels and began to lecture in earnest. “Now, you should realize that this all occurred over 200 years ago. For much of the past history, the caverns were private property, to be used only by the nobles. This all came to an end late in the 1920’s when the tunnel was used by an assassin making an attempt on the lord of the manor. The Duke survived, but the tunnels did not. Fearing the existence of the tunnels a weakness, the Duke ordered them sealed. Much to the irritation of both peasant and noble, the mouth of the cave was collapsed, and steel grates were installed to prevent use of the passages from inside the castle. As far as the official records are concerned, the tunnels are effectively useless. I highly doubt they would have even considered the old tunnels when the modern security equipment was installed.”

 

Trying not to let his irritation with Jensen’s meanderings show, John clasped his hands tightly behind his back in an effort not to throttle the man. There was simply no point in trying to rush Jensen when he was like this, and John knew better than to try. Forcing himself to sound patient, he noted calmly, “I still fail to see how the existence of a sealed tunnel helps us. There is no way we can get construction equipment into those mountains. Certainly not unnoticed. Jensen, will you please explain to me what I am missing!”

 

“Yes. Well, of course. You see, the official records don’t take into account the ingenuity of generation after generation of teenagers,” Jensen responded with a self-satisfied smile.

 

“Will you please get to the point!” John snapped, unable to prevent himself.

 

With a slight roll of his eyes, Jensen laid it out. “The two agents working with Bo? You know they went in as tourists wanting to explore off the beaten track. While one of the men stayed with Bo and his poker game, the other wandered off to see what he could discover from the younger crowd. For the cost of a couple of beers and a pack of cigarettes, several of the more disreputable teens were more than happy to clue him in on the best spots to check out. Seems there is a certain hot spring that the kids have been going to for as long as anyone can remember. Rumor has it that it used to be connected to the castle. The kids say that you can even see the steel door that leads into the tunnel. According to the teenage set, it is ‘the’ place to take a girl to go make-out,” he finished with a smile.

 

“We sure it’s the same hot spring?” John asked, trying not to get too excited by the prospect.

 

“Well, it’s the only set of hot springs reported in this area. That’s why the peasants were so unhappy about the nobles claiming it in the first place. It’s also probably why word never got back to the castle that the entry to the cavern had been cleared enough to pass. Nobody who used the spring wanted the word to get out. It would have just resulted in the springs being sealed off again.”

 

“Guess we should be grateful that the Alamains don’t hang out much with the teenage set, shouldn’t we,” John muttered distractedly, already intent on memorizing the location of the cave and tunnels. “Have our men checked this out?” he asked, different plans of attack running through his head.

 

“No,” Jensen replied with a shake of his head. “There hasn’t been time. I received the initial reports late last night, and I just found the floor plan showing the tunnel this morning. But, our agent did ask the kids about access. It seems that in the winter, the route from town is almost impassible. It would take forever on snowshoes, and our men haven’t found any means of transport that will get them there. The kids say it might be possible on a snowmobile, but the ground is pretty steep. And the men had already checked, there aren’t any snowmobiles available. As I mentioned, that little village is not exactly a tourist Mecca.”

 

With a frustrated sigh, John muttered, “Why can’t anything be easy?”

 

“I did find you a secret tunnel leading into the castle. What more did you want?” Jensen asked, sounding vaguely insulted.

 

Running a hand through his dark hair, John gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “No…. You’re right. You did good. Now… how long before you can arrange for a snowmobile and a transport truck?”

 

“I had a base established in the city of Stanburg as soon as St. Julian was identified as our target. It’s maybe a two-hour drive away from the village. Men and equipment are flowing in as we speak.”

 

A grim smile curved John’s lips, his muscles tingling with the promise of action. “Call the jet and pack up the papers,” he ordered curtly. “We’re out of here within the hour. I want this compound shut down and all operations moved to Stanburg, ASAP. While you’re at it, make sure we have a chopper at our disposal if we need it.”

 

His mind already focused on the equipment he would need to take with him, John was halfway to the door before he stopped suddenly and turned back to Jensen. “Oh. About that bonus? Whatever you want, it’s yours if this works.”

 

Jensen considered for a moment before asking, “What if it doesn’t work?”

 

With a shrug, John continued on out the door. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll probably all be dead and it won’t matter anyway.”

 

“Very reassuring,” Jensen muttered, but only after he was certain the door was shut.

 

***

 

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, Stefano,” Marlena said as she wearily flopped down on the edge of the big bed that dominated his room.

 

“Please come in,” Stefano responded wryly, looking up from the remains of his breakfast.

 

She merely rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with me. Not today. I just finished having a ‘lovely’ breakfast with my husband-to-be. He informed me that we will be making a formal announcement of our engagement at the holiday ball he hosts every year. Stefano, the ball is one week from Saturday!”

 

“I know. I just received my invitation last night. Actually, I can’t wait. You know how I love a masked ball!” Dimera responded almost jovially.

 

She glanced over at him with a hard look. “There is no way I can stand up in front of a room full of people and pretend like I want to marry that man! It’s all I can do not to vomit every time I am in his presence for more than a minute!”

 

“Marlena, calm yourself,” Stefano replied in a conciliatory tone. Pouring her a glass of juice, he rose from the table to approach the bed. “We will not be here by the time of the ball. Monday night, you and your children will be well on your way to safety. Just stay focused on that.”

 

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a deep sigh. “Do you really think it’s going to work? Can we trust Vivian to follow through with this?”

 

Cocking his head thoughtfully to the side, he seemed to consider the question. “Hm. Well, Vivian is about as trustworthy as a barracuda, I grant you that. But she has much to gain from helping us, and the risk to herself is minimal. I expect that she will hold up her end of the bargain. Have you made any progress on your side of things?”

 

She shrugged, opening her eyes and taking the proffered glass of juice. “I try to be civil to Mikos. I eat every meal with him, just the two of us. He isn’t fooled. I’m certain he knows that I detest him. But… I think that simply adds to his enjoyment. And so far, he has allowed me to visit the children for an hour each day. I’ve convinced him that Eric may have cracked a rib, and he is allowing him to stay in the girl’s room, at least for now. But I’m not sure how much longer that will last, Stefano. We are going to be cutting this very close. And I’m still not certain how I am going to manage to get into the room with them come Monday night. If I can’t… the children will simply have to go without me,” she finished softly.

 

With a dismissive grunt, he rejected that possibility. “You will be in that room on Monday night, Marlena. It will simply take a little inventiveness on our part. Perhaps I can put a good word in for you with Mikos,” he said with a half-smile.

 

With a frown in his direction, she tried to force the orange juice down, her stomach recoiling at the very thought. Irritated, she gave up, sitting the glass down on the night stand. “You have been rather chummy with him. He seems very excited at the possibilities that arise from dealing with someone like you,” she said distastefully.

 

Making a show of feigned modesty, Stefano replied. “Actually, there is a great deal of potential in the pairing. With the Alamain contacts and industries, I could easily double the size of my empire. The benefits are such that it’s almost a shame John is going to kill him,” Stefano said, the smile on his face not reaching his eyes.

 

“Don’t be melodramatic, Dimera. Under the best of circumstances, you wouldn’t be forming a partnership. Neither one of you is trustworthy enough for that. Don’t pretend like you are making some big sacrifice here. It won’t earn you any sympathy from me,” she said, her patience worn thin from too many dealings with Mikos.

 

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a shrug, deciding it was for the best that he had not mentioned the specifics of what Vivian would be getting from their little deal. Marlena did not need to know that John was the actual heir to the Alamain empire. Not now, anyway. He had no wish to argue with her, and he doubted that she would appreciate the plans he had for John once his identity as the heir to the Alamain holdings was revealed.

 

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he let the issue drop. “Altruism may not be my strong suite, but strategy is. If you are certain your moral nature will not be too offended by the idea of subterfuge, I do have some ideas on how you might arrange to be in the girls’ room on Monday night.”

 

She sighed in exasperation. “Stefano, when it comes to underhanded dealings, I bow to your mastery. What’s the plan?”

 

“You said that you had convinced Mikos that Eric was badly hurt. Was that true?”

 

“No. He’s fine. Just a few bruises that are already starting to fade. Why?” she asked, trying to make herself focus on her immediate problems.

 

“Keep playing up his fragile health. On Monday night, Eric will have a violent bout of nausea. As a concerned mother, you will insist on spending the night with him. I am confident of your ability to play the ‘hysterical woman’ if Mikos does not immediately go along with your suggestion,” he finished dryly.

 

Her eyes narrowed, but she ignored his last comment. “It might work, but Stefano, I don’t know if Eric can pull off being so ill that it raises Mikos’ concern. He will be suspicious as it is.”

 

Chuckling, Stefano reached into his pocket to pull out a thick cigar. “An old prison trick, Marlena. If you want to induce nausea, you simply mix the ashes from the tobacco in a cup of coffee. Drink it down, and ‘instant abdominal injury’. The effect will wear off in less than an hour, but that should be all the time you need to convince Mikos of the seriousness of the illness. And I am quite certain that an hour will be more than long enough as far as Eric is concerned.”

 

“It won’t hurt him, will it?” she asked, not certain that she liked this idea at all.

 

“Of course not. Believe me, it has been done successfully a thousand times. He will be ill for a short period, and then it will pass.”

 

“You are simply a font of information, Stefano,” she noted sarcastically. “Your knowledge of prison subculture is impressive. A true testament to the man you are.”

 

“Do you want my help or not?” he asked with a raised brow.

 

“There is a difference between ‘want’ and ‘need’. I need your help. I admit it. Are you satisfied?” she asked coldly.

 

“Ecstatic. Now, drink your juice,” he commented brusquely, attempting to change the subject. Wondering if now was the time to address his other worry.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she snapped back. Realizing she was being petty, she added more gently, “I don’t feel like it, Stefano. Being around Mikos… I just don’t feel much like eating.”

 

Uncertain how to bring up the issue that had been plaguing him for days, he finally asked softly, “We’ve been here several weeks. Did you realize that? It’s been almost a month since the last night you and John spent together. The last night you made love?”

 

“That is none of your business!” she hissed, eyes going wide at the affront.

 

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Dimera glanced away to study the wallpaper on the far side of the room. “I only meant…. Marlena, have you considered? The nausea? You haven’t been able to hold down your breakfast for the past week at least. Is it possible that it’s morning sickness?”

 

“No!” she said emphatically, her hands moved to wrap protectively around her stomach. “It is not possible!”

 

“You are certain?” he asked quietly.

 

“I can’t be pregnant Stefano. If Mikos even thought I was carrying John’s baby, he would kill it! I know he would. I can’t be pregnant,” she trailed off. “I couldn’t bear to lose John’s child.”

 

“You have thought about it, haven’t you?!” he said in sudden realization.

 

Unable to face him as the tears rushed to her eyes, she looked down and whispered softly, “I’m late. I’m three days late. I’m never late, Stefano.”

 

The implications running through his mind, he distracted asked, “You are sure of this?”

 

A hysterical laugh burst from her lips and she brushed at the tears that suddenly streamed down her face. “Um hm,” she said, unable to prevent the smile that graced her quivering lips. “I can feel it, Stefano. I can feel his child, growing inside of me. I can’t lose this baby. I can’t!” she said, spitting the words out like a challenge as she pulled her legs up onto the big bed and huddled in on herself as if it would somehow protect the life she carried inside of her.

 

He watched as she sat sobbing, the painful gasps of air somehow seeming to tear at him. Awkwardly, he sank down to perch on the side of the bed next to her. He gingerly wrapped his arms around her shaking form, surprised that she didn’t immediately pull away. Almost grudgingly, she finally allowed her head to sink against his chest and for a long moment they simply sat together in silence.

 

At long last, a rumbling chuckle echoed deep in his chest.

 

“What’s so funny,” she asked, not quite ready to relinquish the comfort of human contact.

 

“I’m going to be a grandfather!” he commented softly, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

 

With a jerk, she pulled herself upright and shoved him away. “You are not going to be anything to this child!” she stated hotly. “You are not even going to see it, and you will most certainly not be a part of its life!”

 

He had recognized his mistake the moment he had uttered the words. But her reaction goaded him, and he could not help but reply. “Perhaps John will see things differently! You will not be the only one with a say in this child’s life!”

 

“John wants nothing to do with you!” she retorted. “Why do you pretend he is anything more to you than a tool? A weapon for you to use! He would have been better off if he had never known you, and there is no way he would ever let you near a child of his!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right. He would have been so much better off if he had been raised by his ‘family’! After all, Mikos seems to have turned out so well,” Dimera shot back snidely. “You may not want to admit it, Marlena, but I am John’s father! Who do you think taught him to drive a car? To dance with a girl? Who do you think sat him down and had that little chat about ‘the birds and the bees’? Though obviously I should have stressed the importance of using ‘protection’ a little more and we wouldn’t be in this mess right now!” he finished angrily.

 

She stared at him as if he were speaking in tongues. Unable to deal with the absurdities, she disintegrated into hysterical laughter, holding her chest in an effort to breathe.

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

As if in denial of the image, she shook her head back and forth. “You…. You telling John the ‘facts of life’….”

 

Disgruntled, he merely shrugged. “He was curious at a young age. His first experience…”

 

“I so don’t want to hear about it,” Marlena said, cutting him off. “Really. I don’t.”

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, red-faced.

 

Again a dry chuckle echoed through her and she gently rubbed her hands across her still flat stomach. “I want this baby, Stefano. I want it so badly. I won’t let anything threaten my child. Not ever.”

 

Standing awkwardly before her, he watched as she gazed lovingly down at the life she carried inside. A child. John’s child. For an instant, he felt a searing flash of jealousy and his thoughts went to a child that never was. He would not let that happen again. Crouching down, he braced his hand against the side of the bed. “This will work, Marlena. I promise you. You and your child will be safe. You will go home and lead a long and happy life. I will not allow anything to prevent that.”

 

“You will not be a part of that life. You do understand that?” she said firmly, finally bringing her eyes up to fasten on his.

 

“I understand completely,” he replied with a smile that never reached his eyes.

 

Chapter 74

 

Damn, he had never been so cold in his entire life. Tugging off his gloves, he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to restore some feeling. He couldn’t even manage to work the switch on the flashlight his fingers were so stiff. If this cave wasn’t the one he was looking for, he wasn’t certain how he was going to manage muscling the snowmobile back up the sides of the mountain. Guess he’d just have to hope it was the right cave.

 

It had been stupid to insist on starting his search for the cavern’s entrance so late in the day. He had known it before he left. As soon as darkness fell, there would be no chance of finding the tiny hole in the side of the mountain and he would be stuck, waiting in the cold for the light of day. John rarely acted without forethought. He wouldn’t have survived this long if he had. But to be so close to Marlena and not to go to her… it was an impossibility. No one, not even Jensen, had tried to dissuade him when he had ordered the equipment loaded and taken off, even though it was after noon before he managed to leave. If his haste cost him a night of shivering in the snow, then so be it.

 

Standing beside the snowmobile, he studied the rock face before him. This was the location the kids had described to his men. It had to be. A tiny valley huddled against hard rock walls, surrounded on all sides by steep gullies. Even in summer, the journey wouldn’t have been an easy one. Under several feet of snow, it was downright dangerous. Dangerous, but apparently worth the effort. For at the base of the cliff, a dark hole beckoned. Large stones had been pried away from the masses of boulders that lay piled at the foot of the mountain. Tall enough that he could enter without ducking and easily 3 feet wide, someone had put a lot of effort into digging this passage through the jumbled rock. No one worked that hard without a reason.

 

His lips peeled back in a grin of anticipation as he flicked off the headlight on his snowmobile and slipped soundlessly into the dark opening. The rock walls provided some relief from the biting wind, making him aware of how very cold it had been outside. If he hadn’t managed to find shelter, he might not have made it through the night at all. Still, the weather was a boon. He wouldn’t have to worry about leaving any tracks to follow. A gale raged outside, and only a very desperate man would venture out in this weather. With a grim smile, John admitted to himself that he was desperate. How he had managed in the past to convince himself that it would be possible to live without her, he would never know. Every second he spent away from her was its own personal agony. He now knew that a life without her was simply not worth living.

 

He stood in the darkness, listening to the echoes of sound that whispered to him from the shadows. When the ache in his fingers finally signaled the return of feeling, he unzipped the heavy parka and pulled his gun free. Snapping on the beam of his flashlight, he crept cautiously down the dark tunnel, senses attuned to any sign of life, any hint of danger.

 

The rough hewn walls were littered with graffiti. Pink hearts and promises of eternal love. He allowed a small smile in recognition of the optimism of youth, the smile turning wry as he wondered why something about the scene seemed wrong, out of place. Finally he realized that the floor of the narrow tunnel was clear, the lack of used condoms and broken beer bottles a seemingly conspicuous omission. Damn, he had been in America for too bloody long!

 

Slinking soundlessly through the inky blackness, his ears pricked up at the faintest mummer of a sound. He held his breath and eased forward, the floor turning sandy beneath his feet as the tunnel snaked back into the bowels of the mountain. The air around him seemed to warm, and he finally took a breath that didn’t make his lungs ache. Rounding a final sharp bend in the tunnel, the narrow beam of his flashlight was suddenly lost in a great inky void and he halted dead in his tracks.

 

Standing still at the edge of a cavern, he could hear the slight gurgle of water, the soft noise echoing back in untraceable fragments from the rock walls. His light darted out to the center of the room, only to be consumed by the darkness. The cave was massive, its true size impossible to judge in the feeble glow of a single flashlight. Even the arched roof proved to be beyond the reach of his light, refusing to reveal itself to him. This had to be the place.

 

Hugging the side of the cavern wall, he began a slow circuit of the room, his light lancing through the darkness to reveal bits and pieces of his surroundings. A quarter of the way through his circle, the light stopped its fleeting dance. Iron glinted weakly back at him from beneath layers of rust. A blank metal wall, wide enough to drive a team of horses through. Someone had put a lot of effort into installing such a monstrosity. Someone who didn’t want any company.

 

As if unwilling to accept the evidence of his eyes, he stepped forward and gingerly laid a hand against the rough metal surface. Dusty red chips flaked away beneath his light caress. If they thought that this would be enough to keep him from her, they were wrong. He would have her back, and he would make Alamain pay. Nothing would stand in his way. With the smile of a predator, he turned to gather his equipment.

 

***

 

She sat alone in the middle of the big bed, hugging her knees to her chest and wondering if she could hold it together for three more days. The setting sun dropped behind the towering peaks of the mountains, plunging her room into darkness, and still she sat, trying hard to envision herself slipping through the shadows and into the waiting van. She imagined her children at her side as they fled into the darkness of the night. In three days time, that vision would be a reality and Mikos and his sick obsessions would simply be a distant unpleasant memory. Trying hard, she could almost make herself believe it. But only when she was trying hard.

 

She rocked slowly back and forth, desperate for company. Someone, anyone, to take her away from the images in her head. But the only one she was free to see was the only one she didn’t want to. Damn Mikos Alamain for this! Damn him for taking away her family. Damn him for taking her freedom. Most of all, damn him from taking from her the peace of mind it had taken years for her to achieve.

 

She lurched from the bed and flicked on the lights, the once comforting darkness now somehow oppressive. Somehow threatening. Her body shook and she snatched a book from a shelf, settling back onto the bed and wrapping the thick covers about her as if they could ward off a chill that came from the inside. She forced her eyes to follow the black letters as they crawled across the page in a meaningless jumble, her efforts only serving to illustrate her lack of control. Her lack of power. Not even her own body was hers to command. How could she protect her children when she couldn’t even protect herself?

 

Her face twisted in anger and she hurled the book across the room, finding a moment’s satisfaction in the sound of breaking glass as a centuries old vase tumbled to the floor and shattered into tiny splintered fragments. Almost immediately, tears replaced the joy. Stumbling to her feet, she began to pick futilely at the sharp remnants, ashamed to have destroyed something that was once so beautiful. A long shard lanced into her flesh, splitting the skin of her thumb as if to chastise her, and she allowed the broken pieces to fall back to the floor. She knew better than to think that she could fix something that was so broken. No matter how hard you tried, it would never be the same.

 

She paced restlessly across the floor, avoiding the thought of the big bed. Avoiding the thought of sleep. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she would wake up, only to face another endless breakfast with Mikos and his leering gaze, his lips brushing against the back of her hand, his touch on her skin. She would avoid sleep as long as she possibly could. She would avoid the dreams that came with it.

 

With a sudden start, she realized that Mikos had invaded her dreams. More and more when she went to sleep at night, it was his face, not John’s, that she saw. His face, watching her with burning eyes. His thick body that moved toward her, reeking of strength and power… and desire. God, he was so big in her dreams. Massive forearms, covered in a mat of thick black hair. Barrel chest, merging into legs like tree trunks. The way he moved, his shoulders seeming to hunch forward as his legs propelled him, an unstoppable force that would not be denied. God, how she hated that he was in her dreams.

 

And he was not alone. Another face leered out at her. A man long gone. A man long dead. Only in her own mind did he live, and even there she had thought him locked safely away, far from the realm of conscious thought. She had known he still lived in her mind. She had never deluded herself by pretending otherwise. But it had been years since she had believed he still had power over her. Years since she had thought him able to touch her. Now she knew that she had been wrong. Kellum Chandler was still with her. He always would be.

 

She ran for the bathroom as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Falling to her knees, she gave in to the demands of her body. Tears mingled with the bile and she gasped for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably. Oh God, this was not good for the baby. She knew it wasn’t. She couldn’t help it.

 

Finally the wracking spasms eased and she rose unsteadily to her feet. Cold water poured from the facet and she washed her face and tried to rinse the foul taste from her mouth. Almost 20 years. It had been almost 20 years. She would not let him torment her any longer. She would not let him take her peace of mind. He had taken too much already, she would give him nothing more.

 

Her hands moved down to stroke her stomach, almost pretending that she could feel the slight swell that was her child, growing inside of her. It was far too early, she knew that. But still, the little life seemed to call out to her. This baby needed her to be strong. It needed her to give it every chance at life. She would not allow Kellum Chandler or Mikos Alamain or anyone else to endanger this baby. Not ever.

 

She raised her head and studied her reflection. Smooth skin over high cheek bones, a little pale, but otherwise the strain seemed not to show. She smiled at herself, and hazel eyes seemed to sparkle back at her. She was a strong woman. She had proved it. She would allow no one to take that from her. Straightening her back, she strode purposefully from the bathroom. Careful not to cut herself, she efficiently gathered up the remains of the vase and tossed them in the trash can. Slapping her hands together, she stood tall and proud, surveying the room. Looking for something else to do to avoid going to sleep. Praying that when she finally did, it would be John’s face she would see.

 

***

 

He sat, poking absently at the roaring flames and watching the shadows as they skittered across the craggy walls. Three lanterns and a fire pit, and the far reaches of the cavern were still shrouded in darkness. It must have taken an eternity for the dripping water to carve out this hollow in the heart of the mountain. An eternity of constant steady pressure as the rock was slowly worn down by its ever patient foe. Now the stone sat, forced to shelter a shimmering pool of water whose very presence was a testimony to its defeat. The cavern itself a shrine to the victory of the slow and steady persistence of the water.

 

Some day the rock would revolt. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a million years, when the earth was nothing more than a burned out cinder circling a dying sun. But some day, he knew, the rock would revolt and the mountain would reclaim its own in a grinding collapse of stone. He could feel it. The weight. The pressure. The tons of granite that hovered above him, awaiting the day of the fall. Anticipating the joy of the destruction, its only respite from the agony of the endless endless wait.

 

He could sympathize with the rock.

 

He thought his skull was going to split in two, and with a muttered curse he lurched to his feet, kicking out at the fire as if it were somehow responsible for his own failures. His own weakness. He watched through the cloud of sparks that flew up in protest, staring at the iron door as it mocked him. Taunted him. Showed him glimpses of her that he could not have. Almost, almost, he was tempted to wire the explosives. Blow the door. End the wait. Almost…

 

He knew the science. Knew the chemistry. Most of all, he knew the poetry that lay at the heart of true destruction. He could blow the door. He could shatter the very atoms that made it what it was. But he could not control the rock. And if the explosion angered the mountain, then the rock would fall. He could defeat the door, but he could not defeat the mountain and he would not risk losing her. Not through haste. Not through carelessness. So like the rock, he would wait.

 

With a frustrated grunt he tossed the stick into the fire and turned his back on the door. Damn Jensen and his cowardice! The chopper could fly. It could bring him what he needed. To hell with the snow and the wind. The chopper could fly, despite what the tiny voice had barked at him over the shortwave. If Jensen had been in front of him, he would have broken his neck. As it was, all he could do was wait.

 

He walked to the spring, the sand shifting beneath his feet, stopping only once the water lapped at his boots. Crouching down, he ran a hand through the black water and wondered what Gods held dominion here in the heart of a mountain. Chërnobog perhaps? A black God for a dark realm? It seemed not unlikely, and he wondered if he was a God who demanded sacrifice. Stupid question. They all demanded something. Faith. Obedience. Homage. But he could not give what he did not possess. He supposed that even the Gods would have to learn to deal with disappointment. After all, it was only fair. They visited enough of it on their children.

 

Abruptly he sat, tugging the boots from his feet, the shirt from his back. In a single fluid motion, he shot forward, a flat dive into inky blackness. The water welcomed him, its warm caress a celebration of his purpose, and he cut across the ebony surface of the spring with sure smooth strokes. The pool was an almost perfect semicircle radiating out from the wall of the cave. His destination was at the center of the circle, a good 50 feet from the shore. In an instant he was there, heaving himself up onto the tumbled fall of rocks that was the source of the spring.

 

A jumbled mass of boulders slouched above him, warm water coursing down over rocks worn smooth by the ceaseless motion. In places the water seemed a torrent, white spray shooting skyward as it hurried to take its place in the pool. In other places, there was the barest trickle of moisture across the surface of the gray stone, as if the water had taken pity if only for a little while. Shifting so that he was clear of the falling water, he swiftly began to climb the broken rock, his goal the source of the flow. Fifteen feet above the surface of the pool, he found what he was seeking.

 

The peak of his miniature mountain was less than eight feet in circumference and almost level except for the shallow bowl that the water had carved for itself in the center of the worn rock. The water spewed out from a deep fissure in the cavern wall, pouring into the bowl and then continuing its journey down the sides of the stone alter. If a God lived in this mountain, then most assuredly, this was his throne.

 

His right hand slipped down to release his knife from its sheath, the darkened blade a perfect match for the inky water that puddled beneath him. He plunged the blade into the fountain that poured from the side of the broken mountain, the water so hot at its source that it scalded his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he kept his hand steady until he was certain that the water knew that it held no power over him. Finally, he pulled the blade from the burning water and stood tall. Looking out over the cavern, he noted how the dark water marred the surface of the white sand like a wound that wouldn’t close. He grinned at the analogy as he put the blade to his forearm and opened a vein, his thick blood flowing down to join that of the mountain itself. All Gods appreciated a gift of blood. In the end, it was their one demand.

 

Kneeling on the smooth surface of the rocks, he pretended that he knew how to pray. With his life’s blood, he bartered for hers. With his tears, he pled for her safety. And when he rose to his feet, knife held firmly in hand, he demanded the gift of fire that would burn through the door and put an end to his wait.

 

If he could not blast the door, then he would burn it. To melt the iron, he would need an acetylene torch. He would get that only when the weather cleared enough for the chopper to make the drop. All he asked of the Gods was one hour. One clear hour and he would do the rest.

 

And in the end, he bowed his head and made the sign of the cross.

 

And in the end, his need was so great that he believed.

 

And in the end, the storm still raged.

 

Chapter 75

 

“Mikos, he’s sick! My God, you can’t think he’s faking this!” she said, looking up at him with anger in her eyes.

 

The boy did look ill, doubled over on the bed as cramps shook his entire body. That pale face had a grayish cast, and he worried for the first time that he might have done permanent damage to the brat.

 

He had been so certain that the boy’s ‘convalescence’ had been a ploy. A plot of some sort to allow him to stay in the company of his sisters. He had allowed it to continue because he really couldn’t care less about the children and what they did. But the woman…. She had been on very good behavior this last week, not even uttering a word of protest when he had informed her of his decision to announce their engagement at the Christmas ball. She did it out of fear. He had no illusions about that. He had no illusions about her at all. Fantasies…. Well, that was another issue.

 

He stared down on her, a patronizing smile on his face. The way she hovered above the boy, as if somehow she could protect him. He could break her slender body on a whim, yet still she crouched before him, daring him to deny her. He toyed with the idea. It has been his intent to have him returned to his own room tonight anyway. The little charade of his injury had gone on long enough, and he had no wish to allow Marlena to grow complacent. She had to learn that any kindness he chose to grant her could just as easily be taken away. Removing the boy would have reminded her that even so small a thing as where her children slept was a decision that was his to make. Sometimes the smallest cruelties were the most fun.

 

The brat gave a low moan, breaking Mikos from his reverie. Damn! He did not want to have to waste his time dealing with another man’s sick children. He did not want them here at all, but he could abide their presence as long as he was not forced to look at them. Trying to feign concern, he asked, “Is it serious?”

 

She turned away from him, her hand going out to gently push back the boy’s sweat dampened hair. “I think it’s a stomach virus, Mikos. I don’t think you broke any bones, if that is what you are worried about. But I should stay with him. Make certain that is all it is. Please?” she begged, forcing herself to look up at him.

 

He grunted in irritation, not wanting her to think he gave a damn what her wishes were, yet worried about the boy all the same. Her children were his only weapon. With them, he could push her to do so many things. But if he pushed too hard, if he broke one of her precious babies, he feared that she might end their little game. He would not allow that to happen, at least not until they had a child of their own, binding her to him for all eternity.

 

The vision brought a smile to his face and with a shrug he reached out to run a finger down the line of her jaw. The play of the muscles in her neck was intoxicating, and it was all he could do not to allow his fingers to continue to caress that soft skin. Reluctantly, he drew back. “You know how important your children’s safety is to me, Marlena. Of course I will allow you to stay the night. But… after this, you will owe me a favor,” he said in a voice as smooth as silk.

 

She did not deign to reply, her defiance earning her a chuckle as he made his way to the door. “I look forward to seeing you at breakfast, my lady,” he mocked, stopping to give a half-bow from the doorway. His eyes fixed on hers, he pulled the door tightly shut, the click of the lock his final comment.

 

“Mom, is he going to be all right?” Sami whispered anxiously from her perch on the bed opposite Eric.

 

“He’s going to be fine,” Marlena assured distractedly, her attention on her son as the cramps continued to convulse his slender frame. Damn Stefano and his plan. She never would have allowed Eric to drink the foul mixture if she had known just how bad his reaction would be.

 

“I’m already feeling better,” Eric muttered, looking up at them to flash a weak grin. “But I don’t think I will ever have the urge to smoke cigarettes, that’s for certain.”

 

“Honey, are you sure you’re going to be able to walk?” Marlena asked as she ran her hand over her son’s back in a soothing motion.

 

He nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. His pale face hung down as if the effort were too much for him, but he struggled determinedly to his feet. “The cramps eased off almost half an hour ago, Mom. If it means we’re getting out of here, I’ll run if need be.”

 

“Go easy, sweetie. We’ve got almost an hour before Ivan gets here. You should rest,” she replied, relieved that Eric wasn’t feeling quite as bad as she had feared, but worried still by the grayish cast to his features.

 

“Just want to wash up,” he answered, walking slowly in the direction of the lavatory.

 

Her concentration on her son’s slow progress was interrupted as Carrie came over to sit next to her. Taking one of her mother’s hands in her own, Carrie asked softly, “Do you really think this is going to work, Mom?”

 

Flashing her daughter a quick smile, she squeezed her hand and replied, “It had better.”

 

***

 

Fuck! This was taking too damn long. The blue flame died as the last of the acetylene burned itself out against the glowing metal. His pale skin shone with sweat, still smarting from the burns of the sparks. Irritably he ripped the safety goggles from his face to study the jagged lines of the half-formed doorway that scarred the bare metal wall. The line stopped a quarter of the way down the last side and he was down to one last canister of fuel. It was taking so much longer than he had thought it would, the thick metal fighting him every inch of the way.

 

Three days he had sat waiting for the supply drop. Three endless days he had spent separated from her only by this god damn sheet of iron. He could wait no longer. His time was up. He could feel her need for him calling out to him from somewhere deep inside. She needed him. She needed him now.

 

With a sudden flash of panic he grabbed the heavy metal tank in both hands and slammed it into the half-cut doorway. The impact of metal on metal boomed out like a church bell, echoing off of cold stone walls until the very air itself seemed about to crack. Again and again he rammed against the door, his screams rising to match the rolling thunder of his blows. Finally the dented tank slipped from numbed fingers and he fell to his knees, looking up with hate filled eyes at the source of his frustration. Iron alone could not keep him out. He would not let it. Putting every ounce of energy he had left into it, he gathered his feet beneath him and drove his shoulder hard into the mocking face of the metal. He had to get to her. He had to get to her now.

 

The metal didn’t budge, the laws of physics indifferent to the needs of one mere human. Sobbing for air, he allowed his legs to collapse, his body sliding down the rough surface until he crouched, kneeling on the ground, his unshaven face hollowed and empty. She was slipping away from him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

With a sudden cry he slammed a heavy fist against the unyielding metal, as if rage alone would achieve what muscle and fire could not. He was too weak. He was going to lose her because he was too weak to stop it. A low moan rattled through his chest as he forced himself to his feet and stumbled toward the last of the tanks. The only thing left for him to do was keep going. Keep moving. Keep searching. She would be behind the metal wall. She had to be. And if she wasn’t… he would burn the castle and everyone in it.

 

***

 

She paced the room, wondering for the millionth time whether something had gone wrong. Ivan should have been here by now. He should have been here an hour ago! God! She could not believe that she was relying on a plan by Stefano Dimera of all people when it came to the safety of her children!

 

“Mom? What time is it? Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” Sami asked, looking up at her from the bed she now shared with her sister.

 

Forcing a smile to her face, she tried not to let her own worries infect her children. They had enough to deal with as it was. “It’s almost 11, Sami. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute now. It’s going to be okay. Really,” she soothed, hoping the words sounded more certain than they felt.

 

“We looked all over the room, Mom. I don’t think there is a secret passage,” Eric commented uneasily.

 

Marlena glanced over at her son, sitting in the middle of one of the beds with his arms wrapped around his legs. Though he was still a little pale, she was relieved that he finally seemed steady and alert. When the time came, he would be ready to move. If the time came…

 

Before Marlena could form a reply, a cultured voice echoed out at them from the direction of the fireplace. “Secret passages are supposed to be hidden. It’s what makes them ‘secret’.”

 

“Ivan!” Marlena exclaimed, running over to peer into the big fireplace. Where a brick wall used to be, there was now the grim visaged face of the young butler.

 

“We are running very late, Madam. Dinner ran over and the van’s battery died. I really think that it might be best if we wait for…” Ivan trailed off lamely as Marlena stepped across the smoldering remains of the fire and brushed by him without so much as a glance in his direction.

 

“Let’s go, kids. We are getting out of this madhouse right now!” she called, sticking her hand out to help Sami through the awkward passageway.

 

“Which way, Ivan?!” the tall blond snapped at him, and for an instance he was at a loss for words.

 

Feeling that the entire situation was rapidly spinning beyond his control, Ivan simply swallowed hard and pointed. “The way out is to the right, Madam. But really… I think it might be best…”

 

He gave up trying to argue as the woman efficiently relieved him of the flashlight and started off down the passageway, her children following close behind. With a resigned sigh, Ivan shoved the passage door shut and quickly followed. At least he had had plenty of practice at taking orders from women in his tenure with the beautiful Ms Vivian. He didn’t know why he had thought his dealings with Dr. Evans should be any different.

 

Jogging past the swiftly moving children, he finally caught up with the tall blond. “Um, Madam. We have to take a short detour through the kitchen in order to reach the outside. It should be empty at this time of night, but perhaps it would be best if I take the lead?”

 

“Of course, Ivan. Just… hurry,” she answered simply, her apprehension rising with each second they spent in this house. Something was going to go wrong. She could feel it. Oh, dear God, she prayed silently. Please let my children be okay.

 

After several minutes of silent walking, Ivan pulled to an abrupt halt. Glancing over at the determined woman, he tried one last time to postpone the inevitable. How on earth did he ever allow Vivian to talk him into this?! “Madam, once we leave the passageway, there will be no turning back. The snow was starting to fall heavily before I came in to get you and we are already running late. Perhaps it really would be best if we waited another week before we…”

 

“Ivan, I cannot stay in this house one more minute, much less one more week. If the snow is falling, it will cover our tracks. No one will see us as when we make a run for the van. Correct?”

 

“Correct, madam,” he reluctantly replied, recognizing that there was no way he was going to get out of doing this.

 

“Then let’s go!” she whispered fiercely.

 

With a heavy sigh, he held a finger to his lips and lifted a latch on the paneled doorway that led into the pantry. Silently, his charges filed in behind him. Trekking soundlessly through the empty kitchen, they were quickly out the back door and running through the snow shrouded night.

 

***

 

Mikos paced irritably within the confines of his private office. It was almost midnight, yet still he could not sleep. Something was not right within his household. He could feel it. Could sense the wrongness, pervading the very air of the castle.

 

Maybe it was the woman. Somehow, all of his thoughts now seemed to be of her. Maybe he had been wrong to allow her to stay with the children. The boy did not need her. He hadn’t needed her after the beating and he most assuredly did not need her now. They were manipulating him. Playing on his sympathies. He could not allow her to think that she had such power over him. He would not allow her even that small hope.

 

“Sir? Is there a problem?” a voice called from the doorway, interrupting his train of thought.

 

“Dimitri? What are you doing here?” Mikos replied shortly, looking over at his head of security.

 

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just making my final rounds for the night and saw the light was still on,” the big blond responded, taking a rapid step back in reaction to the angry look on his boss’ face. Mikos had a quick temper and Dimitri had no desire to incur the man’s wrath.

 

“Anything amiss? Marlena and her children, they are secured?”

 

“I saw nothing unusual, sir. The room was quiet and the door still locked. Do you want me to check again?” Dimitri answered, hoping fervently that he hadn’t missed anything. Mikos seemed tense, even more suspicious than usual. Now was not a good time to be making any mistakes.

 

“She’s playing with me, Dimitri. That woman is up to something. I can feel it. She’s not the type to just passively accept her fate, yet this whole week she has gone out of her way not to insult me. Not to anger me. She’s up to something, and I think it is time I teach her the folly of resisting me,” Mikos said, talking as much to himself as to Dimitri.

 

With a sudden shake of his dark head, he nodded for Dimitri to follow him. “Let’s go,” he ordered tightly, moving quickly out the door. Confidently he strode from his room, moving rapidly through deserted corridors as he made his way to the children’s bedroom. Both the boy and his mother would be returned to their own rooms immediately. It would be their punishment for thinking they could lie to him. Manipulate him. They would learn the hard way, that was something he would never allow.

 

He came to a silent halt before the big wooden door and quietly inserted his key. With a sudden lunge he swung the door open, hoping to surprise them in the plotting of some mischief. An empty room greeted him. For a moment he stood frozen, stunned by the site. She could not be gone. She could not.

 

“Find them,” he hissed.

 

“Sir?” Dimitri questioned hesitantly from behind, unable to see around the big form blocking the doorway.

 

Whipping around, Mikos slapped the man hard across the face. “Find them!” he roared, his face twisted in fury.

 

His hands clenched tightly at his sides, Mikos stepped back to allow the now thoroughly frightened man to scurry into the bedroom. Wordlessly he watched as the younger man ran through the room to check the bathroom, radioing for backup as he did so. As Mikos had already known, he found no sign of the missing family. The sound of running feet jarred Mikos from his contemplation of the pain he would visit on his security chief if he allowed the prisoners to escape, and he stood aside to allow a platoon of guards entry into the room.

 

“Well?” he asked, his calm voice an obvious threat to those who knew him well.

 

Pale-faced, Dimitri stood in the center of the room, anxiously attempting to find some way of deflecting the big man’s anger. His eyes lit on the dead remains of the fire and he noted the scattered ashes and faint signs of a footprint on the hearth itself. Oh, no. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t possible that they had left through the tunnels. Almost afraid to prove himself right, he moved cautiously over to the mantel and twisted one of the decorative florals in a clockwise motion. He felt more than heard the release of the lock and tentatively bent down to push against the warm bricks at the back of the firebox. Smoothly the bricks fell away from his touch, revealing the dark recesses of one of the many passages that dotted the old castle. Christ! He was a dead man.

 

Straightening, Dimitri ordered his guards down the passageway and then called for additional men to blanket the courtyard. As an afterthought, he ordered that the men stationed in town be alerted and that the only road out of town be blocked off. He would seal the perimeter and then he would have his men go over every inch of territory until they were found. They had to be found. It was his only hope of staying alive. Finally, there was nothing more he could think to do and he forced himself to turn and meet the dark eyes of his employer. Swallowing convulsively, he finally managed to croak out the words. “We will find them sir. They can’t have managed to go very far.”

 

Dismissively, Mikos shrugged away the news. “You told me you had secured that passageway, Dimitri. It appears that you lied. How am I to know that you aren’t lying to me again?” he questioned softly, stepping into the room and silently closing the gap between them.

 

Dropping his eyes, Dimitri studied the carpet beneath his feet. “Sir, I had the deadbolt installed myself. That passageway was locked from the outside. If they got out through the passageway, they had to have had help. I swear to you, this is not my fault.”

 

Reaching out, Mikos placed his forefinger beneath the man’s chin and forced his head up. Finally, Dimitri raised his eyes to meet Mikos’ own. The man was actually trembling beneath his touch, and Mikos finally allowed himself a small smile. Gently, he stroked his thumb down the side of the man’s neck, following the path of the jugular vein. The blood pumped wildly beneath the fragile skin as Mikos watched the gray eyes cloud with panic. Finally, Mikos dropped his hand and leaned in. Very softly, he said, “If they are not back before the night is over, I am going to make you scream before I kill you.” Without another word, he turned and stalked from the room.

 

***

 

Blue sparks lit the air as white fire cut through the last of the stubborn iron. He killed the gas and blinked back tears as his eyes tried to adjust to the suddenly dim lighting. Dropping the torch to the ground, he wasted no time. Putting his full weight behind the effort, he planted a booted foot in the center of the three-by-three cut out. With a groan of protest, the iron shifted slightly but refused to cave in. Cursing the delay, he grabbed the fuel tank and used it as a ram. Blow after blow fell on the blank metal surface until the iron reluctantly surrendered and with a harsh clang fell to the floor. He tossed the tank aside and crouched down to peer inside the dark hole he had created. He could not help the twinge of disappointment he felt when the inky blackness revealed nothing. No hint. No sign of her. Nothing at all.

 

His mind knew that she was far above him. He knew the tunnel itself must snake through the mountain for more than a mile before it reached the lofty peaks on which the castle sat. His mind had expected nothing but the empty blackness which it had received. But his heart… His heart ‘needed’ her. It ‘wanted’ her. And his heart hurt because she was not there. With a muttered curse at his weakness, he turned to gather his weapons. He would have her back. He would have her back tonight, and when he did, the hurt would stop.

 

His face expressionless, he yanked a black T-shirt on, the thin cotton instantly plastering itself to his sweat slickened body. He tied his lank hair back and smudged his face and arms a sooty black that would blend in with the shadows. Finally, he checked the knife in its sheath on his right leg, the Glock nine millimeter he wore around his waist. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed the pump action 12 gauge and slung it across his shoulders. In close quarters, the shotgun would tear through flesh and bone like a meat grinder, messy but effective. Finally, he scooped up the flashlight and tried to focus his thoughts on the mission. Tried to dismiss the fear as he thought of the risk to Marlena and her children. Tried to ignore the raging desire for revenge and destruction that burned through him as he thought of the men who had taken her. He searched for the calm center that would allow him to move without hesitation, to act without thought. With slow deep breaths, he focused on the mission. Go in. Get her out. Kill anyone who gets in the way.

 

He smiled an evil grin and decided he was as centered as he needed to be. With the flick of his thumb, the beam from the flashlight blazed out, cutting through the darkness that held sway behind the iron wall. Careful of the still glowing edges of the jagged hole, he slipped silently inside the tunnel and began to make his way through the darkness. And if the fear and the anger were still with him, then so be it. It would simply make it that much sweeter when he stuck his knife into Mikos Alamain’s heart.

 

***

 

Plunging through knee deep snow, she clutched Sami’s hand tightly in her own and glanced over her shoulder to make certain that Carrie and Eric were right behind them. The cold wind bit through the thin material of her jeans and the wool sweater she wore seemed to do little to keep out the frigid air. But despite the frozen landscape, a smile lit her face. They were free. At least for this moment, they were free from the men who had sought to control her life for far too long. Her hand dropped to her belly as she swore to herself that the child she carried within would never know the fear and pain that her other children had been forced to endure. They were going home. Going back to the man she loved. And she knew in her heart, he would never allow anyone to threaten their family ever again.

 

The dark shape of a panel van loomed up before them and they rushed to climb through the door that Ivan yanked hurriedly open. Scampering into the back, Marlena pulled her children to her and they huddled on the floor, surrounded by baskets and crates. Shivering with the cold, she wrapped her arms around her children and prayed that they would make it through the castle gates.

 

The van’s engine roared to life and Ivan allowed himself a brief glimpse back at his charges before he shifted into first gear. “The guards don’t search the van. Just stay down and stay quiet and they will never know you are there,” he whispered over his shoulder.

 

Driving slowly through the now raging snow storm, Ivan eased to a stop before the main gate. With a curt gesture to the cold sentry, he motioned for the gates to be opened. It seemed to take forever before the ponderous doors cleared the roadway, but finally Ivan was able to pull through and begin the long drive down the winding mountain road. “We’re clear,” he finally whispered out, as the lights of Castle Chernobog finally faded behind the thick curtain of snow.

 

Stumbling forward, Marlena settled herself into the passenger seat. “Drive faster,” she hissed urgently, the sense of being pursued making the small hairs rise on the back of her neck.

 

“The roads are too bad, Dr. Evans. We shouldn’t be out here at all,” Ivan replied, though he found himself picking up speed anyway as the woman’s anxiety began to infect him as well.

 

“Man, it’s really coming down out there,” Eric said, standing up and bracing himself against the side of the van in an effort to see where they were going.

 

The van suddenly slewed hard to the side, wheels spinning for traction as the vehicle almost skidded off the road. With a ‘thump’ Eric sat down hard.

 

“Damn!” Ivan exclaimed, the rising fear overpowering his typical reserve.

 

“Oh God! Be careful!” Marlena called out, grabbing for the dashboard in an attempt to keep her seat. “Are you guys okay?” she asked worriedly, trying to get a glimpse of her children.

 

“Yea, we’re fine. But I think I’ll sit down for the rest of this little trip,” was Eric’s wry response.

 

“Sorry madam,” Ivan muttered under his breath, his face pale with the strain of trying to keep the van on the road and moving. For long minutes they continued in silence, the only sound the occasional growl of the tires as they fought for purchase on the slippery road. Finally, the lights of town could be seen faintly gleaming through the hazy darkness. The road smoothed and Ivan was able to pick up speed. With a sigh of relief, he began to hope that this idiotic plan might actually have a chance of working. As he plowed through the center of town, he even managed a reassuring nod in the direction of his frightened passengers. He turned the last corner at the edge of the small village, making good time on the only road out of town. A smile was on his face as he thought of how pleased Ms. Vivian would be with his performance. At the sudden glare of search lights, the smile disappeared.

 

Marlena gave a sharp gasp as searing white light lit the interior of the van. Squinting, she could almost make out the faces of the dark forms that seemed to be surging toward the van. With a sudden lurch, she slammed forward against the seatbelt, and she realized that Ivan was hurriedly shifting the van into reverse. Her mind refused to recognize the significance of the roadblock and she simply held on tight to her seat and concentrated on surviving this moment. “Hold on!” she screamed out to the children, her heart hammering against the walls of her chest as the van veered sharply and slid around the corner on its way back toward the main street.

 

The rear end of the van fish-tailed wildly and Ivan yanked hard on the wheel in an attempt to straighten out. Almost as if it were in slow motion, the van continued to glide sideways, spinning in a 90 degree arc before coming to a crashing halt against the side of a building. The last thing Marlena heard was the scream of a child and then the shatter of glass as her head impacted against the side window.

 

Chapter 76

 

A metallic glint winked at him from out of the darkness, and the shotgun found its way into his hands as if by its own accord. For a long moment he simply waited for the whisper of movement that would signal his target. Whatever was ahead of him, the shotgun would bring down. But there was no sound, no hint of life. Ever so slowly, he eased forward, the evenly spaced bars of the gate becoming discernable as his flashlight played across the mouth of the tunnel. A door. Another damn door. God these people were paranoid, he thought with a grim smile. All that worry, and it wasn’t even going to do them any good. For a people so afraid of dying, they should really learn to pick their enemies more carefully.

 

His ears strained for the slightest sound as he crouched down and fixed his gaze on the lock on the door before him. Unlike the metal wall, this was a simple barred door, hinged on one side and held closed on the other by a thick loop of chain and a padlock. He considered blowing the lock. One shot would be more than enough. But he was close now. Too close to risk the noise of gunfire. Besides, if he destroyed the lock it would be as good as a sign telling possible pursuers exactly where he had gone. No. No need for gunfire. It was better to cover his tracks.

 

Silently cursing the delay, he pulled out a pen light and a small set of picks, fumbling through the bars in order to get to the lock on the other side. With steady fingers, he teased the tumblers into position and carefully popped the lock. The lessons of a misspent youth were sometimes beyond price, he thought ruefully.

 

Stepping through the open doorway, he pulled the gate carefully shut behind them, looping the chain around the bars in a way that would fool any casual examination. He found himself at a crossroads, the passageway splitting. With a glance at his compass, he chose the southern branch and moved out as rapidly as possible given the need for stealth.

 

Bo had come through for him. In one of their few lucky breaks, Bo’s turn as a grounds keeper had payed off. While he had shoveled snow and mucked out horse stalls, he had also managed to catch a glimpse of the object of their search. A blond haired beauty, gazing out through the leaded windows of the castle. The other workers had said she was there every morning and every night. The same window, day after day, staring off into the distance as if looking for someone who would never come. It had been Marlena at that window, Bo was certain. The same window, every day and every night. Third floor, southwest corner of the castle, third window from the end. It had been all the information John would need. He only wished that there had been some way to get a message to her. Some way to let her know he was close. Still, they had been lucky Bo had gathered as much information as he had.

 

Biting back his impatience, John tried to guess at where he was in relation to her room. The passageway snaked round and round, always seeming to move upward. He had to be close by now.

 

A sudden flash of light lanced out at him from the side, and he dropped instinctively to the floor, cutting his flashlight and holding his breath. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and he realized that the light came from a tiny hole in the wall, set just about eye level. The builders of the castle had evidently had a fine appreciation for the art of spying.

 

Cautiously, he rose from the floor and approached the eye hole. Blinking his eyes against the glare, he finally managed to focus his gaze on the sole occupant of a big room, the study if he had to guess. His mind was already matching his position to the floor plans of the castle as he noted that there was something familiar about the man who stood in the room. Short blond hair, pinkish face, a build like a Russian weightlifter. Damn, it was that asshole from the cliff top. At least the son of a bitch didn’t look too happy, pawing frantically through a pile of papers on the top of the desk that sat in the center of the room. If John had anything to do with it, the man would be even more unhappy before the night was over.

 

Dismissing the hireling from his thoughts, John moved stealthily on down the hall. One more floor up, and then he would have to start searching for some exit from the passageway. He had to make sure he was close to her, there was simply no way he could hope to roam the halls of the castle for any length of time without being discovered. Inconspicious, he was not.

 

Moving more slowly now, he studied the blank walls that surrounded him. Gods, she was close. He would almost swear that he could smell her perfume. He grit his teeth as he thought of her locked away inside this stone giant of a cage, and all because of him and the men who hated him. Briefly, he wondered what he had done to push Mikos Alamain to such extremes. Stolen his money? Killed his son? Fucked his lover? All viable options. Damn! If you were going to do something to drive a man to want you dead, it was only right that you should remember it. Of course, in the long run, Alamain’s reasons didn’t really matter. What mattered was that Mikos Alamain had made the fatal mistake of involving Marlena in his schemes. For that, there could be no forgiveness.

 

His musing about Alamain died abruptly as his light picked out the frame of a small doorway set low in the wall. Crouching down, he noted the dusty footprints that led out from the opening. Soot and ash, the scuff marks of many feet shimmering faintly against the gray stone of the floor. Somebody had been through here. Lots of somebodies and the marks were still fresh.

 

He killed his light and scanned the darkness with eager eyes, searching for the telltale sign of light through a peephole. There was nothing. His stomach clenching in anticipation, he clipped the light to his belt and drew his knife. Shotgun in one hand, knife in the other, he silently twisted the handle on the doorway before him. The wall swung outward on silent hinges and he stared into the void of yet another dark hole. Fuck! This was getting old.

 

Returning the gun to its place between his shoulder blades, he very carefully inched his way through the narrow passage. He cringed at the scuffling sounds his passing produced, and by the time he crouched down on the soft mat of a woven rug and flipped his flashlight back on, he fully expected to face every guard in the place. Instead, he found an empty room. He wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or relieved.

 

Cautiously he rose to his feet, his light flitting across the darkened room. It had been ransacked. Furniture was tipped over, clothing strewn all about. And the scent of Shalimar still hung in the air. She had been here. She had been here this very night.

 

He tore through the room, hunting for some sign of where she had gone. Searching for some clue that would lead him to her. Nothing. There was nothing.

 

Based on the clothes in the closet and those that littered the floor, he assumed that the children had been held in this room. The only sign of Marlena’s presence was the faint smell of the perfume that was even now fading away. Ignoring the implications of the demolished bedroom, he made his way swiftly to the door. His only hope was that she was still in her room. It had to be close. A room or two away. She would be there. She had to be.

 

Silently he bent down, easily popping the lock on the bedroom door. Ever so slowly, he cracked the open the door and studied the dimly lit hallway. Empty. Waiting for him. Beckoning him. Directly across from him was another door, a large iron key dangling from a hook beside it. He dismissed the door. It could not be her. Not if Bo was right, and the woman in the window was Marlena. Her room would be on this side of the hallway. A door away. That was all.

 

Barely daring to breathe, he eased slowly out the door and pulled it shut behind him, pausing only a second to make certain it was locked tight. Gliding across the carpeted floor, he halted before the next door down. Gently he twisted the handle, unsurprised when it refused to budge. He fought down the urge to simply kick in the door, pulling the lockpick from his back pocket instead. He didn’t even have time to open the case before the sound of heavy foot steps echoed down the hallway.

 

Damn! No time. They were coming fast. He took the only route still open to him, stepping across the hallway and ripping the dangling key from its hook. Trying to be quiet, he hurriedly slid the key into the lock, grimacing at the faint ‘click’ of the deadbolt. Replacing the key, he stepped into the darkened room and pulled the door softly shut just as the guards rounded the corner.

 

Slouching against the doorway, he tried to slow his breathing in order to hear what was happening in the hall. He was completely unprepared when a deep voice muttered out from across the room.

 

“Who’s there?”

 

***

 

“Is there any permanent damage?” Mikos asked coldly, staring down at the woman whose still form lay across the chaise lounge.

 

“A mild concussion is all it appears to be, Mr. Alamain. Her pupils are slow but reactive and I had to put a few stitches in, but she should be fine in the morning. Just in case, I’ll do a blood work-up, but I see no real cause for concern,” the elderly doctor replied.

 

“Wake her up.”

 

“It might be best if she is not put under any additional strain,” the doctor noted as he obediently bent down and began slapping lightly at the pale face of the woman.

 

“Where she is concerned, I will say what is ‘best’,” Mikos replied shortly, his temper barely held in check. For a moment, he considered taking over the job of slapping her into wakefulness, but he feared that once he started hitting her he wouldn’t be able to stop. The pain he would visit on her should be so much greater than that. Before he was through with her, she would wish that she were dead.

 

A low moan issued from pink lips, and her head fell to the side in an attempt to avoid the hands that struck at her. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she found herself staring up at a face she didn’t recognize. “Where am I?” she muttered weakly.

 

“You are home, my love. Back where you were always meant to be,” Mikos’ deep voice growled out at her.

 

The doctor discretely moved away and Marlena was left to face the man who she had come to hate with every fiber of her being. “My children. Where are they? Are they all right?” she asked, panic beginning to filter through her dazed mind as she realized that the children were no longer with her. Instinctively her hand dropped to cradle her stomach, and she could only hope that Mikos did not notice the significance of the gesture. Oh dear God, she prayed silently. Please let the children be safe. Please let my baby be safe…

 

“Ah, yes. The children. I believe that they were becoming a distraction. Your little attempt at defiance suggests that you have not truly given yourself over to the idea of becoming my wife. Perhaps you will be better able to concentrate on fulfilling your duties to me if your children are no longer around.”

 

She swung her legs over the side of the couch, bracing herself with her hand in order to remain upright. “What have you done with them?” she hissed up at him, struggling to keep the darkness from closing in on her thoughts.

 

“I haven’t ‘done’ anything with them. Not yet, anyway,” Mikos replied with a menacing stare.

 

“If you hurt them…”

 

“I will do anything I choose to do, Marlena. It is time you learned that. And for now, I no longer have any desire to see or hear your sniveling brats! They are gone, Marlena. I had Dimitri ship them out to a different location as soon as you were brought back. They will stay gone until you learn exactly who is master here. When you learn to please me, I will perhaps allow you to see them again.” He gazed down on her angry face, waiting for the fear to take its hold. She was alone now. All alone. He did not think that she was a woman who could survive on her own. He was wrong.

 

She pushed herself to her feet, swaying dizzily but holding herself upright. This, this monster thought he could take her children from her? He thought he could take John? He thought he could destroy her life and then she would come crawling to him on her knees?! She gazed up at him, his smug smile making her see red. Lunging forward, she spat directly in his face.

 

Mikos took a stunned step backward as she screamed out at him. “Nothing! I will give you nothing! Understand that anything you take from me will be by force! And I swear to you, if you ever hurt my children, I will see to it that you never go to sleep without the fear that someday I will come to you and I will make you pay. I swear this Mikos. I swear it on my life!”

 

“You bitch!” he roared, his open hand slamming her across the face. The force knocked her back against the sofa, her limp body tumbling to the floor. “You will beg to be with me before I am done with you!” he thundered, grabbing the front of her sweater and jerking her up to face him. She hung unresisting in his grip, her eyes rolled back in her head. Frustrated, he roughly shook her slim body, his fingers tangling in her long hair as he tried to force her to look at him. Finally, he gave up trying to rouse her. Staring down at her unconscious face, he whispered softly, “I will make you beg,” and then he crushed his lips against hers in a kiss that drew blood. Breathing heavily, he drew back and allowed her body to fall to the couch.

 

Wiping at his lips, Mikos turned to the guard at the door. “Take her back to her room. Lock her in and bring me the key. No one is to see her but me. No one is to talk to her. No one is to feed her. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes sir!” the frightened guard replied.

 

Turning back to the woman who lay across the couch, Mikos ran a possessive finger down the line of her graceful neck. “A few days alone, my beauty, and you will be screaming for me to let you out. I ‘will’ teach you to beg. It is only a matter of time.”

 

***

 

“Who’s there?” the low voice called groggily.

 

With the barest whisper of sound, John was across the room, his hand clamping down on the unseen mouth as his blade leaped forward to press against the soft skin of the man’s neck. He stopped the knife an instant before it drew blood as deep in his mind the voice finally identified itself. Dimera. Dimera’s voice, calling out to him from the shadows.

 

“It’s me,” John whispered, his voice coming out in a harsh rasp that was barely recognizable as human. Reluctantly, he pulled himself back from the heavy form on the bed, trying to stop his body’s shaking as the adrenalin coursed through him. The dim light from a table lamp suddenly cut on, dispelling the darkness and allowing his eyes to confirm what his ears already knew. Stefano Dimera, sitting up in bed and looking over at him in wide-eyed surprise. For a moment, his hand clenched more tightly around the hilt of his knife. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him for the simple fact that he was not Marlena. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his mind tried to see past the raging bloodlust. God, he wanted to kill him.

 

For a moment, Stefano didn’t recognize the figure that stood before him. Crouched like an animal in the center of the room, bright eyes blazed out at him from a darkened face. Eyes and teeth, bared in a feral grin. It was all that he could see of the creature that stared back at him, hunger in its eyes.

 

“John?” Stefano questioned softly, sensing a danger but uncertain its source. “John. It’s all right. It’s just me. Put the knife away.”

 

Deep breathes. Just keep breathing. No need to kill. Not Stefano. Not now. Ever so slowly, John bent down and eased the knife back into its sheath. When he finally straightened up, his eyes were again sane. “Surprised to see me?” he asked, a faint grin touching his lips.

 

“I’ve been expecting you. Just not tonight,” Stefano replied, cautiously studying the man he had trained to be a killer. Wondering if perhaps he had trained him a bit too well.

 

Almost casually, John shrugged. “I’m late. I know. Should have been here weeks ago, but Alamain isn’t half bad for an amateur. But now I’m here…. Where’s Marlena?”

 

The steel in the man’s voice belied his now calm exterior and Stefano knew that he could lash out at the slightest of provocation. Handling nitro would be less risky than trying to control the killer that now stood before him. But handle him, he would.

 

Rising from his bed, Stefano gathered his robe and walked slowly over to the decanter of bourbon that sat on the corner table. He needed a drink. He needed to put some distance between himself and that damn knife. He felt the burning eyes following him every step of the way. “Marlena is fine, John. I promise you,” he placated as he filled a cut glass tumbler to the brim. “But…. We didn’t know you would be here this soon. I… made other arrangements, John. She escaped from the premises earlier tonight. If all went as planed, she should be safely in the city by now, busy trying to contact you.”

 

“She’s gone?”

 

“You missed her by several hours. She should be safe and sound, even as we speak,” Dimera answered, managing a smile as he saw the tension in John’s face begin to ease.

 

“You sure?” John asked, unable to believe that it would be this easy. Safe. She was safe. So why was there still a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach?

 

Sipping at his bourbon, Stefano nodded his head contemplatively. “I’m certain that she and the children got out. I heard the commotion when their escape was discovered. I had hoped they would have the entire night before their absence was noted, but at the very least, I am positive that they made it out of the castle without problem.”

 

With a loud sigh, John gave a quick shake of his head, trying to make himself let go of the fear and the worry. They dogged him still, but he managed a tight smile. With two quick strides, he joined Dimera at the table, sinking down into one of the dining chairs. “I sometimes underestimate you, old man,” he said, raising the bottle in salute before downing a healthy slug of the fiery liquid.

 

“Yes, you do,” was the dry response as Stefano took the opposite seat. “What now? I myself am not currently in need of rescue. Mikos will no doubt release me once he understands that Marlena and the children are gone. I serve no purpose, and holding me would bring him nothing but trouble. It appears that you are a man without a mission.”

 

John shrugged, the possibility that he would be leaving here without Marlena never having entered his mind. “Now…. I guess I slink down the hall and gut Mikos Alamain like a fish. Don’t suppose you know where his room is?” he asked, looking over at Stefano with a cheerful grin.

 

Again the vague sense of unease ran through Stefano. John was unstable. He had always been ruthless. Willing to kill. But this…. This was something new. Something ugly.

 

“John, why don’t you let it go for now. Get yourself out of this house. Go to Marlena. I have more than enough information on Alamain to bring him to his knees. The man is no longer a threat. You need to get out while you still can,” he argued persuasively, hoping the man opposite him was still able to see reason.

 

John laughed, a harsh grating sound that was painful to hear. “You don’t really think I’m going to let that man live, do you? He took her! He took her children! He was going to make her marry him, for Christ’s sake!” he said, exploding from his seat as thoughts he had tried to avoid suddenly refused to be silenced.

 

Stalking across the room, he dropped his head and ran a heavy hand across his eyes, shielding himself from a truth he was afraid to hear. “He didn’t touch her, did he?” he muttered brokenly, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

 

Stefano knew immediately what it was that John feared. Knew what it was that drove him. Keeping his voice smooth and even, he gently replied, “No. John, he never touched her. She is fine. I swear to you, he never laid a hand on her person.”

 

It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t a total lie either. Not that he wouldn’t lie if necessary, but John did have a tendency to see through him when he tried. As he had hoped, his words seemed to ease the tension a bit, and John dashed a hand across eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

 

“Good. I didn’t… I didn’t think he had done anything…” he finally managed to mutter hoarsely.

 

“Then you will let this thing go? At least for now?” Stefano prompted.

 

“Hell no. He’s a dead man,” was the terse response.

 

“He’s also your brother,” Dimera responded, wondering as he did so the merits of the act. Still, it might be the only way to make John stop. Make him think.

 

“What did you say?” John spat out, whirling around to advance on Dimera.

 

“I said that Mikos Alamain is your brother. Half-brother, at least. You share the same mother,” Stefano calmly replied. John’s reaction was not what he expected.

 

“Classic! Just fucking classic!” he said, shaking his head as if at some bad joke. “I should have known…!!” he almost shouted, his face twisting in fury.

 

“Keep your voice down, John!” Stefano hissed out angrily, rising to grab John by the shoulders.

 

The light touch was all it took to set the man off. With a snarl, John wrapped his hands around Dimera’s thick neck and slammed him hard against the wall. “I thought it was you! All along, I thought it was you! Some man I killed for you. Some bitch I fucked while I was working for you. I thought if I left you, I could leave this behind. What a joke that is, huh old man!? This is a family thing! It’s in my god damned blood!” He spat the words out, watching dispassionately as Stefano’s face began to pale beneath the slowly tightening hands.

 

His vision narrowing to a pinprick, Stefano began to panic. “No! John… stop…” The words wheezed out unintelligibly as he pulled helplessly against the hands at his throat. His vision faded to black, and then he suddenly slumped to his knees. He drew in a gasping breath of air, his throat burning with the effort. As full consciousness slowly returned, he raised his head and searched for the form of his attacker, wondering what it was that had made him snap. Wondering what it was that had made him stop. What he saw before him brought the memories rushing back.

 

John was huddled in the center of the floor, his knees drawn tightly up against his chest and his face buried behind the arms that rested there. He looked like a beaten dog. How many nights had Stefano stumbled from bed, awakened by the sound of screaming, only to find the boy huddled in the exact same pose? A single night would have been too many.

 

Knowing the man was still dangerous, Stefano moved slowly forward until he crouched by his side. Gently, he brought his hand to rest against one broad shoulder, noticing the shotgun that lay nestled there and how useless it suddenly looked.

 

“John?” he whispered softly, relieved when the man didn’t pull away. “John, come on. Can you hear me?”

 

“Sorry,” was the croaked reply.

 

“John, you can’t do this now. Do you understand? Marlena needs you. She needs you to go home to her. You have to hold it together,” Stefano said urgently, wondering as he spoke whether the news of the baby would push John over the edge or pull him back. He had all the answer he needed in John’s reply.

 

“I’m bad. I’m bad for her. I’ll kill her, Stefano. I know it,” was the frightened response as John shook his head violently back and forth, rejecting the dark images that shrieked within his mind.

 

Stefano gave voice to a low chuckle. “You would never hurt Marlena, John. Even I know that.”

 

John raised his head and took a deep breath. Finally his eyes cracked open and he was able to meet Dimera’s worried gaze. “He took her from me. Do you understand that? I was right there and there still wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. I can’t protect her. Not from the violence that follows me. Not from the men that want me dead. Do you have any idea what I thought he might do to her? Do you?!”

 

“John, nothing happened. Marlena is all right. She and the children will be fine. You have to stop thinking like this.”

 

“What about the next time, huh? What about the next time I am too weak or too stupid…. What if the next time, she dies?” John hissed back, the pain of the visions flickering in his pale eyes.

 

“There won’t be any next time. Look, if you need to kill Alamain, then do it. If that is the price for your peace of mind, then just do it and forget about it. But you have to pull yourself together. You have to focus on what’s important. Your life is what’s important. Your life with Marlena. Don’t forget that.” Stefano watched the younger man worriedly, hating the despair, the hopelessness he saw in those eyes. Remembering that look from years ago, the boy staring up at him with ancient eyes as blood from his forearm had dripped down to stain priceless carpets.

 

“My life is shit,” was the cold reply.

 

Stefano stared at him, sickened by what he had heard. Putting his entire weight behind the blow, he backhanded John across the face with enough force to snap the man’s head around. “Don’t you dare say that,” he growled. “Not to me. Not after you took the only woman I ever loved away from me!”

 

“You don’t know anything about love,” John fired back, his head swinging around to fasten on Dimera’s face as the blood trickled down from his split lip. “Love isn’t about possessing someone. It isn’t about owning them. Love is about sacrifice, Stefano! That is something you will never understand!”

 

With a rough jerk, John pulled away from Dimera’s grip and shot to his feet. Yanking the shotgun from his back, he strode to the door without a backward glance.

 

“Where the hell do you think you are going?” Dimera asked tightly, as he too rose from the floor.

 

“To kill my brother,” John replied, turning to flash an ugly smile at his mentor. At the look on the old man’s face, he almost felt pity for him. Trying to ease the pain of the moment, he indulged himself in one last lie. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back,” he finished more gently before turning to the door. His hand was on the knob when he heard the sound of rapid footsteps approaching from the outside. Like a ghost, he quickly faded back to hide against the wall.

 

“Stefano?” Vivian called out, storming in and slamming the door shut behind her. “Stefano, what was your door doing unlocked…” An iron grip locked across her mouth and she was jerked violently off her feet. Helplessly she tried to scream, the dark blade of a knife plunging down toward her neck the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

 

“John, stop!” Dimera barked from across the room.

 

“Why?” John asked dispassionately, looking up from the woman he held in his arms, knife firmly pressed against her throat.

 

“John, let her go. She’s your aunt,” Stefano said, keeping his voice calm only with great effort.

 

With a shrug, John glanced down at the frail body he held. “I care about that, why?”

 

“She helped me get Marlena out. She’s on our side John. Really. Let her go.”

 

John hesitated for a long moment before unceremoniously dropping the woman to the floor. He eyed her curiously as she almost sprinted across the room and latched her hands around one of Dimera’s arms.

 

“I’ll scream. If he takes one step closer, I will scream!” Vivian babbled almost hysterically.

 

“Vivian, please don’t scream,” Stefano soothed, absently patting at one of the hands now locked about his arm in a vicelike grip. “He is your nephew. This is Alexander. He came to get Marlena, it will be all right.”

 

“I will scream!” she repeated, shaking her head from side to side and taking a step back so that Stefano’s body was between herself and the beastly man beside the door.

 

“You should have let me kill her,” John noted, shooting Dimera a hard look.

 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Stefano snapped, “Enough. Both of you! Shut up!”

 

John merely raised an eyebrow and slipped his knife back in its sheath. Vivian peered around Stefano’s solid form, eyeing her ‘nephew’ uncertainly. Beneath all of the dirt and grime, there was a well muscled young body that did seem to bear a striking resemblance to old Illya Alamain. “Hmm. He does ‘look’ like he could be from the royal line. And his utter lack of gallantry in the presence of a woman is very reminiscent of Mikos,” she mused aloud.

 

John’s eyes darkened at the comment and he took a step forward, a scowl on his face.

 

“Vivian, shut up!” Stefano hissed desperately, knowing that any word that came from her overactive mouth was highly likely to result in her untimely demise. John was in no mood to deal with a lesson on the family history.

 

“Sorry,” she muttered, watching as the dangerous looking young man seemed to calm a bit.

 

“Vivian, why are you here? Not that your presence isn’t always welcomed, but…” Stefano trailed off, looking down at the woman in exasperation.

 

For once, Vivian thought before she spoke, and according to her thinking, now was perhaps not the best time to mention the recapture of Marlena and her children. “Hmm? Oh, nothing really. Just thought I’d drop by to say goodnight. ‘Goodnight’!” she finished cheerfully, plastering a smile on her face and attempting to sidle along the wall and reach the door without getting any nearer to the man with the shotgun.

 

“It’s after three a.m., Vivian. You did not come to wish me pleasant dreams. What is going on?” Stefano demanded irritably, deciding that he was getting far too old for this sort of silliness.

 

“Oh, nothing. Really. It can wait till morning,” she called over her shoulder as she prepared to make a run for the door.

 

John was rapidly tiring of this charade, and with one smooth movement his arm shot out to the side, shotgun in hand. Vivian found herself standing very still as the barrel of the gun lightly pressed against the skin of her breastbone.

 

“You have three seconds to tell me what’s going on, or I am going to turn you into wallpaper,” John stated flatly.

 

Vivian’s hand came up to tap against the side of the steel barrel and she shot a silent plea for help in Stefano’s direction. When the man merely shrugged, she immediately decided that perhaps honesty was the best policy after all. “Well…. You see…. It’s like this. There was a slight flaw in our plan, Stefano. It was a good plan. I assure you,” she said quickly, shifting to look up at John. “But, it was not without risk. And, well…, Mikos has recapture Marlena and her children, he sent the children away to a separate compound, and Marlena received a bump on the head in the accident and Mikos had her sedated and well… The whole thing’s just a big mess,” she finished with an outpouring of words that left both men stunned.

 

“What?” Stefano spat out, staring at Vivian as if she had just grown two heads. She shrugged as if to say ‘you asked’ and felt a sudden sense of relief as the mouth of the gun dropped to point at the floor.

 

Shaking his head, John stumbled to the bed and collapsed in a heap. “Jesus,” he whispered softly, wondering if somewhere out there some asshole God was laughing at him.

 

As the reality of the situation sank in, Stefano took a hesitant step in John’s direction, suddenly realizing that this was the one thing that could have stopped him from making a suicidal attack on Mikos. For Marlena’s sake he would pull himself together. For her, he would make himself stop long enough to think. To plan. To worry about living at least long enough to get her away from here. With an encouraging nod in Vivian’s direction, he slowly approached the desolate form slumped atop the bed.

 

“We get her out, John. It’s that simple. Vivian can help. She can come back tonight when it’s dark, and she can help us get Marlena out of here. Right Vivian?”

 

“Oh! Well, yes. I mean, of course I will help,” she chirped brightly, once again easing slowly toward the door.

 

“Why not now?” John asked quietly, straightening up as he began running new scenarios through his mind. The kids. The kids were gone. Have to get them out separately…

 

“It’s almost dawn. You’re going to need some lead time. Besides, we want to make certain that Marlena’s okay to travel. Vivian, you can handle finding out about that today, can’t you?”

 

“Mm hm,” she said, nodding agreeably as her fingers wrapped around the door knob. Just as she was about to fling the door open and run, John looked over to fasten piercing blue eyes on her.

 

For a moment, he simply studied her. Looking at her, really looking at her for the first time, he seemed to search for some sign of kinship. “You are really my aunt?” he finally asked.

 

With a slight nod, she acknowledged the truth of it.

 

“Thank you. For helping with Marlena…. Thank you,” he said softly.

 

Her eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile. “It was very… ‘interesting’ meeting you,” she replied.

 

“We will see you at dinner, right Vivian?” Stefano interjected, watching the woman closely.

 

“Of course you will. I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she said, chuckling as she walked from the room and pulled the door tightly shut behind her.

 

“Are you okay?” Stefano finally asked, coming to perch on the bed beside John.

 

Giving a dry laugh, the younger man wrapped his arms around the shotgun and allowed his tired body to fall back against the cool sheets. Staring up at the ceiling with sightless eyes, he said, “I’m fine, Stefano. For now, all we can do is wait. I have gotten very good at waiting.”

 

Chapter 77

 

Stefano glanced up from his novel as John’s breathing grew suddenly harsh. Moving softly to the bedside, he looked down at the man who lay curled in the center of the bed. After hours of staring soundlessly up at the ceiling, exhaustion had finally become too great a foe and he had succumbed to sleep. But even in his dreams, he appeared to be haunted. His lips twisted in a grimace of pain or fear, and his hands wrapped possessively around the shotgun as if it could somehow slay the demons in his mind. With short rapid breaths, he tried to run. To something, from something… Dimera couldn’t say.

 

An eye snapped open to stare out at him, wildness reflected in the blue-black depths. Slowly, John pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “What?” he asked with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

 

“You were dreaming,” Stefano answered, going to sit back down in the armchair.

 

“Didn’t scream out or anything, right?” John muttered, looking away as if ashamed.

 

“No. Nothing like that. I was just worried,” was the studied reply. “You don’t still do that much, do you?”

 

“What, scream? Nah, that’s something I make other people do, you know that!” Grinning a manic gin, John dismissed the question and rose to his feet, stretching out the kinks. Thank God it was finally dark outside and they could start thinking of getting Marlena back. If he had to wait any longer, he would have lost it completely.

 

“Where’s that Vivian woman? Shouldn’t she be here by now?” John asked distractedly as he checked over his weapons, the act as much a mental preparation as a physical one.

 

“‘That Vivian woman’ as you so eloquently put it, is a lot sharper than you give her credit for. I would suggest you show her a little respect when she returns. ‘If’ she returns. You were not exactly gracious during your last encounter.”

 

Shrugging indifferently, John slung the shotgun across his shoulder. “So? You boffing my aunt or what?” He asked casually, studying Stefano with wry amusement.

 

“Remind me why I sent you to college? And what business of yours is it if I am,” Stefano replied, cocking an eyebrow and shooting John a superior look.

 

“No business at all,” John answered with an ugly grin. “Just thinking about what I’m going to tell Marlena. ‘Hi, honey, I’m back! While we’re here, why don’t I introduce you to my brother, the pervert who was trying to force you into marriage. Oh, and this is my aunt who is currently screwing Stefano, the ‘other’ man you hate with every fiber of your being. If we’re really lucky, they’ll get married and then Stefano Dimera, the criminal mastermind wanted in almost every country with indoor plumbing, he’ll be not only my father figure but my uncle as well!’ Yes, this is going to be a beautiful reunion. I can just see it now!”

 

“What makes you think Marlena hates me?” Stefano asked in a wounded tone, ignoring the issue of Vivian.

 

“Perhaps the fact that every other sentence out of her mouth is ‘I hate Stefano’?”

 

“I think she likes me, she’s just embarrassed to admit it,” Stefano said complacently.

 

“I’d be embarrassed too,” John muttered under his breath, tiring of the argument.

 

A sharp wrap on the door interrupted their discussion, and John faded silently back against the wall.

 

“Ah, Stefano! I thought I would drop in for an after dinner drink,” Vivian’s high-pitched voice called out. She stepped quickly into the room, sliding along with her back to the wall and her eyes actively searching for John. He couldn’t help a small smile at her performance. Deciding a bit of charm couldn’t hurt, he stepped forward from his place against the wall. “I am grateful you came,” he said, giving her a small bow.

 

“Nephew,” she nodded back with a pleased smile as she moved to the center of the room. “Really, Stefano, couldn’t you have shown the dear boy to the shower? He’s still all covered in that horrid black gunk!” she commented, breezing by Dimera and settling herself comfortably at the table. In the absence of knives, she was beginning to feel much more at ease about this situation. She had almost decided not to return after the events of last night, but the lure of ousting Mikos was simply too strong. Perhaps this would all work to her benefit in the end.

 

“What can you tell us?” Stefano asked, moving to sit across from Vivian, John choosing to maintain his post by the door and simply listen, at least for the moment.

 

“Well, most of the news is good. Mikos has had Marlena locked in her room. She is to receive no visitors until she actually calls out and asks for Mikos. So… If she were to disappear, one could have a decent head start before her absence was noted.”

 

“And is she all right? Can she be moved safely?” Stefano prodded, pouring Vivian a glass of wine in an effort to keep her happy.

 

“I did manage to speak to the physician who saw her. A mild concussion, nothing serious. But…. Mikos ordered that she be sedated. I think she must have… resisted him, bruised his ego in some way,” Vivian said, choosing her words carefully as she watched John’s face begin to darken. “Anyway, the doctor gave her a shot. She’s probably still under its effects, at least according to the doctor.”

 

“I can carry her out,” John noted tightly, his hatred for his brother seeming to grow with each new word. “But the kids. What did you find out about the children?”

 

“Nothing, I’m afraid. Mikos put Dimitri, the head of security, in charge of the children. I know they were driven into town late last night and flown out by helicopter. I don’t know where they are now. I’m sorry, John. Truly.”

 

“Marlena won’t leave without the children, John. Mikos is using them to blackmail her. I know it’s why she agreed to the marriage. She can’t leave until the children are safe,” Stefano commented, watching John for his reaction.

 

“Marlena is leaving. Tonight. With or without the children. That is not subject for debate,” John answered coldly. “We will find the children. We’ll find them if I have to string Dimitri up by his thumbs and beat the location out of him. But Marlena leaves this house tonight. She will not be forced to ‘resist’ that son of a bitch again!”

 

Stefano merely nodded, not liking the idea but not having any alternative either. “So when do you go? The sooner the better?”

 

“Any patrols you know of?” John asked, with a nod toward his aunt.

 

“About every half-hour they walk the halls. They really shouldn’t be that hard to avoid. But Mikos is the only one with a key…”

 

“Not an issue,” John replied tersely.

 

“Then you go after the next patrol?” Stefano asked.

 

“Unless you have a better idea…”

 

***

 

He crept silently across the hall, ears pricked for the slightest hint of a guard. So close…. Too close to screw up now. Dropping to his knees he fumbled at the lock, trembling hands refusing to do as his mind commanded. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his face and tried again. This time the faint click of the lock indicated his success. Gingerly he pushed the door open and stepped into the room, seeing nothing in the dim light.

 

He didn’t need his eyes to tell him she was here. He could feel her presence. Smell her scent in the air. Hear the very beat of her heart. A tremor ran through his body as pain he hadn’t known he felt suddenly eased and a genuine smile curved his lips for the first time since she had been taken. Soundlessly he pulled the door shut behind him and moved to her side.

 

He didn’t want to frighten her, to startle her by touching her in the darkness. He didn’t want to touch her at all until he was certain that it was what she wanted. Carefully he reached out and turned on the table lamp that sat beside the bed. The golden glow chased back the shadows and illuminated the body of the sleeping woman. With a low moan, her head turned away from the light and she muttered out in her sleep. “No… please, no.”

 

Oh sweet Jesus, she had been hit. Her cheek stood out, purpled and swollen. This was the result of no accident. No trip down the stairs. No fall from a bike. A human hand had done this to her. He knew the signs all too well. Knew how it felt to deliver such a blow. Knew how it felt to receive one.

 

Crouching at her side, the tears trailed down his face as his hand hovered above her broken flesh. Wishing he could make it go away. Knowing that he couldn’t.

 

“Doc? Marlena? Can you hear me?” he whispered raggedly, his fingers dropping to gently caress the silky blond hair that lay spread across the pillow. “Baby, please. It’s John. Please open your eyes for me.”

 

She sobbed in her sleep and he knew that the pills must still be clouding her mind. Maybe it was better that way. He didn’t want her to wake up here. Not while she was still in this place. Not while she would still know fear. Ever so gently he reached out and wrapped the thick blanket around her slim form. Effortlessly he took her in his arms, holding her as if she were a child. Holding her as if she were the only thing on this earth that mattered to him.

 

Swiftly he made his way out the door and down the hall, making certain to secure the doors behind him in his wake. His pursuers would come soon enough and he would need every second he could get to assure her safety. He had her back, he would not lose her again.

 

***

 

As if from a great distance she heard the sharp crackle of a fire. Felt the glow of the heat against the side of her face. Her face… it hurt. Moaning under her breath, she tried to bring her hand up to rub against her sore cheek, but her body refused to respond. Drugging her. Mikos was drugging her, the panicked thoughts shot through her confused mind as she recognized the effects of the sedative. No drugs. Please Lord, no drugs. “My baby,” she whispered out fearfully through the haze of unconsciousness.

 

“Marlena, shhh…,” he said in a low voice as he crouched at her side. Reaching down, he brushed back a damp strand of hair, the feel of her skin beneath his hand a gift he had feared lost forever. “Your babies are fine, Marlena. I promise you, I will get them back. I swear it. Just rest. I will take care of everything.”

 

A broad grin lit his face as her eyelids began to flutter. Not wanting to scare her, he dropped his hand and sank back on his heels. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he called softly as her eyes finally seemed to focus on him.

 

“I’m dreaming,” she muttered weakly, knowing that John could not be here, no matter how badly she wished it were true. “If you were dreaming, I’d be Brad Pitt,” he replied, looking down on her with a contented grin.

 

“John?” she whispered, her eyes widening as she tried to sit up, gasping as the pain lanced through her head like a knife.

 

Instantly he was there, his big hand cradling her head, easing her back down to the soft surface of the sleeping bag that lay stretched upon the sand. “Go slow, baby. You were hurt, you have to go slow,” he said worriedly as he knelt above her and peered down into her eyes. He saw the panic flash through those golden depths a moment before her hand shot up to latch onto the neck of his T-shirt in an unbreakable grip. With a strength that surprised him, she yanked him down until his body pressed close against hers and it was all that he could do to keep his entire weight from crushing down on her slender form.

 

She squeezed her eyes tight shut and held him close, her free hand wrapping around his broad back while she clutched at the thin fabric of his shirt. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, but I knew you would come. I knew it, but… What took you so long!” she babbled, the words rushing together incoherently as her mind raced and her heart seemed to sing.

 

Frightened by her reaction, he looked down to see the tears streaming across her battered cheek. She was never going to forgive him. Not after he had left her for so long. Not after what Alamain had done to her. “Marlena, let go. Please, Doc, let me up before I hurt you,” he said, struggling to brace himself on his elbows and keep his body from smashing her.

 

“No!” she said stubbornly, her head shaking back and forth as the hand at his back wrapped itself around the material of the T-shirt. “I won’t let go. You can’t make me. What took you so long!?”

 

“I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he soothed, finally managing to bring his hand around to press against the small of her back. With a muffled grunt, he pulled her to him and rolled over on his side, relaxing down against the cool sand. She clung tightly to him, burying her face in his chest, and it felt so right to have her close to him. It felt so good. He bit down hard on his lip, trying to ignore the way his body responded to her as his right hand continued to pat awkwardly at her back.

 

She lost herself in the sharp male scent of him, knowing that as long as she was in his arms, she was safe. Wherever she was, she was safe in his arms. Finally the frantic pounding of her heart seemed to slow and her hands loosened ever so slightly as she began to accept that he was real and not just some figment of her imagination. Tilting her head to the side, she muttered, “You stink!”

 

His chuckle shook his entire body, and she could not help but smile as he replied, “I missed you too.”

 

“I knew you’d come. I told Mikos you would!” she said almost fiercely, looking up to gaze into his eyes. Feeling his body tense at her words. Knowing immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say.

 

With a firm hand, he pushed her away and slowly sat up. His face was blank, his emotions hidden away behind a stonefaced mask. Marlena didn’t need to see his face to know his thoughts. She didn’t need to see the ways his hands clenched into fists or the vein in the side of his neck pulsed hard and fast. She didn’t need to see him at all to know what he was thinking. To know that it scared her.

 

She pulled her knees to her chest and slowly sat up, noticing for the first time the cool air that cut through her thin nightgown. Looking across to where he sat watching her, she couldn’t help a tremble that had nothing to do with the cold.

 

“He didn’t touch you, did he? He didn’t hurt you?” John asked calmly.

 

The look in his eyes frightened her. The thought of what he might do…. Numbly, she shook her head. “No, he didn’t hurt me John. Really.”

 

“Somebody hurt you,” he replied gently, reaching out toward the bruise on her face. Glancing down in guilt when she flinched away from his touch.

 

“No. It was an accident. Really John, it’s okay,” she said, her hand coming up to cover the bruise, to hide it from his eyes.

 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” he asked, looking up with a crooked smile.

 

“He’s your brother. Did you know that? He’s your family…,” she trailed off, avoiding his question and trying to defuse the anger she sensed twisting within the man she loved like some dark force that would steal him away from her.

 

“I know he’s my brother, Marlena. I simply don’t care. You are the only family that matters to me. The only one that will ever matter,” he said coldly, his eyes narrowing as the rage he felt bubbled to the surface.

 

“John, I want to go home. I want to go home now. That’s all I want, to go home with you and our children and to never think about Mikos Alamain again,” she said, reaching forward to link her hand in his. “Take me home, John. Take me home and never leave. Please?”

 

She was so beautiful. Always had been. So beautiful and so much more than beautiful. She filled the empty places in his soul, and he would do anything she asked of him. Mikos Alamain wasn’t worth the look of fear on her face. With a rueful shrug, he finally smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Dimera can have him. It’ll be punishment enough. Hell, if I know Stefano, he’ll eat the man’s liver for dinner.”

 

She exhaled a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and pulled herself forward until she was nestled in his arms. Laying her head back against his shoulder, she smiled. “I will assume you’re kidding.”

 

“More like wishful thinking,” he responded, dropping his head to nuzzle lightly against her hair.

 

“Mikos Alamain isn’t worth wasting your time on. Not when you should be home with me and our children,” she said as she moved their linked hands to rest against her stomach, the thought of John holding their child in his arms bringing tears to her eyes.

 

“Are you sure you want me to go home with you,” he asked in a low voice, the question startling her from her happy thoughts.

 

“Hm? Well, where else would we go? John, there is no way I plan on living the rest of my life in one of Stefano Dimera’s ‘safehouses’!”

 

He snorted in wry amusement despite himself. With a shake of his head, he forced himself to ask the question again. “No. No, I meant, are you certain you want me to go back with you. Marlena, I promised to take care of you. To watch over you. So far, I’ve failed pretty miserably. Doc, you might be safer without me.”

 

Her grip on his hand tightened and she said in a small voice, “I don’t want to be without you, John. I don’t ever want to be without you.”

 

Afraid to ask why, he was simply willing to accept it. It was far more than he deserved.

 

“I won’t leave you again, Marlena. I was stupid, careless, to let you out of my sight. You should never have been brought here and I know it’s my fault. I won’t make that mistake again,” he said flatly.

 

She wanted to absolve him. Wanted to pin the blame squarely where it belonged, on Mikos and his warped little mind. But there was no way she was going to get John started thinking about Mikos again, and anything that would keep John at home, she could live with. Instead, she leaned back and planted a light kiss along the line of his jaw, feeling his breath quicken at the touch of her lips. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

 

His head dropped to cradle in the crook of her neck and his arms wrapped around her in a crushing hug. “I love you too,” he whispered back.

 

She relaxed against the broad expanse of his chest, the fear finally beginning to fade. “When do we go? I can’t wait to see the children, John. After the accident, I don’t remember…. Are you sure they’re all right?”

 

Guilt surged through him. She didn’t know. She thought they were safe. Oh God, she was not going to like this. Keeping his voice calm and even, he carefully chose his words. “They’re fine, Marlena. Vivian said that other than a few bruises, the kids walked away just fine. And you’ll see them soon. Bo’s already working on it. We should know where they were taken any time now.”

 

She froze beneath his grasp, seeming to shrink in on herself as the import of the words became clear. “He still has the children? Mikos still has the kids?” she asked, her voice rising as the fear firmly took hold again.

 

“Not for long,” he said, trying to calm her down.

 

Pulling away from him, she lurched to her feet and walked to the fire, putting her hands out to the flames and trying to chase away the bone deep chill that seemed to possess her. Mikos had her children… she was still not free. “He will hurt them, John. He will hurt them because he knows it will hurt me. He told me as much,” she said in a distant voice.

 

Cursing Mikos for the bastard he was John stood, helplessly watching her. Nothing he said would matter. Not in the face of a threat against her children. Knowing it was futile, he said with as much confidence as he could muster, “We will get them back, Marlena. Before he has a chance to do anything to the children, we will get them back. Bo will find them before Alamain even realizes you are gone. Trust me.”

 

She refused to turn and face him, instead staring down into the crackling flames of the pit. “Can you promise me the children will be safe and that you will get them away before Mikos knows I’m gone?” she asked woodenly.

 

“I promise you,” he replied without hesitation.

 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” she asked, throwing his words back at him as she turned to face him.

 

The flames rose up behind her, the white silk of her gown translucent before the blaze. He simply stared at her, knowing that he would lie to her in a heartbeat if he thought it would spare her any pain.

 

His silence was the only answer she needed, and she quickly turned away. “I have to go back,” she whispered.

 

“What?!” he choked out, unable to believe what he had heard.

 

She wrapped her arms around herself and thought of her children. The risk was too great. She could not leave Mikos until she knew that they were safe. He would kill them. Purely out of spite, he would kill them, she knew it in her heart. “Just until you get the children. Please, John. It will be okay. If he doesn’t even know I was gone…”

 

“The man ‘hit’ you, Marlena!” John exploded, taking an angry step in her direction.

 

“I can stay away from him, John. I can handle him!” she snapped, hating that John was arguing with her about this. Couldn’t he see, she had no choice?! Didn’t he know how hard this was for her?!

 

“You’re right. You will stay away from him. Far away from him. There is no way I will let that son of a bitch drag you back to him,” he stated flatly, as if that somehow ended the discussion.

 

Her temper flared at his tone. She was a grown woman. She would do what had to be done to protect her children. Trying not to think too hard about the child she now carried inside, she turned to face him. “The choice is mine, John. I want to go back,” she said coldly.

 

“Marlena, I don’t give a damn what you want! I’m not letting you get anywhere near that man. Not now. Not ever. Not for any reason. Got it?!” he hissed, blue eyes narrowed in anger.

 

“You can’t stop me,” she shot back at him.

 

“Want to bet?”

 

She took a step toward the passageway and he moved to block her way.

 

“You stay here, Marlena. End of discussion.”

 

Chapter 78 [NC~17]

 

“I have to go back.”

 

“No.”

 

“For the children. I have to go back.”

 

“I won’t let you.”

 

She studied him, standing before her blocking her way. The flames of the fire a play of light and shadow across his face, revealing and distorting so that he seemed to shift before her gaze. Husband, father, killer, thief. A blur of men, of memories, of emotions. A blur that shifted with every flicker of flame. Only the eyes were real, gleaming out at her with the purest of blues. There was no lie in those eyes. No hint of hesitation. He would never let her go back to Alamain. Not now. Not ever.

 

Anger flushed her face and she stalked toward him. “These are my children, John. Not yours. You have no right to prevent me!” she lashed out, wanting the words to hurt him. Wanting them to make him let her go.

 

She achieved one of her goals. His face went pale and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “That’s not fair, Marlena. You know it’s not!” he growled out, his voice low and dangerous.

 

“It wasn’t meant to be. Now get out of my way,” she said coldly, brushing past him as she made for the doorway.

 

“No!” he shouted harshly, his hand leaping forward to stop her progress. His fingers tangling in the soft cloth of the gown. Dragging her back. Tearing at the fragile silk.

 

She whirled around at his touch, eyes blazing with fury and he stared back at her, shocked by what he had done. The shreds of the fabric dangled from his hand, swaying softly on the air as she stood before him, her wild hair a flaming mane of red and gold that shimmered in the light of the fire. Alabaster skin stood exposed, her firm breasts rising and falling with every gasping breath. Half-naked in the firelight, she was lust incarnate. “I will never let him touch you again,” he hissed out, his eyes holding hers in a molten stare.

 

She felt a shiver run through her frame, her skin prickling as his eyes swept over her. Wordlessly, she turned away from him and stepped again toward the tunnels. His big hand grabbed her wrist, holding her firm.

 

“Let me go,” she said flatly, the panic starting to rise as she realized that he was willing to use force to make her stay.

 

“No,” was the stoic response.

 

The touch of his hand was too much. He felt so warm. So alive. So hers. How could she leave him to return to one who made her skin crawl? Who made her feel dirty with the merest touch of his glance? In a sudden frenzy, she tried to pull free, using her weight to jerk against his hold. “Let me go!” she half screamed, twisting her body away from him while she still had the will to leave.

 

With an angry grunt, he pulled her back until she stood pressed close against him. She could feel his heat against her back, even through the canvas of his field jacket. His arms looped tightly around her and his warm breath brushed against her ear as he softly whispered. “Never.”

 

She spun in his arms, so angry she couldn’t see. Her hands slammed against his chest, pounding at him with her fists. Stone-faced, he stood immune to her onslaught and in sudden frustration she raked her nails down his throat and chest to leave bleeding gashes that showed clearly beneath his torn T-shirt.

 

He snarled at the pain, his hands snaking up to grab her wrists, his ripped flesh burning from her touch. With one hand he held her crossed wrists above her head as he shoved her back against the stone walls of the cavern. Chest to chest they stood, the rough material of his jacket rubbing against her swollen nipples with every gasp of air he took.

 

“Let me go,” she moaned out softly, her breath catching in her throat as she tilted her head back to look up at him.

 

For an answer, he crushed his body to hers, his knee wedging between her legs as his head dropped to nip lightly down her throat. His lips came to nestle in the hollow of her throat, and she could feel his reply rippling across her skin. “Never.”

 

She growled at him then, straining upward to lay her lips against the furrows she had drawn on his neck. His head arched back as the wounds burned and he could not help but grind against her, a low moan rumbling through his body. “I will never let you go. Never,” he swore, his head tilted back to stare into the darkness as his body surrendered itself to her will.

 

She wanted the world to know that he was hers. Her only one. The only one she would ever want. Her right leg crept up his thigh, looping itself around him as she sank her teeth into the side of his neck, sucking hard so that there would be no doubt that he had been marked. With a harsh cry he released her hands and grabbed at her face. She rose to meet him and as his fingers tangled in her hair her lips met his in a hungry kiss.

 

His jacket slipped from his shoulders as her hands tore the remains of his T-shirt away. He sucked her tongue, desperate to posses her mouth as her hands ran across his broad chest. His cock strained against the tough material of his fatigues, his hips jerking as her fingers teased across his concealed hardness. And then she had him in her cool hand and his head snapped back as if he had been burnt.

 

“Jesus…” he hissed out to the shadows.

 

“Hardly,” she whispered in his ear as her white teeth clamped down on his earlobe and her hand stroked down his rigid member. This time when he screamed out, it was her name he called.

 

Her name on his lips. Only his lips. Only for him. This was only for him. The thought pounded in her mind as he shuddered in her grip. Her free hand crept around his back, exploring the smooth expanse of skin as her head dropped to tease at the pink bud of his nipple. His face nestled in her hair and she could feel his whispered words as he ground out his mantra. “I will never let you go. I will never let you go…”

 

He convulsed against her, voice cracking with the strain. Almost violently she was lifted into the air, his hands tearing away the remaining strands of her gown. She locked her legs behind his hips and leaned back against the hard rock. With one sudden thrust he was inside her. Buried to the hilt, he froze and stared into her eyes, relishing the feel of her body wrapped around his.

 

He was liquid fire inside of her and she could feel him throbbing though he made no movement. Her legs clenched tighter and she rocked against him, watching as he sobbed for breath at the slightest hint of friction. His hands tightened on her waist and he slowly drew back, flesh rubbing against flesh. She felt as if she were floating, the smooth glide of muscle an endless pleasure that would continue until it killed her. Just before the contact was lost he rammed forward, splitting her in half with the force of his thrust.

 

She bucked in his tight grip moaning with every blow he pounded into her. Her back ground into the rocks, sharp edges scraping against sweating flesh. The world seemed to blur as the heat consumed her, tingling along every nerve in her body. The only sound she could hear was the frantic beat of her own heart. And then he screamed…

 

Muscles she didn’t know she had suddenly seemed to shatter and he was shooting into her, his heavy warmth filling her every crevice. With a muffled sob he sank slowly to his knees, still cradling her against him. Tears streaked his face and whiskers scrapped against her cheek as he whispered brokenly. “I will never let you go.”

 

***************

 

Eons had passed. Eons or minutes, it didn’t really matter. Eternity would not be long enough for her to be with him. Cupping the side of his face, she ran her thumb across his cheekbone, relishing the gentle sigh her touch provoked. “I love you. I was born to love only you,” she whispered down at his dark head, huddled against her chest.

 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, his arms encircling her. Luxuriating in the feel of her soft skin. She flinched as his hand skimmed across flesh rubbed raw by the rocks of the walls, and he sat up to look at her, concern in his eyes.

 

“I hurt you,” he said softly, pain in his voice.

 

“You never hurt me,” she replied with a small smile, her hand going out to trail through his damp hair.

 

“I always hurt you,” he answered bitterly. Avoiding her eyes, he slipped away from her and walked to the edge of the spring. Flames reflected off of black water, light and shadow clashing in an endless war, an eternal dance. With a rueful smile, he wondered if it was a sign. Prayed that it was not. Knowing that eventually the fire would burn itself out. The flames would die. The light would fade. In the end, there would be only the darkness.

 

Cold had replaced the warmth where his body should be. A chill ran through her, and she reached out to snag his jacket. Pulling it tight around her shoulders, she wrapped herself in his essence and watched him, standing alone beside a pool of flickering fire. She shivered again, realizing that he had spent far too much of his life alone. Silently she rose and went to him, rubbing her hands gently across the tight muscles of his shoulders. Feeling him tense at the light caress.

 

“I will never understand why you choose to love me,” he rasp out, voice thick with emotion.

 

Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed against the smooth warm skin of his back. “Choice has very little to do with it,” she replied with a soft chuckle.

 

Shifting in her embrace, he turned to face her. Silently his hand rose, his fingers reaching out to lightly trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. Blue eyes shone, the flicker of firelight reflecting down on her. “I would die for you,” he said roughly. “You know that, don’t you? My life is the only thing I have to give you. The only gift I can offer.”

 

Involuntarily, her hand dropped to her flat stomach as thoughts of her child ran through her head. “That is not your only gift to me,” she whispered softly, pulling herself close against him and resting her head against his chest. Her child. Their child. His child. He should know.

 

A smile crossed her face at the thought of his reaction. A little boy. A little girl. A tiny miracle, symbolizing their love for one another. She wanted this for him more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life. Slowly, she lifted her head. Fastened golden eyes on his face. Memorized every detail of the moment. And realized that he could not know. Not here. Not now. Instead, she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “I love you. We will always be together, I promise you. But I have to go back. Sweetie, you have to let me,” her words said softly as she ran her hands slowly through his hair.

 

His eyes closed and she could feel the tremors shaking his lean body. He dropped his head and with a tear streaked face whispered brokenly. “I know.”

 

She pulled him close, her arms wrapping around him in fiercely protective grip. “I will always love you,”she said, rubbing his back in gentle soothing circles. Without reply, he bent down and lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms. The jacket slipped from her shoulders, the chill of the air bringing goose pimples to her skin, and she curled against him seeking his warmth. His contact. With steady steps he walked slowly into the water, wading out into the warm depths of the hot spring.

 

She listened to the strong steady beat of his heart as the water crept up his thighs, swirling against the dark material of his fatigues, growing almost uncomfortably hot as he neared the source of the flow cascading down over a jumbled mass of smooth boulders. She sighed in contentment as the waters enveloped her, her hair trailing out behind her, quicksilver dancing on the waves.

 

So gently it seemed as if he were afraid of breaking her, he set her down on the smooth warm surface of the rocks. Steaming streams of water washed over her, caressing her bare skin in an endless flow. The dirt and the sweat were swept away as she stretched like a lazy cat in the sun.

 

He watched her with hooded eyes, a still figure standing in the shadows. Saw how her body shone, luminous under the falling sheets of dark water. Felt how his body responded, every fiber of his being coming alive. Knew how he had to touch her. Now. Forever. Always.

 

Suddenly desperate for her, he glided forward to rest one hand on the base of the rocks. His other hand ran up her side, the water curling over his fingers like a living thing. She sighed beneath his caress, her body stretching out across the polished stones. Flawless skin, tawny and golden beneath the running waters. It seemed to flow beneath his fingers, alive and warm. Created solely for his touch. To posses such beauty was a grace he knew he did not deserve. In the end, he knew it would not be allowed. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand back, to have her only to lose her the one thing he knew would break him.

 

Every sensation seemed heightened. The water roared in her ears and her flesh quivered with the heat of its passing. The smooth stroke of his hand seared her flesh as a low moan rumbled through her chest. And then he was gone, the loss of his touch turning her cold beneath the heated waters. She opened her eyes and sat up. Saw him watching her, the swirling waters pounding to white foam against his bare chest. In his eyes, there was fear. Fear for her. Fear of losing her.

 

“I will come back,” she whispered. “I promise you, I will not leave you.”

 

He looked away, unwilling to hold her gaze. Unable to make himself believe.

 

With a sigh, she reached forward. Stroked his face. Eminently grateful now that she had not told him of his child. “I’m stronger than I look, you know?” she teased him with a tiny grin as she reached out with a toe to scrape across his taut abs.

 

He flinched in surprise and looked up at her. “Oh, I know that,” he replied with a small smile.

 

She did not want this night to end in fear. She had experienced enough fear to last a lifetime. They both had. She would tolerate no more. Shifting forward on the rocks, she leaned out to run her hands down his sides, skimming lightly over the ridges of hard muscle. Teasing across the raised outline of an old scar. Coming to rest on the rough material of the fatigues that were now plastered to his body. Suddenly realizing that he was still half dressed, she pushed him gently away, raising a cocked eyebrow.

 

“Why is it that I always seem to be the one who ends up naked?” she asked, a grin lighting her face as the pure joy of being with him washed over her.

 

As always, her smile seemed to lighten his heart. With a shy grin of his own, he gave a slight shrug. “Coincidence?”

 

“Try again,” she replied, feigning consternation.

 

“Mmm…. God’s a man?” he answered, the look on her face almost forcing a chuckle from him. The look should have been a warning, but he was too slow.

 

Lightening fast she was on top of him, bearing him down beneath the waters with her weight. Clever fingers tugged at his waist, and then he was allowed to rise for air. Breaking the surface. Shaking the hair from his eyes. Seeing her standing before him, water up to her neck and his belt held triumphantly in her hands.

 

“Better get those boots off, baby. Guess what I’m going after next!” her voice range out cheerfully, delight in her tone.

 

Impishly she stood before him. Taunting him with her incredible body, teasing him with the look in her eyes. Gods, she was beyond price! He could not help the laughter, ringing out deeply to echo off of the stoney walls. “You’ll have to catch me first, little one,” he challenged her before diving beneath the water and swimming toward shore with strong smooth strokes.

 

The water was knee high, splashing up beneath his booted feet in shining crystal drops, when he felt strong arms wrapping around his legs. Twisting as he fell, he ended up lying on the cool sand of the bank as she tugged at his laces of his boots.

 

Propping himself on his elbows, he watched with amusement as she flung first one and then the other of his boots to the side. Wiggling her eyebrows in what he could only assume was a horrible Groucho Marx impersonation, she said cockily, “To the victor go the spoils. Pucker up, loverboy!”

 

Flinging herself forward, she wiggled seductively against his chest as their lips locked in a kiss that was half caress, half competition. For long moments, the only sound was the gentle flow of the water and the deep growl in his chest as the need for her sang through his veins. When she finally broke the kiss, he lay gasping beneath her longing for more.

 

“Are you ever going to make an honest woman of me?” she asked faintly as the ability to breathe slowly returned.

 

Startled by the comment, he suddenly went cold. Rolling her over gently in his arms, he straddled her slim hips and looked down on her. “What?”

 

The look of confusion on his face was priceless and if the question had not been so important to her she would have laughed aloud. Instead, she simply smiled and reached up to clasp her hands behind his neck, pulling him down until his face hovered above her own. “John, I’m asking you to marry me,” she said softly.

 

Almost guilty he glanced away. With a sudden surge of muscle, he was on his feet walking away from her. Leaving her lying alone, feeling cold and empty. It was not what she had expected of him, and she curled in on herself, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees as if it would somehow protect her from the hurt.

 

“Why would you want me?” the words carried to her, flat and emotionless.

 

“What, the great sex isn’t enough of a reason?” she replied bitterly.

 

His steps faltered and she saw his hands clench at his sides as he realized what he had done. Slowly he turned to face her, wounded eyes dropping to meet her own. In an instance he was beside her, falling to his knees in the white sand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered gently. Cautiously, he reached out to brush away the trail of tears on her cheeks. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… Marlena, it never occurred to me that you would want me… that way.”

 

Her laughter verged on the hysterical, and she turned her head away from his touch. “Well I’m not sure what more I could have done to show you how I feel, John. How many ways do you think there are to say ‘I love you. I want you. I need you’?” she said softly, in a voice that was almost a sob.

 

“Marlena? Doc… look at me. Please?” he pleaded. Eyes clouded with anger and pain turned to meet his own, and he cringed inside, knowing that he was the one who had done this to her.

 

The shame and the fear made his chest tighten. Made his words harsh. “Marlena, I am the one who brought you to this. All of the pain, all of the danger. God! Your children are gone, pawns to be used against you! I did this to you! I have destroyed your life. Perhaps even ended it, if you insist on going back to Alamain. My damn brother! Hell, it must be written into my genetic code that I will wreck everything that is good and pure in my life. Marlena, I don’t want to do that to you. I won’t do it.”

 

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her voice was cold and distant when she finally answered him. “So was it always a lie? Did you never intend to return with me to Salem? Was that your plan all along? Placate the little woman until you could get her safely home and then disappear into the night without a word? Damn you!” she hissed, pulling away from his grasping hands. Stalking to the edge of the dark water, she wrapped her arms around a body that seemed suddenly exposed and raw.

 

He knelt in the sand, his face resting in his hands. Still turned away from where she now stood, he replied almost gently. “I have never lied to you, Marlena. Never knowingly. I want to be with you more than I want to take my next breath of air. I would have gone with you anywhere. It’s not like I could stop myself if I wanted to. I will always be with you. Watch over you. Protect you. I have sworn this to you. I swear it again, here and now.”

 

She shivered at his words, knowing that he meant them. She could not be angry with him. Not for his fears. Not when she knew that they were well earned. But she could not accept having only a part of him in her life. Her hands dropped to cradle against her stomach, searching for some sign from the tiny life that she knew grew within. Sadly, she turned to face him, taking in his huddled pose. “John, I don’t need a watchdog. I need a husband. Someone to share my life with, fully and completely. You are the only man I will ever want, but I will have you in body and in soul, or I will not have you at all,” she said gently, her anger replaced by sorrow.

 

Carefully, he approached her. Wondering what was best. Wondering what was right for her. He wanted her. Wanted to be with her in this life and beyond. But what he wanted wasn’t important. It never had been.

 

Reaching out, he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face. “I will hurt you,” he said with certainty. “Being with me will hurt you.”

 

She stretched up, brushing his lips with the barest touch of her own. Holding his gaze, she softly replied. “I love you. I trust you. Grant me the trust to make my own decision.”

 

For the briefest instance he hesitated, feeling the danger, tasting the fear. Then his heart overwhelmed him, and he dropped to his knees. Taking her hand in his own, he looked up into her face. His voice rang clear as he asked, “Marlena, will you grant me the honor? Will you marry me?”

 

A smile broke across her face, and tears again trickled down her cheeks. His big hand gave hers a gentle squeeze and she threw herself forward into his embrace. Laughter burbled up as his arms wrapped around her so tight that she could barely breathe. The sense of relief made her giddy, and giggles fought with the tears as she wheezed out, “Let me think about it!”

 

He rolled her over in the sand, the warm water lapping at their sides. “You are an evil woman,” he hissed, refusing to loosen his grip for fear that somehow she would be swept away from him if he did.

 

For a reply, she pressed her lips to his. A cool dry kiss that turned instantly into something more. Longing and desire. Anger and fear. All wrapped up in the sweetest kiss he had ever tasted. When she finally drew back to look at him, he had to remind his heart to start beating again.

 

Satisfaction in her voice, she whispered softly. “Well, you deserved it. And ‘yes’, I will marry you.”

 

He had feared this. Had avoided thinking of his place in her future. But at her words, all of his defenses crumbled. Surging to his feet he swept her into his arms. The warm water welcomed them, soothing away the worries, washing away the tears. Buoying them up, their bodies entwining in an ever shifting embrace. His lips trailed down the arched curve of her throat and she could feel his laughter against her skin as she eased the zipper down on his fatigues, the waterlogged material drifting down to rest on the sandy bottom.

 

His fingers clenched tightly around her hips and hard muscles knotted as he lifted her high into the air. She threw her head back, joyous laughter crying out to the heavens as he whirled in place and she seemed suddenly capable of flight.

 

The drops of water shone on her bare skin, a million precious gems refracting the light of the fire. He held a rainbow in his hands and his heart broke at the beauty of it all. As he eased her back down into the comforting warmth of the water, her long legs wrapped around him, sliding smoothly across his slick skin. Making him shiver. Making him hard. Her lips caught his just as his legs collapsed beneath them. Floating in the embrace of the dancing waves, they made love. Slowly. Endlessly. As if for the first time. As if for the last.

 

Chapter 79

 

His arms were wrapped about her so tightly she could barely breathe. She wouldn’t have had it any other way. With a low sigh, she allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder and tried to pretend that time was standing still.

 

He looked down on her in awe. Her long legs stretched out toward the fire pit, the flames turning her skin to gold. He could feel her heavy breasts, soft and warm against the arms he held tight against her body. She was some mythical beast, some wild sprite, some beautiful gift from the Gods. She had never been meant to touch the dirt, yet here she was in his arms.

 

“What are you thinking?” She asked softly, her slender fingers playing across the back of his hand as if the need to touch him were an unquenchable thirst, impossible to sate.

 

“Mmm…. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said with a slow smile.

 

“Baby, if I’ve got it, you’ve seen it,” she laughingly replied. “But… I was thinking how good it feels to be with you. How empty it felt when he told me you died.” Her voice trailed off, even the memory of that pain overwhelming.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

 

“No! No, it worked. John, you made Mikos relax his guard. You…. If you had come here, like he asked…. Mikos wants to destroy you, John. He is completely fixated. On you, on… me.”

 

“You wonder why I think you would be better off without me?” he spat out tightly, his anger flashing out at the thought of how once again he had brought trouble to her door. Trouble and more than trouble, for if Mikos was truly John’s blood, then he would never willingly give Marlena up. Not if she sparked even a hint of the depth of feeling that pulsed through John with every beat of his heart.

 

“How can you be so cute and yet so wrong?” She said with a grin, intent now on shifting his thoughts away from Mikos and the danger he posed.

 

“You flatter me if you even pretend that I am worthy of you,” he answered gently, meaning every word he said.

 

“Is that what you were thinking just now?” She prodded. “Considering all of the ways in which I am perfect?”

 

She arched her eyebrows haughtily, and this time he gave in to her. A faint smile on his face, he allowed himself to nestle against the soft waves of her hair. “I was thinking that God lost an angel the day you fell to earth,” he teased, trying to break himself from the sense of unease that deepened with each passing moment.

 

“Does that cheesy pick-up line usually work for you?” she asked with a chuckle.

 

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the only woman I ever use cheesy pick-up lines on,” he whispered as he bent down to run his tongue lightly up the curve of her throat.

 

“You don’t need cheesy pick-up lines anymore. Don’t you remember, I already agreed to marry you,” she replied breathlessly, almost frightened at the ease with which his touch excited her.

 

“Mmm,” he groaned, dropping his head with a sigh. “You aren’t going to let me forget that, are you?”

 

“Not on your life,” she answered distractedly, both hands entwining themselves around his left hand and the ring it now bore. A ring from which blazed the image of a phoenix. “You took your wedding ring off,” she finally muttered.

 

When silence was his only reply, she forced herself to continue, the lack of a simple band of gold now looming large and somehow important. “You wore it in Salem. In West Virginia. You never took it off, not since you came back in Salem.”

 

“Didn’t realize you’d noticed,” he murmured uncomfortably, not wanting to think of how he had taken off his ring. Not wanting to remember the time without her, or to think of the time ahead when he would leave her again.

 

“Are all men so dense, or just you? I put that ring on your finger. Of course I noticed!” She tried to joke, but the tension carried through in her voice.

 

With a sigh that was half moan, he answered the question she refused to ask. “Bo has the ring, Marlena. I gave it to him.”

 

“Why does Bo have my ring?” she asked, stiffening in his grip as a hint of anger tinged her voice.

 

“I thought it was my ring?” he noted mildly.

 

“Whatever. Why did you give it to Bo? Why is it not on your finger where it is supposed to be? Why are you wearing a stupid bird ring instead of your wedding ring, mister?” She knew there was no point in getting angry, but the hormones were now raging and she would swear that damned bird on his finger was grinning at her.

 

‘Oh, Jeesh!’ he thought. It was never good when she got ‘that’ tone in her voice. “I told Bo that he was responsible for you. For your safety. I told him…. It’s up to him whether I wear that ring again. Whether he thinks I’m good enough, safe enough, for you to marry.”

 

As soon as the words fell from his lips, he knew they were a mistake. He cringed as her response cut through the cool air like a scimitar.

 

“Why exactly is Bo deciding who I should marry? Shouldn’t that be my decision to make?” she asked acerbically.

 

“Um…. You have very bad taste in men, Marlena. I thought it was better to leave it up to Bo,” he said, wincing slightly as if he expected her to hit him.

 

She whirled in his arms to face him, hazel eyes flashing fire. “I what?! I do not have bad taste in men!”

 

“Well, you did marry me…” He trailed off, hoping his innocent look would buy him a reprieve. After a moments thought on her part, it did.

 

With a brief chuckled, she craned upward to brush a light kiss against his lips. “That’s true,” she noted with a resigned sigh. “Just be sure you get it back.”

 

“Um, okay,” he muttered as she again snuggled down against his chest. Briefly he considered mentioning that Bo had strict instructions to destroy any perceived threat, especially if the threat came in the form of John himself. No, that was definitely not a discussion he felt like having with her at the moment.

 

“What time is it?” She asked with seeming nonchalance, bringing up the one thing he wanted to discuss even less than his missing wedding ring.

 

“Don’t know,” he muttered with a shrug.

 

“John?” she prodded, unwilling to let him pretend any longer.

 

“Maybe an hour, hour and a half before dawn,” he answered, not bothering to dig around in the sand for his watch. He knew what time it was, had counted every minute that had passed from the moment she had decided to return to Mikos. He had hoped she would forget until it was too late to go back. He should have known better. Where her children were concerned, there would be no forgetting.

 

“We should go,” she said, her voice growing distant, and he could feel the space between them widening even as he held her in his arms.

 

“No.” The word tore from him unbidden and he realized its futility even as he felt her stiffen and pull away.

 

Rising to her feet, she bent down and pulled his T-shirt from its sandy resting place. Tugging the black shirt over her head, she tried not to think about what she was doing. Fixing her thoughts on her children, she pushed away her worries for herself. Harder to dismiss were her thoughts of the child she carried inside. John’s child. Whatever else happened, she could let no harm come to his child.

 

“You look good in that. Maybe you should wear it more often,” he noted from his position before the fire. She did look good, even with the tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. The shirt hung to mid-thigh, highlighting those long slim legs and bringing out the glow of her skin. He doubted she had ever looked more beautiful, but then, he thought that every time he saw her.

 

“You’re stalling,” she noted quietly.

 

With a sigh he dropped his head to rub wearily at eyes that now seemed to burn. “How do you even know you can convince Mikos to bring the children back to you, Marlena? Bo and I will find them, leave this to us. You don’t need to go back.”

 

“John, I cannot have this argument with you again! Please! You know I have to stay until we are certain the children are safe. As long as I am with him, Mikos will do nothing to hurt them. He won’t! John, the formal ball is in only a few days. Mikos will have to bring the children back for that. He knows that I won’t go along with even the pretense of a wedding announcement if I don’t see the children, if I don’t know they are safe. I will make him bring the children to me. He wants this wedding too much to deny me.”

 

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” he asked bitterly, moving to pull a pair of dry fatigues from his pack.

 

“How do you think it makes me feel?” She whispered softly, finally allowing him to see her hurt.

 

“Shit! I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, startled into looking over at her. Draped in his shirt, she looked so small and alone. The last thing she needed was to argue with him. Grabbing his jacket, he moved to her side and wrapped the heavy canvas about her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, taking her into a hug that threatened to squeeze the breath from her lungs.

 

If he had his preference, he would have held her forever. But it was not what she wanted, certainly not what she needed right now. Finally, he forced himself to pull back. “You’re sure?” he asked gently.

 

Unwilling to meet his gaze, she merely nodded. “It’s only a few days, John. Only until the ball. You can come for us then, take us all home.”

 

“It’s a date,” he answered, tilting her face up until he could see into her eyes. “I will be there,” he said firmly, wanting her to know that it was true.

 

Finally, she unleashed one of those sparkling smiles, the kind she saved for him alone. “I know you will be there. You are always there for me, the one constant in my universe.”

 

She turned then and ducked through the narrow cutout in the iron door. As he followed her from the chamber, only the rocks heard his vow. “Always.”

 

***

 

He swung the door to her bedroom silently open, half expecting to face a squad of soldiers. Half regretful that he didn’t. It would have been easier than the thought of leaving her alone in here, vulnerable to whatever Mikos chose to do.

 

Marlena slipped into the room, unwilling to face John. To see the fear, the sense of betrayal that she knew flickered in the depths of those blue eyes. To allow him to see the fears that lay hidden within her own heart. This would be hard enough without having to look at him.

 

He pulled the door closed behind him, watching her as she walked through the darkened bedroom, her fingers lightly running across the furnishings as if to remind herself of where she was. As if to remind herself of why she was here.

 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, hoping for an excuse, any excuse, to take her away from this place.

 

“John, I’m sure,” she replied without emotion, refusing to rehash the issue. Walking slowly through the big room, she finally pulled to a stop before the fireplace, her eyes drawn to the painting that held a place of honor above the mantel. Mikos, in period dress astride a prancing white Arabian. A shudder ran through her as she studied his features, the feel those thick fingers still a dirty memory on her skin.

 

“Is that him? My brother?” John asked, moving to stand by her side, though hesitant to actually touch her.

 

“Yes,” she almost whispered, keeping the tremble from her voice only with an act of will.

 

John eyes narrowed, searching the portrait as if some trick of paint or pigment or brushstroke would reveal the soul of the man beneath. The soul of his enemy. His nemeses. His brother. Blood would tell, he knew that now. Blood they most definitely shared. John could see it in the man’s features, the high cheekbone, the curve of the jaw. “He looks just like me,” he muttered distractedly.

 

“He is nothing like you!” she responded, venom in her voice as if he had committed some sacrilege of which he was unaware.

 

His hand reached out to brush against her arm, but she jerked away from the touch. Turning from him, she went to perch atop the bed, watching his broad back. Seeing the muscles twitch as he fought the instinct to go to her. She studied him as he stood before the picture and wondered that she had ever thought there was a resemblance between the two men. They were as alike as a club to a straight razor. If there were any similarities between the two in concept, they were lost in execution. Mikos had John’s features, but blunter, harder, more course. His black eyes glinted out from beneath his broad brow with the predatory gaze of a scavenger bird. There was nothing of passion or warmth to him, only an emptiness that could never be filled. It hurt to think they shared the same genes. The same blood. The same anything. John was nothing like him at all.

 

She refused his touch and he could scarcely blame her. Staring up at his brother’s face, he finally realized that he had come full circle. This was home, who and what he was, glaring down at him in the face of his brother. The evil, the ugliness that had born him ultimately reclaiming its own. And she asked him to leave her here, at the mercy of monsters who had no soul?

 

“Behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him,” he intoned softly, the picture suddenly stirring a memory of chanting priests and sweet incense.

 

“John?” She asked hesitantly, not liking the sound of his voice, not liking the fear that cut through it.

 

Turning, he finally met her eyes. “Mikos is death, Marlena. If you stay here, only evil will come of it.”

 

Almost angry with him, she pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if to shut herself away from him, from his words that might change her mind. Sitting in this room, thoughts of Mikos running through her mind, it would be all too easy to let John have his way. “We have had this conversation. I can’t leave. Not now. Not until the children are safe. You know that!”

 

His heart hammered against his chest, each strong beat screaming the wrongness of this. In desperation, he crossed to her. Fell to his knees, as if in prayer. As if in supplication. “What I know is that if you stay, he will hurt you. Marlena, don’t ask this of me. You know I would do anything for you, but please, not this.”

 

“He won’t hurt me, John. You won’t let him,” she breathed out. And as the tears finally demanded their release, her hands reached down to knot in his hair in a painful grip. Pulling him to her, she gave in to one last kiss.

 

He could feel her trembling as he wrapped his arms around that fragile body and tasted lips made salty by her falling tears. He deepened the kiss and held her tight, pretending for the moment that no one could take her from his arms again. He let her go only when she turned her face away, breaking the kiss with a finality he could not argue. Helplessly, he put out his hand, as if somehow his touch could dry her eyes.

 

With a sharp shake of her head, she halted him in his tracks. “Go, John. Please, go while I still have the strength to send you,” she choked out raggedly.

 

When he still hesitated, she reached for his outstretched hand. Soft skin brushed across calloused fingers as she turned his hand over and laid a gentle kiss in his palm. “Go,” she whispered, her breath on his flesh making him ache.

 

Silently, he rose to his feet and she reluctantly let his hand fall from her fingers. Unable to watch, she listened as his footsteps marked his passage to the door. At the last instance, she turned to catch one final glimpse of him, only to find his eyes locked on hers. Those eyes shone, aglow with an unholy light, and she had a moment to be afraid of what she had done to him by making him leave.

 

He cracked a manic grin that bared his teeth and stated his words flatly, as if etching them into stone. “Not man, nor God, nor even death will keep me from you. Know that, lady.”

 

And with the barest whisper of sound, he was gone.

 

Chapter 80

 

The sound of the door pulling shut behind him seemed to echo with a forlorn finality. Sitting in the middle of the big bed, she doubted that she had ever felt so alone in her life. Reaching down, she rubbed her hands softly against her still flat stomach, wishing she could have told him, wishing she could have stayed with him. “Just a little while longer,” she whispered down to the life she carried inside. “A little longer and your daddy will take us all home.”

 

She knew she should get up. Shower, change her clothes, hide the T-shirt she now wore. She didn’t want to give up even that small piece of him, and with a sigh she decided not to. Not now, not for a little while at least. She could grant herself that much reprieve. Curling up in a small ball, she pulled the covers about her and tried to lose herself in the heady scent of him that still clung to her skin and clothes. Closing her eyes, she sought sleep, secure in the knowledge that he would come to her in her dreams. He would always come to her.

 

***

 

He stood in the hallway unable to move. Even being this far away from her hurt and he could not imagine that days must pass before he would see her again. Before he would touch her again. The sound of boots echoed down the hall, and without giving it a second thought he stepped across the hall and wrenched open the door to Dimera’s room. Sidling into the darkened room, he pulled the door shut and listened to the footsteps as they marched past his hiding place.

 

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice called sharply.

 

“The tooth fairy, who do you think?” he shot back, somehow comforted by the old man’s presence. If there was anyone who could understand how he felt about leaving Marlena, it would be Stefano.

 

“Alexander?” a woman’s voice muttered groggily, causing John to freeze in his tracks.

 

“Uh, Vivian. I wasn’t expecting…,” John trailed off awkwardly as Stefano flipped on the bedside lamp to reveal Vivian’s slender form curled possessively in his arms.

 

“Didn’t you teach the boy any manners?” Vivian asked peevishly, closing her eyes and resting her head on Stefano’s bare chest.

 

With a start, Stefano noted the time. Sitting up abruptly, he slapped a meaty hand against the ample rump that was barely covered by the thin white sheet. “Vivian, you have to go. It’s late, people will be about.”

 

Disentangling himself from her arms, he rose naked from the bed and crossed to the chair where his dressing gown had been carelessly tossed the night before.

 

“Five more minutes,” she muttered, snuggling against the pillow as he shrugged into the quilted gown and turned to face John.

 

“You should not be here, John. You should have been gone hours ago,” Stefano noted, shooting John a worried look.

 

Still standing before the closed door, John was finding it difficult to rip his eyes from the woman in the bed. “Uh…,” he muttered uncomfortably.

 

“It’s not like this is the first time you saw me with a woman in my bed,” Stefano noted dryly, moving to pour a glass of water from a pitcher on the table.

 

“Well I guess it was never my aunt before,” John replied, finally managing a shrug. “And she is a bit older than your usual.”

 

“Excuse me?” an irritated voice cut in, as Vivian finally cracked her eyelids open.

 

“What he meant was that, like fine wine, true beauty and complexity come to a woman only with the passage of time,” Stefano filled in smoothly, shooting a glare in John’s direction.

 

“Yea. That’s what I meant,” John said, blushing as he faced his aunt.

 

“Well, in that case…,” Vivian muttered, rising from the bed and wrapping the sheet around her, “You are forgiven.”

 

John watched as she stalked past him to the bathroom, slamming the door in a way that suggested he was far from forgiven. With a rueful shrug, he glanced back at Dimera. “Sorry. Just wasn’t expecting…”

 

Waving his hand dismissively, Stefano sank down into one of the chairs at the small table. “She will get over it. Come sit down. Tell me what went wrong. I’ll assume you weren’t discovered or I would have heard the alarms by now?”

 

Moving to the chair opposite Dimera, John rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. “She wouldn’t leave. When she found out Mikos still had the children, she wouldn’t leave.”

 

“I told you she wouldn’t leave without the children. You should know her better than that,” was the unsympathetic response.

 

“Thank you. ‘I told you so,’ is such a helpful analysis,” John answered in irritation. When Stefano only cocked one eyebrow and waited for him to continue, he let loose a small sigh. “I did not plan on giving her a choice, Stefano. My primary concern was not her preference on the matter.”

 

“So what stopped you?”

 

“I’m not very good at saying ‘no’ to her,” was the rueful answer.

 

Chuckling, Stefano leaned back in his seat and studied the man before him. All of that training, all of those years of death and destruction, and never a hint of remorse. All of that destroyed by the simple touch of a woman’s hand. “I have noticed that flaw in you,” he finally replied.

 

Rolling his eyes at the patronizing response, John said simply, “She was right, and you know it. With her gone, Mikos probably would have taken it out on the children. I knew it, I just…. Stefano, Mikos worries me. The longer she is left with him…. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her. She is my life, Stefano.”

 

“I know she is,” Stefano said softly. “But…. The children. What did Marlena tell you of her children?” Dark eyes searched John’s face, looking for some hint that he knew of Marlena’s pregnancy. Some hint that he knew that she carried his child.

 

The broad shoulders merely shrugged. “She knew less than Vivian. She didn’t even realize that Mikos still had the kids until I told her. Last she heard, Mikos had shipped them off to parts unknown.”

 

“Mmm,” Dimera grunted, nodding sympathetically. Marlena was no fool. She recognized what the news of the pregnancy would do to John. She knew he would have never let her return to Mikos carrying such a fragile little life within her. Briefly, Stefano wondered what John would have done to protect all of his children if he had known Marlena was pregnant. He already knew the answer to that. The man would have stormed the castle and he wouldn’t have stopped until Mikos lay cold and lifeless at his feet. That he would have succeeded, Dimera had no doubt. That he would have died in the effort would have been beside the point to him. With a small grin, Stefano gave homage to the wisdom of the woman he had so long coveted.

 

“So what do you do now?” Dimera asked, his attention again shifting to John.

 

“I wait,” was the muted response. “Marlena thinks we will have our chance at the masked ball this weekend. She’s certain that Mikos will bring the children back for it, if only to ensure her cooperation in the announcement of their ‘wedding’,” he concluded, spitting the word out like a curse.

 

“She’s probably right, you know,” Stefano replied, trying to temper the anger that flashed behind those blue eyes.

 

“Yea, I know she’s right. She usually is,” John answered, softening his tone. “It’s just…”

 

He trailed off as Vivian swept back into the bedroom, her hair and make-up the image of perfection and only the wrinkles in her dress giving the slightest hint that she was still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

 

“Stefano, it was a lovely evening until we were so rudely interrupted,” she said, shooting a nasty look in John’s direction.

 

“It was my pleasure, truly,” he responded with a smile, giving her a brief nod of his head.

 

With a small smile of her own, Vivian ignored John completely, holding herself very straight as she made her way out the door. Her nephew might be a bit of a pig, but she wanted to make certain that he did not delude himself into believing he had chased her out of Dimera’s room.

 

As the door pulled softly shut, Stefano gave into a soft chuckle. “Your aunt is a very intriguing woman, John.”

 

With a shrug, John dismissed her. “I’m not interested in my aunt, Stefano. I’m interested in my brother,” he stated flatly.

 

Watching him closely, Stefano knew there was more that he wanted to say. It was almost as if he were ashamed, or even afraid, to do so. In all of the years Dimera had known the man, he had never known him to be phased by anything. Only Marlena had managed to crack that thick shell, only she had been able to drive John to uncertainty or hesitation. On the eve of the coming war, it was not a trait he wished to see emerge. “What about your brother, John?” he prodded, intent on making John face any issues he had with his family now rather than in the heat of battle.

 

Irritated by Dimera’s intrusion into a subject he would just as soon ignore, John gave vent to a long sigh and rubbed his hands against the back of his neck. He needed Stefano’s insight, even if he didn’t like the fact. Dimera had met the man, that he would have disected his personality was a certainty. Shaking his head in frustration, he approached the issue obliquely. “I saw a picture of him. In Marlena’s room, there’s a painting of him. He looks like me, a lot like me,” he said, watching Stefano from beneath his brow.

 

Uncertain of John’s point, Dimera simply nodded. “There is a family resemblance, yes.”

 

Shrugging uncomfortable, John rose to his feet and began slowly pacing the floor. “Marlena said, she said we were nothing alike. But… I could see it…. What do you think would have happened to me if I had never met you?” He asked, coming to a sudden halt in the center of the room and fixing his eyes on Dimera’s face.

 

Startled by the abrupt change in topic, Stefano took a moment to gather his thoughts. To try to figure out the reason behind John’s question. “Well, you were very young to be out on your own,” he said carefully. “I’m not sure you would have survived. If you had, most likely you would have spent some time in jail. You are just a little too… proud. On the streets, by yourself… that would have caused you trouble.”

 

“So you think I would have ended up some low level hood?” John asked, no hint of insult in his voice.

 

Stefano chuckled. “No, not you. If you had managed to grow up on your own, I have no doubt you would have become a powerful force in whatever you chose to do. It’s very likely you would have eventually ended up as one of my competitors!” With a fond smile, he looked over the man who for so long had been his strong right arm. He would not have wanted to face him as a rival. Few men would. One of the smartest moves he had ever made was to bring the boy home with him, and he hadn’t even known it at the time.

 

As he watched, Dimera again thought he saw a flicker of shame in those blue eyes.

 

“So, you don’t think I might have grown up to be a lawyer or an accountant or a cop or something?”

 

He could not help the spasm of laughter that erupted at John’s question, even though he knew it was the exact wrong thing to do at this point. Shaking his head ruefully, he gave an honest response. “Do you think that, John? Do you really?”

 

His fists clenched in irritation, but John forced himself to walk back over and sit opposite Dimera. Finding himself unable to meet Stefano’s gaze, he dropped his eyes to study the top of the table. Very softly, he said, “I’ve always been… angry. You know that. Know how my temper is, or maybe just my temperament. Always. Always it has burned inside me, this need to fight. To destroy. I thought it was because of how I grew up. First my… my foster father. Then you…”

 

“John,” Stefano tried to cut in.

 

“No! No, jeesh, I’m not blaming you, Stefano. Really. I was already screwed up before I ever met you. Just, well, you didn’t exactly expose me to much that would have ‘gentled’ those existing tendencies, shall we say,” he finished, finally managing to shoot Stefano a reassuring grin, even if it was half-hearted.

 

With a grudging nod, Stefano acknowledged the accuracy of the statement. “You’ve never discussed your childhood, John. But no, no one would ever accuse me of doing much more than curbing your wildest excesses.”

 

“Yea, well there’s nothing you need to know about my childhood. Just that, I thought it might make sense of who I am. Of how I am. But Mikos…. Mikos is just like me, isn’t he? It’s something in the blood.”

 

Ah, there it was, Dimera thought. Ever since Marlena’s intrusion in his life, John had been confronted with the difference between the man he had been as Roman Brady and the man he truly was. Apparently it was a difference he was uncomfortable with. “Why do you even care, John?” Dimera asked in a cold voice. “What difference could it possibly make if you were born to be a warrior of if you were taught to be one?”

 

Almost as if ashamed, John again dropped his eyes. “I thought I could change,” he said softly. “I thought if I wanted to bad enough, I could change.”

 

“Change? Into what?!” Dimera exploded, completely surprised by the comment. “You are not going to sit there, wearing my ring, may I add, and tell me that you want to run off and become an accountant!”

 

“Fuck you!” John spat, jerking back from the table. “I knew you would never understand this! Why the hell do I bother…”

 

He watched the tense man pace, anger evident in every long stride he took. Dimera had no doubt that if he approached him, John would swing on him. “Yes, this is most definitely the reaction of an ‘accountant’,” he retorted dryly.

 

John merely shot him an ugly look and allowed his suddenly tired body to sink back against the bed.

 

“I asked her to marry me,” he finally stated, staring Dimera in the eye. Daring him to make an issue of it.

 

Stefano simply shrugged. “And I assume she said ‘yes’. So what?”

 

“So I thought we could go home. I thought I could give her some kind of normal life. A few guards, a good security system, but basically a life like we used to have. A life with a normal guy for a husband. A guy who isn’t constantly about to snap, to lash out, to hurt people. A guy who would never hurt the people he loves. I thought I could give her a husband who is nothing like Mikos Alamain!”

 

And there it was, the fear that lay beneath the anger. A fear that Dimera could understand. For a long moment, Stefano simply studied the man who sat on the bed. John had put his life on the line for him, too many times to count. The least he could do was give him some peace of mind. And so Dimera told him what he needed to hear. “You are nothing like Mikos, John. Marlena was right. There is nothing of him in you, nothing you need to fear. You act. You do what needs to be done. But there is nothing of cruelty, nothing of spite in what you do.”

 

John simply looked down, watching his hands as they formed into fists. Seeing the blood that had stained them, time after time after time. Remembering the feelings as he had ended men’s lives, snuffing them out as if they were mere annoyances. His head began to pound, the pain causing him to clench his eyes tight shut. Softly, he replied, “We both know that’s a lie, don’t we.”

 

“John…,” Stefano tried to interject. John cut him off with a shake of his head.

 

“Look, I’m going to crash out here today” he said tiredly, changing the subject. “I just want to be near her and there are too damn many guards floating around to leave now anyway. Tonight I’ll go back to the cavern and contact Bo. See if there is any word on the children, start making arrangements for the night of the ball. I want to be certain that there are no mistakes this time. This time, everybody gets out. Everybody goes home.”

 

With a brief nod, Dimera let the issue drop. “We all go home. That’s all that matters, John. Remember that.”

 

***

 

Two days. Two whole days since Mikos had locked her away in this room. Almost that long since she had last seen John, since she had last seen anybody. She wondered how long it would take for such isolation to drive a person mad. In her case, she would guess not long at all.

 

Pacing the floor for what seemed the millionth time, she tried to ignore the rumbling in her stomach. Tried to ignore the fact that it had been two days since she had eaten. Tried to ignore what that could do to her unborn child.

 

When she heard the key rattle in the lock, she almost dismissed it as a hallucination. By the time she recognized that it was real, he was already standing there. She had thought anyone’s company, even Mikos’, would be preferable to being alone. Seeing him standing in the doorway, watching her with those possessive eyes, she realized that she had been wrong.

 

“Did you miss me?” He asked, that familiar mocking smile curving his lips.

 

She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Now was not the time to inflame him. Now was the time to set him up. Allowing the fear she felt to show in her eyes, she hesitantly replied. “I… I don’t want to be alone anymore, Mikos. Please? I promise I won’t do anything more to… to displease you. Maybe I could come down for dinner with you tonight? Please?”

 

He chuckled lightly, pleased at this sign that he knew her so very well. She might not have been banging on the door, begging for him to release her, but this was not far from it. “If I had known how much you missed me, I would have come for you sooner, Marlena. And yes, I would be delighted with your presence at dinner,” he responded with false gallantry.

 

Stepping close, he took her cool hand in his own. Studying her face, he noted the hollows around her eyes, the quiver in her body. Oh yes, now was most definitely the time. She would do whatever he told her to do. Raising her hand slowly to his lips, he planted a dry kiss on the back of her hand. “We have to finalize the plans for our engagement party, after all. I am certain that you will have many ideas of how we make the evening… special.”

 

He felt her stiffen in his grip and for a moment wondered if she could still muster the strength to resist him. And then his question was answered.

 

“Of course, Mikos,” she replied faintly. “Though I am sure that whatever you have planned will be more than I could ever hope for.”

 

He could not help the triumphant smile that split his face. She was no different from any other woman. Perhaps a little stronger, a little more intelligent, but in the end, she was no match for him. With a half bow, he said smoothly, “Then I will see you for dinner in one hour. Formal dress, of course.”

 

His confidence would have been severely shaken had he seen the look in her eyes as he turned and walked away. Marlena was very careful that he didn’t.

 

***

 

“Bo, I need those men here and I need them now!” John snapped into the mike of the two-way radio.

 

“John, the roads are still blocked from that snowstorm last night. It’s too damn far to take the snowmobiles from here. They don’t have the fuel capacity to make it in, and we don’t have the room or the equipment to carry extra fuel. Look, we’ve got plows clearing the road now. I have bribed every official I can find and the road through the mountains is their first priority. That’s all we can do, dammit!” Bo’s voice cracked out, his frustration evident.

 

With a muted sigh John shook his head and tried to reign in his impatience. “How long till you get here?” he asked more calmly.

 

“ETA to the cave is 12 hours. That puts us in sometime after four a.m. if we bust our asses and nothing else goes wrong. John, you need to hold off until we get there! Do you read me?”

 

“Bo, the ball starts in less than four hours. There is no way I can wait for you. I already explained this! Vivian brought word from Marlena, she forced him into bringing the children back, but only for a brief appearance. He’s planning on spiriting them off the premises at the end of the ball. That means midnight at the latest and there is no way you will be here by then. I’m not losing this opportunity, Bo. I go in with or without you, you’ll just have to get here as fast as you can.”

 

“John, if we can’t get in, they can’t get out. You need to wait or you’re going to blow this!”

 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, John gave an irritated shake of his head. “They’re landing choppers in a field near the town. The snow on the ground isn’t going to make a bit of difference to them Bo. I’m not waiting, and that’s final. Dimera’s here if I need backup. That will have to be enough.”

 

“Yea! Dimera! That’s very comforting, John!” Even through the crackle of the static, Bo’s sarcasm still managed to come through, loud and clear. “Look, if they are landing choppers, why don’t we?”

 

“Then we are back to a frontal assault, Bo. The whole point of this exercise was to avoid that! Shit, if there was another way don’t you think I would take it! Look, I got the equipment you dropped yesterday. The tunnels are already wired. All I have to do is get Marlena and the kids down to the cave and then I’ll blow the tunnels. Once we are all down here, there is no way in hell Mikos can reach us. We’ll soak our bunions in the hot springs and wait for your sorry ass to show. Now unless you’ve got any better idea, I’ve got work to do!”

 

“Um, we could hold off, John. Wait for a better chance? Try to track the kids when Mikos sends them away?”

 

“She’s not staying here another night, Bo. It’s been too long as it is. I won’t let her put herself at risk any longer. The discussion is closed,” John stated flatly, his tone brooking no dissent.

 

For a long moment, the only sound from the radio was the white noise of the static. Finally, Bo’s voice cracked out faintly across the airwaves. “Roger that. We’ll be there when we get there. John… be careful.”

 

“See you soon,” was the tight reply. “Over and out.”

 

For long moments he simply stood, staring at the radio and trying to resist the urge to smash it. Finally, he allowed the mouthpiece to fall from his hand. Damn! He needed Bo, he needed his men. The plan could not be carried out with just him and Dimera, there was no way in hell. The masked ball would have provided ample opportunity to sneak his people in among the revelers, blanketing Marlena and the children with a protective wall and rushing them out of the hall before Mikos and his security team even knew what had hit them. Two men simply couldn’t do it. Two men would have to do it.

 

Turning his mind from problems he couldn’t solve, he tried to focus on the night ahead. Digging through the stack of equipment, he finally found the package Jensen had included for him in the airdrop the night before. He distractedly pulled the costume from the confines of the dry bag, willing the minutes to tick by faster. Waiting was too damn hard. Waiting while she was left to deal with the desires of a madman. A man who wanted nothing more than to possess her. God, he should never let her return to the castle. He should have found some other way to reach the children. His failure put her at risk, and if any wrong was done her, the fault would be his. He should have never let her go.

 

He could feel the hollow thud of his heart against his ribs, and forced himself to be patient. There was no point in hurrying, he had hours before the start of the ball. An hour at least before he could begin to pick his way down the long tunnel, checking the wiring on the C4 explosives as he went. He doubted the blast would bring down the castle itself, but it would sure as hell collapse the tunnels. Mikos would definitely know his brother had come calling, not that John planned on leaving him alive to contemplate the issue.

 

His thoughts elsewhere, he shook out the rolled up clothes, wondering how on earth Jensen came up with this stuff. He had sent word to Marlena that he would be dressed as a hunter, a bird’s mask covering his face. He had left the details up to Jensen’s imagination, requesting only that he include a cape. He could hide an arsenal beneath the flowing material of a full-length cape, and it would fit right in with the medieval theme. With a smile at the thought, John considered the wisdom of carrying a sawed off shotgun strapped to his back when he went in. His internal debate over weaponry died as the clothes unrolled themselves and a bundled mound of feathers fell to the floor. For a moment, John simply stood, staring at the garment in his hands. A pair of black leather pants stared back at him. A pair of black leather pants that looked really tight. Holy Jesus, he was going to look like a pimp. The knee-high black riding boots that had dropped to the floor were no improvement. Muttering a curse, he decided to put out a contract on Jensen at the next available opportunity.

 

What was Marlena going to think when she saw him like this? A grudging grin ran across his face and he could not help a faint chuckle. Who was he kidding, she was going to love this. With an exasperated sigh, he sat down and began trying to tug the pants up past his knees. With a grim smile, he decided that maybe this was a good sign. No way in hell was he going to die dressed like this, not even the Gods could be that cruel.

 

Chapter 81

 

He slipped through the crowded room, his eyes darting from face to face in an attempt to find the one he sought. As he passed, the revelers seemed to dissolve away. If not by conscious will, then by instinct alone, the party goers kept their distance from the dark form that glided through their midst.

 

If asked, Jensen would have said that he had chosen black clothing because it was practical. It would blend in with the shadows. It would not show the stains of John’s passage through the tunnels. Of course, Jensen would have been lying. He had chosen the outfit for the effect it would have. There was an esthetic appeal in the image of John stalking through a room like some fallen angel bent on revenge, black cloak billowing out behind him like a pair of furled wings. Besides, he had known it would make John incredibly uncomfortable, and that he could not resist.

 

People were everywhere, a colorful whirl of ball gowns and masked faces. Beasts and birds, angels and devils, they flitted maddeningly about him, none of them the right one. His palm itched with the desire to grab his guns and open fire on the crowd. Eliminate these useless ones who kept him from finding her. A laughing young woman in a cat-eyed mask stumbled into him, grabbing onto his arm and casting an appreciative glance at his masked face. His hand was halfway to her throat before he could stop himself, and he muttered a silent curse as he watched her back pale-faced away from him. Damn, he was simply no good at subterfuge.

 

Hands clenched tightly at his sides, he tried hard not to look dangerous as he made his way to the wall. She was the guest of honor. She had to be here somewhere. Trumpets sounded from the rear of the room, leaving John to shake his head at this man’s pompous nature. Then she walked in, and he couldn’t think of anything at all.

 

She had told him to look for a white dove. Undoubtably, he had found one. She stood at the top of the staircase, her hand resting lightly on the arm of a man dressed all in black, a bear mask covering his face. Even from a distance, John could make out the tremble in her fingers that no one else could see. Slowly she made her way down to the waiting crowd, craning their faces up for a look at the future Lady Alamain.

 

God, she looked like she was floating as she made her way ever closer. The white silk of the ball gown flowed out from a tight bodice that was covered in gold beadwork. The princess neckline plunged to reveal the firm swell of her breasts while the off-the shoulder sleeves emphasized her elegant carriage. No one else on earth could be that beautiful, he thought to himself, his blood roaring in his ears. The fact that her face was covered by the ornate mask of white and gold feathers was meaningless, he would have known it was her simply by the grace with which she moved.

 

She had seen him the moment she walked out onto the second floor landing. It was if he were the only one in the room, every other human being fading away into the background. His blue eyes blazed at her, a beacon in that sea of humanity, and she wondered that she was the only one to see it. A half-mask covered the top of his face, but did nothing to conceal him from her. Then a small smile curved her lips, and she allowed herself one second to wonder who had picked out the costume he was wearing. He would never have done it himself, of that she was certain.

 

A black bird, he had told her to watch for. A black bird, he was not. The mask did indeed have black feathers that swept back over his forehead and down the back of his head, the feathers mixing with dark locks of hair to become one. But while the feathers were black, the eyes were set off by fine gold and red threads that emphasized their exotic shape. As if to complete the image, a dark cloak spread over his broad shoulders, the soft material pooling about him like half-closed wings. Beneath the folds of the cloak, the red satin of the lining glinted. When he raised his head to look up at her the material shifted so that he seemed to stand in a pool of fire. Hysterical laughter threatened, and she wondered who had had the audacity to send him to her masked as the phoenix.

 

She was surprised when she found that they had reached the bottom of the stairs, and allowed Mikos to lead her through the bodies that seemed to press in on them from all sides. Numb to everything but the need to see him, she was swept along as she tried to get a glimpse of his tall form above the crowd of people. Suddenly, he was there, and she could breathe again. She watched as the people scattered from his path. Noted the play in the muscles of his thighs as he paced toward her. And felt the panic rise as she realized that he wasn’t going to stop, his every movement a promise of destruction.

 

Without realizing he was doing it, he cut through the crowd, bearing down on her like a tidal wave about to hit. An instance before impact, her eyes caught his and he pulled up short. Those eyes had flashed a warning, and he knew she would never forgive him if he didn’t secure the children first. He stood amidst the throng lining the long aisle that led up to the banquet table at the front of the room. He stood and he watched as she passed him by. Slowly, his hand crept behind his back to rub against the cool wood of a pistol grip. His own religious icon, his direct line to God. If his brother was to be sacrificed at her alter, then so be it.

 

Mikos stopped at the front of the room and turned to face the crowd, gently touching his lips to the hand of his future bride. John watched unmoving, the gun slipping from its holster and into his palm seemingly of its own accord. If the man touched her again, he would die.

 

Marlena grimaced and tried to make it appear a smile. With the slightest of tugs, she pulled away from Mikos’ grasp. Ignoring her disobedience for the moment, the man simply nodded his head in the direction of the orchestra and held out his hand to accompany her in the first dance of the evening. Hoping her distaste did not show, she reached out to accept and stepped down to the ballroom floor. She hated the feel of him against her bare skin and he knew it. With a smile of satisfaction, he crushed her tightly against his chest, his hands digging into her tender flesh almost as if he wished to mark her as his own. He whirled her away and she closed her eyes, trying not to retch.

 

The gun was in his hand, its reassuring bulk urging him to finish it now. He saw thick hands sink down into white skin that shrank from the touch and his decision was made. Stepping forward, he sought a clear line of fire. She whirled around once in a cloud of white and gold and then was lost to him amid the flow of couples who now joined in with the waltz. His gun still nestled beneath the folds of the cloak, he drifted back to the wall and waited for her to reemerge.

 

***

 

“Mikos, where are the children?” she whispered harshly in his ear, the panic causing her to push the man regardless of the way he might react. John was here. He would not wait, of that she was certain. She had to know where her children were and she had to know now.

 

“I promised you that your children would attend,” he said softly, nuzzling her ear and enjoying the scent of her perfume. “You don’t doubt that I am a man of my word, do you?”

 

She almost slapped him then. Almost pulled away to provide John with the opportunity she knew he was waiting for. Only her children could keep her in this man’s arms. Allowing the anger to creep into her voice, she pulled her head back to look into Mikos’ face. “If you do not send for them right now I will walk off this dance floor in a manner that will leave no doubt in anyone’s mind what I think of you, Mikos. Do you doubt that I am a woman of my word?” she asked coldly.

 

For an instance his step faltered and the smile slipped from his face. She would do it. He had no doubt of that. If he could not prove that her children were alive and well, she would put an end to the charade he had so far forced her to act out. Perhaps it was time to remind her of what it was that she had to lose. Tightening his grip on the slender form he held in his arms he pulled her to him. Glancing up he caught Dimitri’s watchful eye and gave him a sharp nod before leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You know my greatest pleasure is to fulfill your every desire, Marlena. Your children are on their way in as we speak,” he murmured in silky tones.

 

She looked up to read his eyes just as the music came to a stop. Polite applause sounded throughout the room and as she absently joined in her eyes locked onto three slight forms standing in the entryway of the big hall.

 

This is simply too easy, Mikos thought in amusement, watching as her eyes lit up at the sight of her children. He had always known that emotions were a weakness. Love appeared to be the greatest weakness of all. She would do whatever he ask of her for as long as he held her children. Over time, she might even come to enjoy it. He rather hoped that it would take a very long time for that to occur. She was so much fun when she was unwilling.

 

“I want to see them. To talk to them. You promised me that!” she said, turning to look up at him with eyes that made him burn.

 

“Why of course you can see your children,” he replied with a slight smile, motioning her forward with a casual sweep of his arm. “As always, I am yours to command.”

 

Stiffly she walked toward the stairs, catching a glimpse of John’s brooding form lurking against the wall to her side. He seemed to drift along, staying even with her slow movements without trying to approach any closer. With a silent plea, she urged him to wait just a little bit longer. Oblivious to Mikos’ presence, she jerked away as his hand came to rest possessively on her bare shoulder. At her sudden movement, John seemed to surge toward her only to be halted by the cry of a familiar voice.

 

“Mom!” Sami called out, her voice rising above the din of the crowd as she stormed down the stairs toward the familiar figure of her mother.

 

With a start, John dropped his eyes and tried to quell the rising urge for action. Slipping back into the shadows that draped the marble walls of the ballroom, he smoothly returned the pistol to its resting place against the small of his back. His hands shook as he clasp them before him and he hissed out a long sigh of relief as he realized how close he had come to ruining his chance to get the children clear without the risk of violence. Silently he held his place as he watched Sami fling herself into her mother’s arms, two figures that could only be her siblings following close behind. As the children ran to their mother, he stood in the darkness and watched.

 

***

 

This made it worth it. All of the worry, all of the waiting, all of the fear. To see her children, to hold them tight against her, that was worth anything to her.

 

“Mom, we were so worried about you!” Carrie exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her mother’s shoulders.

 

Happy tears glistened in Marlena’s eyes as she struggled to breathe, Sami’s tight embrace making it difficult. “You were worried about me!” She chuckled. “Well, I was worried about you. Are you guys okay?” Disentangling herself from Sami’s death grip, she held her youngest daughter out at arms length and swept her eyes over her three children, searching for any sign of harm.

 

“They are just fine, Marlena,” Mikos’ low voice broke in. “Now, if you could stop making a spectacle of yourselves, there are people here who I would like you to meet. Lest you forget, the purpose of this party is to introduce the new Alamain bride to her subjects.”

 

“I am not leaving my children,” Marlena shot back, her eyes narrowing in anger.

 

With a nonchalant gesture, Mikos waved two guards forward. “If you are very good, perhaps you will get to see each other again before the children leave. But I promise you, if you make a scene, you will not see each other again for a very long time.”

 

His tone was even, but Marlena could sense the threat that lay behind his words. She bit back a sharp retort, but found herself unable to let her children be led away from her. Not yet, it was simply too soon.

 

“Perhaps I could entertain the children in your absence,” a deep voice cut in smoothly.

 

Turning in surprise, Marlena found herself confronted by the one person she would least expect to come to her rescue. Stefano Dimera, resplendent in a dark tuxedo, a lion’s mask complete with fur covering the upper portion of his face. Before she realized what he was doing, he had raised her hand to his lips and gently brushed a kiss against her skin.

 

Startled, she jerked away, noticing the twinkle in his eyes as she did so. John trusted him, she had to remind herself. If John could trust him, perhaps she could too. “Thank you, Stefano,” she replied cautiously, her stomach twisting in rebellion at the thought of putting her children in Dimera’s care.

 

“Then it is settled,” Mikos broke in impatiently. Latching a firm hand around her wrist, he virtually dragged her off into the crowd. The last Marlena saw of her children was a view of Stefano walking away from her, her children following close on his heels.

 

***

 

“May I have this dance?” asked the voice that she heard in her dreams. She swung away from the boring diplomat who had volunteered to keep her occupied while Mikos stepped away and looked up into the warm blue eyes of the man she loved. It was all she could do not to step into his arms and hold on with all her might. Instead, she merely gave a graceful nod and reached to gently place her hand on his proffered arm. With a half-bow he led her out into the middle of the dance floor and took her ever so gently into his embrace. For a long moment he simply stood still in the middle of the floor holding her body pressed against his own. God, it felt so good to finally have him with her. Tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, Marlena tilted her head up and whispered in his ear. “Honey? This is not how people waltz, you know,” she said softly, a laugh that was half-sob echoing in her voice.

 

Reluctantly he pulled back to hold her at arms length. So softly that she could barely feel it, his left hand skimmed across the dark bruise that was beginning to show against the pale skin of her shoulder, evidence of the strength in Alamain’s grip. It took an effort for him to draw his next breath as every muscle in his body seemed to tense. He would not let her leave his arms again. Not until she was safe. “I love you,” he rasped out, so softly she could barely hear. He dropped his head from her gaze as a single tear escaped to trail down his cheek. Even more softly, he breathed, “I’m sorry.”

 

Suddenly aware that they were beginning to draw notice, he wrapped his hand around her slender waist and led her smoothly into the first steps of the waltz. Her eyes never left his face as they seemed to float across the floor, their bodies moving together without the need for conscious thought. He knew that she wouldn’t do what he asked even as he ground his plea. “Come with me,” he begged in a soft voice, trying to guide her in off the dance floor.

 

“John, I can’t,” she whispered back, digging in her heels and refusing to be led. “The children are here. He will hurt them if I try to leave. You know that,” she almost accused.

 

No longer able to meet her eyes, he ducked his head and said tightly, “Dimera will bring them. We have to meet in the corner of the sitting alcove. We’ll all go out together, Marlena.”

 

“John, he watches me too closely. He will notice the second I move from this room. I will never leave here unnoticed. Take the children out of here and then come back for me with your men,” she replied, plastering a fake smile on her face as she looked over to nod a greeting at a passing couple.

 

“There are no men, Marlena. Bo’s stuck. We have one chance at this because Alamain is going to notice as soon as anybody leaves. We go together because there won’t be a second chance,” he said, pulling her closer to him. Knowing it would make it harder for her to refuse him.

 

For just a second, she allowed herself to rest against the warmth of his chest, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart. Closing her eyes, she shook her head no. “The children have to be safe,” she whispered.

 

At her words, she could feel his grip tighten around her and for a moment she feared he would simply lift her up and carry her bodily from the room. Then she went pale, her eyes catching a glimpse of Mikos’ worried face eagerly scanning the crowd, no doubt in search of her. “John, you have to go,” she said, panic showing in her voice. “Mikos is coming, you have to go now!”

 

“Not without you,” was the determined response. Beneath the soft silk of his shirt her fingers felt the muscles bunch tightly in anticipation of coming violence. She watched as his face hardened and his eyes went dark.

 

“John, please!” she pleaded, suddenly recognizing that he had every intention of fighting this battle out here and now. Alone against a dozen guns, he would stand no chance at all. Reaching out, she placed her hands gently on the sides of his face, holding him until he was forced to meet her eyes. He would do anything for her. She had always known that. Now she would make him prove it.

 

Her voice calm and low, she held his gaze and said softly, “For me, John. I want my children safe more than I want anything else. Do this for me.” He froze in place, staring into her eyes as if to burn the look of her into his mind. Mikos’ heavy bulk began pacing toward them, irritation evident on his face. Still John held his ground, unwilling to relinquish the feel of her fingers against the skin of his face. Finally, in one gentle movement he took her hands in his. Bending his head, he brushed a single kiss against each of her palms and then walked swiftly past her to lose himself among the still twirling dancers.

 

She didn’t turn to watch him leave her. She couldn’t. Instead, she stood motionless as Mikos plowed his way through the crowd to her side.

 

“Who was that?” Mikos snapped, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

 

She looked up at him, her face a calm mask. He could not hurt her. Not anymore. John would take the children out. He would see them home. The possibility that he would fail her in this did not exist. She merely had to stall Mikos long enough to see her family safe. After that, nothing he could do would touch her.

 

Turning from Mikos, she began to make her way back to the big table at the front of the ballroom. She was not surprised when he reached to link her arm in his own. “I asked you a question,” he hissed, anger showing in his voice.

 

“Some dreary acquaintance of that boring diplomat you left in charge of me,” she answered coldly, knowing how he hated it when she failed to be properly fearful in his presence. Knowing how it would keep his attention focused on her. His fingers tightened painfully around her wrist and she suppressed a smile at how easily manipulated he was proving to be.

 

John stood pressed against the wall, watching as Dimera casually led the children around the edges of the ballroom, chatting amiably with Eric about God new what. Sami and Carrie trailed in their wake, and as John watched, Carrie reached out to take her younger sister’s hand in her own. Without any attempt to disguise their purpose, two of Alamain’s guards walked beside them. Though dressed for the ball, the way their eyes roved over the crowded room left no doubt that their business was the protection of the children. Their protection or their imprisonment, it was one and the same to the guards.

 

John’s eyes darted to the front of the ballroom, and he could not suppress the flash of heated anger he felt as he watched Marlena in deep conversation with Mikos. Damn, he needed Bo and his men here. He could not get them all out at one time by himself and Marlena would not leave while the children were still at risk. His teeth ground together as his jaw knotted in frustration, but he allowed her to have her way. She would keep Alamain occupied while he got the children free. Once that was done, he would return for her.

 

Focusing on what had to be done, he threaded his way through the room toward the spot where Stefano was herding the children. Massive marble pillars rose 30 feet into the air, separating the ballroom in half and marking the end of the dance floor. Large round tables dotted the other half of the room, providing a resting place for wearied dancers. French doors lined the outer wall, thick drapes cutting off the chill of the winter air, hunter green providing a spot of color against the backdrop of all of that white marble. Those doors were going to prove useful as more than a mere decorative touch.

 

John smiled grimly to himself, watching the older man work. The guards were bored out of their minds, watching as Stefano swept Sami up in a loose embrace, guiding her quickly through a complicate dance step in a demonstration that ended with them standing in a shadowed corner at the back of the alcove. While he admired Dimera’s technique, John felt distinctly uncomfortable with the vision of Dimera’s arms around Sami, and his step quickened involuntarily.

 

Though bored, Alamain’s men were not inept. At John’s almost hurried intrusion, the man on the right flank shifted to face him, a vaguely suspicious look crossing his face. John simply gave him a distracted nod and darted his head around as if seeking something he had yet to find. Hoping the man would assume he was looking for the restroom, John judged the distance between the two guards and muttered an uninterpretable curse. They were two damn far apart. They were too damn alert. The chandeliers that dotted the room provided more than enough light to make his movements plain to both the two guards and the half-dozen guests who lounged at the tables at the front of the alcove. There was no way in hell he was going to pull this off.

 

As if she could sense his distress from the front of the room, Marlena’s head turned to stare directly into the darkened recesses of the sitting room. With a sudden uncharacteristic stumble, she tripped awkwardly into the path of an oncoming waiter, barely keeping her feet as a tray of empty champagne glasses went flying.

 

From the front of the room came the sudden crash of glass and a high-pitched scream that could only come from Marlena, and every eye shifted to search for the sound of distress. Every eye but John’s. The scream still echoed in the air as his fingers wove into the hair of the nearest guard. With a half-step back he yanked the man over his hip and sent him plummeting to the floor. An instance before the body hit John twisted forward, the man’s head still held firmly in his grip. The only signal that the man was dead was the muffled pop of his neck as it broke into pieces and severed his spinal cord.

 

By the time the far guard turned around and saw enough to be surprised, John was already halfway to him. The man’s hand slapped at the leather of his holster just as the heavy body rammed into him, taking him soundlessly to the floor behind one of the round tables. With an efficient jerk, John pulled his blade from between the man’s ribs. A perfect hit, directly into the heart. The man had died instantly.

 

Crouching behind the table, John quickly stuffed the body beneath the floor length tablecloth and rose carefully to his feet. His children watched wide-eyed as he stepped forward and kicked the body of the other guard under the row of heavy curtains. Ignoring them, he turned to Stefano. “Take the children out through the balcony. You know where to go.”

 

“Where is Marlena?” Stefano shot back, not moving an inch.

 

The need for haste grew with every wasted second and John stepped forward to wrap his big hand around Stefano’s forearm. “Please! We will be right behind you. Hurry!” he ground out, his hand tightening to a painful grip.

 

Resolve flashed across Stefano’s face, and he returned the fierce grip with one of his own. Slapping a hand against John’s shoulder, he leaned forward and whispered, “You better be,” in the man’s ear. Abruptly he pushed John away and snapped a nod at the children. Confused, they crowded after him wondering why John did not follow.

 

Sami trailed slowly at the rear of the procession, hesitating before John’s still form as if suddenly afraid to let him leave her. “Daddy?”

 

With a small smile that was meant to be reassuring, he gingerly reached his hand out and gently brushed her cheek. Unable to watch her walk away from him, he abruptly turned and went to get Marlena.

 

***

 

Mikos watched as Marlena graciously appologized for creating a scene, diffusing the situation with a graceful smile and a light chuckle. That easy grace was in stark contrast to the stumble that had caused the waiter to drop his tray, and with animal cunning he suddenly sensed that something was wrong. He was at her side in an intance, grabbing her arm in an unbreakable grip as his eyes skimmed over the crowded room. Suspicion shot through his mind and he viciously twisted her slender wrist. “Where are the children?!” he almost yelled. His lips drew back in a snarl and he took pleasure in the tears of pain that sprang to her eyes. Oblivious to the stunned guests who were becoming aware of the scene being played out at the front of the room, he twisted harder and gave a rough shake that caused her whole body to shudder. Unable to help it, she groaned loudly, half expecting the bones to break under his brutal hold.

 

John could see the pain in her eyes even from the far side of the room. His shoulders seemed to broaden as the hate pumped through his system, the rage narrowing his vision to a red-hazed focus on the couple at the front of the room. He moved, his long strides carrying him quickly across the expansive room as his hands locked around the smooth grips of a matching pair of 9 millimeter Glocks. He could hear nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the cold snick of the safety clicking off on the gun in his right hand. Then, as if from a distance, he heard her moan out, and he dropped all attempts at pretense as he bulled his way through the crowd, ramming aside anyone in his way.

 

Mikos smiled down into her face, almost enjoying her little attempt at defiance. Such an attitude most definitely deserved punishment. The children would be found and then he would teach her the price of disobedience. But there was something in her eyes. Something other than the pain and fear. Something more than mere defiance. Behind it all, somewhere deep inside, there was triumph. It screamed a warning to him, and his head shot up to again scan the crowded room, noticing for the first time the stunned stares of the hoards of guests. And then noticing something else. Panic ripped through him as he saw his father’s eyes stalking toward him in the form of a demon straight out of Hell. His face went pale and he pulled Marlena’s body to him as if somehow it would ward off the vision that assailed him. Raising a trembling hand, he pointed and screamed. “Stop him! Bring him down! Dimitri, stop him now!”

 

And John burns.

 

Hands come up, pistols at the ready. He brushes aside yet another costumed body, sending the man crashing to the floor to lie stunned. The damned cattle are in his way. Two quick shots into the air, the sharp reports echoing back off of hard marble walls, and they are stampeding away in panicked flight.

 

A uniformed figure looms close on his left side and his right hand swings across his body to nestle in the folds of the man’s shirt. Three pulls of the trigger and blood mists the air, bullets tearing free of skin to leave gaping exit wounds in their wake. His hand swings clear of the falling form, his steps never faltering.

 

The left hand joins the right, the symphony of destruction building in volume as the back of a man’s head disentegrates. And he is running. Her face the only thing he sees. The only thing that matters. A shotgun booms its thunder, and a body slams across his path. An old woman, eyes wide with shock and fear at the unexpectedness of her death. He rolls, eyes searching for the gun through the gaps in the running legs of his human shields. His guns bark out in concert, ripping through the heavy body that stands at the top of the stairs looking down at him. At least the old woman will have company on her journey.

 

And he moves, bent low. The crackle of bullets in the air, the burn of gunpowder in his eyes. Heat as a splinter of stone slices across the back of his calf. The crowd is thinning but he can’t see her. He needs to see her. He stands tall and fires, black uniforms now crowding the front of the room. Black uniforms falling. Aiming. Firing. The last vestiges of the human wall dropping beneath their onslaught and he hits the floor hard as the bullets streak the air above him. Cursing as he fumbles for a clip, his only cover the sprawling bodies. Alamain must go down. Failure is not an option.

 

An eye in the storm as the gunfire suddenly slackens, and he rises for one last charge, the clips sliding home in a hiss of metal on metal so sweet he can taste it. All that is left for him to do is to stand. To stand and to fire until Alamain is his to kill. His focus is so intense he never even senses the heavy body until it slams into him from behind.

 

“I want him alive!” Mikos’ screaming voice rings out from behind the protection of a dozen armed men.

 

The sounds echoed in her mind, the vision danced before her eyes. Oh God, please not this. Please not John. There were too many guards. Too many guns. Not even John could stand against that many alone. Not alone. With a strength born of her sudden fury, she wrenched free of the iron grip that held her against Mikos’ broad chest. Scrambling away, she lurched awkwardly to her feet, her long legs tangling in the layers of the voluminous ball gown. She rose just in time to see Dimitri’s body ram into John from behind, snapping his head back with the force of the impact and taking him to the floor so hard that she could hear the thud of the body from where she stood.

 

The sound spurred her to movement, and she stepped forward to lunge at the backs of the guards before her, praying that she could buy John a sudden reprieve from the destruction she had sensed all along. Her attempt was halted before it began, Mikos’ heavy hand locking in her hair and jerking her back to again stand before him. Furious, she turned and went for his eyes, only to be stopped as he easily caught her hand, twisting her arm up behind her back until she thought the force would dislocate it. For an instance he merely studied her coldly, his fearful look replaced by a glimmering insanity the instance the mass of guards had poured through the door in a protective wall of flesh.

 

“Oh no, my lady. You stay with me. You will always stay with me,” he hissed out with a leering smile. Behind her she heard a thick grunt of pain as a fist slammed into fragile flesh. She closed her eyes on the sound and tried to hold back the threat of tears. She refused to see him fall.

 

The ground came up to meet him and he tried to twist away. Take the brunt of the blow with a shoulder and come up firing. The arms that wrapped around his waist were unforgiving and the best he could manage was to turn his head to the side and avoid a face-first impact that would surely have knocked him out. As it was, he thought his back was broken and a white haze covered his vision. A low groan escaped his lips and he felt the warm trickle of blood beneath his ear. Stunned, he didn’t even notice when the heavy body shifted off of him. He was made brutally aware that his attacker had shifted as the pain streaked white hot through his shoulder, his arm suddenly pinned against the small of his back in what should have been an unbreakable joint-lock.

 

That was a mistake. The pain burned through the haze of unconsciousness that had threatened. His gun was nowhere to be found, but his left hand whipped back to lock unerringly on the groin of the man who crouched above him. His fingers twisted viciously and he was rewarded with a high-pitched scream and the sudden release of his arm. Rolling over he kicked out, the force shattering the moaning man’s nose and splattering them both with warm blood. He scrambled forward on his belly, reaching for the Glock that lay ten feet ahead of him, knowing as he did it that he couldn’t reach his gun before the uniforms did.

 

He almost proved himself wrong, his hand closing around the familiar grip just as a booted foot crashed down on his wrist. His fingers went numb but his left hand lashed out to sweep the man from his feet. As he fell, John drove himself to his feet to meet the mass of bodies that surged over him. Just beyond the sea of flesh, he could see her standing. Her eyes opening to lock onto his. Watching helplessly. Waiting for him to come. Arms looped around his neck, too many to shake off. Desperate for a gun, he jammed a thumb in an eye. Oblivious to the owner’s screeching, his fingers clawed at the man’s holster, the weapon almost within his grasp. Then strong arms wrapped around his legs, and the weight of the bodies took him down.

 

***

 

The only sounds that broke the silence were the moans of the wounded, the weeping of the survivors and the harsh rasp of the man who lay pinned to the floor. Still holding Marlena’s arm bent awkwardly behind her back, Mikos slowly approached the still struggling figure, the sound of his footsteps echoing ominously in the silence of the room. He gave an approving nod to Dimitri, who stood dabbing at the blood that still dripped from his broken nose, and relinquished Marlena into his care. For a moment, Mikos simply stood before the heaving body, enjoying the sensation of having his rival laying helpless at his feet. As if sensing the scrutiny, John’s head tilted painfully back and Mikos was caught in the accusing stare of his father’s eyes. Very slowly a smile spread across his face. His brother was alive, this was simply too sweet for words. A feeling of power such as he had never known swept over him, and Mikos ordered quietly, “Bring them both to the conference room. Inform the guests that an assassination attempt was just thwarted, and then get them out of here.” With one final glance at the blue eyes that still stared up at him, he turned and strode confidently from the body-strewn hall.

 

Chapter 82-[A version]

 

It was unmistakably a throne room. Built to intimidate, there was nothing of subtlety about it. Massive double doors led into the long narrow room, tall columns supporting a gilded ceiling that soared three stories or more. Identical tables anchored the sides of the room. Twenty feet long and each hewn from the trunk of a single ancient oak, the tables were lined on the outside with rows of chairs, all facing the center aisle. At the end of the long aisle was a raised platform dominated by a single ornately carved chair. A thinly veiled throne built for an almost king.

 

Mikos sat quietly in the chair, his face showing no emotion as he ignored the woman beside him. Only the slightest hint of a smile gleamed in his eyes, betraying his anticipation of the events to come. Today he would establish his own legacy.

 

She stood at his side, her wrist aching within his vicelike grip. So pale her skin was almost translucent, her rigid body could have been carved from stone. Only the frantic pulsing of her heart gave hint of the fear that raged within. She had to calm Mikos. Had to sooth the boiling anger that had quickly replaced the panic he had felt during the attack in the ballroom. He would hurt John. He would kill him if she could not deflect some of that sick rage.

 

“Mikos…,” she whispered hesitantly.

 

With a sharp twist, he tightened his grip until she could feel the small bones in her arm grating against each other. Tears sprang to her eyes as he said coldly, “You will be silent.”

 

Despair washed over her and she began to tremble helplessly. Everything that she had feared was coming to pass. Mikos was going to destroy John and he was going to use her to do it. She sent a silent plea to the heavens, a prayer for a rescue she knew would never come. Her free hand clutched at her stomach, as if she could somehow protect the child that was yet to be. As if in protecting it, she could somehow save the man she loved.

 

With a thunderous crash, the double doors at the far end of the room slammed open and she was forced to face her reality. John hung in the grip of a half dozen men. His wrists chained behind him, he was bowed almost double in an effort to relieve the strain on aching shoulders. With a low growl of frustration, he struggled to shake the rough hands from his body. His efforts produced only a sharp slap to his head as he was dragged forward down the carpeted aisle. She knew then that the only one who could save John was Mikos himself. In that instance she recognized that she would do anything to persuade Mikos to do so.

 

A lazy smile lit Mikos’ face as he watched his brother’s futile struggles. The long cape had been ripped from his shoulders and the black shirt hung in shreds, the thin silk plastered to his sweating body. With a jarring ‘thud’, the bound man was pushed to his knees before the raised dias. Dimitri, a sadistic smile on his bloodied face, yanked the cuffed hands even higher and wrapped his free hand around John’s stiff neck. A low groan escaped clenched lips as the man’s head was finally forced to the floor.

 

Mikos watched impassively, waiting for all signs of struggle to cease. Finally, only the sound of labored breathing emanated from the man on the floor. Mikos was struck by how much smaller his brother now appeared. In the ballroom, John had seemed a threat. For an instance, Mikos had actually thought the man capable of defeating him. But the huddled body at his feet would never be a challenge to Mikos. It had been folly to suspect otherwise.

 

With a sudden surge of muscle, John raised his head to lock blazing eyes on Mikos’ face. The patronizing smile on that haughty face faded before the fear that look gave rise to. Lank hair shrouded the John’s pale face, his lips drawn back in a grimace of pain. He was beaten. Bound. Powerless. Completely in Mikos’ control. But the eyes were those of a king, and in their burning depths there was a promise of death.

 

Dimitri planted a hard kick on unprotected ribs and with a satisfied smile forced John’s face to the floor. The moment was shattered, the fear was gone. “Do you know who I am?” Mikos asked coldly, once again able to relax and enjoy this show staged for his amusement.

 

With a half-sob, John ground out, “Yea, I know who you are. You’re a dead man. You just don’t know it yet.”

 

Seemingly calm, Mikos nodded to Dimitri. “Raise his head. I want to see his face. I want to watch as he learns his place.”

 

Crouching next to John, the big blond linked his fingers in the man’s long hair and wrenched him up. Awkwardly balanced on his knees, John simply stared at Mikos, hatred written plain on his face.

 

“Now, that’s better, isn’t it ‘little brother’?” Mikos asked, the sardonic smile curving his lips as he waited for John’s reaction. But not the slightest flicker of emotion showed, and with a regretful sigh, Mikos turned to look up at the woman at his side. She stared out into space as if she could somehow remove herself from the ugliness that was being acted out for her benefit. With a sharp twist of the wrist that he still held locked in his grip, Mikos forced her to look at him. “Marlena, my dear. Did you ruin my surprise? Alexander seems to already know of his paternity. I’m disappointed in you. After all, the happy news should have been mine to share.”

 

Unshed tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. So softly her words could scarcely be heard, she whispered, “Mikos, please don’t do this. Please. I will do anything…”

 

Smiling pleasantly, Mikos shifted his attention back to John. “Ah…. She really is a prize, isn’t she? I have you to thank for bringing her to my attention, Alexander. I may even be lenient with you, if only for her sake.” John went cold with the sudden realization of what Alamain had planned. For an instance, he allowed his eyes to dart to Marlena, standing still and fearful at Mikos’ side. Knowing that Mikos was goading him, he tried to stay calm. Tried to force down the fear and the anger. Tightly, he ground out, “Let her go. Let her go now, and it will be an end to this. I will do whatever you want.”

 

Alamain’s face revealed nothing, but with a firm tug he pulled Marlena close to him and looped a thick arm about her waist. “Let her go? I think not, Alexi,” he replied smoothly. “This is my future bride. The woman who will bare my children. The bloodline must continue and I can think of no woman more suitable than the beauty I hold in my arms. Can you, little brother?”

 

John’s tenuous control snapped, and with a scream of fury he lunged to his feet. Twisting violently, he shook off the restraining hands of the guards and powered his way forward, murder in his eyes.

 

Mikos barely had time to be afraid as John reached the first step, a snarl on his lips. Scrambling from the chair in sudden panic, Mikos released his hold on Marlena just as the guards tackled John from behind, their combined weight slamming him hard to the ground. His legs were weak, and Mikos leaned against the stone wall trying to catch his breath as Dimitri unleashed a series of hard punches into the back of the struggling man. Oblivious to the blows, John’s face swung up, searching for his brother.

 

“You will not touch her!” he screamed harshly, his words both a promise and a threat. “You will not!”

 

Slumped against the wall, Mikos fought the urge to run. Felt the fear, pounding through his veins, the hate and anger following close behind. His hands knotted into fists as he stepped forward and rammed his booted foot into the face of his brother.

 

The heavy leather sole sliced across the man’s jaw like a knife, torn flesh weeping crimson drops. Sneering his triumph, he lashed out again at his pinned foe, the muted grunt of pain an acknowledgment of his sovereignty. Manic joy coursed through him, threatening to burst from him in an insane laugh as he shifted to deliver yet another blow.

 

“Mikos, stop it! Mikos!” She grabbed desperately at the big man’s arm, trying to pull him back. Trying to pull him away from John. Mikos whirled at her touch, his hand rising as if to strike. The blow was halted in mid-swing, the beauty of the fear in her eyes stopping his rampage like nothing else could. He reached out, his finger trailing across the flawless skin of her cheek. She flinched at the touch and Mikos smiled, turning back to once again glory in his brother’s pain.

 

With easy grace, Mikos moved to crouch at the side of the prone man. Almost gently he reached out to run a finger along his brother’s torn jawline. Dazed eyes looked up at him as he raised bloodstained fingers.

 

“The blood of kings,” Mikos said softly, watching as the warm drops fell to the floor. The smile came back to his face and he ran his free hand through John’s damp hair in a gesture that was almost loving. “You carry the blood of kings, little brother. But you have much to learn. You don’t know when to quit. You don’t know when you are beaten. It will be my job to teach you,” he said as he wiped the still warm blood across John’s bruised cheek.

 

Rising to his feet, Mikos nodded at Dimitri. “Take him to one of the cells in the cellar. Teach him a lesson, Dimitri. I want him punished. For his sins against me, I want him punished.”

 

***

 

Piss and blood and fear. Why did it always have to begin in small sterile rooms that smelt of piss and blood and fear? The thought flashed through his mind even as his body braced itself for the impact of the gloved fist, the futile twitch of muscles providing no escape from the bruising blow that drove the air from his lungs and the strength from his legs. His body tried to double over, his bound arms forced to take his entire weight as his knees collapsed beneath him. Dangling from the chains at his wrists he stared at the blood speckled ground, broken laughter wheezing out between the painful gasps for air.

 

“You find something amusing, little brother?” Mikos called mockingly from the open doorway

 

He was here. His brother was finally here. That was good, it meant he wasn’t with Marlena. Mikos with Marlena…. His mind shied from the flash of unwanted images. He spat the bloody saliva from his mouth and tilted his head to face the door that stood at his right side. Gotta keep his interest. Gotta keep his attention. Gotta keep him away from Marlena….

 

“He hits like a girl,” John growled out with a sneer. “What? He normally serve as your fuck toy? Cause he sure ain’t worth a damn as a soldier, Mikos.”

 

“You really should watch your language, Alexander. After all, there is a lady present,” Mikos replied smoothly, only the barest hint of anger in his voice. With two long strides, he entered the small room, and as his big bulk cleared the doorway, Marlena’s slim form was revealed.

 

“John?” The word cried out, small and frightened in the cold confines of the stone chamber. Her eyes locked on his, screaming her fear. Her willingness to do anything to stop his pain. Sweet Jesus, this was the moment he had feared.

 

“I’m okay, Doc. Really. Don’t worry,” he said quietly, holding her gaze. Willing her to believe it. With a low hiss of pain, he forced himself upright and tried to steady his breathing. On the verge of gaining control of his aching body, he felt the fist smash into his kidney. His head snapped back as his legs gave out, the heavy groan breaking from his lips of its own accord. Dangling again from the end of the chain, his vision went gray. ‘God, don’t let me pass out. Don’t leave her alone….’

 

“John!” She swept into the room as if the only thing that mattered was to be at his side. Surprise showed plainly on her face when Mikos’ big hand reached out to yank her back, as if for an instance she had forgotten that there was anyone in the room other than John.

 

“Let me go. Mikos, let me go to him!” she said in a hard voice, turning to face him with a glare as cold as ice.

 

“I think not,” was the harsh reply, jealousy washing over Mikos’ face as he tightened the grip on her upper arm. He would teach her who was master here, he would show her who was king.

 

“Keep her back,” Mikos order stiffly, shoving Marlena at the big Russian who now stood just behind John’s back.

 

“Leave her be, Mikos. This is between us. I didn’t think even you would sink so low as to make war against women, Mikos,” John grunted out painfully from between clenched teeth. Again he tried to make his legs take his weight, tried to turn his body to face his attackers. To face her. Thick fingers dug into the muscles of his neck and he found himself held firmly in place.

 

“You dressed him like a peasant, Dimitri,” Mikos noted almost distastefully, his eyes sweeping over the battered gray fatigues that were the only thing John now wore.

 

“Sorry, Sir. We had to search him before we started the… interrogation,” Dimitri replied uncertainly from his position at the back wall.

 

“He is my brother, you know,” Mikos said softly, his free hand moving down to trace the faint outline of a quickly darkening bruise. “He should be treated with the respect due his birth,” he finished, his fingers jabbing out painfully into the center of the already tender flesh. A smile creased his eyes as John tried to jerk free, a low moan rumbling in his chest.

 

“Mikos, please?! You don’t need to do this! I’m still here, Mikos! I agreed to marry you. I will marry you, but not if you hurt him. Mikos I will do anything you want, just don’t hurt him!” Marlena called out, in a voice that was half scream. She pulled against the hands that held her back against the wall, but the struggle brought her no nearer to John. Her breathing quickened as she fought the urge to panic and she tried to convince herself that she could protect him.

 

With lazy certainty, Mikos smiled and turned to look at her, his hands dropping from their exploration of John’s body. “Oh, I know you will do what I want, Marlena. There was never any doubt of that! But Alexander…. I am afraid that he needs to be taught a lesson. A painful lesson, I fear.”

 

“Um, Sir?” a hesitant voice called from the open doorway.

 

“You found what I requested?” Mikos responded, a pleased grin splitting his face as he stepped toward the guard now standing in the hall and relieved him of his burden. “Ah! There are few things so uniquely suited for teaching a stubborn animal a lesson,” he noted, the riding crop he now held in his hand whistling through the air as he experimentally snapped his wrist.

 

“Mikos, no!” Marlena shouted desperately as Mikos crossed the room to stand before his brother’s slumped form.

 

Seething blue eyes stared up at him from beneath a lowered brow. Mikos doubted he would ever tire of seeing the owner of those eyes held powerless and at his mercy. Teeth bared in a sadistic grin, Mikos ran the stiff leather whip beneath the man’s jaw, slowly forcing John’s head back. “Time for your first lesson, Alexander. Today you are going to learn what it is to lose. I am going to teach you how to lose to me, and I am going to use this whip to deliver the lesson,” Mikos said, watching the eyes, waiting for the first blossoming of fear.

 

Blinking back the blood that trickled in the corner of his eye, John searched the face before him for some sign of weakness, some flaw to exploit. What he found was madness, the gleeful delight of a child pulling the wings off of a butterfly. With a none too sane look of his own, John’s face twisted into a snarl and he spat bloody foam into the face of his brother. “Fuck you and fuck your lessons,” he ground out tightly.

 

Mikos chuckled, scrapping the spittle from his face with one long finger. Leaning in close to John, he wiped his finger against the man’s bare chest as he whispered into his ear. “It will hurt until you think you are going to die, and then it will hurt some more. But I promise you this, little brother…. I promise that you will live. You won’t want to, but you will. And you will carry the scars of this day to your grave.”

 

Stepping away and to John’s side, Mikos reached out and wrapped his fingers around one taut bicep, steadying the swaying body as the bound man tried to turn to face him. The tip of the leather lash ran gently down the center of John’s bare back, Mikos watching in fascination as the muscles rippled in response. “It is almost a shame to damage you,” he said softly as his arm swung slowly back and then whipped forward with all of the power of the big man’s full weight behind it.

 

The air whistled, the sharp slap of leather on skin echoed, and John’s shoulders seemed to suddenly go numb and cold. Then the fire ripped across his back and the agony stole his breath away. Six more blows fell in rapid succession, skin going white beneath the impact before crimson blood welled up in thin black lines. Marlena’s screams split the air, filling his mind. His lungs fought for fuel, shock and pain driving away the memory of how to breathe. The white mist again clouded his thoughts, and this time he did not fight against the escape that was offered. It was only when he choked on the ice-cold water that slammed into his face that he realized his lungs had remembered how to work. Gasping and coughing, he tried to still a body that now felt like one exposed nerve, the very molecules of air scraping against his skin like knives. ‘Done this before, John. Done this many times before,’ he tried to tell himself. It was a lie and he knew it. He had never faced anything like this before. Not like this. Mikos wouldn’t let him die. Marlena wouldn’t let him….

 

“Come now, Alexander. Do not tell me you would pass out so easily,” Mikos chided mockingly, lacing his fingers in John’s hair and yanking his head painfully back. Those blue eyes were dazed, defiance replaced by pain and the first hint of something that might have been fear. The warmth of his feelings coursed through him and Mikos realized that he truly loved his brother. He was glad he had finally returned home.

 

“Alexi? Don’t disappoint me, Alexi,” he sang out in a soft tone. “If you pass out now, you won’t learn the lesson, Alexander! You need to understand the rules. You need to understand what will happen if you are weak, if you try to escape from me. I am going to beat you until you ask me to stop. That is all you have to do. Ask me, and I will stop the whip. I will make the pain stop, Alexander, and all you have to do is ask. But when I stop…. Do you know what I am going to do when I am through with you? I’m going to make love to your woman. I am going to take her and I am going to make her mine. I will fill her with my essence until there is nothing left of you at all.”

 

John fought against the hands, but only his eyes were able to turn to face his brother. The words he wanted to say, the threats he sought to utter, silenced by the gleam of pure joy that twinkled in his brother’s dark gaze. Words would never stop such a man.

 

Soft laughter rang out, Mikos’ eyes darting back to glimpse Marlena’s face, and John’s breathing grew harsher as he realized that she had heard, she knew. “Won’t stop you,” the grunted words slurred out, the very act of forming them seeming to feed the pain that wracked him.

 

“That is the beauty of this lesson,” Mikos replied, his attention once again turning to the body that hung before him. “If you don’t ask me to stop, you will pass out. Eventually, it will be too much and you will let it all go. When you do, I will stop. And Alexander, when I stop playing with you, I will begin playing with her.” Leaning in, Mikos put a conspiratorial hand to John’s arm and said in a false whisper, “I suspect that she is very, very sweet in bed. Am I right, little brother?”

 

“What the hell do you want? Name it and it is yours, just…. Let her be, Mikos. Please….” John forced the words out, willing to offer anything to stop this. Willing to do anything….

 

“This is what I want, this lesson I wish to teach. No matter what you do today, no matter how hard you struggle, no matter how much pain you bare, you will lose. You will always lose to me, this is today’s lesson. Consider it my gift to you,” Mikos finished softly as the whip descended in another blur of rapid fire strokes. This time, John managed to find enough air to scream.

 

The lash fell again and again, stiff brown leather staining to black as the blood soaked deep into the braid. Sodden leather that threw off misty droplets of red to stain the white silk of her gown, his life’s blood the only part of him she could touch. She could not let this happen. No matter the cost, she could not stand still and watch him broken. Desperate to end the destruction before her, Marlena drew her leg up and smashed downward with her foot. The pointed heel of her shoe stabbed into the center of Dimitri’s foot, his hold on her arm weakening as he stumbled away in pain and surprise. She yanked herself free and lunged at Mikos, wrapping her hands around his upraised arm. “Stop! Mikos, I ask you to stop,” she pled softly, pulling his arm down to cradle against her chest. Her eyes avoided looking at John’s battered body, though she could hear him stir at the sound of her voice. Focusing all of her attention on Mikos, she stared into his eyes. “Why do you spend your time beating a helpless man when you could be with me? We could be together, Mikos. Right now, you could be feeling my lips running across your bare skin, my hands holding you close. That is what you want, isn’t it?” she breathed up at him, her body softening as she melded her form to his.

 

Startled from the hypnotic sound of leather on flesh, he looked down on her only to find himself trapped in hazel eyes. Lost in her eyes, his lips sank slowly down to brush against her own. She tasted of salt and sweet wine, and the heat flared in his groin as her firm breasts pressed against his broad chest. He pulled slowly back, studying her expression, seeing the surrender in her stance. Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “She is very sweet indeed, little brother. I thank you for bringing her to me,” Mikos called out softly, his gaze shifting to travel almost fondly over John’s battered body.

 

His eyes stung behind closed lids, his ears painting for him the picture of Marlena in Mikos’ arms. He felt as if his very bones were exposed and on fire and the cracked ribs seemed to rub at his insides with every shuddering gasp of air. But if this was his hell, he would accept it gladly. Revel in it eternally. Knowing that every screeching nerve signaled another moment that she would not be with Mikos. “I didn’t say ‘stop’, Mikos. I never will. I won’t lose to you, brother!” he hissed out, hatred lending his voice a strength his body lacked.

 

“You already have, Alexi. I am simply trying to make you realize that fact,” Mikos replied smugly, as he turned the limp body to face him. With the hand that held the whip, he reached out to tilt his brother’s head back, wanting him to see how right Marlena looked standing in the embrace of a man who deserved her. His free hand gently turned Marlena, until her back rested against Mikos’ chest and her face was revealed to John.

 

Unable to help himself, John’s eyes cracked open. Dazedly he tried to focus, tried to ignore Mikos’ hand as it rested possessively against Marlena’s hip. “Not your fight, Doc. Stay out of it,” he muttered from between cracked lips.

 

“Don’t do this, John! Please, I can’t stand to see this! Just let it go. Let me go,” she said, her voice breaking as she finally let her eyes meet his.

 

“Never!” he growled back as he surged forward against the chains, his body closing the scant inches that separated them as his lips locked unerringly on hers. For an instance he was somewhere else, far away from the torn flesh that imprisoned him, and then she was gone. With a groan he sank back against the chains, the harsh reality of his world crashing in on him.

 

Sobbing openly now, she tried to reach him. Tried to touch him, as if somehow that alone would be enough to end his pain. Roughly, Mikos dragged her back, his arms looping around her to pull her firmly against his sweating body.

 

“Damn it, Dimitri! Hold her this time!” he snapped out angrily, shoving Marlena into the younger man’s grip before stepping forward to yank John’s head up by his hair. “You should not touch what is not yours. ‘She’ is no longer yours!” he spat out as his open hand slapped against John’s battered face.

 

John’s lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile. “You are a fool,” he managed to whisper.

 

Breathing heavily, Mikos studied the man before him. The bruises that rose, dark and ugly, from the clean planes of his face. The dried blood that caked in the corner of his right eye, that leaked from the split lip. Yet still, those eyes followed him. Dulled by pain, still there was no sign of defeat, no hint of the homage that was his due. Slowly, Mikos circled the taut stretched body, his finger running down the length of the ribs. He felt the trembling, heard the hiss of pain. But beneath it all, there was still a sense of defiance. Standing directly behind the man, he raked his fingers across the torn and bleeding skin of his brother’s back. The body spasmed and a shriek of pain split the air, for a moment making him think he had won.

 

“John! No!” The woman’s voice called out, as if she the pain he felt were somehow her own.

 

Muscles shuddering, John fought against the red haze that fogged his mind. “‘S alright,” he whispered, as if to himself. “Doc, it’s all right. I can do this…”

 

Mikos frowned, his finger going up to trail lightly across the surface of the tattoo, the black form of the phoenix standing out plainly on the white skin. Leaning close to the man’s ear, Mikos said softly, “He taught you well, didn’t he? DiMera? He taught you the meaning of pain?”

 

“He taught me all I need to know to deal with a coward like you,” was the labored reply, as John tried to brace himself for another jolt of agony.

 

“Hmm,” Mikos muttered contemplatively, stepping back to again circle the bound form. “What do you think would be most painful, Alexander? Most… demonstrative of your loss? To beat you into unconsciousness and then take your woman? Or to leave you hanging here. Awake. Aware. Knowing that I was holding her. Kissing her. Making love to her until she cried out my name. What do you think would be the best way to teach you today’s lesson?”

 

His heart stopped and his mouth went dry. He tried not to let the fear show. Tried to keep his head down, though the tendons in his neck pulsed with suppressed rage. He would give Mikos no sign of his weakness.

 

“I will make love to her. She will learn to enjoy it,” Mikos continued, his voice dropping to a snarl as he moved to grab Marlena. Holding her tight against him, he again stood before John. “I will make her beg for it,” he finally whispered as his fingers wove through her hair and he yanked her head back to deliver a brutal kiss.

 

His stomach knotted, a sudden wave of nausea running through him. He knew not to look. Knew he couldn’t see that man’s lips on hers and still hide his feelings. Tugging hard against the steel cuffs that bound his bloody wrists, he tried to focus on the pain. Tried to drive away the sounds of her sobs. Mikos could not know how the simple act of a kiss could cut him to the core.

 

Mikos pulled slowly back, once again amazed by the beauty of the woman in his arms. Again he glanced to his brother. “But perhaps you do not love her as much as you said? It does not bother you to think of us together?” he taunted, watching as the muscles in those bare shoulders corded in suppressed rage. His eyes locked on John’s body, Mikos smiled. “Then you do not mind if I do this…”

 

Clumsy hands pawed at her breast, thick fingers pinching against the fragile material of the gown. His fingers clamped on her nipple, twisting hard, and she could not help but gasp out and try to shift her body away from him.

 

As Mikos had expected, John’s head shot up and his body straightened. Icy blue eyes glinted with anger as he growled out, “Let her go.”

 

Her body shaking in reaction to the violation, Marlena tilted her head to meet John’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she tried to say, but her tears put lie to the words. Her skin felt greasy from where his hands had touched her, the stain of his touch refusing to be banished. But better the taint of his hands on her skin than the thought of what he would do to John if she let him.

 

Chuckling now, Mikos allowed his hands to travel upward, looping themselves around that slim elegant neck. “I think that this is a lesson you will best learn if awake,” he said with a smile. “Think of me, little brother. Think of what I will be doing to her while you hang here in this cell like the helpless animal you are. When I am done, I will come down and tell you how good she was and you can tell me what it feels like to know you are beaten.”

 

“Mikos, I beg you…,” John panted, pulling hard at the chains that held him.

 

Still smiling that cold smile, Mikos turned and walked Marlena toward the door. “Dimitri, I want that tattoo on his shoulder removed. He will carry no marks save the ones I give him,” he ordered, ignoring John as his screams rent the air of the chamber.

 

“Mikos, if you touch her I will kill you. I swear it!” the words echoed off of the stone walls sounding hollow and empty. Her head snapped around, watching him fight to come to her. Knowing it might be the last time she would see him. He bucked like a trapped animal, jerking mindlessly now against his restraints. Under the harsh glare of the lights his body shone, an image in pale white and blood red, crimson streaks trailing down his arms from wrists scrapped raw by unyielding steel. Blue eyes blazed, wild with fear and pain. This could not be her last memory of him.

 

“Um, how should we do that, sir,” Dimitri asked uncertainly, glancing almost fearfully at the bleeding body that now jerked against the dangling chains.

 

“Why, you burn it off, of course,” was the casual reply.

 

The last thing she heard was the sound of her name on his lips and then the steel door slammed shut behind her.

 

Chapter 83 – (A Version)

 

They seemed to walk forever down empty corridors that ran for miles, yet when they arrived at the doorway to Mikos’ room she had had time to draw not a single breath. The walls began to close in on her and she was aware of nothing except the feel of his body where it brushed against hers. She balked when he opened the heavy wooden door and his hand snapped out to grab her wrist. He smiled down on her and she realized that he had been waiting for her to struggle, to fight back. He had been hoping she would give him a reason to use force. She would not give him one, at least not yet.

 

Looking through him as if he didn’t exist, she walked into the bedroom like it had been her intent all along. Her eyes swept over the surroundings, attempting to give her mind something to distract itself with. The furniture matched the man himself, heavy and overbearing. Crimson velvet screened off the high windows that lined the wall opposite the door. Blocky furniture in mahogany and oak dotted the walls while thick brocade armchairs faced the marble fireplace. Opposite the fireplace, the canopy bed squatted as if in a place of honor. Here too, the velvet drapes swung thick and heavy, dangling from the carved wooden poles that formed the frame of the bed.

 

His hold on her arm tightened, and he walked toward the bed dragging her behind him. Her body went numb, a cacophony of voices screaming protest within her mind. ‘No’ would have no meaning here.

 

Reaching the side of the bed he stopped and turned suddenly, dragging her forward into a rough embrace. She held herself completely rigid, wanting to preserve for herself some modicum of control, or at least its illusion. But when his lips crushed down on hers, hard and demanding and seeking entry, she could not help the shudder that ripped through her. Clenching her teeth, she ripped her head away and tried to spit out the vile taste of him.

 

“Ah, so that is how you wish it to be,” he said with amusement as he reached out to grab her firmly under her chin. Wrenching her head around to face him, he smiled. “Good. That is how I want it.”

 

“I don’t care what you want,” she answered coldly, her eyes looking on him with utter disgust.

 

“You will learn to,” he nearly whispered, his free hand trailing slowly down her side, caressing her smooth curves through the gossamer silk of the gown.

 

When she merely stood and glared at him, giving him no hint of her emotions, he sighed almost sadly. “What if I were to spare your… ‘former’ lover? It is in my power, my control. I may set him free or I may break him into a hundred tiny pieces with a single word from my lips. A fascinating quandary, is it not,” he whispered down at her, his hand traveling up her body to lightly cup one of her breasts. This time, she did not pull away, though he could see her distress in the narrowing of her eyes. “Oh yes,” he continued seductively. “I think you may learn that you want very much to please me.”

 

“Don’t pretend you would let him go, Mikos. Don’t pretend I am so naive as to believe such a lie,” she stated flatly, refusing to play his game.

 

He chuckled, the sound utterly devoid of humor. “You are truly a delight, my dear. And you are right, I would no more part with him than I would with you. I own him, just as I will own you. But if you tried very hard, you might convince me to spare him some of the pain he so richly deserves. Do you think you could convince me, Marlena? Do you?”

 

She could convince him of anything. If it would keep him from John, keep leather from flesh, she could convince him of anything. Stepping forward into his arms, she made her body soft, inviting, demanding. She convinced him. She touched her lips to his, tasting his tongue. She convinced him. She felt his heat, held his gaze, pushed him down into smooth soft sheets. And convinced him.

 

He moaned loudly as she straddled his hips and she cringed as she felt him twitch beneath her. He was hard and hot and the thought of him inside her made her want to die. She couldn’t even pretend a smile but she managed not to gag as she bent over to slowly unbutton the black onyx buttons that held his shirt closed. Thick dark hair crinckled beneath her fingers as she worked her way upward, feeling his eyes following her every movement. His breathing quickened as she slipped the last button free and paused to look down on his face. His black eyes burned, reflecting his need, his triumph, his insanity. When those too thick lips twisted in a possessive smile, she wished him dead. And then she bent to kiss him.

 

He never moved from his pose, his arms propped behind his head as if completely at ease. But his lips were demanding, his tongue forcing its way between her teeth and plundering her mouth as if he wanted to taste her very soul. His hips thrust upward and she could feel the thick heavy outline of his dick rubbing against her through the thin fabric of his pants. With a shudder she hoped he would mistake for desire, she forced herself to press down on him, her chest dropping until it rested lightly against the thick mat of hair as her arms stretched out above them. When she sensed that he would wait no longer, she swept her left hand suddenly out, grabbing the neck of the heavy ceramic lamp that perched atop the nightstand. In one smooth movement she pulled herself back from the loathsome kiss and brought the lamp crashing down toward his head in a blow meant to smash his skull.

 

With the quickness of a snake, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. For an instance he merely studied her, his eyes traveling lazily across her body, her breast, her face. Then he smiled and she knew that this was what he had been hoping for all along.

 

Fear swept through her and she tried to scramble from the bed. He was too fast, too strong, his hand latching onto her ankle and yanking her back up toward him. In a panic, she lashed out, her pointed heel jabbing into the back of his hand and making him loosen his hold for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second was all she needed, and with a violent twist of her leg she was free. She collapsed to the floor as he grabbed at her gown, the delicate silk ripping away to reveal her long white legs.

 

Stumbling away, her mind was numb with fear. Not knowing where to run, knowing only that she had to run. He was a half step behind her, and she could hear his gleeful chuckle, his heavy tread. The door was too far away, so she sprinted toward the heavy chairs that stood before the fireplace as if somehow they could hide her. She darted around the heavy bulk of the armchair, feeling the tips of his fingers graze her arm. She whirled to face him as he tipped the chair over and stepped across its fallen form. There was a smile on his face as he leisurely stalked toward her, his hand reaching down to stroke against the front of his pants. “Thank you,” he whispered in a guttural tone. “Thank you for making this so sweet.”

 

A sob of pure fright broke from her chest as she again turned to flee, but there was no place left to go. His heavy hand crashed down on her shoulder, the fingers digging in, causing her to cry out with the pain. In desperation, she reached out toward the mantel, trying to use its solid bulk to pull herself away. As if her efforts were those of a child, he spun her to face him, wanting to see her eyes as he took her.

 

The slim pale form twisted about like a feather in a whirlwind, helpless in the grasp of an irresistible force. His laughter still echoed from the walls as he realized his mistake. He barely had time to register the rage in those hazel eyes as the brass poker came whistling toward his face. The attack was as unexpected as it was devastating, the pointed tip of the metal smashing the bridge of his nose and ripping away the eyelid that spasmed closed in a vain attempt to protect the left eye.

 

With an anguished shriek, he clasped both hands to his ravaged face, stumbling away from the devil who had caused him such pain. His feet tangled in the legs of the overturned chair, his body crashing backwards as his arms flailed helplessly. With a solid thud, his head slammed into the thick column of wood that supported one corner of the massive canopy bed. All sound ceased, and he slumped to the floor, dark fluid dripping from the lumpen mass of flesh that had been his left eye.

 

She stood, stunned and in shock, the poker falling from her hands with a dull clang. Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to still the shaking that wracked her body and threatened to overtake her mind. For long moments she simply stood, watching his heavy body. Expecting him to arise.

 

Finally the tremors began to ease and Marlena took a hesitant step toward Mikos’ fallen form. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, knowing he was still alive. Grateful she hadn’t killed him. Wishing that she had. Unable to bring herself to touch him, she instead turned toward the door. The only thing that mattered was to find John. Find him and get them both out of this hell the fates had fashioned for them.

 

Her hand wrapped around the doorknob before her common sense had a chance to kick in. Looking down at the bloodstained remnants of her gown, she knew that she could never reach him. Not like this.

 

Cursing the need to touch anything that belonged to the beast on the floor, she quickly ran to a dresser and pawed through his clothes. In the top drawer, she found a gift. A handgun, gleaming black and deadly under a thin coat of oil. Her fingers slipped around the cool wood of the butt and she pulled the weapon free of its holster. She hated guns. Hated what they could do to the human body. But that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to use one. Roman had seen to that. Roman and then John.

 

Setting the automatic gently down on the top of the dresser, she dug rapidly through the clothes that were folded neatly within. Grabbing out a dark turtle neck, she shrugged out of the tattered gown and pulled it over her head. It hung on her like a dress, and she rolled the long sleeves up until her hands were free.

 

Impatient to leave, she pulled out a pair of riding britches, the stretchy material hanging on her slender form and held up only by the belt she tied about her waist. It would do well enough. She didn’t even bother trying to find shoes. With a last glance down at Mikos’ body, she picked up her pistol and flicked off the safety. For a long moment, she simply stared down on the form of her attacker. Her eyes darkened briefly as if in sudden contemplation of evil thoughts, and then she turned and slipped out the door.

 

***

 

She eased gingerly down the darkened stairway, trying not to let her worries for John rush her into carelessness. The pistol felt cold and foreign in her hands, but she tightened her grip and held the weapon at the ready. She would use it if she had to. She would use it if it would save John.

 

She reached the end of the narrow passageway, moving soundlessly on bare feet. The thick metal door greeted her, and for a second she hesitated, as if fearful of what lay on the other side. Finally, the gun clenched tightly in her right hand, she eased the door slowly open. The stench of burnt flesh assailed her and she gagged as her mind attempted to make sense of the carnage her eyes revealed.

 

He was lay crumpled in the center of the floor. Dimitri’s broad back faced her, his foot pressed firmly against John’s spine as he held a faintly glowing metal rod before his face. Marlena knew that she didn’t want to see the damage that had been done, she only needed to stop it.

 

“Get away from him,” she barked, her voice high and brittle as she stepped into the small room and pulled the door shut behind her.

 

In response, Dimitri whirled around to face her, his movements surprisingly fast for such a big man. Seeing who it was that confronted him, a smile crept across his face and he began to take a tentative step forward.

 

“I will shoot you dead if you make another move,” she grated out, impatience rising with every moment he kept her from John’s side. Faintly she could make out the rise and fall of his chest, the only sign that he was still alive. But he was alive. That was what mattered. It was all that mattered. If Dimitri thought he could keep her from John’s side, Dimitri was wrong.

 

“Put the gun down, Dr. Evans,” the big man said in a low voice, his hands dropping to his sides, the heated iron bar still in his grip.

 

With one smooth movement, she cocked the trigger on the big automatic. “Put down the bar and back up to the far wall or I will shoot you where you stand,” she said coldly, her eyes narrowing with determination.

 

He thought she was bluffing, he was almost sure of it. But… her eyes. Something in her eyes made him doubt. With a soft sigh he let the iron slip from his fingers and moved slowly back to stand in the far corner of the room. “What exactly do you plan to do with him, Dr. Evans?” he asked mildly, flashing her an innocent look meant to enrage.

 

“Shut up and turn around,” she snapped back, moving tentatively forward until she stood next to the broken body in the center of the room. “Get on your knees,” she hissed, anger flaring as she saw the blistering skin that covered John’s right shoulder.

 

Becoming less certain of what Dr. Evans would or would not do, Dimitri silently complied. His cooperation wouldn’t matter anyway. There was no way the good doctor was going to get that man on his feet and out of the cell. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

 

Only once Dimitri sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor did she allow herself to crouch beside John’s still unmoving form. “John?” she called out softly, her fingers gently brushing back the strands of hair that hung across his bloodied face. “John, it’s Marlena. You have to wake up, honey. We have to get out of here,” she urged, her fingers going to his neck to check his pulse.

 

He was shocky, his skin cold and clammy. Fearing she was too late, she slapped lightly at his exposed check, grimacing as her hand impacted on skin that was already purpled and swollen by blows too numerous to count. “John, wake up!” she hissed in frustration.

 

His arms twitched as if they wanted to protect him and a low grunt of pain escaped his lips. “Come on, baby. Wake up,” she repeated, as if she could somehow will him to come back to her. Ever so slowly, one blue eye cracked wearily open.

 

“Doc?” he rasped out in confusion as the pain of his body slowly crushed down on him.

 

“John, you have to get up. We have to get out of here,” she said urgently, her hands searching for a hold on his body that would not cause him more hurt.

 

“You okay? Did he…” the words tore hoarsely from his throat as his right hand scraped across the floor in an attempt to touch her.

 

The sound of chain on concrete echoed in the room, and she reached down to gently wrap her fingers around his big hand. “I’m fine, honey. He didn’t hurt me,” she said softly, her fingers lightly playing across the torn skin that surrounded the steel cuff as the tears began to trail down her cheeks.

 

“Give me the key,” she ordered, her head snapping up to fix hate filled eyes on Dimitri’s still form.

 

Wordlessly, the man complied. There was a dangerous edge to the woman’s voice. A hint of an anger that ran so deep it scared him. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the key and tossed it over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that if he turned to face her he might trigger that anger into action.

 

Her eyes still fixed on Dimitri’s back, she let go of John’s hand and reached for the key. Trying to achieve some state of clinical detachment, she fit the key into the blood encrusted lock and snapped open the cuff. He tried to pull away from her then, his body jerking as the cold steel was torn from the flesh it was now embedded in. “It’s okay,” she gentled, stroking the side of his face before reaching out to unlock the cuff on his left wrist. “It’s all going to be okay. You just have to hold on for me, honey. Just a little longer and we will be gone from this place.”

 

The urgency washed over her, the need to get him out of this stinking cell. Waves of nausea rolled through her, the full impact of his injuries suddenly striking her like a blow. Despite the gun gripped tightly in her hand, she felt suddenly helpless and scared. “You have to get on your feet, John. We have to walk out of here,” she said. Her desperation showed in her voice, knowing she asked the impossible. Knowing he would do it anyway, if only because she was the one who asked. Propping one hand beneath his chest, she tried to pull him up to his knees.

 

“Doc, leave me. Just go. Go now,” he murmured tiredly, his body hanging limp in her arms.

 

“Not without you!” she snapped at him, yanking up against his heavy body as if she could somehow carry him from the room using brute strength alone.

 

She was doing it again. She was always doing this, putting herself in danger for him. Argument was pointless, so he didn’t waste his breath. The fear cut through the pain and he made an effort to gather his legs beneath him. He could feel the ribs grating against each other, the searing heat as the skin on his back split in response to his movements. His vision went black as he lunged awkwardly to his feet, kept upright only by the strength of the arm that she held wrapped around his waist. Bent almost double, he tried not to puke as the air ripped through his lungs like broken shards of glass. Get her the fuck out of here, it was the only thing that mattered.

 

“John, you have to walk, baby. Straighten up for me, please,” Marlena whispered, realizing that they were never going to make it, not like this.

 

Bending low, she looped his arm over her shoulder, wincing as her fingers clamped around the raw skin of his wrist. He seemed oblivious to her touch, as if past the point of endurance and on his feet only because that was where she wanted him to be. She straightened slowly, hearing the low hiss of pain he growled out and fearing that he was going to pass out with the effort. She was shocked to hear his muttered words, “Give me the gun, Doc,” as he reached out for her right hand and the weapon she carried in it.

 

Dimitri’s back stiffened and she knew instantly what John planned to do. “John, leave him. He isn’t worth it,” she said, trying to maneuver him in the direction of the doorway. He stumbled forward a few steps before firmly planting his feet and shaking his dark head in negation.

 

“He’ll sound the alarm, Doc. Give me the gun and wait outside,” he said almost gently, tilting his head to look over at her with eyes so blue she thought it impossible they had ever even seen a sin. He scared her most when he was without guile.

 

Shaking her head, she pulled the gun away from his grasping hand. “The handcuffs, John. I’ll chain him to the wall. He won’t call anyone,” she replied, backing away from John as he stood swaying and watching her with those innocent eyes.

 

When she ordered Dimitri to back slowly toward her, his hands on top of his head, the man didn’t even hesitate. She could see the tension in his shoulders and knew that he realized how close to death he was. As much as she hated the man for what he had helped do to John, she would hate it even more to know that John had killed him. Shot him down as he stood helpless and unarmed. That John would do such a thing, she no longer had any doubt.

 

It was with a sense of relief that she snapped the cuffs around the man’s wrists and eliminated the threat he posed. The threat John posed. As she turned back to John, a wan smile crossed her face. And then she saw him fall.

 

It was as if muscle and bone had finally rebelled, the spirit willing but the body weak. With a low groan, he sank to his knees, one bloodied fist smashing down against the concrete to prevent him from collapsing on his face.

 

“Get up! Get on you feet right now!” she said, her voice rising frantically as she recognized the surrender in his pose.

 

“Can’t,” he wheezed out raggedly. “Hurts too much.”

 

The muscles in his arm quivered with the effort of merely holding himself upright and she knew that in another moment he would let go of even the pretense of escape. Roughly she grabbed his face, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she raised his head and forced him to meet her eyes. He would fight through this, she would make him.

 

“I am not going to raise this baby alone, John Black. You got me pregnant and you are damn well going to take responsibility for it! You understand me?” She barked the words out like a drill sergeant, but her face shone with the smile she reserved for him alone.

 

Ever so slowly, the truth dawned behind his eyes. “A baby? My baby?” He said it like it was a foreign concept, as if no one on earth had ever done such a thing before. As far as he was concerned, no one had.

 

“Well, I prefer to think of it as ‘our’ baby, but that’s about the gist of it,” she replied with a grin, her hand reaching out to brush at the tears that sprang suddenly to the corners of his eyes. “Now, get up, daddy. We’ve got places to go.”

 

She grabbed him by the waist of the battered fatigues and used her legs to power them both off of the floor.

 

“A baby?” he repeated, wonder in his voice, suddenly oblivious to the pain that screeched through his nerves.

 

“A baby,” she repeated patiently. With a gentle nudge, she urged him toward the open doorway, only to find their progress once again halted by his refusal to move. The arm that she held looped across her shoulder suddenly tightened and he swung her around to face him.

 

“I love you,” he whispered tenderly, tears now streaming freely down his face. He dropped his head and gently pressed his lips to hers, the kiss deepening until it seemed it would never end. It was Marlena who finally pulled back, her hands flying to her lips as if to trap the feeling of that kiss forever.

 

“We have to go,” she whispered breathlessly, though her legs were somehow reluctant to move.

 

His eyes never left her face, but he nodded his agreement and leaned his weight on her. With shuffling steps, they slowly made their way out the door, pulling it shut behind them. Standing in the darkened corridor, they paused for a moment, gathering their bearings. He pressed against her, swaying on his feet. His breath rasping out in painful gulps for air, as if merely standing still was more effort than his body could give. Staring down the long deserted corridor, Marlena wondered how they would ever make it out alive. She closed her eyes and let her head drop to rest against his shoulder, knowing it might be for the last time. “I love you too,” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear.

 

A low chuckle rumbled against the stone walls as he pulled her closer, his arms a promise of safety even here. “Good thing, seeing as how we’re having a baby,” he said with a grin. And in his voice, there was nothing of fear or anger or pain. In his voice, there was only joy.

 

Chapter 84 – (A Version)

 

Bo cursed under his breath and tried to make tired legs move just a little bit faster. Too late. They were way too late. The sense of panic increased, fed by the dark shadows that lunged at him from the craggy walls of the tunnel. Pounding footsteps echoed from behind, the pinprick of flashlights lancing out before him in a vain attempt to dispel the darkness. He rushed through a surreal world of black and white knowing as he did so that it was already too late. Way too late.

 

The end of the tunnel came as a complete surprise and Bo could not help but stumble to a halt, his men fanning out behind him. He felt lost in the recesses of the vast stone chamber, his eyes seeking to adjust to the subdued light thrown off by the many lanterns that dotted the cavern floor. The blueprints had revealed the size of the cave, but they hadn’t done it justice. Nothing could have, and Bo’s eyes quickly traveled sparkling rock walls in an attempt to gather his bearings. ‘Too late,’ he thought bitterly, an instance before he finally found what he had been seeking. A relieved smile lit his face, and he watched as silver-blond hair swirl around in sudden alarm.

 

“Uncle Bo!” Sami screamed, her glad cry echoing off of the walls and breaking the spell that had held Bo motionless.

 

“Thank you, Lord,” he whispered, taking off across the room in an easy jog. Sami showed no such restraint, sprinting toward Bo as her startled brother and sister turned to watch.

 

“We thought you were never going to get here!” Sami accused as she flung herself into her uncle’s arms.

 

Bo swept her up in a tight hug, a relieved chuckle escaping him. “Take it easy, squirt. You know I’m never on time!” Sami wrapped her arms around him in a grip that made his ribs ache as he scanned the small group gathered around a ragged hole in the side of the cave wall. His expression darkened at what he found, or rather who he found and who he didn’t. Bo tensed, his gaze locking on DiMera’s, and he asked softly, “Where are your parents, Sami?”

 

Sami didn’t answer, keeping her head buried in Bo’s chest and simply holding on for dear life. Her Uncle Bo was here. He would fix everything. He had to.

 

“They didn’t make it out. Without backup, we weren’t able to get both the children and Marlena out at the same time. I came ahead with the children. John stayed behind to get Marlena,” Stefano’s deep voice intoned.

 

At the hated sound of that man’s voice, Bo could not quite help an involuntary flinch and his free hand knotted into a tight fist. Focusing on the need to see John and Marlena safe, Bo fought down the urge to attack his mortal enemy. Gently detaching himself from Sami’s death grip, he took her hand in his and walked swiftly to the small opening around which clustered DiMera and the other two Brady children. “You just left them?” he couldn’t help muttering.

 

Stefano merely cocked one haughty brow. “I believe the plan called for your presence. If you had been where you were supposed to be, it would not have been necessary to leave without them.”

 

“I got here as fast as I could, DiMera. I lost two men to the damn mountain. You were here. You should have done something!”

 

“You lost two of ‘my’ men, Brady. And I did do something. I got the children out. Aren’t you going to say ‘thank you’?”

 

“Fuck you,” Bo muttered, shouldering his way past DiMera, the urge to plant a fist in that arrogant face almost irresistible. Ignoring the hatred that welled up, Bo shook his head and called to his second in command. “McKlain. Leave two men here to help guard the rear. We’re going in, right now!”

 

Peering into the dark void, Bo was oblivious to everything but the pressing need for haste. Forcing himself to look up at DiMera, he asked tightly, “Where did you last see them?”

 

“They were in the ballroom, Uncle Bo,” Eric cut in anxiously.

 

“They won’t be there now. John made his move right after we left. He wouldn’t have waited, of that, I am certain,” Stefano advised.

 

“Oh, so you know him that well?” Bo retorted.

 

“You might say I taught him everything he knows. Patience has never been his forte, Bo. He would not wait. He made his play and he failed. They won’t be in the ballroom. Don’t waste your time.”

 

“Dad wouldn’t fail. No way,” Sami snapped out, her eyes flashing.

 

Bo grit his teeth, biting back words that could only hurt. “Don’t worry, kids. They’re there, we’ll find them. I promise,” he said, forcing his voice to be gentle. With a reassuring nod, he turned back to the tunnel entrance and the darkness that beckoned.

 

***

 

“Marlena, give me the gun,” John grated softly from between clenched teeth.

 

“You don’t need the gun, there’s nobody here to shoot,” she muttered back, her concentration consumed with the task of supporting his heavy body as they stumbled slowly down the long hallway.

 

“There will be,” he responded with certainty.

 

“John…”

 

“No argument, Doc. Not now. Not when it concerns your safety. The baby’s safety!” he said gruffly, coming to a halt in the center of the hall and turning her to face him. “If Mikos’ men find us, I want you to run. I want you to run and hide and let me handle it Doc. I need you to do this for me.”

 

“I won’t leave you again, John. I won’t,” she replied softly, reaching up to run her fingers lightly across the bruises that marred his face.

 

“I’m too hurt to move fast, Marlena. If we’re seen, my only choice is to stand and face them. But I can buy you time. Enough time for Bo to get here. Enough time to know you are safe. You. My baby. Doc, that’s all that matters to me. Please! The only way I can be hurt is through you. If they come after us, you have to run!”

 

There were tears in the corners of his eyes, and she knew that he was right. She also knew that she didn’t care. Whatever happened to them now, she would never let him be taken from her. Never again. “Take the gun,” she said, turning away from him so that her eyes could not betray her thoughts.

 

“Marlena…” He recognized her intent. Her refusal to let him go. Her life was a sacrifice he refused to let her make.

 

“John, come on. We have to get out of here,” she said, cutting him off. “Bo will come. He will come and we will all go home together. But first we have to get out of this hallway, so please stop slowing me down!”

 

He grit his teeth in frustration, wondering why it was he had to fall in love with such an ornery woman. His hand tightened around the butt of the pistol as he automatically checked the safety. Once again leaning his weight on her, he stifled further argument and tried to make his body move faster. “The closest way out is through the kitchen,” he said.

 

She clenched her fingers around the waist of the baggy fatigues and tried to support a body that seemed to be moving more and more slowly. His breath came out in sharp painful gasps with each step they took and the kitchen suddenly seemed miles away. “John, what about the passageways? They’re closer. Or maybe we could just hide in one of the rooms? It will take them hours to search everywhere!”

 

He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. “I wired the passages. As soon as Mikos’ men open the gate that leads to the cavern, the whole thing will blow. I don’t know if Bo will get here before that happens and we need to get out of here before it does. That C-4 will take out every room that the passageways run through and I don’t want to be hiding in a room when the roof falls in.”

 

Her stomach knotted at the sudden realization of how very little time they might have left. Grimly, she tried to pick up the pace, almost dragging his body down the hall. He seemed to sense her desperation, trying to match her long strides with stumbling steps of his own. The last time she had walked down this passageway it had felt like an eternity. This time seemed to take even longer. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she was actually surprised to find they had made it that far.

 

He rested his sweating body against the cool stone walls and looked at her with something approaching awe. “You’ve been working out,” he said with a dry chuckle.

 

“Never underestimate the power of a woman,” she replied, looking at him with a small smile and wondering if they were going to be able to make it to the top of the stairs. He leaned against the wall, hunched over as if protecting his ribs from a blow about to fall. She could see the strain on his face and knew that he could not take much more of this. “It’s just a little further, honey,” she said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand.

 

“A little further,” he repeated, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and focusing on taking one step at a time. One step and then one step and then one step again. He sensed more than saw the end of the long curving stairway and his fingers flicked the safety off on the gun he held in his hand. The kitchen was close. Just a little further and they would be there. Just a little further…

 

“John! John, come on! We have to get this on you or you are going to freeze!” Her words jarred him from his stupor and he looked up to see her worried face staring down at him. It was only then that he realized he’d been out on his feet and that somehow she had gotten them both to the pantry that stood to the side of the back door.

 

He stared up at her in a daze and she was struck by the sudden fear that she would not be able to get him back up on his feet. She lay the heavy fur coat she was holding across his lap and bent down next to the chair he had collapsed in. Grabbing up the largest pair of boots from beneath the coat rack, she jammed his bare feet inside and pulled the laces as tight as she could. As she finished lacing the other boot his head dropped forward and he would have fallen from the chair if not for the firm arm she held against his chest.

 

“John! John, come on!” she whispered desperately, slapping lightly at his face. They were too close to stop now. “Get up!”

 

“Search every room! They can’t have gotten far!” The angry voice seemed to echo throughout the entire house and Marlena had a moment to regret not letting John kill Dimitri when they had the chance.

 

John’s eyes blinked open as he sensed the threat and she had to clasp a hand roughly to his face to stifle the muttered groan that escaped his lips. “Shhh,” she whispered in his ear as the sound of a heavy tread approached the small alcove in which they sat.

 

A cough rattled deep in his chest and he struggled to understand what was going on, muddied thoughts of danger running through his mind as a uniformed figure suddenly loomed in the entryway of the pantry. The pistol raised as if of its own accord, the bark of gunfire bringing him back to the present as the surprised face of a guard imploded under the impact of the bullet.

 

“Shit…,” he snarled inarticulately, realizing that the noise would bring every guard in the place down on them.

 

The sound of the shot rang in her ears and for a moment she feared that John had been hit. Then he lurched to his feet and with a tug on her hand sent her scrambling toward the back door. Again and then again gunfire cracked out and each time she cringed, waiting for the cry of pain that would signal an end to her world. Her heart in her throat, she slammed into the door and yanked it open, the soft white glow of moonlit snow calling to her. Standing in the threshold, she paused and turned, unwilling to leave without him. Even as she watched, he turned and ran, an awkward shuffling gate that made all too obvious the physical damage that had been done to him.

 

“Go, dammit!” he swore at her, not wanting to believe that she was still here. She should have been safely lost in the shadows of the misty predawn light.

 

Marlena didn’t bother with a reply, simply grabbing him by his left arm and helping him shrug into the thick coat. Lunging through the knee-high drifts of snow, they scrambled away from the pounding footsteps of the guards who now flooded the kitchen.

 

John turned as the first shot split the air above his head. They were only thirty feet out from the backdoor and despite the cover of the still falling snow, he knew they would be plainly visible to the guards. Snapping a quick shot in the direction of the men that poured from the door, he pulled Marlena into the protection of his arms and shoved her down into the snow. Kneeling above her startled form, he turned to fire on the guards as they scrambled for cover. His only hope was to kill them all. He caught a glimpse of Dimitri’s face and drew a bead. He pulled the trigger just as fire and smoke belched forth from every door and window on the first floor. Smoke and debris obscured his target and the rumbling explosion knocked him from his feet and into the icy embrace of the snow.

 

John hit the ground hard, the impact softened only slightly by the pillow of snow. The fear lanced through her and then his hand was on her arm, pulling her to him with a force that could not be denied.

 

“It’s okay! It’s the explosives I set! Let’s go!” he screamed in her ear, trying to make himself heard above sounds of alarms and tiny explosions as anything that could burn, did.

 

Blinded by the glare of the explosion, Marlena scrambled to her feet and tugged at John’s struggling body. He finally stood, swaying and looking down on her with the eyes of an old man. Before he had time to order her away, she linked her fingers in his free hand and started plowing through the snow. A car. If they could just find a car.

 

John lurched along in her wake, his mind too numbed to object to whatever she chose to do. Gray and murky, he could make out the stilted movements of bodies to their right. A sudden ‘whoosh’ of flames as the stable roof caught fire, and he realized that they were almost to the front entryway. Even as he peered through the falling snow, he saw a long black limo pull away from the front staircase, tires grabbing for purchase on the packed snow of the circular drive. He watched as the car straightened out and accelerated toward the open front gates, a dark form rearing up in the glare of the headlights. With a hollow thud, the car tried vainly to swerve away from the looming body, skidding on the icy drive and slamming crossways into the entry gate. Cursing the fates that seemed to conspire against him, John searched for another vehicle and wondered if he could manage to ram the limo now blocking his way. Focused on getting a car, he didn’t register the panicked screams of the horses until they were almost on top of him.

 

“John!” she yelled out in warning as the black body of a giant horse lunged out at them from the misty fog. He stumbled back in surprise, almost knocking her from her feet. A surging wave of horseflesh bore down on them from ahead and as the sound of rifle fire boomed out from behind them, she realized that they were cornered.

 

A horse whinnied in pain and fright, the herd coming to a halt in confusion as the sounds of the fire behind them were overshadowed by the bark of guns ahead of them. Seizing the moment, John knotted one hand in the mane of a white mare and looped the other around Marlena’s waist. With one powerful movement, he swung her around and up onto the horse’s bare back.

 

A cry of pain broke from his lips and she looked down to see him collapse against the sweating flank of the horse. She curled her fingers in the silky hair of the mane and reached down to him with her free hand. Jerking from her touch, he stumbled away and for a moment she feared that he would fall. Then he looked up at her with shining eyes.

 

“Go!” he yelled at her, his hand descending in a hard slap against the horse’s rump. He saw the surprise and then the anger that flashed in her eyes as the horse leapt away, and then it was all that she could do to hold on and let the horse have its head.

 

His eyes followed her as she disappeared through the narrow passageway left by the wrecked limo, and he wondered how in hell he was going to pull himself up onto the back of a horse. The gun was nearly jarred from his hand as he fell to his knees in the deep snow, realizing as he went down that he couldn’t get back up again. Hoping to buy her time, he aimed at a hazy figure in the distance and pulled the trigger, smiling coldly as the body flopped backward in response. The return fire cracked out spitefully, two more horses falling under the impact of stray shells, the rest of the herd whirling to race toward the gateway and its promise of safety. A dark gray stallion crashed down beside him, spots of red staining the carpet of snow beneath its heaving body. Thrashing in the snow, the animal refused to die. As it scrambled to get its feet under it, John took his chance and threw one leg over the horse’s dappled back. The stallion rose shakily to its feet, barely noticing the press of John’s heavy body slung across its broad back. When John dug his heels into the horse’s sides, the stallion snorted crimson foam and charged off after its brethren, already disappearing into the snow-shrouded dawn.

 

***

 

It had been years since she had been on a horse. Years since she had spent her summers riding the hills of the Colorado mountains. Still, some things you never forget how to do. Holding tight with her knees, she relaxed into the movements of the horse and let it have its way, knowing she could do nothing to stop the frantic animal.

 

They had traveled almost half a mile on the snow-packed roadway before the horse slowed up enough for Marlena to regain some semblance of control. Finally, she pulled the animal to a halt. Standing her mount in the middle of the road, Marlena peered through the thickening snowfall and waited for John to come to her. She could hear the sound of hooves, pounding out above the distant crackle of flames, and then the herd of horses swept by her. The mare started, wanting to follow, but Marlena steadied her with a soft hand. The last of the straggling animals sped past, and still she waited, expecting him to appear, riding to her from out of the mists. The mare pranced nervously. The snow kept falling. And in the distance, she heard a muffled scream as something died.

 

She didn’t think of the danger. She didn’t think of herself or of her child. She didn’t think of anything but him as she kicked the mare hard and set off at a dead run in the direction of the castle. When the mare suddenly balked, Marlena almost lost her seat, but allowed herself to swing lightly to the ground on seeing the bleeding body beneath the mare’s hooves.

 

“John? Honey, don’t do this to me,” she called softly as she rolled his limp body away from that of the dead horse that lay steaming in the snow.

 

“They killed my horse,” he muttered in confusion, his eyes struggling to focus on her face.

 

“I know. It’s okay,” she gentled, wondering if he even knew where he was. “Come on, John. I need you to get up for me,” she urged, tugging at his waist.

 

He chuckled at her comment, laughter turning to a wracking cough as the pain in his ribs fed on itself. Standing up now seemed like a distant memory, something he had thought he could do but been wrong about. His mind was surprised when his legs managed to force his body upright and he felt disconnected as he leaned against the side of white horse.

 

Marlena patted the head of the mare, scratching her neck and trying to ease the fear provoked by the smell of blood and death. John simply watched her with that dazed look in his eyes, and she wondered if he had gone into shock. He didn’t make a sound when she grabbed his leg and boosted him up onto the back of the horse, though a low groan rattled through his chest as he fell across the horse’s neck. It wasn’t until she scrambled up behind him and linked an arm around his waist that she realized he was unconscious. Sparing one last glance at the burning castle, she wheeled her mount and they disappeared into the falling snow.

 

Chapter 85 – (A Version)

 

The noise was deafening, the darkness impenetrable. He struggled to breathe through lungs that felt as if they had been sandblasted, while the voice of a demon screamed at him from out of the blackness.

 

“I do not care what it takes, Jensen. Tap into Defense Department satellites if you have to, but I want them found and I want them found now!” Stefano roared into the receiver before flinging it away in disgust.

 

Coughing up dusty phlegm, Bo finally found the energy to make his presence known. “That went well, DiMera. I always said you were a ‘people person’.”

 

Whirling in place, the big man merely glowered. “So nice of you to rejoin us, Bo. Your sophomoric sarcasm has been greatly missed.”

 

Rubbing at tearing eyes, Bo brushed dazedly at the grit that covered him. “What the hell happened?”

 

“It blew up, Uncle Bo. Right as you stepped into the tunnel, the whole thing just blew up. You almost got crushed!”

 

At the sound of Eric’s voice, Bo finally noticed the boy sitting at his side. The worry he saw on the young man’s face made all too clear how close a call it must have been. Shaking his head, Bo tried to clear his thoughts. “We have to get in there, Stefano. Blast it open. Something!”

 

“I do not recall asking for your opinion, Brady. In fact, your presence is no longer required. Why John saw fit to bring you into this in the first place, I will never understand. But I am back now and I am in charge of this operation. There will be no more mistakes made through haste or through carelessness. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Bo replied, glaring up from where he sat propped against the rock wall of the cave.

 

“Uncle Bo! You have to go get them!” Sami cut in, her impatience with the feuding adults at an end. “Mom and Dad are still in there. You have to get them out! If you can’t get through the tunnels, then attack the front gate!”

 

“Samantha, that is rather the point,” Stefano replied, his voice more gentle. “We don’t know if they are in there or not. We have no way of telling what happened after we left the ball. John and Marlena could very well have made their escape by now. Jensen reports that search parties appear to have been sent out from the castle grounds. Something has happened, but we don’t know what. At this moment, John and Marlena could be waiting for us in the village. I will not act hastily, not without knowing exactly what has happened. Too often, that causes more harm than good. This is a lesson you would do well to learn.”

 

The young woman’s eyes narrowed in a look that was oddly reminiscent of John. Hands clenched tightly at her sides, she stalked toward Stefano as her brother and sister looked on in worried silence. “They might have escaped, but they might not! Right now, they could still be in that stone prison! You saw the way Mikos looked at my Mother. You know how sick he is. Are you just going to sit here and pretend that there is nothing you can do? I know you better than that! I know exactly what you are capable of. If you won’t find my parents, it’s because you don’t want to!”

 

“Sami, stop it. This isn’t going to help,” Bo said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around his niece. Her body stiffened in his grip, but finally she allowed her head to sink against his chest. Though she tried to hide it, he felt the tremors that shook her frame and knew that she was close to tears.

 

Turning away, Stefano crossed his arms and tried to focus on his plans, ignoring the melodrama being acted out behind him. “It is entirely possible that they were buried beneath the rubble,” he noted coldly, though even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. John would not die like that. Not like that. Not so stupidly. So pointlessly. He had been taught better than that.

 

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Bo said, the urge to smack DiMera in the face growing with every excruciating moment spent in his presence.

 

“McKlain?” Stefano called sharply in the direction of the knot of men who huddled around the still blazing fire pit. Almost reluctantly, a stocky man rose to his feet and trotted over to stand before his boss. To look at, he wasn’t much. Only a fringe of graying brown hair remained on his head, making him seem older than his forty-two years. His doughy face was bland and moon shaped, and he looked more like some affable salesman than he did a soldier. But the disarming expression hid the tenacity of a pitbull. He might not have been the brightest soldier in DiMera’s employ, but he was the most stubborn. If ordered not to return without John and Marlena, the man would freeze to death before he came back empty-handed. Sheer cussedness could make up for many weaknesses in skill and intelligence, and that was what Stefano was counting on now.

 

“Sir?” McKlain finally prompted, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the silence seemed to stretch on forever.

 

Stefano bit back a sigh. “It’s full daylight outside. I’ve already ordered Jensen to move men into the village, to take it by force if necessary. If John or Marlena are there, they will be found. If they aren’t there, we may have to move on the castle. If it comes to that, we will join with the men from the village and stage a frontal assault. I want you to bed the men down, make sure everybody is rested. Jensen will report by this afternoon and I want you to be ready to move out on the double. Understood?”

 

“Yes sir!” McKlain said, the effect of his crisp reply marred by his ‘deer in the headlights’ stare.

 

Gritting his teeth, Stefano dismissed the man with a wave. Turning around, he found himself again confronted by both Bo and Sami, neither of whom looked particularly appreciative of his efforts on their behalf.

 

“A real Mensa candidate you’ve got there, DiMera. Jensen assigned him to me as my second in command, no doubt as some form of punishment. The man has the intuition of a rock, the personality of a potato and the brain of a flea. What an ideal choice to lead your assault. You really know how to inspire confidence!”

 

“Tell me, Bo. Is there some defective gene in the Brady family that results in a terminal case of sarcasm?”

 

“Stefano, do something! Please!” Sami said, wishing the two men would stop fighting each other and focus on finding her parents.

 

DiMera closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to drive back the blinding headache that threatened. He wondered briefly at what it was that caused all of the Bradys to be so inherently anoying. “Sami, I will do everything I can to get them back. I promise you. Jensen will be entering the village soon. The roads are clear for now and he can reach it faster than we can on the snowmobiles. The chopper is in the air as we speak, and we should have some intel on what is happening on the castle grounds as soon as they are able to make a flyby. At the moment, all we can do is wait. But I will find them, on that you can count.”

 

“‘We’ will find them,” Bo interjected, the glint in his eyes daring Stefano to object.

 

Stefano grunted what might have been an agreement and turned his attention back to the silent radio.

 

***

 

He lay still, unable to move if he had wanted to, and wondered how it was possible to be completely numb and yet still burn. He pondered the thought as cool fingers brushed lightly at his hair and a damp cloth pressed against the side of his face.

 

“Are you awake?” her voice called softly to him.

 

“I don’t know. Am I dead?” he muttered back.

 

“Not yet,” she responded, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

 

“Then I guess I’m awake,” he said, realizing he was laying on his stomach in what appeared to be a very lumpy bed. Rolling his head to one side, he tried to open his eyes. The effort almost seemed more than it was worth, but he knew she was out there somewhere, so he kept trying. Finally, a pair of golden eyes came into focus. Golden eyes, golden hair. Immanently worthy of the effort. And then she stood up and was gone.

 

“Hey!” his voice called to her weakly. An almost manic grin crossed her face and her body began to shake in sudden reaction. She had tried to ignore his injuries, tried not to obsess about every second that passed without him waking up. Now that he was finally back, she was struck by how close she had come to losing him.

 

“It’s all right!” she sang back at him, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremble in her voice. “We just need to get some fluids in you,” she continued more steadily, as she brought over a leather canteen.

 

“What is it?” he muttered suspiciously, realizing as he asked that he was in no position to resist her no matter what she tried to force down his throat.

 

“Salt water,” she said, cupping a hand beneath his head and raising him up enough to get some of the liquid into him. She continued to hold him until he managed to get the entire bottle down, though he started cursing the taste before they were halfway through.

 

“Have I mentioned what an awful patient you are?” she asked with a sigh as she settled his head on the folded up blanket that now served as his pillow.

 

“The nurses always like me,” he answered through a crooked smile, watching her face and seeing the strain in her eyes. His left hand crept across the bed, his fingers going out to brush lightly against the back of her hand.

 

“They like you because you’re cute!” she snorted out, the tears she had been holding back suddenly sneaking past her defenses.

 

“Hey! Come here,” he soothed, tugging lightly at her hand as he tried to draw her to him.

 

“You’re too hurt,” she said softly, raising his calloused palm to her lips.

 

“Never too hurt to hold you,” he muttered back, his pull on her arm insistent. Seeing the indecision in her eyes, he allowed her a glimpse of the fear and pain that tore at him. “Please?” he hissed, needing to feel her against him more than he needed to breathe.

 

Without further protest, she kicked the heavy boots from her feet and slipped gingerly beneath the thick wool blankets that covered him. She froze as she heard him grunt softly in pain, and then his strong arm pulled her back to cradle against his chest. She heard the hitch in his breath and then his arm locked tight around her, making her feel warm and secure. Almost instantly he drifted off to sleep, while she lay still and listened to the sound of his heart beating. His big hand was cradled against her stomach, and she linked her fingers in his. His breath tickled her ear as the sound of his strong heartbeat lulled her to the edge of sleep. Closing tired eyes, she tried to let it go. The fear. The dread. The worry that she could still lose him. Still wake up to find him gone. For long hours, she lay in his arms, telling herself that it was finally over. Soon Bo would come. Bo would come and they would all go home. There was no one left to stop them.

 

***

 

The pain was so intense he couldn’t see. It felt as if his eye were on fire, the searing heat penetrating into the very center of his brain. He couldn’t see. Why couldn’t he see?

 

“What did she do to me?” Mikos finally managed to croak out.

 

“It will be all right, sir,” the physician placated as his trembling hands wound layer after layer of gauze around the damaged face of his employer.

 

“What happened? My eyes…. What’s wrong with my eyes?” Mikos asked, his voice growing hard and demanding as the anger swiftly began to overwhelm the fear. His hands came up to paw at his wounded face. Numbed by the drugs, he needed his fingers to tell him that his face was still there. What they found was not encouraging.

 

“I… I’m sorry sir. There was nothing that could be done. The damage was too severe. The eye could not be saved,” the physician reluctantly replied, backing away from the figure that lay tossing in the middle of the infirmary’s bed.

 

Bitch! That bitch! She had done this to him. She was a tease. A taunt. A temptation. Luring him in. Making him want her. Making him hurt. Now she would pay. She would pay a thousandfold for all of her dear, dear sins. He screamed her name, the word tearing raggedly from his throat in a snarl that was not quite human. Again and again he screamed at her. For her. To her. He screamed until the needle slid beneath his skin and the blackness once again came to call.

 

Chapter 86 – (A Version)

 

“Doc,” he moaned out, the hint of anguish in his tone rousing her from sleep immediately.

 

She tried to pull away, to turn and look at his face. His arm clamped about her ribs so tightly she thought they would crack, and at her soft cry of distress, his eyes snapped instantly open. Panting for air, he suddenly realized he was hurting her and forced himself to let her go. “Sorry,” he whispered as he felt her slip from the bed.

 

Catching her breath, she bent down beside the bed and brushed the sweat damp hair back from his face. Blinking rapidly, she wondered how long they had slept, realizing that the sky outside was already darkening. The fire was long dead in the hearth, the cold chill of winter pervading the one room that made up the wooden shack in which they had found shelter. She could feel him shaking beneath her touch and hoped that it was due to the cold and not something more serious. “Bad dream?” she asked softly.

 

He smiled at her then, wanting to drive the look of worry from her face. “You were in it, how could it be bad?”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she replied, her soft fingers skimming across the dried trails of blood that dotted his face. The crusted red droplets reminding her of his injuries. Reminding her she needed to fix things she didn’t even want to look at. “We need to get you cleaned up,” she continued gently.

 

“I’m fine,” he answered, not wanting her to know how bad it was. Not wanting her to know how little he could do to protect her right now.

 

“Roll over,” she said, ignoring his words as she reached out to help ease him over to once again lay face down. She gingerly pulled the blankets away from his back, grateful that at least they had not stuck to his skin. When she had dragged him into the deserted shack scant hours after dawn, she had thought the bleeding had stopped. Even if it hadn’t, what had been most important at the moment had been getting him warm, and so she had wrapped him in the thick blankets and started a fire, pushing away the worries of what had been done to the skin of his back. She couldn’t stall any longer, the risk of infection rising with each minute that passed. It had been a mistake to wait this long. As the blanket slipped down to his hips, the once smooth skin of his back was revealed, and she had cause to wish that she had waited longer.

 

“It’s bad?” he asked in a tight voice, muscles aching with the effort of moving.

 

“It’s okay, John. It’s just… it’s going to hurt when I clean you up,” she said, trying to hide the fact that she felt like vomiting.

 

“You’d never hurt me. You couldn’t,” he muttered back, a tired grin creasing his lips.

 

“Were you awake? Were you still conscious when he did this?” she asked, her finger skirting the edges of the blistered skin that used to bear the mark of the phoenix.

 

His shoulders shifted slightly in what might have been a shrug. “Don’t remember. Things always get fuzzy when I’m getting my ass kicked. Defensive mechanism, I guess. Hey, be happy,” he teased. “You never did like that damned tatoo anyway.”

 

Staring at the charred skin, she knew that she would like the burn scar even less. Her hand moved to gently massage his tense neck, one of the few spots where his flesh was unmarked. “You make it sound like this is a regular occurrence.”

 

“This is nothing, Doc. Just messy. Leave it alone and it will heal,” he replied, something in her tone scaring him. He tried to shift away from her then, and had to clamp his teeth shut to stifle the groan of pain the effort cost him.

 

“John, stop it!” she snapped, holding him firm by the nape of his neck.

 

“Doc, I’ve been beat down worse. Really. Leave it be.”

 

“I hate your life. I hate what it’s done to you,” she said, her tone remote as if she were finally recognizing a truth that had been there all along.

 

“Doc….”

 

She cut him off, abruptly rising from the bed. “I need to ice that down before I try and clean it up. Salt water will have to do for an antiseptic. There’s a bottle of vodka, but…”

 

Jesus, there was no way he was going to let her douse him in salt, much less vodka. “Marlena, really…”

 

She ignored him, setting about her work with detached precision. He barely flinched as he packed the snow on top of his flayed skin, but she could see the way the muscles themselves spasmed and knew the pain it caused him. When she tilted the bottle of homemade vodka to his lips, he didn’t argue. The alcohol left a pleasant glow in the pit of his stomach, a nice counterpoint to the icy fire that now burned along the nerves of his back. He thought he was ready as she started to dab away the dried blood that crusted his back. When the warm salty water finally reached the exposed nerves, he realized it was not possible to get drunk enough to be ready for something like this. His body arched away from her touch and he cried out harshly before gladly giving himself up to the oblivion of the darkness.

 

***

 

She washed the blood from her hands, staring in fascination as the pink clouds slowly dispersed across the surface of the water. So much blood…. Stitches would have been better. Would have sped the healing, decreased the scarring. Stitches weren’t an option. The strips of cloth she had wrapped around his torso would have to be enough for now. They had been necessary to hold together the ribs she had felt grating beneath her probing fingertips. Thankfully, he had been out of it during the entire ordeal.

 

She sank down onto the bed next to him, her fingers playing across the smooth lines of his face. He looked so peaceful when he slept. So innocent. Sometimes she pretended to herself that he was really two men. One the man she had met years before when he was scarcely more than a boy. Warm, generous, with a ready smile for her or anyone else who crossed his path. Of course, that man had never really existed. It was a facade she had created, a fantasy to mask the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface. A facade that had cracked any time something or someone had challenged the peace of the little world of Salem.

 

Beneath that facade was the man whose blood had covered her hands. A man who was capable of anything, anything at all. A man who had seen more than anyone ever should of death and destruction and pain. The damage that had been done to his body scared her. What scared her even more was the fact that he could so easily dismiss it. Dismiss it as a natural part of his life, a burden to bear but not to lament. He was a man who could accept the scars on his body because they could never match the scars he carried on his soul. The fact that she loved the man didn’t make him any less frightening. If anything, it made him more so.

 

“Hey. What you think’n about?” he slurred softly, startling her from her thoughts.

 

“Just thinking how much I love you,” she said with a small smile, pulling her hand back.

 

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

 

“You aren’t an easy man to love,” she replied simply, hating the fact that her words brought pain to his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, shifting his gaze away as if ashamed.

 

“I’m not,” was the blunt response. “I just… sometimes you scare me.”

 

He buried his face in the dusty mattress, hiding from the words he had waited so long to hear. Christ, not now. Not with the child on the way. He didn’t know if he still had the strength to let her go now. “I would do anything for you. I would never hurt you. Please tell me that you can at least believe that much,” he whispered roughly, begging her for the solace of such a tiny lie.

 

Warm tears splashed down on his bare shoulder as gentle fingers wove soothingly through his hair. “Shh…” her breath whispered against his cheek. “You wouldn’t hurt me, John. I know you would never hurt me. It’s okay. It will all be okay.”

 

His breathing slowly eased as the sense of panic loosened its hold. He would die rather than live without her, but he would let her go if that was what she needed. Tilting his head, he forced his eyes to meet hers. “It’s not okay if you are scared, Marlena. I won’t ask you to live like that. I won’t do that to you… to our child. I won’t.”

 

“How many times, John? How many times has someone hurt you like this?” she responded, anger tinging her voice as her fingers skimmed across the dark bruises on his face. “How can you pretend it doesn’t matter? Do you even understand how wrong it was that they did this to you? Do you even care?”

 

He blinked in confusion, no longer certain who she was mad at or why. “This is nothing, Doc. It’s okay. It is.”

 

Marlena jerked away from the side of the bed, the fury flashing through her like a bolt of lightening, as unexpected as it was intense. Pacing back and forth in the small room, she could feel his eyes as they followed her. Her hands clenched into fists, and she had to fight the sudden urge to scream at him. “It is not okay, John! Who the hell told you that ‘this’ was okay! What kind of sick world do you live in where this could ever be considered ‘okay’?!”

 

She looked to him for an answer, but he simply stared at her in silence. With two quick steps, she was again by his side. Dropping to her knees, she wrapped both her hands around his. “Tell me you understand that what they did to you was sick and wrong. They had no right to hurt you like this. Nobody has the right to hurt you like this. Tell me you understand that!”

 

He still didn’t know what she wanted from him, but he no longer cared. The only thing that mattered was to wipe the fear from her eyes, and that, he could do. “I understand, Doc. I do. They had no right to do any of this.”

 

His eyes were crystal blue, as pure as the eyes of a child. That he could look at her with those eyes and lie was beyond imagining. She brushed the hair back from his face and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Finally, she felt his body relax and she bent down to whisper in his ear. “You think that I don’t know it when you lie?”

 

His body stiffened, and she tried to pull away. He was too fast, his grip too strong. Bracing herself, she yanked against his hold, eliciting a grunt of pain from him but nothing more. Rather than risk hurting him, she allowed him to drag her down to perch again on the bed. His arms snaked around her waist in a hold that she could not break. When he buried his dark head in her lap, she no longer wanted to try.

 

“Don’t leave me. Please, Doc… don’t leave,” he whimpered, the words coming out despite his efforts to hold them back.

 

“Shh. It’s alright. I won’t leave, John. I promise you, I will never leave,” she gentled, suddenly regretting that she had ever challenged him on this, ever pushed him to reveal truths best left buried. He shook his head, her words flowing past him as if they had never been said.

 

“The weak die, Marlena. The weak always die. I won’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever again,” he ground out, his hold tightening until it was all that she could do to breathe.

 

“John…”

 

“No!” he virtually shouted, his head snapping to lock burning eyes on her face. “I lost Kat! I lost her because I was too damn weak, too damn worried about what was right. I will not do that again, Marlena. I will not! DiMera taught me how to protect what is mine, and he taught me well. There is no ‘right’- there is only power. That is the world I live in, Doc. It is the world we all live in. But I won’t let that world touch you. I swear to God, I won’t!”

 

She bit her lip and tried to hold back the tears. Rocking him gently back and forth, she tried to quell the fire that she had ignited. “I know you won’t, baby. I know. It’s okay now. The threat is gone. Mikos is gone. You don’t have to fight any longer. You can let it go. You can let it all go.”

 

Exhausted, his head dropped to nestle against the rough material of the mattress. Closing his eyes, he drew in long slow breaths, hating the fact that he had lashed out at her. “I’m sorry, Doc. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t ever be sorry. Just… I wish you could be happy.”

 

A harsh laugh rang out and he looked up at her with a crooked smile. “Marlena, I am happy. You taught me that. You taught me every good thing I’ve ever known, ever felt. And now…. A baby. You’re going to give me a baby! God!”

 

“A child is a new beginning, John. A second chance for you, for us,” she said, feeling the tension in his grip slowly relax.

 

“Yea. A second chance. Christ! It’s not like I deserve it!”

 

She smiled then, reaching down to cover the big hand that had dropped to press lightly against her belly. “Hopefully you will learn to stop swearing and cursing and taking the Lord’s name in vain before our new arrival gets here!” she teased, relieved to see the anger replaced by the thoughts of their child.

 

“Well, yea! Of course! I mean…” he trailed off as he realized she was kidding with him. “I was pretty good with Carrie and the twins, wasn’t I?” he asked suddenly, a hint of worry in his voice.

 

Cocking a brow, she pretended to consider. “Well, you were pretty good… but far from perfect. Remember that time you smashed your thumb building the deck?”

 

“No. No, I don’t remember that,” he said innocently, the hint of a smile in his eyes.

 

With a tiny grin, she let him off the hook. “Have you thought about what you want? A little boy or a little girl, I mean? We have both already, what are you hoping for with the new arrival?”

 

“I’m hoping it’s perfect and pink and has ten fingers and ten toes. Other than that, I really don’t care what he is,” John said with a happy grin.

 

“You are such a male chauvinist!” she replied, completely unconvinced.

 

His fingers skimmed over the skin of her flat belly as if searching for some sign from the little life that Marlena carried inside. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? When I took you to the cavern, you must have known then. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked suddenly, looking up at her.

 

Guiltily, she glanced away. “What would you have done if you had known, John? Honestly, what would you have done?”

 

“I would have never let you leave me,” he stated flatly, an ugly edge creeping into his voice.

 

“That’s why,” she answered him, turning back to meet his eyes.

 

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. “I guess I can understand that,” he finally said.

 

Smiling, she looked away. Reaching out, she pulled the blankets up, covering his back and the bandages that held it together. “You should get some rest.”

 

“So should you,” he answered, somehow managing to shift onto his side and make room for her beneath the blankets.

 

Hesitantly she looked at him, realizing as she did that there was no place she would rather be than in his arms. Careful not to hurt him, she curled up against his chest and lost herself in his embrace. And if the world he walked through was one filled with shadows, then at least she would be there to light his way.

 

***

 

“Where are they, Dimitri?” he asked in a voice as cold as death.

 

Standing in the glare of that one dark eye, Dimitri suddenly wished he had had the good sense to die in the explosion that had ripped through the entire first floor of the castle. He had hoped that the burned and reddened skin of his face and hands would be indicator enough that he had tried to stop the escape. Staring into the ravaged face of his employer, he now knew that trying didn’t matter in the slightest. The only thing that would matter to Mikos was his failure. Failure mattered. Failure would be his death. Trying to buy himself time, Dimitri answered with a confidence he no longer felt. “We are still looking for them, sir. They aren’t on the castle grounds, we searched every inch of it. However, I am certain that they have not made it down to the village. Our reports indicate that DiMera’s men have complete control of the village and are doing a house-to-house search. If they were in the village, they would have been found by now. Sir, they could not have gotten far. The men are already expanding the search to the surrounding countryside. They should be found very soon.” “They should never have been lost, Dimitri. You do understand that, don’t you? You do know it is your fault?”

 

Dimitri searched for something, anything, that would save him from the death that loomed. “I… I was surprised. She had a gun. I didn’t think she could get him on his feet, sir. The baby. The baby is what did it,”

 

he stammered. “Baby?”

 

That stone face showed no emotion, but the slight widening of the eye gave Dimitri all of the encouragement he needed. “She is pregnant, sir. I heard her say so. They could not have gotten far. He was wounded and he was scared. Scared for the baby. He won’t risk them, sir. He will hide and wait, but he won’t risk them. There’s still time. I will find them. I swear it on my life!”

 

A baby. An heir. A child that could not be allowed to live. Mikos closed his eye and stared into the darkness, the mocking laughter of his father crying out to him. He would not lose. Not to his brother. Not to his brother’s bitch and the whelp that she bore.

 

“I want her. I want them both,” Mikos muttered as if to himself, his right hand going up to run gently across the bandages that concealed the empty place where his eye had been. “Find them, Dimitri. Find them or you will beg for death.”

 

***

 

“Where are they, Jensen?”

 

DiMera’s words spat from the radio, and the threat in them could have been heard by a deaf man. Jensen had a moment to be grateful that Stefano was miles away, separated from him by endless drifts of snow. “They aren’t here, Stefano. I’m sorry it took so long to report, but we are going through every single house in the village. If they were here, we would have found them by now.”

 

“Then we move on the castle. I will not wait on you any longer, Jensen. We go in tonight, under cover of the darkness. I will not allow them to spend another night in that place. We go tonight!” The terse reply hung heavy in the air, and Jensen doubted that DiMera had ever allowed his emotions to show so clearly.

 

Clenching his jaw, Jensen calmly responded. “I don’t think they are in the castle either. I’ve reports from both our scouts and the chopper. Alamain’s men are continuing to spread out from the castle. As of this afternoon, they appear to be searching the countryside itself. This isn’t a concerted attack on our forces, Stefano. They’re looking for something. Something or someone. I don’t think John and Marlena are still on the castle grounds, sir.”

 

For a second, only the crackle of static carried across the airwaves. “Are you certain it is not a ploy? A decoy of some type?” Stefano finally asked, an analytical tone replacing the anger of his previous words.

 

“Fairly certain. It would make no sense for them to spread their forces so thin if John and Marlena were safely within the castle walls. They know we are here. They know we’re a threat. Scattering their troops across the countryside is an act of desperation, not of planning.”

 

Again, Jensen was answered by silence as DiMera mulled over his options. Almost grudgingly, Stefano’s voice cracked out, “Maintain your position, but continue searching the village. I will contact you with new orders tonight. DiMera, out.”

 

***

 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?” Bo said in a low voice, his gaze darting over to observe the worried faces of the children. Sitting around the campfire, he could see them watching the proceedings. The last thing Bo wanted to do was tell them their parents were lost in the snow.

 

“What would you suggest I do?” Stefano shot back out of habit, as he tried to formulate a response to the new information.

 

“Go find them, dammit! How hard can that be?”

 

“Where would you suggest I look, Bo? Do you have the slightest concept of how rugged that territory is? How many places a wounded man might hide? Do you really think it would be productive to simply scatter my men out in the woods and ‘hope’ for the best?” Stefano glared down at the younger man, anger and fear at war behind his eyes.

 

“Shit,” Bo muttered under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair and tried to stifle his own anger. Sometimes he did go off half-cocked. He knew it didn’t help, but it did generally make him feel better.

 

“The map. Where’s the map?” Bo asked suddenly, his head snapping up as a slight grin curved his face.

 

Digging into his back pocket, Stefano pulled out the map Jensen had provided in his supply drop. Designed using satellite photos, it included every detail they knew concerning the surrounding area. “What is it?” Stefano asked, watching closely as Bo spread the map across the cavern floor.

 

“Here. This is where they would go. I’m sure of it,” Bo said, his finger pinpointing a row of triangular symbols that were sporadically drawn in. Following the ridge line of the mountain, the symbols were evenly spaced and ran from the top of the mountain all the way down to the village.

 

“What is it?” DiMera asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

 

“Sheep herders. They are shacks set up for the boys to sleep in when they watch the flocks in the summer. John knew the location of every landmark on this map. If he was looking for a place to hold up, this is where he would go. This is where we will find them.”

 

“You are certain?”

 

“You have a better idea?”

 

DiMera didn’t bother answering, hating to admit that he didn’t. Instead, his eye quickly ran down the row of icons. “I count nine of these structures. They cover miles of rough territory. It will take time to check every one. Unless you can pinpoint their ‘exact’ location?” Stefano asked dryly, wanting to point out Bo’s limitations.

 

Bo was tempted to take a guess, if only to rattle DiMera’s cage. Instead, he shook his head. “I say we start with the one closest to us and work our way up toward the castle.”

 

DiMera merely nodded. “In the morning, then. I will send the men out at dawn.”

 

“Why not now? It’s still light out. We have time.”

 

“By the time the men got out of the ravine, it would be full dark. I won’t lose men and equipment simply because you are impatient. In the morning the men go out. In the morning, we will find them,” Stefano stated flatly, refusing to argue the issue.

 

Bo’s shoulders hunched in anger, but he merely shrugged. “At dawn, then. But I will be leading the search party.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned to tell the children that their parents would soon be found.

 

Chapter 87 [NC~17] – (A Version)

 

He cracked one eye open and tried to figure out who was pounding away at the inside of his skull. The dingy gray of a threadbare cotton mattress cover stared back at him. When it refused to reveal any secrets, he eased his sore body over and studied the ceiling instead. A lattice work of straw-covered branches greeted his inquiring gaze, but after a minute he decided that they would be no more helpful than the mattress. Again the dull ‘thump’ resonated inside his skull and he finally realized that the sounds came from across the room. Well, that had to be some kind of progress. A wry smile lit his face and he turned to watch as Marlena struggled with a thick wooden limb. Bending over at the waist, she was trying to tug the blade of an ax from the stubborn log. He could hear the sound of muttered cursing and he suppressed a chuckle, not wanting to disturb her. It would be a sin to risk losing the enjoyment of watching those wiggling hips as she fought to separate ax from wood. Sensing his scrutiny, she looked up from between her wide spread legs and caught his amused stare.

 

“Am I entertaining you?” she asked dryly.

 

“You’re going to cut a finger off doing that,” he grunted, trying in vain to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

 

“Do you think you could do better?” She stood up and glared at him, frustrated by her utter lack of ability when it came to cutting down kindling from the thick logs that lay stacked next to the fireplace.

 

“With one hand tied behind my back,” he responded, edging his feet over the side of the bed and managing to sit up.

 

“Don’t you dare get off of that bed, John Black!” she snapped, brandishing the ax she carried in her right hand as if she were willing to brain him with it. If he tried to stand up in his condition, she would be sorely tempted to do so.

 

Raising his hands in surrender, John abandoned the idea of chopping firewood. The way his ribs twitched in response to the simple act of sitting upright, it was probably for the best anyway. “Hopefully Bo will be here soon. You will be forced to let me out of this bed then, Doc! How did you manage to find this place, anyway?”

 

“You don’t remember the ride in? When we saw the lights of a car coming up from the village, you told me to get off the road. This is one of the sheepherder’s huts that dot the canyon’s edge.”

 

“No. No, I don’t remember much,” he muttered. “But you’re right about this place. It’s one of the way stations we have on our map. Eventually Bo will get around to checking out all of these shacks. All we have to do is sit tight and hope he gets here before Mikos does.”

 

At the mention of Mikos’ name, Marlena turned her full attention back to the log she held against the stone hearth. Seeing her reaction, John gave voice to a concern that had worried at him since he had first awakened to find her crouching over him in the cell.

 

“What did happen with Mikos, Marlena? How did you get away from him?” His words were casual, but his gut roiled with barely suppressed emotion. Marlena had said Mikos had not hurt her. But Marlena might have lied.

 

“I… Mikos won’t be coming after us. Not any time soon, I’m certain of it,” she responded without emotion.

 

She didn’t want to talk about it, that much was obvious. He hated to make her do anything she didn’t want to, but this was too important to drop. His own fears he could deal with, but he had to know what had happened. He had to know if Mikos was alive and well and on their trail. If he was, there might not be time to wait for Bo to show up.

 

“Marlena, what exactly happened?” he asked again softly.

 

Her knuckles went white as her fingers clenched tightly around the handle of the ax. Looking away from the blue eyes that gazed down on her, she studied the consuming flames of the fire. “He… he told me he would hurt you if I didn’t…. He wanted to, to be with me,” she said in a monotone, the memories of those thick fingers digging into her skin playing through her mind. “I let him think he could…”

 

He watched as the fear flashed across her face, the white-hot fury coiling like a snake in the pit of his stomach. He bit back a growl of anger and made a promise to the gods that if Mikos wasn’t dead now, he soon would be.

 

Though he didn’t say a word, she could sense the hatred that radiated from him like a physical presence. A dark shadow seemed to pass behind his eyes and she again wondered what lurked in the empty places in his soul that tried to hide from her.

 

“He didn’t hurt me, John. I didn’t let him,” she said softly, wanting to quell the fire she could sense flickering in his heart.

 

“I know,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle and failing miserably. Dropping his eyes, he fought to clamp down on emotions that he knew would frighten her.

 

“He…. I think he might be dead, John,” she said, suddenly hoping it was true. Wishing it was true so that John would never have to face that man again. Only evil would come from Mikos Alamain, and she never wanted John to see him again.

 

“What happened?” he urged, studying the hands he held clasped in his lap and imagining the feel of Mikos’ throat beneath his fingers.

 

“I ran. I ran away from him and he came after me. I hit him with a poker. In the face, I hit him. He stumbled back and fell and hit his head. There was blood everywhere, John. I didn’t want to touch him, but…. There was a lot of blood, John. He’s dead, I’m almost certain.”

 

John was far from certain. Mikos was a bull, too strong and too stubborn to die so easily. He looked up as he felt her cool hand against his face.

 

“It will be okay, I promise,” she whispered, tears glinting in the corners of her eyes.

 

“I hate that I’ve done this to you,” he responded with broken words.

 

“You saved me, John. You will always save me,” she said with a small smile, brushing the hair back from his face and watching as the fire in his eyes finally died.

 

With a dry chuckle, he shook his head. “Now how do you figure that? As I recall, you were the one bursting into the cell with a gun and dragging me out of there. If they start passing out medals, the first one goes to you.”

 

Planting a light kiss on his battered lips, she laughed. “Yes, but without you, think how boring my life would be!”

 

He finally smiled back at her and she heaved a tiny sigh of relief. Mikos didn’t matter. Whether he lived or died mattered not at all. As long as John was with her, safe and sound, she didn’t care about Mikos at all.

 

“Lady, I hate to disappoint you, but when we get back to Salem I plan on giving you the most boring, mundane, safe life possible!”

 

“You promise?” she asked, ruffling his dark hair.

 

“It will be so boring we will be left with nothing to do but lie around and make love, all day every day,” he said, reaching to wipe the last of the tears from her cheeks.

 

Brushing a kiss against the tips of his fingers, she turned back to project she had been working on when he awoke. “Well, whatever works for you,” she drawled teasingly.

 

“What are you doing, anyway?” he asked, finally allowing himself to relax a bit. As he watched, she pulled a copper kettle from the fire and poured the steaming contents into a large wooden tub.

 

“I reek,” she said, flashing him a grin. “I thought a bath would be a good idea.”

 

“You’re beautiful. Besides, there is no way you are going to fit in that bucket,” he replied, amusement in his eyes as he looked at the three foot wide wooden tub and wondered if the sheepherder who owned it would have ever envisioned a blond Goddess using it for her bath.

 

“Well it’s the best I can do right now and if I don’t wash my hair soon I am going to go completely insane. I am downright nasty!”

 

“I like it when you’re nasty,” he said in a low husky voice, watching as she stripped the ill-fitting clothing from her body.

 

“You have a one track mind,” she said, holding his eyes as she stepped carefully into the scalding water. Sitting on the side of the bed, covered in bruises and bandages, she could still see the flash of desire that crossed his face as he studied her nude body.

 

“I’m thinking about football. Really,” he leered at her.

 

Rolling her eyes, she turned her back on him and reached down to grab one of the pails of water she had set by the tub. Tilting the bucket back, she let the warm water flow down over her head, relishing the feel of it even as she began lathering her long hair with the shampoo she had found tucked in a cupboard. She smiled to herself as she heard his breath catch in his throat, pleased that she could stir him even when he wasn’t able to stand up.

 

“Can I help? I could scrub your back?” He offered, his lips curving in a faint smile.

 

“Gee, let me think about it…. No!! You can lay in bed like a good boy and try and let your body heal!” She chuckled lightly, unable to believe he could even think about standing up much less doing anything more.

 

He watched as she stood before the firelight, mesmerized by the gentle swell of her hips, the curve of her waist. The water trickled down the center of her spine in tiny rivulets and he felt a pang of jealousy because it was touching her and he wasn’t. The pressure in his groin quickly grew to overshadow the pain that pulsed through the muscles of his back.

 

“Are you planning on giving me any privacy or are you going to watch the entire show?” she called teasingly, feeling his eyes burning into her back.

 

“You know me, I hate to sit on the bench. I’d much rather be in the game,” his voice whispered in her ear as a warm hand came to rest on her shoulder.

 

“John, no!” she said, whirling around with sudden concern in her eyes. “Get back in bed. Right now, I mean it!”

 

“I need a bath. I’m nasty too,” he whispered down at her, his hand moving to caress her cheek.

 

“John, no. The bandages can’t get wet. If we have to change them, it’s going to hurt,” she replied, a slight waver in her voice.

 

“I don’t care. You’re worth it,” he said softly, his lips dropping to find her own.

 

His hands slid up her wet sides, exploring her curves as if discovering her for the first time. She could taste the vodka on his tongue, could feel the cracks that split his lips. “You are insane,” she finally managed to wheeze out as he pulled slowly back from her.

 

“You make me that way,” he grinned at her, reaching to grab at the rough wooden mantel as a wave of dizziness shot through him.

 

“John, please go lay down,” she said as she reached to steady him, seeing the strain on his face that lurked beneath the passion in his eyes. “You may not care about changing the bandages, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Please?”

 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he soothed, pulling back slightly. “Look, I won’t get the bandages wet. I promise. But I really do feel pretty grubby,” he continued earnestly, gazing down with innocent eyes and hoping she wouldn’t see through his feeble attempt to garner the feel her hands against his skin.

 

Skeptically she looked him over. “You mean it? You’ll just stand there like a good boy and let me clean you up?”

 

“Scout’s honor,” he said with a smile, giving her a three-fingered salute with one hand while the other dropped to fumble with the buttons on his grimy fatigues.

 

“I bet you were never even a scout,” she muttered under her breath as she bent to help him slip out of the pants. Stepping out of the tub, she helped him climb in. She noted how his teeth clenched at the effort, both hands now gripping the mantel as a means of support. Deciding that arguing with him would do no good, she simply ignored him and crouched down, grabbing up the gritty bar of soap and starting to lather his legs.

 

“God, John. What did they do to you?” she asked, her hands running over pale skin covered with purpling bruises. In several places the flesh had actually split from the force of the blows and tears sprang to eyes as she was once again reminded of what he had endured.

 

“No big deal,” he muttered, suddenly realizing that perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea. The last thing he had wanted to do was make her worry about him. “I bruise easy. I’m very delicate.”

 

“You are about as delicate as a sledgehammer,” was her wry response. She looked up to shoot him a dirty look, only to be confronted with something she had been trying to ignore.

 

“Sorry,” he said with a tiny grin. “You have that effect on me.”

 

“You could hang a dish towel on that thing,” she noted distractedly.

 

“You move your hands up a little higher, you’ll be able to hang a beach towel on it,” he chuckled.

 

Not deigning to respond, she shifted until she was behind him. Her soapy hands ran up the backs of his thighs. Against her will, they continued on up the smooth muscles of his flanks, stopping only when she reached the rough bandages that wrapped his back. She felt him shudder beneath her touch and knew that this time it had nothing to do with the bruises he bore.

 

The temperature in the small room seemed to rise by a good twenty degrees and sweat popped out on his bare shoulders. He choked back a sharp cry as nimble fingers crept around his hips and began to soap his groin. When those fingers teased across his tight stretched balls he bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. “Fuck!” he wheezed.

 

“Only if you ask nicely,” she responded, her teeth running down the soapy wetness of his inner thigh.

 

He was virtually sobbing by the time she poured the warm water down the back of his legs and butt, and he prayed to God that she wasn’t going to stop there. Locking his knees, he blinked away the blackness that threatened to close in on his mind and forced aching lungs to take long slow breaths.

 

She knew this was a terrible idea even as her hands continued to kneed his flesh. It was as if she could never get enough of him and the fact that she had almost lost him made her realize that their time together on this earth would be finite. It was suddenly critically important that she be with him ever second she could. Moving to crouch in front of him, she dipped a rag in warm clean water and began to rinse the dirt and soap from his body. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, looking up and trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They were clenched tight shut, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief as if every once of willpower he had was focused on one thing and one thing alone.

 

“If you stop now, I am going to die,” he grunted hoarsely.

 

The rag rose to rub across his erection, foamy water dripping down his muscular legs. “We can’t have that, can we?” she whispered, her tongue going out to run down the long vein that pulsed on the underside of his rigid cock.

 

He moaned her name, his head dropping to rest against his trembling arms. He could not help but thrust against her, seeking the friction that would bring him relief from the exquisite torture that held him in its grip. When those soft lips closed around the tip of his throbbing dick his vision went white and his head arched back, every fiber of his being screaming as he burned for her.

 

She loved the soapy clean taste of him. She loved the way she controlled his every movement, his body jerking in response to the lightest touch of her lips. Swirling her tongue around the soft membrane of skin, her fingers rose to scratch teasingly across his scrotum. When she felt the thin sack tighten in anticipation, she opened her throat and accepted his jerking thrusts. Her teeth skimmed down the length of him and she could actually hear the pop of taught stretched muscles as his entire body convulsed. His hands suddenly flew down to knot in her wet hair and he pulled her to him, his every movement a plea for release. She met his need with an urgency of her own. Sucking hard, she took everything he had and demanded more. His ragged cry split the air just as she felt his salty heat filling her. As she slowly let him slip away from her, his legs collapsed and his heavy body crashed down on top of her.

 

***

 

“That has got to be the stupidest thing we have ever done,” she said accusingly, struggling to help him shift his weight off of her bowed shoulders. Grunting with the effort, he eased down onto the floor in front of the fireplace. “Can you even get up?”

 

He hung his head down between his knees and concentrated on simply breathing. Finally his vision returned and he glanced up and flashed her a happy smile. “Give me about fifteen minutes.”

 

“That’s not funny,” she shot back, anger tinting her voice.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, though both of them knew he wasn’t.

 

The smile in his eyes forced a low laugh from her. “Remind me to never try and take a bath when you are in the room.”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re so beautiful,” he wheezed defensively, his eyes dropping to rove over her still naked form.

 

“Well it’s not my fault you are such a horn dog!” she shot back.

 

“Yes, it is. Really,” he said, holding her with smouldering eyes. His smile broadened as her cheeks blushed a fragile pink. “I love you. You know that?”

 

“I know that,” she replied simply. “Now, come on! We need to get you back into bed,” she continued more brusquely, standing up and taking his right hand in her own.

 

He stumbled to his feet, pleased to find that they took his weight. Looping his arm about her shoulders, he tried to keep his body from betraying him, the ache in his muscles coming back full force.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked as she eased him down onto the lumpy mattress.

 

“I’m fine,” he said with a grin meant to hide the grimace he felt as his ribs shifted inside his chest.

 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

 

“Who, me? Of course not.”

 

***

 

Another cabin, another failure. This had gotten old before it even started. Bo kicked a booted foot into the mound of white powder, watching as the swirling flakes flew up to mingle with their brethren falling from above. Damn snow. He was sick of the stuff and still it continued to fall. He searched the far horizon, trying to see something that wasn’t there. Trying to ignore the swiftly setting sun. If they wanted to bed down in the cavern, they needed to head back now. Screw the cavern, he wasn’t willing to waste the time just to buy a warm bed. “Mount up,” he snapped abruptly to the men who surrounded him. “We’ll keep going until it’s too dark to see. Tomorrow we’ll find them. Tomorrow for sure.”

 

Wordlessly, the men complied, and Bo grudgingly gave DiMera his due. McKlain might not be bright, but he sure knew how to follow orders. All of the men did. He guessed it was a prerequisite for DiMera employment. With a frustrated sigh, Bo spared one look for the men as they lined up behind him and then kicked his snowmobile into gear. The high whine of the engines followed them as they disappeared into the rapidly darkening twilight.

 

***

 

“Come on, try some soup,” she cajoled, waving the bowel under his nose as if to entice him.

 

His stomach rumbled, but he wasn’t sure if it was hunger or nausea. Suspiciously, he peered over the rim of the bowl. “How long do you think that can has been sitting there, Marlena?”

 

“It’s a can. It lasts forever. Now open up, because we need to get some food in you,” she said, rasing the spoon to his lips and daring him to refuse.

 

It smelled okay, and there probably wasn’t too much she could do to screw up canned soup. On the other hand, she had surprised him before with her ability to make the most basic of foods inedible. Closing his eyes, he bowed to the inevitable and swallowed the first bite. Finally, he open one eye and peered out at her. “It’s not horrible.”

 

“Thank you,” she replied sarcastically.

 

“And I can feed myself,” he muttered, wrestling her for the spoon as she tried to shovel in the next bite.

 

Relinquishing her weapon, she settled in beside him on the bed and watched him eat. Despite his complaints, he was now wolfing down the food like it was the best thing he had ever tasted, and she knew he must be really hungry. “You look like you feel better,” she noted.

 

“I do,” he answered as he scraped the last dribbles of soup from the bowl. “In fact, I’m thinking we might want to get out of here come daylight.”

 

“Hmm. I meant better in the sense that you probably aren’t at risk of immediate death, which is slightly different from the idea that you should go tramping around in the frigid snow until one of your cracked ribs punctures a lung. I’m sorry, I should have made myself clear,” she said, looking at him with that icy ‘Dr.’ glare that usually meant he was going to lose whatever argument they were about to have.

 

“Um… I didn’t mean that we were going to hike out or anything, Doc. It’s just, come morning, we’ll have been here for two days. We don’t know for sure what happened to Mikos. If he is still alive, you can bet that his men are looking for us. We might be better off waiting in the cover of the woods and keeping an eye on the shack. If Bo shows up first, great. But if Mikos’ people get here before him, I’d rather be out in the woods watching them than in here trying to hold them off.” He looked at her expectantly, knowing he was right. Years of training telling him he was right. He saw those hazel eyes narrow, and knew that it didn’t matter if he was right, they weren’t going anywhere.

 

“You can barely stand up. The last thing you need to do is go sit outside in the snow. We are not going to move from this spot until Bo shows up and then we are going to carry you out of here, is that clear to you?”

 

That glint was in her eyes and argument was obviously futile. He briefly considered whether he could forcibly remove her, but decided she would probably squash him like a bug at the moment. Flashing her a charming smile, he decided to go with the most prudent course of action. “Yes, ma’am. I guess we’ll stay right here.”

 

Sitting gingerly upright in the center of the bed holding an empty soup bowl, he looked all of twelve years old. She couldn’t help but smile and press a kiss to his forehead as she took the bowl away. When she looked back at him from the cupboard, he was holding the automatic in his hand and any hint of innocence died.

 

Glancing up, he found her staring at him. “Five shots left,” he said with a grim smile. “We better hope Bo gets here first.”

 

“He will,” she replied, going back to perch on the bed beside him. His long arms wrapped around her and she realized he had no intention of letting her go. Reaching down, she pulled the blankets around both their bodies and lay her head back against his chest. Bo would come. He had to.

 

***

 

“I want the snowcat ready in the morning. I will be accompanying you. We leave at dawn.”

 

Dimitri simply stared in disbelief. Though Mikos was dressed and able to move about on his own, fresh blood still spotted the gauze that concealed his eye socket. Despite the drugs that the doctor was feeding him, the pain had to be intense. Only a madman would venture out on a war party in such condition. Then again, Dimitri had realized long ago that Mikos Alamain was anything but sane. With a mental shrug, Dimitri nodded his understanding. “Do you have a specific destination, sir?”

 

“I am going to find my brother. I am going to find my bride. Tomorrow will be the day. Do you have any doubt?”

 

“No sir! Of course not. It’s just…” Dimitri watched as the lazy smile spread across Mikos’ face and had to suppress a shudder.

 

Mikos merely chuckled. “DiMera’s men have already swept the lower slopes. They have found nothing or the search parties would have been called back by now. That means that they are still out there, somewhere between the castle walls and DiMera’s people. The area is small, and now I know how to find them. The helicopter will sweep ahead of us using the infrared scopes to scour the ground. We will follow behind, not wasting our time searching until the helicopter pinpoints a heat source. Tomorrow we will find them, Dimitri. Tomorrow I will have my revenge.”

 

Chapter 88 – (A Version)

 

Dawn comes early in the high mountains. For Bo Brady, it couldn’t come early enough. He stomped his feet impatiently, waiting for the dozen men behind him to stow their gear. Three more way-stations to check. Three more that were on their map, anyway. John and Marlena had to be in one of those cabins. If they weren’t….

 

“Hurry it up, people! We’re burning daylight,” he yelled irritably, watching as the last of the sleeping bags were stashed on the backs of the snowmobiles. It had been a cold night for camping, but despite the vague numbness that seemed to pervade his feet and hands, he knew the decision had been the right one. Time was short, he could feel it in his bones.

 

As the last of the men mounted up, Bo settled into the hard leather seat of the snowmobile and cranked the engine to life. The whining roar of a dozen engines joined his, shattering the cold dead silence of the snow laden field. Leading the way, Bo cut a fast trail through the powder, squinting against the harsh glare of the headlights that were reflected back at him by the falling curtain of snow. The damn stuff just kept falling, as if the heavens themselves were intent on keeping him from his goal. He throttled down as he powered the big snowmobile up a steep rise, thinking to himself that some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed. He hit the peak of the summit and spun the wheel hard, the snowmobile slewing wildly out of control as the black body of a large helicopter suddenly loomed over him. He brought the snowmobile to a sliding halt and had to duck his head as the hovering craft raised a blizzard of snow with its downdraft. For an instance, the chopper merely hung there studying him like some bloated insect searching for prey. With a sudden burst of power, it swung away and headed south.

 

Bo looked up to find his men surrounding him, guns held at the ready in hands turned white by the cold. The chopper disappeared behind the treeline, and the urge to pursue was strong. Knowing it was his decision to make, Bo turned to study the northern trail, his eyes searching for the cabin that had been their initial destination. As if the Gods had suddenly deigned to grant their mercy, the dark outline of a man-made structure could be plainly seen only one snow-shrouded ridge away.

 

They were too damn close not to check it out. There were no tracks in the snow, but tracks wouldn’t last long in the ceaseless storm that now fell. The fact that the chopper had not landed meant very little. Given the steep terrain and raging wind currents, no one in their right mind would have even attempted a landing. Giving one last look over his shoulder, Bo signaled to his men and sped off in the direction of the cabin.

 

***

 

“We have them, sir! We have a heat source!” The excitement was clear in Dimitri’s voice, as for the first time in days, he allowed himself to believe that he might actually be allowed to live.

 

Mikos barely seemed to hear. Sitting in the heated compartment of the Sno-cat, he continued staring out the window, watching the frozen landscape fly by as the big machine powered its way across the sparkling drifts of snow. A baby. She carried a child. She carried his brother’s child. Mikos wondered how long she had known. Had she sat across the table from him, smiling and nodding and hiding her betrayal behind innocent eyes? Had she allowed him to kiss her while carrying another man’s seed within? She had known from the start, he was certain of it. She had known from the start and she had led him on. Now she would pay. She would pay with her child.

 

“Sir? Do you want us to follow the chopper?” Dimitri repeated, raising his voice and trying to draw his boss from the fugue state that seemed to posses him, a state that occurred more and more often.

 

“Of course we follow,” was the dreamy response. “She is waiting for me. I can feel her. I can hear her calling to me. She wishes to atone, and I will let her.”

 

***

 

“What’s that?” she muttered sleepily, burrowing her head into his chest in an effort to drown out the irritating hum.

 

“Chopper,” he said quietly, the tension in his voice bringing her instantly awake.

 

“It’s Bo! He’s here!” She scrambled from the bed, rummaging about in the pile of discarded clothing for something to pull on.

 

With a grunt of effort, John lurched from the bed and grabbed her hand. “It’s not Bo. It’s not our chopper.”

 

His words froze her in her tracks. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. “How do you know? You haven’t even looked. John, it has to be Bo!”

 

He shook his head, as he carefully shrugged into a heavy flannel shirt. Not bothering with the buttons, he sat on the bed and began tugging on a pair of baggy wool pants. “I know the DiMera helicopter, Marlena. It’s a Command Stinger. That ain’t it, I can tell by the engines. Bo isn’t out there, Doc.”

 

She simply stood in the center of the room, clutching a thick wool sweater to her chest and shaking her head as if it would somehow negate the truth. It could not be Mikos. It could not.

 

“Doc, come on, get dressed,” he said softly, walking over to wrap his arms around her trembling body. Dropping his head, he drew in the warm scent of her. “It will be okay, I promise you,” he whispered in her ear.

 

Pulling away from him, she turned her back and tugged the sweater over her head. Trying futilely to hide her tears from him, she merely nodded, pretending to herself that he was right. Knowing that he wasn’t. If Mikos was coming, nothing would be okay. Not ever again. It was as certain as death.

 

He watched her as she pulled on a pair of too large jeans. She looked like a child, her long hair hanging down across her pale face. A child playing dress-up in her daddy’s clothes. Jesus, there was no way he was going to stop them from coming. Not with five shots left in his gun. Not with his knees trying to buckle with every step he took. Mikos was coming for her, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

 

He jammed his feet into the heavy hiking boots, the sound of the chopper becoming louder by the second. The downdraft from the rotors shook the thin walls of the shack and John could sense the heavy body of the aircraft hovering above them. Grabbing his gun up in his right hand, he flashed her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “It will be okay,” he repeated, wondering as he said it if Mikos still wanted him taken alive. Wondering if he should allow it to happen, use it to divert the man’s attention away from Marlena.

 

“Come here,” he ordered abruptly, his eyes glinting coldly as he stepped up to stand on the narrow platform of the bed.

 

“John, what are you doing?” she asked uncertainly, watching as he reached up and shoved apart the thick tree limbs that formed the lattice work of the shack’s ceiling. “John, we have to get out of here. We have to run!” she said, panic creeping into her voice.

 

“We can’t run. Hell, ‘I’ can’t run, that’s for sure,” he grunted, his hands never slowing in their work. “If you leave here, they will track you down. In this snow, you wouldn’t get a hundred yards without transport and a blind man could follow your trail. But if you can’t run, you can always hide.”

 

He turned to face her, offering his hand. His face was hard and grim, shutting her out. Shutting her away. Almost afraid of him, she allowed him to pull her onto the raised platform of the bed.

 

“Keep your weight on one of the rafters. It should support you,” he ordered tightly as his big hands wrapped around her waist.

 

Before she could give voice to a protest, he lifted her into the air and her hands automatically sought purchase among the tangle of branches. She pulled herself into the dark hole, the damp sod of the roof brushing against her hair despite her effort to keep low. Shifting carefully, she draped her body along a long column of wood, one of the main support beams for the roof. Rough branches bit into her skin despite the protection of the thick clothing and she struggled to breathe in the musty straw, rustling noises warning her that she was not the only occupant of this moldy crawlspace. The sudden sense of claustrophobia was almost overwhelming, and it took her a minute to realize that the oppressive whine of the helicopter had disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

 

“Stay there,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. Fighting the pain that threatened to double him over, he quickly tugged the branches back into place. Stepping down from the bed, he tucked his right arm against his side in an effort to support aching ribs, fumbling with his left hand for the gun tucked into his waistband.

 

“John! They’re gone! Get me down from here,” Marlena called urgently from her perch amid the rafters.

 

He chambered a round before allowing his gaze to drift upward. She was hidden well, the white straw obliterating any trace of her. No one would find her, not if she didn’t want them to. “They aren’t gone,” he answered gently. “The chopper moved off to let the ground troops in. They’re coming. I can feel them.”

 

The faint growl of engines penetrated the thin walls of the cabin, as if to lend credence to his words. He saw her then, the faint glint of a golden eye, staring down at him like an angel on high. He had always been able to read her, her eyes revealing her thoughts in a way that words could not. He knew her as no one else ever could. What he now knew, scared him.

 

“John, get up here!” she called, her voice rising as the fear took hold. “Please! Get up here!”

 

Dropping his head, he tried to sever the connection between them. Tried to break the bond that linked them, that bound them together as one. He did not want her to know his thoughts, to feel his pain. Not now. Not anymore. Mikos was coming. The man would not be stopped. John would die before he would allow that man to use him against Marlena again.

 

With a sharp shake of his dark head, John put aside all thoughts of the past, all thoughts of the future. A future that was not to be. Sinking down against the wall opposite the only door, he steadied the pistol on his knee and drew careful aim. When he finally spoke, it was almost as if she wasn’t there. “They will know we were here, Doc. The food. The bandages. The signs are all over. They know I can’t move fast or far. They will expect me to be here and they will tear this place apart looking for me. The only way to beat them is to give them what they want.”

 

“I won’t let you do this,” she said softly, suddenly recognizing that he had no intention of escaping. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you.”

 

He blinked back the tears that burned in the corners of his eyes. Despite all he could do to push her from his heart, she still refused to leave. He could feel her thoughts, her fears, her love. Above all, he could feel a fierce protectiveness, and knew that she would do anything to save him. And he would do anything to stop her. She might curse him for it in her old age, but he would make certain she lived to do so. Closing his eyes, he said the words that she would not be able to refuse. “I love you, Marlena. I love you and I love our child. If you love me, you will let me do this. You will let me do this and you will live to tell my son that he meant everything to me.”

 

She hated him at that moment. Hated that he would so willingly leave her. Hated that she would let him. Her hand crept down to stroke against her stomach as if to touch the piece of him she carried inside. She let the tears flow down and watched as he waited for death to come. “What if it’s a girl?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

“If it’s a girl, tell her she meant even more,” he said with a smile as the door crashed inward and he gently squeezed the trigger.

 

***

 

Bo pulled up, 20 yards short of the doorway to the cabin. The ground was undisturbed, though the downwash from the chopper had driven the snow from the roof of the structure. He cut his engine as his men gathered around him, praying as he did so that this would be the right place. It had to be the right place.

 

He advanced on the doorway, his men spreading out to surround the humble structure. The adrenalin pumped through his veins and his hands tightened on his weapon as he approached the door. Without thinking about it, he broke into a jog, the three men at his back hurrying to keep up with him. A sense of foreboding swept over him, and without hesitation he slammed into the rickety door shoulder first. His momentum carried him into the room and he hit the floor hard, rolling to his feet just as the sound of gunfire cracked out faintly in the thin mountain air. Bo sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes sweeping the room despite the fact that he knew there would be nothing to find. The distant thunder of guns still echoed as he turned back to the door. The silence once more descended and he knew that he had been too late. The end of the gunfire had signaled the end to the hunt.

 

“Mount up! There’s nothing here!” Bo yelled as he stalked to his snowmobile. Without waiting to see if the men followed, Bo opened up the throttle and sped northward, following in the wake of the helicopter. Following the dying echo of gunfire.

 

***

 

The wooden door burst off its hinges, the heavy body of a man hurtling toward John’s waiting gun. He admired the man’s bravery even as he pulled the trigger and shot him in the face. The dead man fell to the floor, John not sparing him a second look as two more uniformed figures entered the doorway at a dead sprint. The sound of breaking glass told him that more men were pouring in through the window, even as he pulled the trigger again and then again. Rushing now as the adrenalin coursed through his system, he saw one man go down, blood spurting from his neck. The other merely staggered back, dropping to his knees as the heavy vest he wore took the impact and saved his life.

 

Two bullets left. Only two. One for Mikos, one for himself. He would not to be taken. Would not allow himself to be used to flush Marlena from the temporary safety of her hiding place. Two bullets left, and still the black uniforms came.

 

His eyes sought the glimpse of steel that would show him a weapon, give him the fire power he needed to continue to fight. They surged toward him, moving in slow motion. By the time they reached him, he would know them better than their own mothers. But the one thing he needed, they did not bring him. No weapons did they carry, and as the mob descended on him he could see the fear in their wide-eyed gazes. Could smell it in the stink of their sweat. He wondered what could inspire such fear that men would rush to meet their deaths. He wondered even as he pulled the trigger and put the bullet meant for Mikos through the brain of the closest soldier.

 

One bullet. One bullet left. He put the gun to his head, and as he did so, he knew the cause of the fear. Mikovitch Alamain. Mikovitch Alamain, his only brother. The men were more afraid of Mikos than they were of death. He cursed the gods who would allow such a monster to live. He cursed the fate that would take him away from her while such evil still haunted her world. He cursed his life as his finger tightened its pull and he sought the death he deserved. He cursed once more as his brother’s form darkened the doorway, one black eye glittering malevolently back at him. He cursed himself as he gave in to the rage, the gun’s thunder echoing out one last time to send burning metal hurtling through the air. Leathal lead, tearing through skin and bone, leaving only death in its wake.

 

Mikos clutched at the bleeding wound, staring down in fascination as the red stain leaked through his fingers, the fat droplets falling soundlessly to form a growing puddle on the floor. He smiled a predatory grin and let the body of the soldier he held before him drop to the ground. “Nice try, little brother. You continue to impress me.”

 

The hammer fell on an empty chamber as dark uniforms threw themselves forward and John Black learned what it was to lose.

 

***

 

She held her breath in an effort not to scream. She held her breath and she watched. She watched as the men came. She watched as they died. The violence seemed to last forever, and if she blinked, she would miss it. She wanted to miss it. Wanted to see anything but his death, and his death was the only way this could end. The tears streamed down her face and still she watched. She watched as he brought the gun to his head. She watched as the hatred flared behind those blue eyes. She watched as his weapon flashed its fire and Mikos pulled a young soldier in front of him. A young soldier who died as the bullet tore out his throat and stole his life away. She watched until she could watch no more, and as she closed her eyes, she heard Mikos’ voice order John brought before him.

 

***

 

Stupid. So fucking stupid. He coughed up blood, his body hanging limp in the grasp of the men that dragged him forward. So fucking stupid, and now she would have to watch. He prayed to the bastard gods that all she would do was watch.

 

“Where is she?” Mikos asked, reaching out to force John’s head up.

 

Blinking back the fog that clouded his vision and confused his brain, John merely smiled. “You’re too late,” he wheezed. “She’s gone. She’s long gone from here.”

 

“You lie!” Mikos screamed, swinging a hard fist into his brother’s stomach and watching as he doubled over, frothy pink foam spilling from his lips.

 

A wracking cough shook his body, and John could feel the drip of blood into damaged lungs. He wanted to laugh at the irony, Mikos giving him the release he could not achieve by himself. The laugh turned to a groan, and he hung there waiting for the next blow to fall and watching as his blood seeped into the dirt of the floor.

 

Mikos linked his fingers in the lank hair and again pulled the man’s head up to face him. Slapping his hand across John’s face, he tried to force an answer from him. “Where is she?” he repeated.

 

“She is gone,” was the muttered reply.

 

“She is mine. Damn you, brother, she is mine!”

 

This was madness, John realized as he stared at his brother’s twisted features. This was the face of madness. He wondered if it was the same face he wore when he killed. He decided it probably was. He smiled into the face of madness and whispered, “She is free.”

 

The breath hissed from his lips in a high-pitched whine and his world began to turn to gray. Dimly, he let the darkness come, the comforting embrace of the nothingness beckoning. The shrill whine of his gasping breaths became louder and louder, drowning out everything else. He could see Mikos’ lips moving, could sense the hasty movements of the guards. The room began to clear of the dark clad bodies and he could feel one thick arm looping about his neck, holding him upright in a vicelike grip.

 

“Sir! We have to go! We can bring him with us, but we have to go. We can’t stand off DiMera’s men, we’ve lost too many of our own!”

 

Dimitri’s voice rang loudly in his ear, and John suddenly knew that it was over. It might be too late for him, but it was over. Bo was here. Bo would save her. A triumphant smile lit his face as he watched Mikos pull a dagger from his belt. He admired the slender blade even as it drew closer to his face. Tempered steel, the light flowing across the shining metal like a lover’s touch. It was only right that he die by the blade.

 

Gun fire erupted from outside, and John sensed it as Dimitri began to panic. Mikos merely seemed to feed on the increasing violence, waving the blade slowly before John’s eyes.

 

“This is justice, isn’t it Alexander? Even you must admit this is justice. ‘An eye for an eye’. Is that not what the Bible tells us? I want my pound of flesh, little brother. I want her to know that I took it from you because I could not have it from her.”

 

The gunfire rolled like thunder and the knife moved forward as if thirsting for the taste of blood. John could do nothing to stop the approach of death and was no longer certain he wanted to. Mikos would die. Marlena would live. That was what mattered. It was all that mattered. Marlena and the child…

 

A high-pitched scream cut through the fractured air bringing with it a pain reserved for the depths of hell. He tried to force air into his lungs, tried to force his body to function. More than anything else, he tried to make his eyes see something other than her slim form rushing toward him. But nothing he could do would make her safe now, and the knowledge of that fact was an agony he could not bare.

 

She screamed as she ran, knowing nothing but the fact she could not lose him. Not now. Now when rescue was so close. Minutes. Mere minutes. That was all the time she had to buy him, and then Bo would be there to take them home.

 

She was halfway across the small room before any of the three men present even noticed her existence. Snatching the ax from where it lay propped beside the hearth, she swung on Mikos with all of the strength in her body. He moved with the quickness of a cat, leaping back and letting the heavy blade swing harmlessly past. Lunging forward, he grabbed her hands and twisted sharply, the ax falling to the ground as the pressure became unbearable. For a moment, she stared into his face, seeing what she had done to him. Recognizing the madness she had unleashed. Then he smiled, and the fear consumed her.

 

“Hold him, Dimitri! I want him to see this. I want him to watch as I take what I am owed!” Mikos screamed the words joyously, shoving Marlena back toward the bed as if she weighed nothing at all. Pinning her down with his body, he slid the knife down the front of her sweater and pulled the heavy material aside, exposing her naked body to his view. Mikos smiled as his hands ran across that firm skin, circling her stomach with a touch that was almost reverent.

 

“God, Mikos! Don’t! Please, don’t! I beg you!” John screamed, misting the air before him with the blood from his shattered lungs.

 

“Sir, we have to leave now!” Dimitri yelled out as he tightened his hold on the bucking form in his arms. “We don’t have time for this!”

 

Mikos ignored them both, immersing himself in the look of horror that sparked within those beautiful eyes. He smiled and kissed her lips, knowing as he did so that she must already see the price she would pay for his forgiveness. “Congratulations are in order, I hear,” he whispered, trailing the blade of his knife down her stomach as he did so.

 

“Please, Mikos. Please. Not the baby,” she said, hardly daring to breathe. She needed another moment. The gunfire was almost over. She needed just another moment.

 

Mikos was insane and Dimitri knew it. He would not leave, too stuck in some twisted fantasy realm to realize that their very lives were at risk. It was time to run, and if Mikos chose to stay, so be it. He shifted his grip, intent on snapping the neck of the wounded man who still jerked against him in a hopeless attempt to go to the woman. The fingers of Dimitri’s hand crept behind the man’s neck, but before he could deliver the final twist that would shatter the vertebrae, his knee snapped backward and the joint buckled like a broken hinge.

 

John had taken the only opening he had been given, timing his kick just as Dimitri had shifted his hold. The big man stumbled backward, the agony blinding him to the world around him. He crashed into the wall as John’s fingers wrapped around the wooden handle of the ax that lay at his feet. Whirling in place, John buried the rusty blade in Dimitri’s neck and just as quickly yanked it free. With two long strides, he was across the small room. As Dimitri’s body hit the floor, John plowed into Mikos and pulled him down to the ground.

 

Mikos was strong, as strong as an ox. John jammed a finger into the man’s bandaged eye socket and Mikos wasn’t strong anymore. Keening like an animal, he curled into a ball, crying and pawing at his face. As Mikos scrambled to the wall, huddling in on himself like a broken child, the door of the cottage slammed inward and Bo Brady stepped inside. Gun held at the ready, he was prepared for anything. Anything but this.

 

Dead men littered the floor, half a dozen bodies at least. Against the right wall, a half-decapitated body still pumped gouts of blood from the arteries in the neck, the crimson puddle on the floor growing by the second. Opposite the body, Marlena perched in the center of a small bed, the tattered remnants of her sweater held closed by one trembling hand. Her eyes were bright with fear, and as Bo followed her gaze, he realized why.

 

John stood in the center of the room, a tattered scarecrow that stared at the world through unseeing eyes. His breath wheezed out in ragged gulps, pink-tinged foam dribbling from the side of his mouth. In his hand, there was an ax, the blade clotted with gore and leaving no doubt of the task to which it had been put. His head was held low, a feral pose as he studied his prey, hunched against the far side of the room.

 

“John. John, it’s okay,” Marlena said softly, her eyes locked on his face as she tried to connect with him. “John, he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt the baby. It’s okay.”

 

“Um, John. Hey, buddy. The perimeter is secure. Let’s get you guys out of here, all right?” Bo broke in, becoming uneasy with the way John simply stood staring at his prisoner.

 

At the sound of Bo’s voice, John took a stumbling step toward Mikos and raised his ax. The movement jarred Mikos from his disjointed mumblings, and he looked up, wide-eyed and confused. “I’m your brother, Alexi. I’m your brother, how could you do this to me?”

 

John swayed on his feet, growing lightheaded with the loss of blood. He smiled through bloodstained teeth and watched as Mikos drew back in fright.

 

“John, he’s not sane. You know that, don’t you? Let Bo handle this. Let us get you to a hospital,” she pleaded, praying for some spark of recognition, some hint that he heard her.

 

Ever so slowly, John tilted his head and looked over at her. Saw the flash of pale skin from beneath the torn sweater. Saw the trickle of blood that marred her stomach. His breath caught in his throat and he blinked away the salty burn of a tear.

 

“I’m okay, John,” she said with a small smile, her finger going down to wipe away the tiny droplet that welled up from the scratch. “The baby is okay. You don’t have to do this.”

 

The rage drained away, the strength going with it. He looked down on Mikos and saw him for what he was. Sorrow filled the places the rage had been, for he knew it would hurt her. Mikos was his brother. No matter what else he was, Mikos was still his brother. To kill him would be to kill whatever illusions Marlena still had about the man she loved. He studied the pig that was his brother, the sense of regret almost overwhelming.

 

Mikos met his brother’s gaze, saw the regret. Saw the sorrow. And knew that his brother was too weak to make the kill. Mikos had time for one brief smile of triumph before the ax descended with lethal force.

 

Epilogue A – Slouching Toward Bethlehem

 

He walked slowly through the swirling snow, the white powder crunching loudly beneath his booted feet. For about the hundredth time that day, he realized that he was grateful to be alive. A barn owl hooted softly from a tree to his right, the lonely cry his only company as he moved silently through the still night. Beneath the misty glow of a spotlight, he could see the gleaming roof of the black limo standing just behind the gate. At his approach, the gates swung open and a dark figure walked through to greet him.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Stefano’s deep voice called out.

 

“Merry Christmas to you too,” John replied, a note of caution creeping into his voice. Stopping before the waiting form of his mentor, he was surprised when the old man stepped forward and took him into a firm embrace. With only the slightest hesitation, John returned the hug. “Watch the ribs,” he grunted out, averting his eyes.

 

“You should be in a hospital. You know that, don’t you?” Taking a step back, DiMera held John at arms length, worry evident in his face.

 

“You and Marlena are a lot more alike than either of you let on. She just said the same thing,” he replied with a chuckle.

 

“You should listen to her,” Stefano said with an approving nod.

 

“She also said you are a sick twisted old man and I shouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

 

“You should listen to her sometimes. Other times, you should ignore her completely.” His deep laugh echoed out and he clasped one hand to John’s shoulder. “Walk with me,” he said, with a nod back toward the house.

 

“This is a nice place, John. Very… secure.”

 

“You should know, you did have Jensen find it for me. I’ve no doubt he’s already given you a complete set of the blueprints and security system,” John said dryly.

 

DiMera gave an expansive wave of his hand. “I just like to know the people I care about are safe, John. I have a grandson on the way and you know how protective I can be of my children.”

 

“You do not have a grandson on the way, Stefano. Or a granddaughter either, for that matter. Marlena has been real clear about your role in this baby’s life. To put it briefly, you have none. I tell you now, old man, I am not going to argue with her about this.” John kept his voice low, but there was no doubting he meant the words.

 

“I have every right to this child, John. I put up with you during your adolescence, a chore that would try the patience of Job. If you think I am going to miss out on the joy of seeing you have to deal with whatever demon spawn you will produce, you don’t know me very well after all. This is a father’s right.”

 

“Stefano…” John started, a warning in his voice.

 

“No. No,” the older man cut him off. “I am not arguing or threatening. I won’t even ask you talk to Marlena about it. I know where your loyalties lie when it comes to her. I am simply saying that I will be living here in Salem. Eventually, Marlena will come to accept me into your lives. It is the kind of woman she is.”

 

“Don’t bet on it,” John stated flatly, reaching out to draw DiMera to a halt.

 

“You did tell her I was moving to town, didn’t you?” Stefano asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

 

“I was hoping you would change your mind,” was the muttered response. Shaking his head wearily, he asked, “Look, Stefano, I’m tired. Why did you call me out here? I know it wasn’t to tell me you wanted to come over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

 

“No, actually I wanted to bring you a gift. Or rather, a gift for the whole family. It’s in the car,” DiMera said, nodding in the direction of the limo.

 

“I can’t accept it. You know that,” John said softly, turning his head away from DiMera’s penetrating gaze.

 

Stefano merely grinned. “Wait until you see what it is.”

 

With a shrug, John didn’t bother debating the point.

 

As the two men wandered slowly back to the car, Stefano couldn’t help but ask, “How is she? Marlena, the children?”

 

“She’s good. Real good, now that we are back home,” he replied, breaking into a broad grin. “Tell Jensen thanks again for me. He did a nice job with the decorating on such short notice. Of course, Marlena is no doubt going to gut the place, but at least it’s nice to have a bed to sleep in!”

 

“Well, Jensen does know your taste, John. But thanks aren’t really necessary. I have never known a man who so enjoys spending other people’s money, and you gave him enough to keep him in Nirvana for a month!”

 

“He did good, the place already feels like home. I think they’re even starting to get used to the guards and the security precautions. Marlena only agreed to it in the first place because I played up being hurt.”

 

DiMera grunted an ugly laugh. “John, your heart stopped twice due to the blood loss. I don’t think you had to ‘play up’ anything.”

 

Startled by the undercurrent of anger and fear in Stefano’s voice, John darted a glance in his direction. “I really am okay, you know.”

 

“You almost died!” Stefano nearly exploded, unwanted memories running through his mind. Grabbing John by the front of his jacket, he slapped a hand to the younger man’s face in a gesture as rough as it was affectionate. “I just got you back in my life. I’m not ready to lose you quite yet. Do you understand me?!”

 

“Yea! Shit! Yes sir, I understand,” John stammered out, surprised at the raw display of emotion.

 

Stefano gave an irritated shake of his head and turned John loose. “You will be the death of me yet.”

 

“You grab me like that again, I just might be.”

 

Stefano merely rolled his eyes. “So all is forgiven with Marlena and the children? You plan to stay with them?”

 

The silence intruded. Oppressive. Expectant. Forcing a reply.

 

“If she lets me.”

 

“And Mikos?”

 

“Mikos is dead.”

 

Glancing over, Stefano could discern not the slightest hint of emotion. Not regret. Not sorrow. Not anything. “Are you sorry?” he asked softly.

 

“I’m glad,” John spat out before he could stop himself.

 

Startled by the vehemence in the words, DiMera shot a worried glance at the man who walked beside him. The look in those blue eyes was colder than the frigid air that surrounded them. Burrowing further into his coat, Stefano was suddenly very grateful that the look was not meant for him.

 

“So what is this ‘gift’ I can’t refuse?” John asked, irritated by his own lack of control.

 

Stefano merely smiled and as they approached the car, gestured to his chauffer. The man opened the limousine door and pulled out the present, resplendent in a red bow.

 

“Oh no. Please tell me you did not do this,” John said with a low groan, reaching out to take possession of the prize despite himself.

 

“If you don’t like it, you can always take it back. It was this or a Quisinart.”

 

“Marlena is going to kill me,” John replied, shooting the old man a dirty look.

 

“I am quite certain you will find some way of making it up to her.”

 

“Well, there is that,” John chuckled. “And you were right, I don’t think she’ll be able to say ‘no’ to this. You really are an evil old bastard, you know that?”

 

“You are not the first to notice,” Stefano answered, nodding his head as if accepting a compliment. “And if you need further proof…” Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, DiMera drew forth a thin sheet of paper and offered it to John.

 

Almost grudgingly, John took the folded sheet and with a flick of his wrist snapped it open. A short list of names and addresses greeted him, none of which looked familiar. “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

 

“The names and addresses of the ISA hit squad that attacked our Virginia compound. The unit no longer operates, though most of the men still do free lance work. I had Jensen do the research. I thought you might be curious.”

 

“I wasn’t,” John stated flatly.

 

“So throw it away. I simply thought you might like to know. As far as I am concerned, those men are irrelevant. There is no evidence that they will ever be a threat and I could care less what happens to them,” Stefano said, giving a negligent shrug of his shoulders.

 

Wordlessly, John stuffed the list of names into his back pocket. “Look, I really should get back to the house, Stefano. The kids are trimming the tree and all. You know…”

 

“I know,” Stefano replied softly, the slightest hint of longing in his voice.

 

Dropping his head, John stared at the snow beneath his feet. “Um, thanks for stopping by. And the gift…. Thanks. You know what it means to me.”

 

“You did always want one. I thought maybe it was time,” Stefano replied, suddenly feeling awkward himself.

 

“Yea, well, I should go. Um, you going to be in tomorrow? I get a chance, maybe I’ll drop by. I’ve got a bottle of cognac that’s got your name on it. Thirty years old if it’s a day. Stuff is supposed to go down like silk.”

 

Stefano shook his head, the gesture failing to hide the pleased smile that flashed across his face. “No rush. I don’t think you are supposed to be up and about this quickly.”

 

“There are a lot of things I ‘shouldn’t’ do. It has rarely stopped me,” John replied with a hint of his usual cocky grin.

 

“Maybe it should. You might spend less time in hospitals,” DiMera answered, his hand going out to give John’s shoulder a tight squeeze. “But do as you will. You always do anyway.”

 

“Stefano, dear. I’m not going to wait all night!” The smooth feminine voice called out from the recesses of the limousine, startling both men.

 

“Vivian?” John blurted, his eyes darting from Stefano’s face to the darkened interior of the car.

 

“Merry Christmas, nephew,” was the amused response, though the woman in question failed to show herself.

 

Stefano cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing in what might have been a blush. “Well, I guess I should be going.”

 

“Vivian?!” John repeated, his jaw hanging open as he stared at Stefano and awaited an explanation.

 

DiMera’s broad shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “A man does have needs, John. That’s something I’m sure you can understand. Besides, your aunt is a very intriguing woman.”

 

“Vivian?” He muttered the name again, his head shaking back and forth as if to force the concept into his brain. Slack jawed, he watched as the big man climbed into the limo.

 

Almost as an afterthought, DiMera leaned his head out of the open door. “Oh, be sure to give my love to Marlena and the children. They are always in my thoughts,” he called out cheerfully.

 

“Um, you do realize that if Marlena asks me to kill you, I will?” John replied, his still slightly dazed eyes showing no sign of the smile that crossed his lips.

 

Laughter echoed from inside the limo. “Of course I do. I also know that Marlena is far too gentle a soul to ever do such a thing. Now, go home, John. Go home to your family.”

 

The car door slammed shut, leaving John standing alone beneath the slowly falling flakes of snow. He watched soundlessly as the car disappeared into the blackness of the night. A low laugh escaped him as he realized that, as usual, DiMera would have the last word. Still smiling, he turned around and followed his orders, going home to the only family he would ever need.

 

***

 

“Mom! We need more tinsel!”

 

He stood in the darkened foyer, wondering if he really had a place in such a world as this. Eric had Sami perched precariously on his shoulders and all three kids were intently focused on the issue of decorating the tree. Silver laughter rang out, and the large house had a warmth to it that had nothing to do with the fire that crackled in the stone hearth. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he existed in the same world they did.

 

“Dad? Where were you? We need help with the star!” Carrie called, looking over to shoot him a broad smile.

 

“Didn’t your mother inform you I am on restricted duty?” he replied, walking into the room.

 

“Since when did that stop you?” Carrie teased.

 

“What you got?” Sami yelled out, pragmatically noting the hand he held conspicuously behind his back.

 

“Greedy child. What makes you think it’s for you?” John asked with a grin.

 

“Who is it for?” Striding over with Sami still on his shoulders, Eric looked on in interest.

 

“I bet it’s car keys! I told you he would get us cars!” Sami broke in, virtually bouncing up and down on her brother’s shoulders.

 

“No cars. Your mother would kill me. Besides, it’s not from me.”

 

“John?!” her voice called from the kitchen.

 

Almost hurriedly, he pulled his hand out and thrust the present into Carrie’s arms.

 

“A puppy! I can’t believe we got a puppy!” Sami’s elated voice seemed to echo off the wooden rafters and John winced internally. Putting on an innocent front, he prepared himself for the coming storm.

 

“Where have you been?” She asked, striding across the floor to lay a cool palm against his forehead. “You got them a puppy?” She continued more softly as she surreptitiously checked his pulse.

 

“It’s not from Dad. Can we keep it, Mom?” Eric asked, not bothering to look up from the poof of golden fur that now rolled around on the floor.

 

John gave a ‘who, me?’ shrug and studiously ignored her inquiring gaze.

 

“John?”

 

“I couldn’t say ‘no’, Doc. I mean, the dog could have ended up in the pound.” He blinked his blue eyes to their best effect, knowing there was no way she could argue with such a plea.

 

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” she asked as she tugged him over to the big chair beside the fireplace and forced him to sit down.

 

“Who, me? Of course not,” he answered, sounding insulted by the very idea.

 

“So who is he from, Dad?” Eric chimed in.

 

“Don’t be silly. It’s from Stefano,” Carrie replied, her fingers busy stroking the downy fur of the retriever pup.

 

“Oh, he really is sneaky, isn’t he?” Sami noted, what could have been admiration in her voice. “Hey, maybe we could call the puppy ‘Phoenix’?” she suggested thoughtfully.

 

“Or maybe we could not.” Marlena gave her youngest daughter a dirty look and wondered at what point in the conversation it had been decided that the dog would stay.

 

“Bowser?” Carrie offered.

 

“Cujo?” Was Eric’s counter.

 

Marlena allowed John to pull her down next to him. Snuggling up against his chest, she studied the eight-week-old puppy as it gazed up at her through soft brown eyes. If there was one thing puppies knew how to do, it was beg. This little one seemed to have that trick down pat. “How about ‘Chance’, as in ‘Second Chance’?” Marlena suggested as a smile forced its way to her face.

 

“‘Chance’ it is,” John said, raising her hand to his lips and flashing her a look of thanks.

 

“So Dad. About that car…”

 

***

 

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

 

“Mmm. Where’d everybody go?” he asked, surprised to find the room deserted except for Marlena and himself.

 

“It’s after midnight. I told the kids Santa wouldn’t come if they didn’t go to bed.”

 

“They believed that?”

 

“Well, let’s just say they weren’t willing to take any risks. And please tell me you didn’t get the twinners cars!”

 

John laughed and slowly sat up. “I’m not a complete idiot. No cars.”

 

“They’re really happy to have you here, John. You know that, don’t you? It’s almost like the Christmases we used to have.” She tucked herself in next to him and linked her fingers through his.

 

“It’s not the same, is it?” he said in reply.

 

Faintly she shrugged, watching him with her ‘Dr.’s’ eyes. “You aren’t the same,” she answered softly.

 

He sighed and closed his eyes. He had hoped she would let it go. He had known she wouldn’t. “Do you want me to leave, Marlena? I’m healed enough to get by on my own. I just thought… maybe I could stick around ’till Christmas.”

 

A chill ran through her, and she drew his hand over to rest against the slight bulge of her stomach. She rubbed his hand across her belly, searching for the hard little knot that was the beginning of their child. “Feel that? Do you feel that, John? It’s our baby. Ours. A part of both of us. Do you really think you could leave, just like that?”

 

His fingers stroked lightly across the surface of her skin. In his mind’s eye, he could see the child, running through the high grass. Smiling. Laughing. “I would do anything to protect you. Anything to protect my children. I’d leave tonight, if I thought it necessary.”

 

His words were gruff and she could sense the pain it cost him to say them. “Is it necessary, John? Is it?”

 

“You tell me?” he replied, staring deep into her eyes.

 

She glanced away, unable to accept his fear yet unwilling to make it go away. “You really should have told me about the dog, John. A warning, at least.”

 

She was trying to change the subject. With a shrug, he let her. “Honestly, Stefano surprised me with it. He knew I wouldn’t refuse.”

 

“Mm. How’s that?” Marlena asked, glancing back at his face, her curiosity piqued.

 

“I alway wanted a dog. Used to pester him about it endlessly. One of the few times I couldn’t wear him down. When he gave me the pup, he said it he figured it was about time,” John replied, his eyes going cloudy as distant memories intruded. “Hope that’s a good sign.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking up at him.

 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Just, Jensen said something a long time ago. About Stefano not wanting dogs around. Giving me the pup, he was telling me not to worry about things. That’s all.”

 

She sensed there was more to it. Could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened and his hands curled into fists. “He won’t come after us, will he? This isn’t some kind of sick threat?” Her heart pounded in her chest as old fears came rushing back. God, how she needed for this nightmare to end.

 

“Babe, no. Jeesh, Stefano’s no threat. I promise,” he said, ashamed now that he had made her worry. “No, the dog…. Marlena, Stefano wouldn’t let me have a dog because….” With a frustrated groan, he rubbed his hand against the bridge of his nose and wished he’d never said anything. The last thing she needed to hear right now was more about the twisted world he had grown up in.

 

“John, it’s okay. Really,” she said, not liking the way his pale skin had flushed.

 

If she was going to worry about DiMera, it was most definitely not okay. She had done enough worrying to last a lifetime. He wouldn’t cause her anymore. “Jensen told me about it. Before I ever got there, Stefano used to love dogs. Had a favorite named Brutus. The dog had the run of the place. Stefano even let the thing sleep in his bed, if you can believe that. Anyway, one day, the dog didn’t come back. When they found him…. Somebody shot the dog. Nailed it to a tree. Sending DiMera a message, I guess. Anyway, Stefano burned the body and then, well, no more dogs.”

 

“That’s sick,” she said, her hand closing tight around his.

 

John merely shrugged. “The point is, you don’t need to worry about Stefano. This is his way of saying there is no danger. We’re home. We’re safe. That’s how it’s going to stay.”

 

“You sound pretty certain.”

 

“I intend to make it certain,” he said, the hard edge once again tinting his words.

 

“Is that why you killed Mikos?”

 

There it was, the topic he had hoped to avoid. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, John nodded his head, “Yes. It’s why I killed Mikos.”

 

She pulled away then, wrapping her arms around herself as if they could provide her with the warmth she suddenly needed. “He was your brother.”

 

“Now he’s my dead brother.” The words came out flat and cold, the anger behind them a palpable force. Reaching out, he grasp her chin and turned her head to face him. “I’m glad I killed him, Marlena. I would do it again. The man would have been a threat to you, to the children. Always, he would have been a threat. I won’t allow that. Not now, not ever. You don’t have to understand that fact, but you better accept it. It is not open to debate.”

 

She didn’t reply, but he could feel her the trembling in her body, could hear the soft sobs she tried to hide. “Do you want me to leave?” he repeated gently.

 

“I thought you were going to die,” she said softly. “I thought that you were going to die and I knew that I didn’t want to live without you.”

 

Digging into her jean’s pocket, she pulled out a balled up handkerchief. Unwrapping the soft material, she revealed a tiny glint of gold. “Your Christmas present, John. I got it back from Bo. I wanted… I wanted you to wear it. I still do. I want you to promise me you will never leave me. I don’t care about the danger. I don’t care about the threat. The only thing I care about is your promise.”

 

She looked up at him with eyes he had never been able to deny. Slowly he reached out and picked up the circle of gold. So many years…. So many years since she had first given it to him. A lifetime ago, yet he could remember it like yesterday. His fist clenched tightly around the symbol of their love, his eyes tearing as he slowly shook his head. “Baby, I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t give you what you need.”

 

“You are what I need, John. You are the only thing I need. When will you accept that?” she whispered, her finger lightly brushing away the tears that crept down his cheeks.

 

“What if I can’t make you happy, Doc? All I want is for you to be happy. To be safe. What if I can’t give you that? I’ve let you down. So many times, I have let you down. How can you trust me to make you happy now?”

 

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. “It’s simple, John. I can’t be happy without you. Don’t you know that by now?”

 

“Oh God, Marlena,” he groaned out, his need for her singing through his veins. If he had to reshape the world to give her what she asked, he would do it. Slipping the simple band on his finger, he leaned down to lightly brush her lips with his. “I promise you, I won’t leave. I won’t ever leave, no matter what the cost. I swear it on our love.”

 

He crushed her to him with a strength born of desperation and she felt a sense of peace such as she had never known. For long moments, they simply sat together, complete in a way neither could be alone. “We should get you to bed, honey. It’s late,” she finally said.

 

“Is that an invitation?” A chuckle rumbled in his chest, the challenge in his eyes plain to see.

 

“An invitation to sleep,” she replied, ruffling his dark hair as she would a child’s. “You aren’t ready for anything more… strenuous.”

 

“I’m always ready,” he muttered, suppressing a sigh as she slipped from his arms.

 

“Doctor’s orders.” She rose slowly to her feet, her lean body stretching out as she shook the kinks from her neck. She hid her smile, pretending not to notice the effect she had on him as his eyes ran down her body. “Surely you can wait another couple of weeks?”

 

“A couple of weeks? Doc, I’ll explode!”

 

“Explode?”

 

He nodded emphatically. “Explode. Really. It will be ugly.”

 

She propped her hands on her hips, studying him in a clinical appraisal. “Well… maybe just a few more days…”

 

“How about a few more minutes?”

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“Is it working?”

 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not. A few more days, and then we’ll talk about it. Tonight, you will have to settle for sleep. Of course, if you ask nicely, I might let you sleep with me in your arms. I might even wake up there. If you ask very very nicely, I might wake up there every day for the rest of our lives.”

 

“I will ask nicely. Very very nicely.” He grinned even as he wondered how he was ever going to survive the next several days. “I’ll meet you upstairs, babe. One last thing I need to take care of. Okay?”

 

“Don’t be long,” she whispered, her lips meeting his in a kiss that would ensure his haste.

 

Left almost breathless, he watched as she disappeared up the stairs.

 

***

 

Alone in the big room, he stood before the fireplace and studied the dying embers as they tried to reveal secrets best left unknown. The urge to go to her was overpowering, but the urge would have to wait. Reluctantly, John tugged the list of ISA mercenaries from his back pocket, his eyes trailing slowly down the names. Sixteen names. Sixteen men, waiting for death to visit. With a soft sigh, he ran his hand through his hair and debated what to do. The odds were good these men would never be a threat. He understood fully that it had been nothing personal. Hell, he had perfected the science of impersonal killing. Then again, their actions had put his family at risk, and that made it personal. Very personal.

 

Marlena wouldn’t like it, of that he was certain. But Marlena wouldn’t have to know. Still, she wouldn’t like it. With a frustrated grunt, John reached for the matches tucked atop the mantel. He held the burning match to the thin sheet of paper and watched as the fire consumed it. When the flames began to lick at his fingers, he tossed the crumpling ball into the fireplace and waited for it to turn to dust. Only once there was nothing left but gray ash did he turn away.

 

His slow steps never faltered as he climbed the stairs to join the woman he loved. They would have a life together. A beautiful life, filled with happiness and love and children. A life filled with things he could never have imagined having. A gentle smile lit his face. His conscience was clear and he had no regrets about the loss of the list. It really hadn’t been necessary. He knew that. After all, the names of the dead men were already seared into his memory.

 

The End

 

***Note: There is an alternate ending to the story- It will be posted below***

 

Chapter 82 – (B Version)

 

It was unmistakably a throne room. Built to intimidate, there was nothing of subtlety about it. Massive double doors led into the long narrow room, tall columns supporting a gilded ceiling that soared three stories or more. Identical tables anchored the sides of the room. Twenty feet long and each hewn from the trunk of a single ancient oak, the tables were lined on the outside with rows of chairs, all facing the center aisle. At the end of the long aisle was a raised platform dominated by a single ornately carved chair, a thinly veiled throne built for an almost king. Mikos sat quietly in the chair, his face showing no emotion as he ignored the woman beside him. Only the slightest hint of a smile gleamed in his eyes, betraying his anticipation of the events to come. Today he would establish his own legacy.

 

She stood at his side, her wrist aching within his vicelike grip. So pale her skin was almost translucent, her rigid body could have been carved from stone. Only the frantic pulsing of her heart gave hint of the fear that raged within. She had to calm Mikos. Had to sooth the boiling anger that had quickly replaced the panic he had shown during the attack in the ballroom. He would hurt John. He would kill him if she could not deflect some of that sick rage.

 

“Mikos…” she whispered hesitantly.

 

With a sharp twist, he tightened his grip until she could feel the small bones in her arm grating against each other. Tears sprang to her eyes as he said coldly, “You will be silent.”

 

Despair washed over her and she began to tremble helplessly. Everything that she had feared was coming to pass. Mikos was going to destroy John and he was going to use her to do it. She sent a silent plea to the heavens, a prayer for a rescue she knew would never come. Her free hand clutched at her stomach, as if she could somehow protect the child that was yet to be. As if in protecting it, she could somehow save the man she loved.

 

With a thunderous crash, the double doors at the far end of the room slammed open and she was forced to face her reality. John struggled in the grip of the guards, his hands chained firmly behind him. The shirt and cape had been stripped from his back and she could see ugly red welts rising from his pale skin. His eyes locked on hers, a growl growing in his throat, and he jerked against the hands that held him back. The guard on his left fought to keep his balance, stumbling as he tried to maintain his hold on the thrashing body. For an instant, she thought he would do it, that against all odds he would break free and come for her. Then Dimitri stepped forward from the shadows, yanking John’s arm up awkwardly behind his back, the painful jointlock bending the battered figure almost double. With a rough shove, the guards half-dragged him down the long corridor to stand before the raised chair.

 

Mikos simply stared in silence, waiting for John to stop fighting against the men who held him back. His face betrayed no emotion, but his fingers dug painfully into Marlena’s wrist. She could feel his rage, a living thing that fed on his brother’s rebellion. “John, stop it. Please,” she finally whispered, fear tearing the words from her throat.

 

Blue eyes flashed, hating that she would ask this of him. But slowly the lean body stilled, and though his bearing screamed defiance, he no longer continued to fight.

 

“I want you on your knees,” Mikos said, his tone dispassionate.

 

John’s head inched up and he squared his stance. “I don’t think so.”

 

With a casual shrug, Mikos raised Marlena’s arm and twisted sharply, the shooting pain making her gasp aloud.

 

John surged forward, murder in his eyes. He hadn’t taken half a step before Dimitri’s arm looped around his neck, his feet almost leaving the floor as he was crushed against the Russian’s broad chest.

 

“I want you on your knees,” Mikos repeated, twisting her arm just a little bit further, the force threatening to snap the bone.

 

Immediately, John went limp, his head dropping to signal his surrender. At a nod from Mikos, Dimitri let him go. He sagged to the floor, knees hitting the ground with enough force to jar his teeth. Drawing in ragged breaths, he looked up at his brother and silently promised his death. “This is between us, Mikos. You don’t need to hide behind her, do you? Let her go.”

 

Chuckling, Mikos eased his grip, though he still held onto her hand. “Oh, I do need her. I need her more than I could have ever imagined. I just did not realize it until you brought her to me. I thank you for that. You have exquisite taste. It must run in the family.”

 

Mikos waited, anticipating the shocked look of comprehension as the truth of their blood-tie was finally made known. John merely shook his head in disgust. “If you think your blood will save you ‘brother’, you’re wrong. You will let her go, or I swear, you are a dead man.”

 

Mikos leaned forward, eyes narrowing in anger. “I am not the one who needs saving, Alexander. You are. It is time you learned that.”

 

With a negligent wave, Mikos turned to Marlena and pulled her close, his arm snaking tightly around her waist. “Take him to a cell, Dimitri. Teach him humility.”

 

He saw how she shrank away from that arrogant touch, her revulsion impossible to conceal. He would not let this happen, not while the blood still ran through his veins. “Don’t you fuck’n touch her, Mikos! I’ll rip your throat out, I swear to God!” he raged, twisting away from the hands that tried to drag him back. Again, Dimitri wrapped thick arms around his neck, struggling to hold onto the sweating body. Screaming death, John bucked his head back, feeling the soft cartilage of the nose give way. The hands loosened their hold and he surged forward, slamming into Mikos’ startled form and knocking the chair onto its back.

 

John tried to roll, to give himself room to lash out with his legs. He managed to plant a knee in Mikos’ gut before a fist slammed into the side of his face and the guards piled on top of him. The muscles in his shoulders burned as his arm was jerked high behind his back, his vision going white as tendons ripped. His lungs ached with the need for air and he barely felt the kick that Mikos slammed into his face.

 

The leather sole of the show cut through skin like a knife, a ragged wound that ran from jawline to cheek. The weeping blood seemed to feed Mikos’ frenzy, and he kicked out again and again, connecting with John, with his own men, with anything that dared stand in his way.

 

She saw him hurt, and her mind went numb. Marlena threw herself onto Mikos’ back, her hands reaching around to go for his eyes, willing to stop this any way she could.

 

Squealing in rage, Mikos reached behind him. His hand clamped on her shoulder and he flung her away as if she were a child. Marlena screamed as she fell, the shrill cry seeming to freeze the men in place. Her cry cut off as she slammed into the wall, her head cracking against the hard marble and bringing tears to her eyes. She slid to the floor, her legs no longer willing to hold her.

 

“Doc? Jesus, no,” John hissed, his heart seeming to stop. He managed to draw in a ragged breath only once he saw her eyes start to flutter open. Then Mikos crouched before him, cutting her from view.

 

“You will pay for this,” he whispered. “I am going to teach you what it is to lose. And when I am done, you will wish that I had killed you.”

 

Mikos rose, towering over the prone body. “Get him out of here, Dimitri. His presence offends me and I have better things to do.”

 

Mikos turned back to Marlena’s fallen form, and as rough hands dragged him from the room, John prayed for death. Mikos’ death or his own, it no longer seemed to matter.

 

***

 

The wooden door swung inward and she could not help but try and jerk free from his possessive hands. With an amused smile, Mikos ignored her struggles and shoved her forward. She stumbled to a halt in the center of the room, still dizzy from the fight in the throne room. Looking around, she tried to see anything but him. Thick velvet drapes and massive wood furnishings darkened the room, the only sign of warmth the fireplace along the left wall. But the fire was dead and a chill pervaded the air. Against her will, her eyes were drawn to the massive canopy bed that squatted against the right wall, making his reason for bringing her here all too clear. The breath caught in her throat as the fear became impossible to ignore. She would not let him do this to her. She would die first.

 

“I hope you like the decor. Of course, it could use a woman’s touch,” he said, leaning casually against the door jam.

 

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned to face him, trying to dismiss the oppressive feel of the room. “It looks like you,” she said, her tone making it an insult.

 

He merely nodded. “You being here makes it complete.”

 

“I don’t want to be here.”

 

“I don’t care what you want,” he replied, lust flashing across his face as he swung the door firmly shut behind him.

 

She backed away as he stalked toward her, not running but retreating. A weapon. She needed a weapon against him. She purposefully bumped into the reading table set against the far wall, her hand instinctively curling around the heavy crystal vase that occupied its center. “Let me go,” she hissed out.

 

He smiled and lunged forward, his left hand clasping around her waist in a painful grip.

 

“No!” she screamed in spite of herself, her right hand swinging around with all the force she could muster.

 

He caught a glimpse of the sparkling crystal out of the corner of his eye, flinching away an instant before impact. With a dull ‘thud’, the heavy vase slammed into the thick muscle of his shoulder, barely missing his head. “Bitch!” he roared, all sign of amusement gone from his eyes.

 

She tore free of his greedy hands and ran for the door, knowing she had to escape now or she would not escape at all. He caught her before she was halfway across the room, his thick hand clamping around her wrist in an unbreakable grip. She whirled around, the vase in her free hand angling for his head. His backhanded blow took her in the face, sending her reeling, the crystal falling from her fingers to smash into fragments against the hard floor.

 

Marlena crumpled into an untidy heap, struggling to see past the red haze that blinded her eyes. She felt the heat in her face, her fingers dancing across the swelling skin of her cheekbone. Dizzy with the pain, she still tried to scramble away from the approaching footsteps. He swept her from the floor as if she were nothing, tossing her slender body across the room to fall against the footboard of the bed. Struggling to stay on her feet, she was helpless as he pushed her down onto the rough brocade of the antique bedspread. The heavy material scraped against her bare shoulders and his sweating body pinned her prone. Her ribs felt like they were cracking and his lips crushed against hers in an attack that was about nothing but possession. Her screams came out as sobs, but she fought back the only way she could, biting down hard on his lower lip and tasting his blood.

 

Mikos jerked his head back, stunned by her violence. That something so pure could be so wild…. He smiled, the blood leaking from his lip in a thin crimson trail. The pale body thrashed below him in a futile attempt to reject him, and he relished the way her skin grew flushed and slick with sweat. He almost came then, the pain in his throbbing dick unbearable in its intensity. No other woman had ever made him feel this way. No other woman could. “I love you,” he whispered. “I will have you.”

 

At his words, she went still, her body going soft and her flesh going pale. “You will have nothing of me. Nothing that matters,” she hissed, looking past him as if were not there.

 

“I will have everything. What you will not give, I will take,” he replied, his head dropping to once again seek out those dangerous lips, cautious now of her flashing white teeth. She offered him no resistance as his tongue entered her mouth, seeking, probing, owning. He ran his hands up the silk clad curves of her waist and she barely seemed to breathe. Grinding against her, he waited for her to cringe, to struggle, to fight. Limp and lifeless, her body lay trapped beneath him, but her soul was somewhere far away. He pulled back to gaze into hazel eyes and he knew then that he no longer existed. Not for her. Not anymore.

 

“You will not steal this from me, you little whore,” he growled, shaking her violently in an effort to bring her back. “I will hurt you in ways you could not imagine if you try.”

 

He wove his hand in her hair, jerking her head up. Still, she would not see him. He pulled her from the bed, clenching her against his chest. “If I can’t hurt you, I will hurt him,” Mikos whispered, hating it when her eyes sparked to life at this threat. He turned away, stalking across the room, dragging her behind him. Opening the doors to the big armoire in the corner, he flipped a button on the monitor set within, knowing that the grainy picture it revealed was the only way to get her back. Her gasp of fear was like a knife to his heart.

 

“No,” she moaned, tears springing to her eyes. “Mikos, no. Please.”

 

He swung from his wrists in the middle of a small concrete room. Dark hair hung down across his bowed head, hiding his face from view, but the body was unmistakably John’s. She winced as Dimitri’s heavy fist lanced out, pounding against the ridged muscles of his stomach. The lack of sound made it worse, the pale body silently convulsing, jerking away in a futile effort to stop the pain. Again and again, brutal hands impacted against defenseless flesh, the beating as methodical as it was emotionless. A harsh blow to a kidney, and his head snapped back, his eyes staring up at her. Seeing her. Calling her.

 

“I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Just… stop this. Please, stop this,” she begged softly.

 

“Anything?” he asked, the smile creeping across his face even as he hated the reason for her surrender.

 

“Anything,” she replied, tearing her eyes away from the image on the screen.

 

“You will make love to me, Marlena. You will beg me to take you and you will scream when I do. Anything less than that, I will destroy him. I will take him apart one piece at a time, and I will make you watch as I do it. Do you understand?”

 

“I… I have to see him first. I have to know he’s alright.”

 

“You’re stalling,” he said, his finger reaching out to run beneath the line of her jaw.

 

Her head snapped up, hazel eyes flashing. “I will do what you want, but only if I see him!”

 

Mikos chuckled, her fury again stirring him. “Of course you may see him, Marlena. After all, I only want your happiness. But first, we must seal our bargain.”

 

He pulled her to him and she did not resist. His dark head dropped, his lips brushing against her own, his tongue seeking entry. Clenching her eyes tightly shut, she let him in and kissed him back.

 

Chapter 83 – (B Version)

 

Stefano paced irritably across the smooth floor of the cavern, his eyes darting toward the dark opening in the metal wall. John should have been back hours ago and his continuing absence could bode nothing good. His thumb brushed against the safety on the automatic he held in his hand and for the millionth time he considered going back for them. With a guilty look at the children who huddled together around the remains of the campfire, he knew he could not. Not yet. Not while they were still his responsibility. Damn John for making him a part of all this!

 

“Where is daddy?!” Samantha burst out, looking accusingly up at him.

 

“He will be here, Samantha. I have yet to meet the man who could stop him, and certainly not when it comes to the issue of your mother.”

 

“Yea, not even you could do that,” Eric muttered beneath his breath.

 

DiMera ran a hand through his thick hair, the scowl on his face unpleasant to see. “Gratitude is obviously not a Brady trait.”

 

“Well you started all this!” Sami shot back. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess in the first place.”

 

“This is not my fault, young lady! If you want to place the blame, look to Mikos. Better yet, look to your uncle Bo. If he had been where he was supposed to be, we would be on our way home right now!”

 

From the far end of the cave, a loud voice interrupted their pointless arguing. “Well I’m here now! What the hell is going on? Where are Marlena and John?”

 

“Uncle Bo!” Sami yelled, leaping from the floor to sprint across the distance between them. She threw herself into his arms in a bear hug that nearly knocked him down.

 

“Easy, kiddo,” Bo said, his hand absently stoking her blond hair as his eyes locked onto DiMera’s. He did not miss the grimace of distaste that flashed across the older man’s face.

 

“You certainly took your time, Brady. We needed you here hours ago,” Stefano said shortly, though he relaxed slightly as his men began to fill the room, dumping equipment and checking their weapons with a discipline born of much practice.

 

“There’s a blizzard raging out there, DiMera. We were lucky to make it in at all. Now what’s going on? Where are John and Marlena?”

 

“They are no doubt waiting for backup to arrive,” Stefano replied, turning from Bo to search out his senior man. “McKlain, deploy the forward scouts. Make sure they know what they’re doing. There are trip wires all over the tunnel, and we need to make good time. Leave two men behind with Brady to cover the rear. I want to move out of here in five minutes. Understood?”

 

Without bothering to acknowledge McKlain’s reply, Stefano walked restlessly to the jagged hole cut in the iron door, watching as two of his men disappeared into the darkness. He was startled by the heavy hand that clapped around his arm, swinging him around with a rough jerk.

 

“If you think I am going to sit back and let you lead this mission, you are sadly mistaken,” Bo hissed. “I wouldn’t trust you further than I could throw you.”

 

Swatting away the offending hand, Stefano stepped up in Bo’s face. “I don’t give a damn whether you trust me or not. John is my man and he is my responsibility! Why he saw fit to bring you in on this, I don’t know. But I am in charge now and my word is law!”

 

“John may be your responsibility, but Marlena is mine! I’m going with you, DiMera. If you think you can stop me, why don’t you just try?” Bo’s hand moved to rest against the butt of his holstered pistol, aching for an excuse to attack.

 

Stefano’s face was cold, his lips pressed together in a thin angry line. “Do what you like. Just stay out of my way,” he snapped. He looked past Bo to the frightened faces of the children. “We’ll be back soon. I give you my word.”

 

Ignoring Bo’s angry glare, Stefano turned and slipped through the entry to the tunnels, knowing that Brady would follow.

 

***

 

“Dimitri, that’s enough,” Mikos called sharply as he stepped into the small room.

 

The smell of blood and sweat assailed her and she heard his rasping gasps for air before she saw him. Then Mikos’ solid body cleared the doorway, and she was aware of nothing but the dazed blue eyes that locked onto her face.

 

“You have five minutes.”

 

She walked slowly up to the dangling body, her hands knotting into angry fists. He hung limp beneath the glare of one bright light, his feet not quite reaching the floor. Taut stretched muscles stood out in sharp relief beneath pale skin, bruises showing dark and ugly in the harsh light. Crusting blood streaked his arms where the steel cuffs bit deeply into tender skin, and she knew that her decision had been the right one. She would do anything to stop this. She would give anything to make it go away. She clenched her teeth and wished Mikos Alamain dead.

 

“Alone. You said I could see him alone,” she said, her eyes never leaving John’s.

 

“Of course,” Mikos replied, trying to hide his anger. With a sharp nod to Dimitri, he left the room, only too glad to escape the image of the two of them together.

 

She waited until she heard the sharp clang of the door and then reached out to him, her fingers gently pushing back the strands of dark hair that were plastered to his face, afraid that even that small touch would hurt him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words coming out as a sob.

 

He coughed out a broken laugh from between cracked lips and smiled. “Dimitri hits like a girl. I’m fine, Doc.”

 

“You should have left with the children, John. You shouldn’t have come back for me,” she said, unable to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him.

 

His head dropped to nestle against the top of her head and he wanted nothing more than to simply hold her and never let her go again. “Wasn’t leaving without you. You know better than that.”

 

“I have to get you down from here.” She bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself to let him go and dashing furtively at her tearing eyes.

 

“The release switch is on the pulley, Doc.”

 

In two steps she crossed the room, yanking at the only lever that presented itself. The chain spun wildly, pulled down by the weight of the bound man and John hit the ground with a barely suppressed grunt of pain. He crumpled over, resting his forehead against the cool floor and trying to make numbed fingers work.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked, her cool hand running across his back, searching for signs of broken ribs.

 

He nodded wearily, fighting to catch his breath. “I’m fine, now that you’re here. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

She laughed, her finger absently twirling a tendril of the dark hair that hung down his neck. “I’m not the one who got beaten up, John.”

 

“You are the one who matters, Marlena,” he said, his eyes intent as he tilted his head and searched her face. He forced himself upright and reached for her, his finger trailing lightly below the line of her cheek. “And someone did hit you. Did he do this? Did Mikos hit you?”

 

Anger sparked in his eyes, and she took his hand, pulling it down to nestle against her heart. “I’m fine, John. It’s nothing.”

 

“It is not ‘nothing’!” he exploded, his voice becoming sharp and suspicious. “What does he want? Why did he let you come to me? Marlena, what the hell is going on?”

 

“It’s alright. Shh, honey, it’s going to be alright,” she gentled, taking his face in her hands, making him slow down. “I made a deal. It will be alright.”

 

“Uh uh! No deals,” he hissed, yanking her hands away, refusing to let her distract him. “No deals, Marlena.”

 

“John, it’s just a stall. I told him I would marry him, that’s all. If he didn’t hurt you, if he let me see you, I told him I would marry him. Bo will be here long before that happens. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid. Anything to get yourself hurt. Promise me?” Inching forward, she wrapped herself in his arms, knowing he couldn’t say ‘no’ to her.

 

“No deals,” he muttered again, but his voice softened and his touch became an embrace.

 

“Stay safe for me,” she whispered into his ear. “I can’t stand to see him do this to you.”

 

“Forget Mikos. He can’t hurt me. Only you can hurt me, Doc. Only you.”

 

“I would never hurt you,” she said softly, her lips seeking his as her hands ran up his back to tangle in his hair. She kissed him hard, feeling the cracks that split his lips, the coppery taste of blood on her tongue. She didn’t stop, even as the moan echoed deep in his throat and she felt him grow hard and hot beneath her. She needed this moment. She needed to fill herself with him, to take him with her when she returned to Mikos. It was the only way she could survive, and her lips moved against his with a passion born of desperation.

 

The sound of jangling keys brought her back to reality and she pulled away from him, dropping her face so he could not see her eyes. Her eyes would betray her and he would never let her go.

 

“It’s time, Marlena. You’re done with him,” Mikos’ hated voice called from the doorway.

 

John’s arms tightened around her and she could feel his heart pounding wildly. “It will be alright,” she whispered as she tried to hold back the tears.

 

“No,” he hissed, his fingers clutching her wrist so tightly it hurt. He lurched awkwardly to his feet, staring at his brother with hate filled eyes. “She stays.”

 

Mikos cocked an eyebrow as Dimitri walked past him followed by half a dozen guards. He had expected this. He had hoped for it. He smiled. “She goes, little brother. She doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

 

John’s eyes narrowed dangerously, watching as the guards fanned out. “You aren’t man enough to come for her yourself, Mikos? You aren’t strong enough to do your own dirty work? You are without honor brother, and you will never have her.”

 

“John, stop it,” she said, rising smoothly to her feet as Dimitri stepped forward, a club in his hands. “They will hurt you.”

 

“I don’t care,” he snapped, pulling her close as if he could somehow protect her.

 

“I do,” she whispered, tearing away from him with a sudden jerk and running for the open doorway.

 

He lunged after her, a startled cry on his lips. His fingers brushed against the back of her gown as the chains around his wrists snapped tight and he was brought suddenly to his knees.

 

Stunned by her betrayal, he knelt on the floor and watched as Mikos looped possessive arms around her. Heavy hands dug into her flesh and the smile that lit his brother’s face was triumphant.

 

“I will make her mine, Alexander. I am her destiny.”

 

“You are dead,” John grated, straining against the steel that held him back.

 

The smile turned sadistic. “Dimitri, you have your orders. He is not to be harmed, understood? The lady and I have a bargain, and I always keep my word.”

 

Mikos moved confidently from the room, dragging her unresisting body behind him. At the last instance, she could not help but look back. John saw the truth in her eyes and his ragged cry split the air just as the metal door slammed irrevocably shut.

 

“No! God damn you, no!” He screamed the words and lunged forward against the chain, a helpless attempt to stop this blasphemy. Dimitri bared his teeth in an imitation of a smile, and slammed a heavy baton into the ribs of the struggling man. Bone gave way beneath the onslaught, dropping John once more to the floor. He scrambled backward, rolling to his feet in the middle of the room.

 

“You didn’t really think we were finished, did you?” Dimitri taunted, slowly circling the prisoner. He reached the chain’s end, the bolt driven deep into the concrete walls. Wrapping the links about his hands, he gave a sharp jerk that sent John stumbling forward. The circle of guards grew tighter, the black clubs tapping against anxious hands.

 

“Fuck you,” John spat out, leaping straight for Dimitri’s throat. One hand found its mark, fingers gouging out deep furrows as the nameless guards wrapped themselves around his legs and pulled him down. A bat took him above the ear, splitting his head open and making his sight go dim. He struggled for awareness, feeling the fingers that wrapped themselves in his hair. His head was dragged back, making it hard to breathe as the weight of the bodies pinned him to the floor. Dimitri loomed above him, his eyes glinting with undisguised pleasure as he waited for John’s eyes to focus.

 

“Mr. Alamain wanted me to tell you- whatever we do to you, what he is doing to her will be worse.” A boot slammed down into the center of his back, and it began.

 

***

 

“They won’t hurt him?” she asked as Mikos pulled her along the hallway.

 

He stopped at the bedroom door and cupped her chin in his hand. “I told you they wouldn’t. Not if you keep our bargain.”

 

Her eyes were steady, giving him no hint of her emotions. “I will keep the bargain. I would do anything for him.”

 

Mikos’ lips twisted into a snarl and he pulled her forward, planting a deep kiss on her dry lips. He could taste another man’s touch and the urge to hit her warred with the need to be inside of her. “You will not mention him again,” he said, spinning away to thrust open the door.

 

Pulling her into his arms, he kicked the door shut, his hands already grabbing at her hips. He slammed her against the wall, his mouth nipping its way down her throat. She refused to move, to give him any sign of resistance or enjoyment, pain or pleasure. A feral growl sounded deep in his chest, thick fingers moving to twist brutally at tender nipples and she finally flinched from him, her hand shooting out in a hard slap against the side of his face. His head rocked to the side with the force from the blow, but when he swung back to look at her, there was a smile in his eyes.

 

“Get on the bed.”

 

She couldn’t move, her arms locked around her chest as if somehow it could protect her from him. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit down on trembling lips and refused to cry.

 

Mikos stepped away from her, his left hand running down to rub gently at the front of his crotch. “Get on the bed or I will destroy him,” he repeated, his voice husky with need and desire.

 

Stiffly, her legs carried her past him, the big bed ominous and ugly and sucking up all the air in the room. Leaning against the side of the bed, she closed her eyes and pictured John. He would come for her. He would stop this. He must never know if he failed.

 

She felt the bed creak as Mikos’ heavy bulk sank down beside her. His big hands crept up her thigh, brushing aside the delicate material of the ball gown. A manicured nail scrapped softly against the top of her hose, tugging the silken material down the length of her long leg. She grit her teeth and leaned into him. “You swear you won’t hurt him?”

 

“If you make me believe this, I will spare him. I swear it on my life.” His tongue flicked down the side of her throat and she let the shivers run through her body, hoping he would mistake it for pleasure. Deep inside her mind, she began to scream.

 

The rubber baton smashed into the small of John’s back, and he arched off the floor as the agony ripped through him. Rough concrete scrapped against the side of his face, a welcome distraction from the ache of the blows. A bare bulb swung crazily above his crumpled form and the shadows of his tormentors danced across the walls in a sadistic waltz. He jerked against the hardened steel that bound his hands behind his back as he felt another rib give way beneath booted feet. She filled his thoughts and tears ran down his face.

 

“You are the one I want. You are the only one I could want,” she whispered, her voice husky with suppressed emotion. ‘Oh please, God. Let him believe the lie.’

 

“Prove it,” he answered, pulling back to stare at her with eyes untouched by emotion.

 

His very touch was repugnant, yet she reached to grasp his arm. With trembling hands, she brought those thick fingers to rest against the bare skin that showed pale above the low hem of her neckline. Her heart felt as if it would explode from her chest, and when his hand trailed down to cup her breast it was all she could do not to vomit. Knowing she could not keep the hate from her eyes, she leaned close to him and reached up to press her lips to his.

 

Blood mixed with the bile and he gagged at the bitter taste. Desperate to stay conscious, he tried to roll away from the kick coming straight for his face. Too slow, his nose shattered. Crimson drops stained the stark floor, and he huddled in on himself. Heaving, he tried to draw one clean breath. The boot stomped down on cracked ribs, and he screamed for the first time.

 

She gasped aloud as with one swift movement he ripped the front of the gown away. Oh God, she could not do this. She could not let this creature violate her. Not even for Him. The hands stretched out to trail softly over the white satin of her bra. His eyes never leaving her face, he reached around and slipped the snap free. She was frozen in place, and he slowly pulled the covering away. She saw the relish on his face as she was revealed to him. She saw the pride of ownership. Biting back a sob, she stood unmoving as he ran the pad of his thumb over her right nipple. Her body began to shake, and she placed her hand over his. Her decision made, she pulled his hand away from her shivering flesh and tenderly placed a kiss in the center of his palm.

 

She tried not to cry out. Tried not to cringe away from his touch. The heavy body pressed her down onto the bed, making it hard to breathe. Her flesh felt bruised by his pawing hands and her arms moved down in an instinctive effort to protect her stomach. He grabbed her wrists and with one hand, he held her arms pinned above her head. She bit her lip and tried to escape to some place in her mind where this violation did not exist.

 

“Open your eyes,” he said softly, his low voice a command. “Open your eyes. I want to see your eyes,” he repeated, growing impatient.

 

As if from a great distance, she made herself comply. Forced herself to look up into his face, a face so like that of the man she loved- a face so very different. If this was the price of John’s life, she would pay it. She managed not to scream when he entered her.

 

The pain consumed him, every nerve on fire. His world consisted of pain and darkness. It was all he could remember. All he could see. All he could know. And then he realized that the pain he felt was not his own, and he learned fear.

 

Chapter 84 – (B Version)

 

She huddled in on herself, trying to feel something. Trying to feel anything. Anything but this empty hollow ache. Her bones wanted to leave her skin, to shed away any part of her that he had touched. But he had touched everything and there was nothing left for her to own. Nothing but John. Nothing but the love they shared. Nothing but the child they made. It was enough. It was more than enough. In the end, it was the only thing that mattered.

 

Slender fingers tugged at tattered silk, a feeble attempt to hide the signs of her attack. Hide it from herself. Hide it from John. He could not know. He could never know. This was what he had feared, what he had warned her of all along. He would never accept her sacrifice and so he must never know. She tried to make her body work, to force her legs to stand. Her legs refused to move, her flesh betraying her once again. Swaying back and forth in the middle of the big bed, she listened to her breath wheeze from her lips in a tuneless moan. Over and over and over again, the single note rang out. She closed her eyes and prayed to God to make it stop, for she knew the cry for what it was. Her heart always called for him. It called for him now. He would hear and he would come and he would know if she lied. Please, God, don’t let him come. Please, God, don’t let him know.

 

***

 

He huddled in a tight ball as the cold concrete sucked the last of the warmth from his bones. The pain had continued until he was deaf, blind and mute. It had continued long after the clubs and the booted feet had completed their work. It continued now, every fragment of his being writhing within a body held rigidly still. He struggled to think, to understand the pain. The beating had cracked ribs, bruised muscles, torn flesh. The beating had been nothing he hadn’t had before. The beating had been nothing at all. This mind-numbing pain, he could not understand.

 

He sensed movement, and forced his head up to meet whatever new threat presented itself. His shoulders shrieked in protest as tightly knotted muscles fought against the ropes that bound his arms behind his back. Tender flesh scraped away beneath the coarse ropes that linked his elbows together, and he bit back a groan, unwilling to give Dimitri the satisfaction.

 

Dimitri was not alone. He should be grateful that Dimitri was not alone. It meant she was safe. It meant no harm could come to her. He wasn’t grateful. He was afraid. The damage was done. Irrevocable. Irreversible. The damage was done and this was the pain that his mind screamed out at him. Mikos was here to tell him of the damage, and his words would make it real. John buried his head against blood-splattered concrete and refused to see the words that would show him what he had wrought.

 

“You don’t look so proud anymore, little brother,” Mikos said, walking slowly to the prone form of his adversary. Savoring the moment, he crouched down beside the bound body, his hand going out to gently brush matted hair from the pale face.

 

A tremor shook battered limbs and Mikos watched as muscles coiled and twisted in a vain attempt at freedom. Slowly he trailed his finger across bruised ribs, relishing the muffled gasp of pain his touch provoked. When no further comment was forthcoming, Mikos roughly grasped the back of John’s neck and forced his brother to face him. He would see those eyes as he told of his deeds. He would watch as the last light of hope died in those blue depths. “What? You do not wish to beg me for your life? There are no words left to plead for her safety? No threat of what will happen if I touch your precious Marlena? I am disappointed, Alexi. I thought you more persistent than this.”

 

The fear tightened his throat. Made it difficult to breathe, impossible to speak. The words came out anyway, the curse demanding to be invoked. “Damn you, Mikos. Damn you to Hell,” he hissed, an unholy light burning in his seething blue eyes as he spat in Mikos’ face.

 

Mikos lashed out, a heavy fist crashing into an eye already swollen partially shut. In sudden fury, he stood. The heel of his shoe slammed down onto exposed ribs again and again, the need to stamp out his brother’s defiance overpowering. The assault ended only when the muscles in his thick legs grew tired of the effort. Drawing in a ragged breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled an ugly grin. “Wake him up, Dimitri. The boy isn’t any fun at all when he is asleep.”

 

With a nervous glance at Alamain, Dimitri retrieved a bucket of cold water from the side of the room. The icy contents elicited a choking cough as he doused the limp body of the prisoner. Warming to his task, Dimitri grabbed the man by his throat and yanked him to his knees. Holding him firm, he slapped a hard series of blows against the already battered face, regretting it when dazed eyes blinked blearily open. “He’s ready, sir,” he called, his attention still focused on John, held upright only by the hand around his neck. Dimitri briefly wondered how much more the man could take, hoping that Mikos would allow him the opportunity to find out.

 

“String him up, Dimitri. I want to see his face as we have our little chat,” Mikos replied absently as he studied the bruised knuckles of his left hand.

 

Freedom for one fleeting second as his bonds were cut. Freedom. Release. Numbed arms that fell dead and unfeeling against the hard concrete, refusing the will of his mind, the demands of his heart. Freedom cut short as steel shackles locked tight and he was jerked to his feet to once again dangle at the end of the chains. His legs refused to take his weight and he hung from leaden arms as he tried to ball numbed hands into fists.

 

“That’s much more civilized now, isn’t it?” Mikos asked, circling the body as if contemplating a particularly interesting work of art. Stopping in front of his brother, he raised John’s chin until those blue eyes once more met his. “Have I told you how much you look like our father? You carry his mark just as surely as you do that of DiMera. It’s in the eyes, you know? I can read your eyes just as surely as I could read his. What is it you fear, Alexander? What is it that haunts the depths of your eyes? The woman, perhaps?”

 

Snarling in frustration, John jerked away from that hated touch, the image of thick hands on pale flesh making him want to scream. Mikos merely chuckled and patted his face as one would a recalcitrant child.

 

“Temper, temper, brother. You do not want to make me angry. What is it that the bible says? ‘If your eye offends me, pluck it out’? Be careful not to offend me, Alexander. I have already taken so much from you, I would hate to have to take even more.”

 

Staring into the unforgiving concrete, John heard his voice grating out a plea he did not want answered. “What did you do to her, Mikos? What did you do?”

 

Mikos simply chuckled and stepped behind John’s taut stretched body. With his left hand, he gently kneaded the tight muscles of the man’s neck as he whispered in his ear. “What do you think I did to her, little brother? What would any sane man do to such a beautiful woman? And she is so beautiful. More than I could ever have imagined. In a ballgown, she was incomparable. But naked… I swear, she is a Goddess.”

 

“No,” he hissed, closing his eyes in a futile attempt to block the images in his mind. “No!” he screamed, his throat going raw with the effort to deny the truth. His dark head slammed backward, smashing into the hated face of his brother. Inarticulate cries fractured the air, beating against the stone walls as flesh fought to be free of steel and the tattered remnants of a man’s soul died.

 

Mikos stumbled fearfully back, fat drops of blood dripping down from a split lip to mar the pristine whiteness of his dress shirt. The figure before him was no longer human, its cries those of an animal besotted with the lust for the kill. The twisting body jerked itself from the floor, and Mikos was certain that either bone or metal must inevitably give way. The steel eye-bolt in the ceiling seemed to sag beneath the onslaught, and even Dimitri’s emotionless features contorted in a grimace of fear. But flesh is weak, and though the rage still burned, the body could not maintain. Screams slowly faded to choking sobs as the animal in the center of the cell reluctantly became a man once again. A broken man, swaying at the ends of his unbroken bonds, and Mikos’ heart rejoiced in his victory.

 

He dabbed at the cut on his lip and pretended that fear was something he had never known. Still, his steps were cautious as he approached the hanging body. Almost as if he feared a sudden surge of muscle, a last attack that would prove false the implied surrender, he crept to the trembling form of his brother. Disappointment tinged the joy when the attack did not occur. He had not thought that one of his line would succumb so easily, beaten by the loss of a mere woman. He reached out, running his hand down the sweat-slickened rib cage, enjoying the way the flesh cringed away from his touch. But the hot tears that splashed against the back of his hand tempered the enjoyment. Alexander refused to face him, refused to acknowledge him, huddling in on himself like some pathetic lost thing, unworthy of Mikos’ attention, much less his efforts.

 

“She was so very sweet,” Mikos crooned, yanking back on the man’s long hair and forcing his head up. “I used you to take her. Did you know that, little brother? I showed her what I would do to you if she did not come to me. But when I was through… when I was through with her, she was screaming my name. She begged me, Alexander. She begged me because she wanted me. Wanted what only I could give her. I will make her beg again, I promise you.”

 

The eyes twitched away, unable to meet Mikos’ gaze. A low moan leaked from between clenched teeth, but the beaten man gave no other response. Mikos shoved the dangling body away in disgust and moved to the door. “Cut him down, Dimitri. Maybe a night’s rest will restore his pride. He is an Alamain, after all.”

 

“Yes, sir,” was the curt reply, as Dimitri wondered whether he could inflict further damage without inciting Mikos’ ire. He released the chain from its hook on the wall, and the heavy body crashed to the floor at his feet. He bent to unlock the restraints, but stopped as Mikos gave one last order.

 

“Make sure you tie him down, Dimitri. No point in taking any chances,” Mikos called before pulling the metal door shut behind him.

 

Dimitri merely shrugged, knowing there was no need for the precaution but more than happy for the chance to remind the prisoner of his helpless status. He deftly snapped the cuffs free from the man’s now bloody wrists and yanked the left arm awkwardly up behind John’s back. He looped the rope around the chaffed wrist, grinning as the fingers clenched tightly shut in response to the pain.

 

Dimitri never even noticed the parody of a smile as it twisted John’s face into something born of nightmare. But the pain had signaled the return of control, and aching muscles responded instantly to the demands of a mind gone mad. John’s right arm shot forward, the movement a blur. Dimitri’s feet were swept from beneath him, the big Russian crashing to the floor in a stunned heap. He struggled to sit up and John was on him, a dead weight shoving the body back to the concrete even as clawed hands sought the vulnerable neck.

 

Exhilaration fought with fear as Dimitri reveled in the sudden chance to punish his enemy. He heaved his body upward, his mass too much for the smaller man to contain. A heavy booted foot shot out, and John was sent reeling across the small room. He hit the wall with enough force to jar the air from his lungs and crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Dimitri grinned as he came for him, anticipation evident in his every movement. The grin died as John pushed himself forward, a hard fist crushing genitalia and dropping Dimitri to his knees as surely as a gun shot. A wild snarl rent the air as John wrapped an arm around the back of Dimitri’s neck and pulled him close, his thumb jamming into the left eye socket of his stunned foe.

 

With a mindless screech, Dimitri tried to crawl away. Dragging John’s body across the floor, he no longer sought to conquer but to escape. John tightened his grip and ground his thumb deeper into the tender tissue, hearing the faint ‘pop’ of the eye an instant before the sticky fluid poured from the socket.

 

The white-hot agony was unbearable, and Dimitri collapsed. John followed him down, his hold never slacking. The shrill shriek of the wounded man filled his mind, a beautiful song of death that brought a wolf’s grin to his face. Large hands flailed uselessly against him, and with one sharp movement, John rolled to his side, Dimitri’s head still locked firmly in his embrace. He felt the bones in the neck strain and then snap, and the silence of death descended.

 

For long moments, John simply lay still and fought against the blackness that threatened to steal his sight. Ragged breaths brought pain, but his mind was numb and the needs of his body unimportant. Protesting joints were forced slowly into action, and he rose to his feet like an old man too long on this earth. He wiped the gore from his hands and claimed the 10 mm from the holster around Dimitri’s thick waist. Red haze blurred his vision and he stumbled forward as if every step might be his last. Yet one step became two and then three and then more, and though he stumbled, he did not fall. Only one thing mattered now. He would find her. He would find her and he would take her home. Nothing of evil would ever touch her again.

 

Chapter 85 – (B Version)

 

Damn it! Another empty room off of this endless fucking corridor. With a grimace, Bo kicked the door shut and watched as the men fanned out before him. They slammed through every door they came to in an effort to leave no stone unturned, but ever failure was a reminder of time wasted and opportunities lost. God only knew where John and Marlena were at this point and he prayed that they still lived. An uneasy feeling twisted his stomach and raised the hairs on the back of the neck. He wondered if the fear was due to what he would find in front of him or if it was caused by DiMera’s dark presence at his side. Still, better the devil you know…

 

“This is taking too long, Brady,” Stefano snapped, breaking Bo from his thoughts.

 

“If you have a better suggestion, I am more than willing to listen, DiMera. Otherwise, shut the hell up.”

 

Stefano bit back a retort, knowing that the slow pace was necessary but hating it none the less. They had entered the castle through the first possible opening, starting their assault in the apparently deserted cellar. It only made sense to do a systematic search, and he could not argue with the logic of the search pattern. But as much as he had made a god of logic, even Stefano DiMera sometimes chaffed within its constraints. He mollified himself with a nasty look in Bo’s direction and a brief fantasy of what he would like to do to the man once this was all over.

 

“Sir, we have movement,” crackled a voice over the walky-talky on Stefano’s belt.

 

“Clay, is that you? Where are you?” Stefano asked in a tight voice, ignoring Bo’s questioning look.

 

“Yes sir, Jason Clay, sir. I was sent out as forward scout. We’re one floor up, looking for any sign of patrols. There’s movement away from us at the end of the corridor. One man, and he’s moving slow. Orders, sir?”

 

“Stay put. We’ll be right there,” DiMera snapped, already moving past the still searching guards at a pace that made Bo run to keep up.

 

“Do you think it’s them?” Bo asked, flicking the safety off on the shotgun he held.

 

“How the hell would I know?” But his steps quickened as if he did know and his men scrambled to get out of his way, falling into line behind the running men without waiting for orders that never came.

 

They breached the cellar door at a sprint, black clad soldiers pouring forward in an attempt to maintain a protective shield around DiMera. With an angry grunt, he ordered them back, and only Bo remained at his side as he slowed his pace to a cautious crawl and approached the dark outline of a body that could dimly be seen leaning against the wall at the end of the long corridor. The gleam of metal winked out at him and he realized that its source was the barrel of a gun at the same time he recognized the figure who held it.

 

“John?”

 

A harsh chuckle rumbled out at him. “You’re too fucking late. Why did you bother?”

 

“Are you okay?” Bo asked, moving slowly toward the slouched figure and noting that the gun never wavered.

 

“She’s upstairs. She’s in his room,” came the whispered reply.

 

Pale features slowly came into focus beneath dim lights. “God, John…. We’ll get her out. Let the men take you out of here. We’ll get her for you, I swear it.”

 

A pain-wracked excuse for a laugh and a hungry smile were his answer. “You’re too late,” he repeated as his finger seemed to caress the trigger of the automatic in his hand.

 

“We are wasting time, John,” DiMera interrupted, his dark eyes not quite masking his concern.

 

John gave a sharp shake of his head and turned his back on them. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?” he asked softly, giving only token resistence as the older man propped a shoulder under John’s free arm and helped guide his shuffling steps.

 

“No,” Stefano grunted, ignoring the irritated look Brady shot him. “What happened?” he asked, his quiet tone meant only for John’s ears.

 

“I got my ass kicked.”

 

“Obviously. What happened to Marlena?”

 

“Nothing. She’s upstairs. She’s waiting for me.”

 

Stefano’s lips tightened into a thin unhappy line, and with a jerk of his head he motioned his men to move forward. As much as he wanted to reach Marlena, he was in no hurry to discover the secrets of this dark night. John had never been a good liar, not even when lying to himself.

 

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Bo joined the forward scouts. Marlena was his priority. Marlena and her children. The cold sense of menace that emanated from John was a problem he could ignore, at least for now. It was almost a relief when the first of Mikos’ guards were spotted, and the fighting began in earnest. At least with them, he knew who his enemies were. He grinned as he snapped off a quick shot, and then tore off down the long corridor, DiMera’s men on his heels.

 

“At least he’s not a coward,” Stefano muttered beneath his breath, watching as Bo charged down the hallway.

 

“You’ve always underestimated the Bradys. He’s a better man than either of us.”

 

“How many times did they hit you in the head?” DiMera responded, shifting so that he carried more of John’s weight.

 

Ignoring the comment, John blinked back the sweat that burned his eyes and blurred his vision. He willed his legs to move faster at the same time he prayed for the journey to never end. “If something happens to me, watch over her,” he hissed.

 

Shocked by the request, for an instant Stefano’s step faltered. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he replied gruffly.

 

“You owe me this. I want your word. No one will touch her, not even you. Swear it to me, Stefano. Swear it to me now.”

 

A burst of gunfire signaled growing resistence, but John pulled to a sudden halt in the center of the hall. Jerking away from Stefano, he fixed hollow eyes on the face of the man he counted a father. “Swear it to me.”

 

“I swear it, John. No one will touch her. No one, not ever.”

 

With a half-nod, John turned away, avoiding the supporting arm Stefano offered.

 

“John, what happened to her?”

 

“I told you, nothing happened!” He lurched away from DiMera at a shambling run, knowing that she was near. Knowing that she would be safe now. In the end, that was all that mattered. It was all that had ever mattered.

 

***

 

“Marlena?” Bo called softly from the doorway, hesitant to enter the room, unwilling to allow his mind to grasp the evidence of his eyes.

 

John bulled his way forward, unaware of the men sent reeling from his path. The truth was already in his heart, but his eyes searched for something, anything, that would put lie to his brother’s words. His eyes, like all else, failed him.

 

Soundlessly, she looked up at them. Curled in the center of a massive bed, she sat like a broken doll, forgotten and forlorn. Slender arms were wrapped tight around knees drawn up to her chest, as if she could make herself too small for the world to notice. Unseeing eyes stared out at them, tears long run dry. A pale limp thing, her only colors were the purple of bruised skin and the scarlet red of the lipstick smeared across her swollen lips.

 

Words were pointless, and he left ‘I’m sorry’s’ in the dust where they belonged. He fought for denial because the truth was too ugly to see. Across the room and at her side, he knelt at her feet and reached to touch her face. He no longer had the right, and his hand faltered and then stopped.

 

She had more than seen the truth, she had lived it. She gave him his denial anyway. It was all that she had left, but he needed it more than she. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her hand creeping out to link her fingers in his. “Nothing happened, John. I’m alright.”

 

Hope died before it was born, for he felt the tremble in her body and heard the lie in her words. He forced himself to meet her eyes, their colors dimmed by pain and hurt. His shame overwhelming, he hung his head and felt the hot tears streak his cheeks in a futile attempt to wash away his sin.

 

“Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” Her hand stroked his face, wiping away the evidence of his weakness. “I’m fine, John. Nothing happened.”

 

“I know it didn’t,” he grated out, affirming the lie even as his eyes took in the ripped dress she tried vainly to hold together around her slim body.

 

“Damn him!” a harsh voice exploded from the doorway, DiMera striding into the bedroom with a face masked in fury.

 

“John, take me home. Just, please take me home. Let this go,” she whispered, pulling away from him to again wrap her arms tightly around her knees.

 

“Is she okay?” Stefano barked at John. “Is the baby okay?”

 

A broken sob tore from her throat and tears she thought she had spent began to flow. With a low moan, she began to rock gently back and forth.

 

“A baby?” he asked softly, slipping forward to brush back the silken strands of hair that hid her face from the world.

 

A painful laugh mingled with the tears, ripping her apart from the inside out. Looking up at him, she tried to smile. “Our baby, John. Yours and mine. Our baby is fine. I can feel it, I know it. Please, take us home.”

 

He eased his arms around her and she accepted his touch, burrowing her face into the hollow of his neck. “It will be alright,” he said softly, the urge to be sick almost overpowering him as he closed his eyes on what he had done to her.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t let me come back. Eric and Sami and… I’m so sorry,” she babbled, her entire body shaking in his grip.

 

“Shh…. You were right, Marlena. You were right. It will be okay. The baby will be okay. I won’t let you be hurt again. You or our baby. I swear it,” he gentled, his hand dropping to rest on her stomach, feeling the bare skin beneath the torn silk. Feeling the fire tear through his mind.

 

“I love you,” she whispered as her eyes closed shut. Her hands locked behind his neck and she finally let herself go. Secure in his arms, she drifted away, her mind taking her down into a dark warm place where he was the only one who could touch her. They would be together, always and forever. It was a truth written in the stars, and no lie could ever taint it.

 

He panicked when she went limp, though her warm breath still whispered across his skin. Laying her down on the rumpled bed, he felt for a pulse as Bo and DiMera both appeared at his side.

 

“She’s shocky, John. We need to get her warm. We need to get her the hell out of here,” Bo said, anger making his voice hard and brittle.

 

He trailed his fingers down the line of her throat, his heart faltering as he brushed against the torn neckline of the gown. He bent and brushed a feather’s kiss across her parted lips. With stiff movements, he wrapped her in the woolen throw that lay at the end of the bed, his fingers lingering on her belly, pretending they could feel the child. “Carry her for me, Bo. Take her out of here. Take her home,” he finally choked out, looking up with eyes gone dead.

 

“John…”

 

“Go now, or I will kill you where you stand.” The gun was in his hand, and the rage made him blind. He rose from the bed, his soul burning. He begged for an excuse to destroy. Bo was too wise to give him one.

 

Bo gathered her up in his arms, hardly noticing her slight weight. His mouth in a grim line, he looked back only once he reached the door. “She needs you, John. God knows why, but she needs you.”

 

“I brought this sickness to her. I will not bring it to our child. No one will do that. It is the least of what I owe her. It is the very least.”

 

“You could never repay her all you owe. On that much, we agree,” Bo replied harshly. With one last glance at John, he spun on his heel and was out the door.

 

For long moments, John simply stood, feeling her moving farther and farther away from him. There was nothing to replace the parts of him she filled, and the void inside became all consuming. There was one thing left he could do for her, and if it would not buy her peace, at least it would make an end to war. He checked his gun and strode to the door, his mind already turning to the blood he planned to spill.

 

“This isn’t what she would want,” DiMera’s voice called, halting him in his tracks. “Let it be, John. Go home to her and let this be.”

 

John let out a sharp laugh that had nothing to do with humor. “You think it can end like this? You think if I ignore him, it will make an end? He has been with her, Stefano! He has tasted what she can give a man! Do you really think he could let her go? Could you?”

 

Stefano grimaced and glanced away, the blood pounding in his chest at the mere thought of her with someone else.

 

“I didn’t think so,” John snarled.

 

“Then let me handle Alamain!” Stefano snapped. “Bo was right, you know. Marlena needs you.”

 

“Her one flaw,” John spat back.

 

Stefano gave his protege a hard look and knew that argument was pointless. With a resigned shrug, he looked down to study the automatic he held in his hand. “You do plan on coming back to her, don’t you?”

 

As if ashamed, John bowed his head. “That is my flaw,” he said softly.

 

Giving a wry shake of his head, Stefano walked over and pressed his pistol into John’s left hand. “Put it to good use.” Without looking back, he hurried down the hall after his men.

 

***

 

John knew where his brother would be. He knew that Mikos would be waiting. The fates had woven this meeting into the very threads of the universe, and the fates would not be denied. Pale-faced guards appeared at the end of the passageway, impotent targets sacrificed beneath the barrels of his guns. He shot them down and stepped over the corpses, their deaths no more relevant to him than the broken ribs that scrapped against his insides like jagged shards of glass. Nothing mattered. Not anymore. Once again, he had failed her. Once again, he had brought her grief. Presented it to her in a shiny box and called it love. Then sat back and watched as it had destroyed her. Nothing he did now mattered. Not anymore.

 

Dark smoke billowed, roiling down the hallway and blinding his eyes. The frightened cries of men echoed off of cold stone walls, and he realized that the castle burned. It was right that it should, one more sign that the gods were pleased. He walked on, into the blackness. Sight was unnecessary, his movements effortless and unerring. Finally, he was home. Finally, he would claim his birthright. Today, destiny would have its way.

 

The tall doors to the throne room were bolted shut, the tiny rebellion on the part of his brother surprising him. Surely Mikos did not think such a small thing would alter the course of his fate? Vaguely irritated, John slammed his shoulder into the center of the dark wood. The doors bowed inward but refused to break. The crack of gunfire sounded mutely, tiny holes appearing in the wood, lethal projectiles seeking his flesh. He ignored the bullets, drew back and thrust himself forward once again. With a reluctant creak, ancient timbers gave way and he rolled forward into the room, his guns seeking out the guards that he knew lay within.

 

The black smoke followed him into the room, a dark cloak that billowed around him like a living thing. Madness made flesh, only his eyes showed through the nightmare that wrapped itself around him. The guards saw blue fire within a seething void, and fear made their hands shake, their shots go wild. He smiled as they died, and knew that this too was right. Despite the light she had brought into his life, he had always been the shadow man. It was a fact he would no longer deny. The darkness welcomed him home and his enemies fell before him.

 

He rose to his feet, the thunder of guns still echoing. Turning toward the front of the room, he sought the form of his brother. The scent of him was in the air, the heady smell of lust and power but most of all, the scent of fear. Finally, through the twisting tendrils of smoke, John saw a dark figure arise. Mikos stepped from behind the blocky cover of the would-be throne, and the shock was stronger than the pain as John felt the bullet rip through his chest.

 

The hard floor slammed into his back, jarring the gun from a left hand gone suddenly numb. White oblivion flashed before his eyes, and another man might have thought that this was death. John knew better. Death would not come so easily for him. He lay still and closed his eyes, his body growing cold, his muscles, stiff. The curly wool fibers of the rug scratched at his bare back, growing sticky and matted with the blood that pooled beneath him. The silvery glow fogged his mind and he was almost grateful for the respite from the darkness as he listened to the slowly approaching footsteps.

 

He should have expected this. Mikos had already proven he was a fool. He had proven his insanity the instant he had sought to take Marlena for his own. Mikos still fought to deny his fate. Mikos would have to be taught the error of his ways. As the sound of footsteps came to a halt, John opened his eyes and raised the gun still gripped tightly in his right hand. A kneecap dissolved into a mangled mass of bone and flesh, and Mikovitch Alamain fell to the floor in a tangled heap.

 

John rolled almost lazily to his feet and kicked away the pistol that had dropped from Mikos’ hand. The big man was curled into a ball, clutching at his shattered knee and keening out a shrill cry of pain. John towered above him, oblivious to the blood that filled his lung and dripped down from the exit wound in his back. His face showed all the emotion of a stone, but in those blue eyes, there was something that might have been pleasure. “I didn’t realize you were such a pussy,” he said, as he pulled the trigger again and blew apart the remaining knee.

 

With the second shot, fear seemed to drive away pain and Mikos struggled to drag his heavy body backward, away from the demon with eyes of blue. It was a slow-motion chase, Mikos creeping back, inch by painful inch, and John following, content to let his brother set the pace. The chase ended when Mikos wedged himself tightly against the marble walls of the throne room, their unforgiving embrace leaving him with no choice but to face the immanence of his death. Only then did he look up at his brother, and in that instance, he knew that pity was more likely to be found in the cold marble walls than in the heart of the man that stood before him.

 

John planted his feet and fought against the darkness that clouded his eyes. Every breath was labored and he could taste the blood in the back of his throat. He smiled down on Mikos through bloodstained teeth, even as the images of Marlena and her torn dress screamed at him from the distant corner of his mind where he had tried to bury them. Death was too good for Mikos. Death was too kind. But death was the only gift he had left to give her, so death would have to do.

 

“You are truly my brother, Alexander. You are truly of the blood,” Mikos snarled out, hatred bubbling up to overwhelm his fear. “You are worse than I could ever be and you will hurt her in ways I could never imagine.”

 

The pistol barked out John’s reply, the bone of the left leg shattering under the impact of the heavy slug. Mikos squealed as the agony ripped through him, his hands wrapping around the jagged wound in a vain attempt to halt the pain. The bright blood that seeped from between his fingers spoke of the severed artery, and he knew that his life was slowly slipping away from him. “You did this to her! You did, not me!” he wailed. “At least I have never lied, never pretended to be something I am not. You would no more let her go than I would, Alexander. How many men have you killed to keep her? How many more will die? You will never set her free, Alexander. You are her curse, not I!”

 

The big gun rang out, again and again, the body on the floor leaping in a macabre dance as the bullets pulped the legs of the prone man. The stench of gunpowder and shit and smoke mixed together, a foul pall that enveloped the two brothers in their own personal Hell. Finally, only the sound of sobbing broke the tomblike silence. Mikos strained to lift his head, to escape from the taunting image of his destroyed limbs. Freckled by the spray of the blood, spittle dribbling from his chin, he managed to raise his eyes to meet those of his brother. They were his father’s eyes that looked back at him, and in their depths, there was nothing. No remorse. No pity. Not even hate. Only the nothingness and the promise of death. A manic laugh tore from Mikos’ throat as his mind snapped and the last bit of his sanity died.

 

“We are the same, you and I. Blood will tell, Alexander. Blood will always tell,” he whispered. “You can never deny your heritage.”

 

Blue eyes on black, the moment stretched into eternity. Finally, John smiled. “I don’t deny my heritage, Mikos. I embrace it.”

 

The gun blasted out its last shot, and John watched Mikos’ lips curled into an ‘Oh’ of surprise, as if death were still somehow an unexpected visitor. A small black dot pasted itself to the center of his forehead, the bullet continuing its lethal path, slamming the big man’s head against the wall. For long seconds, the carcass hung there, propped against the stark white marble of the wall. Slowly the body slipped to the side, red blood and gray brains a gory tribute to its passage. Only when his brother lay in a lifeless huddle at his feet did the smile fade from John’s face. Slipping a fresh clip into his gun, he turned and walked slowly up the long corridor to his waiting throne.

 

As he made his way across the bloodstain carpet, pain warred with a growing numbness. Numbness won a hollow victory. Dragging his left leg behind him, John gingerly lowered himself down into the deep purple velvet of the padded chair. He felt something tear within his chest and bent to cough up bright pink blood. He spat the bitter taste from his mouth and leaned his head back, waiting for his men to arrive.

 

They would come, of that, he was certain. Once they discovered he was gone, once Marlena was safe…. They would come- Bo, Stefano, Jensen. One of them or all of them, it didn’t matter. They would come and he would live. Mikos couldn’t kill him. No one could kill him. Not even the gods could kill him, so they had cursed him instead.

 

A mangled sigh escaped cracked lips and he tried to ignore the voices that whispered in his ears. He would return to her. He would return to her and he would somehow make right the terrible wrong that had been done her. Mikos had known this. He had seen the ugly truth. John would not let her go. It was the one thing she needed most. It was the one thing he could not give. He had given her so much already. He had given her Stefano. He had given her Mikos. He had brought evil into her life and he would never set her free. He would return to her. He would would always return to her.

 

The voices in his mind grew louder as the blood slowly pooled inside his punctured lung. The blood misted the air before him, painting ugly pictures that his closed eyes could see. Orpheus, smiling malevolently as a house exploded. Fire in the sky as a plane plummeted to its death. Years of loss and separation for her, for him, for the children. Davies’ face as it disappeared beneath a hail of bullets, her mute screams as he showed her what he really was. Roman, burning. Her child, dying. Always pain. Always fear. Always failure, as she paid for sins he owned. The bed, the torn dress, the empty eyes. Always, this was his gift to her. Always, he would leave. Always, she would call. Always, he would come. Never, he would let her go.

 

He heard the sound of gunfire, the screams of dying men. The herald of his entry into this world, the theme song of his life. His men were coming. Coming to take him home. Coming to take him to her. Maybe Bo would stop him. Maybe he would see the curse, know the danger. Maybe Bo would stop him. If Bo tried, Bo would die. Not even the gods could stand between them. She would call and he would answer. Always. As long as they both should live.

 

He opened unseeing eyes as the image of her filled his mind. Silver and gold, she glowed before the light of a fire, more beautiful than anything mortal had a right to be. He wrapped himself inside of her. He put the gun to his head. He pulled the trigger.

 

Epilogue: Fairytale Endings

 

(Salem- 5 years later)

 

“Oh, honey, I am so happy for you,” Marlena said, brushing aside the tears sprang suddenly to her eyes.

 

“I couldn’t believe it when he asked me, Mom! It was just so romantic, the way he stammered it out. Sometimes I think that I love him so much it will make my heart burst!” A giddy smile lit Carrie’s face, making her seem more a child than the woman she now was.

 

“I know what you mean,” Marlena answered softly, her own thoughts drifting back to the memories of a love that knew no bounds. Noting the look of sadness that darkened her daughter’s eyes, she forced the memories away. “But three months! Carrie, that is hardly enough time to plan a wedding! We have so much to do!”

 

Carrie gave her mother’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, I wanted to get married while Sami and Eric were both off for the summer. I’m going to ask Sami to be my bridesmaid, and I didn’t want her trying to juggle her senior year studies and helping me with wedding plans both at the same time. I really want this wedding to be a family affair.”

 

“Oh, it will be, Carrie! No way you’ll keep the Brady clan from making this the best wedding this town has ever seen.”

 

“I just wish Daddy could be here,” Carrie replied softly, studying her mother’s reaction.

 

“I do too, Carrie,” Marlena answered, her eyes misting over at the thought of what should have been.

 

“You know, sometimes I can feel him watching over me. Sometimes I can almost hear his voice. I just wish he was here to walk me down the aisle and give me away on my wedding day.”

 

Marlena chuckled through the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m not certain your father ‘ever’ planned on giving any of his daughters away! If it had been up to him, I doubt you’d even be allowed to date yet!”

 

“You’d have talked him into it, mom. You could talk him into just about anything,” Carrie replied with a grin.

 

“Momma?” a tiny voice interrupted from the kitchen doorway.

 

“What are you doing up at this hour, young lady?” Marlena asked, a smile tugging at her lips as she beheld the sleepy-eyed youngster in the doorway.

 

“I had a bad dream,” the little girl said, hugging a raggedy teddy bear tightly against her chest and burying her face in the soft fur.

 

Rising from the table, Marlena walked over and gathered her youngest child into her arms. “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked, whispering the words into her daughter’s ear.

 

With an emphatic shake of her dark head, the little girl rejected the idea. “Want a story,” she said, gazing up at her mother with bright eyes.

 

With a soft chuckle, Marlena rose to her feet, her daughter cradled against her chest. “Carrie, I’ll be down in a minute. I need to get this little one back to sleep.”

 

Rising from her chair, Carrie shook her head. “No, I should be getting home anyway. But why don’t you meet me and Sami for lunch tomorrow? I thought we could bat around ideas for the wedding.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Marlena said. “And honey? I want you to know how very happy I am for you.”

 

Grinning, Carrie looped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and held her tight for a moment. “I know you are, Mom. Thank you,” she said, tears springing unexpectedly to her eyes. “Now, you two have a nice time with your story. And Mom? I’ll call you about lunch in the morning.”

 

***

 

“So what story do you want to hear tonight?” Marlena asked, tucking the covers up around her daughter.

 

Snuggling up with her bear, the little girl stifled a yawn and looked up at her mother. “I want to hear the story of ‘The Little Lost Prince’, Mommy,” was her not unexpected response.

 

With an almost sigh, Marlena said “Honey, you hear that same story almost every night. Don’t you want to hear a different story tonight?”

 

“I want ‘The Little Lost Prince’,” was the response, a determined gleam lighting up her eyes.

 

Chuckling softly, Marlena ran a hand through the silky black hair that lay spread across the pillows. “Okay, okay. If you insist, ‘The Little Lost Prince’ it shall be.”

 

Leaning comfortably back against the headboard, Marlena softly ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Her eyes took on a dreamy quality, and in a soothingly melodic voice, she began the fairytale.

 

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was born a little prince. He was the prince of a dark realm, a place of evil and sorrow. All alone was the Little Lost Prince, a prisoner in this kingdom of death.

 

Every day the Prince walked the walls that surrounded his castle of stone. He peered over the battlements and searched the horizon for a sign. A sign that his kingdom would not always be shrouded in the shadows. And every day that he looked, all that the Prince could see was the darkness, stretching away to the ends of the world.

 

The Prince grew to be a man, and as the years passed he began to doubt that there would ever be anything beyond the shadows. His mind began to doubt, but his heart held true. And every day he walked the castle walls. And every day there was only the darkness.

 

Far away from the kingdom of darkness, there was a land of light. And in this land of light, a princess was born. Her people were happy and healthy and safe, her kingdom was at peace. But every day the Princess rode across the land, searching for something she could never seem to find. Searching for a voice that she could hear on the wind, calling out to her every night whenever the shadows crept across the sky.

 

The Princess grew to be a woman, and as the years passed she began to doubt the voice in the night. Her mind began to doubt, but her heart held true. And every day she would race across the land, her long gold hair trailing out behind her like a cape on the wind. Foam would fleck the sides of the giant white horse, and still the Princess would ride, searching for the source of the voice that called in the night. And every day, there was only the silence.

 

Eternity passed, and there was only the darkness. Eternity passed, and there was only the silence. The darkness grew, the silence deepened, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

 

The blackness coiled and twisted, a living thing born of the pit. Demons danced in the shadows while monsters lurked in the mists. The world waited and the horrors grew- until the darkest night of the darkest year that ever was to be, when the evil finally came to make the Lost Prince its own.

 

The blackness was everywhere and the demons marched within the cover of the night. The shadows reached out to claim the Prince, and he struggled to fight against them. He raised his sword and sent his plea into the night that he would live to see something beyond the darkness that was all that he had ever known.

 

In the land of light, the Princess awoke. She ran to her horse and rode into the night. She rode faster and farther than she had ever ridden before. The sound of hooves echoed madly back at her and sparks flew from the rocks below her as she charged across the land. Her horse snorted wildly, plunging across the border of the kingdoms, screaming its defiance of the shadows. Like a flickering tongue of flame, golden hair flowed behind the princess. An ember in the darkness, she cut through the shadows like a rainbow after a storm. High up in his castle, the Lost Prince suddenly knew that he was not alone.

 

The instance they touched, they were both made whole. He held her to him as they pounded across the barren earth. The shadows could not catch them, a flash of lightening streaking through the void. And at the end of the darkest night of the darkest year that ever was to be, they rode across the border and into the light.

 

The sun shone down on the dark Prince, bathing him in its brilliance. The Princess turned in his arms and knew that she had finally found the one for which she had sought. She took his hand in hers and claimed him for the kingdom of light.

 

But the dark land was jealous of its Prince. Monsters strode forth from the kingdom of shadows. Hideous monsters, with pointed teeth and spiny backs. With tooth and claw and club, they came to take the Prince back to his home in the shadows and to kill the Princess who had stolen him away.

 

The monsters marched through the land, the very earth turning to cinders beneath their cloven hooves. Like a black ocean, they surged across the border and into the kingdom of light. Like a wall of fire, the Prince stood against them. His sword held high, shining with the light of the sun, he struck down the monsters, each and every one.

 

“He killed them dead?” the little girl asked, her eyes ablaze with the telling of the tale.

 

“Yes, baby, he killed them dead. Now, close your eyes and listen to the end of the story,” Marlena quieted softly.

 

So, the Lost Prince killed the monsters. The battle was long and fierce, but when it was done, he still stood, gleaming beneath the rays of the sun. The Princess came to him, and he took her into his arms. Standing in the light, they swore to always be together, to never be apart.

 

But the claws of the monsters had cut the Prince. Their teeth had pierced his flesh. Held in the arms of the Princess, the Lost Prince fell to the earth. Until the sun dropped from the sky, she held him. And though his hurt was great, he stayed with her. But as the sun’s glow dimmed, the little Prince could wait no longer. He could not stay with the Princess in her kingdom of light. As the light faded from the land, so too did the Prince.

 

And the Princess was left all alone.

 

For a long moment, Marlena’s voice was silent.

 

“Then what happened, Mommy?” was the whispered prompt.

 

With a small smile, Marlena bent to press her lips gently against the soft tangle of dark hair before completing her tale.

 

The Princess was alone. But her love for the Prince was strong. Stronger than time. Stronger than darkness. Stronger even than death. In her heart, the Prince would always be with her.

 

The Prince was in darkness. But his love for the Princess was strong. Stronger than time. Stronger than darkness. Stronger even than death. In his heart, the Princess would always be with him.

 

A love so strong can never be denied, for true love will always prevail. And through that love, was created a gift. A very special, very precious gift. Their love created a child. A little girl, with hair as black as midnight and eyes the blue of the deepest oceans.

 

Every night, the girl and her mother would ride the wild horses far out into the darkness. Secure within the shadows, they would walk the horses along the cliffs beside the sea. Watch the waves roll in. Watch the stars fall from the sky. And when the wind would whisper to them on the night air, the Princess would tell her daughter the story of the Lost Prince. And the ending of the story was always a happy one. For he would no longer walk in darkness, and she would no longer walk alone.

 

As always, the little girl lay quietly for a moment, contemplating the ending of the story. “The Prince will always watch over the Princess, won’t he mommy?” she asked.

 

“Forever and ever, sweet girl,” Marlena replied with a smile, easing up from the bed.

 

“And the Princess will always love the Prince, right?” the little girl asked, the blue of her eyes shining up at her mother like a beacon.

 

“Until the end of time,” Marlena answered, bending to plant a last kiss on the soft cheek of her daughter. Flicking off the lamp, she moved soundlessly to the door.

 

“Night, mommy,” a sleepy voice muttered out.

 

“Night, Stephanie. I love you,” Marlena whispered softly, pausing to watch the still form for a moment. With a gentle sigh, she turned and closed the door.

 

“Have you ever considered that this was what God intended all along?”

 

Ladyhawk

 

The End

 

Author’s Note:

 

Well folks, it’s been real! I guess I started this thing a little over a year ago- and I never expected it to be this long. It was more fun than I could have imagined- and a lot more work! Now that it’s done, I’d like to take a minute to make a few acknowledgments, make a few requests of my readers, and address a few questions that have/might come up!

 

First, I need to say a big ‘Thank you’ to Romy Welter. She has edited this story from the very early stages, and has had more impact on the finished product than anyone will ever realize. It was a real honor to have her edit my stuff- ‘I’d Die For You’ was a major inspiration to actually WRITE a fanfic of my own, and Romy’s comments have done a great deal to shape the direction and execution of the story. The assistance was invaluable.

 

I’d also like to thank ALL of you who have written in with comments and encouragement. It was greatly appreciated and at times a real motivating factor!

 

Second- I have a bit of a request. This was my first attempt at fiction writing and I think it improved quite a bit over time. In fact, I’m not real pleased with some of the early Books- and would like to go back and do some rewriting. Basically, some of the weaknesses in the early stuff really bug me! There is a general lack of descriptive detail, I randomly change the spellings of names, I played with tenses (early on, I switched to present tense for many of the action scenes- it was an interesting experiment, but I now think it is too distracting. I need to work on some of that. Though- for those who noticed, I did use present tense in the Ballroom scene at the end of Book 8. I thought that worked, and I won’t change it!). Most of all- I really didn’t give Marlena’s character the attention it deserved- and the miscarriage was completely glossed over. Anyway- I’d like to rework some of the material in the first 3-4 books. SO- I’d appreciate any comments from readers on things they would like to see added or elaborated on, and the identification of any major weak spots! THIS IS A REQUEST FOR FEEDBACK- SO ANY AND ALL COMMENTS WILL BE WELCOME! Thanks ahead of time- LOL!

 

Lastly- this is just to address any questions folks may have- and to give me a chance to talk about the writing process!

 

1. I don’t plan on writing another J/M fic. This one took a LOT of time that I don’t really have to spare. I never say never- but nothing new is planned.

 

1. A few have asked about the title of Epilogue A- ‘Slouching Toward Bethlehem’. I pulled it from one of my favorite poems- W.B. Yeats ‘Second Coming’:

 

The Second Coming

 

Turning and turning in widening gyre,

The falcon cannot hear the falconer,

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

the ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

 

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand;

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When some vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with a lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while about it

Reel shadows of indignant desert birds,

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

 

1. The quote at the end of ‘Fairytale Endings’: ‘Have you ever considered that this is what God intended all along?’ is from one of my favorite movies- Ladyhawk. It’s a medieval fantasy tale about cursed lovers. It is beautifully filmed and I highly recommend it!

 

1. Finally, a minute to talk about how this story came to be. Katherine Kurtz included something along these lines at the end of one of her books on the ‘Deryni’ Chronicles- and I thought it was interesting. So- here’s a brief overview of how ‘Falling From Grace’ came about!

 

The story didn’t really start out as a ‘story’ at all. I discovered the ‘alt.s’ by stumbling across some Star Trek fanfic- which quickly led to X-Files, Forever Knight and a few others. I was actually quite surprised when I found DOOL fiction, and read everything I could find. I’m a pretty fast reader- and I started to get bored once I had read most of the stories out there. In the summer of ’98, I sat down- and inspired by ‘I’d Die for You’ and ‘Return to Maison Blanche’- I tried my hand at writing a short description of my version of Maison Blanche- one of my favorite storylines. It wasn’t a story per se- more like a few scenes. I played with it- and then dropped it. But in the summer of 1999- I got bored again and picked it back up. That first little bit eventually became Book 2 of Fall. I really didn’t have a plan for the story- there really wasn’t a plot per se- I just let the story take me where it chose. As I was finishing up Book 3- I decided it might be a good idea to figure out an actual story arch. At this point- I figured the story would run maybe 100-150 pages- at most (it ended up being over 450)! Below was that first little attempt to figure out how the story might end- I wrote it as I was finishing up Book 3- where John breaks Roman and Marlena out of the island compound. Obviously- this is not how things went down!

 

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Longterm:

 

Marlena definitely preggers- John? Stefano?

 

John gets out of hospital, goes back to Stefano. Heals up, explores past, go on new mission. Finds Roman under cover, but doesn’t narc him out. But, Roman sets him up and busts him. Goes back to Salem for trial. DiMera comes back- free on technicality, John out on bail. Hmm- Steph to see his kid- could spring it on Jand M, who don’t know. Renegade ISA vigilantes- Roman working for. Could try to hit Stefano (right after J kicks his ass). John stops, but Marlena goes into labor. Baby dies, Steph and John on a vendetta. [maybe find out Steph is really John’s dad- via Marlena hypnosis- ] kill off ISA guys. On pier, John figures out Roman in on it, Roman jumps him. J kicks his ass- then leaves him, for Marlena’s sake. Roman goes at him with a baling hook and DiMera shoots him dead. On pier, DiMera tells john to watch Marlena for him. Ends with DiMera flashing back to his search into John’s past- fact j is his son. “Be happy, my son.”

 

Sequel could start w. Stefano showing up at grandchilds birth.

 

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