PROLOGUE:

 

There is a certain reality that has colored my entire existence—a certain kind of clutter. When I was younger, it was my refuge. I would tuck myself away and try to hide from the black cloud of discontent that seemed destined to follow my family. I think that’s why I was always so messy as boy…hoping that in my disarray there would be more places to hide.

Then the day came when I thought I would finally be able to escape the wreckage. I was eighteen and fresh from High School…I’ll never forget that day—the way it tasted, the slight tang of bitterness on the tip of my tongue, or the way the ozone seemed to hang heavy and much too low in the sky, almost as if the heavens were sagging down upon my shoulders. I should’ve recognized it then with a kind of foreboding respect, but I was young and stupid and in too much of a rush to flee. In hindsight, of course, this will sound incredibly insane…I mean it was an induction notice for Christ’s sake. I was being sent off to fight a war that no one really believed in and that many were sure we’d never win. Hell, I didn’t think we’d win. I remember the night we were all sitting around the dinner table when Walter Cronkite took off his glasses and looked into the camera…I was too busy trying to spear the last piece of chicken from my older brother’s greedy grasp to hear what he said, but still I remember the weary truth etched across his face. The war ended that day…the killing and the dying didn’t, but the war did. Entrenched, almost three years past—three more years of nightly updates of escalation and rising death tolls; three more years of rhetoric and double talk…of increasing protests, disenchantment and confusion. ..three more years for me to hide away. When my notice did come, it was an oppressively hot August day, so much so that I burned my hand on the mailbox. Even in the heat, though, there was an eerie darkness sagging over the mountaintops. My fingers trembled over the address as I shakily tore the envelope open and my mouth felt dry. I don’t know how long I stood there at the curb; blindly staring when the seed of an idea finally began to take root…maybe this was my chance to finally be free…. See; I said it would sound insane.

Truth be told I wasn’t exactly confident in my freedom—just blind to the alternatives or at the very least afraid. I remember the last time I came home before deployment. Everything seemed so surreal…the nightly news reports now little more than one long diatribe to violence—both at home and abroad. Even now I find myself wondering what it was all for…certainly not for peace and democracy. On my final night there, there was only one truth of which I was sure—and even it was unspoken…the firm grasp of her fingers melded between mine, of that I was sure. And then she turned to look at me—her beautiful teary-eyed hazel intensity almost more than I could bear. I remember the way her voice wove itself around me—a desperate broken whisper pleading with me to run to Canada…. It’s strange what we’re afraid of; I’ve never quite come to understand why it is that I seem more afraid to live than to die.

My escape was, of course, a miserable failure. Trapped half a world away—buried in the jungle remains, beneath an endless mountain of bodies till the line between friend and enemy blurred into nothingness. Death, the one great equalizer…never gave a fuck about your religious orientation or your ethnic background, and sure as shit never gave a damn about your political persuasion! Good ole death. Who but death could unite Communism and Democracy in quite such intimate terms? It is an oddly comforting absurdity of war—perhaps the only one. Still, there were times when I thought for sure that I would suffocate on its very stench. It is a sad testament to be so well versed in the ways and means of death, but I am. At times I prayed I’d be the next to find my own personal savior, and still other times I railed against a God who would let so many die and yet leave so many of us behind to continue the slaughter. We were Grunts, on an endless hump through the jungle, conquering, or rather obliterating—and the real irony of it is that the target was never of any real consequence just so long as the munition rations were used…just so long as the funding could still be justified. But what was it all for? So we could leave ruins, charred and stinking, only to return a few weeks later and do it all over again? Trapped in an unending loop—like steel teeth biting into our flesh until the most sane response seemed to be simply gnawing our own limbs off. In my delirium, there were times that she would come to me—blonde and angelic. And once as the blood wheezed in my lungs, I swear I think I could almost feel her cool fingers dance across my forehead.

In a moment of foolish optimism, I thought that I had been rescued—pulled from the ruins. But I was wrong…so terribly wrong. Instead I awoke one morning to realize that my life was no longer my own. Like darkness on the face of the earth, I remember little of that time—too painful to think on such inhumanity…the sickest fucker I ever served with knew more about the sanctity of human life than that twisted old man who moved people around like pieces on a chessboard. And, me, I was nothing more than a mere pawn—more tool than man and without question expendable. I think it is that realization that hurt the most—that cut me to the quick and compelled me to finally put aside my fear of living. But how does one plow forward when they are so awash in the haunting cries of endless ebony specters that they can no longer tell left from right and up from down? I had been lost for so long the world had passed me by. “Small steps”—I remember once she told me when I asked her how I could run away to Canada, “You just take small steps and before you realize it, you’re there.” And so it started, I slithered away one starless night—out into a world that I wasn’t sure I wanted…into a world that I was almost certain didn’t want me. As lost as I was, I soon realized that I was not alone. There was an entire legion of lost—just like me, groping and drifting through the inky blackness. Going from town to town, shelter to shelter…just trying to find our way out of the darkness, or even just into a sliver of light that would point us in the right direction. I’m not sure how long I wondered in the obscurity—I suppose it was just long enough to recognize the futility and to know that this was indeed my destiny.

But then she found me there amongst the rubble…

 

BOOK I: BITTER STRAWBERRIES

Horse flies buzzed, paused and stung.

And the taste of strawberries

Turned thick and sour.

Mary said slowly, “I’ve got a fella

 

Old enough to go.

If anything should happen…”

 

The sky was high and blue.

Two children laughed at tag

In the tall grass,

Leaping awkward and long-legged

Across the rutted road.

– Sylvia Plath

 

CHAPTER ONE: GHOSTS

 

A bitter cacophony of gunfire rang through the darkness as he felt Tucky’s heavy weight slump into him—a slow collapse into the tangled jungle mass. Swallowing hard, his tongue stumbled over his dry cracked lips as the wheezing ceased. His shoulder jerked awkwardly. Even though he recognized the futility of somehow rousing Tuck from the welcoming call of lifelessness, still he lurched again; he would not surrender…the taste of death on his lips as they moved soundlessly, “Tuck…you sick fuck, don’t leave me.”

 

Jolted awake, he scurried to the head of the cot. Cold sweat slithered down the center of his back, and his intense blue-black eyes opened wide—wild and unseeing. The acrid smell of blood filled his lungs as his breath came in unsteady gasps. “Yo Black, buddy, that you? You alright?”  John blinked owlishly. “Bad one, huh?” He said nothing but nodded almost imperceptibly before turning in the direction of the voice. “Happens to the best of us…just gotta learn how to shake it off man.”

 

His senses beginning to return, John swallowed hard and offered a half-hearted reply, “Yeah.” Finally noticing how Sam’s dull gray eyes settled upon him, he nodded with far more assurance than he felt.  

 

A sliver of moonlight slipped through the tattered blinds as a knowing twinkle lit Sam’s face. “Besides you don’t need to worry about this memory shit…you just need to get right with God.”

 

His lips twitched with ill-disguised humor, “Get right with God?”

 

“Yeah man, ain’t you heard? All you need is to be washed in the blood…. The way I figure it…hell, we’ve got to be at least half way to heaven by now.”

 

Somewhat more relaxed, John slumped back against the cool cinderblock wall and wrapped himself in the comfort of such perversity. It wasn’t until his low, rumbling laugh was interrupted that they remembered they weren’t alone. Smokey black eyes narrowed, strained through the darkness and focused in on them. Disembodied, his deceptively mild voice overpowered the tenuous camaraderie. “Why don’t you two spare the rest of us the revival meeting and shut the fuck up so we can get some rest.”

 

Sam’s voice, little more than a whisper, cracked with the hint of a challenge, “Christ! It’s not like you were asleep Mooch…I mean, hell, look at you, huddled in the center of your bed glassy-eyed—waiting. What in the hell are you waiting on anyway? I’ve known you for at least two years…”

 

Withdrawing from the conversation, the anxiety washed over John. Closing his eyes, he sighed and sagged back onto his cot. Shifting away from Mooch & Sam, he rolled—his nose inches from the moist block wall, the smell of mildew in the air. Vaguely he heard their voices—Sam’s dry laugh penetrating his fugue. Still he remained detached…for long moments his empty stare remained locked on the wall’s dingy textured surface. Finally his eyelids slowly drew to a close and his breath grew even, in his mind he could see her, almost feel her…a cascade of blonde hair falling over his shoulder as he held her—the memory of her laughter a welcomed pain.   

 

~~~

 

Slowly an indifferent buzzing penetrated the eerie calm. Groaning to life, her slim hand snaked out from underneath her pillow…made a blind, angry swipe for the snooze button. Tugging the comforter more securely round her shoulders, Marlena hunkered down as the sound slowly died—tried to buffet herself from the war of soft golden light rising up to surge over the room and battle against a multitude of dark memories blanketing her soul. But as the heavy burden of silence threatened to suffocate her, she turned suddenly, swept her tasseled mane away from her face and sat up.  Glancing to her left, a weary sigh escaped her lips as she eyed the empty side of the bed. At first she had just been numb, and then later, in the months following Roman’s death, she had come to believe that there was no pain greater than going to bed each night alone. In those first few weeks she’d spent many a sleepless night walking the empty halls just hoping one of the twins would cry out. A strange nightly vigil that continued until the exhaustion became unbearable, and she gave in to restless slumber—falling into a fitless, dreamless sleep. Without conscious thought her hand ran over the cool surface of his pillow…. She had been wrong. Waking up alone was an infinitely worse fate. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever get used to it—probably not. But at least she was beginning to grow rather accustomed to the routine. Or so she thought…until last night.  She didn’t know why after all this time he’d come to her—his sad blue eyes divesting her of the thin veneer of control that she’d spent so long carefully crafting. Her eyes strayed skyward as she muttered, “Why now?” Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she stifled yet another yawn and sank further under the warm down comforter. Her quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of Carrie plodding down the stairs; she sighed and drug her fingers over tired, achy eyes. Letting her hands fall to her lap, for long moments she studied her wedding rings. Tossing back the covers, she stood; her voice low and determined, “It’s time.”

 

~~~

 

Leaning heavily against the counter, Neil looked at his watch and grumbled loudly. It was barely past 9:30, and he was already exhausted. Lord, how he hated working the ER. As the commotion picked up again, he slid the chart in his hand back into the rack and headed for the doors. “Okay, Mark, what have you brought me?”

 

“Caucasian male, early to mid thirties. Except for a busted up hand no real physical trauma that we can detect, but he is unresponsive.”

 

Continuing toward exam room three, Neil took note of the patient’s eyes—dilated and fixed. “Drugs?”

 

“Could be…but there aren’t any needle tracks and his complexion is relatively clear. So none of the usual telltale signs of a junkie.”

 

Nodding, “You’re probably right…. What about a name?”

 

“He didn’t have any ID on him, but one of the other homeless men from the shelter called him John, uh…” The paramedic glanced down at his notes, “Black, John Black.”

 

“Homeless?” The paramedic nodded as Neil’s attention strayed momentarily. “Shelter…do you know which one?”

 

“Uh, down on Fifth Street, by the waterfront. Why?”

 

Neil nodded, “Just a hunch…. Do you have any further notes, any indication as to what may have triggered the incident?” Mark handed him the notes and after a quick perusal he turned toward the nurse’s station, “Paulette, could you page Dr. Laura Horton for a consult please.” Lifting the patient’s bloodied hand, he gave it a brief cursory examination. “And then send one of the nurses in to clean and stitch his hand up.”

 

“Yes Dr. Curtis.”

 

Neil smiled, “Thank you.”

 

~~~

 

Rounding the corner Laura saw Marlena lost in a backlog of phone messages, mail and out-of-date hospital memos, “Well, this is a surprise.” A sheepish smile was Marlena’s only immediate reply. “I kept meaning to sort through some of that for you, and here you come sneaking back in here before I get the chance…. So to what do we owe this honor?”

 

Marlena laughed lightly, “I work here remember.”

 

Smiling, “I do remember.” Laura’s eyes narrowed knowingly, “but I also seem to remember something about you being on a leave of absence. So what gives?”

 

Reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I just decided it was time to get back to the business of living; that’s all.”

 

Laura eyes widened. “Want to talk about it?”

 

Marlena looked up from the message in her hand and met Laura’s inquiring gaze. “What?”

 

Allowing her eyes to stray to Marlena’s bare ring finger, “Is it Roman?”

 

Confusion furrowed her brow, “Huh? Oh no. Well, yes. But no, not really.” Seeing the look of concern sweep over Laura’s face, she couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounded rather lucid, didn’t it? Don’t worry Laura. I’m just here to do some paperwork. I’m going to take my time settling back into the swing of things…I won’t over do it; promise.”

 

“Dr. Horton?”

 

Turning, “Yes Colleen?”

 

“A call just came in for you over the switchboard, one of your patients,” looking down at the message “a Ms. Wright, is headed this direction—drug overdose.”

 

“Suicide?” Having been around long enough to recognize a rhetorical question, the nurse simply nodded before returning to her station. Looking at Marlena, Laura shook her head sadly just as her pager went off. Pulling it from her waist, she sighed loudly. “When it rains, it pours.” Marlena looked at her questioningly. “Neil needs me for an ER consult.”

 

Wrapping the rubber band back around her mail, “Why don’t you let me handle that?”

 

“That’s all right. I’ll have to go down anyway to check my patient in.”

 

Pulling the pager from her hand, Marlena got the call number. “Laura, I think I can handle a simple consultation.” Reaching for the phone, she stopped before dialing, ”Of course this means you owe me a bad cup of coffee in the lounge later this afternoon.”

 

Laura smiled in concession, “Okay, fine. You win…” humorously dismissing her she shewed her toward the ER, “go do the consultation.”

 

Finally feeling of use to the world, a smile lit Marlena’s face as she jotted down the information and hung up the phone. “Thank you, I will…. Now go get started on those commitment papers.”

 

Laughing, Laura called to Marlena’s retreating form, “God you’re bossy! See you later for coffee.”

 

Turning from the elevators, “You bet.” Her lips curled into a quirky smile, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed that awful swill…I think I may very well be addicted.”

 

~~~

 

Coming off the elevator, she saw Neil—his attention occupied by the chart in front of him. A scowl knitted his brow as he continued to jot down notes. Quietly she approached, “Someone down here call for a psych consult?”

 

Smiling in surprise, he turned. “Marlena…I didn’t know you were back at work.”

 

“Ah, I woke up this morning with a mad desire for paperwork and bad coffee, and so here I am.” Seeing the look in Neil’s eyes, she continued, “I swear I was minding my own business, valiantly looking over the mountain of mail that I seem to have accumulated when your page came in to Laura, and since she was tied up with commitment papers I told her I’d take the consult…. Besides, you know what they say, ’You can’t keep a good woman down.’ ”

 

“Well you certainly qualify.”

 

Blushing slightly, “Smooth talker…so what’s this consult?”

 

Closing the chart he’d been working on, “Well we had a man brought in this morning from one of the homeless shelters down on the waterfront.” Marlena eyed him expectantly. “He wasn’t hurt all that badly—just needed a few stitches in his hand. But he was completely unresponsive when the paramedics brought him in…and is only just now beginning to show any reaction to outside stimuli.”

 

Tentatively, “Okay…. Forgive me Neil, but, well, it’s not like you to ask for a psych evaluation on a homeless man. Do you think he might be a threat to himself or to someone else? Or is there some thing else at play here?”

 

“Sometimes you’re too observant Dr. Evans, you know that?” Marlena smiled as Neil continued, “We get patients from this particular shelter on a fairly regular basis…sometimes there just addicts looking to make a score, but for what ever reason the Fifth Street Mission also seems to have a high number of veterans.” Marlena’s eyes began to sparkle with understanding and well-restrained emotion. Handing her the chart, “And our Mr. Black doesn’t fit the junkie profile. I mean this morning’s episode was brought on by a car that backfired.” Unnoticed the color drained from Marlena as trembling hands opened the chart. “I don’t know…he didn’t have any ID on him, but if my hunch is right maybe we could somehow find a way to get him the help he needs.” When met with silence, Neil lifted his eyes to take in Marlena’s sudden pallor, “Marlena…are you okay?”

 

Still lost in the notes before her, her voice came out little more than a breathy exhalation, “John Black?” Looking up at Neil, “John Black?”

 

“Marlena…”

 

Cutting him off, her eyes strayed across the hall. “Exam room three, right?”

 

“Yes, but…” She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Ignoring the questioning look on Neil’s face, she turned and pushed the door open.

 

Feeling as if she’d been struck, “It’s empty.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Turning back toward Neil, “The room, it’s empty.”

 

Meeting her in the doorway, his eyes settled into a resigned squint as he surveyed the room—one medicine cabinet pried open. Walking over, he ran his hand over the broken surface. “I’m sorry Marlena.” He sighed, “Hhh…I guess my instincts aren’t what they used to be.”

 

Still shaken, she swayed against the doorframe, “Yeah…. Oh well, I guess now I can get back to the exciting business of opening three month old mail.” Smiling sadly, she glanced down at the folder in her hand, “You mind if I make a copy of the chart?”

 

“I don’t guess, but why?”

 

Shrugging her shoulders, “Call it my own personal hunch.”

 

As she started out of the room Neil’s voice stopped her, “Oh, uh Marlena, it’s good to have you back.” She offered him a sweet smile before leaving.

 

CHAPTER TWO: DRIVE ON

 

Slowly settling back into reality, John sighed heavily and looked around the exam room. Confusion marred his brow as he struggled to piece together just how he’d come to be here. Herded out of the shelter early that morning, Sam had been insistent, waxing philosophical about the necessity of spirits, and so they headed around the corner. Waiting on Sam and Mooch outside the liquor store, he stood immobile as the first wave of rush hour traffic grew dense—a frenetic chaos echoing in the air. His upper lip curled over his teeth, one side slightly higher. A palpable rage rumbling beneath the surface beckoned to him—with it he could relate; it he understood…. He awoke with a certain assuredty—there could never be any mistaking the unwelcoming cold sterility of a hospital. He supposed that perhaps there could be some comfort in the sameness of it all, but somehow that fact seemed negligible, sort of like the comforting assurance of a well-aimed bullet to the brain. Shuddering in thought, he finally took note of the washed-out looking nurse tending to his hand and the definite unremarkable quality that seemed to be her lone defining characteristic. Noticing him shift, her eyes lifted…their opaque nature mirroring the superficiality of her gaze. Never looking back down, she continued to stitch his hand. Her lips seemed to move—cautious and mute. And for a moment he thought he detected a warmth pass over her features. But if he had, it was quickly lost in her hasty retreat, “All done.”

 

Shaking his head, John tried to clear his mind of the muzziness as she left—the door sliding halfway home. How he hated that feeling—it was like the psychedelic jetlag that followed a particularly bad acid trip. He didn’t know why that thought amused him, but it did—a dark chuckle simmered somewhere deep within. Trying to stifle the amusement, the sound escaped more a death gurgle than a laugh. Sitting up, he pushed himself to the edge of the gurney—his grimy jeans stuttering across the coarse sheets, leaving a shadow of dirt in their wake…. Christ, where was his coat? Spotting it on the chair across the room, he stood and tested his legs—still trembling; the anxious adrenaline flowed through him. As he neared the door, he heard her voice, “Smooth talker…” He was losing his mind—that was the only logical explanation. It couldn’t be her, but the possibility did strange things to his soul…spoke to a part of him that he’d long since abandoned and left for dead. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, his resolve wavered…there was a part of him that desperately wanted to look, to be certain, to know if it was all just a figment of his imagination. But he was weak; he knew he couldn’t survive without his illusions. Struggling he pulled his injured hand through the sleeve of his tattered old coat. Their words wafted in from the hall—a droning buzz that reverberated in his mind, finally settling to provide the blueprint of escape…drugs. His heartbeat accelerated—heralding an impending doom if he did not act soon. Glancing about the room his eyes landed squarely on the secured medicine. There was no time for finesse. His actions swift and calculated, he jimmied open the cabinet. Feeling the wood splinter and crack, one long sliver jabbing into the flesh of his already injured hand, he released an almost silent groan. Then suddenly re-focusing on the task at hand, he pulled a few vials down and slipped through the door to the adjoining exam room.

 

Feeling the dark intensity of her eyes fall on his back, his breath caught in his throat. With a jerky uneasiness of movement, he turned. Their eyes locked and within the haunting brown depths he saw fear. Not fear of him. He might as well have been invisible for the indifference he saw shining in her eyes. The strong facade of her sharp gaze was lost though with the restless shift beside her. Moving ever so marginally, she took the woman’s hand. A slurred and raspy whisper split the silence, “Wh…wha…” No longer able to stand the sight, he sagged against the wall as the room’s confused pain sent tingling shockwaves through him.

 

“It’s okay, Momma…you’re in the hospital.” Her eyes grew soft and the corner of her mouth twitched as a quirky sadness passed over her. “Remember…you told the nurse you were twenty-three?”

 

Reaching into the pocket of his old coat, he could feel the cool glass against the palm of his hand. His grip tightened around a single vial. Absent-mindedly he wondered if he’d acquired enough drugs to finally do the job right once and for all…. A needle, he still needed a needle. From across the room he could feel her eyes boring into him again. It was almost a single fluid motion—he turned quickly as the glass clanked and rolled to a stop at the back of the counter. With a start, his torso twisted like a pinned insect before stopping abruptly. Acutely subconscious, he took a fumbling step toward the door. Without glancing back, he muttered a weak apology that died almost before it began, “Sorry, I, uh, didn’t…” At a loss, he slipped out the door.

 

~~~

 

Pushing through the lounge door, she came up short at the sight of Laura engrossed within a novel.

 

Laura glanced up from her book, her words stilted and distracted, “I was wondering when you’d come for your reward.”

 

Marlena bit off a derisive snort as one corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Some reward…” Making a beeline for the tepid coffee, she inhaled deeply as it sloshed into her mug. Then as the bitterness streamed down her throat, she grimaced.

 

“As good as you remember?”

 

“Mmm.” With a half-smile, she made her way over to where Laura sat. “You know, I don’t know what’s worse—that I actually missed this awful stuff or the fact that it’s an definite improvement over my coffee.”

 

Laura couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within. “You are many things my dear friend…” In humor she reached over to pat Marlena’s free hand. “But kitchen-friendly isn’t one of them.”

 

Shrugging, “Well, we all have our crosses…” Laura nodded even as her eyes dropped back down to the pages of her book. “Good?”

 

“Hmm?” Marlena’s eyes strayed to the book in her hands. “Oh…” Lifting it slightly so Marlena could see the cover, “I don’t know, haven’t quite decided yet…I’m not quite sure what to make of it, but a friend suggested it…”

 

Smiling lightly, “I know, I have the same friend…Love in the Time of Cholera.” Pausing a moment, a playful sarcasm colored Marlena’s words. “Sounds nice and light…. So is it worth the read?”

 

Laura eyes lit up as she chuckled darkly. “Oh it’s worth it, if for no other reason than it gives some startling insight into Maggie’s psyche. As for its literary value…I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”  Sliding her bookmark into place, Laura closed the book and turned slightly to look at Marlena intently. “So how’d the ER consult go?”

 

Marlena’s brow furrowed in thought, “It didn’t.” Catching Laura’s questioning glance, she continued. “All I found was an empty room and some missing meds—must have been a drug addict.”

 

“I guess that’s why I saw Neil taking his coffee break with one of Salem’s finest.” Marlena said nothing, but nodded marginally as her eyes grew glassy. “So…you ready to talk about it?”

 

Slowly, Marlena lifted her head and re-focused her attention on Laura. “What?”

 

“Oh I don’t know…I’m sure we could think of something. The weather maybe.” Smiling crookedly, “Or we could talk about whatever it is that’s got you so distracted today.”

 

With a slight shake of the head, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

 

“The beginning is always a good place.” Laura waited patiently, but still the silence stretched—broken only by the faint buzz that filled the air as a generator recycled and kicked on. With an inaudible sigh, Laura eventually opted for gentle prodding. “You said this wasn’t about Roman?”

 

After a moment’s thought, Marlena tucked away a loose strand of hair and raised her eyes. Her expression growing more shrouded with each disconnected revelation, “Do you ever feel like the past is coming back to haunt you?”

 

Nodding cautiously, “I think we all feel that way from time to time…. If this isn’t about Roman…”

 

Interrupting, Marlena stared down intently at the palm of her hand, her index finger running lightly over her broken love line. “You know, we went and had our palms read one time…” Smiling sadly, “And it’s the strangest thing, I can’t for the life of me remember what she said that day. But even now I remember the tickling feeling of that old gypsy woman’s finger skittering over the lines. I remember how dark her eyes were as she watched us leave. They were black—solemn. But mostly I remember the chill that ran through me as she spoke…”

 

“We?”

 

Dragging herself out of her reverie, Marlena’s brow raised. “What?”

 

Laura’s eyes glowed. “You said, ‘we.’”

 

A pale blush painted her features and her eyes fluttered to a close. “Oh, uh…Joh…”

 

The faint snick of metal on metal stilled Marlena’s explanation. At the sound of Mike’s playful voice both turned toward the door. “Honest…besides, would I lie to you?”

 

Seeing Mike back his way into the room, Laura’s lip quirked—catching part of the nurse’s mumbled reply…”believe you would.”

 

“You think? Tell you what…how about you have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll convince you?” Smiling at her unspoken reply, “Good. Pick you up at eight?” and without further comment, he turned and entered the lounge only to come up short at the sight of the two of them.

 

Coming over, he leaned in to kiss Laura on the cheek. “Mom.” Smiling brightly, “Marlena, it’s good to see you.”

 

“Good to be seen.”

 

Shifting in her chair, Laura looked Mike in the eye and smiled. “Michael Horton just what kind of tales are you telling now?”

 

Feigning hurt, “Now why do I feel like a nine year old who just said the dog ate my homework?”

 

With ill-disguised merriment in her voice, “Oh, maybe because you’re just a kid at heart and if you thought you could get away with it, that’s just the kind of excuse you’d give.”

 

Looking at Mike out of the corner of her eye, Marlena laughed lightly for a moment before allowing her gaze to soften in mock sympathy. “Laura, maybe you’re judging him too harshly…you should at least hear him out first.”

 

Questioning silence descended upon him. “I was just talking about the little drama down in the ER this morning…with the stolen drugs.” Both Marlena and Laura offered a slight nod of recognition, and so he continued. “Anyway it seems we were witness to a medical first today—a junkie with a conscience.”

 

Laura’s looked hardened and a hint of parental reproach infused her words. “Michael, addiction is a disease.”

 

Suddenly acutely interested in the dingy tile floor, Mike spoke with awkward indulgence. “I know that.” As he lifted his head, though, they were speared within the intensity of his deep brown eyes. “But I also know that it’s not common practice for a junkie to go to all of the trouble of worming his way into the hospital to make a score only to leave the drugs one exam room over…. I mean it’s not like the guy was cornered or anything. So what prompted his sudden moral dilemma?”

 

Looking closely at Mike, Marlena ignored his question and asked one of her own. “You said he left the drugs in another exam room…was the room empty?”

 

Blindly reaching for a styrofoam cup, Mike turned distractedly to pour himself some coffee. “Uh, no…a stroke patient and her daughter were in the room. Why?”

 

“Just curious…. Did the police get a description?” Perplexed by the single-mindedness of her questions, Laura simply looked at Marlena.

 

With a certain adolescent charm Mike plopped down on the couch across the way. “I think so…” His posture slouched, and he took a large gulp of his coffee as he made himself comfortable. ”Of course since they had already located the drugs, I think it was all rather academic—simply a matter of record. Besides, even for a vagrant the guy seemed pretty non-descript…medium height, medium build, brown hair. All except for the eyes—the girl just kept going on about his piercing blue eyes.”

 

Marlena’s voice dropped to a distant whisper as she repeated his words. “Piercing blue eyes…”

 

At the sound of Marlena’s distracted murmur, Laura shifted her attention away from Mike. “Marlena?”

Shaking herself from her mental stupor, “Hmm…” Marlena looked at Laura and then past her to the clock on the wall. With a slightly embarrassed smile, “Gee, is that the time?” Glancing down at her watch she double-checked. “The day has completely gotten away from me…. See what happens when you take a leave of absence—you end up spending an entire day sorting through stacks of out-dated, irrelevant mail.”

 

As Marlena stood to go, Laura’s friendly concern outweighed her respect for Marlena’s fierce independence.  She couldn’t help it…all day Marlena had seemed so distracted, so guarded, so unlike the Marlena she knew. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

With a subtle shake of the head, Marlena looked down and placed her hand on Laura’s shoulder to forestall any further prodding. “Laura you really do worry too much.” Laura’s warm eyes widened into a penetrating stare. “Honest, Laura, I’m just going to take a stroll through the park—clear my mind. And then I’m going home and fixing dinner for my sweet babies so we can have a nice quiet supper together before Anna comes to pick Carrie up for the weekend.”

 

Sensing the rising tension, Mike called out from where he sat sprawled on the sofa. “Oh please, not that—anything but that!” With a dramatic shake of the head, “Haven’t your poor children suffered enough without the added punishment of one of your home-cooked meals? Get them something edible and with high nutritional value—maybe a Happy Meal.”

 

Marlena turned—her eyes shot daggers at him even as her face lit up and her lips quirked.” Careful, you, or I’ll be sure to save all the leftovers for you.” The tension snapped as the room filled with melodious laughter. Walking toward the door, she could feel Laura’s gaze following her. Abruptly she turned. “I promise…if I need anything…”

 

Laura interrupted. “Call. Anytime—day or night.” With a smile, Marlena nodded and left.

 

Laura returned her attention to Mike. “And just who is this that you’re ‘convincing’ this evening?”

 

Running his fingers across his stubbly chin, “A gentleman never tells.”

 

Her brow lifted in curious amusement. “Right?”

 

Mike smiled and his chestnut eyes twinkled in humor. “Okay, you caught me…it’s Carrie Brady.”

 

Laughing out-loud, “Oh my, Marlena is not going to like this…. My son is a pedophile…. Of course you know this will require wrath of biblical proportions—you’re apt to be eating Marlena’s leftovers from now until the end of time.” After a moments pause, Laura rose, grabbed her book and walked over to where Mike sat. “Fine, I get it…you don’t want Mom meddling in your love life. Just promise me you’ll let me in on the secret before the wedding announcement—I’d hate to read it in the local paper.”

 

Mike grinned. “That I can promise.”

 

An exaggerated sigh escaped Laura’s lips. “Hhh…well now that that’s settled, I can do my evening rounds in peace.”

 

~~~

 

As her designer shoes painfully pinched her toes, Marlena couldn’t help but think that perhaps a walk in the park had not been one of her better ideas. After all it’s not as though the memories that had plagued her thoughts since she’d awoken were going to be affected by a little fresh air. Coming upon a vacant park bench, she sat down to rest her weary feet. With a small self-conscious glance she surveyed the area before slipping one foot at a time from its high-healed prison to wiggle her toes in the cool damp grass. Feeling the moisture begin to penetrate her hose, an unexplainable laugh welled up within her as she slid her feet back into her beige pumps. The brisk autumn breeze gathered momentum—whistled through the trees, sprayed down a gold and russet shower of leaves. On instinct she pulled her coat more securely around her shoulders as the crisp air knifed through her. Her tired sigh floated away on a leaf stirred up in the wind. Marlena blinked…once, twice…almost an entire year misspent. Gone! One day stretching to the next entrenched in a self-imposed cocoon.  

 

As the wind whipped her hair madly, she drew a few stray tendrils away from her mouth and tucked them neatly behind her ear. Her stomach twisted in realization, rumbled deep inside her only to escape in a mumbling truth. “Wasted.” She’d wasted so much time mired down in her grief and anger. Somewhere along the way it had become more exhausting than cathartic, but still she continued. Perhaps for lack of anything better to do, or maybe simply out of fear. Twice now…this had happened to her twice, and she’d be damned if she willingly opened herself up to that kind of pain again. Still she couldn’t go on living this half-life. Marlena inhaled deeply—the smell of fall so rich that she could almost taste it. Her lips curved into a tiny little grin as she closed her eyes and thought about her kids—playing in the leaves, sticky from the caramel apples they inevitably charmed out of her…

 

At the first real sight of her face, John stopped. Stunned, he slumped forward and tried to fill his aching lungs. He didn’t know why he’d spent the day loitering outside the hospital or why he trailed along in the distance when he’d seen her emerge from the building later that afternoon. Okay, he knew why he’d done it, but he also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was one of the most stupid, selfish things he’d ever done. Looking down at his wild, disheveled appearance…thinking on the crimes he’d committed…the lives he’d taken, he found that thought rather humorous—albeit in an unfunny, rather perverse but true kind of way. Still as her small grin captured his attention, he found it hard to regret his actions…God how she made his heart ache, made him feel things he no longer thought he had the capacity to feel. No one and nothing had ever roused such an insatiable hunger deep within him. Of course the thing about hunger was the ensuing pain when left unsatisfied. He remembered well enough when he first suffered that particular epiphany. It was their last night together before his deployment…after making love she’d fallen asleep with her head on his chest. Closing his eyes he let the memory wash over him. Looking down at her, his emotions became clouded. Her tasseled blonde mane left her face in half-shadow as the ends trailed down—a soft blanket covering the rapid beat of his heart. A sad, ironic little smile puckered her swollen lips while the light tickling sensation of her breath sent deliciously tortuous shivers down his spine. Limbs intimately tangled together. The warm press of her body wrapped securely in his arms as he took long labored breaths—unsure whether the resultant pain was because of an uncertain future or because of the test his unyielding desire for her was about to undergo. A half a world’s distance was a lot to ask—a lot to withstand. How long could one man fast before he simply withered and died?

 

Feeling her equilibrium return, Marlena spoke quietly to herself. “Maybe the park wasn’t such a bad idea after all.” She felt somehow renewed as she opened her eyes and gazed out into the luminous pink twilight to watch the chameleon sky—pink, deep purple, dusty gray and then finally black. Black punctuated by street lamps and pierced by lonely, stalwart stars—too few, one of the cities more high-end expenses. A soft giggle interrupted the powerful calm. Out of the corner of her eye, Marlena caught a glimpse of young lovers engrossed only in each other. With a sad smile, she tried to remember that feeling. The tears gathered in her eyes making her think better of such futile reminiscing. A sharp gust blew across her face and compelled her attention to a nearby bush’s beautiful flaming red leaves—trapped her within their whispering lure. Blinking rapidly, a few stubborn tears made a break down her flushed cheeks. It was a watery-eyed, blurry vision, probably more prompted by wishful thinking than any kind of reality. His pensive azure eyes staring off into the distance the way she’d seen him do so many times before, the way she’d imagined him doing so many nights while so far away from home, from her—weary and broken, slightly unfocused and as always with just a hint of unbridled passion. But the apparition disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. A subtle shift of movement, a rustle of fallen leaves and then nothing but the lure of encroaching darkness…looking down at her watch, Marlena noted the time.  With a quirk she realized that Mike had been right after all…she’d spent too much time in the park—it looked like another take-out night. Standing, she allowed herself one last longing glance before starting down the path back in the direction of her car.

 

John had broken out of his fugue just in time to see her teary-eyed gaze lock onto him. Just in time to turn suddenly and walk away—or to be more accurate to run. When he finally stopped, his lungs burned and his chest ached…. His mind felt numb as it began to turn over his careless stupidity. Not only had he almost allowed himself to be seen…pulling his raggedy old coat more tightly about him, he realized he’d also stayed out so late that there was no way he was going to be able find a spot at a shelter now.  With a groan he mentally flicked through his options, limited though they were, eventually opting for the docks—praying at best he’d find an empty boat in harbor and at worst he’d find no dearth of crates to shelter him from the cold cutting winds.

 

CHAPTER THREE: LETTERS FROM THE WASTELAND

Marlena,

I’m sitting here looking out into the distance, an anxious calm rippling beneath the surface. Just a couple of tokes…that’s all it should take to file away the edges. We’re too relieved to have this opportunity to waste precious energy on the realities of war. Finally, we’ve come to the landing zone…an unexpected, unsanctioned reprieve from the rigors of war. Still, this is the first time in weeks our jungle hump has ended before sundown. I’m relieved, or maybe grateful is a better word. My job to carry the PRC radio—an extra 30-pound burden. Stupid I guess. Wiling away in the light of day is always a dangerous proposition, but what the hell—so’s war. Besides, sometimes the need to sate one’s exhaustion is greater than the need for self-preservation. So let the fuckers come…

The April heat has turned thick and heavy. The red clay permeates our sweaty flesh—makes us look like raw earthen statues come to life, emerging into a sluggish surreal reality. Or maybe we’re more like those tiny plastic soldiers that I used to spend hours as a boy playing with…not those run-of-the-mill green ones, but rather the red ones—stiff-legged and stilted we move through the hamlets, make hurried half-hearted searches, return dull and apathetic to slouch beneath the inadequate tented shade of our ponchos perched atop Minuteman. It’s not carelessness exactly…more a resignation to our fate to the unconquerable enemy that is the sun. So we sit, await re-supply… with greedy ungrateful hands we pack our sacks with clean clothes, apples and oranges. Taking long leisurely swallows of cold colas or the more favorable drink of choice, beer. In the dead of the day, we lull away the long suffocating hours, thinking up ways to exhaust our ammo…hope the CO will note the futility of the evening ambush in favor of a more simplistic design—a phonied up report. Not too hard, after a while they all begin to sound the same anyway…. You know sometimes, like now, I can almost convince myself that Nam’s really not that bad if I could just somehow find a way to separate the thick lushness of the jungle from the blade of the machete and the misfortune of the march. Somehow find a way to lay down my gun, to wash away the blood, wipe clean the images in my mind. It’s almost beautiful the way the sky glows as the sun hits the horizon. Then I blink and the good beer buzz I’ve got going shatters under the weight of reality…and I remember, recognize it for what it really is, an eerie neon napalm beacon of despair. There’s no beauty here. She’s is a harsh mistress—a killer of men, a killer of dreams, of delusions and illusions alike. Even if we survive what kind of men will we come home? Lost and vacant, or the occasional fortunate son of a bitch who just returns broken… I think I need another Bud.

 

Well at least the army knows how to do one thing right…you would think though that if they could figure out a way to deliver ice cold beer into the middle of the fiery rings of this god forsaken hell, that ending the war would be no great accomplishment. Maybe the breweries are really behind the war. Nah…feels too right to be drunk. We don’t need no war for that….

 

Your letters arrived with the last supply drop. A whole bundle of them; must have been at least three months worth. The best part of down time…a certain selfish indulgence, an almost unholy luxury—savoring the sound of your words upon my lips. Like manna to a starving man, I devoured each one. At first with greedy disregard, then later savoring each one with agonizing slowness. Turning your words over and over in my mind, trying to picture you as you sat in bed at night putting pen to paper—your hair pulled atop your head in a messy ponytail, your eyes closing as your mouth pursed from time to time in deep thought. I shared a couple of your letters with Plato. A part of me desperately wanted to keep you all to myself, but he never gets any mail to speak of. He doesn’t make a big deal of it mind you; still it’s got to be hard. I can’t imagine making it through this hell alone. I don’t even know how he ended up over here. The army must get desperate in times of war. Either becoming incredibly stupid or just terribly hypocritical. It seems pretty obvious to me that he’s gay—not overt, but obvious. I mean I guess I could be wrong, but every time I let him read one of your letters he always seems far more interested in news about sit-ins and peace rallies than anything more, well, enticing…Makes it all the easier. There’s so little here we can call our own, and I’m possessive. I don’t really want to share you with anyone—that small tiny piece of you that I carry in the breast pocket of my flack jacket just over my heart. I keep having this dream or maybe it’s a nightmare. Who can tell these days? But somehow I know if I should die here in this jungle hell you’ll be with me; you’ll be the last thing to pass through me. So I guess it’s no real sacrifice to give Plato some kind of connection to home. He barely exists as it is; dead to the real gift—not revealed so much in words but rather in an unspoken truth that’s tattooed itself across my soul. Still can’t help wonder, though, how such a smart kid could find himself in such a state. He had to have other options. I know he did, and yet here he is. Maybe he was as misguided as I was; maybe he thought this was an escape, or maybe he hoped this would be a fitting end. I guess the how and whys really don’t matter too much at this point. He’s here now, and I’m glad for it. Crack shot. He’s saved my ass on more than one occasion. It’s a dumb-ass question to begin with…what does being a fag really have to do with anything? Unless of course the army has a secret new plan to fuck the enemy into submission, in which case I’d think they’d want to recruit as many queers as they could possibly get, not stamp them unfit for service. It’s all the same—red-blooded horny American male, faggot, gook. Blood is blood. It’s all the same. Blood, piss and fear—sooner or later we all die. The only question is when. But I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to stare down the face of death with. It’s funny all the things we think we know, all the truths we think are cast in stone that we build our lives upon…and then this gay fucker comes along and rains down destruction—completely annihilates all of those old lies. I hope he gets the purple heart or better yet the medal of honor, and goes out and writes a tell-all book about his experiences…serve the hypocritical bastards right.

 

The darkness is closing in now, and I can tell by the dense velvety sky it will be moonless. Soon we’ll be in the pitch of night. Blackness punctured only by the faint orange burn of cigarettes and the occasional star. I miss you. I miss how your voice drops, grows gravelly and whiskey sweet how it burns through me like a raging fire on a bitter cold winter’s night. I miss how you tilt your head just so…knowing I’m powerless, knowing I’ll cave to your every whim. I miss your dry chaste kisses—small immeasurable rewards. I miss your eyes, beautiful teary-eyed hazel sparkling bright. I miss your stalwart attempts to hide your fears—tightly clenched fists the only outward symptom, a telltale sign for one such as myself, a lifelong student of your every move, every quirk and every nuance. I don’t know that an eternity will be sufficient. I miss the subtle little way your brow creases when you look at Samantha like she’s come unhinged—a mixture of love and frustration I think. The sound of your laughter… oh, how I miss the sound of your laugh—like warm honey poured over me, a sticky, messy, erotic sweet. The things you do to me without even trying. The taste of strawberries on your lips. The way you shiver when my lips caress the hollow of your throat. The delicious scent of your natural perfume when I lie with my head in your lap while your cool fingers, the barest murmur of a touch, sweep the hair away from my face. I miss the innocence of your whispered prayers. It must be that time. I can hear Preacher mumbling. Every night it’s the same, and for that I guess he deserves some credit. His fatigue is no less real than any of the rest of us and in spite of it all he remains steadfast. Tending to matters of the soul. I have no doubt that it’s a difficult task to try and balance issues of faith and conscience with issues of duty and honor. Perhaps no man should be put in such a position because something has snapped inside of him. Every night he begins this otherworldly litany—his prayers for the dead. Marking the passing of each life on his unholy rosary of the flesh. Whether he’s praying for his soul or theirs I’m unsure…somewhere along the way growing deaf to his muffled anguished pleas. He really is a sick motherfucker, tormented. So in those strange moments of last resort or fleeting faith I try to remember him. And I try to be thankful. I miss your opinions and your stubborn independence that never fail to light the fire of intensity in eyes. I miss your compassion and your some times foolish generosity. I miss the smell of honeysuckle in your hair. I miss being in a room and feeling your presence flow through me like an electrical current even before you cross over the threshold. I miss the hushed quivering sigh that you always make when you try to hide your tears. Buried emotion. I miss the coffee of your eyes, sleepy with desire. The feel of your lips, no longer dry, upon my chest. The arch of your back—glistening…slick against the palm of my hand, fine-tuned to my calloused fingertips. The heavy beat of your heart as our bodies lie still intertwined as one. The endless lusciousness of the salty sweet taste of your skin after we make love. I miss the barely audible whistle of your breath while you sleep. I miss the rumbling of your stomach. The smell of your burnt offerings after a foray into the kitchen and the smudge of flour that somehow always seem to find its way onto your nose. I miss your hard inedible cookies and the playfully frustrated expression that adorns your face with each ensuing failed recipe. I miss your unspoken invitations. But mostly I miss the security and rightness of being in each other’s arms.

Sometimes you come to me—gold and angelic. And I’m overcome with a desirous ache. I want to be resurrected from the ashes, touched by the heaven in your fingertips. I have this fantasy of finding my way home. We’ll run away together. Find a little cabin back deep in the Rockies and hide from the rest of the world. We’ll rebel against convention—live by candlelight. Make love for weeks on end. We’ll dance barefoot in the snow. I’ll make you breakfast. We’ll sit half-naked on an old Indian rug in front of the dying embers yesterday’s fire, and I’ll feed you while you read me poetry. And with each new day we’ll begin all over again. They’ll find us years later, frozen in a lover’s embrace.

My eyes can no longer penetrate the night. And yet still I am compelled to write—driven by a need to be with you, if only in part, and by a fear that each time will be the last.

I love you always.

John

 

~~~

 

Her own sniffling was the first thing to break the sullen line of her reflections. Gently folding the letter, Marlena replaced it in the envelope from which it had come. For a moment she paused—awash in memories. Her body shuddered as her breathy sigh filled the room…a few silent tears making their way down her cheek. She stilled suddenly, unclenched her hands and swiped at her face with a mindless ferocity. As she shifted, the bed creaked. With childlike carelessness she reached to the floor, the springs of the mattress squeaking faintly, to retrieve her Pandora’s box. Covered in flowers, old and frayed around the edges, she slid back to the heart of the bed and settled the box into her lap. Lifting the lid, the light scent of gardenias tickled her senses. Carefully she extracted the ribbon-bound collection and placed the letter back into place. With an idle hand she thumbed through mementos, through whispers of another life—of a story incomplete. Her eyes locked onto his. Forever young. Camouflage could never hide the weary youth of John or his war buddies. Trembling, she tried her best to free him—hold him close to her heart. But still he remained trapped behind the camera lens. Just an old Polaroid coming apart at the seams…. Slowly, she traced over the lines of John’s writing scrawled along the bottom—1971 Chu Lai, Plato and Wolf. Her fingers followed the path of her hungry eyes. With an almost obscene attention, she focused in on him—only him. Standing his arms draped across the shoulders of his two faceless companions, hot and sweaty his hair curled about his face, peaked out from under his bush hat. The beach blurred in the background and her mind honed in on the bullet round his neck and the slow trickle of sweat that made its way down his stomach and lower. Feeling the tears lodge in her throat, Marlena’s red puffy eyes closed suddenly. She could no longer bear to look on the endless ocean of his sad cerulean eyes—on all the promises of what might have been. Dropping the picture onto her nightstand, she hastily returned the box back to the floor. Turning off the lamp, the satin of her nightgown slid up about her waist as she curled up underneath the heavy covers. Slowly her eyes drew to a close. She knew sleep would not come easy tonight.

 

CHAPTER FOUR: WAITING FOR CHARLIE

 

The water lapped gently against the pillars beneath where he lay. Driven by curious hunger a small mouse approached. Catching the coppery taint of blood, its whiskers twitched as it drew ever closer to John’s injured hand. A brisk October wind whistled through the darkness. Suddenly the mouse made a panicked escape as John shifted—curled his shivering body more tightly around one of the sheltering crates. A crinkling rustle joined in the eerie chorus of sound. Startling white, his bandage stood out against the dull background as his large fingers twisted the newspaper within his clingy grasp. Hunkering down further into the thin protection, a smudge of black ink smeared across his already dirty, stubble-clad jaw line. The breeze picked up. Fluttering, a few random pages became ensnared in the downdraft—made a scurrying flight from his legs, becoming lost in the ebony shadows. From behind closed lids, his eyes moved in hurried agitation. His feeble attempt at self-preservation marked only by the slight sound of his knees banging lightly into the solid wood bulk of the crate. A tight grimace marred his face as the memory tore at the delicate web of his prefabricated peace. He downed another beer and his eyes grew glassy as far off in the distance the crashing sound of the breaking waves pounding against the shoreline set his thoughts adrift. Closing his eyes, he let the memory take shape in his mind—creating in painstaking detail a certain kind of perfection.  

 

Standing, Peacemaker couldn’t help but note the lazy grin that curled John’s lips. Annoyed, he kicked lightly at him—roused him from his own internal miscreation. “Shit, Black, I swear sometimes you’re so fuckin’ white it’s painful.” His menacing tone lost in the funny glow of his coal dark eyes. He shook is head dramatically. “Waste a perfectly good name on your lily white ass.”

 

Without moving, John’s eyes rose. Squinting despite himself, his eyes finally found and settled on the disembodied piercing black looking down on him. Although playful, his words fell flat—dead. “You’re just jealous cause all the ladies prefer my Colorado cool.”

 

Calculated and metered, John’s gaze followed Peacemaker as he made his way back over to his pack. “Ladies?” Letting out a loud derisive snort, he leaned back—his beer poised ready to drink, his full lips curved over his teeth. “You mean Plato?”

 

Plato’s head shot up quickly—a strange dusky reflection bouncing off the lens of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Hey, don’t drag me into this…. Personally I think you’re both about as attractive as that bloated, decaying old corpse we set fire to last week.”

 

Peacemaker belched loudly and smiled—blinding white teeth framed by thick taut lips. His voice a heavy drawl, “Kinky.”

 

Plato rolled his eyes before continuing. “Besides Peacemaker, there’s no need to be jealous…Little John’s too wrapped up in the pretty blonde writing him letters to give a shit about no dink prostitutes.” John’s shoulders tensed, but he remained silent. His eyes darted, settled dangerously—blackened rage seething below the surface as he slowly watched Plato fidget self-consciously before suspiciously giving over his attention to the abandoned book in his lap—the only book he owned, a copy of The Republic.

 

Ignoring the rising tension, Peacemaker went on the offensive. “Oh so Black’s got ‘m a woman, huh?”  John offered a silent reply—a slight twitch of muscle, a warning unheeded. “I bet she’s a racy little thing.”

 

His stare never left Plato as he finally ground out a reply that escaped little more than a gravelly hiss. “None of your damn business.”  

 

In weary exhaustion, Peacemaker slumped forward.  “Ah, come on…spill little man. No need we all should suffer. Share with the class…”

 

It was a subtle movement—a small shake of the head no. Blindly John’s eyes fell to the letter in his hand—just the luminous outline of a page…too dark to make out the text. Not that it mattered; the words had long ago been committed to memory. His fingers trembled as he folded her letter back into thirds and replaced it in its envelope. Sliding it into the breast pocket of his flack jacket, he rested his chin on his chest and inhaled deeply—the faint scent of her lavender perfume arousing his senses as a trickle of sweat poured over the rapid beat of his heart causing her words to cling to his chest. In the distance, he thought he heard Peacemaker mumble, “Greedy bastard” as slowly the image of her began to blot out the hell that surrounded him….

 

The last vestiges of winter are finally melting away—just a few caps left on distant mountains. I look all around me, and I can’t help but be hopeful…the cold that had settled in my heart slowly being replaced as nature is once again reborn. And yet it’s a helpless hoping because even though I know the reality, somehow I can’t quite free myself from the delusion…from the foolhardy thoughts that you’ll be here with me to see the coming of the spring. That I’ll return from class one day to find you asleep, sprawled across that tiny twin bed—brutally handsome. I guess it’s kind of pathetic the lies we tell ourselves, but I just can’t seem to help myself. And those delusions only magnify the longing—becoming liquid and undone at just the thought of your lips caressing the hollow of my throat. Sometimes the days seem to stretch on like years…I find myself sitting in class—listening to these tired, stuffy old professors with their useless philosophies, or rather not listening just a monotonous droning keeping time in the background of my glassy-eyed daydreams. I must confess you’re not doing much for my academic career, but on the upside my dreams have never been so entertaining. I’ve started a list. I plan on keeping you busy fulfilling fantasies well through the end of the decade, if not for the rest of our lives. Last week a whole group of us went to a peace rally in Hyde Park. It was an eerily beautiful day. The sun was shining and everything seemed to have a newness about it. The air smelled so sweet and I found myself staring at this bed of sunflowers. I’m so tired of crying. Tears don’t change anything. But then again neither does righteous indignation, and that seems to spring from an eternal well. I hate this war and its imaginary causes, and I’m weary of the rhetoric that perpetuates it. I’m sick of movements that have lost sight of the men who are dying—more concerned with “injustice” the Vietnamese must suffer and the possibility of draft-dodger prosecution. Those things are important; I know they are…. But are they more important? How can they be? This world, she grinds us up between her teeth and spits us out—leaves us raw and aching…staggering ghosts, one part angel/one part demon, too confused to even find our way in the light of day. We kill for peace, and we silence voices in the name of freedom. So lost, it’s a wonder we’ve lasted this long…I hate to think that this is all that evolution has brought us to. Do you think there could be strength in tears? I wasn’t quite sure what to do when the rally took on a nasty turn—the irony of infighting because of one’s vision of peace…. So I left, hitched a ride back to my dorm room and wept. I just want you here with me so badly. And even though I believe that day will come…I guess patience is a virtue I lack. I want to wrap my arms around you and never let you go…want to feel the midnight intensity of your eyes pass through my soul as your body moves in time with mine—mute quivering words of love obscured in your parched flesh. I want to spend the next 60 years cataloguing each new line that creases your beautiful face…

 

Peacemaker’s loud curse broke John’s reverie. “Preacher, will you shut the fuck up! There’s nobody listenin’. And we sure as shit don’t give a damn about no filthy dead gooks.” Mutters on undeterred. “Christ! I hope that sick fucker’s the next to go down…. Otherwise I’ll be tempted to take ‘m out my….”

 

A loud clap, quickly followed by a few short explosive bursts halted any further comment and sent them all scurrying. From where he crouched, John took it all in as if in slow motion, he could see Plato ready his riffle and take aim—how exactly he knew where to aim remained beneath the veil of mystery…perhaps he didn’t. On instinct, John rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder and eyed the sites all the while muttering to himself.  “Jesus…” An inaudible sigh escaped his lips as his mind drifted to her fleetingly—God how he hoped she was right…that he would be coming home. Seeing a subtle movement in the distance he squinted, his finger tensing on the trigger. In macabre unison the gunfire began. To his left he saw Preacher crumble forward clutching his chest—an almost black-red outline quickly forming around his lips as he grimaced—a deathly whistling gasp escaping the gap between his two front teeth. Slinging his gun onto his back, John began to crawl his way over. Feeling a bullet whiz past, he paused…heard it impact into a nearby tree. With cautious deliberation he once again continued toward Preacher. His open flack jacket brushed his sides as the sandy dirt rubbed against his sweaty flesh—gritty and clinging. His voice was low and anguished, “Hang on Preacher…I’m comin’ buddy.”

 

John scowled as he reached him. He nudged him, harsh, and awaited some sign of recognition. When none was forthcoming, the moment simply stretched on as he looked down at him through unseeing eyes…with a quiet grunt he focused in on Preacher’s necklace. With distaste he shoved it away, laid his head lightly over Preacher’s heart…his ears keening on one single solitary sound—a heartbeat. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, John’s eyes burned as he nodded gently. He hovered just beside Preacher’s head,  “That’s it…I always knew you were a stubborn motherfucker” Preacher’s eyes slit open…blinking rapidly a few scattered tears slid down his cheeks as his dim gray eyes fought to focus—to find the disembodied voice coaxing him forward. He coughed…frothy blood escaping his mouth to run down his chin. John squeezed his hand and offered him a tight smile—the metallic smell combined with a nauseous relief to turn his stomach. “You’re not goin’ die today and give Peacemaker the satisfaction are you?”

 

Preacher’s lips curled into a dark smirk as his voice escaped in a wheezing whisper, “Why not…” His tongue moved over his bloody lips as he choked on the dryness. John’s darkened eyes grew bright and desperate, scanned the area. Seeing Preacher’s stale warm beer, he shifted—reaching with one blood-soaked hand while his forearm pressed futilely into the gaping chest wound. Slowly he raised the can to Preacher’s lips and carefully helped him to drink. His gaze became intensely pale and his words staggered. “Pray with me.”

 

John shook his head shook slightly, and his eyes grew dark as the gunfire began to dissipate. “I…uh…”

 

Preacher’s eyelids became heavy as his voice took flight in a pleading hush,  “Please.”

 

John clasped Preacher’s hand in his blood sticky grasp. His eyes rolled heavenward as an unspoken curse “Christ” moved over his lips. Releasing a heavy sigh, he began—mumbled emotion strangling his prayer. “Hhh…okay, let’s see…. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come…”

 

John awoke with a jolt—banging his head into a nearby crate. Groaning, one hand pawed about his neckline in foggy distraction while the other moved to cradle his head as he tentatively rolled onto his knees. He could feel the cold sweat slithering down his back as a loud booming voice broke through the haze of recollection. “Where the hell is Simpson?” Apprehensive, John peaked out from behind the crates.

 

From behind bloodshot eyes, a scrawny little man replied, “Don’t ask me boss…. He’s your brother-in-law.”

 

His stride was purposeful as he came into view. Broad shouldered and to the point, he was the epitome of dark and imposing. Chances were if he found John, he’d call the cops. “Yeah, well, don’t remind me…good for nothing dead beat—serve him right if I fired him.”

 

His reply, like his chuckle, was slightly inebriated. “Hey, what have you got to lose, right? I mean he’s already crashing at your house.”

 

He turned abruptly, even in the cool fall air sweat poured off Henry’s blue-black face. His gaze fierce, “Don’t start with me this morning, Al.” With an annoyed huff, he leaned over onto a crate and muttered distractedly. “How am I going to get this shipment unloaded a man short?”

 

Standing John slipped out from behind the crates. “Umm…excuse me…” Henry glanced up expectantly—a suspicious knowing pursed his lips. “I, uh, couldn’t help but overhear.” John looked down—self-consciously his injured hand rose to tug at his ear. “I’ll help you out…if you want.”

 

Henry said nothing—just looked on, his hard black eyes boring into John as if trying to come to some peaceable conclusion. Finally his face softened, “You think you can manage with that busted up hand?”

 

“This?” A faint pink blush rose up John’s neck as he tucked his hand deep into the pocket of his tattered old coat. “This is nothing.”

 

For a moment, he looked undecided then he turned. “Okay. Diego, go get…” He glanced back questioningly.

 

“John.”

 

The name had been spoken so low that Henry had to strain to hear.  “Go get John a weight belt.”

 

~~~

 

“Okay men that about does it.” Henry looked around the dock with a satisfied shake of the head—his scrutiny stalled when landing on him. “John, come with me.” Quietly John followed Henry inside. The only outward signal of his nervousness was the way in which he shifted from one foot to the next and in how he gnawed on his lower lip until the bittersweet taste of blood touched his tongue. Almost in spite of himself John cleared his throat distracting Henry from the note he was jotting down. Reaching into his desk drawer, Henry opened the cash box. “Here.”

 

Blinking, John stood up straight and squared his shoulders. “That’s not necessary.”

 

Henry’s brow lifted. “No one said it was necessary.”

 

With a slight shake of the head, John’s words came out low and gruff. “I don’t want your pity.”

 

Laughing, “Well that’s good because you don’t have it…. You really helped to pull my butt out of a sling today…I appreciate that, and I appreciate hard work…so here take this.” Standing from his desk, Henry handed him a business card with a twenty-dollar bill wrapped around it. “Get yourself a nice square meal…maybe a room at the Y, and you call me if you ever decide you might like to give this working stiff thing a shot.” Before John could refuse the phone rang.

 

John’s muffled “thanks” was almost lost in the marked withdrawal of Henry reaching to pick up the phone.

 

Nodding, Henry plopped back down into his seat and swiveled away from John, purchase orders in hand. The faint sound of the door closing behind John drowned out by Henry’s overpowering voice, “Talk to me Jim.” John quickly shoved the money into his pocket—tried to make an inconspicuous escape. As a strong wind whipped about him, he turned the collar up on his coat and gazed out beyond the pier to the icy cold welcoming waters. Then with a brusque shake of the head he turned at left.

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE: ECHO

 

Feeling an inexorable need to yawn, Marlena lifted her hand to her mouth—tried to camouflage it in an affected pose of deep thought. It wasn’t Tom…granted staff meetings were rarely interesting, but she hadn’t had more than three or four hours sleep all weekend. She was exhausted. It seemed each time she closed her eyes, he would come to her—sharing visions and whispering old promises, bringing to tingling life a part of her soul she’d long since locked away and left for dead. And in her waking hours, plagued by questions and hopes too big to dare dream. Sometimes it felt like the not knowing would eat her alive. First with John and then again with Roman—left to draw her own conclusions. There had been no bodies to lay to rest and no gravesides to visit. No place to find closure. At least where Roman was concerned, though, she had Bo’s word. That was some small comfort. With John all she had was a Western Union telegram from the army tucked away in a box full of old love letters. Again she struggled to stifle her yawn. As her eyes met Tom’s, his expression warmed as he nodded lightly. Caught, she blushed—a sheepish smile her instinctive reply. Her eyes dropped, landed on the small stack of folders she’d brought with her from home—running so late this morning she’d hardly had the opportunity to pour herself a cup of coffee let alone stop by her office. Absentmindedly, she rolled the blue ballpoint pen in the palm of her right hand…her gaze zeroed in on a solitary tab—John Black. With an idle hand, she shuffled the folder to the top of the stack as the words began to bleed out of her covering the entire surface.

 

She didn’t know how long she’d sat lost in thought, only that the room seemed to have thinned measurably around her. Unsure just what had first broken the line of her reflections, movement or sound, she rose abruptly in a self-conscious rush. Catching the tail end of Tom’s soft questioning voice, “Marlena?” Laura’s brow puzzled at the ensuing silence. Reaching over, her hand fell lightly atop Marlena’s arm and captured her attention.

 

With a slight shake of the head, Marlena pulled herself free from reverie and slowly shifted into focus. “Hmm…Oh, I’m sorry Tom. What were you saying?”

 

Tom’s glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose. “It was nothing terribly pressing. I was simply asking if you had made a decision about your patient load yet.” Taking a step closer, his soft rheumy eyes settled upon her distracted form. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“Fine.” Yawning gently, “Well I am a little tired.” The corner of her mouth curled into a girlish smile. “But then I think you’ve already figured that out…I’m so sorry Tom.” Rapid fire she continued cutting off any opportunity to pardon her sleepy crime. “And as to your other question, I still haven’t quite managed to make my way through all the case files—have about a half a dozen left to review before I confer with my colleagues.” Pausing, her index finger rose to scratch lightly against her meticulously arched brow. Laura followed Marlena’s gaze as her eyes darted momentarily to her folders still lying on the conference table. An inaudible sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t want to rush head-long back into a full workload, and even more important I don’t want my presence to be disruptive…. There seem to be a number of patients who have made breakthroughs or who finally seem to be finding a comfort level. I don’t want to counteract that progress.” Sensing more was to come, Tom nodded. “I’ll have a better idea after the consultations, but right now I would say my caseload will be anywhere between fifty and seventy-five percent.” Her attention strayed briefly to the heavy raindrops etched across the windowpane. Her tongue stumbled over her suddenly dry lips. Shrugging off the impending sense of déjà vu, Marlena began to gather her things. Discreetly, she shuffled the folder back in amongst the others. Tepid coffee sloshed as she turned her coffee mug in toward herself—pulling it in an unconscious protective grip against her chest. Feeling cool against the palm of her hand, she raised her eyes—guarded beneath the veil of a warm smile. “I should have a patient rundown for you no later than Wednesday.”

 

“That’s fine, Marlena. You…” Abrupted by the beeping at his side, Tom readjusted his glasses and squinted. His tone was a mild confessional as he replaced the beeper back into his pocket. “You know, sometimes I miss the business of simply being a doctor.”

 

Laura’s eyes twinkled. “Let me guess—the board.”

 

Tom nodded. “Yes, and apparently yesterday would not be too soon to talk to me.” Heading toward the door, he called back to Laura. “Alice and I will be seeing you and Michael this evening for dinner, yes?”

 

Laura smiled. “I can only claim to speak for myself, but I’ll be there.”

 

It seemed to Marlena that Tom’s “Fine.” hung in the air long after he had slipped out the door and down the hall. Still she stood looking at the empty doorframe as her thoughts once again drifted. She could almost taste the rain on the tip of her tongue.

 

“So Marlena…” Laura leaned in closer. Their eyes met, Marlena smiled quirkily as a faint blush crept over her features. Laura laughed softly in response as they made their way out the door and toward their offices. “You know, I don’t know where you’ve been lately…but I’m dying to find out.”

 

Marlena rolled her eyes in Laura’s direction, but the effect was lost in the deepening crimson blush. Even as a low unreadable chuckle sought release, her words fled in an emotional choke. “I assure you, it’s not what you think.”

 

Seeing the war hidden in Marlena’s eyes, Laura nodded. “No, probably not…. What say I call us in some Chinese though, and you can tell me all about it over lunch.”

 

Marlena’s expression clouded. “I don’t know.”

 

Laura leaned in closer—linked an arm through Marlena’s and spoke in a low conspiratorial tone. “My treat.”

 

Marlena’s eyes shifted and her lips quirked sideways. “Well when you put it that way…”

 

“Right, how can you refuse?” Laura opened the door to her office, before stopping to glance at her wristwatch. “Hmm…dinner at Tom and Alice’s.” Marlena’s eyes lit in acknowledgement. “Can we opt for the traditional noon route?”

 

“Sounds good.” Marlena’s head bobbed—gesturing door to door. “Your office or mine?”

 

“Yours. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Laura’s expression grew bright and expectant as a small laugh escaped she called back to Marlena. “And remember…I want a story with my meal.”

 

Smiling, “A story. Got it. I’ll be sure to slip by pediatrics and borrow Goldie Locks and the Three Bears.”

 

~~~

 

The bell overhead jingled to announce his arrival. Slowly her dull listless eyes lifted from the pages of Plato’s Republic—perused the store with a deliberate prerequisite disinterest. Catching the hint of movement, she tracked her prey. However at the sight of his approach, she stilled—grew rigid, twisted uncomfortably in her chair. His hair, unruly and greasy, sat messily atop his head. As he neared, the earthy stench grew stronger. She thought upon last semester’s imposing philosophy professor—tried to achieve the same brutal pose. Clearing her throat loud and commanding, she halted his step. Still she was unnerved by his wooly mask and dark unseeing eyes—hidden they remained fixed on the hole in the toe of his left boot. He was shifty—moving from foot to foot. Just then the furnace kicked on. Closing her book, she stretched her long, lanky limbs and stood stiffly. With a deep cleansing breath, she drew herself up to full height.

 

Following her movements, John’s eyes raised fractionally. At the sight of the book jacket his vision tunneled. The creases in his brow accentuated by a shadowy grime, he stumbled backwards. A sales rack drove into his back—forced him into attention. Finally, he muttered. “Uh…good book.”

 

A sound of disbelief gurgled in her chest, but she decided not to dwell on the matter. Instead she spoke with forceful brevity. “This is a thrift shop. We don’t deal in charity.” The clerk remained hard in the face of his blank indifference.

 

Suddenly his eyes seemed to come into focus. Confronting her hawk-like features, in one long stride he stepped up to the counter. His hot rancid breath rushed forward—an aborted wheeze. John dismissed the look of fear that flashed in the young woman’s eyes and spoke. His voice, strong—his eyes, concentrated blue intensity.  “I didn’t come here for charity. I came here because of the accident last Friday morning.”

 

The girl’s gray eyes narrowed, “Accident?”

 

Without thought he raised his injured hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. Seeing her hard eyes land on the dingy bandage, his voice failed him as he began to falter. “Uh, yeah…I, uh, accidentally damaged a car…it was…is parked right out front…”

 

Her lips curled into a derisive sneer. “And just how does one punch out a window by accident?”

 

He didn’t want to debate with this child…certainly didn’t want to open up his mind to her adolescent armchair psychology. Squaring his shoulders, their eyes locked—his surrendered to the blackness save for a slight midnight orbit. At last his words issued forth a gravelly hiss. “Look, I’m just trying to track down the owner to pay for the damages. Do you know who owns the car or not?”

 

For a moment she looked unconvinced, but tentatively she made her way to the entrance of the back room. “Yo, Calliope. Someone’s here to see you.”

 

Calliope’s chirpy voice called back, “Okay…be there in just a minute.”

 

Slowly the salesgirl made her way back to her seat. Plucking up her book, she mumbled in disdain “Good book…yeah, right” before once again attacking the text with her fading highlighter.

 

She emerged in a blur of brilliant color so extreme that for a moment John thought he was in the midst of some sort of deranged acid flashback. But as she turned and dropped a few scattered items next to the register for checkout, her cheery face came into view, John’s consciousness merged back into reality. A quirky smile curled his lips as Calliope smiled slightly and approached him undaunted. “Can I help you?”

 

Her eyes settled on him—uncompromising, yet gentle. “Yeah, I, uh…”

 

John suddenly felt tongue-tied for no reason and was almost grateful when the salesgirl’s monotone voice interrupted. “He’s looking for the owner of the car damaged in…” her cold eyes darted—pinned him like a butterfly, ”Friday’s accident.”

 

The slight condescending inflection of the young woman’s tone drew Calliope’s expression into an unfamiliar bland expression as her own voice dropped to a disconcertingly average octave. “Oh, that would be me.” Glancing to the door, John could see the shadow of Sam and Mooch waiting, nervously impatient, as a dreary rain poured off the canvas entryway in sheets of memory. Again Calliope’s voice raised—pulled him back through the mental cobwebs, “Sir?”

 

Startled, he looked up at her again—an angelic aura from another life seemed to hover about her. Calliope eyed him closely as his voice rumbled up from deep within. “I’m sorry…. Uh, forgive me—rain and daydreams always seem to go together for some reason…. Anyway, the damage to your vehicle—it was entirely my fault and I want to pay for the repair expense.” John’s hands slipped deep within the pockets of his tattered peacoat.

 

Confusion swept over Calliope’s features as for the first time she really took in his haggard form. “Really, that’s not necessary. I’m sure the insurance will cover it.”

 

Ignoring her caveat, John continued. “Was there any internal damage done by the glass—torn upholstery?” Without even thinking about the question, she shook her head no. Just on the periphery of his vision John saw the salesgirl stiffen behind her tattered second hand textbook. Pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, he quickly pealed off a crumpled one hundred dollar bill. “I think this should cover the damages, yes?” Stunned and wide-eyed Calliope nodded mutely as John dropped the remaining money back in his pocket and turned to leave without further comment. The same bells that marked John’s arrival now heralded his exit.

 

Emerging into the cold October rain, he pulled the lapels of his coat up more securely around his neck as the smell of ozone filled his lungs. Quickly, he surveyed the area—sought out the broken-down comfort of Sam and Mooch’s presence. Exhaling loudly, his breath took flight before him—an icy cloud of reflection. A strange light filtered through the otherwise dreary day. To his left at the intersection, he saw her…sitting behind the wheel of her father’s ’65 Dodge Coronet—young and beautiful, cloudy hazel eyes skewed beneath the windshield’s misty mosaic. “’Bout damn time!” Mooch’s gruff voice fired off rounds of soggy irritation. “I mean how fuckin’ long did you really think two bums could loiter around waiting on your sorry ass before some holier-than-thou yuppie trash told them to be on their way?” In the background Sam shook the water off like a tired old dog as rain slid down his face—awash, dirt gathered round his already grungy neckline. Frustrated, Mooch tore his fingers through his long hair—matted, greasy and wet. “Shit Black! When are you going to get it through your thick skull—you’re a bum, not a boyscout.” Shaking his head in amusement, John’s eyes danced…glancing Sam’s way he smirked. Still Mooch continued to mutter to himself. “Christ! Only you would track someone down…like we’ve not paid enough…”

 

Chuckling John pulled a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. With beguiling triumph, he dangled it before them. “Here, Why don’t you two go across the street…” John motioned to the liquor store. “And see if you can’t find something to calm the raging beast within.”

 

Sam’s attention zeroed in as he playfully snatched the twenty from John’s hand. “In other words…”

 

John interrupted, “In other words, go get soused…” His gaze flicked to Mooch just as the two were about to turn, “and give thanks for my boyscout ways.” For a moment he watched them carelessly splash forward in search of liquid salvation before turning himself and starting off in the opposite direction. As the traffic light came to a slow glowing red, the rain began to penetrate his threadbare coat—absorb into his very skin. He felt young—foolishly invincible.

 

As a pale lavender light filtered across the grim horizon, the ache in his feet took root—sprouted well into his shins. Hitching his bag up higher on his back, he continued determinedly forward. Turning slightly to look off down the interstate, he stuck out his thumb. The rain picked up—fell in sheets of unspoken assurance. Waterlogged denim slid low—clung to his hips in a desperate clammy grasp. As a burgundy Coronet slowed beside him, John stumbled off the shoulder—mud squelched uncomfortably between his toes coating the edge of his sandals. Glancing back, the first thing that came into focus were her eyes—like golden flames they chased away the chill. With a smile, her warm soothing cadence fought the howling winds. “Where ya headed?”

 

Readjusting the sack on his shoulder, John made his way to the driver’s side window. The hint of expectation that pursed her lips sent a momentary thrill down his spine. He swallowed hard. “As far away as I can get.” The flash of understanding that swept over her features caused his mouth to curl into a rebellious grin. “Think you can help me out?”

 

With a sideways glance, she held him with her sparkling eyes. “Depends…I don’t give rides to strangers.”

 

He swiped the palm of his hand against his sodden denim-clad thigh and extended his hand. “I’m John.”

 

Looking at her hand hidden in their combined grasp,  “Marlena.” After a beat, she continued. “Well John I guess we’re not strangers anymore.” He nodded. “I’m headed to Denver for a peace rally…. You’re welcome to tag along if you like.”

 

“That would be great…” Making his way around the front of the car John paused—his bright smile penetrating the rain-flecked glass. Opening the passenger side door, he threw his things in the back before climbing in beside her. “Thanks so much for the lift. Usually hitchhiking is an adventure, but when you get caught out in the rain…well, that’s another story…” Without thought he shook the water from his dark, shaggy chestnut hair. Long, delicate fingers swept down her cheek as she looked his way—a certain stunned bemusement etched across her face. “Uh…sorry…I, uh…” Her rich laughter replaced his fumbling apology with a boyish smile. Leaning slightly closer, his blue eyes glowed as one finger wiped gently down the length of her nose. “Men are pigs.”

 

She erupted in a fit of giggles—gasped for air. “Just remember you were the one who said it…not me.”  Happily she looked over her shoulder and edged the car back out on to the interstate.

 

She drove and never made a sound—save for the melody spilling from the radio the time passed in companionable silence. But as the last rays of light became engulfed in darkness, shadows crept into the car—an unwelcome companion. Even the music on the radio seemed to buckle in its company. John’s soft voice interrupted the raging strains of Jefferson Airplane. “Anything wrong?”   

 

Her eyes stayed fixed on the road, but he could feel the worry radiating from her. “Nothing worth talking about.”

 

Sliding down lower into his seat, he cocked his head in her direction and whispered. “I don’t know about that…I think maybe it’s all worthwhile.”

 

His tone called to her—a raw emotion. “It’s nothing really…. It’s just that I’m supposed to be at the library, or rather on my way home from the library.” She giggled self-consciously. “My father is going to string me up when he finds out what I’ve done.”

 

Warmly, “Nah, I’m sure he’ll be proud of your social conscience.”

 

Marlena chuckled deep in the back of her throat. “Come on, you don’t even believe that…. Besides, it’s not my social conscience he has a problem with; it’s the stealing the family car to drive halfway across the state in the middle of the night to join up with a bunch of…” The thought hung between them incomplete as her voice rose fractionally, “Never mind the fact that I’ve picked up a hitchhiker along the way.”

 

“Don’t think of me as a hitchhiker.” He paused dramatically. “Think of me as a convert.”

 

Playfully, “A convert?”

 

His toothy smile gleamed back at her pleasantly as they passed underneath a streetlight. “But of course…I mean all I was looking for was a ticket out of town and instead I’ve been touched by your optimism and your hope…on my way to a peace rally—final destination unknown. ”

 

Her laughter became contagious—spilling out, casting the shadows back into the night. “You’re so full of crap.”

 

“Maybe. But, hey, at least I made you laugh.” Pulling off his jacket, he turned to crawl into the backseat—his flannel shirt half open revealing the beads hung round his neck.  “You don’t mind if I try to get a little shut-eye do you?”

 

Smirking, one finger reached forward to snag the strand of wooden love beads. “My convert…” Her lips curled crookedly. “No, make yourself comfortable.”

 

Rolling the jacket up under his head, John stretched his body out. The rhythm of the highway lulled him into a new state of consciousness—his sleepy-eyed focus landed on the shiny cascade of straight blonde hair that poured over the back of the seat. Mile markers continued to whiz past—hypnotic. Quietly, every now and then Marlena laughed out loud for no reason…. He pretended not to hear—let the peace soak through his bones. Inhaling deeply, he drifted away as a faint aroma of honeysuckle sweetened his thoughts.

 

A sliver of light burned through his closed eyelids—harsh awakening. Blinking rapidly, tears streaked down his face as his tongue swept through the foul distaste in his mouth. John rolled, slumped to a seated position. His hair stood in mutiny. Gazing tentatively out the window, slowly the memory of yesterday was born into reality. Leaning forward, he peered over the front seat as his mouth perked sweetly at the sight before him—curled up within the pale pink yarn of her knee-length crocheted sweater, she slept. As the sun continued it’s ascent, he watched her—watched the way her rosy lips puffed like a small child’s each time she exhaled, watched how she perpetually curled inside herself in a futile attempt to somehow deny the certainty of the sun…became lost in the bed of flowers embroidered across her thighs. A warm and glorious ache settled in his chest as Marlena’s eyes fluttered open. His low voice pealed away the blanket of slumber—a slow burn. “Mornin’.”

 

Her reply stalled as the back of her hand rose to stifle a yawn. He could see the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. “Mornin’.”

 

~~~

 

Watching a couple of nurses make their way across the parking lot beneath the insufficient haven of a small shared umbrella, Marlena rested her cheek against the cool window frame…. A pensive smile marred her expression as she stared out across the city into another time and place. She inhaled deeply—the sweet pungent aroma of marijuana wafted overhead. Subdued within the fog, throngs of protesters lulled in the shadow of the Humanities building waiting for the rally to begin in earnest, waiting for the call to action. The microphone squealed then popped to life. Beneath the naked branches of an old oak tree, Marlena slowly slid to the ground—felt the cool welcoming dew soak through, an almost invisible caress against the back of her thighs. She felt more than a little high, intoxicated by the freedom and by the cause and of course by the drugs. John’s head lilted toward her. For a brief time she watched him take in the scene from behind closed eyes, his beautiful mouth seemed to purse with some unknown anticipation. The low din of the crowd died down as the local chapter president of the Students for a Democratic Society began to speak—his voice tremulously passionate. With carefree ease John’s vision cracked—serenely pierced her. She smiled dizzily realizing that he too made her feel high. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d awake tomorrow with a hangover. His quiet gaze never faltered as he leaned closer, his lips buzzing tenderly over Marlena’s mouth. A whisper of breath divided them as the moment hung suspended, her raspy voice beckoned to him. “Come back to Boulder with me.” The sun peaked out from behind his clouded expression. Pressing forward, he discovered her—nibbled across her bottom lip, a refuge they settled into a common breath. With burning lungs, they stilled—shared a few renewing gasps. Their foreheads still touching she felt his silent reply—a slight nod of assent. She couldn’t help but note his infinitesimal flinch as her hand raised to brush gently over his cheek. Her eyes grew sad as for the first time she began to question just what she was asking of him. Reaching around to knot her fingers in the back of his long hair, she pulled him closer…Slowly the persistent knocking broke through her fugue. With a shallow sigh, she shifted her weight toward the door and checked the clock. Calling out, “Come in.”

 

The tempered squeak of the hinges offered a strange accompaniment to Jimi Hendrix’s possessed guitar. Entering, Laura sat the food down on Marlena’s desk. “Hmm, Manic-Depression…” her teeth barely shown through her cheshire grin, “interesting musical selection for a psychiatrist’s office.”

 

Marlena chuckled—somewhat begrudgingly came away from the windowsill to sit behind her desk. “Hey, even shrinks are allowed to celebrate their generation.”

 

Pulling a chair closer, Laura sat. “No…were automatons.” Marlena noted the wildness that flashed in her eyes…couldn’t decide what emotion it most provoked—fear or envy. It wasn’t a new debate; she’d been trying to come to some kind of peaceable conclusion for years now—almost since the first moment she and Laura had met. Marlena reached to help unpack lunch. Seeing the tight little smile that tugged at Marlena’s lips and the subtle shake of her head, “What?”

 

“Nothing.” Laura looked unconvinced. Marlena’s voice rose in mock earnestness. “Honest…. Just that sometimes I think you’re too twisted for color tv and other times…well, just remind me to never end up on her your bad side.”

 

Laura steadied—chopsticks full of lo mien held poised before her mouth. “I don’t think that’s even possible.” Laura finished a few bites as Marlena picked around in her food. Eventually, Laura leaned forward and caught her eyes. Her voice playful and unrelenting, “You’re not going to volunteer anything are you? Like pulling teeth one painful tug at a time—you’re going to make me work for this…”

 

“Well it would certainly serve you right.” Laura feigned hurt as the song faded into an old Dylan tune. Marlena leaned back in her chair—her face almost tilted heavenward as her eyes closed to mere slits and her tongue curled out between her taut lips. In a moment she continued. “You know I’ll never forget the first time we ever met. It was March 1969—cold and rainy. Somehow it felt like the whole world was sitting on the cusp…just waiting to be slowly sucked away down past the mire and muck and into the abyss. But we were going to change the world.” The right side of Marlena’s lips twitched. “It was my first real assertion of independence—a pilgrimage for peace.” Without thought, she smiled—her teeth gently worrying her lower lip. “For some silly reason Elvis Presley’s Are You Lonesome Tonight was playing on the radio as John’s form slowly took shape—thumb out, and wet to the bone.” Finally meeting Laura’s gaze, Marlena’s amber eyes smoldered. “I think he had…the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen—the color of the sky just before the sun begins to set.”

 

Marlena ran a delicate finger beneath her eye to catch the tear before it fell as a comfortable silence descended. She had just told Laura all about that first meeting. How he made her laugh; made her cry…taught her to throw caution to the wind. How in those few short hours they somehow seemed to live a thousand years—surrendering secrets and sharing dreams. How for the first time in her life she’d really seen a world beyond herself. How she’d finally found that mysterious key that somehow took her through the door from child to woman. How she’d felt his pain as if it had suddenly been tattooed across her very soul. How she’d clung to it—brought him back home with her instead of letting him run as far and as fast his body would take him. But she never spoke of the guilt bloomed in her heart as a result of that choice—choosing instead to leave it safely caged behind all the steel bars that bound the coulda beens and the shoulda beens and the future that was still missing somewhere along that craggy mountainside in Vietnam.

 

As the silence grew dense, Laura spoke. “He sounds wonderful.” She eyed her hands intently—suddenly felt the press of time against her fading youth. She continued cautiously. “Not that I have anything against reminiscing, but what brought all this on?”

 

Laura’s eyes softened as Marlena shrugged. “I don’t know exactly.” Standing, she returned to her perch by the window—pressed her hand against the cool pane. “I guess it all started with my dream the other night.”

 

“Dream?”

 

Marlena rolled her eyes toward Laura. “I’m a psychiatrist too, you know? And then there was this.” Making her back to her desk, she pulled his folder from the stack and surrendered it for inspection. “Neil’s John Doe consult last Friday.”

 

Laura read the tab aloud. “John Black?” After a moment, she dropped the folder back onto the desk and eyed her friend sadly. “Marlena it’s not like it’s a rare name. Hell it wasn’t even a positive I.D. We’re talking a million to one shot at best.”

 

Marlena’s eyes fell. “I know that, Laura. I know…but there’s something you don’t understand.” Opening the folder, she eyed the photo hungrily.

 

Expectantly, “Something I don’t understand?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, she closed the folder—held it close. She pressed the photo next to the rapid beat of her heart—his face separated only by her cool silky blouse and another lifetime. MIA wouldn’t make for a convincing argument. “Never mind…it’s nothing.” She drug her fingers over her closed eyes—she felt hungover.

 

Laura’s brow furrowed in concern. “I just worry about you. I don’t want you getting your hopes up for something that may never happen.”

 

Marlena nodded marginally. “I know you do, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going into this blind—it’s not going to turn into some kind of quest; this will not be my Ishmail. But I do need to know. I’ve lived with this huge gaping question mark in the center of my soul for a long time—too long. And all because I didn’t think I had the strength to face what I feared I would find.” Marlena’s eyes swelled with tears. “I think maybe there’s a reason why he’s coming to me now. Not just because I need him…. If there’s one thing the last year’s taught me…well, I’m stronger now. And I need answers—I need to find a way to finally make my peace with losing him.”

 

Laura sighed pleasantly. “There’s nothing I can say to convince you otherwise is there?” Shaking her head, Marlena offered her a crooked smile. “That’s what I thought. Stubborn nag.”

 

Marlena laughed—eyed her sharply. “Hey, I learned from the best.”

 

“If you think I take offense to that remark, you’re mistaken.” Glancing to the clock, Laura stood. “I’ve got to go—got a patient due in twenty minutes.”

 

Coming round her desk, Marlena walked her out. “Thanks for the lunch and for the shoulder.”

 

Smiling, “Anytime. Call me if you need me.” The smooth soul of Marvin Gaye’s Wholy Holy whispered in her ear. Closing the door behind Laura’s retreating form, she found the volume with a slight turn his voice, like the perfect ache in her chest, grew.   

 

BOOK II: THE SHROUDED STRANGER

My flesh is cinder my face is snow
I walk the railroad to and fro
When city streets are black and dead
The railroad embankment is my bed

I sup my soup from old tin cans
And take my sweets from little hands
In Tiger Alley near the jail
I steal away from the garbage pail

In the darkest night where none can see
Down in the bowels of the factory
I sneak barefoot upon stone
Come and hear the old man groan

I hide and wait like a naked child
Under the bridge my heart goes wild
I scream at a fire on the river bank
I give my body to an old gas tank

I dream that I have burning hair
Boiled arms that claw the air
The torso of an iron king
And on my back a broken wing

– Allen Ginsberg

 

CHAPTER SIX: BLUE

Marlena walked Mrs. Frazier to the door and smiled warmly. “Hillary will make you another appointment for next week.”

The dreary widower nodded. “Thank you Dr. Evans.”

“You’re welcome.” Closing the door behind her, Marlena returned to her desk. It had been a long week, but at last she seemed to be settling back into a routine. With the thoughts still fresh in her mind, she jotted down a few notes in Mrs. Frazier’s patient file. The clock to her left made a quiet snap of time. Completing the task, she placed the folder aside—out of the corner of her eye she recorded the time, 10:45. Free until after lunch, she allowed herself the luxury of a few stolen moments lost in thought. Her long delicate fingers struggled to capture the photo corner. A smile tugged at her lips as in her mind she worked to pour just the right amount of blue concentrate into John’s black and white eyes. Running her tongue over her lips, she could almost taste him. With a deep cleansing breath, Marlena reached for the phone—dialed the familiar number. She wondered if the ringing in her ear was anything like the hissing buzz he’d described in his letters. But the sound of Kim’s voice ended the debate. “Hello Kim…it’s Marlena.”

Pleasantly surprised, a soothing familiarity soon displaced Kim’s monotone greeting. “Hi. How’s work? The kids?”

Marlena’s simple answer flowed out in an elegant wisp of femininity. “Fine”

“Fine…hmm?” Not quite convinced, Kim’s tone sobered. “And how about you?”

Marlena leaned into the welcoming embrace of the chair’s plush leather interior and rocked back. “We’re all just fine. Listen Kim, I don’t suppose Shane would be available?”

Somewhat taken aback by the aside, Kim began to absentmindedly twirl the phone cord round her finger. “Well he’s on an overseas call right now…. Is there something I can do?”

“No, no…that’s fine.” Lifting the picture back into her line of sight, her eyes narrowed in curious reflection. After a brief pause, she continued. “I was just hoping to get him to do me a little favor—look into something for me.”

“Oh, would you like for me to have him call you back?” The casters muffled squeak filtered over the line—attuned Kim’s attention.

Marlena dropped the photo and rested her elbows on the desk. Cocking her head to the side she cradled the phone against her shoulder as a small yawn escaped. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just catch up with him later…. Are you going to be at the fish market this evening?”

Kim’s breathy laugh lightened the mood. “Are you kidding? Miss Halloween at Mom and Pop’s…miss seeing Carrie and the twins in their costumes? We’ll be there.”

“Great…” Marlena’s gaze strayed to the picture frame that sat on the corner of her desk—Carrie’s proud smiling face stared back at her, a chortling happy twin safely tucked in each arm. “We’ll see you then. I best get off the phone and go pick myself up some lunch before my next patient arrives. I’ll talk to you later.”

~~~

As the bottle continued to pass between them, their bodies made a slow sulk back into the pillar’s firm constants. John inhaled deeply—a faint briny taint of fish filled his lungs. His deep indigo eyes barely slit open to peer out onto the casual game of hide-n-seek being waged by the hazy mid-day sun bouncing in the choppy waters—typical guerilla warfare. He held the bottle poised in brief repose somehow again just out of reach of his glistening lips. As the last sip of cheap wine began to burn away the fog, his tongue darted out in preservationist haste. With eyes almost closed, his focus followed the curving lines of the bottle cap threads—a glassy green spiral that pulled him down like a powerful undertow. The brown paper crunched beneath his grasp as he surrendered the hollow spirit to Sam’s waiting hand. On the wings of a distant howling wind a couple of tired old fishermen’s disembodied curses carried up the pier. Mooch’s gruff voice offered up condolences. “Poor bastard.” John chuckled. Taking a quick swig of wine, Mooch passed the bottle back to Sam. Soon he continued—low and pained. “Do you remember your first day in country?”

John nodded his voice rumbled low and true. “The first thing they did when I stepped foot off the plane was try to get me to re-up for another year…promised me some cushy desk job in exchange for that extra year.” Sam nursed the bottle—unhearing.

Mooch’s eyes melted into blackness. “Yeah…mother-fuckin’ blackmail artist.” He continued to mutter to no one in particular, “fuckin’ artists” as the bottle again made the rounds. After a period he squinted, tried to make that first fateful day come into focus. His voice dropped to a raw whisper, “I don’t remember—not the details.” His brow knitted into a confused scowl. “Just sensations…like the sound of the ocean.” He cocked his head to the side. “It sounded a little like today—only warmer. Rich, ya know? Like the funky music they always used to play just as someone was about to get it in the horror movies.”

John wiped the bottle with his shirttail before taking another languid sip. Feeling the warmth throb in the base of his skull, he called back. “Sort of like going to summer camp and waking up in Hell.”

Without emotion, Sam finally spoke. “Nice beaches though.”

Slumping slightly off to the side, John sagged into Sam as his mouth curled into a silent laugh. The bottle passed back and forth between them. Mooch took a long greedy gulp, “and let’s not forget about the whores.” Except for the fingers that rose to trail through his shaggy beard, John grew uncomfortably still.

“Or how about the drugs…” Sam grounded out a dirty smile “fuck you up for weeks on end.”

Mooch nodded. “That’s true.”

Raising the bottle in mock-salute, Sam smirked. “But hey, at least there’s still cheep boozes, right? I mean nothing beats dollar wine.”

Mooch laughed. “Like grape juice and formaldehyde.”

“Yeah, but it gets the job done.” With one last swallow, Sam finished—was left gulping bitter empty air. Disgusted he dropped the bottle and watched it roll to a stop beneath the stairs.

Mooch eyed him with bemused caution. “What was that?”

Angrily, “Fuck!”

Sam’s loud curse drew John back into the present. One finger delicately traced over the eroded ridges and concavities of the dead rubber sound. His pinky finger bore into the crude piercing that at times he swore still oozed blood and puss that would seep out onto his skin. A shiver tore through him—turned the poor man’s wine that suddenly felt leaden in his stomach. As if burnt he pulled his hand away, wiped the ghostly taint upon the wad of cash—reminders of his sin and his salvation carried haphazardly within his pocket. With little thought, he freed some bills. When he finally did speak, his words were a quiet murmur. “Here.” Holding out the money to the slightly better off Mooch, “But try to make it last a little longer this time.” Mooch eyed him suspiciously. “What can I say? I’m the best damned downtrodden Rockefeller you ever seen…. Do you want the money or not?”

The hesitation didn’t last. Grabbing the scattered ones from John’s hand, both Sam and Mooch stood. Stopping at the foot of the staircase, Mooch looked back. “You coming?”

John negated the idea with a small shake of the head. “No, you two go ahead. I think I’ve had enough for one day. I’m just fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.” On slightly wobbly legs, Mooch took the steps two at a time in an effort to catch up with Sam.

Settling down into the threadbare woolen comfort of his dingy navy peacoat, John closed his eyes and listened to the melody of the wind and the water crashing beneath him. A tint of blue painted Preacher’s lips—spilled across his features. For a moment, John thought he could still hear the breath gurgling deep within his chest. But it was just another lie. A harsh, painful gasp exploded from John’s lips. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and the back of his throat burned as his eyes began to flood. One finger reached to the corner of his eyes to catch the tears before they fell. He wanted to punch Preacher—wanted to make him hurt; make him know he was still alive. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t do that. In the back of his mind he could hear the scurrying remains of Omega Company—could hear someone on the radio…someone call for medics. He turned to look but all that moved before him were phantasmic blurs. John returned his attention to Preacher’s lifeless body. Already the ants had begun their attack—staked their claim. He felt helpless. And still his throat burned. He struggled to swallow…drug his fingers lightly over Preacher’s eyes—tried to settle them into a pose of peaceful slumber. Gently, John raised Preacher’s head and extracted the homemade rosary from around his neck. Running his finger down the length, he studied each ear, each kill, each life in turn. Bitter bile rose up within him. Turning to the side, he surrendered to the nausea—gave the ants another place to feed. With the back of his sleeve, he swiped angrily at the cool trickle of snot that slowly leaked out of his nose. Preacher looked oddly at peace as the gaping chest wound continued to try and futilely leach away his life. But it was too late, that life had already risen—taken flight from the bloody pool. His lips forever curved into a sneer—a triumphant testimony of his peace. The taste of vomit and death clung to John’s tongue. For a moment he thought he heard Preacher’s voice whisper to him. Confusion marred his brow as he slowly draped the unholy rosary round his neck. Taking out his knife, the tears came without reservation and without pride—poured down over his cheeks. An anguished sob broke free from somewhere deep within as he quickly tore the flesh asunder. With the tip of the knife, he hastily pierced the top of the ear and slid it home beside the others. Standing, a medic leered at him in disgust as Peacemaker’s dull ebony eyes stared back at him—a numb mirror reflection. Sparing one final glance and a bone-weary heaving sigh, he stumbled blindly away in desperate need of a smoke.

John’s chest rose and fell—his breath shallow. Great airless gasps sent tremors through his body. He could still see him lying there. Still feel the blood turn cold and sticky against his forearm. Still see the smear against Preacher’s cheek where he’d pledged his vigilance in matters of the soul. His mouth watered in sick expectation. Biting down hard, the coppery tang of blood alerted his senses—gathered at the creases of his lips. His eyes split open as a few stubborn tears made a track down the side of his face. He didn’t know just how long he sat there, head down between his knees, just trying to regain some semblance of order and control. Taking long, slow calculated breaths until it felt like he could almost sense the fluid moving in his skull. But with a low crashing din and muffled Irish brogue, he roused. Awkwardly, he pushed himself up and looked for the source before straight away retrieving the forgotten wine bottle beneath the stairs. John blinked a few times—tried to still the swim of images before his eyes only to be confronted by an imposing stout, silver-haired man…the gear slipping through the grasp of his over-laden arms. Struck by the man’s gruff, uneven exterior, John smiled. “You look like you could use a hand.”

Without looking up Shawn responded. “Aye…three or four.”

“Here let me…” Coming closer, he slung a poncho over his shoulder and grabbed up a couple of buckets. John glanced down. “Looks like you’ve had a successful morning.”

As the strong stench of body odor and wine began to do war with the fish, Shawn looked up. His face was impassive. “Not bad.” Pointing out the way, “What about yourself?”

Starting up the steps, John dropped the empty bottle into a steel barrel. He could feel the redness scratching behind his eyes—fought the desire to try and rub it away. As they reached the top of the stairs, John answered him—on guard and non-committal. “It’s a day…like any other day.” Glancing back, he tried for what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. It wasn’t.

Shawn’s voice crackled with warmth. “Now, I hope that‘s not true.” As they walked the silence grew until Shawn could bare it no more. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“No I don’t believe you did.” Shawn eyed him sharply. “John.”

“Well it’s good to meet you John. I’m Shawn Brady and I’m much obliged for your help.” It was a slight gesture—a subtle tip of the fish bucket. “My wife and I run the Brady Fish Market.” John said nothing, but his pace slackened in time with the older man’s. “So you are a veteran?” Shawn heard the man’s reply—grinding teeth that raised the hair on back of his neck. Shawn sought to ease the tension by way of explanation. “I don’t know what it is…sound carries down by the docks.”

John sharp gaze remained fixed as they continued to make their way down the block. Finally he offered a low mumbled answer. “Something like that.”

Shawn nodded. “I have two sons…had.” Engulfed with passionate rage, his voice dropped until it was almost inaudible. “Roman, my oldest, was killed last year.”

“I’m sorry.” Almost before John could get the words out, Shawn reigned in his emotions and continued—his voice strong and self-assured.

“Still he served his country…worked with the FBI for a time.” His eyes grew intensely soft. “It’s something to be commended, lad. Something to be proud of.”

“Don’t commend me. It wasn’t duty that led me to Vietnam. It wasn’t honor. It was fear and ignorance.” Sitting down the buckets, John stopped—met his gaze with an unwavering eye. “They fooled me Shawn—fooled me into thinking I had something to defend. It wasn’t true…it was never true.” Tears began to pool as the irises of his eyes swallowed the light. “And that blindness came at a high price—cost me a life, a future, a wife. So please…please don’t commend me.” Once again silence descended as John lifted the buckets and made his way toward the Brady Fish Market sign.

A hint of anguish tinged Shawn’s words, “Aye, sometimes the price is more than we bargain for, more than we want to pay—more than we should ever be asked to forfeit.”

Reaching the market door, John placed the buckets next to the door before turning to face Shawn. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I just don’t…”

With a wave of the hand, Shawn cut off his words and dismissed the incident. “Forget about that. How about I fix you a bowl of the best chowder you’ve ever had as payment for helping a tired fisherman out?”

A dim outline of blood shown on John’s lower lip, “I don’t know…”

“I insist….Just help me carry these buckets around back and I’ll get you some of my famous Brady chowder and a good strong cup of black coffee to go with it.”

~~~

Caught up in tales of Shawn’s day, Caroline missed the jingle of the bell overhead. But at the sound of Carrie’s excited “trick or treat,” they both turned.

Hurriedly, she came away from behind the counter. A proud grin spread over her face at the sight. “It’s the Wizard of Oz.” Caroline’s eyes danced from face to face as Shawn swooped in to gather Sami and Eric out of Marlena’s arms. “Look at you…” her gaze briefly rested on Marlena “all of you. You’re the Tinman.”

Marlena’s contented laugh bubbled through the store. “Yeah….” Smiling brightly, she ran her hand down the length of Carrie’s loosely braided pigtails. “When Carrie said she wanted to be Dorothy for Halloween, Sami and Eric’s costume’s just kind of picked themselves. But Carrie was quick to point out the need for a Tinman…” Carrie smiled up at Marlena as she leaned into her side, “and, so here I am.”

Shawn glanced up distractedly from tickling Sami’s lion belly. “Well I think you’ve made a grand choice.”

With a slight yawn, Eric stretched in his grandpa’s lap—the back of his hand lightly smearing his scarecrow nose. “They do look cute, don’t they?”

“Aye, sleepy, but cute.” Shawn snuggled the twins closer. “I hope you got pictures.”

Carrie groaned. “Please no more pictures.”

Chuckling, Marlena explained. “I knew the twins would tire out soon and that I would need to drop Carrie off at Anna’s, so we stopped at Tom and Alice’s first thing…. They took at least a roll of film if not more.”

Carrie’s eyes twinkled. “More…lots more.”

Caroline shifted toward the counter. “Well good…saves me from having to worry over whether I’m cutting anyone’s head off.”

Marlena laughed. “You do that too? I thought it was just me. Luckily, I don’t think Alice suffers that same affliction…. I’ll be sure and get you and Shawn prints.”

Caroline made her way back over to the candy bowl with Carrie in tow. “Now I know Carrie wants a treat, but who else needs some goodies?”

Re-adjusting the twins, Shawn rose. “Well I definitely have a couple of laddies here that need something special.”

Marlena’s eyes darted sideways, “How about teething rings?”

The sound of her voice distracted by the bell announcing another arrival as Kim called out. “Did we miss all the fun?” The sight of Marlena’s silver face made her laugh. Kim gave a subtle tug at the matching silver sleeve. “Oh this is nice.”

Marlena’s eyes rolled playfully as she tilted her head to the side “Isn’t it though? I’ll be sure to have it dry cleaned before I loan it to you.”

Carrie called back. “We’re from the Wizard of Oz.”

“I can see that sweetie.” Coming closer, she rested her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “So Dorothy, where’s Toto?”

Marlena smiled indulgently before turning her attention to the man at her side. “Hi Shane.”

“Hello Marlena.” Shane’s impassive expression softened. “How are you?”

Marlena fiddled with the plastic button on the front of her costume as she slid into the small iron backed chair. “Feeling a little overdressed…but otherwise fine.”

Shawn called back to them, “Caroline has got fresh caramel apples in the kitchen. Can we bring you one?”

Sitting down across from Marlena, “None for me, Shawn, thanks.”

Shawn’s attention shifted to Marlena. “Lass?”

Marlena leaned forward—silver chin resting against her silver hand. “Oh I suppose I should get something for this outfit….Can you make mine to go though?”

“Of course.” Hitching Eric higher on his hip, he pushed through the door and up the back steps.

A tinge of concern filtered into his voice. “Kim said you called earlier today. Something about needing a favor.”

Marlena smiled coyly. “Please.” Reaching for her purse, she pulled out a manila envelope and extracted a bundle of papers. Unfolding them, she held them out. “I’m hoping you can use your ISA contacts to maybe find some information for me.”

Curiously confused, “About a patient?”

“No…” her eyes clouded, “more like an old friend.” Surrendering the documents for his perusal, she waited. A low breathy sigh, quivered from her lips as she slowly recounted the scattered details as she knew them.

Lifting his head, Shane’s dark brown eyes puzzled as his brow furrowed. “Why now?”

Shrugging, “I don’t know.” His gaze remained unchanged. “It will sound crazy. I mean I should know, right? I’m a psychiatrist after all.” Marlena glanced back down at the papers that lie between them—compelled him to follow suit. Her whispered admission hung in the air. “I think he was at University hospital last week.” Her lips quirked into a smile and the gold in her eyes burned as she unapologetically met his stare. “Honestly, Shane, I don’t know why…except maybe I’m ready.”

Shane smiled. “Do you have a picture of him?”

Turning the envelope over, the picture fell onto the table. “This was the last picture of him I received.” Her fingers trembled, “That’s him in the middle.”

He studied the photo for a moment before standing. “I can’t make any promises…”

Pulling a loose strand of hair away from her mouth, she tucked it back under her tin funnel cap. “I know.”

“To say the trail is cold is a gross understatement.” Gathering up the papers, he dropped them back into the envelope. “May I take the photo?” Marlena nodded. “I’ll make a copy of it and get it back to you in a couple of days.”

With a plaintive smile, fine metallic lines etched across her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” Shane dropped the photo into pocket of his blue dress shirt. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will…Kim’s a lucky gal.” The squeak of the hinges pulled Marlena’s eyes in the direction of her emerging sticky children.

“I know I am.” Wrapping her arm around Shane’s waist, she extended her hand. “One caramel apple for the Tinman.”

“Oh my, thank you.” Smiling, her nose crinkled. “It looks like I’ve got some mighty sleepy kids to get home. Okay gang, give your goodbye hugs.”

 

CHAPTER SEVEN: SPRITUAL

 

Dull murmurs punctuated the black and moldy calm. Hearing Sam’s inebriated laugh, John rolled onto his side and burrowed deeper beneath the blanket’s thin warmth. Struggling to lose himself within the cinder’s cool damp trickle, he pressed his palm into the wall. A strange rigid unity, he imagined those first faint drops flooding into the riverbed of his salvation. A dim mercurial red exodus clicked—glowed in the distance as a strong gust of wind rattled a weakened window casing. He closed his eyes and drifted away.

 

Hearing the campfire crackle, John‘s eyes followed the escaping sparks’ ascent into the inky darkness. Again he spit—tried to free himself from the acrid taste that lingered on his lips as he swept his tongue over the crusted split. Felt the warmth of fresh blood seep through his grasp as he lit another joint and settled back against an old willow tree. Beside him a babbling brook muttered mysteries unheeded. Losing himself in the vision of flames licking the midnight sky, he stilled. Her amber eyes seared his flesh as her soft voice called out to him, “John?”

 

Cast in shadow, Marlena couldn’t quite make out his face—just a slight nod from his bowed and broken form. “How’d you find me?”

 

Coming closer, she sat down beside him. “It wasn’t too difficult…” Her rich, fathomless eyes peaked out from behind the shadowy blonde mask of a few fallen tendrils of her untamed mane and the corner of her mouth quirked. “I know you.”

 

Leaning forward into her light a faint smile colored John’s features—his azure gaze locked onto hers. “You do, huh?” A fragrant bouquet of pot and pine warred in the shifting breeze. With a self-assured nod, she reached across him and took a hit off the joint before relaxing against him.

 

She couldn’t help but note the busted lip or the blood that stained his knuckles. “You okay?”

 

Unconsciously his mouth pursed, reopened the jagged line his teeth had cut into his lower lip. “Fine as wine.” Glancing down at her, “How about you…you okay?”

 

She nodded, met his probing stare with a sad smile. “Your father…”

 

John stiffened. “My father is an asshole.”

 

Looking up at him, Marlena’s eyes melted. “You won’t get any argument from me there. You don’t deserve this; you don’t deserve his anger and his resentment…. Still, how long do you really think you can stay tucked away out here in the woods?”

 

John shrugged. “I don’t know…at least till baseball season.”

 

Marlena couldn’t help but laugh at the smile that curved his lips. “I swear when it comes to sports all men are just little boys with big dreams.”

 

Chuckling, John allowed himself the luxury of relishing in this tiny moment of contentment. The crickets’ serenade played in time to the glowing fireflies. Wrapping an arm around his waist, Marlena pulled herself closer—let her eyes drift to a close as she felt the drum of his heart beneath her ear. At the sound of John’s low voice bubbling up from within, she lazily opened her eyes.  “You shouldn’t be here.” Marlena said nothing—simply shifted to rest a leg overtop his. His fingers lightly traced a soothing pattern all the way from the base of her neck down to the graceful slope where her back met her hip. “Your father will have my hide if he finds out you’re here.”

 

Marlena grinned. “That’s why he won’t find out.” Her words were muffled in the dry kiss placed upon his neck.

 

His hand rested momentarily on the curve of her behind—hitched her closer. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

 

“I am.” Little more than a moist exhalation in his ear, her reply sent shivers of desire whispering through him. John inhaled deeply—her explanation lost in a lilac fog. “Samantha will cover for me.”

 

Blindly passing back and forth between them, the joint turned to ash. With one long last savory breath, Marlena found John’s mouth. Kissed the harsh memory of blood away. With trembling fingers she worried the buttons of his flannel shirt—answered the silent welcome, slipped her hand into the haven of his sweating flesh. Pulling back, John gasped for air as her image swam before him. A ring of red roses became lost in the bend of her elbow as the pristine cotton of her peasant blouse clung to his hands caressing the small of her back. His voice fled in a pained whisper, “Are you sure?”

 

Dipping her fingers into the cool water beside them, Marlena drew them across the parched flesh of his swollen lips and nodded.  “I’m sure.” Her raspy reply hummed in his ears. Feeling the delicate fabric at her back bunch in John’s clenching fists, she pressed forward—replaced her fingers with hungry lips.

 

A growl died deep in his throat as Marlena moved to sit astride him. The fire blazed behind her and to John she seemed to glow—her wild golden hair spilling over her shoulders to hide her breasts and the pounding of her heart. Swallowing hard, he clumsily pulled her top over her head. Her skin glistened temptation and her pulse quickened at his tender assault on the hollow of her throat. Spurred on by the feeling of Marlena’s fingers tangled in his hair, his rough lips branded her flesh. Her strangled moan died beneath his thirsting kiss. Arching her back, Marlena felt him straining against the rough cotton denim of his jeans. But his answering groan was almost lost in the deafening whirr of passion as she struggled to free the last button of his shirt—just a rumbling bass that passed through the hand pressed flat against his chest. Feeling the rough bark scratch against his back, John leaned forward—felt the suffocating fabric slip away. The light stubble on his chin burned against the delicate skin just above her breasts. With awkward innocence his hands found the clasp of her bra. Cast onto the dying embers the fragile silk snapped loudly, John’s lone clammy hand slid down the length of her spine to settle just beneath the waistband of her jeans. Feeling Marlena shiver, he paused. Unsure, his intense blue-black eyes lifted—begged for confirmation. His gentle fingers swept the hair from her face—tucked it loosely behind her ear. For an instant her eyes grew wide, liquid honey, only to resume their drowsy pose. Drawn forth as if from some unseen force, she kissed him—her tongue skimming the roof of his mouth. Tiny beads of sweat made a slow trickling stream down her back as forgotten flames kissed the darkness.  With burning lungs he renewed his quest—feathered kisses down her throat, nipped across her shoulder and back again to find refuge in the mysterious hollow that caused her to bend like a willow in the wind. He could feel his zipper give way beneath her insistent fingers—feel her hand slide beneath his briefs and over his ass until he was finally free. Slowly his lips wound a path to her heart. Drowned in the luxury of her throaty moan, his tongue flicked out, swirled around her nipple as his hands followed suit—pealed away the delicate flowers embroidered down the length of her long slender legs. Propping himself up, one calloused hand stroked lightly and spanned her ribcage as John’s eyes once again found hers. A strange unspoken question smoldered—sated the air with desire. Her hands lifted to frame his face—pulled him down to take possession of his mouth. Carefully he sank into her. A flash of pain crossed over her face, but he could not focus—ground his eyes shut as the pressure built, welcomed the nails that bit into the flesh of his back and furrowed up his shoulders. For a moment he thought he might die—die a beautiful and perfect death. Till finally the tension popped and their staggered uneven breathing united in a torrid rhythm.

 

He shuddered—cool, damp grass played lightly in the hair on his forearm. Shifting subtly, her warm thighs hugged his waist. John trembled, it seemed as though his muscles had turned pure liquid. Collapsing, his ragged joy tickled against her bellybutton. Lovingly knotting her fingers into his long unruly hair, Marlena’s eyes grew sleepily bright and her lips curled contentedly at the soft caress at the flare of her hip. His question escaped an exhausted velvety murmur “Marry me?” as the heavy sheen of sweat grew cold on his naked flesh.

 

The metamorphosis was sudden—with frightening dexterity the honeyed taste of Marlena’s flesh upon his lips replaced by a mouth full of mud and the stench of death. Rolling to his stomach, John’s body grew rigid. A ghostly strand of light bled through the blind’s missing slat—cast an eerie cloud over his drawn lifeless face. Facedown in a memory, his eyes darted violently beneath their lids.

 

Roused into semi-consciousness by the icy water running over his naked backside, skin raw and aching, he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of survival—tried to make himself breathe. Blindly he turned his head to the side as the membranes in his nose began to burn. The smoky aroma of spent artillery lingered like a dull fog. Gasping, a paralysis of recollection took hold. Mud, bitter and slimy, collected around the corners of his lips and his eyes slowly slit open—landed on Wolf’s bloodshot glaze mortally frozen in time. John clenched his eyes shut, but the image didn’t fade. Swallowing hard, a bit of earth dropped leaden in his belly. His eyes scanned the length of Wolf’s new flesh—a cautious study in death, improper. Foolish disconnected questions—noting how Wolf’s coal-black skin seemed reborn into a new and regal hue like lush grapes hanging heavy on the vine, imagining what thoughts must of have passed behind those eyes just before the bullet impacted or if there was even time for thought. Death grazed the bottom of his feet; floated down stream, pale blue and bloated, continued on past the scattered remains that littered the bank. Mentally he began to catalogue the parts—tried to unite them with the population of his mind. It was fruitless—just a mismatched Frankenstein monster created to accompany him through his nightmare.

 

Turning, John buried his face in a shallow muddy grave and wondered when the dust-off would come…if it would come. No doubt they had been stupid fucks to separate, but the day had been so hot and deceptively uneventful…. Just a foolish, childish moment—carefree, naked and splashing in the murky knee-deep water…was that really so much to ask? He hoped Plato and the others had been more fortunate in their careless disregard. Squinting, his eyes kept vigil on the burning sun as it slunk behind the craggy mountainside. Sticky life leaked out of him and still all he could manage was to blink back the nebulous shadows—a vain struggle against the confusion that plagued his mind. Not even sure where he’d been shot, just naked and bleeding to death. His ears keened in a nauseating moment of clarity—in the near distance a radio droned. Turning upstream, John tried to focus in the waning light—saw the pool of blood beneath one lone brave bastard who’d somehow managed to make it out of the water and to his gun, took note of the bugs that had begun to feed. Tears stung his eyes, there was no way in hell help would come…. No way in hell anyone could have possibly managed to call for reinforcements. A chuckle gurgled painfully in his chest—“talk about being caught with your pants down.” The thought like the attack was vicious and occurred without warning.

 

With desperate fingers John clawed the wet sod, crawled from the riverbed—a rosary of heresy plastered against his chest. Sliding into a pair of fatigues, he tried to make his numb hands cooperate—yelped as the zipper’s stubborn teeth caught in his pubic hair. The rough material grated against still wet skin—felt small and binding like he’d stepped into another man’s flesh. Maybe he had. He tested his legs—rubbery they gave beneath him. Limply and gangling he fell to his ass as again the radio hissed in the distance. Then like a compass pointing north, he followed the sound on barebelly—futilely collecting weapons along the way…a knife at his hip, a handgun tucked in his back waistband, a rifle slung over his shoulder, a few magazines of ammo stuffed in his pockets.

 

Blood crusted in his hair and down into the crease of his right eye until John felt half-blind. Nerve-endings teetered between life and death—momentarily awakened by blistering jolts of pain coursing through his body. Head heavy with exhaustion, it seemed like hours he’d been crawling. Hours or minutes—it was hard to tell especially in the growing nightfall. Like everything else the radio was dead—suffocated in a river of blood, choked on extraneous body parts, dammed up with life lost. Or maybe it was his imagination. Maybe the radio never existed at all. He couldn’t remember…was it on his back when the company split? His arms buckled—fell face first. A pilfered prayer list noosed round his neck to spy the hammering of fear against his left breastbone till his entire body shook. Making promises he would soon forget, “just a few minutes rest, “ John sighed—let his eyes fade closed as the river screamed truths unremembered. He wondered where she was at right now? What she was doing? If she still tasted of honey? Tears gathered on his eyelashes—set off a watery bloodstained trail down his cheek. John’s anguished voice cracked the surreal blackened calm, “Jesus, I don’t want to die all alone.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHT: SCAR TISSUE

 

The image of Eric’s happy chortle as she’d helped to hold the phone up to his little ear played in Marlena’s recollections. She could tell her Mom and Dad had been disappointed at the news she and the children wouldn’t be home for Thanksgiving, but they seemed to understand. And if not, well then at least all was forgiven with her cheery surrender of the line to the children. With one last glance at the photo of Carrie and the twins perched on the corner of her desk, she smiled and muttered to herself. “Best defense man has ever created—children, equipped with charms no one can resist.” Her gaze drifted over to the small crystal clock her mother had given her upon completion of her residency at John’s Hopkins.

 

They’d driven all the way from Colorado to surprise her…arrived home to find them sitting outside her door—waiting, a gaily wrapped gift resting in her mother’s lap. It was an awkward moment, but pleasant as she fiddled with her keys. Their words hummed deafly in the air as Marlena answered them with her own dull, mindless clucks of agreement. Truthfully, she felt rather drunk by the unexpectedness of it all…well that and the couple of bottles of wine she and her friends had consumed at the celebratory dinner. Pushing the door open she stumbled over the clutter—instantly blushed like a messy child confronted with her crime. Silly of course, her parents knew she was moving in a couple of weeks. Still, she fidgeted nervously and tried futilely to pin her newly cropped hair back behind her ears. Frank hugged her tightly—his robust laugh echoing off the thin walls of her tiny apartment. ”Sweetheart, we’re so proud of you.”

 

Marlena felt the tears welling up—begin a rivulet down her cheeks as she met her mother’s beaming expression from over her father’s shoulder.  “For your new office.” Martha’s voice was low and thready as she extended the package. Marlena nibbled her lower lip self-consciously—began clearing the books and clothes from her sofa. Sitting down together, they eyed her expectantly. Her mouth curled insecurely and a dusty pink painted her complexion, like a shy virgin she undressed the gift—folded the paper neatly, carefully placed it atop the scattered ruins just beside the portrait of herself securely wrapped in John’s arms. Candid and raw—taken in the misty shadows of the Colorado Rockies. An ancient musty scent fought the oppressive memory of perfume. Feeling parched, she pursed her lips and swallowed—pulled the lid off the box. The light from the pink bulb of her side lamp became ensnared. The delicate crystal blinked back at her as her eyes widened. Cool beneath her gentle fingertips a sense of sobriety washed over her as her eyes wandered from the beautiful clock back to her mother’s face. “It just seemed like something that belonged in a doctor’s office.”  For a moment, Marlena rested her chin in her hand. Her mother had been right—that clock did belong in her office. With a small plaintive sigh she stood and smoothed the line of her pearl colored wool gabardine skirt and slid into the matching cropped blazer—went in search of her afternoon coffee.

 

Rounding the corner, Marlena could see the tension etched on Laura’s brow. Briefly, Marlena’s fingers toyed with the hoop of her earring as the seed of an idea took root. Bright and coaxing her voice interrupted Laura’s mood. “You know that will give you wrinkles, right?”

 

Laura chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well tell me something in this world that doesn’t give you wrinkles? I mean there’s worry lines, laugh lines, frown lines…” Her voice faded. “Any day now some genius dermatologist will probably give a paper on his ground breaking discovery—ecstasy lines.”

 

Marlena laughed loudly—miserably failed to stifle her amusement within her clasped fist. There lilting vibrations poured over her response. “Oh my, but we are in a bad mood…” Leaning closer, she whispered. “Think of it this way, if you’ve gotta get wrinkles could there possibly be a more entertaining way to earn them? Shoot, I think I could almost enjoy growing old gracefully.”

 

Without turning her head, Laura’s eyes shifted in her direction. Muttering, she fought to subdue a smile. “Screw gracefully.”

 

“Well I think that is rather the point.” Confused a nurse turned their direction as both erupted into a fit of girlish giggles.

 

Finally regaining her composure, Laura wiped the tears from the crease of her eye. For a second her lips quirked—twitched with the unspoken. As she turned and made her way into the lounge, Laura couldn’t help but call back. “You know, I think I’ve been a bad influence on you…maybe you should consider finding a higher caliber of friend.”

 

“You think?” Laura nodded in mock solemnity. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t listen to a thing you say.” With an air of triumph Marlena turned and filled her mug with coffee—smiled at the sound of the chair behind her scuffing against the tile floor. Turning again, she joined Laura at the table. “Let me guess, the weather?” Getting no reply, she playfully continued. “The dreary cold gray, the barren trees…”

 

Interrupting, “It’s Jennifer…” Marlena could see the cloud of turmoil sweep over her features. Shaking her head slightly, Laura’s eyes finally lifted from the subtle pick in her winter-white cashmere sweater. “Tell me, just how did I become the stupidest person on the face of the earth?”

 

A small sympathetic laugh escaped. “That’s easy.” Marlena grinned as with precise detail she gestured—each finger tallying another time-honored fact. “First, she’s a teenager. Second, you’re over the age of thirty. And last but not least, you’re her mother.” Sighing, she leaned forward. “Face it my friend, you’ve probably got at least another five years to go. Five more years of eye rolls, heavy sighs…”

 

Laura’s rich brown eyes drew into sharp focus. “And then I get to pass the torch to you, right?”

 

“My children are going to be the exception to the rule.” The tight smirk that curved Laura’s lips demanded Marlena’s caveat. “Fine…until I have reason to believe otherwise, my children are going to be the exception to the rule.” Marlena took another sip of her coffee as Laura relaxed back into her chair. “Seriously, how are things between you and Jennifer?”

 

“Honestly?” Marlena nodded. “Tense…every time I think I’m making some kind of headway it seems like something happens—and the walls are right back in place.” Laura frowned. “And the bad part is most of the time I’m not even sure what it is that’s happened.”

 

“I think you know.” Marlena’s eyes glowed. “It’s not anything new…it’s about the same thing it’s always been about. It’s about trust.” At the sound of a page coming over the intercom, they paused to listen—watched a nurse come and go as the silence once again descended. “I know it’s hard, but just keep loving her and giving her time and space…eventually she’ll come around.”

 

“I know you’re right.” Laura’s eyes shimmered. “I just worry about her, and I want…” Shaking her head, she stopped as if unsure exactly what she wanted.

 

Crossing her legs, Marlena shifted toward Laura. “Of course you do, honey. She’s your daughter. I know it’s not the same thing as having her with you, but at least you know she’s safe and cared for with Tom and Alice. Besides, just think about how much progress you’ve made already since returning home. She’s turning to you more and more. And the fact that you’re disagreeing…well that’s only further proof of your normalcy.”

 

Laura leaned forward—lightly massaging her temples. “Normal, huh?”

 

“Afraid so.” Looking past Laura, she checked the time.  

 

Noting her distraction, Laura joked. “What’s the matter…got a date to get ready for?”  

 

“Sort of…” Laura’s expression brightened in happy surprise. “Carrie’s with Anna tonight and the twins are with Shawn and Caroline. So I figured since I’m childless anyway…I’m meeting Calliope for dinner.”

 

Laura’s face fell in time with her droll monotone reply. “That’s not a date.”

 

Standing, Marlena made her way back to the coffeepot for one last refill. “This from a woman who just last week told me she had a date with Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. And who’s the hot date this weekend?”

 

She laughed somewhat guiltily. “Faulkner.”

 

The lights paled as the generator groaned—began another cycle. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought.”

 

Laura stiffened in her seat. “But it’s hardly the same thing”

 

Marlena smiled. “You’re right…one of us has an excuse.”

 

As if unsure, Laura shook her head before changing the subject. “Well, we’ve talked about my little family melodramas…so why don’t you tell me how you’ve been doing. Are you still having trouble sleeping—still being bothered by dreams?”

 

“I’m fine.” Laura eyed her closely. “Honest, my feet firmly planted in reality.”  

 

Making her way to the door, Marlena grinned—averted further conversation. “I better go finish some paperwork if I’m going to make my…” her eyes twinkled “date on time.”

 

Laura called back to her. “Yeah, don’t forget to keep track of all the kinky details.”

 

Marlena laughed. “I wouldn’t think of it…. Talk to you tomorrow.”

 

~~~

 

They emerged into the cool amethyst twilight—the clank of bottles still echoing behind them. Mooch mumbled. “Cheap bastards.”

 

Dully, Sam bristled. “What did you expect?”

 

Annoyed he looked back to the collection center—the volume of his voice on a steady incline. “I expected more than $1.95 for spending my entire day rummaging through people’s trash collecting bottles…sorting them—clear, green, blue, brown…. What the hell are we supposed to do with a buck ninety-five? Put a down payment on that new split-level Magnavox box in an alley on the upscale side of town?” Picking up a discarded McDonald’s wrapper, he chucked it and the slimy green, half-eaten burger against the side of the building.

 

“No. But keep pulling stunts like that and we’ll end up with some lovely free accommodations at the local jail.” Grabbing Mooch by the arm, John lightly tugged him back toward the waterfront. “Besides, we don’t’ have time to worry about the blood-sucking capitalist pigs behind the bottling industry…. As cold as it is, the shelter’s going to fill up quick.”

 

Their pace picked up marginally—hindered by Sam’s awkward gait, an extra hitch in his partially deadened left leg. “Why don’t you two go on? No reason we all should get stuck out in the cold…besides, maybe if you get there in time you can convince them to save a place for me.” Trying to smile, it eroded into a pained grimace.

 

Looking at Mooch, John flicked his eyes down the street and past to the unseen broken-down cots they’d come to think of as home. “It’s not a bad idea.” Mooch nodded, broke into a mulish jog.

 

Rounding the final turn, John’s ears perked at the sound of Mooch’s belligerent cursing. “He who strikes first,” they always used to say. Leaving Sam at the mouth of the alley, John approached—saw Mooch’s anger rising at the supervisor’s quiet refusal to open the door. Stepping into the light, the shelter supervisor stood just behind the partially covered plate-glass door—impassive in the face of Mooch’s venomous protests. The strain stretched across Mr. Wendell’s face—his lips thinned to invisibility. With a violent jerk, John sent Mooch stumbling—his desperate booming voice still reverberating off the walls. With pleading eyes, John frowned apologetically as a fed-up and exhausted shadow peaked out from the blinds’ dim cover. The reaction was faint—a flick of the wrist, a gesture of disgust. John quickly left—hoping he could diffuse Mooch.

 

Sam’s low gruff voice and simple question perplexed Mooch—sent him into momentary spasms of silence. “Now what?”

 

John closed his eyes—his hand dragging down the entire length of his face. Sighing, his fingers scratched at his wooly beard. “You’re sober.” With a rueful sense of melancholy, Sam nodded.

 

A gust of wind whistled through the alleyway. Accentuated by dirt and grime, deep chasms dug into Mooch’s brow. “What the hell does Sam’s state drunkenness have to do with anything?”

 

Impatiently, John snapped. “Would you shut up?” Tension crackled all around them—an unseen electrical charge. John’s cobalt eyes burned. Looking at Sam, his lips curved cat-like. “You feel up for a game or two of pool?”

 

As the last strands of light began to dim in the overcast sky, Sam chuckled. “Yeah, but how?”

 

Riffling through his pockets, money collected in his palms. Mooch’s black eyes widened—his voice dangerously mild. “You’ve been holding out on us, Black.”

 

John’s head lifted. Staring back at him cold and hard, his eyes matched his tone—dared him to take exception. “I seem to recall buying more than my fair share of hooch lately.” Without further comment, he began counting the bills in his hands. Sam eyed the money thirstily.

 

Mooch stopped following the count at fifty-six—instead focusing his attention on John. “Are you not even going to tell us where it came from?”

 

“Blood money.” John muttered miserably and continued to count.

 

Mooch scoffed disbelievingly. “You’d have to be a fuckin’ zombie to earn that kind of money donating blood.”

 

Lifting his head, John found his face in the darkness—looked back at him through milky, lifeless eyes. “Maybe I am.” John shuffled the money into a neat pile. “I’ve got seventy-three dollars.”

 

Mooch’s mind felt foolishly rational in the midst of an insane circus. “Well, shit, with that kind of money why don’t we just go get a hotel for the night?”

 

For the first time, an air of inflexibility fluttered about John. “Maybe I don’t want to stay in a hotel, or maybe I just don’t want to pay for your damn room.”

 

Sam laughed—tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t think he was suggesting the Ritz, buddy.” John’s gaze remained steady and unchanged.

 

Frustrated, Mooch backed up. “Fine…it doesn’t make any goddamned sense, but have it your way.” Turning, he exited the alley. The wind fought to rustle his filthy hair as it swallowed up his words. “Well, come on…we’ve got to go find a bar so Sam can play pool hustler and so we can blow Black’s wad.”

 

~~~

 

Marlena blinked a couple of times—watched Liz float around the room from table to table, ever the gracious hostess. Blondie’s seemed awfully crowded for a cold Wednesday night. Glancing at her watch, she couldn’t help but wonder what was keeping Calliope—smiled a little at the thought. There was always such a joyous aura of frivolity about she and Eugene. Their mood was always contagious—always made her walk away feeling lighter than when she’d arrived.

 

Brightly colored and unseasonably dressed, Calliope fluttered into the room. Chirped a frenzied song of greeting. “Oh Marlena…I know I’m late. I’m sorry, but Euge called, and then Martha ate one of my designs…”

 

The stream of consciousness melody soared past her almost too chaotic to completely comprehend. Taking a sip of her water, Marlena grinned—felt the pounds melt away from her heavy spirits. She spoke with the perpetual motion of a hummingbird—stilling only when the waiter approached to take their orders. “The dog ate your homework, huh?” Mid-drink, her head bobbed in reply. “So how’s Gene?”

 

Tapping a little extra sugar into her tea, Calliope absentmindedly began to stir. “Oh, same old Euge—busy, busy, busy…” Pausing, she tested the drink with a small swallow. For a moment Marlena couldn’t help but hope the tea was decaffeinated. “Always pre-occupied with this invention or that idea.”

 

Marlena poured the dressing over her salad. “I can tell you miss him.” Her eyes softened. “When is he supposed to arrive home from the conference?”

 

Calliope pecked at her food. “Too soon.”

 

In confusion, Marlena’s voice climbed an octave. “What?”

 

Her hackles seemed to rise. “He thinks he knows everything…. Not talked to him in almost two weeks and the big jerk picked a fight with me and over what?” With a dramatic flap of the hands, “just because some strange homeless man gave me a hundred dollars for damaging my car.” Not noting Marlena’s questioning glance, Calliope answered the initial question. “He’s supposed to be home Saturday afternoon.”

 

Marlena wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “What’s this about your car?”

 

Calliope’s eyes whirled dizzily. “I told you about that, didn’t I?” Her brow puzzled in thought. Giving up the ghost, she shook her head and continued. “It was a week or so before Halloween…I was at the thrift shop down by the riverfront—my side window got busted. Oh, I found this great antique headdress. Ivory lace, teardrop pearls and feathers—perfect for a wedding design…”

 

Marlena smiled—guided the conversation back to task. “Calliope, your car?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t know…cops said a car backfired or something.” Shrugging, “set him off and he put his fist through the glass.”

 

Marlena felt trembly—laid her fork down. Swallowing hard, she leaned forward. “When did this happen?”

 

Confused, Calliope looked over the rim of her glass. “The money or the car?”

 

Her voice sounded hoarse. “Both.”

 

“Let’s see…” Her fingers grasped a strand of hair—began unconsciously twirling it. “Friday, the window was broke on a Friday.” Finally her mossy eyes came into focus. Her words again took flight. “So I guess the following Monday…” Liz skirted the table, distracting Calliope. “Liz, the sketch of the gown you wanted is done…I have it here somewhere.” Flustered, Marlena thought about turning her attention back to her meal, but the idea was unsettling. Giving up the notion, she and Liz made small talk. Out of the corner of her eye she continued to watch Calliope riffling through her purse in search of the sketch—her mind felt numb with possibilities. Muted by the cloth tablecloth, Calliope smacked a small spiral notepad down on the corner of the table. “Ugh, where is it?”

 

Seeing Dave’s gesture, Liz nodded subtly. “You know that’s alright. You two came here for dinner, not work.” Liz’s hand rested comfortingly on Calliope’s bare shoulder. “We can get together another time and you can show me the plans for my beautiful new dress.” She smiled before hurrying off. “Enjoy.”

 

Marlena grew anxious waiting for Calliope to continue—felt foolishly disappointed when she did not. She tried to keep her tone casual—failed miserably. “He came to see you on Monday. Where?”

 

“Uh, yeah at the thrift shop…” Her fingers spread in wild gesticulation. “Came in to pay for the damages…looked kind of wobbly on his feet—like maybe he hadn’t eaten in a while.” Taking a few more bites of food, her eyes seemed to stare through Marlena to the bar. She squinted in thought—said nothing. Marlena fought the urge to shake her—was about to give in when Calliope continued. “And who knows the last time he’d bathed, the only thing that overpowered the body odor was the faint trace of alcohol.” Noting how her eyes grew bright, Marlena stiffened—slumped at the sound of Calliope’s pencil scratching across an already cluttered page. Foolishly, she felt the tears begin to sting her eyes—sensed the exhaustion settling heavy in her bones so much so that she almost missed the soft bubbly conclusion. “He left before I even had the chance to recover and give him back his money.” Calliope’s brow lifted. “Now I ask you, is that anything for Euge and I to argue about?”

 

Mentally, Marlena rebuilt the notes for Neil’s John Doe. “What did he look like? Did he give you a name?”

 

Calliope’s attention had fallen back to her food. With natural ease, she wound the spaghetti round her fork. “Who?”

 

Taking a deep cleansing breath, Marlena tried to regain her composure—kept reminding herself of Laura’s words, million to one shot. “The homeless man.”

 

“Oh, he didn’t tell me his name.” Innocently, “Why?”

 

Marlena stammered. “Uh…I, um, think he may have been the John Doe consult that Neil asked for…” Calliope’s expression was blank and so Marlena continued. “But he ran off before I could get down to the ER.”

 

“Oh…” A light blush crept up Marlena’s neck—a guilty reflection of her half-truth. “Well he looked, uh, hard…” Seeing the glaze begin to once again form, Marlena pre-empted the loss of focus—remembered how Roman used to go about forming a composite and asked for specific details. “His hair was kind of matted up, but long, dark brown. And he had a beard—scruffy and very thick…except for the full, pouty bottom lip it almost hid his mouth entirely.”

 

Marlena’s features softened as she hung on Calliope’s every word—hazel eyes glistening bright. “A beard?”

 

With a slight nod she continued. “Apart from a bandaged hand, I couldn’t tell much about his body…all bundled up—upper body almost completely lost in an oversized threadbare coat.” As if finished, a deep silence descended upon them only to be split in two. “Oh, and his eyes…he had blue eyes—beautiful haunted blue eyes.”

 

Marlena swallowed hard—took a moment to digest the wondrous azure desire that Calliope’s words resurrected. One last raspy question issued forth. “What did his voice sound like?”

 

Calliope strained—tried to resurrect the sound in her head. “It was low, nearly a whisper…” Her head cocked to one side as if listening. “the kind of voice that every so often you feel like a vibration.” At the look of almost fearful hope lighting Marlena’s face, Calliope smiled tentatively. “Can I ask you a question now?” Taking her silence as tacit agreement, she pressed forward. “This isn’t about a patient?” Marlena smiled shyly and offered a subtle reply—a slight shake of the head no.

 

~~~

 

Beneath a cloud of heavy smoke they cut through the dim light—obscured and graceless.  At their backs red, blue and gold neon glowed warm, heralded the invitation of stale beer lingering in the heavy air. Sidling up to the bar, John’s eyes began to burn. Undeterred, he blinked back the irritation and muttered to Sam and Mooch. “Remember, slow…” Dully, he eyed the bartender…graying at the temples, middle-aged thick resting over his large silver belt buckle and studiously ignoring their offending presence. With a subtle wave, John motioned to him. Mooch bristled beside him as the only response forthcoming was an overwhelming sense of silent scrutiny from the small scruffy disenchanted crowd. Dangerously amiable, John applied direct action. “Yo, buddy…” The bartender turned—almost invisible eyes landing squarely on the trio. A tight smile stretched across John’s lips. “Can I get a couple beers for my buddies and me?” Except for the low rumbling baritone of Johnny Cash on the jukebox, an eerie calm echoed through the room.

 

An air of suspicion flirted across his face. The moment lingered like a foul distaste on the tongue. John’s brow arched in mute challenge—watched the man struggle to work his mouth into words. “Bottle?”  John nodded. The bartender’s expression hardened in response. “That’ll be three, seventy-five.”

 

John sneered. “What, no tab?” Reaching into his side pocket, he extracted some loose bills—his grimy fingers placed four ones down before the bartender. John’s face flushed. Sound like tinkling cymbals, the beers snapped open. “Where’s the head?” With a dismissive flick of the wrist, the retreating form motioned in the opposite direction.

 

Scrubbed until his skin felt dry and cracked, his hands stood out white against the phantom dirt. A fluorescent light flickered overhead. The image in the mirror mocked him—told lies, resurrected masks. Squinting, John ran his fingers through his shaggy beard—imagined the boy he once was, the boy he always thought his mother had dreamed him to be. Leaning in closer, his sapphire eyes brightened at the thought that he was still there…somewhere, hidden beneath the veil of darkness. The warm water continued to flood into the sink. His gaze remained locked in the reflection as he worked the soap in his hands into a full lather. Closing his eyes, he futilely washed across his face—frowned when rather than dissipate the shadow seemed to spread into the basin and over the entire span of the small dingy bathroom.  With a bone-weary sigh, he made his way back out to Sam and Mooch. Drowned out by the auspicious greeting of a clean solid break, the door clicked shut behind him.

 

Joining Mooch in the corner, John sat down and began nursing his beer—watched Sam line up a shot, toy with some one-eyed ruffian. John’s brow knitted in concentration as his fingers pealed the label off his bottle. A knowing smirk lit Mooch’s features—caused John to twist uncomfortably in his chair like a sinner unwittingly sucked into the baptismal waters. Filthy streaks of camouflage, the poor man’s shroud captured his attention—forced a grim chuckle to erupt. “I think you missed a few spots.”

 

“Yeah well, nobody’s perfect.” Standing up, John tipped his naked bottle in Mooch’s direction. “Case in point…”

 

Black and bottomless he stared back at John. “Luckily some of us have never felt the need to be anything more than what we are.”

 

John’s eyes darted briefly to Sam. “And what are we?”

 

Mooch shrugged. “Miracles of mediocrity.”

 

A weary laugh gurgled in John’s chest. “Feeling optimistic? I fear we’re more than a few rungs beneath mediocre…. You need another beer?”

 

Without waiting for a reply, John made his way back to the barkeep—took heart in the sound of Sam’s call, “eight ball corner pocket” and the unfamiliar muttered curse that followed the shot.  “Whatcha say…double or nothin’?” Without comment, John gave Sam a fresh beer, slid back into the relative security of a drunkard’s customary comfort—bad lighting.

 

Unconsciously, John handed Mooch his drink. Taking a sip, he considered the tremors of intensity that peered back from behind the unyielding vision of this manmade Cyclops—stiffened at the wild constraint in his voice. “What’s your game, pal?”

 

Clumsily limping forward, Sam’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “I think that’s obvious…eight ball.” Feeling alive for the first time in years, his gray eyes twinkled. “Now if you’re not man enough…”

 

A warning prickled up the back of John’s neck too late to register as an uneven struggle bounced across the room—a broken pool cue, a blow to the gut, staggering wounded prey. Stalled by the bartenders booming voice. “Damn it, Patch! Don’t make me call the cops…”

Unhearing, Patch pushed Sam into the pool table, his one eye shone bright and clear. He leaned in close, his hot breath escaped in a gravelly hiss. “I’ll show you man enough.”

 

Sam slid to the ground as John pulled Patch off of him and into Mooch’s waiting ire. “Yeah, you’re man enough…man enough to go after a cripple.”

 

Slamming his beefy fist down onto the heavy oak bar, “You bust up my bar, and I’ll have all your asses hauled to the county jail so fast your heads will spin.”

 

Seeing the phone receiver dangle precariously in the bartender’s free hand, John held up his hands in a show of peace. His voice was low and calm. “Look that won’t be necessary.” Carefully he righted an overturned table—slid skewed chairs back into place. “We don’t want any trouble…”

 

A derisive snort found its way out of the smoky fog. With conscious distraction, he dried a mug. “Frankly, I don’t care what you fellas want…. You are trouble.”

 

John hated the almost pleading sound of his voice pounding in his skull. “There’s no real damage here…” Reaching, he laid the broken pool cue on the counter before him. “I’ll pay for the damages…” The older man looked unconvinced. “And buy the house a round of drinks.”

 

Slithering up beside him, Patch whispered. “You’re gonna pay for the damages…gonna buy the house a round a drinks?” Playfully tugging at the grubby collar of John’s fraying flannel shirt, he couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice. “How you gonna manage that Moneybags?”

 

Disembodied chuckles arose to mock him. With frightening dexterity, he pinned Patch against the wall—ground his forearm into the flesh of his throat, leaned in so close that whiskey breath wheezed against John’s jaw as their gazes locked. John blinked back burning tears—his words broken, an almost silent guttural growl. “You know I would think…that someone in such a unique position as yourself…” tapping a ghostly white index finger against his eye patch “would have learned a long time ago that those who see only with their eyes all too often don’t see at all.” Feeling Mooch at his back, John relaxed the pressure on Patch’s windpipe and his eyes softened. Without turning, he backed up to the bar—his hands finding refuge in his coat pockets. “Things aren’t always what they seem.” Cautiously, he glanced at Sam. “I think we’ve about worn out our welcome here at the Cheatin’ Heart…Pick up your money for the game.” Pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, he dropped it blindly on the bar. “There should be at least fifty dollars there…I think that should cover the pool cue and the round of drinks.”  

 

Thumbing through bills, “Whatever, just get out.”

 

CHAPTER NINE: STANDING IN THE DOORWAY

 

Looking out on the fading horizon, Marlena gathered her suede coat more securely around her—settled down into the old wooden swing. The wind rustled the loose tendrils of her haphazard ponytail. Wistfully, she smiled at the sounds of tag football floating over the Wilson’s back fence. A snobbish pile of leaves congregated in the corner while others scattered—wild and willful. Lord how she hated yard work. She missed those lazy Saturdays spent reading to the children on the back deck, missed the way Roman used to smile up at her from time to time—sweaty and hungry, but content. She’d always marveled at his contentment, had been instantly attracted to his peace of mind and his humor. The attraction was a curious revelation that she’d never quite become completely accustomed to. Awakening questions in her mind at the strangest of times—resurrecting a war between joy and pangs of longing for a time and a love that was never calm but rather a tempestuous raging storm. The coffee mug felt oppressively hot against the palm of her hand. Inhaling deeply, caffeine nirvana beckoned to her. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes—rocked gently in the arms of another lifetime.

 

Pale dusty light filtered through the branches of an ancient oak tree standing naked above a bed of fallen leaves. She felt naked too—raw and exposed. Tears stung her eyes—compelled her to turn away. In the distance, a young boy wobbled unsure on a much too big bike. Martha’s call to dinner still hung in the air. Marlena’s voice escaped a hoarse whispering plea. “How long have you known?” Out of the corner of her eye she could see John flinch uncomfortably, still the silence seemed to spread like the waning light. Impatiently she turned—amber burned as her voice desperately climbed an octave. “How long? How long have you been carrying around that damned induction notice?”

 

John’s shoulders sagged and his face fell in half-shadow—wounded electric eyes hidden beneath his shaggy mane. His answer was almost inaudible. “Since July.” Stunned, Marlena watched mutely as his body grew boneless—slid down to the curb. His ass ached against the concrete.

 

Marlena’s eyes darted confused and helpless—blindly surveyed the supposed suburban haven. Finally a dull and frayed yellow ribbon captured her attention. Her tongue stumbled over dry, bruised lips as she found her home by John’s side. “You’ve known for two months?” His head drooped between his knees. She could see the tremors ripple down his back—could feel them beneath her hand that unconsciously lifted to rub a soothing pattern against his thin denim jacket.

 

Lifting his bloodshot eyes, a trickle of snot curved round the side of his pursing lips—self-consciously he sniffed, wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Arrested, she choked back a sob. “I uh…” Flustered, his hand lifted to muss his hair. The sun was sinking fast. Looking out across the fiery sky tumbling off the edge of the earth, he groaned loudly—the once unspoken broke in a flood of torrent waves as he turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have…I tried—a hundred times I must have tried, but…” Dejected, his words petered off as his gaze fell to a line of tar dribbled across the asphalt. “I just had to figure out what to do first.” Sniffing again, he shook his head and apologized—low and pained. “I’m sorry.”

 

For sometime they sat quietly. Their identical blank stares locked on some common unseen focal point. Futilely the door behind them opened and closed, Frank’s final summons lost in the deafening whir of a new reality. Without thought John reached for her hand as his calloused fingers delicately tracing over her palm, down the length of her life line and across the fragile ridge of her love line. Marlena cleared away her tears with her free hand—scooched closer. A musky manly scent awoke her senses. Her hand slipped from his tender caress to grasp his firm thigh, coaxed an involuntary moan from his tear-worn throat. Her raspy voice interrupted—half question, half statement.  “You’re not going?”

 

A streetlight began to glow to life—fought off the mutinous darkness. Turning his head, John hesitant cloudy eyes gazed at her intently. He shifted numbly. “It wasn’t exactly an invitation, you know.” Seeing her frown at the tone of his light sarcasm, his voice broke—softened marginally. “Well, what would you have me to do, Marlena?”

 

Biting into his flesh, angry fingernails fought stiff denim. Her thundering hazel eyes flashed. “Leave! Run for Christ’s sake!”

 

Stubbornly submissive, John shook his head sadly. “I can’t do that.”

 

Marlena’s brow furrowed. “If it wasn’t about leaving, then just what in the world did you have to figure out that it took you two months to tell me about this?” His dogged silence infuriated her. “Huh…what, do I not even deserve an answer?”

 

John’s reply took flight in a quiet breathless exhalation. One simple word quivered over his lips, voluminous and complex. “You.”

 

His deep soulful eyes met hers. Confused, Marlena couldn’t help but question. “Me?”

 

Her hand fell away from his leg. “Marlena, when I asked you to marry me last summer, I meant it…”

 

She couldn’t help the bright smile that tugged at her lips. “Well I should hope so.”

 

Almost as if unhearing, John continued. Passion poured over her. “I want to share my life with you; I want to be your husband; I want to spend the next fifty or sixty years wrapped up in your presence; I want us to have a beautiful little baby who’ll call me Daddy…have your gorgeous green eyes and flirty little smile…”

 

John’s image swam before her as she interrupted. “No, no she’ll have your eyes.”

 

Caressing her face, he tried to smile.  “I want those things, Baby. I want them more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

 

Pushing forward, she kissed him softly—breathed her reply against the stubbly flesh of his jaw. “So do I.” Her lips poised there beside his ear, she could almost hear his drumming heart heavy in his chest and raised her hand to rest on its steady vibrato beat. Suddenly, his train of thought blossomed into her understanding—her long fingers atrophied, budded tight. “No…”

 

Carefully, John wrapped his hands around her clenched fists—kissed them. His face was sad, but earnest.  “How is that dream going to come true if I run away?”

 

Her lips curled prettily—tried to hide her despair. “I’ll come with you.”

 

Closing his eyes, John shook his head subtly—fought not to let her blind him to common sense. She was thinking with her heart, not her head. He’d spent the better part of two months trying to come to some kind of conclusion… He was doing the right thing. He was; he knew he was. Besides maybe the army would provide the key to climbing out from under his father’s thumb once and for all. Maybe he’d make him proud.  “You have a future, Marlena. I won’t ask you to give that up.”

 

She could feel the walls going up even as she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear—emotional husky truths uttered without reservation. “You wouldn’t have to ask. Don’t you understand you are my future? I can go to school in Canada just as easily as I can go in Colorado.”

 

Shifting so that she straddled his lap, John hugged her close—brushed his lips at the hollow of her throat, relished in her sweet lilac perfume. Hushed, his words sent rumbling shockwaves down her spine. “And what about your family? It’s not fair of me to take them away from you or you away from them.” Kissing his way over to her ear, “I won’t do it! Please don’t ask me to.”

 

He felt the moment she gave up the fight. Felt it in the way her body shook, but mostly he felt it in the salty trail of tears that made a cascade down her cheek to meet his own. “So where does that leave us?”

 

John took his time—tried to bury the fear. Pulling back, his lips quirked gently as his clear, steady eyes met hers. “It’s just a year…. Just one year out of a lifetime…”

 

Exasperated by his seeming nonchalance, she snapped. “It’s a war!”

 

“Yeah, well so is my whole fuckin’ existence…” Turning away, Marlena winced as the light shone down on her stained complexion. Any minute her head would explode. She could feel the pressure building. She began to cry anew when John’s lips swept over her swollen eyelids. “The stakes are just higher…maybe, though, this has some higher purpose.”

 

Her fingers twisted the exposed flesh just beneath his love beads—caused him to release a small yelp of pain. “You and I both know you don’t believe that…. The least you can do is be honest with yourself.” John smiled guiltily as he rubbed at the fast-appearing red whelk. An edge of disdain painted Marlena’s next question. “So how much time do we have before you have to report for duty?”

 

Leaning into the shadows, his mouth found hers—breathed promises he hoped to fulfill. With a grin, John’s hands traveled the path of her spine only to find refuge in the rear pockets of her jeans. “We’ve got enough time to figure out all the ways to make your toes curl.”

 

“All the ways?” Marlena ground against him—watched him struggle to swallow, felt him come to life. “You’re either awfully confident, don’t have much of an imagination or think me a bit of a prude.” John’s moist whisper was enough to send her squirming, but when the fog finally lifted so that she could digest his fantasy the irises of her eyes disappeared into puddles of inky desire—caused her head to fall back, throaty laughter ascending to the heavens.  

 

Pulled from the web of memory by the muffled ringing of the doorbell, Marlena hurried inside. The house was unusually quiet—the fabric of her blue jeans swooshed softly at the meeting of her thighs. Running her finger beneath the gentle curve of her eyes, she captured a few resolute tears before calling out. “Coming.” Curious she checked the time on the wall clock—offered up a watery chuckle as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass, blindly reached for the doorknob. “Oh Jennifer…” Drawing herself up to her full height, Marlena smiled. “This is an unexpected surprise. What brings you by?”

 

With a disconcertingly impassive expression, Jennifer glanced down at the plate in her hands.  “Uh, Gran…she made an army load of donuts. Anyway, she asked me to bring some over.”

 

Marlena’s eyes twinkled and her brow arched in pleasant expectation. “Oh yummy. You be sure to tell her thank you.” Stepping to the side, she gestured. “Come in, please.”

 

A low sigh trembled beneath Jennifer’s lips. Embarrassed, she made her way beside the couch. Shifting impatiently, she watched Marlena shed her coat. Looking around, Jennifer’s face puzzled. “It’s quiet…. Where are Carrie and the twins?”

 

Taking the plate from her hands, Marlena grinned and began speaking even as she peeked under the foil covering. “Carrie’s with Anna this weekend. Sami’s caught a bit of a bug; she’s upstairs asleep…and I don’t really want two sick babies on my hands so Eric is spending the night with his grandparents.” Jennifer nodded. “Hungry?”

 

Her eyes narrowed on a bookshelf in the distance as she answered distractedly. “No, uh, that’s okay…there’s still two or three more batches at home.”  

 

“You don’t have to stand…sit down, make yourself comfortable.” For a moment Jennifer almost bristled at the seemingly clinical tone, but thought better of it. With a quiet huff, she crookedly sat down—her eyes now intently studying the stack of folders resting on the coffee table. “How about something to drink?”

 

Jennifer’s mouth curved into an uneasy smirk. “Soda.”

 

Smiling, she made her way toward the kitchen. “I think I can handle that.” Squeaky hinges marked her exit. Thinking of all Mike’s jokes about Marlena’s infamous kitchen skills, Jennifer released a girlish laugh.

 

Marlena couldn’t help but note the air of adolescent distrust that permeated the room and when the conversation turned to Laura, Jennifer grew virtually silent as if compelling herself to share only that which could be communicated in mute responses. From across the sofa, Marlena casually crossed her legs—almost grinned at the headstrong girl. Picking at her donut, she gave up on trying to engage her in any kind of conversation and opted instead to wait out the expectant quiet.

 

Jennifer twisted stiffly on the couch as she turned her body almost flush with the coffee table. The pearly fragments of cold sweat gathering on her glass felt clammy against the palm of her hand. Lifting it carefully to her lips, she heard one of the ice cubes snap loudly. Over the rim of her glass, she noted how Marlena stared calmly back at her. Suddenly, she felt scrutinized beneath the watchful eyes of her mother’s closest friend—decided her first instincts had been correct, this was not where she would find her answer. Still…. Again her eyes fell to the stack of patient files. “You always bring your work home with you?”

 

Momentarily taken aback by Jennifer’s tone of voice, a war of confusion and condemnation, she faltered. “Hmm?” Following the girl’s eyes, Marlena’s mind drew into sharp focus. “Oh…no, not usually. I’m afraid I’m still playing catch-up.” At the overt reference to her leave of absence, Jennifer blushed awkwardly. It was eerie but sometimes she thought she could almost hear Roman’s deep laughter floating into Gran’s kitchen. “And well, from time to time I will bring a file home to do a little research. Why?”

 

She shrugged. “I guess I just never thought of doctors as having homework. Aren’t the long hours bad enough?”

 

A low chuckle rumbled unreleased beneath Marlena’s breastbone. “I’ve never really thought about it that way…” Her brow furrowed lightly. “I can’t say as a doctor that I’ve never been bone-tired and longing for the first goodnight’s sleep in a week, but I love my job. I can’t imagine anything I’d rather be doing.”

 

Jennifer squinted in disbelief. “So you never felt like this was something you had to do?”

 

Marlena sat her plate down on the table and leaned forward as a muffled cry sounded beneath her. Reaching, she rescued Sami’s doll. Briefly she chuckled—studied the lifelike figure, straightened the baby’s mussed and golden hair. Finally her voice piqued. “What do you mean?”

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, a hint of exasperation bled through. “Hhh, I don’t know…like you had to carry on a family tradition or something?”

 

“Is that what’s bothering you?” An old black and white picture of her mother and father with identical little girls hitched high on their hip, Frank’s free arm wrapped securely around Martha’s waist, stared down from its place on the mantle.  Marlena’s features softened. “You think you have to be a doctor?”

 

Adorned in a mask of casual indifference, Jennifer took a gulp of her soda. “Who said anything was bothering me?” Marlena held her mug poised just beneath her lips—the coffee’s rich aroma almost as intense as her resolutely questioning gaze. “And yeah, I’m a Horton…Hortons are doctors.”

 

With a long, slow, savory swallow, warmth engulfed her as she negated the thought with a slight shake of the head. “Not all of them…your aunt Marie was a nun.”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Oh that’s encouraging.”

 

Amused, a smile began to tug the corner of Marlena’s lips—expressed itself in her lilting tone. “Okay, okay…what about your uncle Mickey? He’s a lawyer.”

 

Sitting her drink back down on the coaster, Jennifer muttered sarcastically as she plucked at the hem of her blinding neon sweatshirt. “Probably in case there were any malpractice suits.”

 

A bright laugh wafted through the room as Marlena’s twinkling eyes glowed revelation. “You have your mother’s sense of humor.”

 

Jennifer grew rigid—her words abrupt and emphatic. “I am not like my mother.”

 

“No, not the total package…but you do have the same wry sense of humor.” Jennifer bridled under Marlena’s conciliatory tone. Her annoyance twitched across her lips in spasms of dissent. Patting her on the knee, Marlena stood to make her way across the room. From the door she pleasantly called back—left her to momentarily digest the thought as she went in search of another caffeine jolt. “Don’t take it too hard. It happens to all of us. Me, I happen to have my mother’s laugh…sometimes I’ll catch myself looking around for the room trying to find her only to realize it was my own laugh I heard.”

 

Sliding back into the living room, she settled back down beside Jennifer. “Never start drinking coffee…. I’m pretty sure it’s addictive.” Her lips quirked. ”Now why don’t you tell me what would make you think you had to be a doctor?”

 

“I don’t know…” Quietly Jennifer worked her thumbnail between her teeth—the sweet hint of cherry lip-gloss smeared across her skin. Trying to find the right words to explain, her blue-gray eyes grew cloudy. Finally she surrendered. “It was career day at school today. It just seemed like it was already cast in stone that I’m destined for the hospital.”

 

Marlena propped her elbow on the back of the sofa to crookedly rest her head against the palm of her hand.  Ignoring the sound of her own voice echoing in her head, she continued in earnest. “Jennifer, don’t let other people’s assumptions define you. If you do, one day you’ll look back on it with regret and wonder what might have been.” A soft smile played mysteriously across her lips—illuminated her face. “Besides, there are plenty of Hortons that aren’t doctors—Hope’s at the police academy; Melissa wants to be a dancer, and Julie seems to go wherever the fates take her.”

 

She studied her acid-washed jeans, her low reply barely heard. “It’s different for me though.”

 

Marlena’s fingers idly toyed with the lose hair at the base of her neck—tried to alleviate the uncomfortable pull of her ponytail holder. “How?”

 

Lips thinning, arms wrapping tight and protective about her waist, Jennifer seemed to close up before her eyes. Speaking in simple facts, a thunderous challenge flashed over her face. “Well let’s see…my mom’s a doctor. My dad’s a doctor. My brother’s a doctor…. Everybody’s a doctor.”

 

She liked this girl. Losing herself in her thoughts, Marlena tried to think just who it was Jennifer reminded her of—this fireball of tenacious inquisition. She smiled ruefully; Laura certainly had her hands full. “Sweetie, there are no imaginary footsteps to med school that are just waiting for you to step into them. All your family wants is for you to be happy. They want you to find not a job, but a calling. Because if you’re lucky it’s not just about keeping food on the table but about finding something that feeds your soul too.”

 

A tiny crease of confusion etched the center of her forehead. “How do you do that?”

 

“Well that’s the real mystery.” Marlena took another sip of her coffee. Her eyes settled on the vase of wild flowers she’d treated herself to at the grocery store a day earlier. There were days when she closed her eyes that she swore she was still laying in that field, flushed and radiant bathed in their untamed perfume.

 

Jennifer curled one leg up under her and relaxed into the soft cushion at her back. Nervously, she ran her hand over the cool cotton upholstery—felt it tickle lightly against her skin. “Well, how did you know you wanted to be a psychiatrist?”

 

“I didn’t at first. I actually started out studying history.” At Jennifer’s non-verbal response, nose crinkled up in bored distaste, Marlena chuckled. “It was a different time—permeated with social unrest and the murmurs of change. My generation thought they were going to change the world. I remember Martin Luther King once said, ‘whenever you take a stand for truth and justice, you are liable to scorn. Often you will be called an impractical idealist or a dangerous radical.’ I think we had more than our fair share of both—myself included, thought I’d be a lifelong activist…and well, a history degree seemed as good as any.”

 

Absentmindedly, Jennifer twirled a few locks of her long, blonde hair around her index finger. “What happened?”

 

“Oh, a lot of things I guess. Fatigue for one…” Marlena felt her stomach groan—reminding her she’d still not had dinner, prompted her to take another bite of donut. “Somehow when you love what you’re doing there is a renewal in all the spent effort. But when you lose that love or realize it’s fleeting…” shrugging, “then it suddenly becomes a deep weariness down in the bones. It becomes homework.”  Marlena pursed her lips in reflection. “And certainly there was an element of disenchantment. It wasn’t easy to wake up one day and realize what strange bedfellows activism and politics really are—to see it as the game it so often becomes. Thankfully some people can reconcile it, but to me it was toxic.”

 

Still trying to put the pieces together, Jennifer eyed her questioningly. “So that’s when you decided to go to medical school?”

 

“No. I, uh, floated around for quite a while trying to find my way—first I went to the philosophy department, thought if I couldn’t change the world…” her mouth curled playfully, “that I could at least study those that had molded it.” Marlena’s hazel eyes lit up as she laughed—shook her head and smiled. “That idea lasted all of about a month.” Finishing up her donut, she wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. The sound of branches rustling lightly in the staunch November wind distracted her—intently she looked out the french doors to their wavering shadows. “Then like so many young idealists I turned to English…. I stuck with that for almost a year. Luckily, though, I had a wonderfully intimidating advisor who forced the issue—kept asking why I wanted the degree and what I planned on doing with it…” Disconcerted, Jennifer noted the almost suffocating intensity of Marlena’s unblinking gaze. She wanted to look away and yet felt bound by a foreign and unyielding sense of self-assurance. With a start, her attention retuned. “When it became abundantly clear that I really had no idea, he gave me perhaps the best advice in the world—told me I didn’t need a degree simply because I loved to read…the library would still let me in.” Marlena paused. “Very good advice mind you, but it didn’t help much with the matter at hand—began to fear I would just end up stumbling into something out of sheer process of elimination. Fortunately, I was taking my first psychology class that quarter.” Contented, Marlena again offered up a mysterious smile. “The first day I walked into class I felt at home.”  

 

Unconvinced, Jennifer shook her head as doubt tumbled off her tongue. “That’s it? You felt at home?”

 

Somewhat surprised by Jennifer’s straightforward and probing query, Marlena contemplated her answer.  “Well, that was an essential part of it. But, no, not entirely.” Her expression muddied. “When I was younger, I had a friend…. His mother died giving birth to him and his father seemed to resent him terribly. He grew up constantly walking around on eggshells until eventually the tension between John and his father became unbearable.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Meeting him was an awakening to me—expanded my vision of the world. And while the world suddenly got bigger and brighter, it also turned dark and thorny.” Choked by emotion, she cleared her throat—checked her passion. Watching Marlena’s smooth exterior galvanize before her, the explanation seemed strangely incomplete. Jennifer couldn’t help but try and fill in the gaps. “Of course at the time I was too wrapped up in the moment to think much about it. But later when I went away to college…. One day I was sitting in my dorm room—daydreaming, trying to study when there was a knock on my door…” Marlena paused. The moment strangled her mind—played tricks on time and space. Remembering how her tongue stuttered across her lips to taste the ghostly sweet of cotton candy and his tender breath…the beautiful musky smell of his glistening skin kneeling before her body like she was a golden idol, she could almost feel him move—trembling flesh. That was reality not the red-eyed harbinger of doom standing before her. Marlena voice seemed to ascend out of the mist of recollection. “Startled, I found myself face to face with John’s older brother. Right away I noticed he didn’t look himself—puffy, red eyes that refused to meet my gaze and his baritone voice devoured in thick emotion. I’m not sure what exactly I expected, but I didn’t expect him to hand me that telegram. Cold and impersonal, a statement of the facts as they knew them—John was MIA and presumed dead.” Marlena smiled sadly. “It didn’t happen overnight…at first I was just numb, but with time I began to realize that I never wanted anyone else to ever needlessly go through the turmoil and identity crisis that I saw John struggle with…. And so I became a psychiatrist.” Skepticism etched its way across Jennifer’s face as Marlena’s senses attuned toward staircase. Her voice steadied. “Start with what interests you and then just follow your heart. It rarely lies.” Sami’s cries crescendoed—pulled Marlena up from where she sat. “I need to go check on Sami…. You’re welcome to stay if you like.”

 

Jennifer smiled lightly—made her way to the door. “That’s okay, I have a book report on Macbeth due Monday that I need to work on.”

 

“Oh, ‘Double, double toil and trouble….’ Well, you have a good weekend and be sure and tell Alice I said thank you for the donuts.” Marlena grinned before quickly disappearing up the steps. Hearing the muted thump of the door closing behind Jennifer, Marlena called out to Sami. “Momma’s coming, Sweetie.”

 

~~~

 

The smell of diesel filled the air—a blurry, distasteful fog in the dim moonlight. Rolling past them and into the station, a greyhound’s brakes exhaled dirtily as the bus pulled to a stop. John’s head pounded and his thighs ached. Pushing their way inside the dreary depot, he began to wonder if he was making the right decision. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, told him to run. He wasn’t an intuitive man. He had realized early on his instincts were pretty much useless—sucked really…still that didn’t quiet the voices. His heart thrilled in his chest. And why the contradiction…shouldn’t one voice be enough to lead him astray? At the sound of John’s dark chuckle, Mooch’s gray eyes lit with dangerous humor—part comfort, part magnifying glass, always disconcerting. He hadn’t known Sam and Mooch very long—a couple years maybe, met them in a shelter in Texas not long after finding his way out from under the old man’s thumb and back into the states. They had helped him to survive, to adapt to his new and impoverished reality. Thinking back on those first early days, a sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. For months he was nameless—an FNG, more mascot than man. They tended to him like a prized and puny stray…made sure he always had food to eat even when they needed it more and taught him the unspoken codes of the street. With a mental shake, John once again concentrated—skulked his way across the depot’s sparse and lifeless population. Stale cigarette smoke oozed from the streaked walls. John could feel Sam shuffling behind him—always behind him, watching his back.

 

The heat in Laredo that summer was so intense that his flesh seemed to melt—puddle there on the curbside. The time had come to wean him, let him stand on his own two feet. “FNG,” Sam said, “it’s a whole other battlefield…and they won’t kill you quick here. They won’t do you the honor. It’s slow and painful and bloodless, but mostly it’s humiliating.” He leaned into a dumpster—his voice echoed off the thin metal walls. “They’ll ignore you into submission…until you begin to see the lure of a self-inflicted death. Psychological warfare—don’t ever give ‘em the satisfaction of surrender.” He emerged—a couple of glass bottles cradled in the crook of his arm and a brown, half-eaten apple in his hand. “Stand up straight in the face of their indifference…piss ‘em off, force ‘em to see you, force ‘em into action.” A baffling irony rested unspoken on the tip of John’s tongue. He nodded numbly. Mooch rounded the corner, his arms laden with a few loaves of the bakery’s week old bread. Sam called out to him. “I think he’s ready.”

 

Mooch grunted. “Still just a fuckin’ new guy—green.”

 

Sam shook his head. “What’s your name, FNG?”

 

John paled—wondered what his answer should be. It wasn’t safe. Dimera never took anything at face value. He would be looking. Swallowing hard, he replied—had to trust someone. “John…John Black.”

 

Turning around in the middle of the depot, John noted the dejected sag of Sam’s shoulders. John’s smile faded into a grimace as he forced the pain deep into the pit of his belly. It had been a fair trek across town to make it to the bus station and his feet suddenly burned in testament to that fact. “Why don’t you guys take a load off…” lifting the key from its home around his neck, “and I’ll go get my bag out of the locker.”  Striding across the station, John began to resign himself to the facts. Sam would not survive another trip cross-country on foot. If they were going to make it to a warmer climate, he would have to take the chance. What the hell…if the trail hadn’t gone cold by now, it never would.

 

The clock read 11:35. Sniffing, he rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. When the clerk looked up at his haggard form standing in the window, a visible shudder ran through him. His teary eyes itched and his voice issued forth barely audible. “Two for the 11:55 to Sarasota.”

 

The older man spoke dully and without thought. “That’ll be $89.64.” Surrendered wordlessly, he snapped the edges of the crisp hundred-dollar bill before handing John the tickets and change. Blandly he recited company words, “thank you for traveling Greyhound…have a nice trip,” before returning to his game of solitaire.

 

John’s fingers were finally beginning to tingle back to life—burned in frostbitten irritation when he shoved the scattered change into his jean pocket. In the center of the room, Mooch and Sam slumped atop dingy, molded plastic thrones. Sam’s head lulled to the side and Mooch looked on resigned to the inevitable. For a moment he considered returning for a third ticket—made his way across the room instead, noted the click as the clock swept past 11:45. John tried to smile brightly. His white teeth peered out beneath the shaggy beard that swallowed up his lips. With a flourish, he raised the tickets. “Two tickets leaving for Sarasota, Florida at 11:55.”

 

Clumsily, Sam stood up and patted him on the back—struggled to still his shivering body. Taking a ticket from his hand, he smiled crookedly—his voice thick. “You done good FNG.”

 

Mooch leaned forward and took a ticket—supported his elbows on his knees. “You know one of these days, Black, you’re going to have to explain where this money comes from.” Seeing John’s stoic expression, he sighed loudly. “Hhh, I know, I know…blood money.” Mooch’s eyes glowed into sad understanding. The loudspeaker crackled to life to announce the boarding.

 

Quietly, they exited. This time John brought up the flank. Just as they were about to step onboard, he stopped them. “Wait, there’s just one more thing…” He fumbled in his coat pocket as a few other stray passengers squeezed past. Red and chaffed, he palmed to each a final thank you—five hundred dollars. “Just please promise me that you won’t drink it all away.” His mouth curved into a knowing smile. Sam offered up a playful salute before grabbing a hold of the rail and lurching onto the bus.

 

Mooch shook his hand—pulled him into a tight hug and muttered into his ear. “I hope you know what you’re doing Black.” John nodded lightly—watched him stand up straight and disappear into the darkened tank.

 

The bus groaned to life and rolled slowly away from the station. Escaping the flickering shadows of the streetlamp, John wearily stood in the doorway—hoped that this time not running would be the right choice, would finally lead him back home to Marlena.

 

CHAPTER TEN: THE NEEDLE & THE DAMAGE DONE

I’ve seen the needle and the damage done

A little part of it in everyone

But every junkie is like a setting sun.

– Neil Young

 

The midday sun struggled for escape from the dark intimidating clouds. A light drizzly rain bled the lines of history off a few scattered pages of yesterday’s gazette—dingy, lifeless gray washed down the street and through the sewer grate, found hell’s home in the murky stench. Trapped, a vicious wind swirled through the claustrophobic block. Hunching further into the thinning wool of his coat, John hitched his duffle bag, standard Army issue, higher on his shoulder and plowed forward. With intent scrutiny, his tired eyes scanned each building one by one. The wind gathered momentum. A portion of soggy crinkled up newspaper rustled sadly by like urban tumbleweed. For a moment, he lost himself in boyish imagination—was once again a child lurking in the shadows. Ice cubes clinked against the glass in his father’s hand as the strange nebulous glow of Gary Cooper standing in the middle of the town-square, fingers twitching ready to draw, reflected off the television and lit both their faces. Sometimes he thought this must be what God was like; this must be the ceremony of religion. For years, they were ardent worshipers…every Saturday hidden behind thick, old-fashioned brocade curtains to watch the movie—like hapless sinners listening to the weekly sermon. In the half-darkness he would stand on short chubby legs and imitate the motion. He always imagined himself one of the good guys. He was not a greedy boy, was simply content to stand on the periphery of his father’s presence. Paint bubbled and flaked in long curling peals off the dull, faded sign of the Ponchatrain. John’s lips curved into a disappointed sneer…years he’d begged his old man for that damned cowboy hat, for his birthday and for Christmas. Every chance he got, he asked, but it never came. Memories disjointed and foolish, he blinked rapidly forced his eyes into focus. Sighing loudly, he peered inside. His vision streaked with a distinct air of rundown griminess. “Excuse me.” Feminine and girly, the voice startled him from his thoughts. Without comment, he stepped aside and watched confused as the terribly misplaced blonde teen swept past him—followed her fast fading form’s ascent up the stairwell.

 

His knuckles felt numb as they wrapped around the cool, metal handle. Anxiety burned in the back of John’s throat and his stomach churned. The only place he’d ever really had to call his own was his hiding place—a tiny little field of shaded serenity that he’d claimed. Of course that too was a lie; it never was his. Still he’d liked to imagine—to fantasize about one day settling into just such a peace, just he and Marlena and as many kids as she would allow him. The small bell overhead announced his entrance with its quiet trill. Approaching the window, he couldn’t help the self-conscious tremors that poured over his frame. John’s hand delved deep into his pant pocket—a nauseating reassurance of dead presidents sticky against his clammy palm. Broad shouldered and slumping, a weary looking middle-aged man looked up from his monochromatic TV dinner. A kerosene heater burned bright orange at his back—put a feverish sheen on his blue-black skin. His gaze was sharp and discerning, his voice gruff and pointed. “Yeah, whatchu want?”

 

The man’s abrupt tone and an aura of familiarity sent prickles of defensiveness up and down John’s spine. “I, uh…you let out rooms by the month?” Dully, the clerk nodded—seemed suddenly much less intimidating, much less the man he reminded John of. With a frown of distaste the clerk picked half-heartedly at the almost opaque corn niblets; drug his fork through the few remaining mashed potatoes. Shaking his head, John tried to jar the nightmare free. This man was no ghost, and he sure as hell wasn’t Wolf. With far more confidence, his voice split the air. “How much?”

 

Choking down the last bite of beige-colored, chicken-fried steak, the man swiped at his mouth with a nearby paper towel and stood. His voice seemed to regurgitate. “One fifty-five…. Upfront.” Grabbing his tea along the way, he took a long swallow before finding the window.

 

The sight of the attendant’s awkward lurch again raised John’s hackles—compelled his eyes into an acute study of the dingy makeshift counter. Pulling the bills free, he slapped them down against the cool windowsill as the faint smell of gun smoke and death burned in his lungs. Strangled, his voice roused up out of the grave of memory. “Sounds fair.”

 

Purely a gut reaction…the clerk’s face contorted against the pungent body odor. Quickly he dropped the money down into the cash box and grabbed for the registration book. “Name?”

 

John’s eyebrow arched high upon his forehead—one finger rose to scratch lightly. “Smith…John Smith.”

 

A dark chuckle erupted. “John Smith?” After a moment’s pause his fatty lips quirked. Extending his hand, he continued his voice inherently generic and playful. “Good to meet you Mr. Smith. I’m Bob White.” John eyed him unsure until the clerk turned the registration book toward him. “If you’ll please just sign in, we’ll be able to get you all set up.” Scrawling a name across the page, he silently turned the book back. “Very good, sir.” Smiling brightly, his teeth stood out—blindingly white. “Could you please spell that last name for me?”

 

John’s brow furrowed. Finally he settled on a plan. “Sure thing, Bob.” He offered up an amiable smile. “That’s Smith, S-M-I-T-H.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Laughing, Bob reached down to the row of crooked nails and retrieved a key. “Here ya go, buddy…room forty-seven.” Taking the key from his hand, John’s eyes followed his slight gesture toward the staircase. “Rooms on the left. Payphone in the hall of each floor, and…” again sniffing in disgust “a shower in every room.”

 

Making his way to be base of the steps, John smirked. “Gee Bob, you trying to tell me I stink?” With a low chuckle, he slipped out of sight.

 

Even before he reached the forth floor landing, John could hear the desperation in her young voice. “Come on Matt, please…it’s Jennifer…. Open the door! I know you’re in there.” His attention wandered down the length of the narrow and otherwise listless hallway to be captured by the only thing of possible spirit. Her jaunty ponytail contrasted against the neon pink of her sweatshirt as it flailed with wild abandon a mirror image of her fist pounding heavily on the door. “Matt!” Silently, he grazed by her in search of his room. Finding it, he fiddled unnecessarily with the key—subtly studied the language of her movements out of the corner of his eye.

 

Not bothering to close the door behind him, he tossed his bag onto the small double bed. The loud squeak of broken down springs and a faint plume of dust welcomed him home. Looking around, John took stock of just what he was receiving in return for his risk—dirty and completely unspectacular. The radiator hissed defiantly just beneath the cracked windowpane. A quiet scoff fought beneath his lips as he made his way over to the warped bathroom door. Adorned in a cheery ring of rust, the tub seemed to smile up at him as the sweet n sour smell of mildew hung in vapors. As if to put a punctuation mark upon his perceptions a cockroach scuttled past the sweaty toilet. With a muffled stomp, he sought to instill the lesson of humility and respect as he considered the expense to his karma and muttered. “Fuck it! Some lessons require sacrifices.” Haggard and lost, cloudy blue eyes stared back at him—jagged lines etched in the corners. Idle fingers played through his untamed beard as a pained sigh fought for release. “Huhh…What the hell am I doing? Marlena deserves better than this. She deserves better than me selfishly turning her life upside down.” Again, the girl’s pounding climaxed into a brazen crescendo—compelled him to answer her pleas. Peaking his head back out into the hall, John smiled gently. “So Jennifer…” His voice escaped so soft and coaxing that she almost had to strain to hear him. “You and your boyfriend have a fight?”

 

Jennifer bridled under the attention of the strange bum who shifted carelessly until he was almost reclined against his doorframe. Even as she stiffened beneath his gaze, her curt reply did not mask the pool of tears that swam in pale blue eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Angrily she drove her forearm into the door—screamed with a new urgency. “Matt!” John did not move…simply pursed his lips and waited. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the shrill ring of a telephone. Jennifer didn’t know why he wouldn’t leave…finally she surrendered. “He just a friend…. He didn’t show up for school. I was worried.”  

 

“What makes you think he’s at home?” Her answer was silent, just an icy stare that stung across the surface of his flesh. “Okay, what about his parents?”

 

“What about them?” A sense of déjà vu settled upon him at Jennifer’s emotionless lack of explanation.

 

John shrugged. “Fair enough…what about them.” His mouth curved into a sweet grin, but he made no move from where he stood firmly entrenched. “I tell you what…if you’re really sure Matt’s in there, I’ll help you get in…” Biting down on her lower lip, Jennifer smiled as one lone tear rolled down her cheek. “But you promise not to tell anyone about it. Deal?” As if unsure or expecting some sort of trick, her eyes darted back and forth the length of the filthy berber carpet. Her slight nod was almost lost in the odd shadow that fell across her face in flickering light from the raw bulb exposed above them. “Okay…. My name’s John by the way.” Walking toward her, he squatted down in front of the crappy lock. This would be a piece of cake. “You have a hairpin?” A crease of confusion formed between her eyes. His lips thinned in repressed humor. “No, of course not.” Taking note of her backpack, he thought a minute. “A paperclip?”

 

“Uh…maybe, I think…” Quickly she rifled through her things. With a triumphant smile, she yanked a paper clip off her Macbeth paper. “Got it!”

 

John’s dexterous fingers straightened out the large paper clip then labored briefly to rend it in duplicate. Before continuing John looked up at the young girl one last time. “Now you remember our deal?” Her nod refocused his attention and within seconds the door sprang open. Fiery crimson flames from the neon sign that fizzled across the way licked back the dingy light—cast wicked shadows, a room engulfed in the burning inferno of a death pallor. At the sight before him, a knot of foreboding lodged in John’s throat. Jennifer pushed her way into the room only to come up short. Matt’s half-naked body lay slumped in the middle of the room as if he’d collapsed mid crawl. Jennifer’s quiet voice muttered his name uncertainly, but did not move.  “Christ!” John’s anguished voice echoed loudly. Jennifer’s frightened eyes followed him as in two strides he reached the boy’s fallen body. Kneeling down, John tried to reach through the fog. Loud and forceful, he fired off rounds—repeated the boys name. “Matt! Matt! Damn it! Come on kid…Matt!”

 

The sound of John’s hand smacking heavily across her friend’s cheeks lured Jennifer out of numbness. “What are you doing?” Coming up behind him, she reached for his arm to stop any further assault. “Don’t!”

 

Looking into her confused eyes, he carefully pulled his arm free. “I’m not trying to hurt him….” John’s eyes once again drifted to Matt as the rest of his explanation wilting on his lips. “He’s done a good enough job of that all on his own. I’m trying to help.” Again he called out to him, “Matt!” as his hand smacked harshly across the boy’s face. Without looking at her, John told her matter of fact. “Your friend’s overdosed, Jennifer.” As if in testimony, Matt tried to rouse into consciousness. An almost inaudible drowned wheeze issued from his tight and aching lungs. Weak and thoughtless the boy clawed at his legs. A fresh trail of scarlet whelks blazed across his skin as he tried to free himself from the heroin that seemed to sting his flesh from within like a living thing. John watched as his shriveled pupils darted—blind and panicked, roving over the blackness before again surrendering to unconsciousness. “No you don’t Matt!” John boxed his ears—felt a moment of futility. “Shit!”

 

“What? What’s wrong?” Jennifer’s wide, pleading eyes again began to pool with tears. “He was coming around…. He’s going to be okay, right?”

 

Quietly, John watched him—tried to detect the subtle rise and fall of his chest…felt sick to his stomach at its absence, at the blue tinge of his lips. He could feel the girl’s eyes boring into his back. Carefully rolling the boy onto his side, John sighed loudly before finally whispering to Jennifer. “Hhh…You need to call an ambulance.” He could feel her still standing there, shocked. “Now!” Without out further comment, he took off his coat and over-shirt. Jennifer slipped out of the room. Wrapping the tail of his shirt over his index finger, John pried Matt’s mouth open. Rough flannel rubbed against Matt’s raw lips as John reached inside to secure the tongue. Clearing his air passage, a faint odor of bitter vomit permeated the room—spilled into a small puddle on a bare spot in the rug. Sodden and sour, the fabric clung to his battered hand. John rolled the boy onto his back and wadded up his coat to place under his neck—for the first time really taking note of just how anciently young he appeared to be. Tears began to sting his eyes. Finding a dry spot on his shirt, John gently wiped Matt’s mouth. He leaned in close. His quiet, raspy voice coaxing. “What the hell are you doing kid? Huh?”  Stripping off his thin, sleeveless, cotton t-shirt, John placed it over Matt’s mouth, pinched the boys nostrils and began mouth to mouth. An almost melodic pace—inhale, exhale, observe, inhale, exhale, observe, inhale, exhale, observe…like the consistent rhythm of a funeral dirge. In frustration, he barked. “Damn it boy! You can die any day and trust me you don’t want to die with me.”

 

Stiff and uncooperative, Jennifer’s fingers punched clumsily at the numbers. The ringing seemed to join John’s booming voice that echoed inside her skull. Lost in the acid-washed vision of her denim-clad thighs, she almost missed the predictably pleasant voice of the switchboard operator.

 

~~~

 

Finishing up her rounds, Marlena stood at the small island next to the fourth floor nurses’ station—her blue fountain pen stuttering across a few random notes. A tiny crease of mock annoyance formed between her eyes as they shifted back and forth from the chart in front of her to Laura’s bemused form. “Why didn’t you warn me what I was getting into?”

 

Laura chuckled. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.” A wicked grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “Besides, I thought you might like it….” A tight smirk of disbelief stretched across Marlena’s mouth. “And I did tell you it was…well, different.”

 

A tinge of laughter filtered through her words. “Why in the world you thought I’d want to read about some man’s obsession with his first love…”

 

Laura shrugged—took a sip of her cold coffee. “I don’t know…I thought it was kind of romantic.”

 

Marlena rolled her eyes playfully. “You would.” Again she returned to her notes and mumbled under her breath like an afterthought.  “And Florentino was a pervert.”

 

Closing the chart Marlena slid it back into the rack as she lifted her eyes to meet Laura’s infectiously good-humored stare. “Yeah, but a romantic pervert—wrote poetry and everything.”

 

Poised just beneath the pink sheen of her lips, Marlena’s throaty laugh vibrated against the styrofoam wall of her coffee cup. “Laura, sometimes I think you’re hopeless…. You probably think Walt Whitman’s penchant for self-love was romantic too.”

 

Fighting to confine her wide smile, Laura’s eyes glowed dangerously. “It is the electric age.” Overhearing, the nurse working the switchboard behind them laughed loudly. Laura grinned. “See she agrees.”

 

Flecks of gold came to life behind Marlena’s eyes—her quiet voice disconcertingly even and true. “I’m sure she also agrees there’s a big difference between romance and tools of survival.”

 

Saved by the flickering light on the switchboard, the nurse’s lips pursed, “she has a point” before reaching for the phone. Marlena grinned triumphantly.

 

Laura picked distractedly at a piece of lint clinging to the sleeve of her burgundy jacket. ”You’re no fun. You know that?”

 

Marlena nodded. “And you’re a sore loser.”

 

“I guess we’re both flawed then because you’ve got a real bad habit of changing the subject.“ Marlena shifted—felt the crown of her heals driving into the bottom of her feet. “Admit it…didn’t you like the book by the end? Hadn’t Florentino won you over?”

 

As if giving up the ghost, Marlena conceded. “Yeah…I guess maybe it just wasn’t the best time to read that particular book.” Offering up a meek smile, her cheeks blushed subtly. “I had the strangest dreams all weekend.”

 

Leaning in closer, Laura’s voice dropped to a mischievous whisper. “Oh, that sounds promising…anything kinky you want to share?” The humorous effect of the deep crimson blush darkening her face was overshadowed by the sadness in her eyes. Tentatively, Laura questioned. “John?”

 

Marlena nodded. A quirky grin struggled to break free from the teeth that held her expression in check. “Mmmhmm…” She closed her teary hazel eyes and swallowed hard, spoke in a hushed tone almost too low to make out. “He comes to me in my sleep—sometimes young and beautiful, just the way I remember him…other times rugged and worn. Always…”

 

At the touch of Shane’s hand on her back Marlena jumped. His rich English accent flowed over her frayed nerves—the extra r he always inserted into her name capturing her attention like a floating butterfly. “Marlena, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to startle you.” She shook her head as if to negate the idea with a soggy chuckle. Her mind furiously turned over the idea of just what part of her conversation with Laura he may have heard. Mentally recounting the moment, she decided such worries were fruitless when his attention turned to matters more pressing—manners. “Laura, good to see you again.”

 

Noting the bizarre octave of Laura’s greeting, Marlena could not help but smile, remembering the conversation the two of them had shared some months back. In the midst of her doldrums Laura had shown up on her doorstep, insistent on the need for a girl’s night out… Waxing philosophical about the therapeutic benefits of female bonding rituals, she had drug her to some funky little Mexican restaurant on edge of town known more for its margaritas than its food. The evening had been a pleasant enough distraction from the business of mourning, but the best part was when a rather tipsy Laura had admitted that she found Mr. Donovan to be as she put it, ‘his very own little piece of gentlemanly heaven.’ A rich laugh seemed to jingle-jangle in her head. Ever since that night Marlena had taken note of the delightfully awkward and girlish affect that Shane’s presence had on Laura’s usually unflappable demeanor. A page over the intercom prompted the trio into momentary silence. Marlena smiled. She swore Laura almost looked flushed standing there gazing at Shane with her eyes riveted to the distinguished silvery crest of his hairline. At the sound of Marlena’s voice, he turned. “So Shane, what brings you to the neighborhood?”

 

Shane’s expression was unreadable as he held up a folder for Marlena’s inspection.  “I’m sorry I didn’t call first…but if you’ve got some free time, I believe I’ve got some information for you.” A strange half-smile of hope seemed to appear at the corner of his rich cocoa-colored eyes.

 

Uncertain of the mood and meaning, she took the folder—an undeniable current of trepidation running through her hands. “Re…”

 

The petite redhead leaned forward and propped her elbows on top of the counter with the phone still dangling in her hand. “Excuse me…I hate to interrupt, but Dr. Horton your daughter is on line three…. She asked for her grandfather or her brother, but I believe Dr. Tom is still in a board meeting and I saw Mike leave about thirty minutes ago after working a double-shift. She wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong…she seems mighty distraught, though.”

 

Looking from Marlena to the phone, Laura frowned. Removing her earring, she took the receiver from the nurse’s extended grasp. “Jenn, darling, is something wrong?”

 

When the nurse had told her Mike was gone, been steadfast about putting her mother on the line, Jennifer had made a promise to herself to be strong, but at the sound of her mother’s voice the dam broke as she cried ugly streaks of frustration and fear. She hiccupped and gasped her way through—unsure of her mother’s mood but content that the ambulance was being dispatched as they spoke and in the promise that her mother would soon be there with her. Her voice was choked with fear. “Mom, please hurry.”

 

Laura’s eyes glittered with tears. “I will sweetie…I’m on my way out the door as we speak.”

 

Hanging up the phone, she never heard Jennifer’s muttered reply. “Thanks.”

 

Marlena had watched Laura’s lips thin, disappear in worried consternation as lines of tension etched across her features while she quickly jotted down and handed off an order to dispatch an ambulance to the Ponchatrain, a seedy motel down by the riverfront, for an apparent drug overdose. Clipping her earring back into place, “I knew that boy was troubled, but…” Sadly, Laura shook her head and sighed loudly, “hhh—an overdose.”

 

Unconsciously Marlena licked her lips, tasted a waxen gloss lingering on her tongue. “Jennifer wasn’t alone when she found him, was she?”

 

Laura shook her head. “No apparently one of his neighbors helped her find him.” Feeling incredibly exhausted, she ran her fingers over her eyes. Jolted by the reality of what she’d told Jennifer, she turned abruptly. “I’ve got to go.”

 

“You want me to call Abe and have him meet you there?” Laura’s reaction clouded, but she nodded. “Okay…” Calling to her retreating form, “I have some paperwork to catch up on in my office, so call me if you need me.” Without turning, Laura waved back in acknowledgement. Marlena reaching over the counter and quickly dialed Abe. Her mind strayed as she numbly recounted the details as she knew them and thanked him for heading over to help Laura. Hanging up, she flicked her fingernails nervously against the edge of the folder in her hands. She lifted her eyes warily. “I’ve got some free time…if you want to go to my office, you could fill me in on what you found.”

 

Shane nodded affably as his mouth curved into a quiet smile. Gesturing toward the corridor, “Shall we?”

 

With each step, the tension in her chest built until it felt as though her heart would burst under the sheer burden of anticipation. The cool metal itched beneath her palm as she turned the knob to enter the relative safety of her inner sanctum. Resigned, she drooped into her chair and quickly decided to forego the formalities of trivial chitchat. “What did you find out?”

 

“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find much of anything…” noting Marlena’s fallen expression, Shane continued. His brow furrowed in deep concentration “initially.” A glassy light of expectation sparked in her eyes. Picking for the folder that lay before her, he thumbed through the pages as if reviewing his notes as he handed her back John’s photo without looking up. Finally on the fourth page he stopped skimming over the words. His warm brown eyes rising to recapture her full attention from the picture she eyed hungrily. “All the official channels came up a complete blank…almost suspiciously blank.” Questions swam in her mind—burned like blood rushing to her head, left her too lightheaded and drunk to speak. Again Shane’s gaze fell to the page before him that seemed to swallow the usual cautious assurance of his voice. “So I decided to dig a little deeper…see if the unofficial channels could shed some light on the situation. That’s when I came across this…” He tossed the folder back down before her and pointed to a particular highlighted section of one General Barton’s personal briefs. “Right there. It seems that in early 1984 there were murmurings for a re-classification of a Vietnam MIA, Private John Black…. However, it appears the matter was dropped and never followed up on.”

 

Poised on the edge of her chair, Marlena made a mental note to get her eyes checked. Squinting, she worked to find a train of logical thought. Shaking her head, she questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t they follow up on the inquiry?”

 

Always intrigued by a good mystery, a bright eager smile split Shane’s lips. “I think a better question is why was the inquiry made in the first place? Look right…” flipping the page, he gestured to the second paragraph “here.” Marlena’s eyes roved over the words as a tiny grin struggled to break free. “See…one of the commanding officers thought they saw him fighting with some of the resistance fighters during the Grenada invasion in late eighty-three.”

 

In awe, emotion strangled her voice so that it escaped a raspy sigh. “He’s alive.”

 

Shane held up his hands and tried to rein the possibilities back to the realm of tangible reality. “Marlena, the identification was never positive.”

 

Her eyes flashed defiantly. “You and I both know that the government would not resurrect an old ghost on a simple hunch…” Marlena paused, once again consumed by an unyielding thirst for the Polaroid image of John. The sound of her voice continued, flinty and jagged. “There had to be more to it than that. So why was it dropped? Why wasn’t John reclassified?”

 

Shane scratched thoughtfully the hair at the base of his scull. “Well while I’m inclined to agree with you that there had to be a fair degree of certainty for the issue to ever have been brought up in the first place, there were other extenuating circumstances that I’m sure came into play in deciding not to pursue the investigation. First Grenada was a military success, but it was a bungling success. I’m sure the armed forces wanted as little publicity as possible…and most assuredly they did not want the publicity of a former soldier fighting with what equated to enemy troops.”

 

Leaning forward, Marlena’s lips thinned to invisibility—fiery indignation creeping over her features. “That’s a pretty pathetic excuse, Shane, especially without the benefit of knowing how he’d found himself in that position in the first place. Who knows what kind of psychological trauma he might have undergone?”

 

Shane nodded. “If you’ll look at I believe the last paragraph on that page, you will see that they did ask themselves that question. There was absolutely no indication of a Vietnamese presence so there was no way to make a case that perhaps he was a POW suffering from some kind of Stockholm syndrome. Likewise, in all known reconnaissance there has never been anything to point to some kind of Vietnamese black market slave trade of POWs.”

 

Exasperated, Marlena’s voice rose a fraction. “So?”

 

A potent exhausted frustration hung in the air. “So all known information eliminated POW as a possible reclassification.”

 

“But they saw him alive…”

 

“Exactly. They believe that they saw him alive…therefore, they can’ t legally or in good conscious reclassify him as deceased.” Twisting uncomfortably in his seat, Shane waited for a moment before he delivered the most fatal hit. His stomach roiled with the dread of dashing her hopes. The steady cadence of his voice dropped to a painfully melodious whisper. “And if you look on the last page of notes, you will see the most damning justification for their decision to forego a full-blown investigation…” Hastily, Marlena clawed for the final page. The color drained from her face as she found and mutely read over the last sentence, Shane’s voice echoing the sentiments that stumbled silently across her lips. “Although no remains could be found and/or identified, it was believed that John was in an encampment that was completely decimated by U.S. bombing and as such he was among the casualties.” Paralysis seemed to settle over Marlena—her flesh felt afire as blindness claimed her. “I’m sorry Marlena. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.” Futilely, she tried to nod. “For what it’s worth, I don’t know exactly what to think…but if indeed the man that was seen in Grenada was John Black…well then he’s already shown an uncanny ability to cheat death.” Shane’s caveat swirled about her—dallied fruitless, too foreign to digest. Another voice joined into the cacophony of sound—strained and numb. What did she say? Trying to force legs to take her weight so she could show him out, Marlena’s legs trembled beneath her. Trembled, but not the beautiful trembling fulfillment of the past weekend’s fantasies. No, the same hollow trembling she’d felt when Bo had told her about Roman’s death; the same trembling anguish she’d felt as John’s brother slipped away from her dorm room door leaving her with nothing but the insincerity of a standard issue telegram not even addressed to her.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN: TANGLED UP IN BLUE

Over in the corner John’s kneeling form drooped down to rest on his haunches as he watched the paramedics labor to stabilize Matt’s hoary form. Bitter bile crept into his mouth, although whether it was just the disgusting aftertaste or something more foul, he did not know. Openmouthed, his breath wheezed loudly in his ears as the back of his hand lifted in a vain attempt to scrub away the fearful taint of death from his lips. One of the EMTs freed the boys withered bicep from its rubber manacle as the scene unfolded eerily quiet and burdensome. The smoky aroma of an extinguished waxen flame compelled John’s attention to expand in ever-growing concentric circles away from the lifeless body. He blinked his eyes into some semblance of precision as he found the source next to the dirty unmade mattress, seated crooked and perilously atop the old orange crate that served as a makeshift nightstand—teardrops of wax clung to the wooden slats in suspended animation, perpetually poised to fall. Struggling to his feet, he made his way over to the bed and sat down. Unfocused eyes fell to the blackened spoon that rested on the floor next to the hole in his boot. In mute testimony a used syringe peeked out from under the edge of the bed frame where undoubtedly the boy had haphazardly stowed his stash. Helpless anger bubbled inside him—made him want to show the kid how to do the deed properly. Irrational thoughts, but maybe if he could just flee from this den of iniquity he could find some solace in the hell he’d grown accustomed to. Pondering his escape, his eyes flittered to the doorway and the frightened young girl whose eyes ticked nervously back and forth between her fallen friend and down the length of the shadowy hall. Anxiety swelled in his chest; he knew he should say something to reassure her, but he refused to placate her with rosy little half-truths. A voice, strong and decidedly feminine, issued forth from the darkened hall. “Jenn, darling.”

 

A strange conflicting light of resentment and calm reassurance lit Jennifer’s face as a fresh round of tears began to trail down her flushed cheeks. “Mom!” Throwing her arms around her mother’s waist, the woman’s image revealed itself to John like an abstract painting—in tiny pieces of momentary clarity…amber blonde hair, a face disconcertingly regal and wild, a contradiction well-concealed in a designer suit of armor the color of rich red wine, and eyes that seemed to wash from brown to green to blue and back again as they finally captured John’s gaze over her daughter’s shoulder.

 

Slowly, Laura pulled back from Jennifer’s grasp. Her hand tenderly extracted a strand of tear-soaked hair away from the girl’s mouth and tucked it neatly behind her ear. A certain concerned duplicity danced in her simple question. “Are you okay?”

 

As if understanding, Jennifer nodded in firm assurance before giving in to the fear. Leaning into her mother’s side, she squeaked. “Is Matt going to be…”

 

Her predictable question halted by the entrance of a pleasantly imposing figure. “Laura.”

 

A tight grimace stretched across her face even as she tried to smile. “Abe, thank you for coming.”

 

Shifting his focus, Abe’s expression softened. “Jennifer, how are you?”

 

Jennifer stiffened. It had never even occurred to her that her mother would call the police. Watching as she stood up straight and adjusted herself, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of John’s lips at the girl’s mulish courage. “I’m fine Lieutenant Carver.”

 

Suddenly sitting up ramrod straight, John’s gut twisted as his mind furiously tore over the reality that he had unwittingly stuck around long enough to find himself trapped in this tiny little cesspool of a room with a cop and not some green uniformed beat cop either. Fighting the urge to draw attention to himself by taking the easy way out and simply running, he almost missed Abe’s subtle nod…almost missed his question to the paramedics that were just beginning to load Matt onto the gurney. “How is he?”

 

The larger of the two continued strapping Matt down and jotting vital signs onto a chart. Short and stocky, the other turned to retrieve his fallen baseball cap. His name stitched across his jacket catching John’s eye. Brian placed the cap back atop his unruly, thinning brown hair. Meeting Abe’s gaze, his vision turned to bronze. “I think he should be okay. He was lucky this time. If this guy…” his head bobbed in John’s direction “hadn’t come along when he did, the kid would have been gone for sure.”

 

John could feel the cop’s hard black eyes twitch upon his cold sweaty skin. The room fell silent as the scrutiny threatened to suffocate him. His gaze never lifting from the bare spot in the rug that held the dissipating puddle of vomit, the sour smell once again rising up from the hem of his tank shirt to burn his nostrils. As his shoulders sagged, a fiery black wing singed the thin fabric. “Uh…it was nothing. Glad I could help…” Swooping his jacket and over-shirt into the crook of his arm, John stood abruptly.  “But I really need to get going now.”

 

In one long stride he stood in the shadow of the door, only to come up short at the sound of the officer’s voice. “Wait…” John turned, the irises of his eyes melting into the depths of midnight. Abe offered up a wolf-like smile. “Please…” his tone now more persuasive than demanding “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’ve got a couple of minutes.” John nodded. “Thank you…my name is Lieutenant Carver, but you may call me Abe. Why don’t you have a seat?”

 

Never moving from the door, John muttered. “I’m fine here.”

 

“Okay.” Abe pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. Flipping it open, he began. “First let me get your name.”

 

His tone was even and non-committal. “John.”  

 

Calm in the face of insistent ignorance, Abe’s teeth barely shone as he grinned and pushed forward. “Last name?”

 

John bristled. “I don’t know what my name has to do with anything.”

 

Studying the almost empty page, Abe frowned. “How long have you known…”

 

His face blanked as Jennifer’s soft voice filled in the gap. “Matt.”

 

Hanging his coat on the doorknob, John answered nonchalantly. “I don’t.” He slipped back into the warm confines of his tattered old flannel shirt—trapped the heat of the flames beating their wings against his back. “I just checked into a room today. I hadn’t even unpacked when I heard this frantic girl pounding next door…so I offered to help.”

 

John hated the pique of suspicion in the cop’s voice. “How did you get in?”

 

Letting his gaze meander casually, a quirky grin tugged at the corner of his lips when he looked at Jennifer. “Why through the door of course.”

 

A wintry sheen of sweat glowed on Abe’s skin. “Was the door not locked?”

 

Jennifer interrupted. “It was, but Matt had shown me once a way to get in. I was having a hard time making it work though. John helped me.”

 

Fed up, John snatched up his coat. “This is a fine how do you do! Is this how you treat every good samaritan act?” His tongue grazed over his dry, chapped lips as Laura for the first time took note of the azure intensity of his eyes. “You want to know how I got in this room, I’ll tell you…I took a paperclip and I picked the lock. So if you’ve got something to accuse me of…some crime you want to charge me with, then could you please spare me the concerned bullshit and just get on with it. Otherwise I’ve got things to do and places to be.” Without waiting for a response, John walked out the door. Glancing from Laura to the empty doorframe and back again, Abe’s eyes darkened.

 

Disgusted with himself and the situation he’d stumbled into, John slammed the door to his room. Sprawling out on the bed, he buried his face in the faded lines of the naked mattress. Dust tickled his nose. He could hear the paramedics slowly making their way down the stairwell—could hear Jennifer pleading with her mother to let her ride along and the ensuing debate on hospital policy that ended in some sort of stalemate of compromise. Anytime he suspected Lieutenant Carver would be banging on his door. Suddenly he wondered if there was a fire escape outside his window. He knew he would never be so lucky and so he didn’t even allow himself to continue to ponder the hope. He had been a fool to suddenly try and find a way to lead a normal life—had been a fool to even consider the possibility and never mind the delusion that had led him to fantasize about Marlena being a part of that life. Still he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close. Rolling over, he eyed the crack in the ceiling as his vision swam before him. As the noise in the hall died, John stretched his weary limbs, sighed loudly and sat up. Slipping back into his coat and slinging his bag onto his shoulder, he made his decision. At the faint knock, his heart drummed loudly in his ears. John felt cowardly. He could only bring himself to open the door a fraction of an inch—was surprised to find himself not staring into the dark brooding eyes of officer Carver, but rather a pair of beautifully intimidating chameleon-like eyes.

 

At the sight of John’s eyes, Laura’s mind had been deluged in silly improbable possibilities. Pulling the door fully open the jagged line of a relatively new scar marring the back of his hand stood out ugly. Abruptly, he turned away to readjust the bag on his shoulder, but said nothing. In the ensuing silence, Laura stilled herself…if nothing else the scar that sketched across the flesh of his hand, reassured for her that chances were fair to good that this was Neil’s John Doe patient from last month that had set Marlena off on this emotional roller-coaster ride.  Maybe luring him back to the hospital would not prove to be the second coming, but maybe it could at least give her friend some much needed peace of mind. At the purposeful clearing of her throat, John’s sad cerulean eyes fell back across his shoulder—ghostly, met her determined stare. “Excuse me, John…” Like a bird of prey, her steady gaze tracked every tick, every spasm, every tremor that rippled over his body as she walked further into the room to lean comfortably against the back of the lone broken down straight-backed chair sitting in the shadow of the window. “I don’t believe we were introduced; I’m Laura Horton.” A clap of thunder rattled the windows as the rain picked up intensity—crashed furiously against the side of the building. Glancing down into the street Laura could see them loading Matt into the ambulance. “I know you’re a busy man, but it would be incredibly helpful if you could come down to the hospital to speak with the doctors.” A vexing half-smile painted her lips as her eyes glowed like molasses in the hot summer sun.

 

John’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you a doctor? One of the medics called you Dr. Horton. Couldn’t I just tell you?”

 

“I am.” Laura grinned quirkily. “Probably not one you’d want tending to your physical ailments, though. I’m a psychiatrist. It would be kind of like going to a gynecologist to have your appendix removed.”

 

A deep chuckle rumbled beneath John’s heart. A light smile tickled the edges of his bearded mouth. “I’ve already told the medics all that I know…which wasn’t much.”

 

“If you’re worried about Lieutenant Carver, you needn’t be.” A self-conscious blush crept over his cheeks. “I’ll take care of Abe.” Her gaze fell back to the street below. Watching the ambulance pull slowly away from the curb, the shadow of Jennifer leaning against the side window as Abe’s squad car followed close behind called to Laura. Stepping back toward the darkened hall, she pulled her purse strap more securely up on here shoulder. “Please…it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” Doubtful, John’s eyebrow arched. Sheepish and playful, Laura’s thin lips became captured in her cheeky grin. “You’re right; it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

 

“Okay, you win.” Striding toward the door, he dropped his room key atop the battered dresser beside the door. “Which hospital do I need to meet you at?”

 

“It’s pouring down rain outside, John…. I’ll give you a ride.” Laura knew it wasn’t the smartest move, but she also had a pretty good hunch by the bag strapped to his shoulder that chances were better than average that she’d never see him again if she didn’t take matters into her own hands.

 

Looking down at himself, he scowled. “You sure you want to do that? Your car may never be the same.”

 

“Positive…besides I’ve got one of those gaudy little pine scented air fresheners hanging on my rearview mirror.”

 

John followed her retreating form, closing the door behind him. “Hate to tell ya, lady, but I don’t think there are enough air fresheners in the free world to help me…not to mention the shadow of dirt that I usually leave in my wake.”

 

Laura laughed lightly as her voice echoing in the stairwell. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to trade my car in…. I want to thank you for helping Jennifer.”

 

~~~

 

Harsh florescent lights glowed overhead—changed his being, cast John in a sallow specter. A restless spirit, he roamed the halls of pallid white on the wings of a simplistically complex request. The heavy bag on his shoulder a strange comfort. Laura muttered something to him unheard and slipped away. Blind to the purposeful chaos and the swirls of emotion that permeated the examine room his eyes became glassy with the mere idea of Marlena’s nearness.

 

The ray of light that caught in the glistening arch of her back beckoned to him. Moist kisses grazed in the hollow just above the delicate flesh of her rear and casually sojourned up the length of her spine to settle hungrily content in the sweet fragrance of her neck. As his arms wrapped securely into the plane of her stomach, John’s nakedness pressed into hers—felt warm and wanting, something akin to heaven Marlena imagined. Maybe the thought was blasphemous, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She laughed at the pleading tone of his deep, rumbling whisper tickling lightly just behind her ear. “What are you doing?” His right hand snaking up to gently caress her breast caused her immediate response to die silently on her lips.

 

Melting back into his embrace, the scratchy wool blanket rubbed electrically against her bare thighs. His wandering hands robbed her of concentration as a daisy slipping from her hands. Marlena’s head lilted to the side—eyes capturing his, crashing from green to gold like a wave breaking in the dying embers of the sun. He was so beautiful in the waning light. He reminded her of one those Greek gods she’d read about in the mythology books her father hated. Apollo maybe? Seeing the speckles of fear dappled in the irises of his eyes, she knew John was so much more than that. He was lovely and complex and wholly of the flesh. She didn’t know how she’d ever let him go next week. How she’d ever live with the possibility of never seeing him again. Feeling him harden, the urge was strange and sudden. Marlena smiled—her white teeth peaking coyly from beneath her rosy swollen mouth. Feminine and raspy, her voice vibrated against his jaw-line.  “Wait…” Her alabaster skin, still wet from earlier excursion slithered over his to utter a lifetime of secrets. “I’ve got something for you.” With one final knot, she completed the chain. Emancipated by her nudity, she faced him—crowned her love with a simple braid of wild flowers.

 

John grinned. It felt as though a weight was being lifted off his shoulder. He could smell the wild rose and honeysuckle as his midnight eyes rolled up to try and see just what she’d done. Leaning back, the hand about her waist pulled her with him. The laughter sounded in his voice.  “Nice…but not exactly the going away present I had in mind.” His face fell into the half-shadow of Marlena’s neckline as he wound a path further down to sensitive skin. His teeth bit lightly against her nipple. Reaching blindly for his discarded bell-bottoms, his words came out in a smothered hush. “You know I’ve got something for you too.”

 

Her rich, throaty chuckle echoed in the trees. “I’ll just bet you do.”

 

A crescent moon blushed in the almost starless sky. Propping himself up, John looked at her intently…the maddening sensation of Marlena straddling him making it all but impossible to focus. “Really… ” At the delicious sight of the glaze in his eyes, she ground against him—freed a unifying moan from the both of them. His vision blurred double and his voice became strangled in his chest. “Here.” With a shaky hand, John extended the antique velvet box between the two Marlena’s that swam before him. She stilled suddenly. Her hazel eyes widening as they pooled. “Well, go on…open it.” With trembling hands she took the box and snapped open the lid. Just on the periphery of her vision, she saw him—eyes hopeful and glittering with tears. Unconsciously, John’s hand massaged soothingly over the curve of her hip. “It’s not the ring I wanted to get…” his face seemed to fall “but it was all I could afford. I hope you like it.”

 

Marlena’s gaze lifted from the small diamond twinkling up at her from within a delicate old-fashioned setting and into the deep aquamarine depths of his eyes. “It’s perfect. I love it.” Pressing forward, she kissed him…

 

The shrill ring of the phone pulled her away from the comfort of his thirsting lips. Slowly the soft liquid emerald poured back into her eyes as with an unconscious trembling hand she reached for the receiver. “Dr. Evans.” She couldn’t help the unprofessional sound of her greeting, low and breathless, and was immediately thankful it was only Laura calling to update her on Matt’s condition and to ask her to come down to the ER for a psyche consult. Not the distraction she wanted, but probably what she needed. Marlena stood on stiff and uncooperative legs as if somehow her body fought the very notion of returning to her present reality. A tiny smirk appeared at the corner of her lips as she awkwardly slipped into the thin protective armor of her lab coat—like trying to force a sweater onto a sleepy Sami and Eric. Grabbing up a pen off her secretary’s desk and exiting to make her way down the hall, she felt feverish and imbalanced. She wondered if the passionate memory that had left her so flushed and shaky would be blatantly obvious to everyone who saw her. She hoped it would not. Hoped she would be able to maintain her carefully crafted facade. As she passed by, one of the maintenance men’s mops stalled mid-swipe as his eyes lifted to find her waiting at the elevators. Just out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. His heavy frame leaned against the handle in thoughtful confusion. Self-consciously she again punched her thumb heavily against the down button. A frown marred her brow…Christ! She wondered if she reeked of sex? She felt like she did—couldn’t decide if she was more upset at the telling vulnerability or the pale incompleteness of being alone. Relieved when the doors parted, Marlena tried to offer him a benign and placid smile as she tried to settle her mind on more appropriate matters, like Laura’s consult.

 

Closing his eyes, John swallowed hard. The heavy, rapid trill of his heart pounding against the walls of his chest, left him shaking with the same intensity that had tore through him that night. Uncomfortable he tried to shift his weight even as he accepted the movement for what it was, what it always was, a futile attempt to suspend time and make the moment last for as long as he possibly could. Feverish, his length strained against his grimy jeans. A deafening whir rang in his ears. Still there was something different…he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite this way—like he was suffocating, drowning, clawing through ghostly whispering waves just trying to find the surface. His eyes shot open. Inky pupils dilated in ebony blindness.

 

Laura turned abruptly as the sound ripped from his throat—a muffled gurgling, gasping cry. An almost deranged panic seemed to stretch over the dirty lines of his face and suddenly she wondered just what kind of fool’s decision she’d made. Alertly, Abe twitched beside her.

 

John’s eyes passed over her without conscious recognition as he struggled to hitch the bag higher on his shoulder. He had to get out of this place. He needed leave before the undertow of memory pulled him down and he was lost forever. For a brief instant he labored to force his mind into submission—to work within the confines of a duplicitous, whitewashed reality. God…he would never get used to the lies people told themselves, to the games they played and the masks they wore. He would always be a hopeless failure. Dejected his attention crumbled to the cold tile floor. How the hell was he supposed to come up with a suitable lie when all he could think about was the vice that seemed with each passing moment to be clamping tighter and tighter around his heart? He could feel the light coming closer—streaked blonde and gold, warming him like a silver shimmering flood. Maybe this was it…maybe he was finally going insane. Unnoticed by all but one, the door quietly clicked open—seemed to answer John’s unspoken musings.

 

Intense silence as she walked in the room…bowed head and broken he stood immobile. Prickles of cold sweat crawled over his flesh, a promise reborn. A tenuous, eerie calm welcomed Marlena. Almost instantaneously her throat became arid and scratchy causing her voice to escape in a dry rasp. “Laura.” John’s heart swelled. Like early morning dew clinging fragile to blades of grass, he longed to burn away under her luminous presence…simply disappear. Still he didn’t dare look up—risk once again diving into the endless rivers hidden within the irises of her eyes, streaming golden jade.

 

Her greeting met only by silence, Marlena’s attention followed Laura’s apprehensive stare across the room. Haggard and anxious a tremble poured over his vaguely familiar form. The self-conscious slump of his shoulders, a slight glint of azure blue at sunset peaking out from the shadow marring his profile…her tongue stumbled over dry lips. It couldn’t be. Could it? She watched John throwing clothes into his bag, his voice rising up—echoing in her mind, “I’ll be back…it’s just one year…I’ll always come back to you. I can’t not come back.” His lips curled into an easy grin as he bent to sweep over her with a lover’s kiss. Breathing assurance into her, “You’re my girl.” She shrugged out from under Laura’s unnoticed hand resting gently against her arm and moved forward—her legs unsteady like a newborn foal, gaining certainty with each new step. He looked so different and yet so unchanged. So close she could feel the heat radiating off his body…he remained frozen. Deafened and bruised, her heart beat heavy wild as she felt alive for the first time in ages. His name quivered over her lips silently. At the sight of his head lifting to answer her silent plea, she gasped softly. Marlena’s eyes widen…afraid to blink—to awaken to find it just another vision fading away with the morning sun. Propelling herself into his arms, she devoured his essence beneath her hungry lips. His arms wrapped round her—clung fast, unwilling to let her slip away again…consequences be damned. As the need for oxygen became too cruel, she pulled back. One tear slid across her lips to the corner of her mouth as she grinned. Delicate fingers stuttered over his face and through his bushy beard to commit to memory all the newness and to reacquaint all the old familiarity. Feeling the upward turn of his mouth, she forced her teary eyes to focus—his smile, his blue-gray eyes. And she awakened things that he said he thought were dead.

 

BOOK III: MY DREAMS, MY WORKS, MUST WAIT TILL AFTER HELL

I hold my honey and I store my bread

In little jars and cabinets of my will.

I label clearly, and each latch and lid

I bid, Be firm till I return from hell.

I am very hungry. I am incomplete.

And none can tell when I may dine again.

No man can give me any word but Wait,

The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in;

Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt

Drag out to their last dregs and I resume

On such legs as are left me, in such heart

As I can manage, remember to go home,

My taste will not have turned insensitive

To honey and bread old purity could love.

– Gwendolyn Brooks

 

CHAPTER TWELVE: WORDS FELL

 

The room fell still…Marlena’s eyes never leaving his, the words swelled in her chest until they finally escaped in a choked whisper of pent up emotion. “You’re real.” Too afraid to speak John offered only a slight nod of agreement as tears streamed down his face—washed him clean. He pursed his lips, warm traces of salt clinging to his tongue, and swallowed hard. Tentative and wind-burnt, his fingers rose to stutter lightly over her cheek, lost in the faint caress of his large palm.

 

“Ah’em,” the loud caustic sound of Abe clearing his throat shattered the glassy reflection of surreal peace. Painfully grasping John’s hand in her clenched fist, Marlena looked over her shoulder and unflinchingly met the black satin pools of confusion staring back at her. “Someone care to tell me what’s going on?” Marlena’s eyes darted futile to Laura’s almost imperceptible smile. She could feel the instant John began to slip away from her—his clammy skin slick within her grip, bones shifting…her every attempt to hold him fast just bringing him, them, back to that horrible aching emptiness. Never again…she would never again surrender to that feeling. Not now, not with him standing so close that she could actually feel his heart hammering heavily and feel her own finding its place within the rhythmic beating.

 

The sharp and pleading look of Marlena’s eyes melted with the sudden sound of John’s voice cracking behind her—a quiet stammering reply. “I, uh…we, um…I mean…”

 

Just as Marlena was about to find John’s half-hidden gaze amidst the shaggy bangs shadowing his face, the sound of Abe’s beeper recaptured her attention. Jerking it free from his belt, Abe grimaced at the flashing message. A low curse of inconvenience muttered under his breath, “Damn it!” Looking up, his deep chocolate eyes poured beseechingly over Marlena. “I’ve got to take care of this.” With a half-smile, Marlena nodded, but said nothing. Warily Abe turned toward Laura. He had not missed the look that had passed between her and Marlena. He only wished he knew what to make of it…no, what he really wished was that he could be sure Laura would not blindly surrender to Marlena’s trusting nature. At the moment he didn’t really have a choice though, the commissioner would have his hide if the Sanchez case wasn’t ready to turn over to the DA within the week. He couldn’t afford to shrug off his informant. He would just have to have faith that Marlena knew what she was doing. With a slight shake of the head he thought on all the rounds Roman had gone with Marlena…all because she was too independent for her own good and stubborn. Well they were both stubborn. Sometimes he almost thought he could hear Roman’s nagging voice echo in his head…right, just have faith Abe. “Hhh,” with a heavy sigh of defeat, Abe made his way to the door as he glanced back one final time. “Marlena, I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

 

Marlena couldn’t entirely tell from the tone of Abe’s voice whether it was meant more as a statement or a question, but happy to delay the inevitable, she nodded all the same. “Sure.” Looking up from beneath the safe cover of his lashes, John watched the other man’s exodus. His stride long and purposeful; he disappeared down the hall as the door clicked shut.

 

As a violent calm engulfed the room, Jennifer’s nose crinkled in uncertainty. Her dull blue eyes bouncing curiously around the room. A nurse brushed against her as she left the room, but still the silence stretched on punctuated only by Matt’s labored breathing. Finally she could take it no more. Tugging lightly on the burgundy sleeve of her mother’s suit, Jennifer’s head bobbed in Matt’s direction. “Mom?”

 

Slowly, consciously, Laura’s eyes shifted from Marlena’s unreadable expression to her daughter’s clear and troubled eyes. With a reassuring smile, she once again wrapped her arm around Jennifer. Laura’s soft questioning voice sounded almost simultaneously with Marlena’s. Her answering laugh, rich and throaty, burned through him—robbed him of the last vestiges of equilibrium, caused him to stumble back into the firm solidity of the cabinet at his back as she instinctively leaned into his form and with a subtle flick of her wrist signaled to her friend to continue. Laura’s mouth curved into an unsure smile. “I was just going to say, that I can handle Matt’s consult tonight and then turn the file over to you tomorrow…if you like.”

 

Distracted, Marlena felt his weight shift awkwardly behind her. Her neck arched back infinitesimally to look up at him…so different, almost shy, and yet still the same, gently worrying his lower lip between his teeth. She searched for some spark of recognition, some connection hidden amongst all the fear and the unknown. She found it in the soft glow flashing in the azure intensity of his eyes. “Uh, thanks…” Where to go? What to do…to say? Her mind was a jumble racing with unanswered questions and old dreams suddenly tingling back to life. All she knew was that she didn’t want to have to share this moment with anyone else, and she didn’t want to have to wait. Without thought or reservation, Marlena laced her delicate fingers between John’s—guided his trembling sluggish form toward the door, pulled it open. “We’ll, uh, be in my office if you need anything.” Stopping only to turn back around quickly, her mossy green eyes bore into Laura with a look existing somewhere between a plea and a command not to be interrupted, not to be needed.

 

As if in a daze, Marlena wove their way through one long sallow, indistinct hospital corridor after another. She could feel his anxiety building with each step they took. Stopping in front of her office, she smiled self-consciously. He still had not said anything to her. She couldn’t help but wonder why as the silence began to fray at the tattered ribbons binding together long-denied emotions. For the first time taking note of the fact that he was not the only one shaking, she struggled in vain to unlock the door. As the keys slipped between her fingers, John scurried to catch them before they clanked to the cold linoleum floor. A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “Not lost your baseball reflexes I see.” John shook his head as if to negate the idea, but the sudden boyish quirk of his lips and the lush inviting sound of his chuckle made her feel better. His eyebrow arched in question as he held up what he hoped was the right key—heard the lock cylinder slide free in affirmation.

 

Stepping back, he let her enter first before following her into the room. Marlena watched as the olive colored bag slipped from his shoulder into a forgotten heap next to the trash can, watched the tension cord in his neck as he slowly made his way around the room. Sitting quietly on the couch, she waited for him to join her—to finally speak, the silence becoming unbearable. Almost in spite of himself, he slowly began to search for clues about the kind of life she’d forged for herself and the family she’d no doubt created. When he’d shipped out, he’d wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, to build a life. Of course at the time he had been positive that he’d be a part of that future. He thought he was doing the right thing…as usual he was wrong. For a brief instant John tried to lose himself in the strange swirling print of the wallpaper. It reminded him of a story she’d read to him once at the park…sitting in twin swings, the air crisp with the promise of fall, the warm calm of her husky voice as it moved gracefully over the words. What was it called…The Yellow Wallpaper? He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d picked it out herself. The pattern made him dizzy, or maybe it was the thought of her, in a world of domestic tranquility, lost forever to him. He didn’t want to know about all that…didn’t think he could handle it. He didn’t know if he had the strength to bare witness to her happiness. And yet here he was, hungrily devouring the tiniest of details. His focus zeroed in on her diplomas. She had done well for herself obviously. The quiet emotion of her voice behind him broke his reverie. “For the love of God, John, will you please say something? Anything…”

 

A blush crept over his features as sheepishly he met her penetrating gaze—took a few steps closer to where she sat. His voice wheezed deep in his chest. “Sorry, I, uh…I guess I’m not sure what to say.” His hand gestured thoughtless in the direction of the wall holding her diplomas. “You’re a doctor.” Smiling proudly, he started to slide down beside her only at the last moment to remember just how grimy he was and find a spot at her feet. His hands still hopelessly fidgeting, John’s mind labored furiously for something to say. So much time had passed…God he felt lost—always so lost.

 

At the tight-set of his thinning lips, Marlena’s face lit. Smiling, she tried to stifle the sound of her tears beneath the thin veil of her coiled fist. It wasn’t a dream. He was here—same as he always was…struggling to be the man his father demanded, to keep a tight rein on his emotions. Leaning forward she rested her elbows at the edge of her knees. “I don’t even know where to start. There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I want to say.” With tentative loving fingers, she brushed through the greasy locks of his wild unkempt hair…past the line of an ugly jagged scar that peaked out against his temple—tried to assure herself of his presence and to soothe away the flicker of panic that danced within his midnighted eyes. “Why?” Marlena’s voice crackled.

 

John’s tongue stuttered over lips too cracked and parched to salve, and his forehead creased anxiously. There were so many whys. Sometimes seemed like all his life amounted to were a series of unanswered whys. He could hear his own voice echo, low and thick like a bass drum clumsy and out of time, as the pain lanced through his chest. “Why?”

 

Bronzed in reflection of that fateful day, tears welled in her eyes—escaped unashamed to wash over her flushed face just as they had so many years before. “Why did they let us believe you were lost? Dead?”

 

“I, uh…” Unable to bare Marlena’s tempestuous stare and the guilt it conjured, he turned away suddenly as his voice fell into a hushed, rattling whisper. “I’m sure it wasn’t intentional…wasn’t deception.” John paused. Corporal specters rising out of the ensuing silence, moaned curses in his ear. His head lulled back in her direction, but still he remained hidden in half-shadow. “It was so hot that day…had been for weeks on end. And quiet…” Marlena strained as his next words fell almost mute, “too quiet.” His hand lifted unconsciously to brush lightly at the flesh of his neck, blistered with the very memory of the sun’s continued assault. “Standing in the middle of this clearing—red dust, thick and caking, baked into our flesh like a second skin…. Our ears keening, hearing the slow babbling promise of water in the distance too tempting to ignore…” John sniffed loudly, irritably rubbed the back of his hand across his face—vainly attempted to banish the burning itch of newfound tears and their stinging insults. Finally his head lifted to meet her gaze—eyes shining like flickering amber by candlelight. She watched him intently. “Some of us separated. The water couldn’t have been more than a foot or two deep. It smelled awful.” John’s mouth bowed into a sad unreadable smile. “And yet it was like the best swimming hole a boy could imagine.” Soggy chuckles erupted and his face dissolved as he mumbled more to himself than Marlena. “Lukewarm water and mud that squelched cool and sticky between our toes and on our thighs…boys…” He gasped back the sob threatening to break loose. “Just playing naked…laughing—throwing stinky globs of mud at one another.” Feeling his stomach begin to roil, John hunched over as if about to wretch—resurrecting the taste of that awful moment when he had awoken…. Earthy, bitter bile filled his mouth. Wolf’s lifeless eyes—a slimy bit of blackened muck still clinging to the side of his cheekbone where John had struck him just moments before the bullet had impacted and shattered the side of his skull. Pushing to his feet suddenly, he struggled to swallow the foul taste damned in his mouth.

 

Marlena watched him pace the room like a cage animal as ripples of tension held him in its grip. She had not expected this, had not expected anything really. There had simply been no time to formulate expectations. Dabbing gently at her teary eyes, she composed herself as best she could. She had to find a way to draw him back to her, this tiny office and their present day reality. She called to him softly “John?”

 

With back turned and muscles drawn stiff, he stalled. Standing her legs felt weak and wobbly, and yet she approached him with a casual assurance she did not feel. Her hands a gentle caress moved up his back to find a quiet home there against his tremulous shoulders. “I’m so sorry, baby.” The crystalline aching sound of his voice etched delicate lines of confusion across Marlena’s brow—dissipated the firmness of her palms, sent them slowly cascading down the length of his arms to rest atop the hands within who’s lines held the unforgotten touch of scorching ecstasies. Turning he shifted both her hands into the lone grasp of his left palm. His index finger tickled over pale violet veins. Her unspoken question dangled palpable between them as he absorbed the evolution of her beauty—the blue of his eyes like well-worn denim clinging to her body until at last he found her face. Tears lodged in his throat—choked insufficient words. “It was all my fault…I said I would come home, and I didn’t…” A clear trickle of snot gathered in his mustache and ugly red and white salt streaks burned against his face. John’s free hand rose to cup her face as his thumb tenderly wiped her tears away. Blinking his eyes closed, that day again roused up out of the nightmare recesses of his mind—the bodies, what bodies were left, the taste of death singed into the delicate membranes of his lungs… “I, uh…was lost…um, had to escape it—wandered…” the eerie silence, no moans or futile gasps for air, just a foreboding nothingness…and Wolf’s frozen stare. Marlena watched him struggle—his head lightly shaking back and forth. Freeing the loose grip of his fingers on her hands, she found his face. She held him there steady, and waited. God how he wanted to escape! Had spent the better part of the last fifteen years trying. Exhausted, John told himself he was going to put God away. Narrow slits, his eyes split open to lock onto her fiery hazel gaze. He swallowed hard. “You’re so beautiful.” A contently bittersweet smile painted over his lips.

 

“Thank you.” Grabbing hold of his wrist, she pulled him with her over to the couch—tugged insistently, playfully, until he collapsed beside her. Her face luminous, Marlena forgot her ever-present need to censure herself—said the first thing that came to mind, “oh, how I’ve missed you” and brushed her lips over his chafed knuckles.

 

The warm, dry touch of her lips upon his skin forced his attention from the sickeningly dew slicked webs of recollection being spun in his mind. After a moment, John cleared his throat uncomfortably. Upset at his loss of self-control just moments before, he sat up straight and made a contentious effort to focus on her. “So, I bet Frank and Martha are just beside themselves with pride?” Startled by the shift in conversation, Marlena cocked her head to the side considering. “I mean…” He encompassed the room in an easy gesture, “successful doctor and all.” A shy blush crept over her face as she offered a slight nod of embarrassed agreement. The conversation lulled. The dusty blue of his eyes plumed with smoke. His next statement escaping painful and hoarse, he muttered almost too low to discern the question inherent. “And happy?” Even before the words tumbled over his lips, he knew he did not want the answer and so he sought to forestall the truth with family he was more prepared to accept. “And Samantha…still a house a fire I presume?”

 

A wave of grief crashed over her—pulled her down as the color drained from her face. “She, uh…no.” He could see the turmoil in the waning light of her darkened eyes. He didn’t understand, knew only that something precious had been lost to her forever. Even after so much time the sorrow seemed to come without warning. A tired broken sob strangled on her lips as for the first time in years she felt him, felt the safe haven of his comforting embrace pull her into his chest. Her explanation muffled in the rough nappy wool of his coat, “She’s gone…died a couple of years ago—murdered.”

 

Helpless, fire burned through his lungs even as his hand rose to rub soothingly over her back as her cries ebbed. A strange familiar comfort stretched between them as silence again descended. “I’m sorry.”

 

Somehow his sympathies seemed profound in their simplicity. “Me too…” Raising her head to meet his eyes, a sad truthful intensity passed between them. Finally knowing just what to say to all he’d revealed…”me too.” The loud trill of the phone ringing at her desk startled her. Her body jerked and a surprised exhaled curse, “shit” quietly escaped. Her cheeks rosy, she hurried across the room and snatched the phone off its cradle as her mouth curved into a cheshire smile meant only for John. “Hello, Dr. Evans.” The unaccustomed lushness of her voice had not gone undetected by Mabel, but she had let it pass in her rush to explain her need to hurry home to care for her ailing husband…a man who as she explained it took death and the common cold to be different branches of the same tree. Marlena laughed lightly. “I understand…Roman was the same way. I’ll be home just as soon as I can get free here.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John rising and offered up a distracted response. “We’ll do…and thank you Mabel.” Without turning, she replaced the receiver—spoke quiet and unsure. “My, uh…” her voice fading on the next word “babysitter has to get home.” The expression in his eyes reminded her of the dimming of the day as he offered her a blank nod. Undeterred, she continued. “Come with me?”

 

“Um…” Collecting his bag, he pulled the strap onto his broad and sloping shoulder. “I think it’s probably better if I don’t.” Marlena’s mouth settled into a tiny frown. “You have things…” mumbling, “people, to take care of, and I…” Glancing down at his haggard appearance, “well, I am in serious need of fumigation.” Offering up a thick rumbling chuckle, calculated in its intent, he took a couple steps toward her—leaned down to meet her eyes, to try and reassure her. Of what, he wasn’t entirely certain.

 

“I’ve got a shower…even got a high pressure sprayer.” Her mouth quirked, slightly desperate and hopeful.

 

“Yeah, and a family that doesn’t need to be turned upside down…” Offering her a crooked grin, “Or do you make a habit of bringing home vagrant strangers?”

 

A cute little familiar crease of dissention formed between her eyes. “You’re not a stranger.” She laid a settling hand upon his arm. “You’re not.”

 

“Close enough…” Getting lost in the flecks of gold that dappled the irises of her eyes, John’s smile melted into tender longing. Without reservation he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. The smell of her perfume played lightly with his sensibilities. His moist and hot breath rasped in her ear. “Walk you to your car though.”

 

“John…” Her voice shuddered in meek protest even as she gathered her things to head for home. Marlena stopped abruptly. “I don’t want to lose you again.” Fierce, knowing eyes compelled him to match her gaze. “Promise me…promise me, I’ll see you again—tomorrow.”

 

He knew it was the wrong thing to say, wrong thing to promise…but standing here he couldn’t imagine any other alternative. It simply hurt too much. “I promise.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNSUNG PSALMS

 

Meticulous blue script faded across the page of the folder before her as she stilled to roll the dying ink pen in her palm with anxious distraction. She couldn’t help but wonder where John was right now; what he was doing; if he found himself as consumed with thoughts of her as she was with him. Staring at the clock, the minute hand ticked past with agonizing slowness. Falling back into the cold, unyielding metal of her chair, Marlena sighed with girlish impatience—tasted the aroma of stale coffee mingling with the uniquely briny river smell in her lungs. Maggie’s lilting voice carried over the wall and momentarily soothed the childlike enthusiasm that flashed behind her hazel eyes…almost mollified in the knowledge that at least the clinic was closer to the Ponchatrain than the hospital. How she’d hated letting him out of her sight the night before. She had awoken in the ebony darkness of the wee morning hours curiously afraid that he’d been nothing but an apparition conjured up out of the mist of a long-lost romanticism. A gentle knock refocused her attention. Deceptively lithe, a mousey figure of a girl scurried into the cubicle. Collapsing into the chair, the girl’s large black eyes darted with a desperate helplessness. Dirty blonde kinks framed her face messily as she struggled against the invisible bond that held her in place. A soft, encouraging smile warmed Marlena’s features. “Hello…” Glancing down at the folder, she found the girl’s name. “Nicole. I’m Dr. Evans.” Pausing, she scanned through the medical report. “Do you mind if I call you Nicole?”

 

Her reply was quiet, but raspy and tinged with a subtle southern accent. “Nicky.” A willing child’s smile forced itself across the girl’s petal-soft painted mouth as if answering some unspoken expectation. Coming around the desk, Marlena gracefully slid into place in the closest empty chair. Fidgeting, Nicky mindlessly worked the information packet in her lap into a tattered ball. Blood rushed in her ears as her teeth feverishly ground into her lower lip—filled the voids of silence that seemed to settle between each predictable squeak of explanation. Tears welled in Marlena’s eyes as she eased closer. Her hand fell atop the trembling blue veins that surged beneath the pale skin of the girl’s clenched fist. Suddenly Nicky turned, squared her with a fiery determined gaze, her calculated words forceful but low. “I don’t think you understand Dr. Evans…Baxter is not a big city. Blink and you miss it; it’s little more than a sign post along the highway. Sometimes it seems like there’s nothing to do there but fuck and go to church.” Closing her eyes, a dark laugh rattled through the thin partition as she pulled her hand away. “It’s ironic really when you think about it…” As if finally gnawing her way free from the trap, Nicky stood abruptly. Unflinching she met Marlena’s probing stare with eyes swimming clear and bright. “I’m sure there are a lot of things I don’t know, but the one thing I do know…have known since that day four years ago when my family moved to Baxter so my father could go to work at the steel mill…is that I don’t want to end up twenty years from now still sitting in that godforsaken little hole-in-the-wall town, reliving my brief and shining moment as homecoming queen. I want out of Baxter…. I screwed up. I know it; you know it, and if I don’t do something soon…. I was stupid, foolish and naïve, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to…” As if unable to complete the thought, her words petered into silence. Shaking her head, a resigned quiet once again possessed her. “I don’t know…but there’s a saying where I come from ‘two wrongs don’t make a right…’” Lines of confusion creased her brow, “I don’t know if this is right—if it’s the moral thing to do. But I do know it’s not wrong.” With a muffled sigh, Nicky collapsed back into her seat. “Does that make any sense?”

 

Tentative fingers reached to tuck a few straggling strands of hair away from the girl’s rich, haunting eyes as she smiled sadly. Her voice was low and choked with long-buried emotion, “Yeah…that makes sense. And I want you to understand, Nicky; no one is here to judge you. We’re here to help you. You need to know just what you’re getting into, though. I wish I could tell you this is just a simple choice, but it’s not. It’s something you’ll carry with you forever—a memory, a question, a pain, a hope. It will never completely leave you. It will rise up at the strangest and most inexplicable times.” Infinitesimal movement, she nodded even as her eyes hidden in the cascade of hair that once again poured over her face. “Take the packet home with you; read over it…” Getting up, Marlena riffled through the papers scattered atop her desk. “If you have any questions or decide you want to talk some more, you give me a call.” Squatting down to meet the girl’s eyes, she gave Nicky her card. “I’m usually here half a day on Tuesday and all day Thursday, or you can reach me at my office at the hospital.” She paused, rose up to perch on the corner of the desk—allowed her words to take root in the swirl of confusion that funneled through the tiny cubicle. “Then if you decide that this is really what you need to do…fill out the consent forms and we can schedule the procedure.” Numbly Nicky stood—muted and strained the thank you died on her lips as she slipped away.

 

For long moments Marlena sat in a foggy silence until finally a familiar voice on the radio slipped through the cracks of her consciousness. A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as the bittersweet strains of Beautiful Child wrapped around her. Closing her eyes, she drifted away. Easing the front door open, Marlena cringed at the hinge song heralding her arrival. Slivers of silvery, rose-tinted moonlight reflected off her sun-kissed blonde hair. Suddenly cast in a delicate light, offending tears seemed to trail over the family portrait hanging in the foyer. Her gaze fell on Samantha’s sad unreadable eyes. Marlena swallowed hard, crept further into the room—turned to stone as a lamp in the den flamed to life. “Marlena,” Martha’s low, guarded voice brooked all argument and explanation.

 

“Momma…” Stumbling a few feet into the mouth of the room, her face burned scarlet with shocked fear. Intently she studied the long scuffmark etched across the surface of the hardwood floor as she tried to figure out just what to say. “I, uh…it’s not…”

 

A dangerous edge sliced through Martha’s voice to quiet her daughter’s stuttering response. “I don’t want to hear it, Marlena, not tonight.” Shaking her head in exhausted resignation, Martha’s eyes closed. The slight orange glow of her cigarette dangled forgotten from her fingertips. Guilty, angry tears stung Marlena’s eyes, but she said nothing. A stormy calm stretched awkward and foreboding between them until finally Martha continued—a painful hiss. “You come slinking in here just before dawn smelling of sex…. Didn’t you learn anything from what happened to Samantha?” Marlena watched her mother’s shoulders slump beneath the thin armor of her satiny pewter robe. Muttering she stomped out her cigarette and switched off the light, the darkness once again claimed them. “You girls are going to be the death of me yet.”

 

“Momma…” Marlena’s pleading hazel eyes burned through the night.

 

“Your father will be up soon…” Her mother sighed heavily. “Hhh…go take shower and then go to bed. We’ll talk about this after he’s gone to work and you’ve gotten some sleep.” Marlena nodded meekly and shuffled quietly up the stairs. The joy from just a few hours before now seemed a lifetime away. So lost in her own misery, she never saw her sister’s head peaking out of their bedroom door. Their eyes met in a silent question and answer session passing between them. The top stair groaned beneath Martha. “Go back to bed Samantha.”

 

Sam’s eyes flashed defiance. “What? I just got up to go to the bathroom…”

 

“Uh huh, and I just got up for a drink…” Martha ran her fingers through her tired auburn hair. “Either go back to bed or get a head start on cleaning the house. It’s your choice.” With an annoyed smirk, Sam turned, closed the door behind her. Swatting Marlena lightly on the bottom, she compelled her into action. “Go on…before your father gets up.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” Her body felt sluggish and raw—the manly smell of him, the slight salty taste of his skin against her lips…. She didn’t want to wash away the memory, terribly afraid he’d somehow swirl away and be pulled down the drain, lost forever.

 

Peering around the corner, Abe’s warm smile jolted her from her cool water reflections. “Hey Marlena…got a couple of minutes for a friend?” His voice dropped to a more gentle tone as he noted the distracted slant of her eyes. “Or is it a bad time?”

 

Her focus sharpened on the familiar oceanic blue color woven into the checkered pattern of Abe’s thin cottony shirt peaking out from beneath his jacket—slowly traveled up to find his face. Marlena’s response escaped judiciously mischievous. “No, no…for you I’ve always got a couple of minutes.” Glancing over at the clock, she grinned. “But only a couple. You’re on the clock.” Abe chuckled. “So what can I do for you Detective Carver…got a case in need of a psyche profile?”

 

Sorting through the paperwork before her, Marlena waited on Abe to continue. She hoped it would not be a terribly involved request, would not delay her exodus to John. “I, uh…” Abe sat down across from her as she neatly arranged the files into separate stacks. She glanced up at him expectantly. Uncomfortable, he twisted. Unsure where to begin, how to begin…he plunged headlong. “It’s, uh…it’s not business. I, um…” Marlena’s lips twitched with equal parts humor and reservation. Abe was usually so smooth, so precise in his words…still she had an idea where he was going with this. She had no real desire to lay bare her heart, open the pages of her love life for public debate. Her thoughts interrupted, the mention of Roman’s name pulling her back to Abe’s stumbling explanation. “Maybe it’s silly…that I should feel this responsibility…” Her eyes turned hard as she sought to capture his embarrassed gaze. Or was it a fumbling inquisition? “I just worry about you, you know…. And I just can’t help thinking that you really don’t know this man…” Seeing an uncharacteristic anger flash across her face, he made a concessionary caveat. “Not anymore.”

 

Marlena’s lips curved into a tight frown. “Abe really…” Swiveling around behind her, she snatched up her briefcase. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary…. Besides, I thought after we talked last night you understood or would at least try to understand why…”

 

“Knock, knock.” Maggie smiled brightly “Marlena…Oh, hello Abe. What brings you down our way today? Not business I hope.”

 

Abe shook his head, answered quietly. “You can rest safe…just um, a social visit.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Marlena bristle. “Ah, I see…” Turning, Maggie’s eyes crinkled impishly. A knowing twinkle stared back at Marlena once again infusing her with good humor. Sometimes she wondered how Laura had ever managed to keep all her confidences through the years. Of course Marlena was pretty uncertain of even this…so overwhelmed she’d pretty much blurted out her larger than life tale the moment Maggie danced through the door this morning. “I wanted to catch you before you snuck out of here early. You are still coming over for the girl party tomorrow night, right?”

 

“Tomorrow?” She wanted to say she couldn’t make it…that she had other plans. Abe’s black eyes trained in on her. “I…I’m not sure.” She could feel the blush creeping upon her.

 

“Ah, come on Marlena. Laura is in charge of the entertainment. She’s promised me that it won’t be live entertainment…just going to rent some movies.” The strained giggle that escaped Maggie’s lips compelled Marlena to join her. “It was a trade-off though; she’s coming equipped with her own personal bar. It will be fun, a farmhouse full of us girls laughing and having a good time. Besides we need someone to make sure Laura doesn’t get too out of control. Remember last time when she decided to joyride on the lawnmower…by the time it was all over she had four or five people piled on with her—weaving all over my yard warbling at the top of her lungs.” Abe’s eyes widened as the two women dissolved into a fit of giggles.

 

Delicately dabbing the corner of her eyes, Marlena nodded. “Yeah I think I vaguely recall something like that.”

 

“You should…it seems to me you were one of finest back-up singers that night.” Maggie grinned. “The harmony will fall flat if you’re not there. And besides, I suppose the party could be crashed by a very special guest…if you think you can trust Laura.”

 

Marlena laughed loudly and tried to infuse her words with an uncharacteristic toughness. “She’ll behave herself if she’s knows what’s good for her…. I don’t know that I’ll be able to stay the night, but I promise to at least stop by for a couple hours.” Checking her watch, she tossed a few remaining items into her bag. “But right now, I really need to get going. Abe, we can finish this another time, right?” Without waiting for his reply she stubbornly slipped her coat over her shoulders and started toward the door.

 

Abe stood up abruptly. His shoulders drooped in mock defeat. “I don’t suppose my saying ‘no’ would make that much difference would it?” Leaning into Maggie, a coy smile painted Marlena’s face as she shook her head to affirm his assumption. His droll voice muttered genial defeat. “No, I didn’t think so…. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

 

Her smile flashed blindingly at him as the trio made its way out to the entrance of the clinic. “Of course…” turning her attention back to Maggie, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Anything you need me to bring?”

 

“No, just yourself…” Pausing a moment, she continued playfully. “And maybe some exciting tales of romance for us lonely spinster sisters.” Pushing the door open, Marlena nodded. Her laughter mixed with the bell overhead.

 

~~~

 

Like an instinctive reaction to the suffocating billows of mildew-sweet steam the bathroom door swung open. Raw, fresh sweat beaded on his naked flesh—tears washing over the inextinguishable flames destined to beat forever against his back. Clutching the dingy basin, for a moment the stench of charred flesh burned in his lungs. As if slumping against the force of a great and mighty wave, the anxiety swelled, crashed and broke over him. Somewhere in his consciousness he felt the towel slip from his waist. Capturing it fast in his grasp, he used it to wipe clean the warped and cracked mirror. There she stood, mouth agape, staring back at the strange circus reflection that clawed through the fragile mist of memory—freakishly beautiful, a mottled contradiction. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to forestall the assault of images in his mind; sought instead to replace them with a carefully crafted and painstaking normalcy. Dull scissors, a cold extension of his trembling right hand, John tugged the fingers of his other hand through his bushy, unkempt beard and gasped for air. Wild and willful eyes bore into his like hot, gooey swirls of licorice melting in the sweltering jungle sun. Black-ink darkness bled across his mind. Metal clanked against the rusty cast iron sink as he dropped the scissors and stumbled out of the bathroom—fell atop his bed.

 

“Okay Spyboy…” With a slight flick of his eyes, Lieutenant Weaver glanced to his left. He looked like an attention-starved puppy…his big brown eyes, hungry and eager to please, begging. “Looks like the monkey’s finally off your back. You’re with Tuck.” The soft light of belonging that filtered over his gaze went undetected by all but John. No, their attentions were too occupied with some rite of passage punch line yet to be delivered. His skin began to prickle, hair standing on end as an entire platoon of smirks settled upon him—some amused, others not quite so far removed almost sympathetic and one, one, blank with indifference. “You…” The lieutenant’s steely gray eyes picked at scabs of insecurity. “FNG, you’re with Preacher.” Eyes wide with disbelief he absorbed Preacher’s image. A tormented angel of peace resurrected out of the stinking bowels of purgatory, he said nothing…continued to clean his fingernails with an old boy scout pocketknife—rain-bloated New Testament sheathed in the band of his helmet, golden cross blazing in contrast to the tarnished dog tags plastered to sticky flesh and the manmade wreath of flesh, ears mostly a finger or two…. John swallowed hard—thought he heard a disembodied deep, rumbling belly laugh echo through the lush air. “Now headquarters supposedly got some good intel on Charlie. So you know what that means—ambush. Squads divide up, dig in and sleep in shifts.” With conscious effort John blinked, tried to find some thread of reality, but the scene remained unchanged. With a Marlboro hanging carelessly from his lips, Peacemaker busied himself with his gear. Numbly John aped his actions. As the murmuring voices whirred like bullets, he took up his pack and followed Preacher into the fading orange flames that slowly fell from the face of the earth.

 

John couldn’t sleep—nerves stretched taut. In the distance a cigarette glowed in boorish insubordination. A delayed reaction he almost laughed, the punch line…one sick motherfucker’s bombast of muttered prayers. Suddenly, Preacher’s voice fell silent—replaced in all directions by foreign jungle screams. John wondered if the Colorado countryside would sound like screams to Charlie. Preacher’s words slowly twined around him. “So what’s your name?” John could see it; hear it in the change of Preacher’s tone of voice—his mouth quirking upwards. “Or do you prefer FNG?”

 

John’s tongue grazed over salty lips. His hollow blue eyes shifted from side to side in futile hypersensitive as his response escaped like a bullfrog’s croak—found its home in nature’s symphony of sound. “John.”

 

Preacher offered up a slight nod of approval. “Ah, John…good Christian name.”

 

John’s head bobbed thoughtlessly as he tried to convince himself that the noises he heard ringing in his ears were part of an old familiar tune serenading him—convince himself that Marlena would soon realize he was gone, find him and make right all that was wrong. Her breath soft and raspy, moist against the flesh of his neck—she’d wrap her arms around him as if she’d never let him go, never let him fall. With a sharp shake of the head, John descended back into Vietnam, back to his foxhole and the strange creature beside him once again mumbling. His whisper sounded childlike in his own ears, but he continued. “Preacher, um…can I ask you a question?” Preacher’s lips stilled. Bright and gray, his eyes slit open to peer back oddly serene. John’s mouth twitched as he worked his lower lip between his teeth. “I just, uh…what’s with all the praying?”

 

Bewildered, Preacher’s face paled. “I don’t understand. What else would I do? Psalms…’the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping. He hath heard my supplication, and will receive my prayers.’ I mean if God can’t help us, who can?”

 

John could feel the self-consciousness burn across his cheeks. “I guess, but…” John’s voice stalled as his attention fell on the shadowy remains of a finger—rotting, broken off at the knuckle. A bone weary sigh seemed to float across the dirt path and settle upon them. “I think it’s my shift to keep watch if you want to try and get some shut eye…”

 

The knocking at the door crescendoed into a loud frantic pound. Naked, John rolled upright. Sitting shoulders slumped and head bowed, he desperately sought to quell the tempest within—struggled to make his current reality coincide with the visions slinking through his mind. The fierce beat against the flimsy door matched the uneven tempo of his breathing. “John? Are you in there?” The familiar tinge of panic in Marlena’s voice propelled him to action.

 

“I, uh, yeah…. Coming.” Hurriedly, he leaned over to grab a new pair of clean, white jockeys out of the half-opened dresser drawer and tugged them on. His steps were listless. Slowed with nightmare sleep, his shaky hands slipped into the red and gray checked, nubby-soft flannel shirt he’d picked up earlier in the day at the dollar store. The doorknob, cold and lifeless beneath his palm, creaked open. At the sight of John’s stormy lapis eyes, Marlena’s fear dissolved into liquid honey. He looked so irresistibly vulnerable—his skin flushed, the prophetic line of an old scar peaking out from beneath his damp and mussed hair like a question mark dangling between tongue and flesh. At first he said nothing. He simply stood content to absorb the warm radiance that seemed to surround her. But feeling the intensity of her eyes upon him, he blushed. “Hi.” His greeting little more than a shy quiet hum lost in his turning away. Reaching, he snatched up his pants—blue jeans so new they almost stood freely.

 

She could see the crimson blush creeping up the back of his neck as she followed him in and closed the door—see how the thick, humid air curled the back of his shaggy hair. She was sorely tempted to throw her arms around him and run her fingers through his hair but decided against it choosing instead to slip from her heavy winter coat. Tossing it across the back of the room’s only chair, she watched his back tense with a strange sense of déjà vu.  

 

John stared out the window, his gaze traveling sightlessly over the peals of paint flaking off the battered brick facade of the old Dreiser warehouse. Worrying the third button of his shirt until it popped off entirely, he gave up. His mouth curved into a bemused sneer. He knew he should have bought the blue shirt; snaps…snaps would have been much easier. As he once again turned to her, a part of him couldn’t help but feel like a horny virgin readying for his first real date. Ripples of strain flowed over his body like an electrical shock seeking to resurrect the dead causing his voice to rattle deep in his chest as if rise up out of the grave. “You look beautiful—so damn beautiful.”

 

A small grin lit her features. “Thanks.” Marlena devoured him—soapy clean, barefoot and totally without pretense…his un-tucked shirt still mostly open. He was hairier than she remembered, maybe a little more muscular but still his body was long and lean. The air between them grew dense with silence until finally she giggled. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous…seeing you again, talking to you, is pretty much all I’ve thought about since you walked me to my car last night and disappeared into the shadows.”

 

From beneath heavy-lidded eyes, he glanced up—intensely weary but glowing, waves of blue crested above her. Nodding subtly, the soft smile crinkled in the corners of his mouth comforting her even more than his whispered reply. “Me too.” Plucking up a pair of socks, John sat down on the edge of his bed and busied himself. Without looking up, he continued. “You know, I don’t think I was this nervous the first time we…well you know. Of course I was slightly high at the time…guess that might have had something to do with it.”

 

“Slightly?” His eyes lifted to meet hers, sparks of mischief flashing against a hazel backdrop, but neither continued—choosing instead to let the laughter swell between them. Flopping down beside him, Marlena flailed back on the bed and continued to laugh until her ribs ached. How could it be that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d laughed like this? A twinge of melancholy flitted through her thoughts, but she refused to entertain it. Choosing instead this moment, this miracle, this man. Rolling onto her side, she pulled him down beside her. She could feel his hot staggered breath tickling lightly against her face. “Now there’s a theory for coping with social anxiety.” Marlena chuckled as her warm fingers trailed through his beard. She had to admit it was sexy, but she missed seeing all of his face—missed being able to commit to memory his very being with just the tips of her fingers.

 

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over hers—the barest of touches. Pulling away suddenly, he scurried away from the bed and stunned her with his unsolicited apology. “I’m sorry…I, uh…. Damn!”

 

Confusion marred her brow as she tried to capture his lost and cloudy eyes. Rising, she sidled up closer to him—questioned lightly. “What?”

 

Shaking his head back and forth, he never met her gaze. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have done that. It was presumptuous and stupid. It’s just you looked so beautiful…I’d been wanting to kiss you since the moment I opened the door and saw you standing there—pink sweater so much like the one you had on the day we met. But I just…I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angr… ”

 

Taking his hand in hers, she raised his open palm to her lips—hushed all words as she moved forward to lightly kiss him, her voice murmuring against his partially open mouth. “Now, will you please quit apologizing?” Resting her forehead against his, she could feel his still nod of agreement as his hand tangled in her dark blonde tresses. She wasn’t wearing a ring. He had noticed it yesterday almost immediately as he felt the delirious nakedness of her fingers against his face. Still she had rushed home to relieve the babysitter…Marlena was a mother. The very idea, the images it sent flittering behind his eyes, made him ache with bittersweet joy. He had always known she’d be an amazing mother. But what of the father…somehow, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even bring himself to go there. He’d tossed and turned the entire night through. His stomach twisted furiously at the possibilities that he’d come all this way just to watch her slip out the door until finally rising with the first rays of light shimmering through the dusty air and in a wretched rush collapsing beside the toilet. Feeling his body tense, Marlena couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. She wished she could somehow get him to open up to her, understood why she could not. But for now this was enough—just being in the same room, him hugging her close, his heart hammering heavy and alive beneath her ear…it was more than enough. It was more than she ever expected.

 

The growl of her stomach seemed to echo off the paper-thin walls. Feeling an answering chuckle, she lifted her eyes and was greeted with his sweet smile. “You hungry?”

 

“A little. How about you?” Not accustomed to a steady diet, he shrugged a bit indifferent. “Why don’t I order us some pizza? My treat.” Marlena made a move toward her purse. “That way they’ll deliver and we can just sit and talk as long as we want.” Fearing she would sound pushy, she began to backtrack—tried to sound nonchalant. “If you want to, talk, I mean.”

 

A tremor of anxiety labored to overwhelm him, but John stubbornly refused to concede. He swallowed hard, choked the words out. “That sounds okay on one condition…you order, I treat.” Going over to his pack, John pulled out a crumpled wad of ones from the small pocket sewn onto the side. “Deal?”

 

Seeing the stash of money, unspoken question marks skittered across Marlena’s brow. The unanswered questions only seemed to mount. With a tentative nod, she took the bills from his outstretched hand. Her voice suddenly low and subdued, she glanced around the room. “Where’s the phone?”

 

“Oh, uh…it’s in the hall.” John grimaced a little at the thought of sending her out there. As best he could tell his neighbors weren’t the most savory of characters, that Matt kid had probably been the pick of the litter. “Why don’t we order together?” Gently he wrapped his arm around her—escorted her down the dark and dingy hallway, unsure if he’d be able to withstand the fire of her scrutiny…but willing to test his metal in the seductive flames.

 

~~~

 

Tossing a piece of crust back into the box, Marlena’s eyes rose to travel across the bed…the chasm small, yet somehow maddeningly unbreachable. A large gulp of lukewarm soda lodged in his throat as his mouth twisted into a painfully clumsy smile. The sudden crushed velvet sound of her voice startled him from the stupor of his imaginings. “Ready to talk about it?”

 

With a slight turn, he gazed out the window into the fast encroaching nightfall. His reply a weak and strained croak of a whisper, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

 

“The beginning is always a safe bet.” She could see him stiffen—feel it in the subtle shift of the mattress.

 

John slid off the bed and walked over to the window. A hiss of steam rose up out of the radiator to form teardrops of clammy sweat on his partially exposed chest. “I’m sorry; I guess I just don’t see the point…won’t change anything.”

 

“Maybe…” Marlena frowned thoughtfully. She didn’t want to sound selfish. She didn’t want to tell him that there were questions that she really needed answers to, questions that had plagued her for years. “But if nothing else it could be a good first step in accessing your benefits.”

 

John’s head whipped around. His eyes blazed as an edge of danger stabbed haphazardly through his crackling voice. “As far as the U.S. government is concerned Private John Black is dead, and frankly I’d just as soon keep it that way. They don’t have anything to offer that I want or need…” Once again gazing out into the dark, his final comment faded into the shadows. “Just more entanglements.”

 

The box springs squeaked beneath her shifting weight. He could hear her soft breathing echo silently at his back. Her words escaped quietly defiant. “Is that what I was…am? An entanglement?”

 

Stumbling backward as he faced her, the sadness behind John’s piercing blue-gray eyes an undertow that pulled them both down into the black watery abyss. “God, no! Why are you putting words in my mouth?”

 

Marlena tried to still the ache—wrapped her arms around her stomach to forestall any further loss. “Maybe because you’re not really saying anything.”

 

“What would you have me to say, Marlena?” With a tired sigh, his fingers combed nervously through his hair to graze lightly over the raised scar just on the edge of his hairline. “Hhh, you know sometimes life just decides to fuck you…and there’s not a whole hell of a lot you can do about it but try and make sure it doesn’t split you in two.” Worn through to the base plywood, John stared intently at the bare spot in the rug. “I have no doubt that I’ve made a lot of mistakes through the years. Every possible turn I’ve opted for what was wrong. But I can’t go back and undo those decisions, and I can’t live in a world of what ifs.” His eyes shuddered closed as he shook his head in a prophetic, twisted kind of affirmation. He whispered more to himself than to her. “Not without going completely insane.” Marlena didn’t move. She simply watched him carefully, regretfully, longingly out of the corner of her eye. The raging wind howled through the ill-fitting window frames as the eerie serenity building between them compelled them forward. “And I know that’s a really crappy answer and that you deserve better than that…” offering up a battle-fatigued shrug to the seedy room, “better than this. But I don’t know how to make sense out of the senseless.” The defeat suddenly replaced by a stark realism. His head lifted—icy blue frost melting over her golden heather. ”I mean if I asked you to explain what happened to your sister, could you do it? Could you shape it all into some semblance of order and reason…or would you just be relaying a bunch of jumbled up facts that in the end still don’t amount to a hill of beans?”

 

As if struck, Marlena gasped but remained steady and unyielding. Indignant fire burned in her tawny eyes as she captured his gaze. Her knuckles blanched against the pressure of her clenching fists. Leaning forward, he sifted sound onto her lips moving almost silently. “That’s a low blow, John.”

 

Kneeling before her, he pried her cold fingers loose and took them into the sweaty grasp of his oversized paw, pulled them toward his lips. His breath hot and moist against the sensitive flesh spoke softly—each word a kiss, every syllable a caress. “I didn’t say it to hurt you…I said because I knew you’d understand. I said it because when you told me yesterday about Samantha’s death I could see in your eyes that same futility. It’s not something I ever wanted to look into your eyes and see reflected back at me…not something I ever wanted you to know.” Reaching up, John gently tucked the fallen sweep of Marlena’s hair behind her ear and continued his feathery touch across her rosy cheekbone. Her image began to swim in the tears swelling behind his eyes. An effervescent glow surrounding her, making him momentarily question his tentative grasp on reality. “Marlena, I loved you with every ounce of understanding that I possessed about just what love meant…I loved you.” A quiet confession, “I still do.” Climbing onto the foot of the bed, he wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close as much for his own comfort as hers. “I’ll recount every day, every night, every moment, every nightmare if that’s what you need. But I’m asking you…please don’t ask that of me.” Folding back against the wall, they sat in companionable silence.

 

Marlena could smell the soap on his skin as she leaned into him—almost taste it on her lips as her ear rested just above the reassuring beat. Without conscious thought, her arms coiled tightly around his waist. How was she to respond to that? She couldn’t risk pushing him too far, too fast, and yet she couldn’t just forget. Her whisper tickled lightly across his heart. “Can I ask you just one thing?” Except for the muscles twitching faintly beneath her grasp, his only response was the almost invisible nod that quivered above her. Her question sounded small and puzzling as her warm hazel eyes lifted to capture his gaze. “How are you planning on getting by and still being ‘dead’? I mean you can’t even get a job…”

 

John’s expression quirked at the sheer unexpectedness of her train of thought…a wry chuckle rumbling in his reply. “That’s your one question?” At a total loss for even the most basic answer, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “It’s never really been a problem before…” At the feel of his fingers dancing down her spine, she relaxed. “So, um…you need to get home to the kids?”

 

Marlena’s eyes glittered brightly as she shook her head no. “Carrie is with Anna, and the twins are visiting with their grandparents.”

 

Awed, John’s eyes widened. His question hung childlike. “Twins?”

 

She giggled, small and slightly self-conscious, offered up a tiny nod of confirmation. “Yeah…a boy, Eric, and a girl, Sami.” She beamed with maternal pride. “And let me tell you, there’s nothing quite so wonderfully taxing as going through the terrible twos with twins…. Gives me a whole new respect for Momma.”

 

Gnawing upon his lips, John let his eyelids flutter closed. For a brief instant he allowed the image to take shape in his mind. Sighing heavily, he plunged forward—sought to complete the picture before his courage slipped away. “Anybody else at home you need to get to?” His voice fell silent but somehow she instinctively knew. “A husband?”

 

He couldn’t help but note the sadness behind her eyes as she again lifted her head to meet his timid gaze. She didn’t want to talk about all that now. She didn’t want to reopen the still tender sores left by Roman’s death, wanted instead to simply live in this moment. Swallowing hard, she managed a small, violent shake—hoped it would negate the idea as tears spilled down her cheeks. Carefully he descended—brushed his chapped lips softly against her delicate temple. Trying to make sense of her mood and desperately wanting to remove the hurt he saw hidden in the black pools of her eyes, he almost missed the quiet, soggy sound “No one.”

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW FAR FROM CANAAN

 

Through mostly unseeing eyes, an air of melancholy seized Marlena as she watched the maintenance man spackle over the small hole in the wall just inside the psychiatric ward. Her mother’s gaze was steely and blighted as she stared silently across the table—the twin images of drooping shoulders and hidden eyes only further raising her hackles, compelling her forward. Like prettily clad, exhausting, little apes they pushed the breakfast around on their plates in an exceedingly pathetic and hollow attempt at miming interest. How long had all this been going on? How long had the patients been running the asylum? No matter. Today it stopped, Martha vowed. She would simply be more diligent, more persistent.

 

Marlena twisted uncomfortably in her chair. Her sister’s fear was so palpable that it threatened to overwhelm her too if she didn’t escape soon. “Momma?” Her voice lumbered like a child’s scrawl across the page—innocent and fat with promise. “Can I be excused to uh…” Marlena swallowed down the last gulp of her orange juice in part to parch her suddenly dry, aching throat, but mostly as a weak and doomed self-preserving homicidal rush to drown out Samantha’s begging voice echoing in her head…don’t leave me, please don’t leave me alone…“uh work on my history paper?”

 

Nonplussed Martha’s attention volleyed back and forth between the two girls as if watching Billie Jean King in some strange surreal tennis match. Her stomach roiled with dread. Crimson flames licked their way across Marlena’s cheeks as her mother’s eyes grew sharp—midnighted and focused. Blurry tears burned like barely contained hazel flames—forced Marlena to divert her eyes before they could escape to a small crack in the plaster along the crown molding. And in that instant she wished she could just dissolve, seep between the almost invisible crevices of perfect imperfection lost to the pressures of her well-meaning parents. Unblinking Martha studied her girls, her babies, her pride and joy. Tremors of unease shivered down her back, but all she offered was a simple nod of assent.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow…and if all goes well we’ll begin to see about getting you into an outpatient support facility.” Laura’s voice preceded her into the hall as she backed her way out of Mr. Lee’s room. Coming up short at the tired distraction painted across Marlena’s face, she tread softly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

 

A goofy smirk tugged at her lips. “A penny?” Marlena shook her head in mock disdain. “You’ll mess up the exchange rate for the entire head-shrinker’s union. Business can’t be so bad as to pay to hear other people’s problems.”

 

Laura’s eyes twinkled in playful contemplation. “Ah, maybe it’s just me…need to start some sort of new mental health fad where the latest thing is to be treated by someone both certifiable and certified by the AMA.” Leaning forward to stifle her reaction, a small laugh escaped Marlena’s clenched fist. Refocusing, Laura continued. “So…”

 

“So?” Laura’s brow furrowed expectantly. “Oh, I uh…it’s nothing really.” With her off hand she offered an almost absent gesture toward the entrance. “Just wondering how healthy it is to put a big patch over the top of our mistakes and paint them fresh and clean as if nothing ever happened.” Blushing lightly, she shrugged a little at the silliness of it all.

 

The bitter, tepid brew slithering down her throat distracted her from Laura’s curiously inquisitive expression. “Maybe you should suggest this to Tom…you know, he’s always looking for ways to cut the budget without sacrificing the quality of healthcare.”

 

Marlena almost sneered “funny” as Laura chuckled in dark amusement. “Surely a psychiatrist of your repute doesn’t need to be told about the associative workings of the human mind?”

 

“No…though something tells me if you did, it would be a rather interesting discourse.” Laura’s mouth curved into a warm smile. Her brown eyes softening like freshly creamed coffee. “So, any home improvements in particular you’re second guessing?”

 

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Marlena tilted her head off to the side as if considering. “Not really.”

 

“Okay…well how was your weekend? John? You were in and out of Maggie’s so quickly Friday that I never even got the chance to speak to you.”

 

Marlena’s face puzzled cheerfully. “Laura, I was there for over two hours. I knew you were already three sheets to the wind, but I didn’t realize you’d lost all concept of time…” She chuckled. “Oh well, it seems the best parties are the ones that you don’t quite remember.” The corner of her lips quirked upwards in wry humor, “like Alice through the looking glass.”

 

A faint blush swept across Laura’s complexion. “Well you know memory really isn’t my strong suit, even on the best of days…”

 

Interrupting, “I’m not going to ask what you think your strong suit is.”

 

Laura shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s probably best. Now enough about me…talk.” Noting the dark light of conflicting emotions clouding Marlena’s expression, Laura smiled encouragingly. “I know you want…” quietly she amended the thought “need to talk about this.”

 

All Marlena could muster was a slight nod of concession as two young nurses scuttled past on there way to the break room. Their stifled giggling confessionals of their weekend’s adventures escaped pleasantly in stark contrast to the cool, oppressive sterility of the hospital ward. With a quiet sigh, Marlena leaned closer and rested her elbow against the counter at her side. Her voice low—her words coming in intermittent awkwardly broken phrases and long rambling streams of consciousness. “The problem though…I could search from now until the end of time and never find an adequate expression for what I’m feeling…. I’m just…” Happy tears gathered along her eyelashes. “So filled with joy and relief, but most of all possibility…. Outside of my children…maybe…my family…this man means more to me than anyone—anything, always…. Trying to make peace with losing him, laying my love for him to rest was probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. How I endured…felt as though I was burying a part of my own soul…I’ll never know. Now, suddenly, here he is. And I feel alive.”

 

Marlena’s voice melted into melodiously expectant silence. The next notes waiting to be sung, Laura prompted gently. “But…”

 

“But he’s not the same; I’m not the same. The walls…there were always walls…but not like this. It’s like they surround him—a mile wide and twice as thick.” A lonely bark, “defenses…” fled Marlena’s lips—low and insistent. “I’m no better…. There are places I don’t really want to go either—pain I don’t want to relive, losses I don’t want to revisit.” Marlena’s eyes fell to the dull gray-white tile floor. Her next words escaped little more than a raspy whisper. “Yet I can’t help needing him to.” She shook her head as if to rattle the thought free, continued as if the admission had never been made. “Instead I look at John and I just want to go back to a simpler time to that delicious innocence when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that love was enough to carry us through anything.” Finally looking up, she met Laura’s probing stare. “Stupid isn’t it? Foolish?”

 

Laura’s eyes shuttered closed for a second as she shook her head and negated the idea. “Not stupid, human.” Reaching over, she placed a comforting hand atop Marlena’s. She met her gaze squarely. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, Marlena…. Take things slowly, one step at a time.”

 

Marlena rubbed wearily at her temples. “Easier said than done…there’s a part of me, of each other, that only we share. I knew it from almost the first moment I laid eyes on him. He awakened a wild wantonness in me. He made me free…. We went for a walk along the pier Saturday. The sky was overcast—pink and purple in the waning sunlight, reflecting off the water like falling stars. Stopping, he turned and looked at me, his blue eyes like a kiss against my skin, and in that moment I knew he still does…and I didn’t know whether to throw my arms around him and never let him go or run away and hide.” Without conscious thought Marlena reached to delicately wipe away the tears that had began a silent trail down her cheeks when she remembered the inappropriate nakedness of where she stood. Sighing loudly, she labored to recapture the mask of stolid professional composure. “Hhh…when did I become so damn afraid of the possibilities?”

 

“I would say somewhere along about the time you had to give up that childhood sense of invincibility and let go of John. No lesson ever hurt quite so much, did it?” Laura watched as Marlena shook her head sadly—joined her watery chuckle of agreement. After a moment, she continued. “You’ve been blessed with a miracle, my friend. It’s not every day that the dead rise and walk again…. You and I both know that you could never walk away from him even if you wanted to. So just follow your heart and take things as they come. Let the walls take care of themselves.”

 

“No, not every day…” The hard edge of cynicism in Bo’s voice arrested Marlena’s contemplation of the inherent wisdom of Laura’s words. Looking up, her eyes widened as she swallowed hard. She had dreaded this moment, this confrontation. Dealing with Abe had been taxing enough. She simply wasn’t ready to add Roman’s family to the already addled equation in her mind—had delayed the revelation when dropping the twins off at Shawn and Caroline’s with a quaint series of half-truths and vagaries about seeing an old friend from Colorado. An easy enough solution if not for the guilt that crept in upon her restless slumber. A part of her feeling like an adulteress branded scarlet. Twice the cheat…betrayals of ghosts and memories so strong as to send her scrambling out of bed and falling on her knees to beg for forgiveness. Not even sure for what…and never mind her skepticism. She was just looking for solace anywhere it might be found. Salve against the wounds. She should have known though that Bo would not be so easily dissuaded, that he would come swooping in on some misguided mission to protect his brother’s widow. Barring herself against his unyielding spirit Marlena turned to meet the fiery determination of the rich brooding blackness of his eyes—eyes that never failed to send a chill of awed trepidation down her spine. Dangerously unpredictable…but always true. His stare spilled over her like feverish inky wells of darkness. “In fact there are only a couple of monsters…” He paused, the thought like an unmentionable murmur hissed through gritted teeth. “Like Stefano Dimera, that I can think of who have the habit and the power to resurrect themselves from the ashes.”

 

Seeing Marlena’s shoulders sag under Bo’s implicit accusation, watching her stumble backwards as if slapped, Laura tried to calm the tempest. “Bo…”

 

Spear-like his focuses hurled in her direction if only momentarily to pierce any defense Laura might have thought to offer. Futile…stubborn jackass! Sometimes she wondered just what her niece saw in this brute. Only to remember the tremble of his lip at even the insinuation of Roman’s memory—the ever-present, unspoken sense of responsibility looming like shadows on a blackbird’s wing. If only he knew where to draw the line. With a begrudging shake of the head, Laura moved to Marlena’s side. “I’m going to finish up my rounds while I have the chance.” Tearing her haunted eyes away from Bo, Marlena finally met Laura’s gaze and nodded lightly. “Swing by my office later…we’ll grab some lunch.”

 

Strangled with emotion, her reply poured out a teary croak. “Yeah, okay.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Laura’s retreating form shrink down the hallway before darting quickly into a room and disappearing from sight. Marlena hardly spared Bo a second glance as she gathered her files. Embracing the cold, sloshing promise of caffeine nirvana held in the base of her coffee mug, a slight ringed stain marring the mid-point in mute testimony, she escaped the ward and down a faceless corridor. Blinking long and languidly, her balance faltered beneath the tension that throbbed mercilessly behind her eyes—stumbled, brushed awkwardly into the uncompromising solidity of the wall.

 

“Marlena…” Bo’s voice cracked with mulish frustration; still she continued to make her way in silence. If he was going to insist upon having this discussion, then at least he could do it on her terms in the relative privacy of her office. Almost against her will, Marlena glanced back over her shoulder to watch the annoyed, boyish shuffle of his heavily combat booted feet as he fell in step beside her. She hated those damned boots and everything they stood for. Entering her waiting room, a vacant smile painted its way across her face as she half-heartedly listened to her secretary’s gentle Mid-western accent. Thoughtlessly she collected her messages. Her mind more pre-occupied with dread and the swell of nausea that twisted her stomach like the swirls green and tan that bled across Bo’s camouflaged thighs than returning a phone call to some pharmaceutical salesman. The door ebbed open as the wave of monochromatic tranquility offered up by her office décor washed over her like a welcomed safe-haven. Closing the door, he eyed her expectantly while she studiously ignored his presence—busied herself, idly thumbing through a stack of junk mail. Like a shotgun blast, his impatience pierced the air between them. “Well?”

 

Marlena’s meticulously arched brow rose. Unflinchingly, her deep amber eyes met the storm behind his. Schooling her tone into a soothing cadence more apt for therapy than confrontation, she carefully placed the onerous back upon him. She refused to simply buckle to his unspoken demands and make this easy. “Well.” With more confidence than she felt, Marlena sat. Her long legs crossrf with natural grace as she leaned forward to rest her arms atop her desk, grateful for the small shield of distance it provided as nervous tremors traveled from her toes up her tightly clenching calve muscles.

 

Tenuously the silence stretched on. Recognizing that Marlena had no intention of continuing, Bo huffed loudly before plowing forward unconcerned with tact or forethought. He simply wanted to get at the truth. He had to know that Marlena was safe. He could at least do that much for his brother. “Hhh…so, uh, when are we going to get to meet this ‘friend’ from Colorado?” Marlena could almost feel the derision in Bo’s strained and muttered, friend, a cursed epitaph—palpable like a specter lingering just above them.

 

“I know you mean well, but you’re out of line, Bo.” Brushing a few loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes, calm defiance danced across her lips. “I’m a big girl, and I know what I’m doing.”

 

In a rush, Bo pressed close. His gaze locked hard and fast. “You do?”

 

Sitting up ramrod straight, her back stiffened. “Bo…”

 

Abruptly, his question bit into her reply—doubtful and full of fire. “You know what you’re doing?”

 

“I know this man.” Unmoved, Bo’s fathomless stare never wavered. His agitation pricked her flesh like icy artic wind in search of fragile marrow. “I know John.”

 

Accusations seemed to arise out of nothingness—mostly still lips, hidden beneath the dark cover of his bearded face. “Do you also know that Abe couldn’t even get a last name out of him?”

 

“No I didn’t know that…but it doesn’t surprise me.” Bo listened. His obvious irritation etched across his features. “He has his reasons…I respect that. I may not know the full breadth of why he feels the way he does, but I respect his need…” Ignoring his black mood, Marlena’s voice softened fractionally. “And I trust him.”

 

“Damn it, Marlena!” Bo’s open palm smacked loud and without warning atop her desk. “How can you say you know this guy? And how can you possibly trust him?”

 

Her response sounded of child’s logic, and she knew that it wouldn’t pacify Bo’s need to play protector. Still she simply felt too fatigued at the moment…besides, simple though it was, it was perhaps the most true answer she could give him. “Because I do.”

 

His stare turned black as barely contained words of disbelief escaped from behind grinding teeth. ”By all accounts he’s little more than a bum. A bum who just happened to show up one day out of the clear blue sky. I think that’s more than just a little bit suspicious, don’t you? How do you know he’s not just using you…how do you know you’re not just an easy mark for some scam?”

 

A lioness spark flamed to life—pounced upon the ugliness of his charge. “First, watch your tongue. You have no idea the life John has led—the hell he’s seen…” A soothing whisper, her voice trailed off into a silent hush “You don’t know him…” before once again churning to a slow boil of emotion. “There are things you simply don’t understand.”

 

Bo swallowed hard and fought the undeniable urge to roll his burnished eyes. “Make me understand then…. It’s not like you to keep secrets, Marlena, not from your family. What are you hiding? What are you protecting?” As if wounded, the hazel light leeched out of her expression. “Or should I say who?”

 

Sighing wearily, her shoulders hunched further forward. Resting her head in the cool crook of her palm, an ink pen dangled forgotten between her fingers. “Hhh…I don’t want to do this Bo. I’m not trying to be secretive…”

 

Overtaken by her complacency in the face of his genuine concern, he snapped. “That’s bullshit! We wouldn’t even know about this mystery man if Hope hadn’t overheard you talking at Maggie’s.”

 

With a sudden push, Marlena’s chair crashed into the credenza at her back. The picture of herself draped in cap and gown standing between two proud beaming parents rattled and tipped into the back wall. Standing up quickly, her eyes glittered dangerously as she loomed above him. “Exactly!” A cloud of confusion sweeping over him, Bo’s brow furrowed. “Hope never would have heard me talking about John if I had something to hide.” Upset, she threw her ink pen down on the desk. Her voice crackled dimly—a raspy husk like pine cones dropped onto a dying fire. “This is pointless. I can’t do this. It’s hard enough…but I just can’t talk about this, especially not with Roman’s baby brother.” Seeing the unspoken truth in the gathering tears, Bo suddenly felt awkward and mute. He watched as the fist clenched before her quivering lips valiantly struggled to keep the emotion at bay. The air whirred quietly around him. His gaze darted uncomfortably around the room as vainly he searched for something to say. Finally Marlena ended his misery—a murmur supple and deliberate. “You’re no fool, Bo. In fact sometimes you’re a little too intuitive for comfort…. I’m sorry, but for now you’re going to have trust me. You’re going to have to accept that this is a journey I have to make for myself…without the Brady clan looking over my shoulder.”

 

The intercom buzzing at beside her jarred them from the moment. “I’m sorry, Dr. Evans, but your 11 o’clock is here.”

 

Reaching for the button, Marlena slid easily into her professional manner like a warm winter suit. “Thank you Hillary…” She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged lightly at the corner of her mouth at Bo’s elusive shrug of defeat. “I’ll be right out.” With a subtle glance, she caught sight of her slightly jostled image reflecting back at her from the glassy protection covering various and sundry degrees, moved to straighten the lines of her pearly pink gabardine suit jacket. “I love you Bo. The Brady family means the world to me. You’re a gift. Never doubt that. All I’m asking for is time…” Noting the sparkle behind her lively hazel eyes, his attention fell uncomfortably to study with intent distraction the dull scuffmarks marring the toe of his boot. He didn’t want to admit it, and never would to her, but he didn’t remember the last time he’d seen her eyes burn with such ferocity…maybe he never had. His gut twisted uncomfortably, her request again cut into his thoughts. “Just give me…” her next word coming out in a blushed mumble “us, a little time.” Finally leaving her firm entrenchment behind her desk, Marlena’s smile grew bright and genuine even if still slightly guarded. “Please.” Linking her arm in the crook of her elbow, they started toward the door. “Oh and for what it’s worth…I’m planning on inviting John to Thanksgiving dinner next week…” Bo looked at her out of the corner of his eye. His lips curled into a begrudging smirk. With a look of mischief, she opened the door and threatened playfully. “And if he agrees you better be on your best behavior, buddy boy, or I’ll make you eat my green bean casserole all by yourself.”

 

Stumbling backwards into the doorframe he clutched his stomach. Sugary wickedness clung to his rough discordant laughter. “No…not that, anything but that.”

 

Marlena laughed “Okay you…” and hugged him. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

 

A hint of expectation hummed in her ear. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”

 

Playful exasperation tinged her voice. “Promise…. Now go.” Trudging toward the hall, Bo glanced back just as Marlena smiled welcomingly at her patient and moved fractionally away from the door to gesture. “Mr. Lynch, please come in.” With one final shrug of momentary defeat, he left.

 

~~~

 

Just above him the wind whipped loudly a tattered flag that has faded almost to the point of invisibility. The sound buzzed in John’s ears and captured his attention like a distant chopper on low approach. He blinked through the foggy light as if trying to recapture the evening—keep the memories at bay. With a casual kick he focused his sights on moving a tin can down the dingy, narrow sidewalk. A symphony of pings and clanks echoed down the block. A real job…he’d never really done an honest days work, just other people’s bidding. He didn’t know exactly what he expected when he’d gone down to the docks this morning to seek Henry out to see if his offer still stood. He certainly hadn’t expected to be put to work on the spot, but he wasn’t complaining. The work was easy, kind of thoughtless, but easy. But most important, it was honest. As if in testament, he felt the twinge of seldom-used muscles clench wearily in his back. Still he had to admit, it was a discomfort he would suffer gladly in return for the rewards. After leaving her yesterday, he had made himself a promise that the Dimera’s blood money had to go. He couldn’t keep getting by, no matter how sparingly, on the profits of his sins. And he couldn’t go back to the streets and remain a part of Marlena’s life…. A job, it was a strangely intoxicating idea. Shoving his fists deeper into his pockets, John aimed for the electric pole and kicked—watched as the can ricocheted into a wall and back out into the center of the walkway. His fingers fumbled over the newly-acquired bills loosely stashed in his coat as a small genuine smile spread across his face. Like a lone feather ensnared in a gust of wind, his spirits fluttered up from the foul depths of the damp and dirty ground. Gazing across the way, the sight of an old man swearing at the sidewalk as he shuffled futilely against the bitter blustery breeze tore John’s fleeting sense of accomplishment. Instantly made him wish he were stoned as memory flamed across his mind.

 

The tiny, little Vietnamese man stood defiant. His elderly wife huddled in the fain security of his withered arms, a couple of C-Rations clutched in his snarled hands. Lost in the haunting depths of endless pools of ebony darkness, John tried to ignore the insistent rumble of his stomach—missed the import of Lieutenant Weaver’s harsh bark of orders. He recognized the intent only when the torches flared to life—split his awareness behind desperate darting eyes…house, family, soldier, house, family, soldier. Sweat formed on his aching flesh—left the streaks of red dirt caked upon his raw, exposed skin bubbling. Unsure, a stuttering question tripped almost falteringly silent across John’s lips without conscious thought.

 

Close beside him Woolf’s deep unforgiving eyes shifted his direction. They glowed with something akin to sympathy. “I used to think that way too…when I first got here. Then I saw a kid barely big enough to even pick up a rifle blow a brother’s head right off his fuckin’ shoulders. Just like that…” He snapped his fingers. “If you want to live to make it back home, FNG, you’ll figure out real quick that the only assumptions you can make here are the worst case…. It’s a bitch and probably hell on our souls, but that’s war. And besides what the fuck is your soul good for if when you turn your back some frail old bastard…” Woolf’s mouth curved into a knowing leer. “That you’ve just given your rations to puts a bullet through the back of your skull?” With a huff and a hiss, the small hut burst into flames—quickly lost to ash in cinder.

 

Green smoke burned in his nostrils. The shack couldn’t have been there very long. With a furtive flick of the eyes, he watched the broken couple. Their was something mysteriously regal in their ancient reflections; he wondered just how many times this had happened. Harsh lines etched deep into the woman’s face and her eyes seemed to sting with tears and yet still there was a blank indifference—proud and stubborn plastered into place, like a Halloween mask trotted out for just such an occasion. Craggy and weathered the man hugged her closer, her impassivity finally buried into the coarse dirty fabric of his thin shirt. He seemed almost placid but for the subtle sneer of hatred tugging mute rebellion on his taut, drawn mouth. Suddenly, John wondered what he would do in such a situation—if he would hug Marlena close and live to fight another day or if he would sacrifice himself on that mystical altar of martyrdom. Again his eyes darted…encampment, doubt, survival.   

 

With a start, John came to—lurched forward, punted the rusted out tin can into the deserted street. As if driven by some unknown force, his wobbly legs moved of their own volition in the direction of the unchained spirit. Not knowing why, not knowing if it is his future or a distant murmur from his past that bellowed to him in the howling wind…he approached to find wild eyes like two black lumps of coal staring through him as the swearing continued. Like the aftershock of an earthquake, emotion shuddered along John’s spine and his hoary eyes grew wide. Tongue-tied, he stood frozen…listening, but the air had fallen dead. Finally he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the few wadded up bills. The bum shifted from foot to foot. The volume and fervor of his cursing increasing as John’s expression grew pensive. It was only sixty bucks, but he’d earned the money. He was proud of that small feat, even so…. Stuffing the loose bills into the old bum’s pocket, he turned and headed for home. His ears keening on one last expletive, “holy shit!” Stilting and imbalanced, he chuckled before giving over to the inexplicable urge to whistle—the tune strange and vaguely familiar.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HURT

 

The smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie wafted through the air and the din of happy chaos crashed, pounded with the certainty of tides falling against the shore. Carrie’s carefree laughter tinkled over from the kitchen into the bustling room. Setting the final plate, Marlena wandered back over to the long line of windows. Except for Kayla most everyone else had arrived. Her eyes turned dark and probing as if compelling him to emerge from the dense foggy day. Like an arrow he pierced through her doubts and fears—broke into the misty light carrying the shadow of his former self like a strangely comforting cloak of expectation. The door rattled noisily on its hinges as she hurried out to meet him. Coming up short, Marlena’s hazel eyes glittered brightly as her voice escaped a soft and emotion-laden whisper. “You made it.” Silently John nodded and tried to smile reassuringly. As gravity seemed to close the distance between them, her hand rose. Her long, delicate fingers danced lightly along his jaw-line. “And you shaved…”

 

A faint blush crept over his face—so familiar and yet so unfamiliar. “Yeah…I, uh, guess I did.”

 

For the first time noting the slightly stoned reflection behind his glassy blue eyes, Marlena’s mouth twitched in momentary hesitation. Linking her hand in his, she led him toward the door. Leaning into the bulky reassurance of his body, she ran her warm, dry lips across his bare cheek. An almost invisible caress that ended with a hoarse rasp breathed lightly into his ear, “I like it,” and sent shivers down his spine as the bittersweet memory of her lips, her hands, her thighs, the swell of her breasts…floated before his unfocused eyes. Unaware she pulled him back through the web, the handle turned beneath her free hand. “Come on…I want to introduce you to everybody.”

 

A lump of foreboding lodged in his throat, as not for the first time John pondered the wisdom of once again standing next to Marlena. What a powerful force fear could be…he’d realized this morning that he’d almost rather face the ambiguity of death as look into the uncertain eyes of an old lover’s in-laws. Standing in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, staring back at the face he no longer recognized and wasn’t even sure he’d ever really known much less understood, he slumped forward to rest heavy-hearted. Glancing down into the sink to the dirty clotted remains of his beard, he felt so very naked almost like the first time he’d awoken in the middle of the night as a young boy to find himself all alone in a cold, empty house his blanket twisted around his feet. A tiny part of him sorely tempted to take the straight razor dangling loosely in his right hand and slit his own throat if only to end the nightmare he seemed incapable of waking up from. But for her…somehow it always came back to Marlena. He never had been able to leave her—not even in the purely hypothetical musings of his own mind much less the concrete promise of reality that seemed to stretch out before him now. Dropping the blade with a discordant clang, he stumbled back into his bedroom. His towel fell along the way. Sliding into a pair of white jockeys, he collapsed atop the bed and set about trying to recall the first Thanksgiving they’d ever spent together. It was the first time he’d really had to meet her parents. Rolling over onto his side, he rummaged through his bag until he found what he was searching for. His gaze grew increasingly black with each tick of the clock as he indecisively eyed the joint. The harried beat of his heart seemed to echo maddeningly about the room. His anxiety swelled. With a sigh of triumphant defeat a sweet pungent billow of smoke haloed above him. Taking a couple of slow tokes, a mask of calm fell over him. Her fingers felt warm…an unspoken assurance in the unyielding softness of her grasp clinging so firm and true to the iciness of his raw, chafed paw.  

 

“Marlena…Marlena…I wanted to show Momma the book we’re reading when I see her later, but I can’t find it. Do you know where it is? I know I brought it with me…” Her girlish enthusiasm flashed like a kaleidoscope of colors before his eyes, her words coming fast and jumbled. He could feel a silly grin tug the corners of his mouth at the sight of Marlena kneeling down to meet the girl’s pale blue eyes.

 

His mind playing catch up, John only managed to catch the tail end of Marlena’s answer. ”If it’s not there Sweetie, then I don’t know.” Pulling a stray wisp of long e hair away from the girl’s eyes, Marlena smiled. “Before you go look though, I’d like you to meet someone…a very dear friend of mine from Colorado. This is John.” Her attention strayed back and forth between the two hopefully. “John, this is my step-daughter, Carrie.”  

 

Sidling closer to Marlena, she greeted him with dubious shyness. “Hi.”

 

“Hello…” Swallowing hard, his lips quirked uncomfortably, “nice to, uh, meet you.” John’s voice withered as the din gathered momentum and a frustrated cry of ‘tackle him’ erupting across the room. Prickles of nervous energy moved along his spine. Jamming his hands into his coat pockets, he fidgeted awkwardly. “So, uh…what book are you and Marlena reading?”

 

Glancing back from her uncle Bo’s excited antics as he playfully began tickling a cackling Eric, Carrie muttered. “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

 

A slow smile came across John’s face. “Ah, good book…”

 

Carrie’s words piqued with curious surprise. “You’ve read it?”

 

“Yeah…” He nodded thoughtlessly. “Well, really I saw the movie first—Gregory Peck.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Marlena’s contented smile. Turning, lines of anxiety faded from around his eyes and a familiar smirk, like James Dean rebellious vulnerability, curved across his mouth. “But later I read the book—Aticus, Scout, Boo Radley…” A small azure ring flickered to life out of the shadow of his dilated pupils. “Great characters…” John scrunched a little closer to whisper in a slightly conspiratorial tone. “Pass the damn ham please.”

 

Carrie giggled. Her eyes widening, darted quick and embarrassed to Marlena…surprised to see her easy grin and soft touch running soothingly down this strange man’s back almost like she were wiping away the sleepy remnants of a bad dream but still different somehow…

 

Ravenous, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His senses were taken prisoner by a delicious palate of aromas. Losing himself, he fought the conspicuous urge to run the back of his hand over his watering mouth only to be brought back by the touch of Marlena’s hand about his neck as she slowly helped to peal his coat away. Realizing that he had somehow missed Carrie’s reply and exit, John blinked…once, twice, three times…he struggled to crawl out of the hazy blur and bring his mind into sharp focus. His body jerked to attention as a disembodied brisk Irish brogue bit through the noisy family chatter from behind. “Aye, lass…” With squinty-eyed concentration John thumbed through the addled files of his recent memory, positive there was a connection. Taking the coat from Marlena’s hand, the old man smiled warmly as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. His eyes gestured briefly toward John. “I suppose this means you’ll be restin’ easier now?”

 

“I suppose.” Marlena chuckled. Her arm linked into the paternal crook of his elbow. “Shawn…” Her words drifted past…the hair sleek and shiny like a silver fox, the faint and muddled accent, the eyes honest and diligent. He had met this man before, but where? “John?”

 

A floundering silence buzzed in his ears to rouse him from weary contemplation. “Huh?” A hint of worry flickered across Marlena’s expression as she returned to his side. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry…I guess I got a little distracted; everything just uh…” licking his lips “smells so good.” John’s face flushed—a small embarrassed grin crooked the corner of his mouth. “Umm, nice to meet you and thank you letting me join your family dinner.”

 

“Aye, that’s nonsense. Any friend of Marlena’s is always welcome.” Shawn’s eyes darkened. “You look a might familiar…” His browed creased in contemplation. “You’re the lad that helped me on docks a few weeks back.” At the realization, his scrutiny seemed to intensify—his expression clouding over, a gray mixture of wary appreciation, as his gaze passed briefly to Marlena and back again…

 

And so the tone was set. Compelled about the room like a wounded dog on a short lead, one introduction bled into the next. Just a blur of names and faces, he feared he would soon forget. The promise of failure regurgitated bitterly, mind and tongue would never properly align. John swallowed hard as he was finally brought face to face with the future that so easily could have been his—tiny twin reflections of perfection, clinging happily in their uncle’s imposing shadow. In the far distance of his mind, he thought he saw Bo—like a tightly wound spring on the verge of snapping, the entirety of his being a scream of protection. But the image passed away—lost to the heavy pound of his heart swelling into his throat and the roaring that burned in his ears as the blood rushed forward. As if standing somehow outside himself watching it all, he heard Marlena’s voice, soft and full of maternal pride, whisper only to him. “And this…” On unsteady legs, they teetered into her light as she lovingly tousled their fine golden hair. Her hand a caress he’d known once and yet never known, just a dream they had shared. “This is Sami and Eric.”

 

John could feel his knees buckling beneath him. He forgot all about maintaining even the trappings of strength and simply squatted down before them. Dry air ripped through his aching lungs. Overwhelmed at the dancing blue eyes of innocence looking back at him, his vision began to swim. Finally his eyes lifted, met Marlena’s—forced his mouth to the shape of sound. “They’re…” His gaze once again trailed down, he bit down hard on his lower lip and embraced the pain. He kept it close inside, tethered tight against his heart. “Beautiful.” Their eyes locked and bathed together in the nectar of regret. His mouth curving into a sad smile, John nodded. “They’re beautiful.” After a few minutes of keen study, he continued. His voice quiet and awed. “They look like you.” Even though his eyes remained fixed on her children, she could see his lips curving into that small boyish smile she so loved that it had followed her for years into dreams and memories and visions of what might have been.

 

Taking a step closer, Bo interrupted. “Actually they look a lot like their father.”

 

Marlena’s look filled him with daggers—sent him seemingly scurrying back to the relative safety of his football game. Impervious to the exchange, John continued speaking as much to himself as to anyone who cared to listen. “Nah…it’s in the eyes and around the mouth; how they turn their heads just so.” The realization fluttered like a sigh across his lips. “It’s something internal…how they carry their personalities.” Suddenly, he looked up at Marlena. His expression pierced to her very soul. “It’s almost like looking at that picture your mom always kept on the mantle of you and Samantha sitting in that wagon.” Trying to blink back the fire in his eyes, salty tears made a hasty escape down his cheek to gather at the corner of his mouth to sting the broken flesh.

 

The unexpected touch of small, pudgy fingers, soft and warm, brushing gently at the side of his face jolted him. There, her other little hand balanced at his knee, Sami’s sparkling eyes grew wide with child sympathy. “No cry.” Sniffing loudly, he gathered her little fist within his hand and kissed it lightly as his self-conscious chuckle rolled like thunder through his chest.

 

He could feel the golden intensity of Marlena’s gaze blazing down upon him, but he didn’t dare look up for fear of being blinded. Like a shell-shocked fool standing in the sweltering jungle staring up into the white-hot midday sun, he knew he would be lost. Looking back down at Sami, his face softened. With a subtle shake of the head he answered her. “No; no cry.” Standing carefully, he swiped his itchy eyes and looked for something meaningless to capture his attention. As if paralyzed with indecision, Marlena watched helplessly as his eyes darted blindly about the room finally settling with blank indifference on hypnotic glow of the television screen. His voice rising up from the ashes, at once lifeless and reborn, startled her from a strange meditation on coping with the hazards of colliding worlds. “So, uh, who’s playing?”

 

Bo’s inky eyes narrowed. His tone stupefied, he muttered only, “it’s Thanksgiving.”

 

Cocking his head to the side in impassive contemplation, John ventured tentatively. “Yeah…”

 

With a huff, Bo slumped further into the sofa and propped the edge of his heavily booted feet on the edge of the coffee table. “A real football fan I see.” Feeling the escalating tension, Shane glanced around the corner of his newspaper. He wondered just what Bo was spoiling for. “It’s the Cowboys and the Lions…same as most every other year.”

 

Sweeping past on her way back to the kitchen, Caroline swatted gently at the back of Bo’s head. “Bo Brady, mind your manners…” Looking up with an annoyed scowl, he smoothed the curls of his long dark hair. “And take your feet off the table.” Like a scolded child, his boots fell with a loud thump to the hardwood floor. “That’s better.” Leaning down she kissed him on the top of the head and whispered none too quietly. “Don’t sulk.” From behind the paper, Bo was sure he heard the Governor stifle his rich laughter.

 

His mind drifting, John turned away—lost himself in the dancing play of light and dark created by the fevered flames licking against the chimney walls. Confronted with his back, taut and almost trembling, Marlena’s body grew sluggish and stiff. She knew the feeling well, a certain kind of rigor mortis of the soul that she’d believed long ago conquered. A struggle reborn, she determined to overcome it. Her arms wrapped loosely around his waist as she leaned in close, rested her chin atop his rigid shoulder and whispered. “What do you know about football anyway? You were always a baseball man, one of the boys of summer.” Although she couldn’t quite see from beneath the intimate shadow of his neck, she was almost sure that somewhere deep within she could feel him grin. Or maybe it was just her imagination running wild—wishful thinking to light the way. Peering up through a lush veil of ebony lashes, she tried to capture his attention. The hair along his arms stood on end as the sound of her voice more than her words beckoned to him. Like a drunk in a midnight choir, her lips seemed to toy over the strains of a melancholy tune. “In fact I seem to recall one of your more pathetic rationales for going to boot-camp being Joe DiMaggio served in the army during World War II.”

 

Sheepish, his mouth stretched into a long straight line as he turned in her arms. “I didn’t say that. Did I?”

 

Marlena chuckled. As painful as some of the memories were, she couldn’t help but be grateful for them. They always provoked a reaction—always seemed to open the lines of communication. Besides…it felt good after so many years of holding the ache close to her heart like an heirloom she hadn’t wanted and yet had somehow learned to protect to finally hold it up within the bright rays of light and see the beauty. “John, I wouldn’t talk to you for almost a week after that.” A mischievous smile crinkled at the corner of her eyes. “You most certainly did say that.”

 

Shrugging under the pull of elusive memory, John’s brow furrowed. He really had no recollection of ever saying any such thing. Still he didn’t doubt he had. “Guess I’m no Jumpin’ Joe, huh? Just a legend in my own mind…”

 

Pulling a little closer, her hands rubbed the small of his back and tried to recreate the cocoon within which they had once existed, bright and shining virgins drunk with possibility. “I don’t know about that…the scouts didn’t come to watch you play for nothing.”

 

His voice pensive, he muttered to himself. “I think they probably did.”

 

“Well I always thought you were pretty good with a bat.” Seeing the wicked glint spring to life in his impossibly blue eyes, she realized just what she’d said and fought the urge to dissolve into a fit of silly, girlish giggles.

 

The blood coursing down into his groin made him feel lightheaded and even more stoned. His eyelids drooped heavily. Watching her back arch, her curves like mirth’s tantalizing shiver. He wondered if she even felt the unconscious grind of sex. On impulse he hugged her close. An almost silent exhale he playfully murmured against the warm, tingling flesh of her earlobe. “And what about balls…was I good with them too?”

 

The playful slap against his back broke over the room, loud and insistent. Oblivious, they remained enfolded in a torrent of scandalous, happy laughter as a tenuous calm swept curiously over the room until finally the silence overwhelmed the moment. With a pained gurgle, the joy died in John’s throat. Shuddering the memory flashed behind his eyes. Even as he prayed for death he feared the loneliness. His own bile warring with the bitter, slimy sludge of earth that threatened to suffocate him. On the periphery of his vision, John saw a flash of blackened rage flicker in her brother-in-law’s eyes, and suddenly he felt all too sober. Awkwardly he disengaged himself from Marlena. He moved back to the fire he knew blazing in the hearth, stared into the flames in the futile hope they could blot out the images. So lost within the fiery lure, he didn’t know just when she’d rejoined him there in front of the mantel or just what words of explanation she might have offered her family or even if she did. He knew only that her presence was a comfort that weighed heavy in his soul. “So, uh, what’s the statute of limitations for admitting one was wrong?”

 

Though somewhat taken aback by the question, Marlena intuitively understood his need to shift the conversation back within the boundaries of safe conversation. A part of her felt it too. “Fifteen years…” Smiling pleasantly, she added. “But for you I’ll make an exception.”

 

John mimed relief. “Hmm, okay…of all the stupid, bonehead things I’ve said and done through the years, and make no mistake there have been far too many to count, that has to rank as one of the most sophomoric, idiotic ideas to ever make it past my lips.” With a boyish charm, his eyebrow arched. “Deserving of far worse than a week of the silent treatment…I was wrong.”

 

Her mouth curved into a crooked grin. “Oh, I like a man who can admit when he’s wrong.”

 

The sexy growl in her voice sent shivers down his spine. “Well stick around, baby, you’ll love me. I’m wrong nine times out of ten.” Lifting his eyes, they scanned without seeing the family photos that seemed as fixed as the nails that held the heavy mantle together. Tentatively he reached for one of the frames. “Is that him, your husband?”

 

Offering a nod so subtle as to almost be missed, the restraint in her reply seemed to echo in his head. “Roman. That picture was taken not long after we brought the twins home.”

 

In silence he studied the faces—glowing expressions forever captured. “You look happy, content…”

 

With an ancient sadness in his eyes, John needed no confirmation for a truth plain to see. Still as their eyes met and spoke volumes as yet untold, he accepted her quietly spoken words without the dread and ferocious envy he had anticipated, but rather with genuine gratitude. “We were.”

 

Their words tumbled over one another.  “I’m glad.”

 

A muffled grunt fluttered over from the open door to capture everyone’s attention. The delicate muscles in her arms quivered as Kayla quietly tried to reign in her failing grip. Her soft eyes glittered determinedly only to dissolve into annoyed frustration at the sound of her baby brother’s playful ribbing from across the room. “You know K if you want to try and slip in inconspicuously, you really shouldn’t be the last one to arrive.”

 

“Funny.” Smirking, she felt the bag under her arm slip.

 

Before Bo could reach her, Kim was there. “Here let me help you.”

 

“Thanks.” With a relieved smile, she clumsily shared her burden. Turning toward the kitchen, Kayla continued. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I stopped by the clinic to check my work schedule next week and got tied up talking to a woman from one of the grief counseling groups. This is her first real holiday alone, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was already running la…”

 

Her explanation stifled like the very movement of the room by an intimidating bang of flesh pounding heavily—demanding entrance. In two long strides, Bo crossed the room and jerked the door open. He almost gasped at the sight of the man before him but still he held his ground. “What do you want Johnson?”

 

“Such hospitality and toward someone just trying to do a good deed…” Leaning a little closer to Bo, a bitter sneer painted its way across his face and his voice dropped a full octave. “Eh, you know what they say, let none go unpunished.”

 

Bo scoffed. “Yeah, right! Out with it, what do you want?”

 

“Sweetness here…” Pulled by some unknown force, Patch’s gaze closed the gap between himself and Kayla as her name crossed over his lips existing somewhere between a leer and caress. “Dropped her keys, and being the nice guy I am…” Lifting his busted up fist between them, like a magician holding up his illusion for inspection he dangled the key ring before her. He almost seemed to bow in her presence. “I retrieved them—thought I’d save her the worry of trying to retrace her steps.” Glancing at Bo, his mouth soured with the all too familiar taste of foul betrayal that never seemed to grow old.

 

The soft touch of her fingers against his, the shy blush in her voice recaptured his attention. “Thank you, Steve.”

 

Unconsciously sliding closer to her, their eyes met. The blue shining in his eye as clear and true as the sky, the gruff sound of his reply a deliciously naughty contradiction. “Welcome.”

 

In a none too friendly gesture, Bo patted him on the back as he tried to capture his forearm and show him the way out. “Yeah, thanks. And now you can go.”

 

Feigning surprise Patch smirked. “What…no reward?” With a profound sight that had little to do with the eyes, his attention traveled about the room. He almost chuckled as one by one the gazes crumbled beneath his scrutiny. “No invitation to dinner?” Taking a few more steps into the room, lines of concentration etched across his face as he squinted at the lone stranger in his midst with his arm so foreign yet so comfortably draped protectively in the hourglass of the pretty lady shrink’s waist. Roman’s widow…he could almost feel Bo bristle at his side. He wanted to simply laugh at the predicament. Again he studied the stranger. No, not stranger…He recognized the hard stare looking back at him. Glancing about the room, an ugly laugh resounded through his voice. “But then you’ve already got this year’s charity case.” His intent gaze bore into John. “Oh, you are slick. What happened? Decide to leave your sidekicks for greener pastures?” As Patch leered at her, Marlena felt the muscles in John’s body twitch. Recognizing the harmlessness of the look, she shrugged off the grubby paw prints of his glare—turned her attention to trying to subconsciously calm John when Patch’s single-mindedness revealed itself like a magnet pulling him back to Kayla. Pangs of longing echoed in the quietness of his rumbling observation. “Can’t say as I blame you…really does look like the land of milk and honey, don’t it?” Suddenly feeling raw and exposed, he stood up straight. His brute exterior galvanized, he decided it was time to go. ”Still, to leave the poor slobs to fend for themselves…. Nothing quite like Thanksgiving dinner at the soup kitchen, but something tells me I don’t need to tell you that do I buddy?” With a tug at the battered lapels of his weather-beaten leather jacket, Patch started toward the door but stopped to look back at John. “You know someone gave me some great advice once…said things aren’t always what they seem. It looks warm and inviting here, but I’d watch my step if I were you ‘cause you’ve entered the belly of the beast now. ”

 

Stepping away from Marlena, John approached him. Confusion marred his brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

Patch’s face the picture of neutrality muttered. “Just some friendly advice, take it any way you want. Or ignore it and tread in darkness.”  The door banged noisily behind his retreating form as a multitude of unspoken questions swirled throughout the room.

 

Wiping her hands on her apron, Caroline made a silent plea to God for peace and changed the subject. “Well now that everyone is finally here why don’t we sit down to eat?” They gathered around the table—clasping hands with a ritualistic thoughtlessness. “Shawn, why don’t you say grace?”

 

His body seemed to recoil beneath Marlena’s warm grasp as words shattered the stillness of the moment and he interrupted. “Um, sorry…I, uh, need to use the bathroom.”

 

Beseechingly John turned to her. She nodded quietly and gestured with their combined grip toward the hall. “Second door on the left…. We’ll, uh, wait on you.”

 

Taking a few steps back his lips brushed across the back of her hand as he slipped away. “No, no…that’s okay. You all go on ahead.”

 

And the darkness enveloped his soul—sent him slinking down the hall, blindly groping as the sun seemed to fall forever from grace. Pushing his way through the door he didn’t even bother to fumble for the light switch as his foot pushed the door closed behind him. His knees landing with a dull thump, he gave his body to the cool porcelain of the toilet basin. The fingers of his right hand dug desperately through his jean pocket—sought the harsh reminder and disturbing comfort of his talisman. Brushing his thumb over the rubbery remains, John pulled it free. He cupped his hand round the decaying shell and listened. With a shiver, the prayer became one with the somber darkness. Preacher stood above them, there upon the gnarled root—an unholy sermon on his lips, a bloated Bible open to an undisclosed page. “For the Lord, shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.” Thumbing through the pages, his eyes skimmed through the dying light. The battered tin of his sup lifted above his head, Preacher continued. “And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins. But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” Pausing Preacher tried to supplicate his will He tried to form the prayer God would have him speak.

 

An eerie uncomfortable silence echoed through the jungle. Looking up from beneath dark lashes, Peacemaker’s growled “Mmm, turkey-loaf…just like Mom used to make.” His vicious laugh vibrating against his taut and toothy smile. Their gazes locked. “Be sure and give thanks for that, won’t you. Oh and don’t forget to thank the mighty Jehovah for gracing us with such…” he gestured about the damp and muggy surroundings. “Comfort, and let’s not forget the joy of human companionship. Why hell, I don’t know what I’d do without the fucking standard U.S. Army issue family.” The anger and derision in his voice quickly captured the attention of the entire platoon.

 

Plato looked up from disinterestedly pushing the grub around his plate. The glow from the fire reflecting off his glasses until his eyes and the flames seemed to be one and the same. “You seem mighty pissed Peacemaker for a simple non-believer. Not to mention damn knowledgeable. But then maybe that’s the problem…Preacher just reminds you of a faith you can seem to reconcile.” Swallowing down a half a can of beer in one swig, John could almost taste the sweet satisfied grin tugging the corner of his mouth—reveled in Plato’s obvious bit of deduction and the ballsy casualness with which he stated it.

 

Peacemaker snapped. “Plato, why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

 

With a shrug, he returned to picking at his meal. “Just making an observation…”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t want your fucking observations.” Turning suddenly, his eyes like two shimmering onyx speared Preacher. “And I don’t want to hear any more of your fucking prayers! Not today!” His fork grated metal on metal, as he furiously shoveled the imitation mashed potatoes into his mouth—deciding this must be what cardboard tasted like…thinking on the spread he was sure Mama had laid out and the place she’d inevitably left empty just for him…

 

Through the darkness he searched for the pounding. A kind of muted defiance beckoned to him. It was then he heard her voice calling his name. “John?” For a moment he wondered if he were dead, if she were his angel come to finally wrestle him away from this nightmare. Running his tongue along his lips, he tried to swallow. Feeling the dry air scorch through his body, he was surprised not to find the acrid tang of death. He shoved Preacher’s ear back to the deep dense—back to the ghosts of whispering refugees and lost souls.  “John, honey, are you okay?” Shirt messy and un-tucked his body slithered across the tile floor cool on his sweaty exposed flesh. His uncooperative fingers falteringly smothered the room with light in an instant. “John…please?”

 

With no malice of forethought, John swiped at his face and slipped the door open. Marlena eyed his face—strange and unreadable, the tension noticeable in the veins protruding from his neck. He wished there was something he could say to reassure her, something he could say to explain. Gnawing on his lower lip, he hoped beyond hope that she would let questions and the worry he saw mar her forehead with lines of concern flutter away as yet unuttered. “Sorry I, uh, took so long.” A small awkward smile etched its way across his face. “Any food left?” Looking at her with an air of youthful guilt, he saw the concession in the knowing twinkle of her brilliant hazel eyes and his smile grew. “I’m famished.”

 

Marlena chuckled as her hand moved down his chest to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. “I’ll just bet you are.” Taking his hand, she locked her fingers between his in a firm embrace. “Let’s go…” She flipped off the light and pulled him down the hall. Her raspy hope traveling back to be enveloped in the darkness. “Lucky for you Caroline made enough food to feed an army.”

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: RELATING TO A PSYCHOPATH

 

Turning at the sound of a log collapsing atop the weak flames, Marlena stared through unseeing eyes. Silly of course, but it was times like this when she most felt Roman’s absence. He was always such a man, handy around the house…. The charred remains smoldered and the acrid taste of burnt pine resin smoked her lungs. Even though it had been over a year she hadn’t figured out the secret to building a decent fire. Hapless, she shrugged and tossed another log into the fireplace. Maybe she never would. Maybe building fires was just one of those wonderful simpatico aspects of a good relationship. After all she was the one who had taught Roman how to really enjoy a fire. Or at least she had tried…never completely sure it was a lesson one could learn. Strangely enough it had come to her as natural as the air she breathed—sitting naked and wholly unashamed in the warm flickering light, lips moving over every inch of divine skin like a wild sacrament of amorous transcendence…a careless shadow race that neither she nor John seemed in any hurry to finish. In the far distance of her mind, the campfire snapped to send sparks flying into the midnight sky, almost like falling stars trying to ascend back into the heavens but never quite reaching their destination. The taste of John’s fevered flesh still lingered on the tip of her tongue as his fingers made delicious whispers down the slick arch of her glistening back and his lips stilled suddenly—a hot, heady rush of air tickling over the kiss of her bellybutton. Black, hooded eyes awash with desire gazed up the length of her body. Met her own, glassy with love raw and untamed—compelled him to begin his worship again. Drinking from the well of his redemption, his slow kisses wound a path back to the reassurance of her torrid heartbeat. The darkness seemed to swallow her moan even before it escaped her gasping mouth, but somehow he heard. Somehow he knew…his insistent tongue swirled around the hard beautiful bloom of her areola to lap thirstily at her milk-salt breast.

 

A timid knock rapped lightly against the door led her out of the years spent wandering in the wilderness. Glancing at the clock beside the bookcase, the hazel focus returned to her glimmering eyes. Her heart playing a primitive staccato rhythm, she let intuition take hold—swept across the room, her hips swaying as she reached to let him in. Met with his sheepish smile, a touch of light faded from her expression as she noted the dark circles of exhaustion that danced like shadows around his piercing blue eyes. Fidgeting, John’s well-worn boots pushed nervously at the threshold. His gaze never quite lifting to look into the inner sanctum of her home, the home she’d shared with a husband that was not himself. His low and craggy voice seemed to catch in his throat. “Hi…uh, I’m not early am I?”

 

“No, no…you’re perfect…” A tiny grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Just perfect. Come in here out of the cold.” Walking into the room, she considered the lines of confusion marring his forehead. “What?”

 

The room seemed to fall beneath a spell of shimmering, twinkling lights. Martha emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of hot cider. Her girls trailed disinterestedly behind her. His childlike eyes, wide and hungry, traveled up the length of the majestic blue fir to devour the delicate ornaments, wondered if each one in turn carried some wonderful family story, swirled up the carefully strung popcorn and cranberry garland. John’s gaze finally came to rest on the angel, her wings beating against the arching ten foot ceiling as if ready to leave this night behind. Resting her head upon his shoulder, Marlena wrapped her arms around his waist. Distracted, his voice droned like a low and solemn choir. “Hmm…oh, it’s nothing.” Weary eyes scanned the room. “I just figured you’d be in the middle of decorating for Christmas.”

 

“Oh that.” Handing her his coat, Marlena’s chuckle seemed to echo all around him. “Since I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, I had to promise Momma and Daddy to bring the kids out for a visit over the holidays.”

 

Feeling the sadness overwhelm him, John fought to push it back into the darkest recesses of his blackened heart—lock the loneliness and fear tight away. “It must be hard to be the doting grandparent when you’re on the other side of the country.” A subtle strain rattled in his voice. “How long will you be gone?”

 

Marlena answered with an air of distraction. “Oh, uh…a little over a week.” Her eyes poured over the rather cheerless room. “You know at first I just didn’t see the point of doing all that decorating when we’re not even going to be here…. You’re right though, it doesn’t look particularly festive, and the kids really do deserve some Christmas cheer.” Her eyes glittered knowingly. “And of course now that you’re here to crawl up in the attic for me there really isn’t any reason for me to not at least put out a few things.”   

 

A playful smirk painted its way across John’s mouth. “Is that right? And just what’s in it for me?”

 

The moment stretched between them unhindered by sound. Marlena’s finger rested lightly against her lips as she pretended to think. “My undying gratitude.”

 

His eyebrow arched. “And?”

 

With a smile of pure mischief, Marlena hugged herself close to him and whispered in his ear. “And something to drink.”

 

Shaking his head, John couldn’t help but laugh. “Well now how can I possibly refuse a deal like that? Where’s the attic?”

 

Taking hold of his icy hand, Marlena led him upstairs. “I’ll show you…and then I’ll get you that drink.”

 

The afternoon strolled quietly past. John watched in silence as she fluttered about the room. His thoughts drifting like delicate dust particles unwittingly roused into luminous reflection. Carefully placing a line of crystal angels whose scattered blessings passed over the picture frames that dotted the mantle, Marlena hummed a lazy tune. Reaching into the box beside him, he removed the nativity scene—unwrapped each fragile hand-carved figurine in turn. His trembling fingers worried the Virgin Mary’s face. With a wandering eye, he found the innocent bastard child resting in a manger. Nonplussed, Plato’s brooding emotionless eyes glared over the cool wire rim of his glasses. “That’s bullshit Preacher…” The even tone of his voice commanded attention. “The only thing we can attribute our immortal souls to is the simple inability of our moral wickedness to as yet destroy it. But have no fear…” Standing, his lanky frame seemed to slide forever down like socks sagging perpetually into one’s shoes, wearing blisters festering and bloody. His form slunk through the dusky light and came to settle beside John. Leaning a little closer, the smell of stale beer wheezed against Preacher’s cheek. “If there is one thing I have faith in it’s the ingenuity and every expanding depravity of man. One day we’ll find a way.” His fingers plucked with contemptuous consideration at the fleshy necklace. “Why Hell, Preacher, you may even represent the beginning of the end.”   

 

The gray faraway look in his eyes called to her—reminded her of the subject they’d thus far avoided. Sliding to the floor, Marlena rested at his feet. The liquid honey of her eyes poured back and forth from John to the meticulous carvings that lay between them. Seeing John flinch, she withdrew the light touch of her index finger toying over the fine details etched into the baby Jesus. Deciding instead to sooth her warm palm atop his knee, her small, shy murmur slipped past her lips almost too distant to hear. “John, can I ask you a question?” Slowly his rigid body seemed to melt back into consciousness—his dim eyes regaining a lustrous intensity that caused Marlena’s breath to catch. Unwavering, he watched her. His thumb brushing softly over the fair blue veins of her hand, he nodded with far more confidence than he felt. For a brief moment her gaze faltered and fell to the lovely denim embracing his thighs, to the clingy cobwebs he’d inevitably found rummaging through her attic. Without lifting her head, she captured his attention—left him dry mouthed and swallowing hard, lost in the smoky lure of fiery hazel peaking out from beneath a lush veil of ebony lashes. “What happened in the bathroom the other day?”

 

Shaking his head back and forth, his lower lip seemed to pucker with childish indignation as his expression once again grew guarded. “Nothing.”

 

She could feel the tears well up and threaten to fall. Desperate to hide the pain his rejection caused, she bit down hard on her tremulous lips. She hoped the cry was not evident in her strained reply. “Nothing?”  

 

Seeing the hurt sweep across her face, John backtracked. “Well not nothing…just nothing to worry about.” John shifted uncomfortably on the couch—the press of eyes staring down at him from behind their cool glass homes perched above the fireplace. He muttered rather unconvincingly. “I was just thinking about the first Thanksgiving we spent together.”

 

Marlena sighed loudly. “Hhh…you’ve never been a very convincing liar, John.”

 

Sorrow swallowed up his voice. “It’s not a lie…exactly.” Dragging dry, cracked fingers over his closed eyelids, he painfully pinched the bridge of his nose—tried to continue, to make her see without seeing. “It’s more like a half truth.”

 

Pulling her hand free from his tentative grasp, she tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know why you won’t trust me…. Surely you know there’s nothing you can’t share with me, nothing you can say that would make me turn away from you.”

 

Face lost within the seeming safe cover of his hands, John slumped forward and mumbled to himself. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He could feel her leaning closer—instinctively knew she’d heard. Standing quickly, he made his way over to the sad sputtering fire. Marlena watched the muscles in his back coil and shiver but fought the urge to go to him and try to comfort a man now as much a stranger as a lover. His fist wrapped around the cool iron of the poker as he studiously set about rearranging the logs. Bringing the fire to life like a shaman resurrecting spirits from the raging flames, his confession moved a body without bones slinking across the room. “I was remembering a holiday when I was missing you and thinking about our time together. Being with you and your family…how nice it felt to be a part of all that.” Tears lodged in John’s throat as he waited for her to respond. The encroaching stillness leaving him to wonder if he’d actually said the words out loud. Turning, the grief in her eyes assured him he had even as it implored him to continue. “I don’t know. It was just…” His long stride crossed the room as he stared blindly out the French doors. A heavy sigh echoed off the walls. “Hhh…just disconnected images and thoughts, snatches of conversations that come and go and in the end don’t mean anything.”

 

Hearing the rustle of fabric, John could not help but look for her reflection in the windowpane. She moved onto the sofa so stolid, an almost clinical detachment warring with the emotion just beneath the surface. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “Sometimes silence is the greatest obstacle we have to overcome. Simply saying the words, letting the pain out, can rob a lot of ghosts of their power.”

 

Frustration roiled in the pit of his stomach as he made his way back to the center of the room. “And what simple words would you have me to say? Regale you with tales of turkey loaves gone by, of arguments and longings and the stench of death? Tell you all about strange, twisted pot-induced visions and the sick perverts that I would’ve gladly laid my life down for…” Closing his eyes, his head seemed to wobble uneasy above his shoulders. The anguish in his voice clawed the surface of her frayed emotions. “I don’t want to bring it all out into the light of day. It’s my pain, Marlena…” Pounding his fist against his chest, John seized her with his fiery gaze. “It’s all that have to call my own and all that defines me. And it really doesn’t matter that everyday I might wish like hell that I could just close the door and leave it all in the past where it belongs because that never happens. A pesky litter of rats the memories feed upon themselves and just keep slipping beneath the cracks.” The thick Mediterranean accent crept through John’s mental fog—deadly calm. “You disappoint me boy.” Face down on the bed, the old man’s approach sent shivers of dread aching down the cold sweat clinging to his naked spine. “How many times must you be told that there is no place for compassion in this line of work?” Fat, beefy fingers yanked through the filthy mat of chestnut hair to dig viciously into the fragile flesh of his neck, forced the broken opaque imprisonment of John’s eyes to meet the twin fathomless black holes staring back at him. The aroma of fine liquor, hot and dangerous, escaped in a self-contained growl that blistered across his battered face. “That there is nothing that dooms a man to a life of weakness and servitude faster than the cold calculating hand of love?” As if against his very will, a flicker of defiance flashed wickedly behind John’s dim, lifeless eyes. The dark sags under Dimera’s eyes crinkled irritably. His thin, taut lips stretched to invisibility, an ugly sneer. Dropping John’s head back onto the cheap, dirty cot—a reeking testament to the foul stench of broken men that went before. “You’re a fine physical specimen Mr. Black…but I’m afraid the sport, much like yourself, has lost its charm and grace to entertain.” Like a horse trainer intent on breaking his most spirited stallion, Stefano circled his prone form. The ominous hiss of his tongue moving over his teeth raised John’s hackles. Finally his imposing form retreated and was quickly lost to the weak light swinging overhead from the lone exposed bulb. “No. Now I fear your stubbornness has simply become tiresome.” Without so much as the respect of a sparing glance, he continued with tyrannical detachment. “One way or another…your willfulness will no longer be at issue.” Adjusting his body carefully, John could see the tremble of jowls as the sick bastards’ face fell in half-shadow—any number of unknown enforcers lurking in the shadows. “Strip him; bind his hands and feet; string him up and then use the pressure hose until he’s a thin layer of skin away from death.” His visage lost, the final directive echoing off the damp block walls caused the bile to swell unheeded in John’s throat. “Rodriguez, the supply shed…get a new battery and cables; bring them back here.” John’s bowls clinched as he tried to embrace submission. Catching the telltale signs of fear, a sinister smile stole across Stefano’s face. Fear, f-e-a-r…he would teach this beast the power and meaning inherent in those four little letters. Foster it in its infancy—encourage the dark, twisted underbelly. He would mold him into the perfect tool, stomp out the infernal frailty that was the heart of man or kill him in the pursuit of perfection…. Either way it made little difference to him. “Besides it’s really not the makings of civil conversation now is it, Doc?” A tiny gasp quivered past her thin pink lips and her skin turned to ash. Sinking deeper into the plump couch cushion, Marlena said nothing—simply stared, her own mask haphazardly thrown over haunted eyes. Afraid to move, he stood paralyzed in the center of the room. The gray and white stripes that lined the sofa clanging before him like a jail cell slammed closed. Fighting the dryness that suddenly plagued his mouth, he finally spoke. “What…what did I say?”

 

A sad smile stretched taut, a few pesky tears made a hasty escape down Marlena’s cheek. There was an almost ironic stubbornness to the wayward shake of her head and to the words that she struggled and stuttered to push across her lips. “It’s nothing…just that my husband used to call me that, call me Doc.”

 

Biting down hard, the coppery tang of blood flooded his sense. John’s attention never wavered from the pale creature that sat before him with eyes carelessly hidden beneath the black cloak of grief. ‘Sorry’ such a hollow reply, he quickly surveyed the room. Locating the stereo amid a scattering of books on the far wall, he held out his hand to her as understanding sparkled in his ocean deep eyes. His lips quirked with boyish insecurity. “Dance with me.” With an almost invisible nod, Marlena took hold of his clammy palm. A joyless humor sweeping over her as she watched him idly thumb through the stack of records—most met with a certain blank indifference. Finally settling on one, John carefully placed it on the turntable. The Temptations pensive smooth harmony filled the air as he turned to find Marlena. Pulling her close, he considered the lyrics and couldn’t help but wonder if all of this was just his imagination; if it was all just a dream. The melody seemed to swell between them. One hand snaked into her golden tresses, pressed away what little distance remained. John’s lips a whispering caress breathed lightly “I’ve missed this, baby…I’ve missed you.”

 

Marlena’s arms tightened around his neck as she buried her face deep in the shade of his neck, her vow sending raspy vibrations down his spine. “I love you too.”

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DARK EYES

 

With idle fingers, the memory of Lily’s figure curved like a contented cat sunning itself in the top corner of his notebook—doodled, beautifully obscene in its detail. Still her face remained hidden beneath the lush veil of her fiery mane. Her soft milky curves trembled at his calloused command. Gulping down the last of the cold, bitter swill, Jay once again lamented incurring the old man’s wrath. There was nothing quite so tedious as surveillance work. Wearily scanning the almost empty waiting room and on out further past to the lifeless hallway, his bloodshot eyes burned in testament to too much smoke, too much smack, too much booze and not nearly enough sleep. The dullness of the day almost made him wish he’d opted for another stint in detox…if not for the hazy vision of Lily and her hypnotic swaying hips dancing only for him and carry him through the long moments of drudgery, the taste of aged whiskey alive upon her tongue. What he wouldn’t give right now to remember her face. Slumping down into the cool vinyl sofa, his sweatpants rubbed uncomfortably against his naked flesh taut with recollection. A dirty smirk tugged the corner of his mouth and spread across the three-day stubble masking his face. Oh well, Lily’s were a dime a dozen if you knew where to look, and luckily intuition always seemed to lure him right into trouble’s wild, wanton embrace.

 

The rhythmic clack of dainty heals on the dull gray speckled linoleum tile echoed in his head as he thought he heard her name. It wasn’t the first time he’d been dispatched to observe this pretty, little trinket, to catalogue her moods and movements until Dimera could find the perfect shelf upon which to display her particular charms. He’d spent two exhausting weeks looming in the shadows after her husband’s death until the pervading aura of depression finally overcame his boredom and he’d begged and pleaded with Stefano for reassignment. Barebellied, the thought crawled through the cobwebs of his mind…the twisted, old fart probably thought this was the perfect punishment for botching his last assignment. Offering up a loud yawn, Jay made to stretch the kinks from his tired muscles. His body long and lean, he shared an irresistibly lascivious grin with a cute, pudgy candy striper that balked at his obvious aroused predicament. Without modesty he adjusted himself before bending to rummage through his denim jacket. The loose coins a jingle-jangle as his warm, mischievous eyes twinkled as the blushing young girl scurried past. In feign of mild interest, he followed her retreating form. A haughty chuckle rumbled deep in his chest as he tossed a few stray coins into the collection cup and sloshed a refill of bitter brew into his cup. A surge of caffeine refocused his attention on the matter at hand, Dr. Evans. Leaning against the wall, he returned to his crossword puzzle and bled into the nothingness of the day…slowly and deliberately scribbled notes into the boxes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her. He studied her reactions, the bemused expression that tugged the corner of her mouth in reaction to a rather animated Dr. Horton, female.  

 

Without raising her head, Marlena glanced over the rim of her glasses with barely contained humor evident in her voice. “I’m not going to answer that.”

 

Rounding the corner, Mike saw the devilish smile paint its way across his mother’s face. Quietly he went about updating medication instructions in a couple of patient charts as Laura’s voice playfully climbed an octave. “Aww…why not?”

 

“Because I know you…” Marlena laughed lightly, “and I know how your mind works—pity the person who encourages it.”

 

His knotted fingers lost within his shaggy beard, stifled amusement escaped Mike’s half-hidden lips. “She’s got you there Mom.”  

 

“Thank you, Michael.” The sudden movement of childlike affection, a quick peck upon her cheek, melted her heart. “Well at least tell me about dinner then…”

 

“Nothing to tell really.” Marlena finished jotting down a few consult notes and placed the chart back in the rack. Pulling her glassed off, her eyes finally lifted to meet Laura’s. “I made supper last night…John came over to eat with the kids and me…”

 

Interrupting, Mike’s rich brown eyes widened. “Whoa! You cooked?” A crooked little smile curled the corner of his mouth. “And here I thought you liked this guy.”

 

Barely shifting her weight, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. One arm crossed about her waist in mock-defense as her chin rested lightly in her other palm. “Are you quite finished?” Mike opened his mouth to speak when he thought better of it and simply nodded. “You need not worry, Mike. My limitations in the kitchen are not a new phenomenon. John knows all about them and has survived far worse culinary fates than my tuna casserole.” Marlena chuckled.

 

Laura grinned. “Okay so now that we know the menu and that the evening didn’t end with a stomach pump…”

 

Slightly taken aback by the comment, Marlena’s mouth fell. Her exasperated response escaped little more than a laugh. “Laura!”

 

Just then the muted trill of a pager captured their attention. Pulling the pager free from the waist of his mint green scrubs, Mike grimaced at the request for immediate aid in the ER. “It’s me…ER.” Gathering his things, he began to slip down the hall but not before calling back—a not entirely benign smile playing across his features. “Remember Marlena, that last crack wasn’t mine.”

 

Jay’s brow creased as he watched the man disappear into the elevator. His torso lost in a loud swirl of Hawaiian colors that made his head swim and the meager contents of his stomach seemed to rise up on the turbulent waves. Running his fingers over his blurring eyes to meet in a tight pinch at the bridge of his nose, he once again struggled to focus his attention. Grateful for the soft tinkling sound of Laura’s giggle carrying over to him, his ears perked—captured her light explanation. “I’m sorry…but you know if I wouldn’t have said something, he probably would have.”

 

He watched Marlena’s eyebrow arch fractionally. The sound upon her lips held such deliciously wicked possibilities, if not for the insanely drab context. “Mmmhmm…I’m sure that was the reason and not the fact that most people would rather endure Chinese water torture as my cooking.”

 

The sound of playful self-derision in her voice set Laura off. “Hey, I’m no Julia Child in the kitchen myself. I just have a secret weapon…”

 

“Alice?” Their conversation once again droned past him unheard as not for the first time Jay wondered just what it was about this woman that had so captured Dimera’s imagination.

 

“No…the blender.” Sure she was attractive, but he’d seen prettier. And frankly he found her intellect a burden. Really, what conversation ever helped a man shoot his load…it was just something to be tolerated, just an interest to be feigned in the pursuit of finding the paradise between her thighs.

 

The sound of Marlena’s laughter sent inexplicable prickles of excitement shooting up and down his spine. “Ah yes, the blender. You just get us all so liquored up on margaritas that by the time food is served taste is irrelevant.” His dark eyes, heavy with lust, blinked slowly closed. His last fleeting coherent thought an admission of sorts…okay so maybe there was something special there.

 

“Exactly.” Thirsty at the mere suggestion of margaritas, Laura took a sip of her tepid coffee before continuing. “Now seriously, tell me about family night with John.”

 

Turning around, Marlena put the ink pen she’d been using back at the nurse’s station. Her tone muffled with unreadable emotion. “It was nice.”

 

Unconvinced, Laura waited for Marlena to once again face her before venturing forward. “That’s it? Nice?”

 

Marlena tucked a few loose tendrils of hair neatly behind her ear and shrugged. “Yeah, nice.”

 

Resting her elbows on the counter, Laura leaned a little closer and decided to try a different tactic. “Well how did he get on with the kids?”

 

A ghostly conflict flittered over her face as a tiny smile painted its way across her lips. “Oh Laura, you should have seen him with the twins. He was so sweet…after we ate he helped me get them ready for bed and tucked in for the night.” Her voice drifted away on the memory. Eric cackled as a sudden splash of water covered John’s face and drenched the front of his shirt. At his look of surprise, an irrepressible grin tugged the corner of her mouth. Handing him a towel, Marlena tried desperately not to laugh as her apology drowned by Sami’s happy hands slapping at the water’s surface. Reaching into the tub, her hazel eyes danced. “Okay my little sea monkeys bath time is over.” Wrapping the twins in warm wooly towels, she scuttled them out into the hall. “Mommy will be there in a minute to comb your hair and help you put on your pajamas just let me get John a dry shirt first.”

 

His shadow leaning against the doorframe, he interrupted. “Really, Doc, I’m fine.” Seeing her glance at him out of the corner of her eye, he self-consciously ran his hands down the front of his shirt.

 

“Nonsense, I’m sure I have a sweatshirt or something in here that will fit.” John’s brow furrowed as he watched her slip into the inner sanctum of her bedroom—his mind a jumble with painful truths and possibilities fraught with terrifying desires.

 

The gentle tug at the knee of his pants recaptured his attention—Eric’s quiet voice carrying to the back of his mind. “You gonna help Momma read us a story?” Smiling down at the small boy, John tasseled his still damp hair and nodded just as Marlena handed him a faded old Colorado State sweatshirt. Holding the shirt out in front him for inspection his eyes drifted back and forth from the oversized, fraying shirt to Marlena’s svelte form—an unspoken question on the tip of his tongue.

 

Picking Eric up into the swoop of her arm, she offered John an awkward smirk…”Let’s just say I was well acquainted with the freshman ten” before disappearing into the twin’s bedroom. With a slight shake of the head, she continued. “We must have read them a half a dozen different stories before they finally fell asleep—John’s big hand rubbing soothing circles over their backs.” As if giving voice to Laura’s thoughts that the night sounded better than nice, Marlena continued, her unconscious thought uttered passionate and broken. “It was wonderful.”  

 

Seeing the crest of tears glittering in Marlena’s eyes, the next question escaped a tentative whisper. “And Carrie?”

 

A soggy chuckle broke past her lips. “Think twenty questions…” With a sudden bit of self-consciousness, Marlena’s fingers brushed lightly for any fallen tears and tried for a moment to make her voice sound almost clinical in its detachment. “Most of the questions were innocent enough, but a couple of times I think she sort of flustered him…. I don’t think she really knows what to think of him right now. I know it’s a lot for her to take in all at once.” Her mouth quirked awkwardly. “She’s such a smart little girl…I think she knows that when I say John is my friend that it’s not the same as saying you or Maggie or Abe is my friend. I just hope I can help her understand that there’s enough love in my heart for both John and the memory of her Daddy because I don’t think I can give him up again—not for anything, not even my children.” Marlena’s fingers drummed nervously atop the counter as a dark cloud fell across her face. “Am I a bad mommy to feel that way?”

 

Shaking her head, Laura’s expression softened as she reached across the way to fully capture Marlena’s attention as she took her hand within her own. “Oh of course not, Sweetie. You’re a wonderful momma, but you’re also a woman. You have needs and there’s no reason on earth that you should live out the rest of your days like you’re in a nunnery. Especially not when there is love standing outside your door just waiting to be embraced.” Laura smiled. “Carrie wants you to be happy.” Seeing him approach, she leaned a little closer. Her voice dropped so low that Marlena had to strain to hear her final words. “And she will understand…it will just take a little time and some reassurance.”

 

Marlena’s concentration so keened on Laura, she never heard the shuffle of his heavy boots at her back until he was already there—his beautiful face perched over her shoulder, blue eyes the color of the midnight sky shining promises. “Hey pretty lady. How about I treat you and the kids to supper? I don’t really have the space to cook for you, but how about take out or something?”

 

His moist, hot breath tickling lightly over her cheekbone compelled Marlena’s body to turn into his even as she found herself momentarily tongue-tied. Her hazel eyes shimmered, grew dark as jade. Laura’s voice broke the spell. “Well, I think I’ll be going…John nice to see you again.” Offering up a quiet smile, John nodded. “Marlena, we still on for lunch tomorrow?”

 

Fighting off distraction, Marlena stammered. “Hmm…oh, lunch…tomorrow…yes.”

 

With a bemused chuckle and a wave, Laura made her way to the elevator. Her five-inch heals clapping time past Jay’s haggard form roused him from his waking sleep. His head collided painfully with the plaster wall that held him upright as the back of his hand rose to quickly swipe at the thin trickle of drool that had escaped. Working his tongue over his teeth, his mouth felt pasty and sick, like something had died inside. In one long gulp he drained the cold cup of coffee that sat forgotten at his side. The mental fog beginning to lift from his head, he surveyed the area. His blank attention landing on Marlena’s back and the black skirt that ended just above the knee and clung to her form like a second skin. How long had he nodded off for? How long had she been standing in essentially the same damn place? God help him, this was boring as hell! His gaze locked on the fine delicate curve of her hipbone only lifting as she swiveled around in his direction. Like a puppet on a string, Jay’s eyes moved up without volition, slow and acute. Her arm locked into the crook of this elbow—just an insignificant body part, at worst the sum total would be an obstacle for Dimera to cast aside. Coming closer and closer to where he stood, a foreign sound, a melody like joy purred on the strains of her inconsequential words—caused his head to jerk to attention, frozen in a moment of abject horror. His rich, brown eyes suddenly painfully clear, a gasp screamed silently past his aching lungs. Not just any body part…not just any obstacle. Another cold and hopeless body standing in wait, they swept past him too lost in each other to hear his muttered curse. “Holy Mother of fuck!” Stumbling over to a row of chairs, Jay fell into one with a heavy thump. Maybe he was wrong? Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him? Granted he’d only met him a few times and only once when he hadn’t been beaten almost beyond the point of appearing human, Dimera’s favorite pawn. The old man seemed to get almost sadistic pleasure from the pain he would endure out of sheer stubborn will. Like a kid at Christmas, every new scar was met with unabashed glee…even going so far as to brand the sick bastard in some kind of supreme show of ownership. When he’d finally disappeared everyone had assumed he’d finally succumb, but could it be? Could he have actually won…outwitted Dimera at his own game? Jay swallowed hard and shivered at the thought of Stefano’s reaction…those dark eyes completely engulfed in uncontrollable rage. “God help you Black…if Dimera finds out you’re still alive, let alone messing around with his shit…death won’t be able to come quick enough.” Burying his head in his hands, his almost incoherent mumbling echoed in his own ears. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ANOTHER LONELY DAY

For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth.

My heart is smitten, and withered like grass; so that I forget to eat my bread….

For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.

Because of thine indignation and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down.

– Psalms 102:3-4, 9-10

 

A long of line of windows stretched down the terminal far out of sight as a humming bustle of commotion echoed dead in John’s ears. Heavy perfumes and fear waged war like strange diaphanous shadows standing ready with arms drawn. They left the air so thick that it seemed more alive than any creature standing before him…deceptively strong and agile fingers digging deep into the already aching flesh of his neck. A garden of delicate colorful flowers enveloped an olive drab uniform as a quiet sob escaped from the ferocious grasp she had about his shoulders. John wondered how his mother would react if she could be here. If she would be dressed just so…warm and luminous, her body made soft with time? Silly of course…probably just his imagination—another stupid, childish vision he’d never quiet managed to surrender. A lump of emotion swelled in his throat. Still it felt cruel somehow. John’s eyes turned melancholy and gray as they poured longingly over the sea of bodies. He hadn’t imagined leaving would be so lonely. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of having no one to say goodbye to. Picking his way through the endless ebbing waves of people, he leaned heavily against the rail and let his attention roll with the misty teardrops gathering on the windowpane. His shoulders bowed under the hefty burden of the duffle bag slung across his back and the vision of her hard unflappable stare looking back at him. He hadn’t wanted to leave this way, hadn’t wanted to leave with her angry at him. Marlena was everything to him. She was life…the same life that seemed so slowly, treacherously slipping from his grasp. Tears welled in his eyes and fell without reservation when her gentle embrace wrapped around him from behind. Turning his gaze locked upon her beautiful hazel eyes, puffy and bloodshot. Slightly obscured her moist words trembled and cried past the thick gasps escaping her slightly parted pink lips. “I was afraid I’d missed you.” A strand of golden hair fell from her messy, haphazard ponytail instinctively curled toward her mouth. All the thoughts and regrets that had ran through his mind seemed like vapors rising in the hot summer sun—left him standing before her mute. Carefully he tucked the hair away from her face as still his tongue refused to form. Crushing her too him, he wept. He didn’t care why she’d come. She was there; that was enough.

 

The unexpected calm confusion of her voice brought him out of the fugue of recollection. “John, what are you doing here?”

 

Looking out over the light hoary frost still clinging to the withered bed of foliage across the way, he blinked several times as he tried to find the right words in the unearthly sheen melting away in the unusually bright December sun. A barrage of suitcases and baby regalia slowly formed on the curb next to the taxi. With a shrug he smiled self-consciously before quickly setting about gathering her bags for her. “I don’t know exactly…” His voice quivered with barely restrained emotion. “I, uh, guess I kind of wanted to see you off at the airport.” A blush crept across his face. His ears tinged crimson. “Umm…I hope that’s okay?”

 

His face cast in a strange pallor of innocent youthfulness, Marlena hitched Sami a little higher on her hip. She wanted to lean closer, place a tender kiss at the corner of his lips, whisper softly to him as she had so many years before. “It’s wonderful.” Out of the corner of her eye the sight of Carrie’s precarious grasp on Eric’s sticky little hand stilled her.

 

In a blur, his squat chubby legs moved like pistons—propelled him past his mother and down the sidewalk. “Whoa there slugger!” As if in a single motion, John swooped Eric playfully into his arms and settled him atop his shoulders. With a grin he looked up from beneath lowered lashes and tried to capture the boy’s shining eyes. “You planning on running all the way to Colorado?” With a giggle, he tangled his fingers in John’s still damp hair.

 

The moment seemed to hang heavy between them—inexplicably pregnant with something unspoken. The memory of another goodbye or perhaps something more profoundly elusive…the fantasy of a homecoming that never quiet found its way into reality. Making their way into the airport and through the terminal, Marlena couldn’t help but be thankful for her children. The twins’ animated chatter about their trip to see Santa joyously pushed aside nagging questions and insecurities that she had no desire to entertain today. His big mitt of a hand at the crook of her elbow unconsciously guided her toward their gate and a row of empty seats looking out on the tarmac.

 

Briefly John wavered—moved awkwardly back and forth on the balls of his feet as he wondered if he should take his leave. Finally he lowered Eric to the ground to loiter around Marlena’s ankles and slid into the seat beside her. His stomach roiled with uncertainty. There was so much he wanted to say to her. He’d awakened this morning from an uneasy slumber, stumbling through the smoky light of vaguely familiar recollections that fluttered somewhere between truth and promise. Taking in great lungs full of stale air, John closed his eyes and blindly bound his fingers in her long delicate tapering grasp. Unmindful of the intercom’s announcement for flight 217 to begin boarding, he turned to look at her. His gravelly voice spoke of simple emotion sixteen years in storage. “Thank you.”

 

With her free hand, Marlena’s thumb wiped at the cool trickle of snot that belied the tenuous reign of his control. Her lips whispered over his in a kiss desirously faint. Pulling back, she chewed plaintively at her lower lip—watched as John’s mouth curve playfully. “I’ll miss you.”

 

Raspy and low, her voice sent shivers running up and down his spine. Nodding, John fought to hold back the floodgates as he watched her stand. Walking backwards down the gate, his blurry eyes remained fixed on her—frayed bellbottoms dragging the floor, pink blouse billowing from some unnatural draft as she struggled not to cry. Silently the truth within his soul moved painfully over his lips, “I’ll miss you.” Hurried onto his flight he missed her reply. His voice cracked with strain. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

 

~~~

 

A slight smile tugged the corner of Marlena’s mouth as she watched Eric’s little arm shift restlessly in a feeble attempt to block the heavy puffs of air that pushed noisily from Sami’s pouting mouth. Pulling the blanket more securely over them, she glanced across the aisle to where Carrie sat book in lap—enthralled in another world, floating down the mighty Mississippi on a raft with Jim and Huck. Her ankle brushed against the purse that sat at her feet. The cover of a novel she’d been trying to finish for weeks peaking up from the large pocket to capture her attention. At the cracking sound of the binding opening beneath her fingers, she cringed. The cabin of the plane seemed deathly still and quiet as every movement and sound seeming to echo against the colorless walls.

 

She didn’t know just how long she stared at the same page—the blur of words passing like a nonsensical drone. Pulling off her reading glasses, Marlena relaxed back into the plush seating. Her heavy eyelids drifted closed, and a tired sigh moved silently over her lips. A smudge of flour marred her forehead as Martha tried to brush a few fallen strands of auburn hair that escaped her graceful upsweep back out of her eyes. Her nerves set on end by a kitchen chair scuffing viciously over her freshly waxed hardwood floor. Sensing the shadow heaving down into the seat, she glanced over her shoulder but said nothing. She simply watched the sullen cast of Marlena’s posture. Martha’s thin expressionless mouth stretched tight across her face as she observed a mountain of wastefulness appear before her daughter, the mount Kilimanjaro of tattered paper napkins. There was no recognition, just an unspoken need to be somehow other than alone. With an indulgent maternal shrug, Martha returned to her fried chicken. A loud tick of the clock overhead joined the symphony of popping grease that filled the room until finally Martha interrupted. “As long as you’re here, do you think you could tear yourself away from your busy schedule of sulking long enough to set the table?”

 

Making her way over to the china cabinet, Marlena wanted to offer up some eloquent retort, but somehow the only words that seemed to find there way to her lips sounded childish even to her own ears. “I’m not sulking.” Carefully she began pulling out the Sunday dishes.

 

Had she not known her daughter’s heart was breaking, Martha might have been tempted to chuckle. As it was she fought the tug of her quirky smile as she leveled her steady gaze on the brooding figure. “Oh…no?”

 

Marlena set the last plate and reached into the silver drawer. But upon seeing the expression on her mother’s face, she couldn’t help but offer up a grim laugh. “Well, not much anyway.”

 

With a hand towel, Martha dabbed at her brow and made her way over to the table. Sitting down, she motioned for Marlena to join her. “Sweetheart, you’ve been sulking around this house for weeks now…mad at John; mad at this war, and just generally mad at the world.” As if stung by the truth, Marlena moved uncomfortably in her seat—made as if to protest. Taking her hand within her own, Martha forced her daughter to look her in the eye. “John is a good boy. And one day he’s going to be a good man, but you have to let him be.” Seeing the tears gather in her daughter’s beautiful shining hazel eyes, Martha reached to pull the hair back out of her face. Her voice became almost a whisper. “You have to let him make his own way. Marlena, you have to respect his decisions…even when you don’t agree with them, don’t understand them, even when they hurt. ‘Cause darling, a relationship is nothing without respect.”  

 

A steady stream of tears began to cascade down Marlena’s cheeks. “But…”

 

Shaking her head, Martha interrupted. “No ‘buts.’ You know I’m right.”

 

The taste of blood tingled on her tongue as Marlena tried to contain the squelch of emotion—released her greatest fear. “But what if I lose him?”

 

“Baby, if you try to force John to be something he’s not, force him down a path his soul isn’t telling him to follow…then you’ve already lost him. Only then you’ll have the added bonus of watching him die a little more every day.” As if confirming the thought for herself, Martha sighed deeply and sat up straight. “Now isn’t there somewhere you’d rather be than here?” Seeing her almost infinitesimal nod, Martha smiled. “Good girl. Take the car…I’ll explain to your daddy.”

 

The sound of the stewardess’s pseudo sophistication offering up landing instructions over the intercom, jolted Marlena from her recollection—her mother’s words still as fresh as the day she’d first heard them. Gently she roused Sami and then Eric to fastened their seat belts and smiled affectionately as she noticed Carrie still happily chomping the piece of gum she’d given her upon take-off. Feeling the air pressure build, Marlena swallowed hard and waited for her ears to pop. Her mother had been right of course. Being able to see John off at the airport had been more important than any fear or anger she might have harbored. But even after all this time, there was still a part of her that couldn’t help but wonder “what if.”

 

~~~

 

Long after the plane had disappeared into the bright skyline John turned away from his sentry post at the vast row of windows. Slinking out into the cold biting wind, his body sagged down into his shoes as if to rub blisters across his lonely soul. He had no desire to return to his room. There was nothing there for him but an endless stream of nightmares and blood money he couldn’t quite figure out how to safely dispose of. And so he walked. Not knowing just where he was going or why, knowing only that he couldn’t face that darkness—not yet.

 

The highway was hard and unforgiving on his feet. Still he shrugged to no one in particular as a wry smile painted over his lips. “Ah, I’ve known worse—nothing competes with the hell of combat boots in monsoon season.” A groan of agreement echoed up from the bowels of the earth. Noting the obvious shift of the sun overhead, he stilled. He didn’t know exactly how long he walked, turning carelessly from street to street. His lungs ached to life with bitter exhaustion. Through unseeing eyes, John scanned the urban monotony and decided at last to jut down a small side street. Though not entirely sure why, he obeyed the force that compelled him forward. His pace grew slow and deliberate, and sweat made cool by wild gusts of wind clung to his back. Coming upon an old, rusted iron fence he rested heavily upon it even as the thistles bit into his flesh. Peering over the fence, he couldn’t help but think the curiosity purely childlike—the images somehow a promise both mysterious and foreboding. Flowers scattered here and there…a cornucopia of forgotten mums, daisy taken root and more rare faded plastics, adorned the rundown cemetery where the shadows played restlessly on tombstones slowly being weathered smooth.  

 

Sour fear pervaded the air to singe his nostrils. A young boy, couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, stood trembling in a puddle of his own urine. A stinky fatigued t-shirt covered his face as much to spare them the sight of his fathomless black eyes that begged for his grandfather’s life as to achieve any sort of anonymity. Lieutenant Weaver’s hot breath, prickled over the boy’s flesh as again he demanded information. Out of the corner of his eye, John caught sight of Preacher making the sign of the cross over the old man’s battered remains. Then in one fell motion the knife sliced, pierced, swiped clean and returned to its home of restless slumber—another soul added to the prayer chain. Wandering to the backside of the charred remains of the hut, John began to wretch, surrendered the meager contents of his stomach. Thanksgiving would be here soon, then Christmas…he’d never really cared much for the holidays, had never really been given a reason to—until her. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Marlena. He tried to keep her image at the very center of his existence, the light of the Christmas tree reflecting a strange halo affect. She was his angel. She would keep the darkness at bay. He swore he could hear the shadow of death giggle behind him as cold sweat slithered down his back. A painful gasp of air tore through him. Jerking his head around, it was then he saw it… just across from the burn lines one lone flower alight with life. For a moment he considered. Taking her packet of letters from his breast pocket, John carefully plucked up the flower and pressed it carefully between the pages. Quiet hope escaped his voice. “Merry Christmas, baby.” Snow fell like ash along the fiery horizon. Turning quickly John felt the thorn rip the flesh at his side. Pierced, blood and hot water smeared across the plaid of his shirt. With a weary sigh he retreated into the dying embers of the day.

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN: SILENT NIGHT

 

Crinkled silver chewing gum wrappers woven together into a makeshift garland captured the glimmer of tiny, red tropical buds to illuminate their sad tree. A satisfied chuckle rumbled deep in Peacemaker’s belly as his thick, black fingers struggled to place the sticky angel he’d stabbed out of an old peach tin atop. “There.”

 

Dense and aromatic, they moved through a constant cloud of marijuana smoke. John’s sparkling indigo eyes glanced up from the letter in his lap. “That’s damn fine, Peacemaker…Damn fine!” Muffled laughter erupted into a fevered crescendo as in the near distance someone popped a tab on a fresh beer.

 

Taking a long, slow toke Plato melted into the tree at his back. A lazy smile stretched over his lips before surrendering the joint to Preacher’s waiting grasp. There on the edge of light his dark, dopey eyes wandered aimlessly to the opened pages of his Bible. His voice slurred comfortably around them, “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men…”

 

A box cradled under his arm, Tuck sidled up closer to John. A faint shadow of graham cracker crumbs gathered at the corner of his mouth. “So what’d ya get for Christmas?” The inescapably blue sing-song quality of his distinctly southern accent somehow made John think of his father’s occasional predilection for getting drunk on whiskey and Hank Williams. It was a disconnected thought—an association he’d rather not make and so he returned his focus to Tuck.

 

“Hmm…” Pulling his attention away from the hazy Polaroid image that dangled between his calloused fingers, “Oh, uh…just a letter from my brother and some tapes and stuff from Marlena.” After a moment he continued, stalling Tuck’s next question with one of his own. “How about you…what did you get?”

 

Faded and festive, Tuck settled the holly painted Christmas tin into his lap. His irrepressible grin pulled John into the web of his amiable mood. “Fruitcake.”

 

Groaning, a playful sneer twisted John’s features. “Ugh…fruitcake! I thought your family loved you?”

 

His dirt-stained fingers carefully pulled the lid off. “Hey now this ain’t just any fruitcake…”

 

John Interrupted, his comment seemingly echoing throughout the camp. “No? A secret weapon maybe…a peace offering for Charlie—give ‘em all a perpetual case of the runs until they just dehydrate and die?” A cackling hoot exploded around them before the attention again splintered.

 

With a laugh, Tuck punched him in the shoulder. “Just for that, I ain’t sharin’.”

 

Holding up his hands, John surrendered. “Okay, I give…what’s so special about this fruitcake?”

 

Tuck’s pocketknife gleamed in the firelight as he pulled the wax paper free and speared the corner to break a large bite free. “Simple…old, secret recipe that’s been handed down in my family for years and years.”

 

Cramming the bite into his mouth, he almost missed John’s look—a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “That’s it?”

 

His tongue moved over his lips to capture any stray crumbs. “Well that and the secret ingredient…” John’s eyebrow arched in unspoken question as Tuck again stabbed at the cake. “Just the finest Kentucky corn mash whiskey you’ll find.”

 

“Moonshine.” At the sound of his amused chuckle, a grin stole across Tuck’s face as he extended the cake on the tip of his knife toward him. “You’re too much Tuck.” With a shrug, a contented twinkle lit his eyes—spoke of a peace John feared he’d never know. Finally, John took a bite. “Hmm…not bad.”

Glancing down he noticed the photos still safe in John’s grasp, Tuck nodded. “So what else ya got?”

 

A slight grimace of consideration flickered across John’s face as he carefully shuffled through the images before him. Plucking one free, he handed it over for inspection. “Me and my older brother…”

 

As the question drawled over his barely parted lips, he seemed somehow pleased as if he’d found a kindred spirit. “That you in the cowboy hat?”

 

“What?” Tuck held up the picture. Somewhat disconcerted, John stumbled and stuttered over his words. “Oh, um…I, uh, yeah…it was a present…. Tim, uh, got it for me on my sixteenth birthday.” Feeling the tears well in his eyes, John went back to studiously shuffling through the photos in his hand.

 

“Hmm…who’d a thunk it? You’re a hick too.” Out of the corner of his eye, John met his gaze. He couldn’t help but note the silent laugh that seemed lodged behind his soft brown eyes. A reaction of quiet acquiescence John surrendered another photo for inspection. Tuck’s face fell into a blank mask of indifferent confusion. “It’s a baseball.”

 

Plucking it back from him, John eyed the picture reverently. “It’s not just a baseball. It’s a Mickey Mantle autographed baseball. Marlena got if for me for Christmas.” A happy smile painted its way across his face as he continued more to himself than Tuck. “I don’t know how she managed to find it much less buy it—paying for college and everything.”

 

Somewhat mollified by the mention of Black’s woman, he offered him some more fruitcake before continuing. “Okay, but please don’t tell me that all the rest of those pictures are of that damn baseball…” Washing the whiskey soaked lump down with a gulp of warm beer, John almost missed the smirk that smeared its way over Tuck’s face—almost missed the filthy impish laugh that smothered his next comment. “Not unless she’s in the shot too doing something kinky with it.”

 

Swallowing hard, John’s reply sputtered past his gasping mouth. “Why you shithead…just for that I might not show you anymore pictures.”

 

“Oh you’re cruel, Black…cruel.” Chomping on another bite, he continued. “Don’t punish a horny cowboy that way. I mean I’m gettin’ fruitcake for Christmas here…I ain’t got no woman waitin’ back home sendin’ me sexy pictures and tapes that make me breathe hard and go blind.”

 

Hiding his face behind a hand, John snickered. After a moment’s contemplation, he continued to thumb through the stack, eyes moving carelessly over her family to hungrily rove her every detail as he tried to absorb her very essence through his roughened fingertips. Finally settling on the image he was looking for—Marlena sitting unaware in the center of her bed; hair pulled up in a messy ponytail; reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose; one of his flannel shirts barely draped over her bare shoulders; her long legs, naked and creamy, curled up under her as she stared intently at some non-descript textbook. In her letter Marlena had said the picture was compliments of Samantha who’d taken it one day after tiring of listening for days on end of her whining about how badly she was missing him, said to tell him that she thought if Marlena was going to annoy her half to death then she thought it was the least she could do to send him something that would inspire the same misery for his buddies. John’s fingers stilled at the arch of her neck as a grin tugged at his lips. “You pathetic hayseed…” Without looking over at Tuck, he continued. “And if you tell anybody about this, I’ll get Preacher to cut off one of your ears without killing you first.” With a white-knuckled grasp, the picture quickly flashed before Tuck only to be once again spirited safely away.

 

With a heavy sigh, John finished off the final swig of bittersweet liquid amber—felt it dribble over his lips and down his stubbled chin. Carelessly, he tossed the bottle in the direction of the trash bin heedless of the clang of glass on glass that reverberated through the tiny room disturbing the tentative silence. Feverish skin burned with accusation and too much alcohol. Shifting in the windowsill, he rested his face against the cool pane as from behind closed eyes visions of death and want mingled together to addle his already lumbering mind. Slowly his eyelids fluttered. Mostly unseeing irises, ancient and opaque with the memory of death, stared lifelessly out past the unspoiled mask of glowing white drifts of fresh fallen snow on out further to the ugly truth buried beneath.

 

Stepping into the great room, John’s muscles ached with the unaccustomed liberation. Loud and lush the operatic carols swelled triumphantly through the room—gave a sense of grandeur to the guests’ cheery, jabbering chatter. John’s gut churned with equal parts repulsion and want. His mouth watering as he greedily eyed the feast. Row after row of heavy mahogany tables pregnant with foods too delectable to even imagine stretched before him—roast goose, cranberry walnut stuffing…. Slumping in the doorframe, he scanned the room. Jacquard curtains sewn with fine gold filigree thread painstakingly pulled back to reveal a series of magnificent stained glass doors that led out into the garden, out to the holly bushes that had both enticed and haunted him for months. Gay branches sagging with crimson berries peering down at him, blotting out what little light split his prison window. Spirits danced across the room carried on plumes of thick cigar smoke. There, in front of the raging fire, John’s weary gaze fell upon his host holding court before a rapt crowd, on his right hand his phoenix pinky ring blazing immortality as his snifter of warm brandy swirled round its crystal cage.

 

Like a bear, broad and proud, his shoulders stretched out beneath the rich Italian tailoring of his black suit. A sash of scarlet tied with exacting care like an unspoken threat lay against the pristine backdrop of the white starched silk of his shirt. Slapping Petrov on the back, Stefano’s deep robust howl echoed throughout the great room and pulled John out of the reverie of scrutiny. Surrounded in a surreal golden glimmering light, the room seemed somehow nightmarishly magical—bloated with unnecessary and unnatural opulence. The weight of exhaustion bore down on him until his shoulders bowed. Why had he come here? Like a drunk at midnight mass, he felt keenly out of place even as his taut, trembling legs unconsciously carried him forward. Plucking up a plate, he studied the elaborate detailing of the bone china held within his clumsy grasp to snatch up a setting of gold flatware. John couldn’t even remember the last real meal he’d been granted. Fuck it! Principle didn’t fill his belly. He would starve on principle.

 

Slouching protectively over his heaping plate, John’s blue eyes glazed sweetly as the first bites of honey ham altered his senses while his fork tore carelessly through the food. With a start, he noted the thick, beefy fingers resting menacingly at the nape of his neck. “Ah, Mr. Black…so glad you could join us.” Stefano’s already thin lips curled into invisibility as with an intensely snarling sneer of violent amusement he gestured to the room’s vivid splendor. “I trust everything meets with your approval.” The retort on the tip of his tongue tasted deliciously bitter and yet still John rejected the one sustenance he so desperately craved—offered only an indignant blank stare before returning to his meal. Ignoring the subtle show of defiance, Stefano chuckled knowingly and continued with a foreign geniality. “I know all of this…” Again he gestured about all the ornate finery, watched and waited as John’s pale eyes were drawn helplessly to the massive fir tree that had been hand picked and flown in from the French Alps to serve as the center piece of this holiday season, decorated with such care and attention to detail. The branches drooped with a vast array of antique ornaments—fragile hand-blown glass icicles and globes, strings of delicately carved wooden beads and intricate crotched snowflakes and angels…all crafted by long-since dead artisans. Just the touch of feminine grace needed in the harsh overly masculine world they traveled. Stefano nodded in affirmation of the thought before returning his attention to John. “Well, I’m sure some would speak to the needlessness of such show…but I am of a different mind. My people work hard for me. They sign over their lives to me…most being asked to exist in an excessively hard, ugly, unforgiving world.” Pausing for a moment, Stefano surveyed the room. His brutish black eyes swelled with uncustomary softness. “This brief respite from the drudgery and darkness of that daily life is not just my duty, but also my honor and privilege.” At a loss for how to respond, John reached for his water as he tried to parch his suddenly dry and aching throat. His heart clenched with painful spasms of confusion. Satisfied with his non-response, Stefano continued—his words deliberate and straightforward. “I invited you here tonight, John, because I wanted you to see. I wanted you to understand. Your stubbornness…” Abruptly, he quelled the damning emotion that clouded his clear intent. Without pomp and circumstance, Stefano pulled a small package from his jacket pocket and placed it on the linen napkin sitting beside John and waited for the childlike curiosity to win out. Glancing up from beneath lowered lashes, John peered up at Dimera. His faded azure eyes rimmed in dark shadows stood in mute testimony to the lessons of necessary compliance beaten into his pallid flesh. The burgundy velvet ribbon pooled atop the table as John tore the elegant Victorian wrapping paper. With a snap of the hinge, the glimmer of gold from the Rolex watch captured his attention so that he almost missed Dimera’s parting words. “It’s really quite simple. We are a family, my boy, and I am the head of that family like my father before me and his father before him.” With a tiny smirk of victory, Stefano excused himself and returned to the business of mingling.

 

A gelatinous mass of body without bones, John slipped from the windowsill like a broken rag doll—blindly groping beneath his mattress for the last bottle in his stash. Falling onto the edge of the bed, the box springs creaked under the added weight and sent the neat asymmetrical stacks of hundred dollar bills into a tumble. For long moments his eyes stared dull and unseeing at the money that bled in steady streams until the twisting blur finally turned his stomach. Feeling the hot, foreboding bile rise in his mouth, John scrambled to empty the meager contents of his stomach into his overrun trashcan. His toes peaking through a hole in his socks, he unconsciously gripped them into the dingy thinning rug and rested back on his haunches. Squalid and squatted like a beggar seeking refuge, he remained for long moments all the while his gaze trained in on paper mementos…memories of destruction, of lives lost and lives taken by death or worse sucked down into a heartless realm of chaos and servitude to one lone sick bastard pulling all the strings. Standing abruptly, John quickly shoved the cash back into his bag, crammed his feet into his boots, slung the burden over his shoulder and charged from the room leaving only silence in his wake.

 

~~~

 

The calm echoed in her mind as Marlena looked around the room and settled atop the twin mattress. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at just how little had changed in the years since she had left home—a jagged tear there along the edge of time, Bob Dylan keeping watch over his generation while across the way Jim Morrison stared intensely upon Samantha’s empty bed. With a flick of the switch and a bit of whimsy, static filled the room as Marlena slowly twisted the tuner to an oldies station and gave her attention over to the faded pages of her journal.

 

Startled by the quiet knock, Marlena looked up just in time to see her mom, her hair dappled with strands of majestic silver pulled back away from her pale complexion, peering around the corner of the half-closed door. “Darling, what are you still doing up?”

 

Pulling off her reading glasses, Marlena smiled. The binding cracking beneath her fingers as she once again closed the velvet covered book. “I guess I just wasn’t very sleepy after I got the kids down and helped Santa finish his appointed rounds.”

 

Seeing her curl her feet up underneath her to make room at the foot of the bed, Martha made her way further into the room. For a moment they sat in the companionable stillness of the night. “You know your father and I are so glad that you and the kids came out for the holidays…I’m sure there was a part of you that really didn’t want to leave Salem.” Matching hazel eyes met and twinkled understanding. “Well…” Martha leaned forward as if to lever herself up. The tips of her fingers barely touched Marlena’s foot, patting gently. “It means more than you’ll ever know.” Quietly she made her way back over to the door—glancing back one final time to smile brightly. “Don’t stay up too late…you’ll have three young ones up at the crack of dawn in the morning.” Flipping off the overhead light, she left as the room fell under the soft spell cast by the bedside lamp.

 

Rolling over onto her side, Marlena looked unseeingly out the window as strands of moonlight washed her clean. Her emotions flowed freely—spilling from one page onto the next…. A bundle of letters all arrived today. It was just such a relief to see them…at least I think that’s what it was—to know that you were still out there alive, missing me just as much as I am missing you. But then the relief gave way to frustration and anger. Sometimes I doubt that I’ll ever really be able forgive him for leaving. If he was here I think I would punch him, right in the stomach…but then if John were here there would be no need. I miss him. Every infuriating habit, I miss. But mostly I miss his sensitivity—beautiful, beautiful sensitivity so ill disguised beneath a veil of masculinity. What must this war be doing to the man that only I know? Damned government with their lies and their blind foolish desire to somehow save face! It’s nothing but a damn farce…illusions painted in blood…. I wonder if John would be surprised to know that I count down the days, the hours, until he’ll be home again. I know I’m driving Sam insane…she’s told me as much. But what is family for, if not to help us deal with the shit of life? Besides a part of me thinks she kind of revels in being cast as the strong one for a change. She always has fancied herself the actress of the family. I envy that ability to play pretend sometimes, like now, to be able to just exist in a reality of one’s own making. Christ! I can’t believe I just wrote that. Oh well, I guess I’ll laugh because Lord knows I’m sick of crying…. Christmas is almost here. Laying here in my child bed with Bob Dylan looking down at me, I wonder where you are tonight. Are you in Dnang to see Bob Hope? Every USO show they air, I keep finding myself scanning the audience, looking for your face. Are you in the jungle? Would you even tell me if I were to ask or would the details be more than you cared to retain? I will hold onto your love and the promise of your return. I will press it between the pages my heart like the sweet, fragrant flower you sent me—born out of death but more vibrant with color than life. Gently running her fingertips over the tropical bloom carefully pressed in wax, Marlena’s lips curled into a tender smile. Closing the book and switching off the lamp, her eyes suddenly heavy with sleep drifted closed. Outside the window, long teardrop icicles snapped free to crash into the earth.

 

~~~

As the precious liquid amber in his crystal tumbler dwindled, Jay found it increasingly difficult to remain engaged in such inane small talk. Offering Rodriguez a quirky smile, he excused himself. With a single-minded determination, he walked past the fabulous gluttony of Stefano’s traditional holiday feast and made a beeline straight for the open bar that spread out before him like manna from heaven. Taking a deep breath, Jay melted into the brass rail adorning the bar as the twenty-year-old scotch slithered smoothly down his throat. A sigh of satisfaction escaped his moistened lips as his velvety brown eyes slowly drooped. His body slipped to another plane of consciousness. He had to hand it to Stefano…the man knew how to throw a party, spare no expense. Sensing the source of the imposing shadow blocking out the light that filtered through his closed eyelids, Jay’s vision slowly came into focus to meet Dimera’s unflinching, enigmatic stare. Sidling up beside him, Stefano motioned for a refill of his drink as his hand came to rest beside him. Without volition, Jay’s gaze fell helplessly to the phoenix rising from the eternal flames. Swallowing hard, his distracted ear keened for Dimera’s rich Mediterranean accent. “Jay, I’m glad to see your flight arrived in.” Mute, he nodded. His thoughts turned to the anger he was sure to come and fear of just who would bear the brunt of that ire. “You’re looking well.” Gulping down the remains of his drink in one hasty swallow, Jay waited only to be surprised by the tenuous silence stretched between them.

 

Feeling withdrawal tremors run through his body, Jay sniffed loudly. He hoped for the discipline to make it through the next few days without getting completely wasted. He was not looking forward to breaking the news to Dimera. Still he knew he would need a relatively clear mind…a dark chuckle echoed in his head as the vinyl lines of Jackson Browne’s classic Cocaine tangled in the cobwebs of his brain…. Gotta take either more of it or less of it, I can’t quite figure out which one…it takes a clear mind to take it or a clear mind not to take it? It takes a clear mind to make it. Finally agitated by the strain of silence, Jay started. “Thanks for the, um, Christmas bonus…I mean a Delorian, Christ!”

 

As if pleased, Stefano nodded. His thin, pasty mouth almost formed a smile, his shoulders shrugging in nonchalance. “Ah, I thought perhaps a thrill ride of a different variety might be in order.” Suddenly the air in the room grew dense. “I understand you have an interesting report for me…” Jay’s expression spread unsuspecting over his face as his dilated pupils darted wild and black about the room. Lost, he almost missed Stefano’s parting words. “Well, I look forward to hearing all about it before you head back out. In the meantime, this is a party. Enjoy yourself.”  

 

~~~

 

The ice crunched beneath his boots as John made his way aimlessly up and down the deserted streets. He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been out here…long enough for his fingers to become tinged with blue and for his thighs to quiver with exertion. Continuing out beyond the city limits into the midnight abyss, he trudged forward in search of an answer undefined until he saw it—an ominous shadow lifting high and proud into the sky. After a moment’s hesitation, he hurried forward before he lost his resolve. A cross-peaked the steeple to loom down from its perch high atop the bell tower. The faint sound of an organ echoed all around him to pull his attention to the candles sputtered in the windows and the hazy shadows of man moving within. Surprised that Preacher’s words didn’t come to him on the steadily falling snow that had begun to fall again, John stilled briefly and keened as if to hear. Finally pulling the large bloated envelop out of his bag, he slipped stealthily inside the large wooden doors as the music grew louder and sent prickles down his spine. John tried to ignore the sensation as his eyes hastily scanned the entrance in search of the donation box. Snatching up a pen, he scribbled “New Horizon’s 5th Street Mission” on the outside, crammed the envelope into the box and left.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY: INSIDER

 

Too tired to even acknowledge the hidden ebony gaze and enticing blush of shy Maria, awkward and innocent, shuffling papers, Jay slid wearily into the cold leather armchair and waited—exhausted by the promise of wrath as yet unmet. Heavy lids slammed closed as he tried to ignore the furious jackhammering that persisted behind his bloodshot eyes. Jay swiped his sweaty palms across his thighs to mar the perfect crease of his alien trouser-clad flesh. Christ! What was he thinking? His meeting had been bumped up…no good could come from this. He should have just blown his own head off and been done with it. All static and hiss, the intercom came to life. Dimera’s words roared mutely past with the rush of blood crashing and pounding against his skull. Disembodied and hard, the voice betrayed no emotion. Jay’s head collided with a dull thump into the wall as he jerked to attention. “Yes sir.” Maria’s gentle voice, so foreign to this world they moved through, pulled him from his nightmarish reverie. “You can go in now Jay.”

 

Like a starving man looking for manna, he sought out the soft warmth of her eyes in a futile attempt to reassure himself with her sympathetic smile. With a forced grin, he stood up. Plucking a lily from the flower arrangement beside him, Jay banished thoughts of all the possible fates that might await him on the other side of the foreboding mahogany door. Maria stilled as he rested his elbows atop her desk and brought his face almost too close to measure in human increments. A moist exhalation, his breath fell like a caress. His dry lips whispered over her cheek, his words choked with a sincerity he rarely tapped. “You’re a lamb in the lion’s den, Maria.” The flower retraced the path of his lips before falling into her lap. Standing up straight, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and rapped against the door with far more assurance than he felt—slipped into the grasp of darkness.

 

Slivers of early morning light split the crimson velvet curtains to illuminate the otherwise dim room, reflected in amongst the dense clouds of cigar smoke and cast them in a spell of eerie fog. Barely sparing the stiffened figure standing in the doorway even a cursory glance from the open folder preoccupying the brunt of his attention, Stefano gestured to the massive twin chairs that sat before his desk. Jay blindly groped his way into the room and found his seat, waited expectantly. He had wanted to be clean today, had thought it best to have full command of his faculties. But as he sat here trying to keep the tremors at bay he couldn’t help but second guess that decision. A couple lines of coke could have been his saving grace. Hell, forget a couple lines of coke…that’s child’s play. What he really needed was a speedball. He’d give his soul…. Resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands, Jay tried to ignore the deafening whir of silence that stretched between them interrupted only by the occasional sound of pages turning beneath Dimera’s thick fingers until this too stopped. Finally, he compelled his eyes to meet the fathomless depths of Dimera’s dark glowering stare. As if nodding to some internal monologue, Stefano’s eyebrow arched expectantly. His unflappable calm exterior raised Jay’s hackles, left him squirming in his seat like a restless child. Still the room remained under a veil of silence. With dramatic intent, Stefano returned to the file before him and sifted through the pages. At last his thick Mediterranean accent sounded, relentless and sure, the warning bounced from wall to wall. “I must say…” Pausing, the phoenix from his ring seemed to take flight—hovered mercilessly. “Your report is not at all what I was expecting, quite illuminating. Painstakingly put together…. Impressive…” Running his fingers through his newly acquired beard, Stefano leaned forward. His eyes melted into sharp, beady pools of black. “I only have one question for you…” In the face of unspoken menace, Jay swallowed convulsively, nodded. Standing abruptly, Jay fell completely under Dimera’s bear-like shadow as the question escaped through gritted teeth. “Why the hell was I not told of this little discovery immediately?”

 

“I…uh…I’d never met…I mean…my cover…” Jay stumbled and stuttered over his words in search of some kind of explanation that would save him.

 

In a show of unaccustomed frustration, Stefano’s beefy fists pounded against his desk. The contents jumped and danced across the surface. Like a wounded animal ready to attack, his roar carried into the outer office. “Enough!” Nostrils flaring and breathing heavily, he clamped down on the damning emotion. Settling back into his chair, he continued. His voice strained, yet steady. “I read all your explanations and reasons, my boy. They were articulated to perfection…was certainly a reassurance to see that all the money I’d spent educating you hadn’t been completely lost—snorted up your nose.” With a dark chuckle and a smile that never quite reached his eyes, Stefano looked at him intently. “The very fact that you saw fit to provide me with such a well thought out defense for your actions tells me that you knew damn well this particular piece of information should have been turned over forthwith.” Watching Dimera’s hand disappear into his desk, Jay turned stony with fear. With a heavy sigh, Stefano tossed the plane ticket into his chest. “Now, I expect you to be on the first flight back to Salem. As soon as I decide just how to proceed with this lovely lit bit of information you’ve provided me, you will be contacted. In the meantime…” Picking up the now forgotten folder, he dangled its half open contents to Jay for inspection. “I expect you to maintain the same garish surveillance. I trust I’ve made myself clear.” Not waiting for an answer, he dismissed Jay with a wave of the hand while already reaching for the intercom. “Maria…I need the file for Dr. Marlena Evans. Also get into the dead files and bring me everything on John Black, then call down to the storage facility and have them bring up Black’s footlocker and any other remaining personal effects. Lastly, locate Petrov and have him pulled in.”

 

~~~

 

Deep purple clouds rolled through the twilight sky as steam billowed up from the sidewalk grates. Paying little mind to the dirty slush seeping into his well-worn boots, the smell of wet dog or the streetlights slowly glowing to life overhead, John followed the gentle tug pulling him forward—answering the silent call of home. Slumped and broken beneath the great shadow of an ancient tree, entombed in the wilderness, the fragrant honeyed air tasted bittersweet against the blue of his bloodied mouth—turned his stomach with purity so foreign and yet painfully familiar. Restlessly, John’s head lulled forward and his eyelids fluttered closed with an overwhelming heaviness. He embraced the dying of the light until only a pinprick remained and the burden lifted. Comfort, strange and fragile, his spirit rose—looked down at the hair and blood clotting just above his left temple. Held tight within limbo’s beguiling grasp. Part of him wanted nothing more than to surrender to the welcoming peace, the other part of him incapable of sacrificing his dream, surrendering the promise of a life with her. A bestial scream tore across his lips as his body convulsed painfully and he rolled to his side. His bloody fingers clawed the mud. Barebellied he drug himself across the jungle floor knowing there was never really any choice to forsake. With a sharp shake of the head, John cursed the vision behind his haunted eyes. He refused to give in to the inescapable sense of foreboding that sought to spread like a plague over his entire existence. Stung by a sudden harsh gale wind, he flung his worries to the sky. Temporarily vanquished them in favor of more pleasant pursuits; replaced them instead with a determinedly cheery whistle.

 

~~~

 

Groaning painfully, Stefano tried to stretch the kinks out of his back. He’d hardly moved in the last twelve hours. Stooped over his desk, he’d poured over folder after folder after folder of monotonous information—stared at the same non-descript typeface until the words swam before his weary gaze. But all the tedium had been worth it when the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. His groan morphed into a hearty chuckle reverberating off the exquisitely carved mahogany walls. Swirling his brandy in the fine crystal snifter, he watched the soft light reflecting off the rich amber waves. His voice tinged with irony as he addressed the empty room. “Ah glorious fate…” Facts still had to be checked of course, dates and places referenced and cross-referenced. Still he would stake the entirety of the family fortune on this hunch. Finally, finally revenge would be exacted on Roman Brady. A hollow victory to be sure, dead men know no such bitter loss. His family would know though…the Brady clan would simply unravel and all he had to do was sit back and watch. And Marlena, fair Marlena, she would be his. Suddenly, the wicked glee that lit his features faded into darkened rage. His gaze fell to the opened footlocker resting beside him. Plucking up the discarded dog-tags, Stefano noosed the tarnished chain around his hand. His lips pursed in contemplation. As for Black, he would taste death an inch at a time. “Before I’m done with you, John, you’ll beg to be put out of your misery. Bloodied and raw…a voice too weak to speak, you’ll beg, and I’ll quench your thirst with vinegar and wrap you in the comfort of leather stripes tearing the flesh from your back.” At the timid knock sounding outside his chamber door, Stefano settled back into the plush comfort that only Italian leather could bring. “Enter.”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Dimera…” Stepping out of the shadows, Maria self-consciously gnawed her lower lip. Tucking her long, wispy brown hair behind her ear, she chose her simple words with excruciating care. “I just wanted to see if you require anything else before I leave.”

 

Her thoughtful deliberation, always somewhat unnerving, had in actual fact proved to be a vital asset. If nothing else, Stefano was a master of turning weakness into advantage. This orphan child would be no different. With a sharp shake of the head, he released her. “No…nothing else this evening, Maria.”

 

Maria watched as his lips disappeared—pulled taut over his teeth, a smarmy reflection of contentment. Ignoring the urge to cringe, she pressed a mask of neutrality across her face. “Very well, sir…” With a subtle movement, she was lost; engulfed almost completely in the late evening shadows. “Also, Mr. Petrov is slated to arrive early in the morning. I took the liberty of canceling all your morning appointments…”

 

Stefano’s gaze pierced the murky light. Finding only purity peeking back up from beneath lowered lashes, he tried to wait for her find the courage and more importantly the words in her own time. Still he knew the wait was doomed and so with a curt wave he sent her away. “Very well, Maria, I’ll expect you to be here to greet him. Good night.”

 

Wrapping her thin arms tight around her trembling frame, she left.

 

~~~

 

At the sound of the doorbell ringing a tiny grin tugged the corner of Marlena’s mouth as she dropped the laundry basket there on the staircase and made her way back down. Catching her dim reflection as she passed by the family portrait, she paused. Her fingers idly brushed through messy curls. Hearing the bell chime again, she shrugged. Jeans and a sweater would have to do. “Coming…” On tiptoes she peered through the peephole. Her face grew brighter at the sight of him. Hurriedly opening the door, she greeted him. “Hi handsome.”

 

A slight blush crept over John’s features as his imposing form rested against the doorframe but made no move to enter. “Hi.” Scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck, he leaned in so close that Marlena could feel his warm breath against her face. “So, uh, how was your visit home?”

 

He seemed in such strange spirits…standing there in her doorway totally oblivious to the vicious wind that cut through the dimming of the day, shrouded in an air of quiet intensity and that ever-present mischievous twinkle alight behind his eyes. Would she ever really know what to make of him or would she always be left to wonder at the mystery behind those beautiful blue eyes that battled the heavenly magnitude? It was a pointless debate that need not be resolved. Their destinies were inexorable intertwined and knowing that was enough. So lost in the flecks of gold that dappled the irises of her shining hazel eyes, John almost missed her reply. “Nice.” Unable to resist the dopey expression on his face, Marlena brushed her lips lightly against his—trailed them over to his whisper in his ear. “Are you going to stand out there all night?”

 

The smell of lavender invaded his senses. “I might.” With a smile, he tightened his reign on the leash held behind his back. “Are Carrie and twins home?”

 

Surprised by the change of subject, Marlena took a few steps back. Wrapping her arms tight around herself to shield against the cold, damp air, she offered a stuttering reply, “Umm, no…the twins are at Shawn and Caroline’s actually and, uh, Carrie is in Lake Tahoe with Anna…. Wh—” Her words silenced by the sight of John stumbling into the front hedge.  

 

Patting him atop his head, John tried to calm the restless dog. “Easy boy…” He could feel her eyes upon him, an unspoken question dangling between them. Finally, he continued, a quirkily insecure grin plastered across his lips. “Well shucks, I was kind of hoping to see their faces when I gave them their Christmas present.”

 

Marlena’s face blanched. Her voice cracked with the sheer unexpectedness of the gesture. “You got them a dog?”

 

Sheepishly, he replied. “Well, I, uh, yeah…” Frustrated, John slammed his fist against his thigh. “Shit! I’m sorry. I guess I should have asked you first. I didn’t think. I mean I can take him back if you want.” Not noticing Marlena’s change of expression, he continued to ramble. “It’s just my boss was going to take him to the pound and I wanted to get your kids something and well…” he trailed off lamely.

 

“John, enough.” Kneeling down beside the dog, she tentatively rubbed beneath his chin only to be rewarded with a slobbery kiss against her wrist. With a girlish laugh, she again brought her attention back to John. “What’s his name?”

 

“Guapo.” A look of bemusement trailed across her face as John offered a non-committal shrug.

 

“Guapo?” Marlena’s gaze shifted back and forth.

 

The dog nuzzled up against him. “That’s what Henry told me. I guess his daughter was taking Spanish at the time or something. She named him.”  

 

“Funny you don’t look like a Guapo.” At the sound of his name upon her lips, the dog bulled its way towards her—his tail wagging a frenetic pace. Losing her balance, Marlena fell on her bottom as her infectious laughter rang out in the misty twilight sky. “Or maybe you do.” John’s hand, there immediately at the bend of her elbow…with a start, she settled into his gentle grasp as he helped her back to her feet. Looking deep into the azure depths of his eyes, she had to admit, at least to herself, how very much she’d missed that. It was a feeling she only ever felt in his presence. Roman had given her a sense of security and contentment, but only John made her whole. Marlena’s voice strained with barely contained emotion—compelled her to focus on the playful spotted dog pawing the air in a silent bid for attention. “Well, it looks like we’re going to have go house shopping tomorrow, Guapo…”

 

Interrupting, John offered her a relieved smile. “No, no…I’ll take care of that.”

 

Tilting her head to the side, she looked up at him, an unreadable tenor to her softly spoken words. “John, you don’t have to do that.”

 

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Reaching to pet the dog’s velvety ears, Marlena continued. “Do I need to leave him in the house tonight or do you think he’ll be alright outside?”

 

“Well, Henry said that he’s nothing but a big baby…. He’s been housetrained and used to be a housedog. But there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be okay in your backyard. I mean it’s fenced in, right?” As if torn, Marlena’s eyes wandered back and forth from Gaupo’s wet clingy fur to her neatly appointed den. Turning his back to the dog, John leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. “If it was me…I’d put the wet pup out back where he belongs.”

 

Her rich, throaty chuckle sent a thrill of joy down his spine. “You convinced me.” Marlena wiggled her bare toes on the cold concrete. “I guess shoes would help, but I’m too lazy.” Instead she took John’s hand and led them through the house to the backyard.

 

The waning of the day slowly faded into a starless night—an evening wholly unworthy of note. The kind of day that blurred one into the next until he could imagine waking a frail and feeble old man to the realization that this, this strange domestic tranquility, was the sum total of a perfect existence. From across the room, John watched the folded laundry pile up around her content in the scattered small-talk and quiet simplicity of the moment. A look of disbelief stole over Marlena as she glanced over at him. “I still can’t believe you got them a dog.” She laughed. A stray blonde lock falling into her eyes with her unconscious shake of the head. “They are going to think the sun rises and sets in your aspect.”   

 

John chuckled. “Now somehow I doubt that.”

 

“No really. Carrie always wanted a dog, but Roman wouldn’t let her have one.” As the memory flitted past, she cringed. “Oh my, I just remembered…Roman told her I was allergic to dogs.”

 

Picking up the photo beside him John studied Roman’s face. A frown creased his brow. “Why would he do that?”

 

“Well I don’t know exactly.” She continued piling neat stacks of laundry back in the basket and answered without looking up. “The twins were still just infants when she asked. I think he just didn’t want to disappoint her. He missed so much time with her when she was little.” Finished with the task at hand, Marlena shrugged and hefted the basket on her hip. “I guess maybe he was afraid that if he really tried to explain that she would feel like he was playing favorites…. I’m going to go put this stuff away upstairs.” Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she turned smiled sweetly. “I couldn’t get you to do me a favor, could I?”

 

“For you…anything.”

 

“Light a fire.” One last directive echoed back down to him as she disappeared to the second floor. “The matches are in the bureau.”

 

Lost within the dance of flames licking the sooty chimney walls, John leaned against the hearth to let his mind drift a little more with each ascending spark. The deliciously husky timbre of her voice sounding behind him and her gentle touch upon his shoulder saved him from the dreary path of his ruminations. “Merry Christmas.” Turning, his blank expression melted at the sight before him. A delicate red velvet ribbon tied around the aged baseball. Tears welled in his eyes, began a steady cascade down his cheeks. “I found it in a box at home while I was going through some of my things.” Her hand found his as the ball slipped from grasp to grasp and she pulled him down to sit with her before the crackling fire.

 

As if totally dumbfounded, he barely registered her graceful fingers sweeping away the flood of emotion that spilled down his face. Turning the ball over and over again in his palm, through the blur of tears John struggled to make out the signature he knew was there…Mickey Mantle. Finally, steady and full of love, his gaze rose to meet hungry eyes. “No fair…you re-gifted.”

 

At the sight of his quirky, teary grin, she dissolved into a fit of giggles—welcomed his warm embrace as they collapsed together. “Oh God, how I’ve missed you!”

 

Wrapping his arms more securely around her, John’s voice sounded raspy and low as he pulled Marlena closer. His fingers lost in a passionate grasp of cashmere. “Merry Christmas, baby…you’re the real gift. I’ve been blessed with an angel.”

 

Burying her face into the warmth of his neck, she whispered. “It’s late and so cold outside…stay here with me tonight.”   

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: DREAMS

 

The smell of fresh baked bread and something else, sweet potatoes maybe, filled the old farmhouse. Oh well it made little difference as his belly growled its hungry approval. As if on cue, his grandmother placed a piece of cinnamon toast before him. Intensely bright, the yellow sun sought to burn away the last vestiges of the morning dew—the open pasture falling beneath a blanket of a million sparkles. Caught within the lure of a magical spell John leaned forward to try and get a closer look, his toes curling over the edge of the chair he stood upon. His childlike reflection wavered in the distorted windowpane as his rosy cheeks puffed out comically. “Okay, Johnny, time to add the eggs…” With a smile of warm indulgence, his grandmother carefully helped him crack the first egg into the bowl. “That’s good…” Handing him the next egg she almost chuckled at the signs of concentration etched across his tiny face, his tongue barely peaking out of the corner of his mouth and, of course, one eyebrow arching high.

 

At the sound of his father’s peevish grumbling, the shell slipped from his stubby fingers and into the cake batter. “Ah Jesus Christ, Mom, he’s not a little girl! Why the hell is he helping you in the kitchen?”  

 

Seeing the tears swim in his deep blue eyes, Bess dried her hands on her apron before gently wiping a smudge of flour away from John’s cheek. His lower lip puckered and trembled as he fought to keep the emotions at bay. Carefully she spoke, her deceptively soothing voice broaching no argument. “He’s not helping me in the kitchen, son. He’s helping me make you a birthday cake.” Was that a flash of remorse she saw soften his glowering stare? Standing there in the middle of the room, his shoulders bowed, a weeks worth of stubble standing out irritably. She knew her son was still hurting, that he was still mourning, but sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d not some how managed to raise one of the most self-absorbed, insensitive beasts to ever walk the face of the earth. She only hoped that he would see the error of his ways before it was too late. Quickly stamping down her own rising temper, she refocused her attention on John. “Sweetie, would you go down into the cellar and get us another jar of preserves to go with dinner?”

 

Standing up straight, his gravelly voice climbed an octave. “The cellar…he can’t go down there alone. He might get hurt.” As if pleased by his statement of the obvious, Bess looked at him expectantly. A coy smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Sighing heavily, he gathered John into the swoop of his arm. “Hhh…come on buddy.” And all that was left was the sound of the door slamming into the back wall.

 

Unsure whether it was light or sound to invade the landscape of his dream, John rolled over to bury his face in the couch cushion, his body safely cocooned within a warm woolen afghan. But it was too late. Like a flock of blackbirds the memory ascended, startled by the harsh fist-fall that again besieged the door. Wearily John groaned as his back clenched in rebellious testimony to a long sleepless night spent tossing and turning. A wry chuckle escaped his pasty morning mouth as a thought pierced the thick fog still fresh upon his mind. Who would have ever thought that Marlena’s sofa would make him long for some of America’s finer sidewalks, but it did…well almost. The persistent knock again sounded behind him. Heaving a heavy sigh, John clumsily disentangled himself from the blanket that bound his legs. Muffled words escaping as he drug his fingers across his tired eyes and continued on down to rub at offended muscles. “Hhhh, Christ, hold your horses!” John slipped the warm flannel over his shoulders and jerked the door open only to be met by the shocked venomous glare of Marlena’s brother-in-law. With distaste almost as evident as his distrust, Bo looked through him to survey the room. Stepping aside to let the brooding man enter, John quickly closed his shirt—tearing a couple of buttons completely free in his nervous haste. Absentmindedly tucking the ends into his jeans, John couldn’t help but wonder if Marlena was still asleep. It was still early and they had been up quite late the night before, but…. A foreboding silence that filled the room, threatened to suffocate them both. Frozen there at the foot of the staircase, John watched the tension cord in the veins along Bo’s neck as he quietly and studiously stalked across the room. Even as he recognized the futility of the move, John heard his own stumbling voice echo across the vast expanse in a vain attempt to say something that would somehow diffuse the other man’s anger. “I, umm…”

 

Turning quickly, the toe of Bo’s combat boot dug into the carpet. His unflinching, coal black eyes bore into John. With fist poised at his side, his mouth curled into an ugly snarl. Short and caustic, a rumbling bark was his only response. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

And how should he answer such a question? He couldn’t even reconcile that one for himself. A loud, tired breath pushed past his lips—Bo’s stare fixed, persistent and black as the heavens on a cold starless night. The physical gap between them seemed to diminish though John could not recall either of them breaking the bonds that held them so tightly tethered in place. Triggered by the sound of the kitchen door squeaking open, John slumped into the wall as a guilty calm overwhelmed him.  

 

Pleasantly preoccupied Marlena’s brilliant hazel eyes danced around the room. Bo bristled at the sight of her contented grin and her melodious far too chipper for such an early hour voice sang throughout the unsettled room. “I thought I heard the bell ring.” Or maybe it was too chipper for any hour. Seemingly immune to the harsh confusion behind her brother-in-laws’ eyes, Marlena breezed past him. Her body curved instinctively into John’s shadow. One arm wrapped unconsciously and securely around his waist, her other hand resting just above his breastbone. So lost in the roiling dread in the pit of his gut, Bo almost missed the quiet, intimate deference she showered upon this vagrant…this good-for-nothing con-artist. “I’m sorry. I hope he didn’t wake you. Not that you could have gotten much sleep on my couch…it’s like ten points of torture.” Flowing past him, all broken syllables and soothing sounds, no real words registered in Bo’s mind. Just sentiments, concern and affection meant only for this stranger.

 

A ragged, husky whisper his only reply. “It was fine.” John would have liked to offer her more, but any attempt at eloquence or even charm seemed strangled. Gnawing thoughtlessly upon his lower lip, a smear of blood painted the corner of his mouth as Bo cursed himself and his inability to peg just whatever this man’s game might be.

 

Marlena chuckled. “John, I fell asleep on that sofa far too many nights waiting for Roman to come home from a stakeout to believe that…. And I even have the chiropractor bills to show for it. I don’t know why…”

 

At Roman’s name uttered so casually and secondary, Bo started. The sharp edge of warning and barely held contempt echoed in the harsh clearing of his throat—commanding attention. “Mmmm…”

 

She could see the war behind his dark, brooding expression. She could see his internal struggle, part of him trying desperately to respect her wishes for time the other part no longer willing to wait for answers. Shifting subtly she sought to provide a buffer as she slipped out of their embrace to stand between the two men. Carelessly, she aimed for nonchalance even as she hugged herself tight. “So, Bo, what brings you by so early on a Saturday morning?”

 

Squinting, his rich brown eyes disappeared and somehow his words trembled past his closed mouth. “I wanted to speak to you.”

 

Always shrouded in an aura of grave seriousness at even the most inexplicable times, Bo was often a convenient well of amusement. And at the moment for some reason Marlena couldn’t help but hear Laura’s dead-on imitation of him rattling around in her head any more than she could help the light-hearted chuckle that rang in her reply. Her words drawled and lilting. “Umm, okay. Whatcha need, Grumpy?” Marlena tucked her curly blonde hair neatly behind her ear and waited in vain as Bo’s ugly glare settled determinedly upon the man standing just behind her. “Bo…”  

 

The tide of her rising anger swallowed up in John’s quiet voice. “I should get going…” Turning, she captured his sad blue eyes. “I have to work today and really should go home and shower…”

 

Refusing to give in to Bo’s negativity, Marlena abruptly interrupted. “You could shower here.”

 

John’s mouth curved into a pained smile. “And change clothes.” Her expression, a strange collection of emotions that he couldn’t quite name except for the edge of fear that he had as of yet seemed able to fully banish, baffled him. John’s gaze darted briefly to Bo before returning to her. His raspy voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “Are you going to be home later?”

 

Relaxing the almost painful hold of her arms wrapped round her waist, Marlena smiled and nodded. “I have to go by Shawn and Caroline’s to pick up the twins…” Her hazel eyes twinkled. “And of course I need to pick up some dog food for our newest family member.”

 

At the telltale signs of happiness, a huge grin spread over his face. He could see it there shining in her eyes; he had done well. He’d picked just the right gift. “Good. I’ll be back later then to build Guapo a house?” At her subtle nod, John returned his attention to the other man’s angry, stolid form. “Bo. I, uh…good-bye.” In one fluid motion John leaned down quickly to brush his dry, parched lips lightly over Marlena’s cheek while turning to beat a hasty retreat.

 

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass…” Mumbled and definitely not meant for sound, still Bo’s words found their way over to Marlena. Finding her gaze ablaze with ill-contained ire, Bo had the good grace to look away even as the tension filled the air. Suddenly seeing John’s raggedy old coat still laying over the back of the chair, Marlena snatched it up and followed him out quickly. “John, wait! You forgot your coat.”

 

At the sound of the door being wrenched open and her voice calling out to him, John ignored the harsh gust of wind that blew across the front walk and the overwhelming urge to shiver. Shrugging into the thin wool confines, he muttered awkwardly. “Thanks.” Her smile was almost shy, embarrassed. Capturing his face in the palm of her hands, she pulled him close and kissed him good-bye properly—her lips, soft and pliant, hungry beneath his questing mouth. He could still feel her breath all around him as his thumb rose to soothe away a single escaping tear. “Get back inside before you catch your death of cold.”  Making his way down the stone path, John cringed at the sound of the door violently slamming closed.

 

Striding angrily into the heart of the room, Marlena erupted. “Before we go any further let’s get one thing straight, Bo Brady, this is my home.” Stepping closer to him, her finger jabbed the air in exclamation of her point. “And when you’re in my home, you will treat my guests with respect.” Bo swallowed hard at the wild look behind her eyes as her hands gestured unconsciously. “So whatever suspicions you’ve convinced yourself are fact and whatever surly mood you’ve worked yourself into, you can just check them at the door.” Feeling the effects of a blinding migraine beginning to throb mercilessly, Marlena flailed down onto the couch John had so recently vacated. Almost as if forgetting she weren’t alone, she buried her face in her hands and wearily began massaging her temples. A tenuous quiet fell across the room as Bo slid into the side chair and waited. At the sound of her still small voice, he flinched. “So what do you need to talk about? Is it Hope?”

 

“No. Hope’s fine.” Bo’s troubled eyes settled on the discarded blanket lying beside her. Sighing heavily, he plunged headlong, his voice unusually quiet. “Hhhh, Marlena, what the hell is going on? I mean time to sort through what happened all those years ago…I could understand that. Maybe I didn’t like it, but I understood it. But this, this is…this is different.” Nervously tearing his fingers through his long shaggy hair, Bo pushed himself up out of the chair. Upset, he furiously paced back and forth in front of a defiantly silent Marlena. Finally Bo’s loud, booming voice, exploded all around them. “Christ, Marlena, what would Roman think? Inviting this guy into your home, into your…”

 

Marlena’s head whipped around as the insinuation died upon his lips, but seeing only confusion and concern behind his dark soulful eyes her righteous indignation drained away leaving her with only a bone weary exhaustion. Like traversing a minefield, she only hoped that she could somehow tread softly and safely through. Patting the cushion, Marlena waited for Bo to sit beside her. Rolling her cloudy gray eyes heavenward, she said a silent prayer. With a good two feet of couch between them, she quietly began. “Roman’s dead, Bo, and no amount of hoping on either of our parts will change that fact. He’s gone. And as much as I loved him, I have to go on with my life—for myself, for my children but also for Roman.” Tears welled in Marlena’s eyes and her lips trembled. Cocking her head to the side, she compelled him to meet her gaze. “You don’t honestly believe he would want me to spend the rest of my life alone and mourning him, do you?”

 

“Of course not…” Even as Bo shook his head no though, he couldn’t help but qualify his feelings. “But why this guy?”

 

Reaching for Bo’s hand, Marlena muttered the first thing that popped into her head. “Why not?”

 

As if repelled by the words, Bo jerked away from her—his eyes wide with shock. “Why not? Why not? I could give you a laundry list as long as my arm, Marlena, not the least of which is that for all practical purposes he doesn’t even seem to exist. And as long as we’re asking ridiculous questions, I’ve got one…. What the hell happened to your brain?” In a fit of utter frustration Bo once again began pacing and never noticed the color drain from Marlena’s face. “I mean, you’re probably one of the smartest people I know and yet sometimes I swear…. Remember a little thing called common sense?” Stopping, he sat down on the edge of the coffee table and waited for her to look up. When at last she did, Marlena was taken aback by his suddenly calm demeanor and had to strain to hear him continue.  “I don’t know how to unravel this story, but I know as sure as I’m sitting here that the very fact that I can’t even find a thread to begin to pull means something about all this just doesn’t add up. People don’t just disappear, Marlena, and they sure as hell don’t rise from the dead. That much is obvious. And so I can’t understand why you are putting yourself and your children in harm’s way.”

 

A tight little fist clinched over her mouth as Marlena tried to get a reign on her emotions. Closing her eyes, he could hear the still, unsteady quaver of her voice. “First I would never, never do anything to endanger my kids. Carrie and the twins mean the world to me; they’re about the only thing that’s gotten me through this last year.” It had nearly killed her the first time—the loss, the loneliness like a heartbeat driving her slowly insane. But at least this time she’d had her children…her dear, sweet, innocent little babies to be beacons of light in the darkness.

 

Her chest grew tight with unshed tears as the vision danced in the blue behind her eyelids. Running one delicate finger over the fine outline of his face, so young and brutally handsome, Marlena choked as an unsung sob caught in her throat at sight of his fiery blue eyes piercing her soul—alight with dreams she had been so sure no one could ever steal. “Just one year” he had said. Promising her that he would come home to her…promises that he couldn’t keep and she still couldn’t forget. A strangled sound of disgust echoed throughout the cold bedroom as she closed the memories back within their pretty floral prison. Trembling, she tossed the box back onto a dusty shelf in the closet and absentmindedly poured herself another glass of wine. Looking around the dimly lit room, for the longest time she stared through mostly unseeing eyes at the harsh unforgiving numbers on the clock. 1:43 a.m. another stakeout, another sleepless night, another night of pondering just what she had and what she’d lost. No doubt it was going to be a long one. Making her way over to the window, Marlena stared out at the stars up in the sky, drew the shade and hung her head to cry.

 

She didn’t know how long she stayed just that way, trapped within this misery that time and again she seemed to invite. She couldn’t deny that there was a certain self-destructive tendency in this reminiscing, but she’d grown accustomed to the bittersweet byplay of memories and misplaced dreams until she could no longer imagine her life any other way. Besides at least this way she still got to feel as though she had a little piece of him with her—a little piece all her own. Harried and wild, she snatched up her car keys and left.

 

Driving through the night with no destination, only a misguided sense of anticipation until finally the sun rose over the horizon and she again found herself sitting in the driveway. Stifling a yawn, Marlena made her way back up the stone walk. It wasn’t until she had slumped exhausted into the sofa that she noticed the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the air. “There you are, Legs. I was worried when I got home and there wasn’t even a note.” With quick purposeful strides, Roman crossed the room. Settling down comfortably beside her, he wrapped his arms around her and toyed with the collar of her thin cotton pajama top, whispered in her ear. “Well I guess this means you didn’t get called into the hospital.” Roman wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully as he pulled her even closer. “You wouldn’t be cheating on me would you?”

 

Even as she forced a chuckle past her lips, Marlena paled. “Lord no, I went out to comfort an old friend who was feeling down.”   

 

Blinking her eyes several times, Marlena tried to blot out the memory of her lie…no, not just one lie, a series of lies, a marriage of half-truths. She had never really allowed herself to look at it from Roman’s perspective before. Knowing subconsciously if she did, that she’d be lost, that she’d never be able to live with the person she’d become and the dreams she’d sacrificed. But now, faced with the reality so clearly…she didn’t know whether to fall on her knees and repent or weep for joy. Opening her mouth, her voice failed her. It escaped an emotion-laden husky croak. “Bo, you need to understand that John is not just some guy. I love him; I have from almost the first moment I laid eyes on him.” Pursing her lips, a lonely tear slid down Marlena’s cheek as she struggled with just what she wanted to say next. “I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told another living soul…. I cheated on Roman…”

 

Feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, Bo’s body lurched as he fought the rising tides of nausea. Watching the now steady stream of tears streaking Marlena’s face, it seemed as though the universe had been set on its side. He wanted to rage, to call her an adulterous slut, yet somehow he could not as her explanation drifted past only half heard.

 

“Not with deeds mind you, not with my body, but in my heart where it mattered most…. I’ve never been able to put my love for John aside. I’ve always looked for him in the strangest places, at the most unpredictable times. I think he knew…Roman. I know he knew.” Guilt washed over her face. “We didn’t keep secrets from each other, not really. But I built a wall around a huge part of my heart that nothing and no one, not even your brother, could penetrate. I was unfaithful and unfair to him, and I will live with that knowledge for the rest of my life. Bo, you know how I loved and adored Roman. You know what losing him did to me…you know because I made you suffer the brunt of my anger and my hurt. In my rage I blamed you for things that you could no more stop than the setting of the sun.” Leaning forward, Marlena tentatively cupped the side of his face in the palm of her hand and forced him to meet her eyes. A small, sad smile painted its way across her lips until at last she spoke. “Sweetheart, you have to know that if I wasn’t able to surrender the love I feel for John when Roman was alive then wild horses couldn’t make me do it now.”

 

Slowly she let her hand fall away as she sat up ramrod straight. Like a wisp of scarlet her vulnerability disappeared, replaced with an unnerving cool calm demeanor. “You’re not the only one who has questions, Bo. I’ve got over fifteen years worth; I’ve got so many questions they wake me up sometimes in the middle of the night. But there is one thing that I will never question; I’ll never question this man’s heart. I look in John’s eyes and I know that he’s been wounded in ways that you and I could never even in our worst nightmares imagine. ” Shaking her head, a mess of blonde locks fell in front of her eyes. “And just like I know that the one thing I don’t have to question is John’s heart, I also know that if there’s one person that can’t ignore a mystery and simply take things at face-value, it’s you. You’re that much like you brother. As much as I may hate it, I know can’t stop you from snooping around, but I’m telling you right now that if you turn this into some kind of witch hunt…if your suspicions drive John away, there will be nothing left when I’m done with you. I never thought I’d even get to see his face again much less touch him, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you or anyone else for the matter come between us.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: REVELATOR

 

Frustrated, his dark skin shone lovely and blue beneath a light sheen of sweat as Henry barked into the phone. “I don’t give a shit what your paperwork says, I’m looking at the same damn paperwork, and I’m telling you what’s on this barge and what’s on the paper don’t match up.” Pausing to listen to their reply, he never heard the jingle of the bell marking the brooding man’s entry. His jaw flexed as the rising irritation spread over his features until finally he snapped. “You know what…you do that; you go talk to your supervisor and if I don’t hear from you sorry SOB’s in the next thirty minutes, I’ll refuse the shipment.” Slamming the phone down, Henry never even bothered to look up as he called over his shoulder into the warehouse. “Al, put a halt on unloading the Verve shipment…. Oh and tell John good job catching the mistake.” Sighing tiredly, Henry looked up into the stormy accusing eyes staring back at him. “Hhh, I know, I know you’ve got a problem. Join the crowd.” When the councilman had said he was sending someone to pick up the paperwork well this ruffian certainly wasn’t what he had expected to show up on his doorstep. No real difference though. “You’re early; give me a second to find the forms you’re supposed to pick up.” Reaching into his desk, he blindly began to rifle for the proper complaint forms. “Here…”

 

With a smug waive of the hand, Bo negated the idea. “Look, I don’t have a complaint. I don’t want your stupid paperwork. I want to talk to one of your employees, John Black.”

 

“Oh…uh, what do you need him for?”

 

Bo’s brow furrowed with deep lines of frustration. “What difference does it make? It’s not business…it’s between him and me.”

 

Not caring for the man’s intense confrontational stance, Henry bristled. “Yeah, and just who are you?”

 

Now truly impatient, he practically spit his name. “Bo Brady.”

 

Henry’s expression softened even as his dark eyes grew cloudy. “Bo Brady…as in Shawn Brady’s son?”

 

Gnawing his lips self-consciously, a bit of thunder drained from his voice. “Yeah.”

 

He’d practically watched the Brady kids grow up. They’d been here on these docks almost as long as he had—dysfunctional and wonderful, violently affectionate and yet somehow still possessing an explosive calm. Looking directly at the younger man, his lips curled into a bemused smirk. “Well I see the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

 

Uninterested in yet another rambling discourse touting Kim’s compassion or Kayla’s generosity or most especially Roman’s noble heroics and how he never quite seemed to measure up…or any of the other pat conversations that always began just so, Bo scowled. “Look, is Black here or not?”

 

Henry couldn’t help but shake his head. “Yeah, he should be in the warehouse. Here…” tossing him a hardhat, “It’s regulation. And don’t keep John too long, I’m trying to run a business here not a social club.” Watching Bo stalk his way out into the warehouse, Henry mumbled to his self. “Yep, still a rude, insecure, hot-head.” His eyes followed Bo’s retreating form as he stepped to the door leading into the warehouse. Quirkily he motioned for Al. “Make sure our visitor keeps his hardhat on.”

 

Tucking the hat under his arm, Bo weaved his way through endless aisles of non-descript unopened crates. He felt like a rat in a maze and still he didn’t see Black. At least he didn’t think he did. This place was a virtual sea of plaid flannel. “Excuse me sir, you’re going to have to put your hardhat on.”

 

Scowling Bo lightly settled it a top his head and swallowed down an angry reply. “Say, buddy, can you tell me where John Black is?” Though his reply was lost in the din of passing fork-truck, Bo followed his gesture and saw John right where the dock and warehouse met, arranging smaller crates onto a dolly. Offering up a hasty “thanks,” Bo’s eyes blackened.

 

John saw his approach—quick and purposeful strides, but decidedly slouchy. Looking him directly in the eye, he decided to beat him to the punch. “Bo.”

 

Refusing to be bothered with the trivialities of a greeting, Bo’s voice came out abrupt and commanding. “I want to talk to you.” His frustration mounted as John continued to load the dolly but said nothing. Pounding his fist atop one of the crates, Bo growled. “Did you hear me? I said I wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Yeah, I heard you…” Without looking up, John continued to work. A bit of blood escaped from the dry chapped skin of his cracked knuckles. “So talk.”

 

“Here?”

 

With a shrug, John hefted another crate. “I don’t see why not. I don’t know what you could possibly have to say that would interest a bunch of dock workers…besides I have a job to do.”

 

Bo scanned the area, for a moment unsure. He had wanted to find some kind of control, maybe an entrance or a clue—something, anything that would point him in the right direction. A bitter snort of self-disgust escaped unbidden. He had hoped that by coming down here to confront him that he could throw John off-balance, and yet somehow it seemed the exact opposite was happening. He had made the decision though and couldn’t back out now. “What are your intentions toward Marlena?”

 

Before he could stop it, a disbelieving grin twisted playfully across John’s lips. “My intentions?” A dark chuckle rumbled deep in his chest though at the sight of Bo’s hard unremitting stare boring into him, he sobered. A sudden sullen void of emotion filled the air between them. “I don’t have intentions, Bo.”

 

Angry and accusing, the words tumbled from him. “So what, you’re just using her?”

 

“No.” Feeling the words lodge in his throat, John struggled to find the words. “Look, I learned a long time ago that intentions were a sure path to disappointment. I don’t make plans anymore. What ever happens is going to happen and intentions be damned.”

 

A humorless laugh died upon Bo’s lips. “How convenient for you…and if you happen to milk some money out of her in the meantime?”   

 

John scoffed. “You think this is about money?” He couldn’t help it. The very idea was ludicrous. Stooping, he grabbed the last crate and passed the dolly off to another man. With the back of his sleeve he wiped the sweat from his brow before finally settling his sad azure gaze upon the younger man, his eyes unyielding. “You really have no idea, do you?”

 

Bo’s voice was low and sure. “I know you’re a danger.”

 

“Yeah, I probably am.” John’s bright eyes grew glassy with tears. “You don’t have to worry about me hurting her, Bo. I’d as soon die as cause her pain. But I won’t walk away from her. I won’t leave her. I made a promise to her once that I’d never leave her, and I’ve broken enough promises to last a lifetime. I won’t break another.”

 

Even as Bo took a step closer, John had to strain to hear him—whispered questions that held no accusation only a bitter truth. “Are those really promises you can make? You won’t hurt her? You won’t leave her?”

 

Shaking his head, he refused to acknowledge the pain that lanced straight through his heart. “I don’t know. I just know I have to try.”

 

“If you put her in harms way, if you become a threat…”

 

John interrupted. “Then remove the threat…by what ever means necessary. Remove the threat.”

 

~~~

 

Paint…that would help, just a little something to brighten up her office. No need to be blanketed in such a bleak, depressing womb day in and day out. Making a mental note to put in the request, Marlena’s mostly unseeing gaze left the dingy yellow walls to sway lazily in the breeze outside her window. Low and intense, the rich vibrato of Etta James rumbled and moaned like a tormented spirit rising out of the pits of hell. Trust was such a hard thing to hold onto. Leaning against the casing, Marlena’s bright hazel eyes fluttered closed. Her thoughts wondered back over the events of the past few months. The Brady’s were ambivalent at best. Bo would hardly look at her much less speak to her now. And John, well she still hadn’t even found the courage to push him for answers. Answers she so desperately needed. Still she couldn’t really fault him for not volunteering the information. Could she? Sighing heavily, she knew things couldn’t go on this way but still felt so helpless and paralyzed. “Hhh…Lord, help me.”

 

Never hearing the subtle squeak of the door slip open, Marlena started at Laura’s rather amused tone. “I’m no deity, but I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

 

Marlena’s eyes grew wide as she melodramatically clutched her chest—the chuckle apparent in her words. “Jesus, Laura, what are you trying to do…give me a heart attack?”

 

Sitting their lunch down on the desk, Laura shrugged. “Hey, I knocked. It’s not my fault you were daydreaming.” With one last smirk, she opened her sandwich. Her eyes never left Marlena’s. “I hope you’re not mentally wandering off when you’re supposed to be listening to patients.”

 

A loud caustic laugh escaped her lips as Marlena slid into her chair. “Oh shut up and eat your lunch…and get your roots done.”

 

They ate in relative silence. Old Motown tunes, a bit of Jazz punctuated by the odd folk moment lingered between them as idle chit-chat comfortably passed back and forth until finally Laura decided to broach the subject. “So want to talk about it?” Not accepting the blank look of confusion, Laura simply arched her eyebrow expectantly.

 

With a nod of concession, Marlena offered her a sheepish grin. “It’s really nothing. Nothing I can put a name to anyway. You know?” Laura nodded even as she mumbled a kind of inquisitive agreement. “I guess I’m just stressed.” As if disappointed with her self, Marlena frowned. “I’m not sure I’m up for this juggling act.”

 

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Juggling act?”

 

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Marlena tried to find the right words. “Roman’s family…I don’t know. It’s not going like I expected.”

 

“What did you expect?”

 

Confusion etched across her brow. “I’m not sure exactly. Not this. I mean it’s not that I expected them to just embrace the idea of John and I, but they just seem cold…aloof almost. That’s not Shawn and Caroline. That’s not Kim and Kayla.” Like a shadow a mask of pain fell over her. “And then there’s Bo…” Closing her eyes, Marlena rubbed wearily at her temple—her face half-hidden as if ready to cry. Lodging in her throat, the confession escaped a strained whisper that Laura struggled to hear. “He’s so angry; he’ll hardly look at me, and I can’t say as I blame him.”

 

“Oh, Marlena, why would you even say such a thing?” Pausing for a moment, Laura pondered the wisdom of actually uttering the next words. Lord knows they needed to be said, but she’d always hoped someone else would spare her the task. But she supposed there were some truths, harsh though they may be, that only a friend could utter. “I love you, sweetie. You know that. But it’s time to stop being a martyr.” A flash of hurt burned in Marlena’s eyes. “Just because Roman had to lose his life doesn’t mean that you have to sacrifice the rest of yours. John makes you happy that much is obvious. You’ve been glowing like a Christmas tree ever since you found him again…” With an edge of humorous disgust, she continued. “I can only imagine how insufferable you’ll be when the two of you finally make love again.” A faint blush crept over Marlena’s cheeks. “So stop punishing yourself, Marlena. Life is hard enough as it is. ‘Take on the situation not the torment.’”

 

Marlena’s lips twitched, her tone vague. “Are you finished?”

 

With a wicked grin, Laura put her finger to lips as if to think. “Umm…yep, I think that about covers it.”

 

Marlena’s voice piqued. “Getting your psychological advice from coked-up rock stars now, are you?”

 

Their laughter melted one into another. “Hey, the girl knows what she’s talking about. Besides good advice is good advice. Now if I start using fortune cookies, then you can complain.”

 

Marlena grinned. “I’ll be sure and remember that.” Pulling her chair a little closer, Marlena diverted her gaze—the distinct alto of Joan Baez the only sound in the room. Just as Laura was about to speak, Marlena whispered. “I know you’re right, Laura. I know there are things I can’t change no matter how hard I might want to or how hard I try. I know there are things I can’t control. And I know that worrying over them after the fact is fruitless.” Laura could see her lips quirk. “Giving up control has never been my strong suit.” Finally looking up, Marlena’s eyes were swallowed up in ebony darkness as they bore into Laura. “Bo does have a right be angry, though…. A couple of weeks ago, he stopped by the house un-expectantly. It was early and John was still half asleep when he answered the door. Even though it was patently obvious that he’d slept on the couch, Bo was upset, and I didn’t handle the situation well. In my haste to make him understand I really didn’t take Bo’s feelings into account. And I hurt him very deeply.”

 

Cradling her coffee mug, Laura squinted. “I’m not following you.”

 

Tears swelled in her eyes, began a steady escape, as she thought back on those fatal words she’d uttered just two short weeks ago. “I told him I’d been unfaithful to Roman…” Laura tried to keep the surprise from her face. Viciously wiping the tears away, Marlena continued. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking saying that to him. I mean of course he’s angry. I’m angry. I never should have disrespected Roman’s memory that way. I should have been able to find another way to explain my feelings for John, to make him understand that my feelings had never died.” Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed. “Oh Laura, what have I done?”

 

Coming around the desk, Laura set her coffee down and pulled Marlena’s hands away from her face—her voice quietly coaxing and smooth. “Marlena, look at me.” But still her eyes remained tightly clenched as her head shook back and forth. “Look at me!” Slightly shocked by her vehement voice, Marlena’s eyes rose. “As a therapist, you know as well as I do that you should never regret being honest. Maybe you could have found a better way to say it, but then again maybe you couldn’t have. Sometimes Bo is more stubborn than he is bright. Maybe he needed to hear exactly what you had to say. As hard as it may have been to hear it, it may have been the only way to get him to listen…” Squeezing her hand, Laura offered up absolution. “You said yourself that worrying over things after they’ve already happened is wasted energy, so quit beating yourself up over things you can’t change.” Noticing the time on the clock, Laura grimaced. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a patient due in about fifteen minutes. Promise me you’ll think about what I said?” Marlena nodded. “Good.” Making her way to the door, Laura turned and gestured back to the lunch liter atop the desk. A tiny smirk curled over her lips. “You know you really should clean this mess up, it’s not terribly professional.”

 

Marlena laughed. “This from a woman who meters out stoned Stevie Nicks’ lyrics as a form of sound advice.”

 

Laura shrugged then pointed at her. “Oh and don’t think I missed the part about your sleepover…I expect details.”

 

Even as the door closed, she could still hear the bell-like sound of Laura’s mischievous laughter ringing in her ears. With a shake of the head, Marlena tried to smile. Laura was right of course, she had to quit beating herself up. On call and swamped at the hospital, she’d hardly seen John all week and had been so besieged with guilt that there was a part of her that had almost been grateful for the distraction. But now as she sat alone in her office, she had to admit how very much she missed him. Reaching for the telephone she dialed the number. All at once his booming voice crackled across the line. “Oh, hello, Henry, this is Dr. Marlena Evans…”

 

Henry smiled. “You’re not calling to try and give old Guapo back are you?”

 

A warm chuckle pushed past her lips. “Heaven’s no. My kids would never forgive me.”

 

Even as his laughter rose up to meet hers, there was a subtle pain apparent in the deep rumbling sound. “No, most likely they wouldn’t.” Wanting to change the subject, Henry continued. “So what can I do for you?”

 

“Well, I know it’s not customary and I’m sure he’s very busy, but would it be at all possible for me to speak with John for a moment?”

 

Reclining back in his chair, Henry propped his feet up on the corner of his desk. “I wish I could help you, Dr. Evans. There’s just one problem, John’s not here.”

 

A slight edge of panic filled Marlena’s voice. “Not there? He was scheduled to work today, right? Did he call in sick?”

 

Taken aback by the alarm sounding in her voice, Henry’s feet fell to the ground with a loud thump. His voice turned calm and placating. “Woah, hold up. Everything’s okay. He’s not sick. John came to work this morning. But he just seemed a little distracted after his visitor left and since the bulk of the shipments came in early, I gave him the afternoon off.”

 

Marlena felt the dread wash over her. “Visitor?”

 

Distracted by the young man in the dark linen suit approaching the door, Henry’s answer stumbled across his full lips. “Yeah, uh…one of the Brady’s…a real hot-head. Um, what was his name?”

 

Plucking up the sterling silver frame from her desk, Marlena’s gaze traveled over each face in the Brady clan. “Bo.”

 

“Yeah, that was it.” Suddenly sitting up very straight, Henry ended the conversation. “Listen I really hate to cut you off, Dr. Evans, but I’ve got someone from the City Council’s office waiting to see me. You want me to tell John you called when he comes in tomorrow?”

 

Already feeling the rising tide of anger, Marlena forced the words past her tightly pursed lips. “No. But thank you for offering, Henry.”

 

Her first impulse had been to find John. Not that she thought she could really combat anything that Bo might have said to him, any insecurities and fears he may have assaulted, but rather just for the knowledge that he was still here with her—just for the comfort of his arms holding her tight. No one had answered the phone on his floor at the Ponchatrain though, and the desk clerk, Bob, hadn’t seen John since he’d left for work that morning. Beyond work and home she had no idea where to even begin to look for him. It was a fact that until this moment had never even really occurred to her, and it hit her hard. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot of foreboding and regret. Why in hell did she still have so many questions? Why hadn’t she compelled the answers from him? What was she so afraid of? There was nothing he could say to her that could possibly be worse than this…this sitting here, paralyzed by the not knowing.

 

Viciously snatching the phone up off its base, memory took the place of fear as her fingers blindly stabbed the numbers she knew so well. Abe hadn’t even managed to get the first full word out when she interrupted him. “Is Bo down at the station?”

 

“Marlena?” He could hear the fire in her voice, a kind of rage that he hadn’t heard since Roman’s death…if he’d ever heard it. “Is everything okay?”

 

The sound of her own ragged breath echoed in her head. “You tell me…. Is Bo there?”

 

Forgetting for a moment the incalculable distance of the phone line, Abe slid to the edge of his chair in an attempt to draw her into the friendly intimacy that they had long ago forged. “He was…” Carefully he answered, deciding brevity was probably the best course. “You just missed him…. Is there anything I can help you with?” A deafening silence droned on between them until Abe began to wonder if the line had been lost. Still he said nothing. Marlena would speak when she was ready to speak.

 

She swallowed hard. “What was Bo doing at the station?”

 

Abe shifted the phone from one side to the other. “I can tell by the sound of your voice, Marlena, that you already know the answer to that question.”

 

It was an odd response. One she hadn’t expected—half question, half fact. It felt almost like a threat, though she knew it wasn’t. Her voice sounded vulnerable and pleading. “Maybe I just need to hear someone say it out loud.”

 

Abe nodded. “Maybe…. Bo came to ask for help looking into John Black’s past.”

 

Devoid of any real emotion, Marlena asked the question. “And did you help him?”

 

Leaning forward, Abe tried to answer honestly. “Not exactly.”

 

An uncharacteristic sarcasm poured over the line. “Now’s really not the time to be coy, Abe.”

 

“I’m not being coy. I didn’t have to check all the legal channels for him to know they’d come up blank because I’d already exhausted every single one of them trying to pacify my own protective nature.” Abe could hear the resentment in her labored breathing and in the painful sound of her teeth gnashing together. “I’ve always tried to be honest with you, Marlena. I’m not going to sit here and lie to you now about the concern I and a lot of other people feel about this mystery man just popping up out of the middle of no where. I’ll respect your right to live your life how ever you see fit, but I can’t just cast my suspicions aside anymore than Bo can.” Abe paused to let his words sink in. At last he continued. “For what it’s worth, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Bo earlier, I’ve looked into this matter as far as I’m willing to look and come up empty. Protective nature aside, I’m done. I’m going to trust that you’re right about this man, and if you aren’t pray that we’ll be able to get to you in time.”

 

Marlena frowned. “I understand where you’re coming from, Abe, really I do. And I’m grateful that you respect me enough to at least place boundaries on the lengths you’ll go to prove a point.” Sighing wearily, he could almost feel her exhaustion and her sadness. “Hhh…I just don’t know why everyone seems so leery of John?”

 

“Because if nothing else, the situation is suspicious, Marlena…especially here in Salem where there have only ever been two men rise from the dead—Jesus and Stefano Dimera.”

 

Joyous and unexpected, Marlena erupted in laughter. “You better never let Caroline hear you put those two names together in a sentence like that or you won’t ever be invited back for Sunday dinner.”

 

A deep groan of irritation crawled up the back of Abe’s throat. “Ugh! Don’t even joke about that. I’ve been working weekends since the start of the year with no end in sight. I’ve started dreaming about Sunday dinner.”

 

“Oh, you poor baby.”

 

Hanging on every syllable of her playful condescension, Abe noted the unmistakable tinge of happiness that he’d not heard since she and Roman had first married. “Yeah, yuck it up now…just wait until you end up on call at the hospital for about a month straight and then come talk to me.”

 

“Quite honestly, at this point I would welcome a few Sundays at work.” There she’d said it. She hadn’t meant to, but it had slipped beneath the radar of self-censorship. It was out there now. There was no taking it back, and if she were being completely honest she would have to admit that it felt good to finally say it out loud—like a weight lifted from her shoulders, leaving her light and unencumbered.  

 

There was no great emotion accompanying her confession, still Abe was caught off guard by the sheer unexpectedness of it. “I don’t follow?”

 

Suddenly self-conscious, Marlena fiddled nervously with the phone cord, winding it round and round her ring finger like a little child fascinated by the loss of circulation. “Ah don’t mind me…just wallowing in a bit of self-pity today, I guess.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that…” Abe’s voice softened curiously. “You’re not really one that’s big on self-pity, so something must have happened to make you feel that way.”

 

“Well let’s just say the tension with Bo is just the tip of the iceberg. Two weeks ago, he didn’t even show up. And then last week when John came to dinner with us, I think the food even got frostbite from all the cold shoulders in the room.” Uncharacteristically, Marlena slumped back into her chair. “I’ll tell you it’s gotten to the point that I dread even having to go eat with them…” Quiet punctuated only by muffled music stretched between them as Abe waited. He was a keen enough student of human nature to know she wasn’t done talking, and if he knew Marlena even half as well as he thought then he knew what was coming next. A sad smile tugged at his lips as she confirmed his suspicions. “And I don’t think I have to tell you that it makes me feel like a simply vile human being.”

 

Abe chuckled. “You’re always your own worst critic, Marlena…. Have you tried to say anything, to Caroline maybe?”

 

Resigned, Marlena shook her head. “I wouldn’t even begin to know what to say. Listen, I really do need to try and track Bo down before the stubborn ox has the chance to make a real mess of things. He already went down to the docks this morning to see John. I need to know what happened with that and then I have to find John. Do you know where Bo was headed when he left the station?”

 

With one finger Abe motioned to the rookie cop passing his desk to wait a minute before finishing his conversation. “I think he said he was going to pick up some supper for he and Hope at the Fish Market.”

 

“Great, and thank you so much for listening, Abe…sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He could hear her generous smile over the line. “I’ll make sure to tell Caroline to save you some leftovers Sunday. Remember, you be careful and don’t work too hard.”

 

Using his shoulder, Abe cradled the phone to his ear and began jotting down a note. “Only if you promise to do the same.”

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Hanging up the phone, Marlena quickly thumbed through her appointment book for the rest of the day and found it free. Her decision made, she gathered up her purse and pocketbook. A few hurried instructions to her assistant and she was gone.

 

~~~

 

Swirling the snifter of Brandy, Stefano pushed back from his desk. An eerie calm echoed through the room. The lure of crimson flames falling from the edge of existence called to him as he stealthily and studiously made his way to the large picture window. The ancient fortress creaked and moaned in answer to the violent gusts, seemed in perfect pitch with his ill-tempered impatience. He felt old, a kind of stolid weariness etching across his features.

 

It had been almost three weeks since he’d first called Petrov in. Over two weeks since he’d dispatched him on this seemingly benign assignment. Hardly seemed worthy of one of his best operatives, but the stakes were just too high. An average flunky would not do, he needed the assurance of his best man. Grumbling irritably, Stefano downed the last of his Brandy. He hated waiting…and for something he already knew to be true no less. The report was just a technicality. He knew his assumptions were correct. Stefano Dimera was always right. One way or another he saw to that simple fact. Still, just what to do with this knowledge called for calculated deliberation, not haste. After all, he’d long ago decided that Marlena made a formidable opponent, or at least as formidable as any woman was capable of being. And he was drawn to that unique marriage of power and vulnerability. He wanted it as his own. He wanted her as his own. He’d spent far more time than he would care to acknowledge trying to determine how best to make his possession of her a reality with no real personal sacrifice. No doubt the possibility of a past relationship with Black coupled with her stubborn compassion would have the desired effect of isolating Marlena from the Brady clan. Jay’s weekly reports already alluded to tension. However, Stefano was unsure if he had the temperance to simply sit back and watch her blooming back to life in this romance. He was to have been her savior, not a turncoat like Black. The pragmatist in him constantly chided that the ends justified the means, but somewhere in the dark recesses of his soul he couldn’t dispel a sick uneasy feeling.

 

The sound of the intercom jolted him from his ruminations. Crossing the room with quick purposeful strides, Stefano’s rich baritone voice interrupted Maria mid-sentence. “Send him in.” Sliding back down into his chair, he resided over his world an immovable mountain of a man.

 

Thin and wiry, Petrov entered the room without fanfare—all pale skin and sharp angular lines, an air of confidence and danger followed in his wake. Un-phased by Dimera’s black stare, he dropped the report onto the desk. Graceful and fluid, he sat one leg nonchalantly crossing over the other. Plucking up the folder, Stefano had barely begun to skim the words when Petrov interrupted. “You were right…as usual.”

 

Nodding in concession to the unspoken request, Stefano placed the banal reading material aside for later and leaned forward to rest his chin on one beefy fist. “Of course…so why don’t you tell me what you were able to find.”

 

Petrov’s icy stare grew sharp as his lips curled into a subconscious smirk. After a moment he began, choosing each word with clear intent, a kind of vicious diplomacy. “Well as you might imagine there was little or nothing in the way of a legal paper trail…nothing that would tie Black to Dr. Evans.” Shifting in his chair, Petrov’s smile turned sinister. “Luckily though the cover story you arranged worked to perfection, nothing like the promise of a story in Newsweek to get tight-lipped townspeople talking. It seems many were taken in by the idea of a retrospective on the Vietnam War.” Petrov’s Baltic accent suddenly melted into a bland mid-western drawl. “Especially when told by a former grunt who’d served with Black.” An appreciative grin tugged the corner of Stefano’s mouth and he nodded his approval at the particular Johnny-on-the-spot bit of reconnaissance ingenuity. “Now obviously reports vary as to the extent to which this relationship progressed, but without question Black and Dr. Evans were high school sweethearts. And if I were a betting man…” His brow arched, coy and daring. “I would be willing to wager dollars to diamonds that they were much, much more…” Impervious, Stefano eyed him expectantly.

 

Petrov paused. Having long ago sensed his boss’s fascination with Dr. Evans was something more than the usual games of human chess Dimera so enjoyed engaging in, he wanted to pick his words with extreme tact. “I must admit it was difficult locating any direct ties to Black. All of his family that could be identified via records are deceased, and all other ties seemed to lead right back to Dr. Evans. A fact that in itself I found telling…” Agitated Stefano’s fingers drummed rhythmic and droning—wordlessly coercing confessions from the man before him. “The two most damning bits of evidence in this line of thinking comes from sources rather close to Dr. Evans. First, a cousin on her mother’s side…” Reaching for the report, Petrov located the name. “Eve informed me that the couple had actually been engaged to be married. She only had the opportunity to meet Black on a couple of occasions, but she did remember him. And she did remember her cousin’s grief over his death. I could not coerce much in the way of detail out of the woman in regards to this…just that she didn’t think her cousin had ever really gotten over receiving the telegraph and was plagued with guilt for having not forced Black to flee the draft.”

 

Suddenly very dry-mouthed and uncomfortable, Petrov reached to pour himself a glass of water. It was a nervous move. One more compelled by apprehension and a desire to avoid Dimera’s probing eyes than thirst and so his raspy voice continued to speak. “The second bit of corroborating evidence came from Dr. Evans’ school records. Part way through her sophomore year, coinciding with the news of Black’s death, her grades and her attendance began to falter. Early in the fourth quarter, she took a leave of absence. Unfortunately, the actual education records shed no light on this. However with a bit more digging and the help of a rather attractive dean of students, I was able to gain access to Dr. Evans’ medical records from the school infirmary.” Petrov swallowed hard and watched Dimera’s demeanor fortify before his eyes. “The decision to leave school was not made by Dr. Evans. Her parents took her out at which time she was briefly checked into a ‘rest’ facility. While there, she was on suicide watch and was treated for severe depression.”   

 

A troubled silence fell over the room. Rocking back into his chair, Stefano sighed heavily. “Well there’s confirmation, and then there is confirmation.” His dark eyes faded into ambiguity as he rose to his feet and compelled the other man to follow suit. “A thorough job, but then I would expect nothing less.” Extending his hand, he dismissed the man with a firm handshake. Like a threat, Dimera’s parting words echoed through Petrov’s head. “I’ll be in contact when I decide how best to proceed.”

 

Once again left in solitude, Stefano found himself drawn back to the window as jealousy spread over his heart like the inky cover of night.

 

~~~

 

From the kitchen Caroline heard the bell jingle over the door in mark of someone’s entrance into the Fish Market. Wiping her hands on her apron, she called out to them. “I’ll be right with you.”

 

For a moment Marlena contemplated simply letting herself into the kitchen. She’d been there many times before and truth be told it would probably be more convenient for Caroline if she were in the middle of something. Her eyes scanned the entire room. Nothing had changed really since the first day Roman had brought her here, and yet everything seemed different somehow. For the first time she felt distinctly out of place, awkwardly standing there before the counter.

 

Backing her way into the room, a tray of fish in both hands, Caroline’s warm voice roused Marlena from the dark path of her thoughts. “Why, Marlena, dear, I wasn’t expecting you. What a pleasant surprise. You should have just made yourself at home and came into the kitchen.”

 

An uncomfortable smile painted its way across Marlena’s face “Hello Caroline.” Taking one of the trays from Caroline’s hand, she helped her slide them into the ice of the display case—avoided the unspoken question dangling in the air, choosing instead to revert back to the safe confines of pleasant small talk. “How are you?”

 

Still arranging the display, Caroline answered without ever looking up. “Fine, dear, just fine. And you?”

 

Marlena fidgeted. “I’m okay.” It’s not like she was lying, but Caroline was one of those special people with an innate sense of the truth and Marlena really didn’t want to stand in the blinding light of truth right now. The only thing she wanted was to talk to Bo…and then find John. Marlena cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I’m looking for Bo. Is he still here?”

 

The sharp tone of her daughter-in-law’s voice was unmistakable. At first she thought maybe she was imagining things, and then later she’d tried to ignore it hoping that it would simply go away. Instead it seemed the tension was growing, infesting her entire family. Curt and snide, Bo had stormed into the market early, mumbling and complaining beneath his breath, like he was on the warpath. And now Marlena had shown up looking like a lioness bent on protecting her young at any cost. Looking directly into the firestorm of Marlena’s bright eyes, Caroline’s gaze locked onto hers, soft and impassive. “No, dear, he isn’t. He left probably about thirty minutes ago. I think he said he had some errands to run.”

 

Mounting frustration echoed through Marlena’s question. “Did he say where he was going?”

 

“No, I’m sorry; he didn’t.” Closing the display door, Caroline moved from behind the counter and ushered Marlena over to one of the small tables. “Is there anything I can help you with?”  

 

Marlena sighed. “Hhh…no Caroline I’m afraid this is something I have to take up with Bo.” Her lips pursed with irritation. Caroline could easily see the disappointment shining behind her eyes. Sitting in companionable silence, Marlena rested against the palm of her hand—massaging her temple while contemplating her next move or if she even had a next move. Regaining her feet, Marlena hugged Caroline goodbye and left.

 

~~~

 

Rounding the corner, Laura saw him coming down the hall—head down and void of emotion, simply lost in concentration. “John?” Searching for the source of his name, his look of uncertainty quickly gave way to social awkwardness as he willed an almost silent greeting past his wind-burnt lips. However, it was the dark shadows engulfing his pale blue eyes that sent a shiver of anxiety running up her spine and made it difficult to smile. “It’s good to see you. Everything is alright I hope.”

 

“Yeah…I, um, stopped by to see Marlena…” Looking like a walking contradiction, an ancient child he stuffed his hands into his pockets. His already quiet voice trailed off. “But she’d, uh, already left.”

 

Lines of confusion gathered around Laura’s eyes. It wasn’t like Marlena to leave early when she was still on call. “Hmm? You must have just missed her.” Laura heard his muttered reply, but paid it little mind. “Well since you’re already here, at least let me buy you a cup of coffee.”  Briefly she considered reaching for the crook of his elbow, but ultimately decided against it. Still indomitable and unassuming, never touching she somehow managed to steer him toward the doctor’s lounge.

 

Her chatter spilled out in lulling streams of leisure punctuated by spasms of great energy. John smiled as a mystery he’d solved once painted its way across his mind—Marlena. Falling comfortably into one of the cool plastic chairs around the table, he seemed almost surprised by the sound of ease in his own voice as the conversation volleyed back and forth between them. “You and Marlena are good friends?”

 

Though not exactly a rhetorical question, Laura could tell that John had already discerned the answer. Still with a subtle nod, she affirmed the notion. “I don’t think I could ask for a better friend.”

 

“I sort of thought so…” A silly quirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You kind of remind me of her sister.” John shrugged as if embarrassed.

 

Laura laughed. “I’ve never really thought about it.” Taking a sip of her coffee, staff shuffled in and out of the room. “We weren’t particularly close when we first met…more acquaintances than anything. But when I came back to Salem, she really went out on a limb for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay her.” With a playful and dismissing wave, she continued. “I’ve given up even trying.”

 

With a frown, John gulped half the cup. The bitter brew still burned in his throat even as he spoke. “I don’t understand.”

 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Laura looked at him for a moment as if contemplating—waited for the room to again become empty. “Well I had some problems after my second marriage broke up and didn’t really deal with things in what we mental health professionals would call an emotionally healthy way.” John couldn’t help but notice the smirk that smeared across her face, found in it the reflection of a certain kind of brilliant insanity. “I guess the short version would be that I lost my medical license…” Sitting up very straight, her fingers ran idly over the rim of her cup but her rich brown eyes never left his piercing blue stare. “And when I did pull myself together and come home, let’s just say there was no dearth of people whispering and snickering at the idea of my continuing my practice but very few willing to bare witness. As much as anything, I feel I was put here to be a psychiatrist and help people. The thought that I’d never again be able to do that was devastating. I’ll never know what possessed Marlena come to my defense or to continue to do so. For the better part of a year she had to practically babysit me, to oversee and be held accountable for her practice and mine. And I’ll be forever grateful to her.” The room seemed unusually still and calm but for a fluorescent light flickering overhead. Unmoving, she held her cup poised beneath her lips—a dark ring of mute testimony smudging the bottom. With an absurd grin, Laura’s face lit up. “So I guess if Samantha had a penchant for finding trouble so that Marlena had to bail her ass out of one predicament after another, then I guess I can see it.”

 

~~~

 

Sinking into the soft leather upholstery, Bo’s hard stare bore into the Shane’s back. Everywhere he’d gone today it seemed like he’d run into a brick wall. Shane was to have been his last resort, his salvation. “Governor, something about the guy’s story just doesn’t wash, and I’m coming up with one dead end after another. The ISA has access to information I don’t. You have to help me.”

 

Abandoning his computer and the case he was working on, Shane turned towards the younger man. “Bo…”

 

Slamming his fist into the armrest, Bo interrupted. “No, don’t give me any cock and bull story about national interests or about abuse of power or any other mumbo-jumbo that you bureaucrats always so conveniently cling to.” At the sound of the other man’s derisiveness Shane’s brow creased imperceptibly, but he refused to comment. He chose instead to catalogue the detail with countless others that he assumed would be of use to him at a later date. Paying no heed to the tenor of his remarks, Bo continued. “Look if you won’t do it for me, then do it for Roman…”

 

Shane leaned against the corner of his desk with an air of regal regard surrounding him as he spoke harsh truths with an uncanny grace. “I hardly think Roman has a stake in things at this point.”

 

With a loud grunt of disgust, Bo exploded up out of the chair. “What the…”

 

Putting up one hand, Shane stalled his protests to the contrary. “Bo, I’m not trying to be callous. I realize you are concerned about Marlena’s wellbeing. I also realize that you are just trying to protect her as you know Roman would have protected her. I’m not immune to those same pangs of protectiveness.” With an added air of careful consideration, Shane thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “But there is a definite difference between protective and over-protective. You must be smart, and you must be respectful about how you go about accomplishing that task. Marlena is not a woman to be bullied nor is she a woman to be taken lightly.”

 

Stepping so dangerously close that Shane could almost feel the other man’s furious hot breath burning across his face, Bo spoke—his tone low and laced with frustration. “I didn’t come here for advice. I came here for information.” Pulling off his glasses, Shane’s placid English demeanor never balked. “Look, Kimmie told me you looked into something for Marlena a few months back. All I’m asking for is what you found.”

 

“Then I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person. If you want to know what I was able to turn up, and believe me when I say there wasn’t much to unearth, then you need to ask Marlena. If she’s ready to share, I’m sure she’ll let you see the information.”

 

Bo threw his hands up in utter disgust. “Frankly, I’ve had enough of Marlena’s sharing to last a lifetime…. If you didn’t find anything important, then why won’t you give me the information?”

 

Irritated at the other man’s unwillingness to listen, Shane raised one hand to tick off each point in turn. “First, I never said the information wasn’t substantive. Second, I looked that information up in confidence. So unless you can give me a bloody good reason, something better than this ‘guy’s story just doesn’t wash,’ I’m not going to break that confidence.”

 

Once, twice, three times Bo slapped his hand atop the desk—forced the contents into a manic dance. “And what if I’m right? What if John Black can’t be trusted?”

 

Feeling his temper rising, Shane made his way behind the desk to put some distance between himself and Bo. “Do you really think you’re the only one with any sense of intuition, Bo? What, you’re the only one who’s ever had a gut reaction and you’re always right?” With forced and calculated control he righted an overturned pencil holder never ceasing to speak. “I’ve looked into Black’s history. So do you really think I’m so cold and that this family means so little to me that if I believed there was any imminent danger that I wouldn’t be doing something about it?”

 

Like a broken record, Bo droned on. “People don’t come back from the dead! Not the good guys!”

 

“If there’s one part of Black’s past that I know beyond a shadow of doubt was not sinister and pre-planned it was his ‘death.’ Almost half of his platoon was lost, Bo. Nine men…six of which were positively identified, the other three were presumed dead because they couldn’t make positive identifications from the remaining stray body parts that littered the riverbanks. The fact that Black is alive today is a miracle, not a conspiracy.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, Shane prepared to put an end to this discussion one way or another. “Now, what happened after that only Black knows for sure…and even that is an assumption.” Shane leaned forward and refused to hedge his bets. “Tell me, Bo, are you more aggrieved that Black somehow came back or that Roman won’t?”

 

Bo’s entire expression was swallowed up in darkness. “That’s a low blow, Governor, and if you were any other man I’d wipe the floor with you right now.”

 

“Given the way you’re acting, I think it’s a fair question. I know your heart is in the right place and you’re just trying to protect Roman’s family, but right now, whether you want to believe it or not, all you’re doing is driving Marlena further away…” The phone beside him began to ring. Reaching for the receiver Shane offered one final thought. “Let’s say just for the sake of argument that you are right about Black…do you really want to risk ostracizing Marlena from the Brady clan?”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: ON THE SURFACE

 

The Brady house was already a bustle of activity by the time they arrived and for that Marlena was grateful. Escape would be so much easier in the midst of divided attention. These sleepovers after Sunday dinner had become a fast tradition after the twins were born. A godsend really…it seemed more and more that she and Roman couldn’t even manage to snatch five minutes alone together. So these momentary respites from paternal bliss had been welcomed without reservation or even a second thought. Never mind that more often than not all they ever managed to do was return home and collapse on the sofa into exhausted heaps. At least they were together, and Marlena had reveled in the quiet familiarity. Since Roman’s death though, Sunday’s had become almost painfully bittersweet. She hated parting with her babies, but even more than that she hated the silence and the loneliness. But as she’d packed the children’s bags today, she found herself humming, happy at the prospect of a night for herself. Squatting down beside the kids, she helped Sami and Eric as they struggled to pull off their coats, a purely maternal smile tugging the corner of her lips. “Okay, give me my good-bye hug.”

 

Even before she could cross the room Caroline’s ears keened. “Good-bye? Aren’t you staying, dear?”

 

Not able to bring herself to meet the older woman’s piercing stare, Marlena arranged the children’s overnight bags neatly there beside the door with a certain kind of blind concentration. “Uh…no, Caroline, I’m afraid not. I’m, um, on call.” Consciously, she reached for her pager as the kids scurried across the room to play. “And I, uh, have to go into the hospital.”

 

Caroline frowned unconvinced. But it was Shawn’s booming voice that finally startled Marlena into looking up. “Aye, the glamorous life of doctorin’.”

 

Marlena chuckled. “Something like that…so I’ll come by in the morning around 7:30 to take Carrie to school.”

 

“Aye, that’s nonsense, lass. I’ll take Carrie to school.”

 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your fishing schedule.”

 

“Positive.”

 

“Well okay.” Marlena called over the couch where the kids were talking animatedly with Bo and Hope. “You sweeties be good for Grandma and Grandpa and remember I love you.”

 

~~~

 

It had been a long and lazy Sunday—marked primarily by sleeping in late and waking up with a wicked hangover, a taste like death sick and alive upon his tongue. John hadn’t even wanted to crawl out of bed, but the fear of reality should sobriety return demanded it. Preacher’s voice came to him fast and fleeting, rose up out of the mist. “The power of Christ compels you.” And so it had gone…a perverse and twisted laugh gurgling deep in the pit of his stomach, he hastily pulled on yesterday’s clothes and left.

 

Now as day slowly gave way to night and one six-pack gave way to the next, John closed his eyes and listened. He could almost hear the ferry bells toll in the distance—bringing him home, tearing him away…to her, from her, always her, Marlena. Slumping further into despair, his head collided with a dull thump into the wall behind him and persuaded his squinty gray eyes open. The dim light outside his window foggy and white split only by the occasional glow of fading neon signs blossoming before him like so many fears springing to mind. He was damned beyond salvation, beyond the comfortable life of a settling man. Like an unholy gospel penned by rivers of blood, the truth pierced his brain with deadly accuracy. With a long swallow, John finished his beer, tossed the bottle away even as he reached for another. Mindlessly rolling the long glass neck back and forth in the palm of his hand, his minor contemplation of whether he should have gotten another six-pack was interrupted by a quiet, unexpected knock at his door.

 

John’s body tensed, but remained unmoved as the rap grew louder, more persistent—no longer quiet, but rather unabashedly desperate. He could almost see her standing there on the other side of the door—perfectly quaffed in a garb of mystery, her face slightly flushed with just a hint of wildness shining behind her hazel eyes. Drunk on alcohol and the revelation of her presence, John sloped across the room.

 

The sight of him peering through the crack in the door, haggard and lost within wounded bloodshot eyes, made her instantly regret the last week. A fresh wave of guilt far more potent than any conversation with Bo could ever inspire swept over her. “Hi.” Girlish and shy, her greeting escaped so quietly as to almost have not been spoken at all. Opening the door more fully, John sagged against the frame to let it prop him upright. He wanted to speak but no words seemed to come and so the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Marlena scanned the room as much for distraction as anything, but it simply added to her guilt. Thinking she could almost smell the stale beer and pot, she closed her eyes only to be met by the sound of empty bottles clanking together as John left her standing there to once again fall atop his bed. She could feel his eyes upon her at once pleading and commanding that she return his stare. Her wide eyes were bright with tears as their gazes met. Closing the door behind her, she ventured tentatively into the room. With each step closer the intensity behind John’s stare melted into a midnight darkness she remembered so well. Marlena swallowed hard as a shiver ran through her. With a voice dry and cracked, her attention fell to the forgotten beer bottle dangling between his fingers. “Can I have a beer?”

 

John’s eyebrow arched in surprise even as a knowing smirk tugged the corner of his mouth, his words slurred together comfortably and confidently. “Are you asking because you really want it or because you don’t want me to have anymore?”

 

A faint blush crept up Marlena’s neck. “A little of both I guess.”

 

John nodded. She was drug enough. The need for alcohol forgotten, John surrendered his bottle to her as she gracefully settled beside him there on the small twin mattress. With an air of amusement, he watched as she brought the bottle to her lips and saw the grimace she fought to hide as the warm beer slithered down her throat. At the sound of his deep, rumbling laughter echoing in her head, the tension between them snapped. “Refreshing?”

 

Marlena groaned. “Ugh…how can you drink that swill?” Taking the bottle from her extended hand, John shrugged, tossed the half empty bottle into the trash. “It’s disgusting…not to mention hot.” Their eyes locked as they simultaneously burst out laughing. Sliding closer to him, Marlena wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled up beside him. Her need for answers paled in comparison to her need for the assurance of his warm embrace.

 

The conversation flowed between them like the ebb and flow of the tides—one moment powerful, fraught with peril…the next beautiful, dangerously serene. She admitted to knowing about Bo confronting him, but try as she might she couldn’t seem to draw any kind of reaction out of him. His mouth quirking into an unreadable expression, John shrugged the incident off as understandable and even amusing in its own way. They spoke of her children and the dog. Marlena spoke of work but stopped short of sharing the guilt she felt over her actions of the last week when he cut her off before even the first “sorry” had chance to flutter past her lips. Eventually the calm seemed to overwhelm words and they’d simply resigned themselves to the companionable silence and exhaustion. Or rather she did. Feeling the steady cessation of her breathing, John opened his weary bloodshot eyes to find her sleeping peacefully—her head resting carelessly atop his chest. He watched her. His head lulled from time to time as he fought off slumber’s ghostly call until at last his heavy eyelids drooped closed.   

 

Like Adam born out of red dust and promise, John stood blind beneath the scorching sun. He stared into the tunnel with its mouth open wide—an abyss that shrank into a pinprick of fathomless black. Peacemaker’s voice fell into the void. “Tuck, you carrin’ the p-blocks?” Tuck shook his head no. “Damn it! Which one of you dumb fucks packed the explosives?”

 

An annoyed smirk plastered across his face, Plato muttered. “Uh, I believe that would be you, asshole.” Their voices buzzed past John’s ears unheard drowned out by mother earth’s deafening murmurs threatening to swallow him up, bury him alive.

 

Finally Lieutenant Weaver’s bark jarred him into motion. “Come on FNG…it’s hot as hell today. Pick up the pace so we can blow this motherfucker and hunker down for the re-supply chopper.” His fingers stiff and uncooperative, still John blindly continued the task at hand. Stripping down to just the bare essentials, he deserted his helmet, pack and riffle—dropped his shirt there where he stood, but not before securing her bundle of letters into the waist of his fatigues. A silly grin tugged at his lips. It seemed oddly obscene to not have her words tattooed across his heart, and yet he refused to leave them behind. And so he’d settled his mind on this compromise. The feeling was strangely intimate and he suddenly felt very tired—aching to be wrapped up in her arms, her legs, her very soul.

 

Handing him a flashlight, Preacher tried to smile. “Just take it nice and slow, and what ever happens, John, don’t panic. Remember…’The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’” Preacher’s comforting voice droned in a secret foxhole whisper. His head nodded with an unspoken message of repetition. “’Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for though art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever…’”

 

Lieutenant Weaver approached him in a pose that John could only assume was meant to be reassuring. “Okay, FNG, it’s just like boot camp.” A taut grimace stole over his face as he surrendered his pistol to him. With one last glance down into the inky blackness, John kneeled. Closing his eyes, he let her beautiful golden image form behind the dark cover of his eyelids and crawled into the unknown.

 

Cold and damp against his bare belly, his body slithered like a snake across the ground—the smell of earth close all around, ancient…a kind of rotten sweet. “What was that? A clot of dirt?” Feeling the sweat bead on his forehead, John tried to squelch the paranoia before it could set in like rigor mortis making his limbs stiff. He stilled, trained the flashlight from side to side. Nothing…nothing but dirt and darkness. “’The Lord is my shepherd…’” A ritualistic calm forced over his thinly parted lips. Slowly, John began to move again. He didn’t know how long he’d been crawling, long enough for the acid to begin to build in his arms, setting up a harsh, quivering ache. His mind strayed to the ground scant meters above—to the cigarettes smoked and the dirty jokes that undoubtedly passed back and forth in a futile attempt to cover fraying nerves and various sundry brands of uniquely personal anxiety. Feeling her shift even lower, John groaned. Still on and on he crawled at times the dirt walls so close both shoulders rubbed dangerously. The dull staccato rhythm of his heart hammering into the cold, cold ground so heavy and loud that the sound almost seemed to ring in his ears, the fear of a cave in crashed through him. It had been a bright day with just a bit of chill in the air. The insanity of the memory rising to mind comforted him…. Marlena’s husky voice reading to him as they lazily propelled their swings. These walls would not be the death of him. No, this would be his freedom. Just like the woman in the story, somehow trapped and yet not trapped, he would claw his way out. He would rip himself out of this prison. Suddenly the flashlight flickered and died.

 

Marlena felt him jerk. His body lurched away from her as he swung his feet to the floor with a heavy thump. His breath came in pained gasps great lungfuls tearing through his chest. John had forgotten all about her, lying there beside him, too caught up in the lure of darkness crumbling in all around him. Wild, unseeing eyes darted back and forth but found no hold.

 

Still not fully awake, Marlena reached for him—one delicate hand running over only empty space. The haze of sleep quickly leaving her, she carefully sat up and waited for her vision to adjust to the pale moonlight streaming through the window. His body convulsed with the force of his violent breathing. “John?” Marlena cringed. Her quiet, questioning voice echoed like a shotgun blast throughout the barren room. As if immune to her soft pleading though, his fingers tore in vain at the dark, dirty walls of his tomb. Shifting closer, she could almost feel the way his body shivered against the sweaty flannel plastered to his back. Her tentative hands reached to gently massage the taut muscles knotting his shoulders. “Breathe, Sweetie…take deep, slow breaths.” At last her coaxing whisper pricked the ebony fog that seized his mind—a light tickle that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

 

Soon his labored pants gave way to a deep foreboding calm. But even as consciousness returned to him and the nightmares faded into a tentative and awkward reality, John remained unmoved until finally even her gentle caress ceased to be. Like creatures carved of stone, the image was a kind of perverse and fatalistic beauty that almost made him smile as he tried to convince himself that he could somehow in this moment freeze time. He had felt her, just so, many times…in truth and in memory and always in the supple fruits of his imagination. He had long ago ceded the idea that this could exist again, that he could daily be in her presence…the warmth of her breasts brushing lightly against his back with every breath she took, her thighs spreading around him as she struggled to get closer still, and her raspy voice sighing into his ear. Her voice…a moist tattoo upon his skin, delicate and pleading….“John, what’s wrong?” No, he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t see the look in her shining, hazel eyes—so honest, so true, windows to the soul. No! He couldn’t bare the reflection of horror…or worse pity. He just couldn’t.

 

“Baby, please talk to me.” Marlena’s fingers brushed lovingly through his cool, sweaty hair. Sudden and unexpected, the shock registered on both their faces as he flinched and pulled away from her. The vein in John’s neck swelled. His apology choked into mute submission by the pulse throbbing out of control. Lifting his haunted cobalt eyes, he saw the tears spill down her cheeks. John’s mouth quirked into a sad smile as he tilted his head in pained contemplation. Reaching to wipe her tears away, he stalled at the sound of her voice splintering all around him. “Please, this silence, these walls…it’s eating me alive. I need to know what’s going on inside your head.” Shying away from her rich imploring gaze, deep lines of confusion etched across John’s face. Her words hissed past her lips far more harshly than intended. “Why won’t you let me in? Why won’t you tell me what happened?” Seeing the telltale quiver move over his lips, her tone softened. “I know that I’ll never be able to understand what you’ve suffered, the things you’ve seen…but, John, I still want to be the one to be there for you…to be there for each other.” Burying her face in her hands, she missed the look of submission dissolving John’s eyes into a pale blue-gray. “It may not change anything, but I’ve been wondering ‘what if’ everyday since I received that damned telegram. And now you’re here and what was it all for…. Why didn’t you come home to me?” With a frustrated sigh, Marlena tore her fingers through her tasseled hair as she broke down. “Hhh…please!””

 

She could feel his eyes upon her, branding her flesh, but his continued silence made her want to run, or maybe weep—just sob her eyes out until sleep again claimed her and she awoke to find this whole evening a dream. Instead she hit him. Fifteen years of rage and frustration; fifteen years of closely guarded pain…all of it, she let it all out. With every ounce of power she possessed, contained in the tight, little fists that pummeled his chest as the sound of tears, his and hers, rose throughout the tiny room.

 

He couldn’t say how long he watched in shock, somehow intimately detached. The pain in her shadowed eyes, her trembling chin resting on her heaving chest…an air of weary defeat slumping her shoulders. A chorus of voices echoed in his head. “Drive on, it don’t mean nothin’.” Before she could land another blow John’s hands clamped over her wrists. He had to act fast before he lost his nerve. If it was answers she needed, then it was answers she would get. Still tightly clutched within his firm grasp, John stood abruptly and hauled her body flush against his. Turning on his heal, he pulled her stumbling form along behind him into the bathroom. A flick of the switch and harsh light flooded the room as he settled her there atop the toilet with a kind of tender brute force that he prayed would broach no argument.   

 

Without sparing her a second glance, John began riffling through the medicine cabinet—recoiling at the sight of his warped reflection in the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sitting there with a dumbfounded expression spreading over her features, her mouth poised in a question mark. The scissors and razor clanked against the dingy sink basin. “John?” His name stumbled over her lips so quietly that he had to turn his head just to be certain he hadn’t imagined it. A stormy sea teeming behind his oceanic eyes, their gazes locked. There were no words that could adequately salve her need. Never taking his eyes off her, he grasped a fist full of hair and reached for the scissors.

 

Marlena’s eyes widened as a large clump of his hair fell to the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she tried to pull his hands away from his head. Her confusion echoed through the tiny room. “Jesus, what the hell are you doing?” John’s eyes fluttered closed as he swallowed hard. Feeling his muscles tense, Marlena stood up straight and waited. She could be just as stubborn as him if need be.

 

The stalemate continued and with each tick of the clock John felt her fingers dig a little more insistently into his arm. Finally his eyes split open. He didn’t need to look up to feel the fire in her unflinching stare, but he did. One lone tear escaped to roll down the side of his face. The words sputtered over his lips, scratchy and strained. “I’m giving you the truth, Marlena, the only way I know how.” Gently pulling his arm out of her grasp, he continued. Shocked, she silently stumbled back into the wall and watched as his beautiful chestnut hair fell away. Glancing in the mirror, he could already see the ugly scar peaking through the gaps in his jagged hair. Wolf’s frozen bloodshot glaze stared lifelessly back at him. The taste of mud, bitter and slimy, tainted his mouth as the bloody remains of a brother in arms floated past. Dropping the scissors, John quickly reached for the straight razor and shaved clean what little hair remained.

 

Gnawing at his lower lip self-consciously, John turned to face her. The menacing scar jutted across his scalp—cruel jagged flesh, raised and red as if still stinging from the offense. His vision gave way to the swell of teary blindness as Marlena’s pained gasp filled the room. His bare feet somehow suddenly frozen into to cool linoleum floor, John’s eyes slammed closed. The tears spilled silently down his cheeks. But at the feel of her trembling fingers moving so soft and so delicate over his face, a tentative caress slowly making a path to gently brush over the wounded testament to his failure, his entire body convulsed. A torrent of anguished sobs tearing through his shaking form, John’s knees buckled.

 

So caught up in the strange feel of his raw naked skin beneath her curious tender touch, Marlena stumbled when he slumped against her. Settling herself atop the commode, John buried his face in the graceful pleats of her fine silk skirt. His words escaping in muffled, flinty broken syllables, she strained to hear—tried to string together some meaning from the chorus of splintered, guttural sounds all bleeding together, seeming to leech right out of the very depths of his soul. But no storyline could be found, just a deep and abiding sense of regret as only one word, “sorry,” seemed to reach her ears over and over again.

 

Leaning down, Marlena’s lips moved soft and moist across the awful scar. She kissed the mutilated flesh over and over again until she felt him return to her, felt his breath hitch in his chest, felt his arms wrap a little more securely around her waist. Maybe John had been right all along…nothing could make up for the time they’d lost. No excuse, no circumstance would take away the pain. Resting the side of her face against his baldhead, her tears began again in earnest. Tears of sorrow and joy…nothing could ever rob her of this miracle. He was here with her again. And finally, for the first time in more years than she cared to count, she felt complete. It was an intimate confession, little more than a hushed whisper rasped against his ear. “I love you…” Marlena felt him shift and sat up so that she could see his face. “That’s the only truth that really matters.” Looking up at her, an air of wonder shined behind his swollen, puffy eyes as a slight trickle of snot escaped the corner of his nose.  

 

Taking her face in the palm of his hands, he brushed his lips lightly over hers. “God knows I love you.” The intensity behind his gravelly voice washed over her. For long moments, they remained frozen, gazes locked. On impulse, her lips crushed against his. A vast and passionate kiss, it ended only when the need for oxygen became too great—harsh, labored pants carrying only unspoken declarations of love. Nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed him again and again. Feeling his hand slip beneath the crook of her knees, she hugged him closer still as he rose to his feet and carried her back to bed.  

 

He paused above her looming at the very edge of her fingertips. Marlena could just barely see his face in the dying light. Vulnerable and achingly tentative, his beautiful blue eyes so intense that she could almost feel them burn her flesh. One hand slipped from around his neck to creep inside the warm nubby flannel of his shirt. Her palm flattened to rest over the wild unsteady rhythm of his pounding heart. Bending and rising, they met somewhere in the middle. There lips melded into a lingering kiss that tasted of tears and desperation.

 

The pale silver slivers of moonlight dimmed in the steam forming on the cracked windowpane as the radiator hissed to life…or maybe it was Marlena’s shallow breath hissing encouragement into his ear. Somehow it all seemed surreal, just another fantasy to awaken from—aching and alone. But as John felt her leaning into the loving caress of the back of his knuckles at the side of her face, something deep inside of him triggered. Leaning back, he gasped for air as her image swam before him. A ring of red roses became lost in the bend of her elbow as the pristine cotton of her peasant blouse clung to his hands caressing the small of her back. His voice fled in a pained whisper. “Are you sure?”

 

Lost in sensation, the question hung in the air only to be answered by her instinctive tugging at the collar of his shirt and an eternal need for him. And so they undressed one another, slow and reverential like some ancient mystery revealing itself. Feeling his hungry mouth moving over her collarbone to caress the delicate hollow of her throat, Marlena moaned. Her entire soul melted. Like a willow, she bent at the command of his questing lips as they journeyed down her body. Suckling feverishly, his tongue lavished attention at one breast while his calloused fingers tenderly massaged the other. Closing her eyes, shards of brilliant white light exploded all around her. On and on he moved, raking the emotions from every nerve ending he encountered, finding pleasure points she had forgotten existed. Finally his large hands spanned her small waist; lifting her slightly, John paused. She could feel his hot, ragged gusts prickling over her ultra-sensitive flesh. Straining, she opened her eyes. Her vision swam in a haze of ecstasy. Bowed head, it looked almost as though his lips moved over a silent prayer. With a trembling hand, Marlena reached to capture him—a ghostly touch, one finger caressed over the arch of his eyebrow. It had been so long since she’d known a love like this, another lifetime, and yet here in his embrace suddenly everything seemed possible again. At the touch of his lips, she cried out—her taut body arching up to meet his kiss.  

 

John rested peacefully there in arch of her hip as his breath slowly returned to normal. She wanted to touch him, to recommit every inch of flesh to memory. But somehow he remained maddeningly out of reach. Her fingers lovingly brushed past his smooth scalp to touch his shoulders—one moment light tickling nails scraping over his raw sensitive skin, the next strong fingertips kneading naked flesh. One leg shifted to hug him. Her bare foot rubbed up and down the back of his thigh. Her entire body shivered and quaked at the sound of his answering groan. “Please.” The raspy plea ached in her dry, cracked throat. Kissing her pelvic bone, John smothered up the length of her body to find her mouth again—a kiss infused with pure, unadulterated urgency. She could feel him now, hard and insistent, and it seemed so right…as if no time has passed since they were last together.

 

His eyes clamped shut as he slid inside. The pressure of the pleasure so great that he felt faint, the muscles of his arms quivered and threatened to give out on him. But then she was there with him…moving, tiny muted cries fleeing her gaping mouth. Her head falling back to expose her long swan-like neck, and suddenly it was all so easy. Their movements blurred together. His teeth grazed the delicate flesh to leave little love bites all up and down the length of her neck. Her hands moved of their own volition. Down his sweat slicked back, she had been intent of driving him closer still, but discovering the ridge of a series of scars crisscrossing the small of his back her progress wavered.

 

The tired old bed squeaked loudly as John shifted slightly—reached for her, pulling her hand to his waiting grasp. He needed to see her beautiful hazel eyes. Linking their fingers together, he rained soft kisses across her swollen lips until at last their eyes met, slowly came into focus. The musky smell of sex filled the air as their hips ground together. She felt full, and it was all so intense…their labored breathing the only sound penetrating the sensual fog that filled her head. The passion swelled all around her in an instant of shattering bliss. She wanted to cry out. Liquid heat, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

 

Coming down…trembling, shuddering, gasping, sweating, tears gathered in John’s eyes. He had been too afraid to hope, but now…. Collapsing beside Marlena, his eyes were already drooping with exhaustion. Not ready to surrender the intimacy, he refused to let sleep claim him so easily as he spooned tight up against her.

 

Marlena’s fingers knotted in his chest hair just above his still heavily drumming heart as she draped one leg over him and drifted off to sleep.

 

BOOK IV: SYMPATHY  

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!

– Paul Laurence Dunbar

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TWO SOLDIERS

The laurel wreath is ready now

To place upon his loyal brow…

When Johnny comes marching home

 

She awoke not long ago to the maddening sensation of the muscles in her lower back in a painful spasm. Massaging the offending area, it didn’t take too long before Marlena gave up and rather instead completely surrendered to the silent giggles shaking her tired body. She was out of shape. No use denying it. Her body was aching in places she’d forgotten were even capable of aching. But at least she knew she wasn’t dreaming. A mischievous smiled tugged the corner of her mouth as she propped herself up on her elbow and slowly drew her index finger down the center of John’s bare chest. He was real. This was real. Feeling his body tremble beneath her touch, she carefully pulled away. She didn’t want to wake him…. He looked so peaceful and yet still so haunted. She was a psychiatrist. Through the years, she’d seen all manner of tormented souls. Somehow lying within the quiet solitude of the moment, she couldn’t help but be amazed by him.  In some ways it almost felt like he was two people…but then he’d always been possessed by a deliciously intriguing and irresistible dichotomy. A heavy sigh echoed through the dim light as Marlena let the wall of her defenses tumble down. Gazing up at the ugly scar jutting across his scalp, dangerously close to his temple, she finally allowed herself to ponder just how much damage the bullet might actually have done.

 

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring, but as the cold winter air began to prickle across her naked shivering flesh she fortified herself. This was not a time for fears or regrets. It was a time of hope. As tears of sadness gave way to tears of joy, Marlena nestled beck down into his side to rest her head lightly upon his chest. Feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the cool palm of her hand, she slowly drifted back to sleep—too lost to notice his faint recoil.

 

Fall would be upon them soon. Cool and crisp. The leaves just beginning to change—bathing the trees in bright colors. Waxy, as if from a Crayola box…crimson and gold and burnished orange that never ceased to remind him of the flames of a campfire licking the ebony sky. Or so he liked to imagine. Truthfully, her letters painted a different picture, one where summer refused to surrender its yield. Dry and scorching hot, baking protesters and guardsmen alike beneath their harsh, unforgiving rays. Everything seemed to crumble beneath the weight of listlessness. Chances were nothing would survive long enough to undergo fall’s metamorphosis. Still…that was how John chose to see Marlena, her shining hazel eyes glistening in the firelight as a cheshire grin twitched across her pretty mouth.

 

Closing his eyes, John let the image fill his mind—dispel the darkness. It was strange the things one took for granted. Like darkness, before arriving Vietnam, he had never really appreciated all the subtle nuances of the night.  But eight months, two weeks and three days later, he was now intimately acquainted with the dark. Some times cold and wet…a kind of absence of light that he could feel upon his skin. Eerie at first, but eventually he’d learned to value the ability to cut a path through the density. Other times dry and still…a harbinger of doom. And still other times rich and inky…a blanket of velvet deception so easy to be lost in. Tonight was one of those nights. No moon; no stars—just a rich, voluptuous black. The sound of Preacher’s prayer had long since grown cold, but an air of expectation remained and so he waited. Lifting his eyes, John searched for her as the darkness engulfed him. Squinting, he tried to see something, anything even if it was just the hand he childishly waved before his face. “You know when I was little I used to be afraid of the dark.” Preacher’s dry husk of a voice carried, heavy and sweet as if on the wings of strange fruit. Forgetting his idle contemplation, John shifted toward the sound. “Hated it…cried until my eyes swelled shut and my entire existence seemed to revolve around the certainty of a future spent in total darkness.” Preacher sighed contentedly. “Then one stormy night, my grandfather came into my bedroom where I lay crying. At first he didn’t say anything, just sat there. Even in his advancing years, he was a big man…the kind of man that looked like they’d been carved out of the side of a mountain. I don’t rightly remember just what was said that night, only the comfort I found as his words echoed all around me. He had a voice like God, Grandpa did….”

 

“I mean what’s there to be afraid of. God made everything, right?” John grunted as Preacher continued to drone on and on. “The light and the dark; the good and the evil. It all exists because He allows it to exist….” He could feel the theological bend this conversation was about to take and really had no desire to pursue it. “It’s not destiny. It’s choice. We are what we choose to be. But no matter how fucked up we are, there’s still redemption. All we have to do is ask….” Preacher had his beliefs, and they seemed to work for him. Still John couldn’t help but grow weary of his ever-increasing sermons on the mount. Hunkering deeper into cool, damp ground and staring off into the midnight void, he tried to wipe clean his mental slate.

 

Lost in his own ruminations, John didn’t know just when the tenuous silence slowly began to stretch between them anymore than he knew just what compelled him to break the calm. “Yeah well, Jesus may have died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.” He hadn’t even meant to say the words out loud. Wasn’t even sure he had until he felt the air change and looked up into the white’s of Preacher’s eyes and met his dark probing stare. Yet another definition of dark to catalogue and file away for future use, the kind of dark that makes a sick, clammy sweat break across your brow. “Hey, it wasn’t me who started this trend toward blotting out mistakes with blood. And forgive me, but I don’t happen to see it as the greatest gift to mankind. Look around you. Look at all the blood. Hell, look at what you have noosed around your neck, Preacher. This world would be a whole hell of a lot better off if we’d all just learn to let everyone live their own damn lives.” Their eyes remained locked. He hadn’t meant to explode the way he had. Truth was, in some twisted round about way he found Preacher’s company comforting. Since Tuck’s death and then later when Spyboy had got his ticket home, minus a leg or two, he’d had the opportunity to regroup and let the next FNGs have their tour of duty with good ole Preacher.

 

Passionately stoic, his gaze never strayed. John expected to be met with anger, or maybe even a good bit of disgust. He was not, however, ready for the sadness and sympathy he saw reflected back at him. “What’s life without hope?” Leaning in a little closer and whispering so that John had to strain to hear, Preacher continued. “I’ll tell you what it is…it’s empty. Hollow. Meaningless.” He couldn’t be sure as the blackness all around them seemed to intensify, but John thought he heard Preacher rustle in his pack. “If this is all there is…well we might as well go ahead and blow our fucking heads off.”

 

John chuckled. “I swear Preacher…if it ain’t black, it’s white with you, and no such thing as subtle shades of gray.”

 

He could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “Ah…maybe it’s genetic.”

 

Settling into the sounds of silence, John once again closed his eyes to be transported to another time and place…. Rolling the jacket up under his head, he stretched his body out. The rhythm of the highway lulled him into a new state of consciousness—his sleepy-eyed focus landing on the shiny cascade of straight blonde hair that poured over the back of the seat. Mile markers continued to whiz past—hypnotic. Quietly, every now and then she laughed out loud for no reason. He pretended not to hear—let the peace soak through his bones. Inhaling deeply, he drifted away as a faint aroma of honeysuckle sweetened his thoughts…. Preacher was right about one thing, without hope life wasn’t worth living.

 

“Any of your family ever gone to war before you?” The question came from left field and John wasn’t sure what to make of it. Mumbling out some form of negation, Preacher barely even stopped to listen. “My grandfather served in World War I; my father and two uncles served in World War II; my mother’s baby brother Korea; and I have a second cousin somewhere here in Vietnam.” It was an odd feeling, a reversal of roles. Cold and hungry, listening to Preacher prattle on endlessly. John knew something had to be troubling him because as odd as it sounds, usually Preacher was the picture of serenity…slightly crazy, but still serene. “I grew up on a farm—the family farm, over four hundred and sixty acres of land. Six generations of Millers passing through that creaky, old farmhouse. Some were born there and others died there. It’s strange you know…that innate sense of history. We had our own cemetery, our own church. There was even an old schoolhouse…really it was just a one room cabin, but I remember running through the fields as a small boy and knowing, without really knowing, that I was a part of something.” Every night was the same…they’d dig in, eat whatever rations they had allotted, then Preacher would pray and fall asleep. But obviously something was gnawing at him tonight. “My family has a storehouse of wonderfully simple traditions. Like catching fireflies in a jar, eating homemade ice cream on the front porch on hot summer nights and carving our initials into the old oak tree behind the house whenever one of us gets engaged. We were all baptized in the creek that runs along the back of the property and every Christmas Grandpa would sit in front of the fire place and read the Christmas story. Sometimes I think all our lives amounted to were just a series of traditions…. There were just so many. But there was one tradition that I never quite understood…whenever someone would come home from war we’d sing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” I guess it didn’t make sense to me because really the only time I was old enough to have ever heard it was when my uncle Jim came home from Korea…in a body bag. We sang it as his wake. It was, I don’t know… surreal? I was four years old. I never had the guts to ask my father about it. I always just accepted it as part of our history. Shortly before I received my induction letter, though, my father took me for a walk around the farm. He wasn’t an emotional man, far from it. I think I can count on one hand the number of times he actually told any of us that he loved us or even patted us on the back for a job well-done. But he always made sure we had food on the table, and he was always there for us. Our walk ended beside the barn. He just stopped on a dime and turned to look at me. I didn’t know what to say and so I just stood there silently, waiting. I can still see the way his eyes glossed over and how he strained as if trying to hear something from another lifetime. I learned a lot that day. I learned about cancer and about responsibility.  I learned about courage and I finally learned why we sang that God awful song.” Preacher laughed to himself. “They were all in the barnyard working when they heard the church bells begin to toll in the distance—like dominos, one setting off the next telling them that the war was finally over. And then suddenly Grandma had began to dance and sing When Johnny Came Marching Home. Six weeks later she sang the song again when Grandpa surprised her by coming through the kitchen door.” John watched as Preacher lit a cigarette. The soft glow illuminated his face. “My father’s gone now. John, promise me if something happens to me…you’ll write home to my mother. You won’t let her find out the same way my aunt Carol did with just a cold, impersonal telegram detailing the facts.”

 

John frowned. “Preacher, where the hell is all this coming from? Your tour is up in less than a month. You’re in the home stretch…. And besides, what was that you said earlier about hope?” A ghostly wind gathered momentum and whispered in his ear until at last he conceded. “Fine, but I’m no great wordsmith, you know.”

 

“I know.” Preacher smiled. “You’re alright…for a low-down, dirty heathen.”

 

John grinned. “Spoken like a true bible-thumper.” After a few minutes John again broke the silence. “And you’ll do as much for me…. If anything happens, you’ll write Marlena?”

 

It was another lifetime—one of toil and blood when blackness was a virtue. Rolling to find her body safe beside him, he emerged from the jungle. A creature void of form, he squinted in the harsh morning light. His teary eyes drinking in her beautiful image, he gently swept the golden hair away from her face. John smiled as her sleepy hazel eyes split open shining and bright. “Good morning.”

 

Marlena could feel the delicious vibrations of his low rumbling voice tremble over her entire body. “Mmm…very.” Her eyes began to weep in the magnificent streams of sunlight flowing through the bare windows. With her face buried deep in his chest, he almost missed the question that kissed over his heart. “What time is it?”

 

Inhaling the sweet honeysuckle fragrance of her hair, John pressed his lips into the sweetness. Her question finally registering, he struggled to find his voice. “Uh…a little after six, I thi…” His answer lost in the sensation of her body lazily stretching against him. “Oh God…” It was a pre-ordained reaction, an inevitable response to her written into the very essence of his soul. Her deep, throaty laughter gathered momentum and echoed all around him. Selfishly he hoped that no one else knew how in moments like this just how dirty and sexy her laugh could be. Their words stumbled over one another—his strangled and desperate…hers amused and not completely genuine. ”Are you trying to kill me?”

 

“Sorry.” At the somewhat bemused, pained expression on his face, Marlena fell into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

 

“Sorry, huh?” Rolling her onto her back, John hovered above her. A wickedly mischievous grin tugged the corner of his mouth. “Call me crazy, baby, but somehow I doubt your sincerity.” Before she could react, his dexterous fingers devilishly and relentlessly tickled across her sensitive ribcage.  As the sounds of her laughter turned to gasps and moans, he stilled. She looked like a fallen angel, radiant and wild…her mussed hair curling about her face. And in her glowing eyes he saw promises untold. Feeling her arms wrapping around his neck, drawing him toward her, John surrendered into the comforting dreams of what might have been. As if time ceased to matter, he watched as her dark, drowsy eyes fluttered closed. A silent moan escaped her slightly parted lips just as he descended to lightly brush soft, pliant kisses over her waiting mouth before finding the delicate hollow that never ceased to break down her defenses. His left hand leisurely caressed old pleasure points once again awakened. At the feel of her body beginning to writhe beneath him, he grinned. Finding her ear, his voice was little more than a moist exhalation sending shivers down her spine as she arched up to meet him. Somewhere through the euphoric fog clouding her mind, she heard the mirth, though, even before her brain could process the words. “You have to be at work early this morning, don’t you?”

 

She could still feel his teeth gently tugging at her delicate earlobe. Still feel his hot breath, harsh urgent pants prickling her hypersensitive flesh. Slapping at his shoulder in sheer and utter sexual frustration and at the truth behind his question, she groaned. “Ugh! You dog!” Pushing him slightly, she flailed back down onto the squeaky old mattress—watched as he settled back on his haunches…her body still trapped beneath his. “You did that on purpose.” The grin he fought to conceal was all the confirmation she needed. Tugging the sheet up to cover her body, she continued to grumble. “Ugh…I’m not sure I even like you anymore.”

 

Not bothering to cover himself, John grinned brightly as he stood up. “Uh…I think I have sufficient evidence to the contrary.”

 

Chuckling, Marlena combed her fingers through her hair. “And wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

 

“What stupid grin?” Leaning in close to her, his smile spread as he whispered. “This stupid grin?” Suddenly he kissed her until the need for oxygen overpowered the need for intimacy. They rested cheek to cheek when finally he whispered. “Now, I’m going to go get you a cup of coffee and a bite to eat before I lose what little willpower I have left.” Turning away from her, he moved to gather his clothes but at the sound of her pained and shocked gasp he stilled too afraid to move.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: RHINO SKIN

Oh my love if I reveal
Every secret I’ve concealed
How many thoughts would you steal
How much of my pain would you feel…

-Tom Petty

 

Even as her stomach roiled with dread and the inescapable fear that once again she’d played the fool, Marlena blinked back harsh tears and tried to make sense of the site before her. Why couldn’t it be a heart with the name Sally written across it? Or even 666? She could deal with the mark of the devil. Somehow she would have found a way to cope with that. But no, just that insidious creature rising up out of the ash and flame…great dark wings that blotted out all light and all hope. And why was he just standing there frozen?

 

As if he had heard her, John hurriedly stooped to pull on his jeans and was half way to the door when he felt her palm, clammy and unsure, brush like gossamer wings over the phoenix he’d fought so desperately to betray. Feeling the ink start to itch and the black turn to red, he reached for her. His eyes lost beneath tightly clenched lids he linked their fingers together and pulled her to stand in front of him. It wasn’t something he was proud of, the tattoo. Most days he tried to fool himself into believing it wasn’t really there. Many was the time he thought to remove it—burn it off; sand it off; take a knife and simply cut it out like the sickness it was. And yet somehow still it remained. “John?” Barely a whisper, his name trembled past her lips. Compelled by the hint of a question mark that dangled between them, John’s weary gray eyes finally met her anxious gaze. But the words remained lodged in her throat as the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He could see the pain and fear in her inky hazel eyes and wanted desperately to dispel it. If only he knew how…if only he knew the source of its inspiration. If he were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that the possibilities were endless. Born in the soul of misery, the list of lives he’d broken reached from here to hell. Feeling the blinding pain building just behind his eyes, his shoulders seemed to sag.

 

Numb, Marlena tightly clutched the sheet about her like a shield of armor as she pulled him back to sit atop the rumpled bed with her and waited. At last she spoke. “Want to tell me about it? The tattoo?”

 

Her voice sounded strange and foreign as if it was rising up out of a deep, dark swelling tide. And at the sound his whole body shuddered or maybe it was at the memory. Burying his face into the crook of his arm, John tried to wipe away the onslaught of images.  Hanging there from the ceiling, limp and raw, he felt Dimera’s black, beady eyes burning with sinister delight. Violently silent…the air hummed with sadistic expectation. He was going to make him beg. Not content in winning or in the knowledge that John had cried out. Bitter bile clawed its way up his throat and filled his mouth. Victory was never enough for the likes of Stefano Dimera. Given time broken bones mend. A broken spirit does not. No…humiliation that was his ultimate prize. Finally once and for all understanding the full import of his situation John’s body collapsed. The dead weight made his arms feel as though they were being ripped right out of socket. Lost within this bleak new reality, he missed the hiss of impatience—had no time to try and steel his body against the force of the water once again beating and burning through him. Unsure whether the tears that welled in his eyes were the fruit of fear or loathing, he surrendered to the bone-deep exhaustion as he cried out.  “Oh God, please make it stop!” Immediately the fire hose went dead.

 

Sidling closer, Marlena swept away one lone and stubborn tear as it made a hasty escape down his cheek. Emerging from the shadows an ugly self-satisfied smirk smeared across Dimera’s face. His beefy paw curling around the nape of John’s neck, a bemused chuckle escaped at the visible shudder that ran over his bowed and broken frame. And in a curious show affection he tasseled John’s hair as his glittering ebony eyes fell upon the other’s half-hidden, bloodshot gaze. Stefano nodded, his rich accent soothing and sure. “Yes, my boy…I’ll make it stop I’ll make it all stop.”

 

Melting into her warm caress, John stared at her through mostly unseeing eyes. Desperate for intimate distraction, he reached for her hand. “It’s uh…I don’t….” Nervously clasping and re-clasping their combined grip, his brow knitted with the futile effort of trying to find the words. A heavy sigh forced its way past his slightly swollen lips. “Hhh…you ever spent much time on a farm?” Rewarded with only her blank look of mounting confusion, he shook his head. “No. I don’t guess you would have.” His wry grin brightened his face. “They brand the animals, you know…to stake their claim, to mark their possession.” As understanding slowly settled, Marlena squinted—struggled to hear his next words that escaped a disembodied moan. “So you’d never forget and so you’d know you could never escape.” Turning away from her, John pressed the palms of his hands deep against throbbing pain behind his eyes. “I uh…wasn’t exactly rescued from Vietnam. It was more like I was bought.”

 

“Bought?” At the piqued sound of her voice, John turned.

 

A strained smile forced its way over his taut lips. “Well it wasn’t ever put to me in such crude terms. I’ll even admit the reality didn’t dawn on me until much later. I mean it seemed benevolent enough at the time with his team of physicians nursing the small group of us back to health. And I wasn’t worth much at that point…. I guess some things never change.” Frowning, her protest stalled as he continued. “It started out as odd jobs. Maintenance work mainly…just something to repay his kindness.” John’s voice trailed off with barely contained malice. Finally, with a shrug of well-trained indifference, he continued. “Somewhere along the way though Dr. Jekyll turned into Mr. Hyde. Underneath all the money and charm, I found myself doing the bidding of a madman. I’m not proud of my past, Marlena. I got in too deep and didn’t know how to escape.” For the first time since he began to explain, he met her gaze. Unflinching his sad cerulean eyes pleaded with her to believe him. “And it’s not just the army that thinks I’m dead. Stefano Dimera would skin me alive if he ever found me.” John shook his head. Through the dense fog clouding his mind, he fought to open his eyes, but the effort seemed too great. Sound was the first thing to break through—a monotonous drone. Then like a thousand pinpricks against his bleeding skin, a needle meticulously painted the canvas of his bare shoulder blade. John recoiled at the sensation, but more than that he recoiled against the loss of the last vestige of freedom.  “I don’t know…maybe I should have been stronger.” Rising from the bed, John stumbled into the bathroom. Prayed she wouldn’t look at him. Prayed he’d have the strength not to look back.

 

~~~

 

Maria hated days like this, rainy and gray. But for some reason, today it suited her mood. She’d never seen Mr. Dimera angry before. Sure, she’d heard stories, but that’s all they were. Right? They couldn’t possibly be true. Maybe she was just being childish and naïve. Maybe she was just overreacting. She always did. Every since she was a little child, everyone could always agree on that much at least. The nuns at the orphanage called it sensitive—an edge of subtle derision in their quietly spoken words. Tight smiles painted across their reverent faces as they pulled the long, stingy black hair away from her flushed and tear-stained cheeks. “Maria…always so sensitive.” She wasn’t sure just when it dawned on her that their comments were not made in affection and certainly weren’t meant as compliments, but rather as a sad commentary on penitence. As if this were somehow her burden in life, and her presence there theirs—a test of their vows.

 

Sister Claudette, her favorite. Not because she was particular caring or gentle, quite the opposite in fact. She was a shrill woman…solid and unyielding, immoveable as stone. They all feared her, even the tough kids who didn’t know the meaning of the word. Even they knew to fear her…would rather face lockdown at the county jail as the ruler of Sister Claudette. Welts that blistered and burned. She was sure they burned; they must have. Still Sister Claudette was honest. Driven to distraction by Maria’s quivering lips and large comical tears, she pulled her aside one day. An infinity shining behind her sharp black eyes that bore straight through Maria and the other orphans. Even now the content of Sister Claudette’s words were all a blank to her as was any recollection of the catalyst for her tears—remembering only her pledge to harden her heart, to cast aside childish tears and be strong.

 

The sisters used to speak of their calling, not whispers exactly, mysterious solemn words. No, not even words really…prayers, maybe? She didn’t understand it then. Somehow she doubted she really understood it now. Those secret voices, that assurance…it was an intoxicating idea though. On bright sunny days Maria used to slip into the dingy little library—a musty ancient wisdom looming in shimmering dust motes that seemed to hang magically in the air. Strangely fascinated by the dictionary, hours were spent just digesting the language as if it alone could somehow keep her alive. Strange mystic words on silent, child tongue. Silly girlish thoughts…she would have a daughter and name her Epiphany. Eventually becoming bored, she would cast the concrete realities aside for more exotic fare. Thumbing her way through foreign books that she knew she’d never really be able to comprehend, Latin mostly—waiting and listening. She would have never imagined that years later a man the likes of Stefano Dimera would see fit to insure her education and encourage her to take classes in Latin. Odd how with knowledge the words lost their meaning.

 

Sitting here now looking at the raindrops gathering on the windowpane, it seemed like another lifetime like a girl she’d passed on the street one day. Yet the memory of those days so often resurrected with frightening detail…memories more real than the drudgery of what had become her daily life. And now nothing really made sense anymore. Not the fear she’d seen in Jay’s eyes as he sat waiting to meet Mr. Dimera, not the conflicting stories she’d heard of the work they did in his name, and certainly not her place in it all. She found herself wondering how she even came to this life, but somehow it all a blurred together.  One day living in a dingy, shoebox room just barely making ends meet, the next living in a beautiful foreign country in a nicely furnished loft overlooking the canals. Hardly the lap of luxury, especially given the greater cost to her soul, but this was what people did to get by in life, right? One part insensitive, one part insane… and still she couldn’t help but cry every time it rained. Sometimes she wished she would just dehydrate and die.

 

Pulled from the sullen cast of her internal monologue by the discordant ringing of the telephone beside her, Maria wiped the tears from her eyes. It was a wasted effort though as Jay heard the truth in her tear-soaked greeting. “Aww…is it raining in Venice, baby?”

 

His voice oozed seduction and an air of comfort she longed to get lost in. But it was the hint of unnerving innate intimate knowledge that truly made her bristle. “I’m tired. What do you want, Jay?”

 

Sitting the drink in his hand down, he kicked off his shoes and propped himself up against the headboard. “Maria, are you okay?”  

 

“No…. Yes.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “Hhh…I don’t know.” A comfortable silence fell between them as he waited for her to continue, unsurprised when she did not. “And how about you…how are you doing?”

 

“Clean.” Jay’s rich laugh sent shockwaves coursing down her spine. “Not exactly sober, but clean.”

 

He could hear the sadness in her voice. “You know I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

 

“I know.” Shifting the phone to his other ear, he retrieved his drink and took a long slow swallow. “And you know I wish you wouldn’t cry all alone.”

 

“Yeah well…” Swallowing hard, again she changed the subject. “How’s work?”

 

Jay could smell the sweat and fear alive upon his skin. No, he wasn’t looking forward to sharing these latest events with Stefano. His mind was already conjuring a doling out of wrath of epic proportions. “Not so good.”

 

~~~

 

John felt lost as he made his way past rundown shop windows, stopping only once to look at the strange distorted figure reflected back at him, and continued on down to the loading docks. For a brief moment this morning, after safely seeing Marlena off, he’d considered packing his bag and leaving—the urge to flee great. But something, or rather someone, deep inside would not allow him escape though in his gut he knew it was the wise path to follow. His lips twisted into an ugly sneer. Wisdom had never been his strong suit. Heavy and leaden, his feet shuffled over the uneven planks. Hearing the foghorn in the distance, he let out a long tense breath became mesmerized by the steaming cloud of life captured in the cold artic air. Still there was something niggling at the base of his scull. He knew it wasn’t safe to be here, but he’d known that even before he’d made the decision to put Sam and Mooch on a bus to Florida. No, this was different. It began with the look of horror he saw reflected back at him this morning after Marlena first caught glimpse of his tattoo and had grown steadily stronger with each passing minute. It was almost as if she knew the monster. If only he could make sense of it all.

 

Distractedly opening the door, he almost missed the amusement in Henry’s voice. “What the hell happened to your hair, John?”

 

Before John could answer, Diego laughingly interrupted. “What hair?”

 

John grunted. “My barber got a little scissor happy.”

 

Diego continued. “Don’t look too damn happy to me. And what’s with your temple there? He try to kill you or something?”

 

Slightly self-conscious John ran his hand over his scalp and forced a smirk he didn’t feel. “Or something.”  

 

“Whatever you say buddy.” Henry offered up a good-natured slap on the back. “Whatever you say. But it’s too cold to work like that.” Riffling through the desk drawer, Henry pulled out a woolen toboggan. “Here, this should help keep you warm. Besides we can’t have you scaring the fish.”

 

~~~

 

“You’re late.” The sound of laughter in Laura’s voice roused her from the black hole of reflection. “Luckily you have a kind, generous friend such as myself…. I covered for you with Dr. Killjoy at this mornings staff meeting.” Closing the office door behind her, Laura sat across from her friend and watched as Marlena anxiously drummed an ink pen atop her desk.

 

Finally a mirthless smirk painted its way across Marlena’s mouth as she looked up from the paperwork she’d been working so hard to feign interest in. “You know one of these days Dr. Killeroy is going to overhear your little pet name for him.”

 

Laura shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than some of the names I’m sure he has for me. I think my personal favorite is Dr. Loony Laura Horton. Has a rather pleasant syntax, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Amused, Marlena shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

 

“And he’s contemptible.” Laura triggered back.

 

Marlena laughed. “Purely in the interest of consistency mind you, just what is my story should my path cross with the delightful Dr. Killjoy.”

 

Laura smiled knowingly. “I’ll make a deal with you…I’ll tell you your alibi, if you tell me the real story.”

 

Looking down at her desk, Marlena busied herself with rearranging patient files. “I overslept.”

 

At the sound of Laura’s snort of disbelief, Marlena looked up to eye her friend with a blank and purposeful stare. “Sure you did, and Dr. Killjoy’s distaste for me really stems from the deep-seated insecurity that I’ll replace him as head of the Psychiatric Department…. Oh, did I fail to mention that Bo stopped by last night to talk to you? It seems he was under the misguided impression that you were on call.” Seeing the look of panic flash behind her eyes, Laura sought to soothe her fears. “You know I think I’ve got a leg up on Maggie right now for the friend of the month award. I’ve covered for you twice in less than twenty-four hours. I told him you were tied up with a suicidal patient and probably would be most of the night.” Laura paused to try and gauge her friend’s reaction. “And as a show of good faith…you were late this morning because one of the twins was feeling a little under the weather.”

 

Marlena tried to smile, but the expression was transparent and strained. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve put you in the position of having to lie for me.”

 

Laura waved her hand with cheery disgust. “Oh please! That’s what friends are for…that and helping to hide the bodies.” Sitting up straight, her tone sobered. “Now will you please talk to me before that black cloud hanging over your head starts raining.”

 

Wearily rubbing at her temples, Marlena buried her face in her hands. “I can’t.”

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Laura decided to force the issue. As usual, she knew just the right buttons to push to get a reaction. “Bullshit, Marlena! You can. You just won’t, and obviously you need to. So please talk. I can tell something is eating you up.”

 

She felt trapped, paralyzed. She hated that feeling. She remembered the first time she ever felt the sensation—the one and only time John’s brother ever came to see her. Standing suddenly, Marlena began to pace. “Laura I can’t. I don’t even know where to start.”

 

“Okay…” Laura watched her intently, the small trail she etched over the berber rug and waited until she saw Marlena’s shoulders slump in defeat before approaching. “Why don’t you start with the look on your face when I told you Bo stopped to see you last night.”

 

“Look?”

 

Taking her by the hand, Laura led them over to the sofa. “Oh, I would say it was about one part guilt, one part dread and two parts fear.” Laura arched her eyebrow in challenge. “Sound familiar?”

 

Marlena blushed. “I lied. I couldn’t stand the thought of yet another tension riddled Brady Sunday dinner, so I told them I was on call…and went to see John instead.”

 

Laura nodded. “That may explain the guilt and the dread, my martyr friend, but not the fear. What are you so afraid of?”

 

Closing her eyes, Marlena whispered. “Nothing.” Sighed. “Hhh…everything.”

 

“’Twas the best of times, twas the worst of times…’ Even as her brow furrowed in confusion, Marlena’s hazel eyes twinkled to life. “I just kind of figured you’d been reading Dickens’ lately because you’re certainly covering ass today.”

 

Marlena’s words sounded wispy and sad. “No. No, I’m not. That’s the problem. I’ve not covered much of anything lately. I laid it all bare. I blindly and stupidly took a giant leap of faith last night and woke up with a stranger. Or maybe I didn’t.” Confused and a bit desperate, her voice climbed and octave. “I just don’t know anymore. I mean I believe him. But how can I and still live with myself?”

 

“Whoa, let’s back up a minute. You stayed with John last night?” A girlish blush crept up her neck as she nodded. “Do you regret it?” Beginning to cry, Marlena shook her head no. “And yet you said you woke up with a stranger. Woke up…that’s a curious turn of phrase. He was the same man in the morning. So I guess the real question is, did you go to bed with a stranger?” Laura eyed her expectantly.

 

Reaching for a tissue, Marlena gently dabbed at her eyes. “If you’re waiting for an answer you’re going to be here for a while.”

 

Laura watched her briefly before goading her into responding. “It’s not my life, Marlena. I don’t need an answer, but I think you do. Did you go to bed with a stranger?”

 

“No.” At the look of defiance that flashed over Marlena’s face, Laura almost laughed. “I mean of course he’s changed. We both have. A lot of living has happened in the last fifteen years. But in all the ways that matter most he’s still the same boy I fell in love with.”

 

“It sounds to me like you’re thinking too much. Beating yourself up for leading with your heart instead of your head for a change.” Sympathetically, Laura took her hand. “And maybe, just maybe, you’re feeling a little guilty about how easy it was. Feeling perhaps a little like you’ve cheated on Roman—especially with his family always standing in the background with an air of disapproval?”

 

Marlena nodded even as her voice trailed off indefinitely. “I know you’re right. I know that’s part of it…”

 

“But?”

 

“But I learned how to cope with those feelings a long time ago. With Don and later with Roman, there was always a part of me that felt like I was betraying John. I knew I had to find a way to move on then, and I know I have to again now.” Unsure, she gnawed nervously at her bottom lip before at last continuing. “It’s more than that though, Laura. This is not just widow’s guilt.”

 

She knew Marlena was too smart and too experienced a psychiatrist not to recognize it for the clinical move it was, still Laura smiled encouragingly. “What is it then?”

 

A part of her wasn’t sure she should tell anyone about John’s past, but another part of her knew she had to. She simply wasn’t equipped to deal with this all on her own. “You have to promise me, swear, you won’t tell another living soul.”

 

Laura raised her hands in a show of surrender. “You know I won’t.”

 

Marlena’s eyes darted, unseeing, about the room as if trying to find in the yellow swirling wallpaper the words to say. When she finally did speak, her voice sounded raspy and dry. “When I first woke up this morning, I wasn’t plagued by guilt. If anything was nagging at me it was desire…”

 

“That good, huh?” Laura chuckled. “I know you’re the picture of decorum, Marlena, but great sex hardly seems worthy of swearing someone to secrecy.”

 

Afraid she would loose the nerve, Marlena blurted out the truth. “He worked for Stefano.”

 

The edge of surprise caused Laura’s voice to escape screechy and sharp. “What?” As unexpected at it rose, though, it plummeted into a realm of dark, murmuring silence. “But how do you know?”

 

“Because he has a phoenix tattoo on his right shoulder and because he told me so…. Laura, he doesn’t know about my past with Stefano. And as best as I can tell, he doesn’t know anything at all about Dimera’s past dealings in Salem.” As if suddenly realizing just how perilous her situation is, Marlena continued. “And he can’t know—not yet. Not until I’m ready to tell him…not until he’s ready to hear.”

 

For long moments the silence stretched between them until at last Laura broke the anxious calm. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Well I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do…” Marlena stood abruptly. “I’m not going to waste anymore time sitting here making myself half crazy.” Walking over to the door, she slipped into her coat. “I’m going to go find John.”

 

Smiling, Laura rose to follow her out of the office. “Good luck.”

 

Her grin was awkward and unsure. “Thanks…for everything.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: WORLD WITHOUT TEARS

 

From her vantage point at the top of the pier Marlena could see him loitering behind a group of boisterous dockworkers making wagers to be settled later that evening in some smoky little rundown bar on the edge of town. She didn’t quite understand the male-bonding ritual of beer and Monday Night football. A crooked smile twitched past her lips. Still everything balanced out in the end since men would never understand the female predilection for going to public restrooms in pairs. The sound of Henry’s booming voice roused Marlena from the fruits of senseless contemplation. “Why don’t you come with us, John? No worries in football.”

 

Diego’s weathered face contorted with mirth. “ More like no women.”

 

Henry shrugged. “Same thing.” Undetected, she watched as an overwhelming wistfulness crept upon her at the sullen cast of John’s shoulders as he burrowed further into the warm confines of his coat. Staving off curiosity, Marlena did not wait to hear his reply.

 

It was an eerie, though not altogether unpleasant, sensation. A bond of sorts that had been forged many moons ago when first he looked into the surging tides of her deep hazel eyes—an inexplicable connection. The certainty of her presence burned through him even before he saw her luminous form descending the staircase as if like an angel descending from on high.

 

“Sorry boys…” With a flirty smile, Marlena greeted them. “He’s all mine tonight. But maybe next week the old ball and chain will let him break free long enough to come out and play.” The sight of the embarrassed blush painting its way across their faces made her laugh.

 

As the sound of her laughter faded though, Henry shrugged. “Maybe next week.” Silently John nodded—never looking up. Feeling the anxious tension build, Henry continued. “Yeah, well maybe…. So the first pitcher is on me boys.” Leaving the couple to their own devices, he led the motley crew away with a parting nod of quiet recognition. “Marlena.”

 

With a weak smile, she watched them go. “Have fun boys.” For long minutes she waited, considered the tentative slope of his posture as he studied the weather worn planks with a kind of premeditated concentration. A part of her would have been content to share the comfortable silence indefinitely…still she had children at home waiting for her. At the sight of her shivering in the frigid wind, John gnawed his raw and wind-chapped lips. Cautiously he met her gaze. “Hi.” Marlena couldn’t help but grin as his return greeting lodged in his throat to stumble soundless past. “You didn’t forget your promise to have supper with me and the kids, did you?”

 

Shaking his head no, John struggled to find the words. “I, uh, no…I didn’t forget. I, um, kind of thought maybe you might want to. Forget, I mean.” As if burned by the intensity of her probing gaze, he moved to stare out over the icy waters lapping against the pier beneath them.

 

Her lips pursed with bittersweet contemplation. “Oh there are plenty of things in life that I’d just as soon forget…”

 

At the sound of the door opening, Marlena closed her eyes. Willing her body to relax, she feigned sleep—knew right away the attempt was doomed by the sound of her sister’s loud, frustrated sigh. “Hhh…I know you’re awake, Marlena.” Picking her way through the messy, cramped little apartment, Samantha picked up her sister’s feet long enough to sit down on the couch. A tenuous silence stretched between them until at last Samantha broke it. “Brave look.” She plucked at the tail of Marlena’s dingy pink bathrobe. “Daring. Not just anybody could pull off an ensemble like this, you know. I particularly like the dark circles around your eyes and rat’s nest hairdo….” Samantha smirked. “The swarming flies might be a bit over the top though.” Finally sparing her sister a passing glance, Marlena’s mossy green eyes turned black. Somewhat heartened by the reaction, Samantha chuckled. “Oh well never let it be said you’re a slave to fashion.” Suddenly uncomfortable, Samantha began to ramble. “My, uh, acting class went good tonight. My partner Nick and I have been working on a scene from The Glass Menagerie and tonight I think we really nailed it. I wish you could have been there…” Her voice trailed off as she slumped back against the sofa.

 

“Look, Marlena, I don’t how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Mom called me at work today.” Marlena blinked, but said nothing. “She and Daddy know you’ve left school.” Moving to sit up, Marlena met her sister’s gaze with teary, pleading eyes. “I didn’t tell them you were here…” At the look of relief washing over her sister’s face, Samantha almost dreaded the next words that had to be said. “You know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want…but I can’t keep this from them forever. They’re worried sick, Mar.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “We all are.” Sliding over to sit beside her, Samantha continued. “I don’t claim to know exactly what you’re feeling, but I know what it’s like to lose something, someone, that you want more than life itself….  I know how hard it is to try and pick up the pieces and go on. But, sweetie, we have to try.”

 

At the sound of a painful sob tearing past Samantha’s lips, Marlena’s defenses crumbled. Falling into each other’s arms, they cried together. “Just try, huh?” Samantha nodded. Finally tears turned to soggy chuckles. “Flies?”

 

Samantha’s mouth twitched with barely contained bemusement. “I knew that would get a rise out of you. I mean honestly, Marlena, when was the last time you took a shower?” Marlena shrugged. “Well sister dear, when it gets to the point that you don’t even know the answer to that question, then it’s either time to cut back on the drugs or it’s time for a bath.” Rubbing her hands over her weary bloodshot eyes, Marlena laughed. “I’ll make a deal with you. You go take a shower and I’ll run out and get us some Chinese food. Then after you’ve got some food in you and are feeling half human again, we’ll call Mom and Dad together….”

 

With a far away look in her eyes, Marlena continued. “Never quite been able to figure out the trick to make that happen though. And I don’t guess we’re really supposed to. Are we? Memories, good and bad, are what make us who we are.” Slowly John turned to look at her. Marlena couldn’t help but smile at the tears that gathered behind his sad azure eyes. “Besides I never want to forget a single, solitary moment in time spent with you.”

 

John shuddered with insecurity. “Baggage and all?”

 

“We all have baggage, John.” Seeing the look of doubt crease his beautiful brow, she gently brushed away the worry lines. “Yes, baggage and all.” Taking his hand, their fingers wound together in a tight clench as she rested her head on his shoulder and led him back towards her waiting car.   

 

~~~

 

Stubbing out his final cigarette, Jay rubbed at his weary brown eyes and downed another glass of scotch to try and quell the burning in the pit of his stomach with the fine art of distraction. Since talking to Maria he’d been sitting there getting piss-drunk just trying to find the courage to call Stefano in the bottom of a bottle. It was an attempt only equaled in futility by stupidity. Slurred words were not going to spare him Dimera’s wrath. They would only frustrate and prolong the ugliness. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he reached for the phone and dialed the emergency contact number. The fire intensified with each ring that went unanswered—nerves anxious and taut. At the sound of her thick manufactured accent, he shuddered. “SD Industries, how may I direct your call?”

 

“Hello Celeste, this is Jay.” The sound of his own voice echoed in his head. Swallowing hard, he forged ahead. “I need to speak with Mr. Dimera.”

 

As had become her habit years ago, she chewed her words with lumbering and excessive care. “I’m afraid that’s not possible—Stefano has retired for the evening and is not to be disturbed.”

 

At the brittle dismissive sound of her reply, the inferno within him exploded in a tangled mass of fiery timbers. “Look, bitch, you can take your false air of importance right back to the same place you picked up that pathetic fake accent.”

 

Her usually calm unflappable demeanor snapped as her voice climbed an octave. “Excuse me!”

 

His tone was low, laced with danger and an unpleasant hint of truth. “You heard me. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all Dimera. You think you’re big shit because you’re balling the boss, is that it? You think you’re the first? You think his payroll isn’t littered with discards? You think somehow you’ll be different? That if you’re amendable enough that he’ll make you queen of his empire?” Jay’s eyes glittered darkly. “Well let me tell you, Celeste, it ain’t gonna happen. You are nothing to Dimera but a cheap distraction. He doesn’t keep you around for love. He keeps you around for convenience. You’re a warm, willing body. He might as well leave a hundred dollar bill on your nightstand when he’s through with you. But then something tells me in a manner of speaking he does…” She could hear the none too subtle insinuation as his voice grew quiet and calm. “Jewelry, mostly, I bet. I would even wager you’ve got a nice little sports car parked in the garage compliments of Stefano. And hell, if you’re really, really good at what you do maybe even a home. Am I right?”

 

Celeste’s accent was quickly swallowed up in emotion. “You’re a disgusting pig. I don’t know why Stefano keeps you around.”

 

A dark chuckle rumbled in her ear until at last Jay continued. “Why my dear, I would imagine he keeps me around for much the same reason he keeps you around.” The harsh pant of her angry labored breath echoed in his head as he paused for dramatic effect. “We’re both useful to his ends and damn good at what we do. “ Her sigh of resignation was all the encouragement he needed. His tone softened. “Don’t take it personally, darlin’, all men are pigs. We’re the same wherever you go. It’s just some of us respect the fairer sex far too much to lie about who we really are. And some of us are just less apologetic than others. There’s nothing wrong with being a warm, willing body. Me, personally, I love them…couldn’t live without them. But the thing about warm, willing bodies is they’re expendable. They’re a dime a dozen. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.” Feeling more grounded for having released some of his nervous energy, Jay shifted back to the purpose of his call. “Now, I didn’t call in on the emergency line for the sheer hell of it, so why don’t you make yourself useful. I don’t care if Stefano is preoccupied with an entire brothel of fine French prostitutes…take your skinny black ass upstairs and tell him I’m on the phone. Let him make the decision as to whether or not to take the call.”

 

It was as if he felt the winds change. Standing on the edge of the cliff, he saw the eventuality take shape even before it materialized—a slight whimper, the click of her teeth. She began to waver. “I don’t know.”

 

Victory was always sweet, but the sound of her menacing hollow growl made him want to chuckle. “Look, tell him I insisted. I promise you he’ll take the call and no harm will come to you for disturbing his rest. He’s not going to be happy either way, but that’s to be expected from time to time in on our line of work. Right?”

 

Celeste’s tone was low and begrudging. “Right. Okay, just a minute.”

 

“Hey, it’s Dimera’s dime.” Cradling the phone against his shoulder, Jay poured himself another drink.

 

~~~

 

“Marlena, you’re home.” Carrie’s cry came at her before she even had the chance to lay down her briefcase.

 

Making her way over to the couch, Marlena smiled and pulled the long blonde hair back away from Carrie’s face. “Well of course I am, sweetie.“ Noticing the open math book, Marlena eyes twinkled. “Oh, looks like I have some homework to check over.” With a gloomy grunt of assent, she rolled her young eyes. “Well I’m sorry I’m a little late. I went to pick John up so he could have dinner with us. And then of course I remembered we didn’t have anything here for dinner.” Seeing him still standing in the open doorway holding a couple of grocery bags, she called to him. “John, honey, come in before you let out all the heat. “

 

He had not missed the shrewd way in which Carrie’s eyes had cut his direction at Marlena’s term of endearment. Blushing furiously, John moved into the room and gently pushed the door closed with his heavy boot. Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, he muttered. “You, um, want me to put this stuff in the kitchen?”

 

With an indulgent smile, Marlena turned toward the stairs. “That would be great…. I’ll be back down in a few minutes. I’m just going to go let Mabel know I’m home, see my babies and change into something more comfortable. “

 

“Okay.” Without thinking, John moved both bags into one arm and reached to pull off his toboggan.  

 

From the first landing, Marlena heard the alarm in Carrie’s voice and stopped. “What happened to your hair? To the side of your head?”

 

John’s eyes descended into midnight as he sought out her warm hazel gaze. His insecurity was almost a palpable force, but as she watched the emotions flash over his face she thought better of coming to his aid. If they were ever to forge a future together then they would have to face his past and he would have to face her children. With a nod of reassurance she urged him to continue. Tentatively he approached Carrie. Putting the groceries aside on the coffee table he sat across from her. A heavy sigh pushed past his blustery lips. “Hhh…I was, uh, in an accident… “ Seeing her young eyes crinkle with concern, he backtracked. “A long time ago.”

 

At the sound of Carrie’s shy, inquisitive voice being swallowed up in the voluminous quiet, Marlena continued up the stairs. “Does it hurt?”

 

John shook his head. “Not really…. The memory hurts sometimes. But that’s about all.”

 

As if weighing his words, Carrie’s brow furrowed and lips pursed until at last she continued, her voice very small. “Kind of like the memory of my daddy’s funeral hurts me sometimes.” Uncomfortable, John nodded carefully and was just about to stand up when her next question stopped him in his tracks. “But why did you shave your head? If it doesn’t hurt…if it’s okay now? Did you want everyone to see it?”

 

Leaning forward in his chair, John’s voice was low and gravelly as he spoke. “No, not exactly.” Absentmindedly his hand ran over his baldhead. “It wasn’t that I wanted everyone to see, Carrie. I didn’t want anyone to, not really…. But Marlena asked me a question that I wasn’t sure how to answer with words.”

 

Carrie’s eyes darkened with confusion. “What did she ask you?”

 

“Well you know that I knew Marlena a long time ago when we were just teenagers?” Carrie nodded. “We were very close.”

 

“You were her boyfriend?” Unsure of whether it was a rhetorical question or genuine, he opted for a simple answer.  

 

“I was.” As the emotion began to swell, John tried to steel himself. “But more than that we were best friends…. I made a promise to her that I didn’t keep. A promise I should have kept. I told her that I would come home to her.” Feeling the tears begin to spill over, John haphazardly swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “And she needed to know why.”

 

Carrie’s blue eyes glittered with tears as a sad smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I think I understand. It was easier to show her the scar than to show her the memory.”

 

His nod was so slight as to almost be invisible. Swallowing hard, John stood suddenly and gathered the groceries back into his arms. “So, uh, I hear Marlena’s still world renowned for her rather lackluster cooking skills. Want to, um, maybe help me get some spaghetti started before she comes back downstairs?”

 

Glancing from John to her math book and back again, Carrie shrugged. “Sure.”

 

~~~

 

Slamming the phone onto the cradle, angry puffs of smoke clouded about Stefano’s head and his cigar quickly turned to ash. He stalked the room like a caged beast—feeling impotent under the harsh light of just how little control he held over his interests in Salem. He had completely and utterly underestimated this situation. He’d ignored the facts choosing instead to believe he was dealing with little more than a resurrected childhood crush. He’d been sloppy. But more than that, he’d been foolish. He’d been blinded by lust and ego. He’d spent far too much time being the very antithesis of a Dimera. No, if he had misconstrued reality, then it was time force reality to bend to his design. His wild growl echoed down the empty hallway, “Celeste!” At the sight of her appearing in his bedroom door, his nostrils flared and his blood boiled. There was more than one way to exert control.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: 84,000 DIFFERENT DELUSIONS

 

Snuggling deeper into the covers Celeste tried to ignore the sound of the hired help just outside her door. She wasn’t like them. She was different, not just some mindless flunky collecting a paycheck. That’s what she told herself when it was quiet and niggling doubts feasted at the base of her skull. Still, she’d already heard the maid pass by her door at least twice and knew if she didn’t surrender the room soon that she’d have little choice in the matter. Eliana was understanding only so long as it was convenient and nothing about this morning felt convenient. Well…except for herself. She was convenient. She was always convenient. A sad sigh escaped and yet somehow it always seemed to land her in exactly the same place, alone. Stefano had left her. Just like always, just like Jay said…. No. She couldn’t allow herself to think that way. Stefano wasn’t the kind of man to say he cared. He was a man of actions, not words. What did some slimy junkie know anyway?

 

The loud thump of the vacuum cleaner banging into the doorjamb across the hall propelled her into action. Best not tempt fate. A weary groan echoed through the room as she clutched the sheet to her naked aching body and slid out of bed. A hot shower…that was all she needed. Everything always looked better after a hot shower. Hastily dropping the sheet in a heap by the bathroom door, Celeste did her best to ignore the ugly bruises that like a mural painted their way up her arms and past her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror seemed to mock her as dull lifeless brown eyes stared back at her. She willed herself to ignore the yellow and purple fingerprints pressed so carelessly across her back. Stepping into the lush stall of beautiful handcrafted Moroccan tile, Celeste’s stubborn lips twitched in anguish. She couldn’t possibly ignore the twinge of bone against bone as her ribs painfully shifted. Angry tears swelled her eyes. What the hell did anybody know about their relationship anyway? She understood Stefano. She understood their relationship, and that was all that mattered.  

 

~~~

 

“Wh…what are you doing here?” Surprised by Jay’s sudden appearance, Maria stuttered and stumbled as her question trailed off into a tenuous silence. Moving to his side, she maneuvered him away from her desk. Her brow arching warily, she subtly studied the papers she carefully reshuffled as she tried to search for some clue to what he may have been looking for.

 

As if reading her mind, a playful grin tugged at the corner of his generous upturned lips. “I was trying to find your calendar to see if you are free for dinner tonight.” With a shrug, Jay’s rich brown eyes lit up. “Sorry.”

 

Brushing her long black hair away from her face, Maria’s laugh was lilting and sweet. “No you’re not.”

 

Nothing like a little game of cat and mouse, the thought entered his mind void of consequence. “No, I’m not.” His grin stretched into a smug smile as he perched atop the corner of her desk and leaned closer.

 

Looking away, she plopped graceless into her chair, failed to ignore his unspoken challenge. A light sigh bathed her muttered reply. “Hhh…why do you always do that?” Still not looking up to meet his gaze, she gave the partially exposed file folder he was sitting on a harsh yank. Like a pesky fly Maria used the folder to swat him away. Taking the hint, he stood up but still refused to move from her personal space. Harmless and loud, the smack across his thigh echoed through the spacious office. Cringing at the sound, her voice grew unnaturally quiet. “You look tired.”

 

“Jet lag, baby, jet lag…” Jay smirked. “Even a night owl like me is usually fast asleep at four in the morning.”

 

Maria’s mouth twitched uncomfortably as she tried to absorb the unspoken truth hiding just beneath the surface. When at last she spoke, she sought to unravel the mystery with a deceptively even tone that somehow made the hair on the back of Jay’s neck stand on end. “You know you never did answer my question. I thought you were working in the States. What are you doing here?”

 

“Let’s just say Mr. Dimera doesn’t like to receive bad intel over the phone…something about being able to read a man’s face, I guess.” A tight smile that never quite reached his eyes forced its way across Jay’s face. Unconsciously he ran a nervous hand through his meticulously groomed hair. “It’s fine; call it a command performance for the Big Man.” Seeing her body stiffen with worry and dread, he wondered yet again if perhaps she hadn’t finally fallen too deep into Dimera’s world. One way or another they would have to talk this trip. One way or another he would have to convince her it was time to move on. For her own good. For his own good. He could do that much at least. Just so long as the boss never found out he’d had a hand in her decision…. The sound of the door opening and the threat of heavy footfalls roused him from primal contemplation. Standing up straight, he chose to ignore Dimera’s presence in favor of Maria—met her soft, questioning brown eyes with the most reassuring smile he could muster. “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

 

His shadow crept across the room, like night fast encroaching until at last it was upon them. In a show that could easily be mistaken from afar for paternal pride, Stefano’s beefy paw clutched Jay’s shoulder as he pulled him closer. His brow arched in silent question. The silence stretched so awkwardly between them that it compelled her to speak, quiet and inexorably shy. “Well…uh, if you’re sure… dinner sounds wonderful.”

 

In an accustomed boyish show, Jay beamed. “Great. I’ll pick you up around eight.”

 

She nodded before surrendering to the embarrassment. Bowed and scarlet face, she nervously tucked her long dark hair neatly behind her ear. “I’ll be ready.”

 

Stefano took the sight in with a great rumbling laugh, but with a hearty slap on the back he quickly refocused. “My boy, I trust your flight went well.” At Jay’s curt nod, he continued. “Good, good…I’ve been looking forward to this meeting since we hung up the phone. Come.” Pushing the heavy door open, Stefano turned his attention back to her. “Maria, dear, if you would please get Jay an espresso and call down to the kitchen and tell them I’d like to have lunch served in my office.” With and elegant flip of the wrist, he consulted his gold pocket watch. “I had a late breakfast. Oh say around three…” Turning to Jay, he politely waited for his nod of assent before quietly disappearing behind heavy mahogany doors.

 

~~~

 

Stefano pushed himself away from the small ornate dining table and with no regard for input fixed two sniffers of brandy. Sitting one glass before Jay, he walked on past and relaxed back into a large throne-like leather chair. The quiet stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but with a distinctive air of serious contemplation.

 

Jay watched Dimera through thick plumes of aromatic cigar smoke. He had not expected to walk into the arms of a violent reaction. Still the urgency with which Dimera had pulled him in had not prepared him for the placid, deliberate manner with which the man had absorbed the details of his surveillance. As a result, Jay couldn’t help but feel wary and ill-at-ease. He’d be a fool to mistake this reaction as anything other than the calm before the storm. And while Jay did not mind maintaining certain delusions in the name of sanity, foolishness was not one of them.

 

Dimera’s deep, rumbling voice cut through his ruminations. “The vulgar crowd always is taken by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar.”

 

Jay’s shrewd eyes narrowed as if intent on rising to the unspoken challenge. Stefano felt amusement tug at the corners of his thin, taut mouth at the sight of his lunch companion. At long last he ventured tentatively, “Samuel Johnson?”

 

For a moment he thought the only answer to his efforts would be Dimera’s bemused sneer. “Machiavelli.”

 

“That seemed,” Jay shrugged, “too predictable.”

 

A black smile smeared across Dimera’s features. “Sometimes that is the greatest sign of unpredictability. Take the lowly Brady clan for instance—predictable and vulgar.” Dimera never took his dark, brooding eyes off of Jay as he swirled the brandy round the glass before finishing it off with one final savory swallow. “This is not a game of my design, and as such I must make allowances. I must take the openings which present themselves.” Sitting the fine crystal goblet back down, he took a deep breath and affected a commanding pose. “By your own accounts, the rift has already begun to form. Now all we need do is place just enough information in Bo Brady’s path. The mere hint of impropriety on John’s part will be enough to feed the Brady frenzy. Then we shall sit back and watch as all the integral pieces explode into a million beautiful, broken shards.” Dimera’s eyes glowed dangerously. “Because you see I might not have created this game, but I shall win it. And the victory shall be as sweet as it is easy.”

 

~~~

 

Sliding the loft door open, Bo enjoyed the sight of his wife as she sat at the breakfast bar reading the morning paper and sipping a cup of hot cocoa. She’d never completely lost the soft, delicate quality of baby fat; it was part of her charm. Quietly creeping forward, his husky voice tickled over the long, dark hair that spilled over her shoulders. “Mornin’, Fancy Face.”

 

With a start Hope turned, smiled radiantly. “Hey, Sailor.” She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck to halt his quick-retreating peck on the lips. As if caught in some strange inescapable gravitational pull their foreheads rested together. The tips of her fingers combed ever so lightly through his long black hair, eliciting a tiny obscured smile that peaked out from behind his beard. The sound of Hope’s drowsy voice sent shivers of delight up and down his spine. “So where did you get off to so early this morning?” She nipped playfully at the side of his face. “When I woke up you were already gone.”

 

Pulling her body closer, he grunted, “Went for a ride. I had some thinking to do.”

 

Hope giggled. “You, thinking?” Bo scowled sourly and pulled away abruptly. The slam of the bathroom door drowned out his muttered reply. “Bo, come back…I was just kidding.” She sighed. “And I’m supposed to be the drama queen.” Shrugging she returned to her cocoa.

 

~~~

 

At the quiet shush of the waiting-room door slipping closed, Hillary glanced up from the filing she been struggling so studiously not to ignore only to see her boss’s slightly haggard form. “Hard morning?” Sparing her usual eloquence, Marlena offered only a quiet grunt of assent before continuing toward her office.  Noticing the tight grimace stretching across Hillary’s face, Marlena paused expectantly. “Umm…you’ve got some messages.” Not quite meeting her eyes, she casually handed over the slips and muttered under her breath to Marlena’s retreating form. “Three more from Bo Brady.”

 

With an audible groan, Marlena tensed. Bringing herself up to her full height, she turned and waited for her secretary to meet her unflinching gaze before continuing. “Yes, well if he should happen to call again, you assure him that I have gotten his messages and will return his call as soon as there is a break in my schedule. Moreover, let him know that I would greatly appreciate it if he’d quit tying up my office line with his repetitive calls. If it’s an emergency he can reach me on my private line. Otherwise, he can just wait.”

 

“He said he’d tried the private line…repeatedly.” Noting the hard look in Dr. Evans’ eyes, her voice petered off. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him.”

 

Standing in the doorway, Laura’s nervous laughter broke the tension. “Well someone certainly woke up on the wrong side of her man this morning.”

 

Even as a faint, embarrassed flush crept over her features, Marlena rolled her eyes and opted to ignore Laura’s pointed remarks. With her voice again even and soft, she re-focused her attention. “I’m sorry, Hillary. If Bo calls back…when Bo calls back, deal with the situation as you see fit. But, Sweetie, I’m only a couple of years older than you…please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’” Marlena smiled brightly. “That’s a term of respect reserved for the elderly,” her hazel eyes twinkled with mirth as her gaze shifted to the not-so-forgotten figure in the doorway, “like the esteemed Dr. Horton.”  With one final haughty smirk, she again turned toward the quiet, inner sanctum of her private office.

 

Never missing a beat, Laura offered Hillary a sweet, conspiratorial smile as she spoke with unerring assurance. “Don’t mind her; she’s always insufferable during mating season.”  

 

Marlena turned sharply. An edge of humorous, hysteria made her voice crack. “Laura!”

 

“What? I was subtle, Darling. I didn’t overstep the boundaries of good taste.” A slightly wicked grin stole across her face as she walked past Marlena and continued in an exaggerated whisper. “It’s not like I said you were insufferable when you’re horny.”

 

Turning a brilliant shade of crimson, it was the tinkling sound of Hillary’s laughter that at last prompted Marlena into action. Closing the door behind her, she sought out the security and control found behind her desk. After long minutes of tedious silence, she offered a slight put upon sigh. “Hhh…this seals it; you really are completely and hopelessly incorrigible.”

 

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of humor?” Taking in Marlena’s stiff body language, Laura tried a different tact. “Well at least you’ve not thought about having to deal with Bo in the last five minutes…. Besides if I hadn’t arrived when I did, I think you might have driven poor Hillary to tears.” Marlena’s mouth curved into a bemused smirk. “Ok, so I’m exaggerating a little.”

 

Marlena’s brow arched. “Gee, you think?”

 

Placing a file on the corner of Marlena’s desk, Laura smiled indulgently. “So why don’t you tell me what’s got you in such a mood this morning. Even your hair looks angry.” Ignoring her friend’s withering glance, she continued. “Or better yet why don’t you tell me what’s spoiling between you and Bo.”

 

“It’s nothing.” Looking down, she sorted through the phone messages in her hand. “Bo has to give up eventually.”

 

At the sound of Laura’s unladylike snort of laughter, she looked up. “Sure he does, honey. You just keep right on telling yourself that, and as…”

 

“Okay, maybe I’m being too optimistic.” Marlena barked out abruptly before once again regaining her composure. “But honestly I don’t care.” Wadding up Bo’s messages she pitched them into the trashcan beside her desk. “I don’t want to speak with him right now and I’m not going to be bullied into having yet another fruitless conversation just because he’s persistent. I’ve got news for Bo Brady, I can be just as stubborn as he is…more so if need be.”

 

Leaning forward, an uncustomary frown marred Laura’s face. “Marlena, you’re smarter than this. You don’t really think avoiding him will solve anything, do you?”

 

Suddenly, sounding very tired and small, she answered. “I don’t know, Laura, probably not. But you know Bo as well as I do…. Do you really think talking to him would actually change anything?”

 

Laura negated the idea with a small shake of the head sent a stray auburn lock falling over her knowing eyes. “No, most likely it wouldn’t change a thing with Bo. But have you ever stopped to think that it might help you put the situation in perspective? Bo is not the only one that this is affecting and you know that. There’s a giant elephant in the room, pretending otherwise doesn’t make it so.”

 

Closing her eyes, Marlena massaged her aching temples as a weary sigh forced its way past her slightly parted lips. “Hhh…look, he’s just being a stubborn ass and I really don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

 

Laura raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine…but you know I wasn’t really talking about Bo.” For long moments Laura watched as Marlena sat closed eyed and tightly clenched fists resting atop her desk.

 

The strained and tenuous silence stretched painfully between them until finally Marlena opened clear, bright eyes that bore relentlessly through her friend. At last she spoke. “Laura, for the first time in more years than I care to count, I know exactly what I want. And I know exactly what I’m willing to risk. I know there’s a chance it’s going to come at a high price. I don’t’ have all the answers, and as crazy and out of character as it sounds for me I don’t need all the answers. I don’t know that I even want them. I’ve got John, and I’ve got my children and my job. And I’ve got everything as under control as I can possibly have it.” Sitting up a little straighter, Marlena forced the melancholy from her voice. “As far as I’m concerned, right now my biggest problem is not Bo Brady harassing Hillary and tying up the phone. Right now my biggest problem is the fact that it’s not even lunch time and I’m already a couple of hours behind schedule.” With a tiny grin painting over her lips, Marlena reached for the patient file on the corner of her desk and began to studiously flip through the pages. “And since I have plans tonight, what say we actually get a little work done, come to a consensus regarding the next step of Matt’s treatment. We can save the small talk for another time.”

 

Deciding to let the subject rest for now, Laura shook her head and smiled. “This is small talk? God, I’ve definitely got to get out more.” Marlena chuckled. “And plans, again?” Her voice piqued playfully. “I think I’m jealous. The only plans I have tonight is a date with Moonlighting and it’s probably yet another re-run….But okay, you win for now, though I’m not quite sure how you keep managing to wiggle out of these conversations.”

 

“I thought you knew.” Her mouth curled into a lazy Cheshire cat grin. “I’m good…. I’m very good.”

 

Without looking up from her notes, Laura shifted her eyes and baited, “Yes, but was John?” The sound of girlish giggling filtered out to interrupt Hillary’s latest, in a series of pointless one-sided conversations with Bo Brady. Biting back a groan of frustration, she thought not for the first time in recent weeks that if this situation continued to deteriorate that she was definitely due a raise or at the very least an extra week of vacation. It was then she saw him slip into the room—awkward and shy, a bouquet of wildflowers tightly clutched in his hand. Funny when she came to work in the psychiatry department, she’d expected a bit of a circus atmosphere at times. Foolish her, though, she’d expected it to be reserved for the patients…not the doctors’ personal lives. With a casual flick of the wrist, Hillary signaled that she’d be with him in just a minute and smiled at the slight blush that painted over John’s features in response.

 

As the lobby door again began to slip open, Hillary cut Bo off. “Look, not only do I have work I could be doing, but I also have someone coming in the office…” At the sight of Kimberly Brady slowly backing her way into the room mid-conversation, Hillary didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just what she needed, yet another Brady to deal with, still she refused to give Bo the satisfaction of continuing his diatribe. “Don’t worry. I’ll give Dr. Evans the message…just like I’ve given her all the other messages.” Pausing to listen to his response, John couldn’t help but notice the flash of anger that sparked to life behind the secretary’s stormy gray eyes. An ugly chuckle lodged in Hillary’s throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Again she paused. “Anyone ever tell you you’re more stubborn than you are bright?” This time she didn’t wait for a response as her voice soured. “But, okay, I’ll be sure to relay your message word for word, Bo.”  

 

Hillary dropped the phone back on the cradle with a disgusted thud and looked up only to be met by Kim’s curious grin. “Hi, Hillary, what’s my little brother up to now?”

 

Hillary’s eyes shifted uncomfortably around the room to rest briefly on John’s antsy form before finally finding home on the stack of files she still needed to finish putting away. “Umm, trust me. You don’t want to know.”

 

“Okay.” The word stretched out between them—half question, half statement. On second thought, Kim decided to let the subject drop without further comment and pasted on a sunny expression that never quite reached her eyes. “Hi, John, it’s nice to see you again. We’ve missed you and Marlena these last few weeks at Sunday dinner.”

 

Her voice held no hint of condemnation, only a pleasant air of open expectation. Not that it mattered. He felt the harsh sting of accusation even without her words. He knew they all believed that his presence was the cause for Marlena’s sudden distance. He didn’t begrudge them the idea. Hell, what would be the point in begrudging the truth. John grimaced; nervously brushed at the toboggan atop his head. “Umm…that’s probably my fault, I guess.” Clearly his reappearance had driven a wedge between Marlena and her family. It wasn’t the life he wanted for her; he felt completely paralyzed though. They were at a stalemate…. Marlena refused to accept anything less than him in her life, and he, as was usually the case, seemed powerless to deny her. Even worse, was his inability to see a way to smooth the tides between her and the Bradys and still try to be the man she needed him to be. Just as Kim was about the fill the awkward lull in the conversation, John quietly continued. “There’s just so much to catch up on. So much time passed; sometimes it’s hard to share her.” His voice petered off into silence.

 

The fine lines around Kim’s eyes seemed to soften as her smile grew warm. “Well, I can certainly understand that. Marlena is a very special woman. We Brady’s must be a little selfish too. We’ve had her all to ourselves for a while now. After Roman died, we all just seemed to become a little more attached. I guess sometimes we forget she’s got her own life to live.”

 

John swallowed hard. “You all are her life now.”

 

Kim shrugged as a dark enigmatic smile painted its way over her features. “Well, hopefully we’re still a small part of it—an echo of a life that once was and that continues to live in some small way inside the kids…, In the sounds of laughter during Saturday morning cartoons and in Eric’s cocky little smile that mirrors his daddy or in the often infuriating Brady temper that I can already see Sami has in spades.” For a brief moment, Kim lost herself in memory and in the teeming depths of John’s oceanic blue eyes until at last the pain became too jagged and real; forced her to return her attention to the matter that had originally brought her here. “Hillary, I know Marlena’s probably swamped today, but do you think she could spare a couple of minutes?  I really…”

 

The rest of Kim’s statement was swallowed up by the sound of the duo re-entering the outer office. Coming up short at the sight before her, Marlena’s voice trailed off the conversation with Laura all but forgotten. “Kim?” Catching the subtle movement out of the corner of her eye, Marlena turned and smiled brightly. “John! You’re going to spoil me.” Her voice practically danced with excitement as she eyed the flowers expectantly. Finally her patience could bear no more. “Are you trying to charm Hillary, or did you bring me flowers?”

 

John grinned playfully. “Well, I brought them for you…” He glanced over at the secretary with soft, sympathetic eyes. “But something tells me Hillary might need them more than you do.”

 

Laura’s loud boisterous laugh proved contagious as a muffled chorus of chuckles rang throughout the room.  Cutting her eyes sharply toward her best friend, Laura couldn’t resist. “If he only knew…tell me, John, were you eavesdropping earlier or are you just psychic?”

 

“Oh hush!” Marlena rolled her eyes. “I did not drive Hillary to tears.” Closing the gap between herself and John, Marlena brushed her hand across his chest and down his arm to claim her flowers. With a quick peck on the cheek, she thanked him.

 

At the feel of her hot, breathy whisper searing against his flesh and her soft blonde hair tickling against his skin, all concentration was engulfed in the dull roar building with each erratic heartbeat. “Umm, you’re welcome.”

 

With another quick brush of her lips over his jaw-line, her smile widened as she noted how the tips of his ears turned red. Turning she made her way back over to her secretary’s desk. “I think you are right, though…Hillary needs these flowers more than I do today.”

 

Before she had the opportunity to react, John interrupted. “It looks like you’re really busy today. I’m sorry…. I should have called before I just dropped in on you.”

 

Marlena’s mouth thinned into a barely visible, yet indulgent smile as she playfully scolded. “Don’t be ridiculous. I love when you surprise me.”

 

John smirked. “Oh really? Since when do you like surprises?”

 

Amused, Kim watched the byplay between the two of them as Marlena laughed guilty. “Now don’t go getting smart and making me eat my words. You know what I meant. Besides you’re always welcome here.” However, the grin that twitched at the corners of Kim’s mouth suddenly warred with the lump that was fast rising up in her throat at the intensity that suddenly flashed behind Marlena’s amber eyes as she whispered, “Always.” This was not simply a sweet, casual stroll down memory. The realization caused Kim to swallow hard and if only for a brief instant to feel inexplicably threatened. Forcing the sensation down, she shook the thought free with a subtle shake of the head. First love was always like this, but first loves were also almost without fail always fleeting. It was silly to feel like Roman’s place in Marlena’s heart was in jeopardy. Her sister-in-law just needed something to cling to and what could possibly be better or safer or more optimistic than reconnecting with a first love. Kim chided herself for being so selfish. This was good for Marlena. She was finally getting out of the house again. She was smiling and laughing again. There was nothing quite like a quick romance to rattle the bats in the belfry. Why begrudge her a little fun? Feeling John brush past her toward the door, Kim curiously refocused her attention on the closing strains of banter.

 

His voice was soft and apologetic but broached no return arguments from Marlena. “Well be that as it may, if we are going to have supper before midnight, I probably should get out of your hair and let your get some work done.” At the last second he darted toward her and brushed his lips gently over her cheek.

 

Bringing her hands up to frame his face, her fingers trailed lightly to remove his toboggan and run soothingly over the ugly scar once again obscured with shortly cropped hair. A deliberate put upon sigh gushed hotly past his bad ear—sending a coarse shiver down his spine. Abruptly she shoved him away and playfully rolled her eyes. “Work, work, work…but if you insist.”

 

John closed his eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. Still his voice seemed to tremble. “I insist.” The three women watched with varying degrees of amusement as he remained rooted in place gathering his wits about him, before again turning toward the door. As if sensing their scrutiny, he turned back toward the assembly and bowed ever so slightly, “Ladies.”

 

Marlena grinned and with an elegant flick of the wrist shooed him to the door. “You goon! Get out of here before I decide not to let you go.”

 

“You’re a fickle woman, Doc” Again John smirked—didn’t seem to notice the way Kim bristled. “And since I seem to be without gainful employment today, how about if I pick up something for us to make for supper tonight? Something fun, maybe, that the kids can help with?”

 

Marlena felt her expression soften at the sight of the tiny creases smiling around John’s brilliant blue eyes “You don’t mind?”

 

John’s eyebrow arched in confusion, “Of course, I don’t mind.”

 

Laura chuckled suddenly. “Okay, I don’t know whether to be jealous or disgusted. But I do know that you,” she turned toward Marlena, “are not going to get any work done standing around making goo-goo eyes at lover boy here,” hooking her thumb back in John’s direction. Marlena shot Laura a dirty look as John blushed sheepishly. Handing Hillary the folder she still held in her hand, Laura made her way over to John and linked her arm in the crook of his elbow. “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch in cafeteria and you can tell me all about Marlena’s wild impetuous teenage years.”

 

John looked a little startled as Laura began to gently tug him out into the hall. Looking over his shoulder at Marlena beseechingly, he was surprised when her only response to his unspoken plea was to shrug. Marlena wasn’t one to cow-tow to anyone’s wishes. This reticence made him curiously resigned. Just before he was pulled out of sight, he called out, “Umm…I’ll be over around 7:00 then?”

 

Marlena smiled brightly. “I’ll be waiting with bells on.”

 

“Kinky.”

 

Laura almost choked on her laughter as she continued to pull John down the hall to the sounds of Marlena’s sputtering reaction. “Kimberly Brady!”  

 

Torn between amusement and anxiety, Hillary listened to her floundering boss’s idle threats to tell her former mother-in-law that Kim was long overdue for a trip to confession and decided that if ever there was a time to skip out early for lunch it was now. Quietly, she interrupted. “Umm, excuse me Dr. Evans, but if you wouldn’t mind I need to leave for lunch a little early today.”

 

Pulling attention away from Kim’s innocent expression, Marlena smiled graciously. ”Of course,” pausing she glanced up at the clock, “in fact I don’t have any patients this afternoon—just a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and a couple of staff meetings. Why don’t you go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”

 

Hillary chewed her lip nervously, “Really?”

 

Marlena nodded. “Consider it hazard pay for putting up with such a grumpy boss.”

 

Kim chuckled. “Hey, and don’t forget your flowers.”

 

“Umm…I think I’ll just leave those here to brighten up the office.” Fidgeting with the strap of her purse she shuffled uncomfortably with the papers atop her desk.

 

Marlena’s brow furrowed expectantly, “Hillary, is something…” was interrupted by the thrusting of a pink message slip. Without meeting Dr. Evan’s questioning expression, Hillary made a harried escape with only a mumbled sorry as her good-bye. Marlena sighed quietly. It wasn’t like Hillary to be so lacking in social graces. Glancing down at the message, she suddenly understood the young woman’s unease and hasty retreat. For a brief moment in time, she stood frozen—reading and rereading the words before her as if trying to decipher some foreign language until finally the truth penetrated the haze surrounding her. She could feel the rage welling up inside her as her entire body began tremble.

 

Unsure exactly how a tiny slip of paper could so upset her sister-in-law so, Kim reached out a comforting hand towards her and was surprised when Marlena jerked out of reach and shakily walked into her office and shut the door without so much as a backwards glance. It was with a sudden, sickening realization that Kim remembered her entrance just a few short minutes ago. What on earth could her hot-heated little brother possibly have said to warrant such a violent reaction? Kim tried to quell the nauseous wave of dread that washed over her. Tentatively she knocked on the closed door, “Marlena?” The silence stretched out uncomfortably. Unsure exactly what to expect, Kim slipped just inside the door. She was surprised to find her strong sister-in-law sitting on the edge of the couch overcome by a rush of angry sobs as she sat with bowed head and tightly clenched fists. Several false starts later, Kim finally found the courage to make her approach. Kneeling down in front of her, at the last second she stopped, thought better of the gentle hand she’d intended to place over Marlena’s hands. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” The snap of fiery hazel eyes rising startled her, but it was the multitude of unspeakable emotions swimming there that caused Kim to lose her balance and fall flat on her backside. Kim whispered cautiously, “Marlena?”

 

Furiously, she swiped the tears streaming down her cheeks to gather at the corner of her mouth. “You want to know? You really want to know what’s wrong?” Marlena’s voice cracked with a strange mix of frantic outrage. Not waiting for a response, she un-wadded the message still clutched within her fist and thrust it into Kim’s unprepared grasp before standing abruptly and wearily making her way over to her desk. She refused to watch Kim read the message, refused to risk seeing the consensus of Brady opinion she might find. Instead she began to blindly riffle through drawers in search for a much needed bottle of aspirin.

 

Kim’s brows knitted together in confusion. She had to be reading this wrong. There just had to be some missing comma or misplaced modifier….something, anything…that would make this something other than what it clearly was. A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she searched her mind for the right words to say, but before she could even formulate the wrong words. Marlena started again, her voice cold and hard. “That, Kim, is what is wrong.” Kim watched the rigid set of her shoulders and the way her eyes never strayed from the lamp across the room. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t have it in me today to deal with you or the Brady family.” Her voice suddenly began to quiver. “I know they aren’t your words, and I know that you probably didn’t even come here today on a social visit, but I just can’t do whatever this is with you right now.” The tears had started again and still she stared off into the middle-distance. “If it’s business, take it to Laura…whatever it is I’ll do it…. Just go, please.” When she didn’t immediately move, Marlena’s shoulders sagged. “Kim, please don’t make me beg…or worse, call security.”

 

Carefully, Kim got to her feet and started toward the door. She said the only thing that she thought might possibly restore Marlena’s sense of comfort and security. “Do you want me to find John for you?”

 

Marlena balked at the suggestion. The desperation made her voice crack. “God, no! He can’t ever about this. If he knew, he’d try to do something stupid and noble like leave town. And I can’t bear that. I can’t ever bear that again. Promise me you won’t tell him, Kim.”

 

Kim nodded. Her gaze teemed with compassion. “I won’t tell him, Marlena. I didn’t mean to upset you any worse than you already are. I just thought he might be able to comfort you. I didn’t even stop to think about what this note might mean to him.” Blindly she reached back for the doorknob, left her with one final thought. “For what it’s worth, I don’t agree with Bo. I can’t say he’s wrong about John,” Marlena’s look turned black, “but only because I really don’t know him. You haven’t exactly given us that opportunity, and we certainly haven’t made it an easy proposition for you. I do know you though. I know you would never, never ever knowingly put your children at risk. And any fool with eyes can plainly see that John adores you. I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt you.” Tears welled up in Kim’s eyes as her voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper. “It’s the unintentional that terrifies me…. But I trust you Marlena. We all trust you.”

 

Try as she might, she couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into her voice. “I wish I could believe that, Kim.” Marlena forced a tired, empty smile across her lips. “But thank you for saying it all the same. Now at the risk of sounding rude, could we please talk about whatever you need later?”

 

“Sure, I’ll call Hillary tomorrow and schedule something at the end of the week.” Kim left with one goal in mind, finding Bo Brady and shaking some sense into him.

 

~~~

 

Bo anxiously ran his fingers through his beard. He tried to ignore the queasiness that had set up residence in the pit of his stomach. Ever since he’d left that last message for Marlena he’d been second-guessing the decision. Part of him hoped that her secretary had the good sense to edit out the jagged edges. Then again she’d seemed pretty fed up with the situation, it would be just like her to pass the note complete with all the piss and vinegar that he’d delivered it with. Another part of him was just so damn frustrated that he didn’t care. He just wanted a reaction. He just wanted her to quit avoiding him and listen to reason. At the loud unexpected ringing, Bo jumped as if momentarily startled. Taking a deep breath he answered the phone with his usual direct tone, “Brady Investigation.”

 

For a moment the line was silent, but before he could chalk it up to crank call and hang up, He heard her low, strained voice. “You’ve made your point, Bo. You really want to talk that bad; we’ll talk.” Bo swallowed hard and shifted the phone over to his other ear as his boots fell from the desk to the floor with a heavy thump. “But I am done having one-sided conversations. Since before you even laid eyes on John, you’ve been on the offensive…we’ve not shared a single conversation that hasn’t involved your trying to tear him down. You’ve gone behind my back and tried to enlist the aid of Abe and Shane. You even went so far as to go after John himself and prey upon his insecurities.” Marlena grasped the phone with white-knuckled fervor. “And all the while I’ve tried to be patient and hold my tongue and listen and take all your comments in the spirit of protectiveness that I assumed they were intended.” He could hear the fatigue seeping into her voice. “Well, now it’s your turn to listen…” Marlena paused, her voice momentarily growing soft. “I know I hurt you with my confession of ‘infidelity.’ It was crass and thoughtless and it was terribly disrespectful of your brother…”

 

Bo’s voice splintered across the phone line to break into her train of thought. “Can’t you even say his name anymore?”

 

Marlena sighed sadly, “Bo, I loved Roman. He made me happier than I ever thought I would be again. But I did not say anything to you that he did not already know. Roman knew about John. He knew that losing him almost destroyed me. Maybe I never shared with Roman my feelings for John in quite same language as I put it to you. But he still knew, and we struggled and fought until we found ways to deal with my pain and my guilt and his jealously and whole other myriad emotions that I have no intention of getting into with you because they are none of your business.” Her voice rose sharply. “None of this is any of your damn business!”  Hollow protests lodged deep within his throat, but she hardly noticed too caught up in trying to gain control her labored breathing. When at last Marlena spoke again her tone was dark and ominous. “You crossed a line today, Bo—a line you can’t ever cross back. I will tolerate your presence for Shawn and Caroline and the rest of the Brady family, but you are no longer welcome in my home or in my office. If you can’t say something nice, then I expect you to keep your mouth shut or to walk away. And know that if you follow through with your threat I will move heaven and hell and fight you tooth and nail till my last dying breath.” Bo really hadn’t meant what he said, not literally. He’d just been trying to jolt her back to the real world. It never occurred to him that she’d take his words at face value. He wanted to apologize, but was at a loss as to how to make her see that he wasn’t serious but the situation was and she couldn’t keep ignoring it.  And so the awkward silence continued to stretch until at last she sighed. “It doesn’t feel so good being on the other side of a tirade, does it?” She didn’t wait for a response—apparently it was a rhetorical question. “I’ve said my peace. You’ve been hounding me non-stop for almost two weeks. If you have something to say, I suggest you say it now because this is the last time we will be having this conversation.”

 

Tears lodged in his throat, caused Bo’s voice to escape a whispered croak. “I’m sorry.”

 

At first he thought she might have simply hung up on him, but as he strained his ears he heard the rather distinctive sound of a weepy woman blowing her nose and so he waited. “I know you are…but sorry is not enough this time. Good-bye, Bo.” He heard the phone clatter back onto the cradle, but still he sat motionless not even jarred as the busy sound began to reverberate in his ear.