Death Follows Its Own Paths – By Cordelia50

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
Emily Dickinson

2007

Slamming her eyes open, she brought her knees up and hugged her chest, desperately trying to shake off the nightmare. Alone in her bed, she tried to anchor herself in the pale October light of early morning. That was real. Her dream was not.

And why, she thought, did her mind torture her with John being brutally mowed down by a hit-and-run driver right in front of her eyes? Why did she experience the horror of running to him, prostrate and bloodied in the street?

Then an abrupt switch to an ICU where John lay, his head swathed in bandages, his life ebbing away because the injuries he’d sustained could not be countermanded by University Hospital’s doctors or his own iron will.

Marlena saw herself at his side, while behind her, family and friends sorrowfully looked on. She had to let him go, had to let him die. He was suffering too much, and it wasn’t right to keep him here for their sakes. She told him he could go, that she would meet him again in heaven, that he was and always would be the love of her life. She gave John the love and comfort he needed to release his failing grasp on life, and then she was without him.

Why? Why was she tormented with this ending of her love’s life? Why did it seem so real every time she dreamed it? And why did it come to her every October?

It had all begun in 1998, one year after Roman returned deathly ill. And after John, Hope, Stefano and Kristen ventured into the jungle to find an orchid needed as an ingredient for Roman’s cure.

Marlena, now fully awake, stretched and pulled herself upright with her feet touching the floor. The nightmare she knew so intimately had receded, as it always did. She shook herself, chasing it away completely and praying it would not play itself out again when she went to bed tonight.

The penthouse John bought for her in 1994, when she and baby Belle moved out of the house she’d shared with Roman, was no longer her home. She’d sold it and acquired a condo in mid-1998.

After all, the kids were all doing their own things. Brady and Belle were seldom home, even back then. They didn’t care whether they had a place to sleep in the penthouse or the condo. And these days, they had residences of their own.

It was Marlena who’d wanted a fresh start. Too many ghosts haunted the penthouse. There, she felt John’s presence in an eerie, sad way, and she had to escape from that.

This master bedroom had never had a “master” in it after Marlena bought it. Only she ever slept in its bed.

So, she was all the more perplexed about why this crazy dream about John being killed by a car kept hounding her here.

Shaking herself again, she started toward the bathroom. She’d get an early start on her work day. But she paused to pick up the photo on the bookshelf opposite the bed. Her one visible reminder in this room. The wedding picture of her and John in 1986, when they’d thought he was Roman. Both of them so young and happy. She, in her ‘80’s “Sputnik” headgear, as John had kiddingly called it once. He’d joked about having to keep his face clear of it so it wouldn’t put out his eye. Another photo of John alone rested on the mantel in the front room. She’d wanted a fresh start in this new home, but she couldn’t bear to completely leave him out.

As she performed her morning ablutions, Marlena recalled a conversation she’d had with Hope a few months after she’d moved in here. “Have you settled in?” Hope had asked, and Marlena had duly smiled and assured her yes. Hope persisted, “I guess it’s like starting your life over?”

Marlena replied a little icily, “No. Life keeps going. It’s just very different now.”

Poor Hope. Even now, Marlena regretted her pointed remark. She knew Hope blamed herself for what had happened. And since it wasn’t her fault, there was no way Marlena should have dug at her.

The problem was, simply, that John was dead. Had been since October 1997.

He’d died of some kind of insect bite. After he’d risked his life countless times in that hellish jungle and had found the orchid Roman needed to live, some kind of centipede or something had bitten him, and before Hope, Kristen, and Stefano could get him to a real hospital, he’d expired in that godforsaken jungle at a little emergency aid station with barely any medical supplies. Marlena had been able to speak with him on the radio, and she had heard his last words: “I love you, Marlena. Always have, always will.”

Every time Marlena recalled that last conversation, she teared up. Her utter helplessness, as she’d listened to him stop breathing after those words, had nearly driven her mad. She’d wanted to go to him. To see him. Perhaps if she had done so and had viewed his cold body…

No, it wouldn’t have made it any easier. or given her better closure. Her friends were right. It was better that she’d stayed in Salem. She’d tried to be strong for Brady and Belle (and Sami, Eric, and Carrie too). She’d gotten through the memorial, seething inside with repressed fury because the country he’d died in wouldn’t allow his body to be sent home. He had to be buried there — or they would cremate him and send the ashes if she’d rather. Marlena didn’t think John would want that, so she had chosen the burial, vowing that she would travel to his gravesite. But so far, she had not. Something or other had always intervened to keep her from taking that trip.

And now a whole decade had marched by. Ten years without John in her life. The hollowness, the pervading sadness always lurked in the background.

Of course, she had her children. She had her friends. And she had Roman.

Before John died — while he and the other three with him were battling all manner of obstacles to get the cure for Roman — Marlena, at home with Roman, had seriously wavered. When John insisted on going to the jungle, she opposed it, fearing for him and telling him with absolute conviction that he was the one she loved and wanted to marry. No question. But while John saved Hope repeatedly — and she, him — on their quest, Marlena had only Roman nearby. And her feelings began to shift, to waver. So much so that she consented to remarry Roman! And in fact, she was about to do just that when she got the fateful call and spoke to John for the last time.

Now, some people might have said, “Remarry Roman then. John is gone. You love Roman — not like you loved (love) John — but you do, and once you had a good marriage. You could again.”

But John’s death wrenched Marlena back into sharp reality. She loathed her near betrayal of John. She grieved not only because John really wasn’t coming back, but because if he had come back, she might have worn Roman’s ring on her finger again. The pain that she would have caused him if she had done that…

So, John’s death became the catalyst for truth time. Of course she backed out of the wedding ceremony at the time John died. And as soon as Hope, Stefano, and Kristen returned with the cure, and Roman was on his way to health again, Marlena told him that she could not marry him, now or ever.

“I’m so sorry I misled you, Roman. I truly believed it would give you a reason to live. But although I do love you, I’m not in love with you. I’m in love with John. We were going to be wed when Kristen brought you back to Salem. And, although he’s gone, it wouldn’t be fair to either you or me for us to marry. It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t work.”

So, Roman had become just a friend. One of her best ones. But they had never tried to rekindle their romantic relationship again. Well, once or twice he had made an overture, but Marlena deftly and firmly shut those down.

Which wasn’t to imply that Marlena had been totally celibate these last ten years. No, two men had received her favors. Four years after John’s death, a good-looking, divorced fellow psychiatrist captured her attention at a medical conference. They went out for drinks and ultimately ended up in his hotel room. Marlena had enjoyed the encounter well enough, but the conference had ended the next morning, and neither she nor the man had felt any inclination to continue their liaison over the distance between Salem and Tampa.

Then thirteen months ago, at a Basic Black party given by Brady, a businessman named Dirk Winter started up a conversation with her. Strikingly bald, because he shaved what little hair he naturally had left, Dirk was easy to talk to. And, similarly to herself, he had lost his spouse, whom he had dearly loved, to brain cancer a few years back. They began dating, although his business travel kept him away a lot. Marlena stayed overnight at his corporate apartment a number of times. There was nothing incredible or striking about their physical relationship. It simply augmented their mutual enjoyment of being with someone who understood the loneliness they each still felt without their beloved mates. Seven weeks ago, Dirk had been transferred by his company to Milan, Italy. Again, the comfortable relationship had not survived the distance.

And what about Stefano after the crew came back from the jungle? Stefano, who claimed to “love” Marlena. He, whom John had broken out of jail to help search out Roman’s cure, did return with Hope and Kristen. But, he nearly instantly slipped away — out of the clutches and the jurisdictions of the law. The one positive note about that: Stefano had not bothered anyone in Salem since then, not even Marlena. Wherever he was, whatever plots he hatched, he aimed his nefariousness elsewhere and against other people.
_____________________________

Two days later, Marlena sat in her hospital office, pondering treatments for two new patients. But her mind couldn’t concentrate. She kept running back to the nightmare — which had plagued her again last night. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time, did that dream surface so much in October? Oh, she did experience it once in a while during other months of the year, but when October rolled around, it hit her the most. She dreaded going to sleep.

Finally giving up on completing her work, Marlena left the hospital. After a quick bite at the Pub, where she chatted with Roman for a while, Marlena decided to go to Pier 29 to try to calm herself. She wasn’t sure why she’d fallen into this pattern in the last few days because, honestly, it didn’t really soothe her. After all, the nightmare kept coming.

Not only that, but sometimes she felt a frisson of alarm. She thought someone might be watching her. A few other people strolled or stood on the pier. It wasn’t late at night, so she didn’t really feel in any danger. But still, the uneasy feeling persisted. Casually, Marlena turned herself in an arc to see if she could spy anyone who might be out of place. Nothing. This had happened more than once in the past week.

Marlena toyed with the idea of going to Abe and asking him whether something was going on that he hadn’t told her about. Had Stefano resurfaced after all these years? But she wasn’t ready to admit her feeling of being watched. She didn’t need him thinking her paranoid. Or, if he believed her, she didn’t want him to go into protective mode. Since John’s death, Abe thought it his duty to make sure no harm came to Marlena. Roman did too, of course, but recently Roman had been occupied with Kate.

Why did Marlena keep returning to the pier if she felt that disconcerting anonymous presence? Because she had shucked off the penthouse — a place John had frequented first as loyal friend (especially during the possession), as father to Belle and Brady, and, later, as her dearest, greatest lover again. When she sold it, the pain of John’s loss outweighed the solace she might later feel there. So, when she was in the mood to remember John, she could not wrap herself in him there anymore.

But this public pier was different. She could go there anytime and conjure in her mind events they’d shared right here. For instance, the memory of the aftermath of their first date in 1986 when John (this was before they thought he was Roman) laughingly kept describing everything as “great.” That always coaxed a smile from Marlena. Their epic reunion here when she returned to Salem in 1991 always permeated her mind when Marlena came here. The times they’d met and ended up in tangled, agonizing exchanges during and after their ill-fated affair admittedly brought forth less joy. But, with the “distance” of time, she could even approach those angsty meetings with a feeling of cherished reminiscence. John had loved her so intensely, so fiercely, so deeply, so sensitively. No one else had ever loved her the way he had.

She sat pensively for some time before rising from the bench and taking the stairs to the street. Walking home took about five minutes. As she strolled briskly, she continued to feel “eyes” on her, but when she turned around abruptly, not a soul could be seen.

___________________

She skipped the next night — Friday night — going directly home from the hospital to change her clothes and venture out again. She felt happy to the point of giddiness because she’d be enveloped in family at a dinner party at the Bradys.

Checking her phone afterward, she fielded a message from Abe, imploring her to call him whenever she heard it, no matter the time. So, she speed-dialed him, curious and a little wary about what his news might be.

“Abe, what’s going on?”

“Hi, Marlena. I wanted you to hear this from me.”

“What is it?”

“Stefano has been found and arrested on a small Greek island. He’d been living there the last six months under the alias Nikolaos Baros. He’s being sent back to prison here in our state. This time he’ll be sent to supermax, and he can rot there the rest of his life.”

“Oh my, Abe. Uh, did Victor have anything to do with finding Stefano in Greece?”

“I asked Shane the same thing. He said, ‘Not that we’re aware.’ “

“Well, Victor might not admit it if he had.”

“True.”

“Do they know what he’s been doing the last ten years?”

“Shane said he has been interrogated by the Greek authorities and by the ISA. But he said nothing except that he’s been minding his own business ever since he surreptitiously departed Salem in ‘97.”

“I’m sure he’s made quite a few lives miserable. But it is surprising that he left us alone all these years.”

“I know.” Abe paused. “Roman and I have talked about the strangeness of that. Stefano’s obsession with you, especially. I mean, with John gone, one would think Stefano would have redoubled his efforts to take you away with him. But thankfully, that never happened. And now, he’ll be unable to harm you or the Bradys even if he wants to.”

After she hung up the phone, Marlena said a short prayer, thanking God for Stefano’s capture. She thought perhaps she would sleep peacefully that night. If the watcher she’d felt outside was a DiMera minion, maybe he’d be called off.

_________________________________

But her hopes were dashed about a peaceful night. On Saturday, after another nightmare, she returned to the pier once more. It was lunchtime, and Marlena, even though she wasn’t especially hungry, forced herself to eat a light veggie wrap. The autumn river air was brisk and clean, and she breathed it in, hoping it would clear her head. Usually, being here at the noon hour, whether on weekdays or the weekend, would practically guarantee that someone she knew would wander by and engage her in catch-up convos. But today, for some reason, it was extraordinarily unpopulated here. And she welcomed that as she sat on a bench.

She also welcomed the undeniable feeling of relief because she did not sense anyone watching her. She decided she’d probably been right that he’d been called off after Stefano’s arrest.

Today, unlike the fateful night she’d stood on the stairs and called out to “Roman,” there was no fog. If there had been any this morning, it had burned off. So, she had a perfectly clear view of the wooden staircase if she turned her head that way. But she didn’t. She looked out at the river, at the boats, at the few men whiling away some hours fishing during less-than-peak hours further down at the next pier.

She lost herself in thought. She couldn’t comprehend why she kept having this nightmare about John dying in her arms after being mortally slammed by a hit-and-run driver. He was already dead! He couldn’t die twice. She didn’t live in the damned twilight zone. She shook her head in frustration.

As her head moved from side to side she caught sight of a form in the corner of her eye. Someone was standing to her right. Guess a friend has found me after all, flashed through her mind. Preparing herself for a friendly, probably trite, exchange, she turned her head fully toward the person.

And then she received the shock of her life.

He looked like a homeless man. Old, mismatched clothes, none too clean. A full, scraggly beard with considerable strands of silver in it. Hair apparently in need of cutting, but hidden under a raised hoodie. One hand was in the process of removing dark glasses which he didn’t need in October, while the other leaned on a crutch at his side, obviously aiding him in standing.

But Marlena would know him anywhere.

“John.” she gasped, shooting to her feet and facing him.

“Yeah, it’s me, Doc.” His deep voice spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

Marlena surged forward, propelling herself into him. His body, slighter than she remembered, had to reset his feet to keep him upright, and his left hand kept tight hold of the crutch, but his other arm which had opened in welcome tightened around her, holding her as close as he possibly could.

Against his chest, Marlena smelled the dirty clothes and dried perspiration. But even those sour smells couldn’t mask completely the unique, intoxicating aroma that was John’s. Many times she’d told him, “You smell so good.” And he did, even if he was filthy at the moment.

She couldn’t believe it. He was here! How could he be here?

They kept holding on to one another. Neither spoke.

Finally, she pulled her head away from his jacket and looked into his lean, haggard face.

His chapped lips came down on hers, and they kissed, each of them getting reacquainted with the other.

After what seemed timeless bliss, John swayed a bit, broke his mouth from hers and, after kissing her on the nose and each eyelid, he said, “We shouldn’t be standing out here. Can we go somewhere else where we won’t be seen?”

Trying to gather her frayed thoughts and her overflowing emotions, Marlena answered, “Ye- Yes. Of course. Come home with me. I don’t live in the penthouse anymore, but my condo is even closer, and no one else is there.”

As they slowly ascended the stairs, Marlena became aware of John’s labored gait. When they reached the top, she said, “I can go get the car and come back and pick you up.”

He shook his head. “How far is it? I can make it.”

She pointed. “It’s a couple of blocks that way.”

And he did make it, leaning heavily on his old crutch and with his free arm on her shoulder and hers around his middle.

No one she knew saw their progress down the avenues. When they reached her building, they took the elevator. and then it was only a few more steps to her front door.

Inside, Marlena helped John lower himself onto the couch, which, fortunately in this case, offered some support instead of fluff and air. He kept his bad leg stiffly out in front of him. Marlena put a pillow — also with some support — behind his back, and then said, “Water? Food? Something else to drink?”

“Water’s good for now.”

“A sandwich? Belle made me a sandwich-to-go of leftover roast beef last night, and it’s still in the fridge.”

“Okay. Thanks.” John said. He looked around uncomfortably. “Is Belle here?”

“No. She doesn’t live here anymore. I saw her last night at the Brady Pub. She usually calls before coming by.”

“Oh.’

“I’ll be right back.”

When she returned with the sandwich and water, John was fast asleep, his head slumped over on the couch back.

Putting the tray down, Marlena took a throw and gently draped it over him. Then she sat down in the opposing chair and just watched him sleep.

What in the world had happened to him? Where had he been all these years? And how could he even be alive?

About an hour later, John began to mutter in his sleep, his voice progressively getting louder. Finally, as he snapped clearly, “NO, NO,” he jerked awake. Trying to orient himself, he looked around in confusion.

Marlena went and sat beside him on the couch and touched his hand. “John? It’s okay. You’re with me. You’re in my condo. You’re safe. Everything’s fine.”

He looked at her, at first in puzzlement, and then with wonder. Marlena could almost see the pieces falling back into place for him.

“Marlena.” His face filled with love, his intense blue eyes smiling as much as his mouth did. He moved his head and laid it against hers. But then he abruptly pulled it away. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m pretty grimy.”

Marlena smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you eat, and then you can go into the bathroom and get cleaned up?”

He started on the sandwich and made short work of it, also drinking the water in what seemed like one long swallow.

She showed him to the downstairs bathroom which had a shower. When she was reminded of that, she said, “Maybe you’d rather take a bath than a shower? I’ll show you upstairs for that?”

He nodded and followed her slowly up the stairs. They went into Marlena’s bedroom, and John’s curiosity showed. He swiveled his head as they proceeded through it into the master bath. Marlena had made sure a very expansive tub with water jets for massage had been installed in that bathroom.

She said, “I can wash your clothes in the machine if you want. I can also go out and buy you some new ones if you’d prefer. It won’t take me long.”

John snorted amusingly. “New clothes would be good. Just buy some jeans and a tee shirt and a sweatshirt. Maybe another light jacket. If you would, please, that would be great.”

“Of course.” Marlena continued, “John, about your leg. What happened? Do you need immediate medical attention for it? Would you mind if I looked at it?

He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, giving a suppressed groan. “I broke my ankle a while back. It never healed properly.” He took off his worn work boots and holey socks and pulled up his pant leg to let her see the swollen, deformed ankle.

“Oh, John. You need to have that reset again.”

“Not now, Doc. I can’t.”

She decided she’d better not pursue it right this minute. She started the water running into the Jacuzzi tub and asked, “Need any help?”

John gave her a sly look. But he didn’t let go with any sexual innuendo. He shook his head a little shyly and replied, “Those clothes would be a godsend.”

“Right,” she said, but before she left the bathroom, she pointed toward the large medicine cabinet. “There are scissors and razors — even an electric one — in there. There’s even my girlie shaving cream if you want to use them.” She wondered if he would shave off his beard because its shagginess made him far less easy to identify.

“Thank you,” he replied noncommittally. He shuffled the step to her and leaned down to kiss her gently. “Thank you,” he said again looking meaningfully into her eyes. Then he took her lightly by the shoulders and pointed her at the door. Taking the hint, Marlena stepped out and closed it.

She made a rushed trip to the men’s casual wear store and bought all the items John mentioned and more, including a pair of running shoes, and the kind of underwear he’d worn back when. Since she had never before set foot in this store, she hoped that her mass purchases would not be cause for gossip or alarm. Since she paid with her credit card, they would know who she was, but perhaps the clerk would not think anything odd about it if she didn’t know much about Marlena. The clerk was about 18 years old, meaning she was eight when John ‘died.” She probably only cared about the fact that she’d made a large sale.

Returning home, Marlena had to make two trips from the car to the condo to bring in all her purchases. Taking some upstairs, she went to the bathroom and knocked on the door, saying, “I brought you some clothes.” She hoped John had not fallen asleep in the Jacuzzi tub.

“Come in.”

She did and placed the clothes on the counter. John was out of the tub, with a towel around his waist. He had obviously washed his hair and beard along with everything else. He stood in front of the mirror and was using the electric razor to trim and shape his beard.

Marlena noticed that John had moved a hamper so he could rest the knee of his bad leg on it and take the pressure off his ankle. And, yes, John had lost serious weight. She also noted with horror numerous marks and scars on his back, and in the mirror, on his chest and abdomen. Marks she knew hadn’t been there before. She couldn’t help herself; she reached out and lightly ran her hand over a few.

John turned toward her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about those.”

“You’ve been hurt.”

Looking into the mirror again, John replied, “I’ll tell you, Marlena. I promise. Let me finish up here, okay?”

Nodding, Marlena said, “I’m going to order pizza. I bet you’re still hungry. Just in case you’ve changed your tastes, tell me what toppings you want.”

John rattled off a few, and she left.

Twenty minutes later, John appeared downstairs. He wore the sweat shirt, sweat pants, and socks that Marlena had brought him. Seeing him, Marlena said, “Maybe you’d rather sit in that recliner. You can keep your foot up.”

“Thanks, but I sort of need something that keeps my leg up but doesn’t touch my ankle.”

“Done!” She moved to the recliner and pushed down the front section of the raised footrest, allowing his calf to rest on it but not his ankle.

“Perfect.” He settled gingerly in the seat.

She sat on the couch, and advised him that the pizza would be here in a few minutes. “Want a cold beer?”

“That sounds very good.”

When she came back with the longnecks, she said, “I want to hear everything, John. But I don’t want interruptions. So, let’s wait until after we eat, alright? In the meantime, I’ll catch you up on Brady and Belle.”

John listened raptly as she told him about his children. He laughed when he was supposed to, and made chiding sounds when those were appropriate, but all the while Marlena saw the abiding sadness in his eyes. It had happened again! When Roman came back after Marlena, John lost the family he’d loved — Marlena, Carrie, Eric, and Sami. Then, in 1997, he’d again lost his family — his “other” family: Marlena, Brady, and Belle. He’d missed ten years of their lives. And there was nothing that would bring all that back.

The pizza came, and they ate heartily, especially John. Marlena hoped he would put some muscle back on his own bones, and encouraged him not to leave a single slice.

After clearing the empty box and the plates away, Marlena settled herself again on the couch and looked at John expectantly.

“My turn, hmm?” he mused.

She nodded. “Please.”

“Before I launch into my story, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you seeing someone?” He hurried on. “I mean, it has been ten years. It would be entirely expected and reasonable if a woman as beautiful as you found someone else to share her life with. You deserve to be happy, Doc.”

Marlena held up her hand. “John. No, I’m not with anyone now.”

“What about Roman?”

“Roman is actually with Kate. They got married a couple years ago.”

“Kate Roberts and Roman? Huh.”

“John, please tell me what happened to you. We were sure you died of that poisonous bite. You and I talked a little over the radio connection and I heard your last breaths. Hope and Kristen and Stefano were there, and they insisted you died there.”

He sighed. “Okay, Doc, here goes. Hope undoubtedly thought I had died. My “death” looked very convincing, I guess. Whether Kristen thought so, I don’t know for sure. Stefano, on the other hand, knew I wasn’t dead.”

Marlena’s mouth dropped open. “He did? He came back here with Hope and Kristen, and…he’s the consummate actor, apparently, because I’d never have guessed in a million years he knew.”

“Yeah. He knew. He knew, Doc, because he was behind it.”

She stared at him. “How? Why?”

“All in good time. Let me tell it to you chronologically. After I talked to you and fell into the unconsciousness that I thought would be death too, I think I was kept in an unconscious state by the two-bit “doctor” who ran that medical station. But once Hope, Kristen, and Stefano left, I did wake up again. I couldn’t move — strapped to the gurney/bed I’d been in before. I couldn’t move because of the straps, not because of a paralyzing insect bite. I’m not even sure now that centipede ever bit me. Maybe Stefano jabbed me on the downlow. I really don’t know. I dropped into sleep again, and when I woke next (I’m not sure how much time passed), that low-life doctor came back and said he had orders to kill me for good. I tried with everything in me to convince him not to do it. But he injected me with something, and I felt an explosion of pain. It was like every nerve in my body was on fire. I thought I was a goner for sure that time, but I was thankful to black out because I just couldn’t stand the agony.”

Marlena had a look of horror on her beautiful face. “Oh my g — John! I’m so sorry you were left there alone! I should have gone! I wanted to, but was persuaded not to, and I let them persuade me. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. You couldn’t have done anything. If you had come to that medical station, they just would have moved me. You would never have seen me.”

He sighed and continued, “The next thing I remember — now I remember it — was waking up again, still in some of the nerve pain, but not as much by far. I was in a completely dark place. I couldn’t see a thing. I listened for a long time, trying to hear anyone who might be there with me. But not a sound. I tried to pull out of my bonds, but I couldn’t. I was dehydrated and starving, and I could feel I hadn’t used a proper bathroom in a long time. I feared I’d been left there. That no one would ever be back. That I’d die there tied up and incapable of saving myself.

“After a while I decided to throw caution to the winds, and I yelled my head off until hoarseness stopped me, hoping someone would hear me — someone besides that sadistic doctor. But no one came. The hunger pangs were getting to me big time so I decided to try to get to sleep again if I could, and I finally did.”

Marlena looked at John, tears in her eyes. He gave her a small smile. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you all the details.”

“No! John, I want to hear. I want to know exactly what you went through.”

“Well, the next thing I remember is being in a rigid metal chair. Metal straps kept my legs, arms and neck immobile. I couldn’t see anything of my surroundings because I had on some kind of visor, some kind of virtual reality thing. I couldn’t move. I have no idea where that was, and I’m not sure how I got there. I wasn’t hungry anymore — due to intravenous feeding, I believe. It was, I’m now sure, another method of brainwashing me. I can’t remember much of what happened there.

The next chapter of my life took place on one of Stefano’s islands. I have no idea which one. I’d been thoroughly brainwashed and didn’t remember anything about Salem, you, the kids, etc. But I still had a stubborn streak and refused to do some of the things Stefano ordered me to do. I was not the reliable Pawn Stefano expected. So, I got punished in all kinds of ways that I’m not going to itemize. That’s how I got most of those marks on my back.. and other places on my body.

“Interestingly, though, Stefano actually grew tired of torturing me. He finally decided to send me to one of his more “legitimate” enterprises in Eastern Europe. He’d just bought it. He ordered me to turn him a profit there within a year, even though the business had never had anything but losses no matter who owned it. So I, now called by a still different name, and another of Stefano’s men — who was there to make sure I didn’t rabbit — tried to turn this gold mining operation around. And this is the first time since 1997 that I’m sure of the date. We — Gregor Rozenoy (who also spoke many Slavic languages) and I — arrived there March 6, 2001. So, you can see that quite a lot of time had passed.”

“So, you believe that from October 1997 until March 2001, you were either being held in dungeons, brainwashed or tortured by Stefano?”

“Who knows? Maybe other things occurred. Maybe I did do some of his evil biddings during that time. I only remember bits and pieces, I’m afraid.”

“The ISA, to my knowledge, never attributed any crimes to you. I mean, there wasn’t any video footage of you, or any other evidence.”

“Well I was supposed to be dead. They might not have been looking for it. But I see your point. And I don’t recall doing anything heinous. But, as I said, I don’t remember all that much about that time.

“Anyway, I and the locals were able to make a modest profit for Stefano. When that year was up, he sent me (and my guard/sidekick) to another failing company he wanted turned around, and the employees there eeked out the slimmest of profit margins for the evil boss.

“In 2003, I finally returned to the U.S. Stefano sent me to a cattle ranch in Wyoming where the bottom line also needed a huge helping hand. I assumed the name Ben Whyte. And I stayed there managing that ranch, into this year. During part of that time Stefano stayed at the ranch too. He came and went, actually. He held “court” there, and lots of his people trooped in to give their “tribute” — reports, stolen goods, drugs, etc. I knew they came, and that they were up to no good.

“I might have gone to the authorities even though I knew the consequences. But I’d met a woman named Ellen Young. She worked at the ranch and studied law in her spare time. She’d had a husband and a son, but both died in a freak accident during a snowstorm. Even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea, we grew close. Actually it was really the worst idea, because she was another pressure point Stefano could use against me. If I had reported Stefano’s criminal dealings at the ranch, Stefano would probably have killed Ellen. No, make that, he would have killed her. I knew for a fact Stefano had killed several men who’d betrayed him, and I, in a very drugged state, had witnessed him having a man’s father shot execution style in front of his eyes before having him killed too.

“But my reticence, my refusal, to report Stefano didn’t save Ellen, ultimately. I’m not sure what he thought, but I am sure he ordered what happened.

“One day Ellen and I were driving along one of the endless Wyoming roads during a storm, returning with a load of supplies. Snow piled up, and we approached one of the few intersections. I slowed down because visibility was poor. I looked both ways and then started across the intersection. Bam! A big semi hit us, smashing into Ellen’s side of our truck with tremendous force. She was instantly killed, I learned later. Our truck flipped, and I blacked out.”

Marlena looked at him with wide eyes, shocked by this accident. His story just didn’t contain any good parts.

“Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. I had some broken ribs and a major concussion, but I was basically intact. They asked me who I was, and I didn’t know. My brains were pretty scrambled. They told me my name on my ID said ‘Ben Whyte’. I kept my doubts about that to myself. As I healed (and mourned Ellen) in the hospital and then a rehab center, my brain began to throw off the veneer of not only the Ben Whyte identity, but of Stefano’s brainwashing too. Well. The most recent brainwashing. Not the one he inflicted on me before I came to Salem in 1985. I started to have flashbacks of Salem. I “saw” little vignettes: you and me dancing, Belle’s birth, the exorcism in the penthouse (which really threw me off because I couldn’t for the life of me understand how I could be taking part in an exorcism), you and me on our wedding day in 1986, Tony yelling at Kristen and me, Maison Blanche, my brother Lawrence, you and me making love on the plane, Hope and Kristen and Stefano and me in the jungle, playing with the kids, Isabella just before she died, giving you the charm bracelet…”

“All that must have been very confusing.”

“It was. For years, I’d been doing these jobs for Stefano, no idea that a huge part of my life had been deliberately kept beyond my reach.”

“But, John, during those years, didn’t you ever worry or at least wonder why you didn’t know what had happened earlier in your life? You can’t have thought it was normal to be blank about thirty years of your life?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention…you see, this time when Stefano brainwashed me, he inserted a fake past. He told me my real name was John Barton and inserted some — what I presume are fake — memories of my ‘family’. Don’t ask me how he did that. The same way he put some of Roman’s memories into my brain perhaps. But if I thought about childhood, I could recall going fishing with my dad, talking to my mom in the kitchen, and I could recall a few school friends, etc. I even ‘remembered’ graduating from high school with my class.

“So, to answer your question. No, until that accident, I didn’t question my past.”

“But why did you think you had to work for Stefano?”

“Because that was also part of the brainwashing, Doc. He lasered into my brain that I was an escaped criminal — a terrorist — who, if caught by the authorities, would be sent to Gitmo or some black op site, never to be seen again. There was a false memory in my brain about me losing my mind in Vietnam, and when I returned home, taking part in an underground bombing attack.”

“Yet you seriously considered turning Stefano in, even though you thought you’d go to prison for life yourself?”

“As I mentioned, I didn’t do that then. And I can tell myself it was to protect Ellen, but it was also, let’s face it, to protect myself.”

“Okay, so what happened after your real memories started to flood your mind?”

“I kept it all to myself. Didn’t tell a soul. The new memories told me I went by the name ‘John Black’. Ironically, I first learned that from a recovered memory of Stefano calling me ‘John Black’ at Maison Blanche before you got there…and another image of me going into my Basic Black office — my name stenciled on the door.

“Quietly, I tried to find out the truth. Every chance I had I’d go to the nearest library and use their computers. I couldn’t chance using the ones at the ranch. At the library I looked up the information I thought I knew about early in my life, but nothing came up. I also tried to find out about the bombing I’d supposedly participated in, but couldn’t find anything even though I searched using both ‘John Barton’ and ‘John Black’. But when I input ‘John Black’, the connection with Salem became evident, and bingo, finally!”

Marlena smiled.

“I saw my face in the photos featured with articles mentioning John Black. I read about my ‘death’. I saw articles on Basic Black that included my name and photo. There were benefits I’d been involved with, and I even read a small article on the possession. That explained a few things. I read some other things about when I’d been a police commander. And also, a few stories about Stefano’s kidnappings that had my name attached too.

“All those items made me realize Stefano, in addition to being cruel and an international criminal, was a liar of the first order, and that he had been screwing with my life a long time.

“I also realized that nearly ten years ago, I had been ripped from my life in Salem. I realized I had children here. And that you were here. I remembered I’d gone on that quest to find the orchid to save Roman, and that you and I had pledged to be married when I returned from that quest. That promise we made to each other had kept me going through that ordeal to find the orchid.”

Marlena’s brain buzzed madly — Oh my gosh! What a terrible mistake I would have made if I’d married Roman.

“I also remembered our last conversation, and I knew probably everyone in Salem, including you, thought I was dead. That no one had ever searched for me — sorta the same way it was for Roman years before.”

“When all that became clear, my rage at Stefano knew no bounds. I wanted to simply take a rifle from the rack and go kill him. But I knew now too that Stefano — not I — was the wanted man. After all, I’d been the one who got him out of prison because he was the only one who could lead us to the orchid –”

“John, do you think Stefano might have set up the whole thing with Roman’s illness just so he could lure you down to the jungle?”

“I can’t prove it — at least not yet — but it seems highly likely.”

“But the odd thing is, Stefano has left us all alone here in Salem. He hasn’t tried anything since he escaped the authorities in 1997.”

“Mmm. There’s a reason for that.”

“There is? What?”

“Before I agreed to take Stefano with us to the jungle, I had a very private talk with him. After all, we were all embarking on an extremely dangerous quest, and, even if Stefano had not “killed” me, I might not have come back. I had to have some kind of fail-safe to keep him away from you and the Bradys if I failed to make it home.

“So I told him I’d made contracts with three former special forces guys and two special investigations guys. If I died or became hopelessly incapacitated, and Stefano in any way hurt or interfered with the lives of the people of Salem, these men would act for me. They would hunt him down and stop him. If they had to, they would kill him on the spot – painfully. Not only that, but I had a couple of them come to Salem while we were in the jungle to make sure nothing happened during my absence. When I ‘died’ in the jungle, the contracts went into full force. Every year, a fund I set aside, pays each man a huge sum to keep being my agent.

“Of course, while I was so thoroughly brainwashed, I didn’t know about my contracts. And the men I hired didn’t know about my predicament. So they couldn’t and didn’t come help me.“

“But you’ve remembered now…”

“Yep. And they played their part to get Stefano arrested. But more about that later. I need to finish my story, Doc, because I’m getting tired.”

“John, it can wait until tomorrow, if you want. I’m sorry. I should have realized you need rest.”

“I’ll take you up on that if you don’t mind. My mind is getting fuzzy. Show me to the guest room. I hope you’ve got one ‘cause I could use a night in a real bed.” He carefully maneuvered to his feet

“I do have one. If you want to sleep there, that’s fine. But you are also welcome to sleep in my bed with me.”

He grinned at her. “Why, Doctor Evans, are you propositioning me?

Standing in front of John, Marlena made a face and gave his arm the lightest of slaps. “We’re probably both too tired for that. And, full disclosure and fair warning, I’ve been having a recurring nightmare, and sometimes I wake up abruptly.”

John’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry, Marlena. What’s it about? Do you recall it?”

“Oh, we shouldn’t go into that now. It can wait.”

Marlena busied herself turning off the lights, but not before John noticed the picture of himself on the mantle. He took it down and noted, “Boy, I looked so young in that picture.”

Standing beside him — an action she’d never thought she would do again — she touched the glass. “Yes. This is, as you can probably tell, one of my favorite pictures of you.” She teared up, and as he replaced the photo, she put her arms around him and held on. “I’ve missed you so much!” she cried.

John straightened himself so that he could lay her head against his throat, under his chin. He held her with his free hand and kept himself and her upright with his crutch. “I love you. Always have. Always will.”

Marlena cried harder at those words. “I love you too. So much! I didn’t get to say that to you because the radio connection was so bad.”

“I knew.” John’s eyes were blurred with tears too. “Shall we make the trek upstairs? Since it’s okay with you, I’ll give your bed a try. See how the mattress is.”

Giggling, Marlena moved with him to the stairs.

______________________________

Marlena lay in bed next to John. Over and over in her mind she constructed that sentence: “I am lying in bed next to JOHN.” It was just too much to fathom. He was here with her. He wasn’t dead.

It was earlier than Marlena usually woke. Well, she’d gone to bed earlier than usual last night too. Gone to bed WITH JOHN. She wasn’t the greatest morning person. But today, the excitement in her heart had apparently roused her.

Another plus? She hadn’t dreamed the dreaded nightmare last night.

Reviewing what John had told her yesterday, Marlena’s ebullient mood darkened. How could one human being (Stefano) treat another (John) with such inhumanity? Why? She thought back to Aremid and the woman in white. For a while they’d thought Stefano had first imprisoned and brainwashed John because he’d come to help her. Even if he had — and it didn’t seem enough of a reason to Marlena — what had continued to cause Stefano to hold such a vendetta against John that he had taken him again and then again! Was it really about herself, Marlena asked? Was Stefano’s obsession with her so consuming that he’d torture John and take him away from Salem? If so, then she thought Stefano would have come after her again once John was “dead” even if those special forces veterans came after him. But he hadn’t. The threat of those men had apparently been enough to deter him.

That was just more than she could understand. So, she turned again to another subject that she’d rather forget. Now that John had returned, she thought sooner or later one of their friends would spill the beans about how Marlena nearly married Roman while John was still in the jungle. She swallowed hard. Would he be so disappointed in her that he turned away? Would he think he couldn’t trust her? Would that mistake come between them? Part of her thought she should tell him herself. But the other part viewed that as a terrible notion…because, maybe, just maybe, it would never come up. Maybe no one would think it their place to tell him such a thing. And at times, what men didn’t know made situations better.

Propping her head up on her elbow she took in the sight of John sleeping. In the past she’d make fun of his snoring. But the truth was, even in the old days, he’d seldom snored. And right now, he certainly wasn’t. He breathed evenly in and out, and he seemed at peace. His bad ankle stuck out of the covers and she knew she needed to insist that he have that treated by an orthopedist. But his refusal yesterday signaled he wasn’t ready to let the town know he was alive. Marlena was sure he would tell her about that today.

She felt pangs of regret at seeing the gray in his beard and hair. Ten years had gone by without her being with him a single second. It was just intolerable.

She mused a bit about the woman, Ellen Young. She wondered if John had loved her. She supposed he had. After all, he had been with her for a while, a couple years at least, probably more. Marlena knew she had no reason to be jealous. John had only been with this Ellen because he’d had no memory of Salem and his life here. And besides, the poor woman was dead. Really dead.

Marlena gently laid her head next to his arm. Even after a long night’s sleep, he smelled so much better than he had yesterday when he’d looked like a homeless man. Well, maybe he had been homeless. He’d said he wanted to sleep in a real bed. Had he been sleeping on shelter cots or even on the street? Something else she hoped he would explain today.

Deciding she should get up, Marlena eased away from John and then carefully got out of bed. She showered and dressed and quietly went downstairs to start the coffee. But before she reached the staircase, she remembered about his new clothes. They were in the guestroom. Thinking he’d want to see them and choose what to wear, she brought them all in and laid them on her side of the bed. Her side of the bed. Something else that she never thought she would say or think again in relation to John.

A few minutes after she’d gone to the kitchen, she heard the shower turn on upstairs. And just a few minutes after that he limped into the room.

“Good morning,” she greeted, coming over and giving him a hug and accepting a kiss.

“Good morning to you. I slept like a baby. You?”

“I slept well too.”

“No nightmare?”

“No. Not last night.” She handed him a full mug and looked at him. “Do you have nightmares? I mean, I know you did from time to time in the old days. After everything that’s happened to you, do you now too?”

“Yeah. But not really often. I also get flashbacks. And those might be an argument for not sleeping in the same bed. I can swing my arms, kick my legs, and roll around. Would hate to give you a black eye or other bruises.”

“How did Ellen Young handle that — if I may ask?”

“It was pretty simple. We had two single beds. And when sleeping, we pulled them apart. Just like in the old ‘50’s sitcoms …Rob and Laura Petrie, Lucy and Ricky Ricardo…”

“Oh. Okay. That’s one way to attack the problem.”

“Mm hmm.”

After a light breakfast, and quick cleanup, they stayed seated at the little table in the kitchen.

“Thanks again for the clothes, Marlena. The grubby ones were all I had for quite a spell.”

Teasingly she said, “Oh you don’t need to thank me. I used the credit card that attaches to the Basic Black income account. That will be going back to you soon, so, in effect, you paid for the clothes yourself.”

“Good thinking, Doc.” John chuckled. He looked around the neat, well-organized kitchen idly. “Uh, so, you lived here long?”

“I moved in here, with Belle and Brady in 1998.” She studied the wall for a moment, not meeting John’s eyes. “I didn’t want to be in the penthouse anymore without you.”

John made a sympathetic sound.

“Now, the kids have moved out, and I’ve got TWO spare bedrooms. But one is the official guestroom and the other has ended up as a storeroom of sorts. Odds and ends of Brady’s and Belle’s, and some of my old clothes.” She paused, “There are also a few of your things packed up in there…”

He perked up. “Oh? Like what?”

“Baseball things. Your glove, Cubs cap, and that trusty bat of yours are in there somewhere. Also, your leather jackets that you kept even after you didn’t wear them anymore. And the awards and commendations you received as policeman, coach, executive, philanthropist. Some of your books too.”

“Wow. Guess I’ll have to take a look sometime.”

“Oh, and also — remember that belt you wore when you came to Salem — the one with the big Western buckle?”

He nodded.

“That’s there too.”

“Okay then. You know, in Wyoming, I looked every bit the Western rancher. A lot of men wear a beard or a mustache. I opted for a mustache. Wore a big ten-gallon hat, a sheepskin coat during winter. All except cowboy boots. I had enough of those pointy toes.”

Marlena grinned. “Brady kept your old cowboy boots, John.” After a moment she inquired, “Do you have any pictures of yourself at the ranch?”

“I’ve got a couple in my wallet. I stored more on my phone, but I had to ditch it. I concealed it where I might still be able to retrieve it, but, anyway…” he pulled out a very worn, very slim leather wallet and carefully handed her two photos. In one, he posed playfully, laughingly, with another, taller man. “That’s Guy Sigurdsson. More about him later.”

In the other, a woman leaned against John, her arms around his midriff. “And that’s Ellen.” Marlena saw a woman about John’s age, her hair an ash brown shade. Her features were not strikingly beautiful, but she radiated an inner strength and peace; and physically, she was definitely pretty and perky. John, his cowboy hat flicked back, and clearly sporting a Marlboro man moustache, protectively draped an arm over her shoulders. They both grinned at the camera.

“She seems like a very lovely woman, John.”

“She was, Doc. I think in other circumstances, you and she might have been good friends.”

When she offered him back the photos, he tucked them into the billfold again. “Well” he said, “Now you know what the one lady who meant something to me these last ten years looked like. What about you? Did you meet anyone special?”

“Not special. But there were two. One I met at a conference six years ago, and when the conference concluded, he went home to Tampa, and we never talked again. The other, I dated on and off for a few months recently. He transferred to Europe, and that ended that too. No one who came close to who you found. I’m glad she was in your life, and I’m so sorry she died.”

“Thank you.” But John steered the conversation back to Marlena. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you and Roman aren’t together.”

“You are? Why” She was nonplussed at his statement, and her face showed it.

“Because, Marlena,” John looked away, “You were going to marry him. You decided to while we were in the jungle.”

Oh, Lord, Marlena thought, he knows! How could he know that?”

Apparently John read her mind, “Yeah, I knew. Recall I said I’d sent two of my operatives to Salem to keep an eye on things? Now, mind you, I didn’t give them orders to keep an eye directly on you. But they had cover jobs that allowed them to hear things. And they observed deliveries being made (sometimes they would check them to make certain they were okay). One of them contacted me via my satellite phone — the one that wasn’t working when I last talked to you — and told me.”

“John –”

He held up a hand. “It’s okay. Wait a second. Let me finish, please. He told me I should get home right away. Or talk to you on the phone. And, believe me, I thought about doing both. My level of frustration boiled — although I managed to keep it to myself. I did NOT want to come home to find you married again to him –”

“John, I’m so sorry!” She reached out for his hand and spoke in a rush. “I didn’t mean to betray you, really I didn’t! I was just emotionally weakened, and faced with what was right in front of me. So I wavered. I saw Roman so sick every day, and we didn’t know whether you would really find the orchid. I feared that Roman would die any day, I really did. So, when he asked me to marry him, I agreed because it was his dying wish. We really thought that. I thought so, and he did too. I wanted to grant him that last desire. I thought it would be a very short marriage.”

“I understand that. But what would you have done if you had married him and we had all come home with the cure? Then Roman would have been well, and you would have been his wife again.”

Marlena saw that John wasn’t angry. He was simply asking a very logical question. She dropped her head in defeat. “You ask a very rational question, honey. The problem is that I wasn’t thinking rationally. I was just operating on emotion — and, still, on guilt. When it came to Roman, I still felt that so keenly sometimes.

“Still guilt because of our affair?”

“That, yes, but not just that. Guilt because I had let you take his place. Because I had convinced myself, and you and others, that you were really Roman.”

“I don’t think Roman blames you for that, does he? Did he ever? It wasn’t your fault. It was another manipulation by Stefano DiMera, and we all were persuaded, not just you, Doc. And it caused us all immeasurable pain — you maybe most of all.”

“The point is, I did agree to marry Roman. And when I did, I wasn’t thinking about what you just said. I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if you came back with the cure in time, and Roman recovered. I just saw him edging closer to death every day, and my tunnel mentality wouldn’t let me think any further.

“But when that terrible call came, and I heard you were dying, my whole orientation changed. Listening so helplessly to your last words and –” she started to choke up with emotion and struggled with her words, “your labored breathing as it faded out and stopped completely, I wasn’t thinking of Roman at all. Just you. When Hope confirmed you had died — and how truly strange it is to be saying that to you! — of course, I called off the wedding. And when things had calmed down just a little, and Roman was well, I told him the truth: that I had always loved you — been in love with you — since I’d met you, and I couldn’t marry him.”

John pulled himself to his feet and Marlena did the same. He came to her and took her in his arms, holding her tightly and, for a while, they were silent.

Then he spoke, “When I was convinced of the imminence of my death, and said those last words to you, I decided not to mention what I knew. One, because I didn’t have the strength for it, but two, because I thought since I couldn’t come back to you, maybe you and Roman should be married again. I honestly thought you would be. And I was at peace with that when I ‘died’.”

Marlena pulled away enough so she could look into his eyes. “You were? Oh, John, thank you for being such a kind man! For loving me so much and so unconditionally. You don’t know how much of a lingering burden that lifts from my heart. I never wanted to be untrue to you. I know the situation with Roman always caused you so much heartache. I’m so sorry for all the times I pushed you away and insisted my heart belonged to him. I was following convention and worrying about what judgment others, including the children, would pass. It was wrong of me. I should have fought for our love.”

John pulled her close again. “You were in an untenable position, Marlena. And it’s high time we closed that sad chapter for good. In a way, I’m sorry that you’ve been alone so much. But perhaps we will be able to remedy that.” He kissed her, first tentatively and softly, then with more passion.

When they broke the kiss, Marlena asked, “Come upstairs with me?” She reached up and gently stroked his bearded face.

His eyes filled with love, he nodded and they moved arm in arm.

____________________________

Sprawled crossways on the bed, still partially entwined, their glowing faces reflected the wholeness, the completeness they both felt. Lightly caressing John’s chest, Marlena slowly came back down to earth. She felt ridges of some of the scars that had been inflicted on him, and she could feel his ribs much more than she had ten years ago. She was also very aware of his ankle; John had very guardedly kept it from physical contact with her or the bed, limiting his motions somewhat. These physical signs reminded her that the John here with her had been through a long and terribly harrowing ordeal. Despite those reminders, and the fact that even his buttocks and groin bore some scars, his abilities as a lover remained as potent as ever. Their lovemaking had been sweet and slow, powerful and enthralling, allowing them both to finally savor being reunited in that most intimate embrace. No other man Marlena had slept with had ever been able to love her and entrance her like John did. Chemistry mattered, and they had it in spades.

Kissing him where his shoulder met his neck, Marlena said dreamily, “I missed you so much, Sailor. I missed your making love to me the way you do. It’s always incredible between us.”

Gathering her closer against his body, John kissed her nose (reminding Marlena of the first time in 1986 he’d told her he loved that part of her). “I love you, baby. So much. You are home to me, and I’ve been gone so long,” he said wistfully, sadness hollowing out his voice.

“But you’re here now, honey. Never leave me again. I won’t let you.”

John didn’t reply. At first Marlena thought he might have fallen asleep, but when she raised herself on her elbow and looked at him, his sharp blue eyes met hers. She decided on a different approach.

“And that brings up the question, John, of when you’ll be ready to announce to everyone else that you’re alive?”

His expression turned somber. “In order to answer that, Doc, I should return to my story. As I tell it, you’ll get the answer.”

“Okay! I want to hear every bit of it. But first, I think we should take a shower and then have lunch. You need more nourishment, Mr. Black,” she insisted with a smile as she gently poked his too evident rib cage.”

And that’s what they did. But they didn’t shower together because of John’s ankle. In fact, Marlena set a plastic stool into the shower so John could sit down to wash. She offered to do the washing herself, but he just threw a dry sponge at her. “Out, woman,” he said laughingly, “I can do this myself.” So, she used the shower in the other bathroom upstairs, and in no time they were both back downstairs eating heaping bowls of Andersen’s split pea soup and thick slices of French bread with butter. Well, he ate the bread and butter with the soup. She stuck to a smaller helping of soup only.

“Mmm. This is good. Where did the bread come from? It tastes freshly baked but you didn’t go anywhere today…”

She admitted it had been in the freezer yesterday. “I just defrosted it and then put it in the oven for a few minutes just now.” She was overjoyed to see him eating so heartily.

As they were finishing up, the doorbell rang.

John tensed. “You expecting anyone?”

Shaking her head, Marlena replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them.” She hurried into the front room, scanning it quickly as she crossed it to make sure no telltale signs of John — such as men’s clothing — lay around.

As she always did, she looked at the little screen that revealed her caller. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of the kids because they would have walked around the condo freely. No, it was Hope. Marlena had no idea why Hope was here, but she decided she wouldn’t pretend not to be home. “Hi, Hope,” she said with a smile as she opened the door…but stood in it.

“Hi, Marlena. Sorry to just drop by, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m just fine.” At this point she let Hope in and closed the door, but they didn’t sit down. “Why do you ask?”

“Bo said, with Stefano being captured, there was some activity going on. In Chicago, an FBI agent and a deputy from the U.S. Marshals Service were just killed. A car they were traveling in got hosed with bullets in a drive-by shooting. According to Shane and Abe, it’s highly likely that one of Stefano’s henchmen orchestrated it in retaliation for Stefano’s apprehension. They were worried that someone might take this opportunity to try to harm you. I told them, I’d check in with you.”

“Thank you, Hope. I really appreciate that. But, no, I’m fine. And no one has tried to break in or lure me out or anything like that.”

“Okay, good. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Actually, you did. Sorry. I’m in the middle of something important. But I promise to be vigilant and on my guard about any threats. And thank you so much for coming over here to let me know.”

“You’re welcome. Stay safe.” They hugged, and with that, Hope departed.

Waiting a few moments, Marlena moved to check the little camera by the door again to make sure Hope was gone. She could manipulate it so it showed her the entire hallway. Returning to the kitchen, Marlena found it empty. She called, “John?”

“Up here,” he answered immediately.

She found him changing back into his shabby clothes — which had been washed after all instead of just being thrown away.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a little alarmed.

Looking straight at her, John said, “Doc, I’ve got to go.”

“What? Why? Where? This is about what Hope said?”

Now dressed, he hobbled over to her and held her shoulders lightly. “Yes. Remember that picture of the man — Guy Sigurdsson?”

“Yes,’ she nodded.

John sat them both on the end of the bed. “I’ve only got time for the reader’s digest version of the rest of my story now. Here goes.

“Guy was, I thought when I arrived at the ranch, just a man who’d needed a job and had landed there. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. His employment record, like a lot of others at the ranch, had been wiped from the computer when I arrived, and when we tried to reconstruct them, who knows who told the truth and who didn’t.

“I never witnessed him having any direct contact with Stefano. But he was a cowhand through and through. He was the wrangler at the ranch — the fellow who takes care of the horses. He and I seemed to hit it off. We became pals, and we would shoot the breeze and drink beer, sometimes with shots. That was all before I realized I wasn’t really John Barton.

Once I’d put together who I was and what Stefano had done to me, I decided to escape the ranch and my watchdogs. This took place a little less than seven months ago. Making some preparations, I took one of Stefano’s lackeys along because I couldn’t drive out of the ranch by myself without raising alarms. Once we got to town, I got the drop on him and trussed him up and stashed him in a supply closet where he wouldn’t be found for a while. Then I took off. Not in the ranch truck but in a car I’d managed to buy second-hand without anyone at the ranch knowing. My planned destination: Cheyenne, about 150 miles away. But to get to the car, I had to walk a few blocks and, damn if I didn’t run into Guy. He lurched out of a saloon, and before I could keep out of his sight, he shouted at me. I told him I didn’t have time to talk, and I’d catch him later. But he started following me down the street. He knew I’d left the ranch with Handy (that’s what we called the other cowpoke), and asked where he was. I just kept walking and said again I’d see him later.

“That’s when I found out my pal Guy was just another DiMera henchman. As you saw from the picture, he’s a big man. He grabbed me and shoved me into an alley and pulled a gun on me. He wasn’t really drunk. He said “the boss” knew something was up with me, and he’d been sent to make sure I didn’t do anything crazy. I tried to talk him down, but he was determined to take me back. So, I found my moment and made a grab for the gun. We scuffled, and it discharged as we struggled for it. The shot hit Guy, not me. I disarmed him and tried to staunch the bleeding in his neck. I even grabbed his phone, and called 911 for him. He dropped into unconsciousness, and I waited with him until I heard the paramedics. Then I hid while they took him away. I didn’t know if he’d make it.

“There was nothing more I could do for him. I got the hell out of there and as far as I know no one saw me. I got to the car and hightailed it for Cheyenne where, by secret previous agreement (set up away from the ranch, of course), I met an FBI agent and a U.S. Marshals deputy –”

“You think they were the ones who were ambushed and killed?”

“Yes, that seems likely,” he said grimly. Then he continued, “I told them everything I knew. I told them about my own situation and also about the operation Stefano had going at the ranch. I also told them what they knew — that he was an escaped convict. I reminded them of what he’d done to become a convict in the first place. I also explained to them why I’d broken him out of jail back in 1997, and assured them they could get corroboration for it all.

“But because of Guy, not to mention Handy (who was found much sooner than I’d hoped), Stefano had plenty of warning that his Pawn, John Black, had spilled his guts to the Feds. Stefano got out of the country, and, as you know, he fled to Greece, and he wasn’t found and arrested until three days ago. When Stefano wants to, he can hide himself exceedingly well.

Then, I planned to go directly back to Salem. But the Feds insisted that until Stefano was captured, I couldn’t do that. They said I was a material witness, and I’d be in danger from Stefano’s men if I showed myself as John Black again. The marshal told me I had to go into witness protection until Stefano was apprehended. Very reluctantly I agreed. But I demanded to get in contact, finally, with my contracted team. I wanted those five men to help find Stefano and to protect you. I didn’t share all that with the Feds, however, because I knew they would refuse if I did. They wouldn’t want “mercenaries” or “vigilantes” to get involved. I, on the other hand, didn’t consider my team as either of those. I considered them security and as lawful bounty hunters. They let me make the call, and I explained the situation to my main contact as succinctly as I could — a lot more succinctly than I’m doing now — guess this isn’t the reader’s digest version after all.”

“So you were in witness protection the last six, seven months? How come you looked like a homeless man and had an untreated injury?”

“Both good questions, Doc. I wasn’t in witness protection that long. Guy Sigurdsson survived his gunshot wound, and as soon as he could, he swore out a warrant for my arrest, claiming I’d tried to murder him. He knew me only as Ben Whyte. When the Feds heard about this, they questioned me, and I told them, again, what happened. They accepted it, but Stefano apparently paid off someone higher up in the federal system, and I was ordered to go face the murder charge.”

“That’s crazy!” Marlena cried angrily.

John calmed her automatically with some soothing caresses. “You’re right. So, I bolted. I escaped. I didn’t have a chance to make any preparations this time. All I had were the clothes on my back, limited cash, and that was it. I hitchhiked out of Wyoming. In fact I got all the way to New Mexico. And I lived off the grid. I kept moving. I kept my eyes peeled for anyone who might cause me trouble — DiMera minions, law enforcement, anyone who might recognize me, etc. All the while, I waited for news that Stefano had been arrested again.”

“What about your men? Did they rendezvous with you?”

John shook his head. “I did keep in contact, but infrequently. I didn’t want them worrying about me. They were to find Stefano and ensure his arrest and extradition back to the U.S. And if not arrested, then otherwise rendered inoperative. And I had them check on you too.”

“I thought someone was watching me the last few days. Was that you? Or was that one of them?”

“Them. One of them anyway. He was to make sure you didn’t get any blowback from the arrest of DiMera. I wasn’t in Salem until yesterday, just before I let you see me on the pier.”

“Did your man find a way to clear the pier of its usual Saturday denizens? It was unusually empty yesterday.”

John chuckled. “Hmm. Maybe he did. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell.”

“John, how did you break your ankle?”

“I had another showdown with Guy Sigurdsson. He’d been turning over rocks all over the country looking for me — not just him, of course — but he was the one who got closest to nabbing me. Several times in the last few months, I saw him before he saw me, and I slipped away. But about six weeks ago, I stayed at a homeless camp in Louisville, Kentucky, and one night, as I lay half asleep, propped up against a corrugated metal wall, I vaguely detected a hulking shape. Suddenly something bashed my ankle. I felt a searing, blunt pain in it, and I nearly blacked out. I managed to pull myself up though, and I unsheathed the knife I habitually carried as a hobo. I swung it at the human shape, and then I stabbed at it. I must have slashed my attacker, because he gave a sharp cry and lunged away from me. I saw his face and knew it was Guy. But, by then, his assault and my defense woke others, and Guy ran away rather than deal with them.”

“What did he hit your ankle with?”

“One of the fire barrels in the camp. In August, they aren’t lit, but they’re still there, and he swiveled the one nearest me and slammed it into me hoping to knock me out so he could either kill me quietly…or maybe he wanted to take me to Stefano’s henchmen for a long, slow death. If he had smashed me in the head, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. But he only managed to break my ankle.”

“And you couldn’t go to a doctor then?”

“I went to a dodgy doctor, Doc. He didn’t have the proper equipment to set the ankle well or to do it without inflicting a lot of pain. He did his lousy job and did manage to put a cast on it so I could get around.”

“When was the cast supposed to come off?” she asked.

“It came off about a week ago, but that was my doing because the stupid thing was coming apart on me, and it hindered me rather than helped me. After it was off, I could see that the bones hadn’t knit together quite right. And then, just a few hours later, I had to run on it to escape, again, Guy and another one of Stefano’s men. After that, it got infected, and I had to find myself a crutch because I couldn’t walk on it otherwise. But I kept out of sight until I heard about Stefano’s arrest from one of my guys. He called me on that cell phone I mentioned I had — the one I hid. He later came and picked me up in a new location and brought me to Salem. When I knew you were alone on the pier, I had him drop me off there yesterday.”

“And now, you expect me to just wave and say good-bye again while you have him pick you up in front of this building? Is that what you’re going to say, John?”

“Sweetheart, listen, please…”

Marlena got up and rounded on him. “NO, John. Do not tell me that you are going out there again. There’s no reason. You’re safe here. Stefano is in prison. He must be back in Illinois and behind bars again by now. Let those men you hired work on keeping things secure and giving the law some help rounding up criminals like that treacherous Guy Sigurdsson. You’ve done enough. You’ve been through more, in fact, than anyone should ever have to go through in one lifetime.”

John bit his lip and ran his fingertips over his eyebrow. He sighed. “The situation isn’t safe yet. Not for me or you or any of our family and friends. The killing of the FBI agent and the marshal are my proof, Doc.”

“But what can you do about it? Being a homeless man for six months hasn’t gained you anything. You were on the run the whole time.”

“Yes, I was biding my time. But now, I can do something different, and I will.”

“What?”

I’m going to go to the media and tell the whole story to the world. I’m going to do it as John Black.”

Marlena eyed him skeptically. “Then why did you put on your raggedy clothes again?”

“Because before I tell the world my story, I need to catch Guy Sigurdsson. He’s going to help me corroborate all this. And to do that, I need to offer myself as the bait.”

“John! Please! This man tried to kill you several times. He’s not going to cooperate with you.”

“I believe he will,” John said quietly.

Greatly frustrated, Marlena snapped, “Since you’re not dead — thank God, — I consider you still my fiance, and that should give me some say in this. Don’t do it, John!”

He grinned at her. “We’re still engaged? YES! Now that’s what I love to hear, baby. You bet. I want us to be married. As soon as possible.” He sobered. “But I’ve got to do this first so we’ll be able to be husband and wife in peace.”

Hearing his implacable words, Marlena broke down in tears. Turning away from him, she tried to stop her pitiful sobbing, but she couldn’t.

John finally rose from the bed too and limped over to her. “Marlena,” he said softly, “What is it? There’s something else, isn’t there? What is it?”

Instead of speaking, Marlena just pivoted around and buried her face against his chest, still crying freely. John put his arms around her and held her, saying nothing further while the emotions pulsed through her. Finally, she sought to compose herself. She moved away, but only so she could snag a tissue from the box by the bed. She dried her face and blew her nose. Taking a deep breath, she said in a quivery voice, “Yes, there is something else.”

Remembering his leg, she sat down again and patted the bed beside her. He sat again too.

“I told you,” she began, “I’ve been having a nightmare.”

“Yes,”

“I’ve been having it for years, and it comes most often every October.”

“Since it recurs so often, you remember it?”

“”Oh, yes, It hardly changes at all. It’s the same every time with just a few slight differences. I mean, maybe the time of day may vary a little, or something on the car might change…”

“The car?”

“Yes. To put it simply, the dream depicts you and me out somewhere in Salem along a street. It’s night. It’s dark. The street doesn’t have any moving traffic. After you say something, you start to cross the street. A dark-colored car comes out of nowhere and barrels into you. The speeder doesn’t stop. You’ve been injured very badly. We get you to the hospital, but there’s nothing that can be done. After you have a chance to say good-bye to all of us, you pass away. I’m right there with you when you do.”

As she was giving this rather dry summary of a horrible event, she started to cry again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” John put his arms around her, gently stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry you’ve been assaulted with that so many times. It is odd that the dream revolved around a death so very different from the one everyone thought I suffered ten years ago. And it’s certainly strange that you have this nightmare more often in October than in other months.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? It bothers me. I couldn’t figure out why I’d have such a nightmare since we thought you already dead. It made no sense then. But, here you are, not dead. So, now I have to really wonder whether there is a warning in it to be heeded.”

“A warning that this might happen?”

“Right. A warning that we should pay attention to.”

“But you don’t have any real idea when — if it were to happen — when it is supposed to occur.”

Marlena rolled her eyes. “I would suggest October since the nightmare comes to me more in this month than any other.

“We don’t know what year.” John said sensibly.

No, we don’t. I concede that. But there’s no reason to take chances.”

“Doc, I can’t live my life — we can’t live our life together — being afraid of something in a recurring nightmare. I’m not superstitious, and I’m not going stop walking down streets with you because of a dream — well, I won’t stop as soon as I’m openly John Black again.”

That started up fresh tears. Barely making herself understood, she blubbered, “You don’t know what a terribly heartbreaking situation that is. I’ve ‘lived’ it over and over. Hearing myself tell you good-bye, saying you can go! Oh, John, it’s even worse than what I had to hear over the phone when you ‘died’ in the jungle.”

John replied, “Okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you’ve had to experience that repeatedly. I hope the nightmare goes away. Is there some psychiatric method for banishing nightmares?”

“Not reliable ones. I’ve tried them.”

“Okay, then, I resolve not to step out into any street, whether it seems deserted or not, without looking both ways twice. And making sure I don’t hear any engines to boot.”

“Sniffling now, Marlena said, “That’s always a good resolution, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, in your nightmare, I look like regular John Black, and not like this homeless person, right?”

She nodded.

“Then, as long as I watch where I’m going, and I look like this, that bad dream and I are not in synch.”

“John! Please take this seriously.” She glared at him

“Alright. As I said, I will be extra careful when crossing a street. Promise.”

“If you are out there dodging Stefano’s assassins and thugs, you might not have the luxury.”

They looked at one another in a helpless standoff.

Finally, Marlena decided to change the subject. She pointed at his ankle. “You’ve got to have that properly set. If you don’t, the inflammation and infection there could get so bad that you might lose your foot, or even up to the knee. We can’t let that happen. And before you object that you can’t go to the hospital, I know exactly where we can go. I’m going with you.”

John adamantly shook his head no, but forty minutes later, he sat in the back seat of Marlena’s Lexus while she drove, and a burly ex-military man named Gus Moran rode shotgun next to her, just in case. Gus didn’t have much to say, but she managed to find out he was the one who’d been watching her, and the one who drove John to the pier. Twenty minutes later, the Lexus cruised down a side street into a seedier part of town, and she put the auto in park just a few feet from a building with a sign: “Free Clinic.” Marlena had already explained to John that an orthopedist she knew well at University Hospital gave of his free time and expertise here. “Dr. Jeet Patel is an excellent physician. And he knows how to keep confidences.

The trouble was, once Dr. Patel saw that poor, wounded ankle, he informed John, “I should put you under general anesthesia and do surgery to ensure the ankle will have full mobility when it’s fully healed. Also, I am worried about the inflammation. You should be monitored closely for a while. And you definitely shouldn’t walk on it — even with a cast on — for a few weeks.”

But the doctor finally ended up resetting it using a heavy local anesthetic. He put an extra strong cast on it, and gave John various medicines to fight infection and kill the pain he would feel when the anesthetic wore off. He made John promise to come back to him at University Hospital as soon as his situation allowed him to. Marlena gave her word to Jeet she would make sure he did. She thanked her friend and colleague profusely for his help.

Dr. Patel didn’t know he’d aided John Black. Marlena had just told him she’d met this man who obviously needed help, and she’d brought him here. She made a mental promise to herself to give Jeet a full explanation after John revealed himself to Salem.

Gus helped John back into the Lexus and they headed back to the condo. Gus finally made a stern speech to his employer, “John, you’re going to have to rest tonight. You’re full of painkillers, and you won’t be able to feel your lower leg until the local wears off. You’re no good out in the field right now. In fact, you’d be a big liability.”

Marlena was thankful for this seconding of the truth.

John reluctantly agreed. “But tomorrow,” he said thickly, “We’re going after Guy.”
___________________________

True to his word, John left early the next morning, despite Marlena’s pleas. Before he hobbled out the door, Marlena tried a different tack. “If you’re going, I should come with you. I can help you, John.”

“Oh, no.” John shook his head decisively. “Doc, you are the bravest woman on earth, I think, but this time it’s better if you stay here. Go about your normal routine. Go to work, treat your patients, see friends and the family. Just act as if nothing were out of the ordinary.”

“But it is already out of the ordinary for all of us. Stefano’s no longer at large. We know he’s a supermax inmate now. That’s what people will be talking about.”

He nodded. “And you should talk about it with them. Just don’t tell them anything that isn’t in the news.” As he spoke, he secreted a firearm, a knife, and a few other items on his person that Gus had given him. “Now, please try not to worry. My private security team has grown, and I’m leaving a number of them here to watch over you and everyone else dear to us.”

“Just make sure you have plenty of these ex-special forces members watching out for YOU,” Marlena said heatedly.

“They will. Now will you give me a kiss before I go?”

She closed the distance with him and they embraced. Their kiss lingered but it wasn’t combustible. It tasted to her of melancholy and deja vu. It reminded her of their parting kiss when he went to the jungle ten years ago.

Her heart pounded when the door closed after him. Was she making a colossal mistake letting him go so easily? Should she have done something drastic — like spike his coffee so he’d sleep for hours? No, such an act would be a violation of his free will, and she had to respect his decision in this matter. She just prayed that the actions he was about to take would not result in his really dying — like that agent and marshal had.

_________________________

The next few days Marlena felt as though she were constantly walking around in a dream. Oh, yes, she dreamed the hated nightmare again, but during the day, even though she did go about her regular routine, she felt she was stumbling around in a haze. Dead silence from John. She had no idea of his location or what he was doing. Finally, Wednesday evening, a news report pinned her attention and filled her with nervous jitters:

“Fallout continues from the recapture of the organized crime godfather, Stefano DiMera. This time, in New Orleans. A police press conference there earlier today featured two of DiMera’s senior associates, Dr. Wilhelm Rolf and Celeste Perrault. Both were delivered to police by several men who said they were making a citizen’s arrest and apparently presented a list with a myriad of charges against them and evidence to back up the charges. Police allowed Rolf and Perrault to make statements at the press conference in order to make pleas to others in DiMera’s international organization to stand down. In exchange for their cooperation, the district attorney and the state and federal authorities have agreed to reduced sentences for them.

“Rolf and Perrault addressed a list of people by name, including Serena Plass, Andre DiMera, Jesus and Guadalupe Hernandez, Stanley and Myra Gold, Philippe Gustine, Gregor Rozenoy, Robert “Handy” Lark, Benjamin Whyte, Guy Sigurdsson, and Kelly and Laurie Gallucci, urging them all to stop all criminal operations and violence, and to instead turn themselves in and help put an end to Stefano DiMera’s international crime syndicate in exchange for leniency from the courts for their own crimes. Perrault emphasized that both law enforcement agencies and private parties around the world were acting very quickly and forcefully to shut down the DiMera Empire. She warned, “If you value your life and don’t want to spend the rest of it in prison, turn yourselves in now and cooperate. Stefano DiMera no longer has power over you, and you don’t owe him loyalty.”

“Federal authorities believe Stefano DiMera agents carried out the drive-by killings of FBI agent Michael S. Higby and Deputy Louis Bright of the U.S. Marshal Service last weekend. DiMera criminal operatives are also suspected of arson in several locations around the world including in Louisiana, New York, and Wyoming. Authorities believe the fires are attempts to destroy records the DiMera syndicate kept. Police and federal authorities are cooperating with the ISA, CIA, and foreign governments to recover as much of this evidence as possible.”

Marlena had no doubt John had played a major part in the arrests and press conference in New Orleans, but she had doubts about it flushing out Guy. John’s alias on the list was probably for Sigurdsson’s benefit, she thought. She also wondered fleetingly who the Hernandez couple, and the other unfamiliar names were. Perhaps they were people John had encountered in the last ten years. Or perhaps they were associates of Rolf or Celeste.

Marlena talked with both Abe and Roman about the DiMera developments, but it was clear to her that neither of them knew yet about John’s being alive. She also wondered whether Shane knew, but she didn’t try to go around Abe to speak to him.

Thursday afternoon, a bombshell exploded. A media bombshell that is. Working on patient notes, Marlena kept the TV on low just in case. Now she turned it up as the newscaster reported:

“We interrupt this program to bring you a news conference that’s just begun in Cheyenne, Wyoming. FBI Special Agent in Charge Wilson Caldridge is expected to speak about breaking developments in the Stefano DiMera case.”

Marlena watched as Caldridge stepped up to the mic. He didn’t qualify as tall — perhaps 5’ 10” at most. His comb-over fluttered a little in the breeze as he stood behind a podium in front of the federal building there. But he laid out the facts with authority and brevity.

“The FBI and numerous other federal, international, and state agencies have apprehended many of Stefano DiMera’s crime gang in the last twenty-hour hours. Some of them have wisely turned themselves in. However, one of the syndicate’s members who is still on the loose is Guy Sigurdsson. And he is wanted for questioning in the killing of FBI Agent Mike Higby and U.S. Marshal Lou Bright. If anyone has seen this man (a picture of Sigurdsson was shown), please contact the FBI or your local police immediately.”

The SAC continued, “We also have an additional announcement to make. One of the men whom law enforcement has been searching for is named Ben Whyte. That was one of his names within the DiMera organization. He had other aliases. He (along with others) was not a willing participant. He was kidnapped and forced, by many inhuman means, to work for Stefano DiMera. He was suspected of a crime here in Wyoming, and he fled this jurisdiction months ago. But he returned today and all charges have been dropped against him…”

Marlena felt her heart skip with joy.

“…He is here now and without further ado, I will turn over the mic to him and let him tell you his own story.”

And from behind a phalanx of police John emerged. He’d ditched his homeless threads and changed into a clean pair of jeans; an open necked, collared white shirt; and a dark blue blazer. He’d also shaved his lean face clean, and neatly combed his thatch of hair. His ankle cast, of course, forced him to walk with a limp, but he needed no crutch or cane to lean upon. He still looked nearly POW-thin, but he stood tall and proud.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon. My name has been Ben Whyte for several years. However, the name I’m better known by is John Black, one-time CEO of Basic Black.”

There were gasps from the reporters and one shouted out, “But you died back in 1997!”

John chuckled dryly. “Yes, the old adage about rumors of my demise apply here.” He launched into another reader’s digest history of his last ten years, finishing with “I want to make a personal plea: Guy, come and turn yourself in. I think you were manipulated by DiMera too. The authorities will take that into account. And if you didn’t kill Agent Higby and Marshal Bright, if you have an alibi, say so. Then the hunt for the real killers can continue.”

The press conference ended. Marlena stared blankly at the now-shut-off TV. So, John had revealed himself to the world. Would he be coming home now? Her phone rang as if it had heard her question.

“Doc, did you see the press conference?”

“Yes! Oh, John. Are you all right? Are you safe there?”

“I’m fine. It’s been a little hairy, but I’m headed to Salem now. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

____________________________

Just after 10 pm, John arrived at the condo — in the clothes he’d worn at the press conference and again without walking aid. He and Marlena rushed into each other’s arms. Kissing and hugging, they couldn’t bear being apart. Glued to one another, they ascended the stairs and, after shedding clothes pell mell, fell into bed.

Of course, the earlier hours had been a madhouse for Marlena. The news spread like a typhoon. All forms of media trumpeted headlines about John Black’s reappearance. Brady and Belle; the Bradys including Sami, Eric, and Carrie; many friends; all excitedly either dropped by or called. He’s alive! They couldn’t contain their jubilation and amazement. They had to talk and speculate and wonder. They couldn’t wait to see him.

Since John hadn’t stated in the press conference where he would be going next, the kids and the rest of the happy cadre didn’t know he was on his way directly back to Salem, so Marlena persuaded them not to camp out at her condo. “Don’t worry,” her standard reply became, “when John surfaces here, I’m sure he will get in touch with each and every one of us.” She craved the short time she hoped to have him to herself, and selfish or not, she didn’t want to share him yet.

The night passed for the two lovers with the lion’s share of the hours spent again loving each other so intimately…getting to know each other again…savoring their exquisite physical reunion. But sleep also claimed them intermittently because John’s exhaustion from his undercover labors and Marlena’s unrelenting excitement that day forced their eyes closed.

Neither suffered nightmares.

When the bedside clock read 5:48 am, both of them lay snuggled together, awake again. Marlena gently traced John’s strong jaw, now sans beard but with a 24 hour shadow. She told him about the avalanche of people who’d reached out to her yesterday. “They want to see you so badly, and we really can’t or shouldn’t put them off. Especially the kids.”

“Believe me, I can’t wait to see them.” John paused though.

“What is it?” Marlena asked.

“Doc, it’s been ten years. I’m going to have to get to know Brady and Belle all over again. They’re out in the world, living their own lives now.” He sounded unsure and lost.

Marlena hugged his bony chest all the more. “Darling, you’ll connect with them again. They are over the moon with joy. I don’t know how many times in the last decade they’ve told me they wished they could talk to you just one more time. Now, they’ll have that and so much more. Don’t worry. They’re your children. They love you!

“And not just them. So many people in Salem besides us three mourned your loss and missed you terribly. Hope and Bo. Shawn and Caroline. Abe and Lexie. Jack and Jennifer. Roman and Kate. So many. And, of course, Carrie, Eric, and Sami.”

John chuffed, blowing lightly on Marlena’s hair. “Even Sami?”

Marlena laughed. “Yes! Even Sami. I know it’s hard to believe, but she has actually matured. One day I will never forget, she told me, ‘Mom, I know you miss John. I miss him too.’ I guess I had a look of surprise on my face because she looked a little uncomfortable, a little guilty. ‘Don’t tell Dad, but it hurt me when we found out John wasn’t our father. I hated that he wasn’t part of our lives anymore. When he and Isabella went to Italy with Brady, I thought he’d just forgotten all about me and Eric. And when he came back with just Brady, I felt conflicted. I wanted to be close to him again, but loyalty to Dad kept me from following through.’ I told her I knew the affair caused her to feel anger at both you and me. ‘Yeah, it did, Mom. But looking back, I think I felt that anger because our family had already endured so much upheaval, and I feared it would happen again.’ Which it did, I prompted her. She replied, ‘Yes. But if I hadn’t been so self-centered, I’d have noticed that it all stemmed from love. You loved Dad. But you also loved our other dad. And I did too. I just didn’t let myself love John in word and expression. And I should have. Because he let me know he always loved me.’ “

John beamed at the beautiful woman at his side. “Thanks for telling me that. I want to have a good relationship with Sami again. And with all the kids.”

“Will you tell me more about what happened these last few days?”

“I’m not sure there’s a lot to tell. My operatives and I moved down to New Orleans looking for Guy. I did put myself out there, but Guy didn’t fall into that trap. We managed to find both Dr. Rolf and Celeste and they did the press conference there. I also worked on getting the charges dropped against me still pending in Wyoming. Once I had convinced the authorities of my innocence, I flew up there, and you know the rest.”

Marlena couldn’t shake the feeling John had left out a lot, but she didn’t push.

Abruptly, Marlena’s phone sang into life, and reluctantly she reached over and pulled it off the nightstand. Just a scam call. But Marlena thumbed a text she hadn’t read yet. “Oops. Message from Belle from last night. She says she can’t find her new contacts case — with contacts in it. She asks if I would check the condo and the driveway. It might have fallen out of her purse when she came over.”

“Yeah? She used to lose things when she was little too. Guess she hasn’t outgrown that?”

Chuckling, Marlena nodded. “Right. We end up looking for things she’s lost fairly often.” She added, “She’s always upset when she loses something, and she probably wondered why I didn’t check and text back last night. So, let me get dressed quickly and take that look.”

“She must be asleep now,” John protested.

“Probably. But sometimes she gets a little obsessed with finding a lost item, and I’d rather not have her come by unannounced this morning.”

John dutifully got out of bed too. “Okay, then. I’ll help you look.”

They checked all the obvious places inside, and then, armed with flashlights, they ventured outside. The sun would not rise for another hour, and it was still, chilly, and dark.

After coming up empty on the driveway, John said, “Did she park in the driveway or on the street?”

“Not sure,” replied Marlena, preoccupied with checking beside a bush.

John, impeded still somewhat by his cast, limped out onto the deserted, quiet street and proceeded to shine his light onto the curb, its crevices, the pavement, etc.

Somewhere in the back of Marlena’s mind a little alarm started up. And with each passing fraction of a second, it stoked, until it screeched at her madly. She turned toward John and for a moment stood absolutely paralyzed as her numb mind tried to process the scene: John, in the street, and a car coming out of seeming nowhere and bearing down on him.

Horrified, as her nightmare unreeled before her, Marlena’s body produced a huge burst of adrenaline. She launched herself forward toward her still unsuspecting beloved. Charging into the street, she grabbed John’s arm and pulled with all her might, at the same time warning, “JOHN, WATCH OUT!”

As she literally hurled him back toward the curb, her body’s forward motion would not stop, and Marlena felt herself pitched directly into the path of the speeding car. Time slowed to a crawl, and the events of her life played like videos in her shocked mind. She resigned herself to the inevitable: being struck full force. This was it. This would be the end for her, not John.

However, John, now fully in crisis mode too, spun his own body’s momentum, latched onto Marlena’s wrist with an iron grip, and literally slingshotted her, with every ounce of his strength, toward safety.

Both of them crashed unceremoniously onto the grass beyond the sidewalk. And the would-be-killer car zoomed down the street, no brakes ever applied.

Marlena, the wind knocked out of her, couldn’t believe she hadn’t been crushed to a bloody pulp by that car. And her mind sang praises to God that John hadn’t been either.

“Are you okay, Doc?” John whispered, shaken.

“Yes, I think so,” she wheezed. She felt dizzy.

Just then, another auto drove up and stopped in front of them. The window slid down, and Gus Moran leaned over and said loudly, “If you’re both okay, I’m going after him.” Apparently he thought they didn’t need him because, without waiting for a response, he took off.

“Go,” John said, but he spoke only to fumes. He rolled over so his face hovered over Marlena’s. “Hey. You sure you didn’t break anything?”

She managed to experimentally wiggle everything. “Yes, I’m okay. How about you? What about your ankle?” She had regained control of her breathing, and she raised a hand to his stubbly face.

“I’m good. My cast didn’t break, and neither did I.” He stared at her intently, love and gratitude all over his features. “That was quick thinking and action. Thank you for paying attention when I didn’t. Thank you for saving me, Marlena.”

She chuffed at him, “So much for your promise to watch it in the street, Mister!” She lightly slapped his arm.

Then she said, with all the love and gratefulness in her, “Thank YOU for saving me. I thought I would be pulverized, truly.”

They both shakily raised themselves up so they were sitting on the grass. They didn’t make any moves yet to stand up. “That was your dream. Your recurring nightmare, wasn’t it?”

She shuddered. “Yes. That was it.” Marlena started crying, mostly from relief, but also from sheer terror, delayed. “If I hadn’t dreamt that horrible scenario so many times, I probably wouldn’t have recognized the danger in time. Oh, dear God. John, it was just like the nightmare. Except it wasn’t the darkness of night, but early morning instead.”

John put his arms around Marlena and held her close and comfortingly. “Well, thanks to you, we won’t have to say good-bye in the hospital, Doc. The actual scene may have started just like your dreadful dream, but your heroic action prevented it from playing out to the grisly end you had to cycle through so often. You’re amazing. You are my hero.” He kissed her face, letting the tears falling down her cheeks wet his lips.

“Oh, John. You’ve been through so much these last ten years. You’re the hero. You’re the one who persevered and overcame suffering and adversity. Your foresight kept Stefano away from us, even though you couldn’t prevent him from making your own life a living hell.

“I’ve just been here in Salem, living a comfortable life, even though it wasn’t a whole life because you weren’t here with me.”

“Hey, no. Don’t discount yourself. You raised the kids. You served your patients. You kept the homefires burning. I’m so grateful for that.”

They continued to sit silently for another minute or so. Marlena’s tears no longer ran. Then they unsteadily clambered to their feet and set their sights on the condo’s glass-doored entrance. Before they’d taken a single step, they heard an engine again and turned.

Gus Moran swerved his Pontiac against the curb. Another Pontiac pulled up across the street and idled, while two men in the front seat watched the proceedings. As John and Marlena came to meet him, Gus opened the trunk and roughly pulled out a man in handcuffs and ankle restraints. Jerking him around to the side of the car, Gus took another pair of handcuffs and secured his prisoner to the door handle. Gus said with satisfaction, “Got a present for you, John. He nearly ran you down, but I caught up with him, and Steve and Calvin and I managed to wedge him and force him to stop. Added bonus, we didn’t run into any cops while we all broke the speeding laws.”

“Thank you, Augustus.” John said earnestly. He also waved at the two across the street, and they gave a thumbs up to him.

“Well, Guy. It’s been a while.” John said, staring hard at his former friend. He obviously hadn’t let John’s three operatives take him without a fight. Drying blood and snot leaked from an obviously broken nose and his eyes looked puffy and would probably turn black and blue. Gus also looked as though he’d sustained a few blows, but with three against one, even though Guy stood about 6’4”, he really hadn’t had a chance of escaping.

Marlena remembered the photos of Guy. He’d looked like a cowboy Viking. Broad shouldered, muscled, long hair and beard, with a Stetson cockily on his head in the picture. She saw he had dyed his hair. It had been flaxen blond, but he now sported three-inch long hair a darker chestnut than John’s. He’d shaved off his beard too. A scar marred his neck — probably where he’d been shot in the struggle with John. Nothing western about his clothes either. Obviously, he had changed his appearance to evade LEOs.

Guy spat at John with all the contempt he could muster. “You son of a bitch,” he roared. “You brought it all down on top of us, just like Sampson. I wish to God I’d run you over.”

John, who had avoided spittle in the face, but not on his shirt front, snapped back, “Stefano is an evil man. He traffics in human beings, he plays with their lives, he kills for sport and for revenge. He had Ellen killed, I’m sure of it. You know what he was! How can you defend him? How can you want that to continue?”

“He was like a father to me. He was the only father I ever knew, in fact. He was good to me. He never hurt me as long as I did my jobs. The ranch was my home. I grew up there. I learned wrangling there.”

“But you MUST have known Stefano carried on all kinds of organized crime, and the ranch became a prime site for that, especially when he stayed on the premises. I admit I didn’t see you around Stefano. You fooled me, Guy. I thought you were just a really talented, senior ranch hand.”

“I WAS a ranch hand. That’s what I loved doing. But when you came to manage the place, and Stefano returned after years away, he ordered me to befriend you and keep an eye on you. He told me you’d cause trouble if you could. And you did. You brought the law down on us all. I didn’t want to shoot you in that alley. I just had to take you back to Stefano. But you nearly killed me! After everything came crashing down, I swore I’d find you and even up the score.”

“Did you kill the FBI agent and the U.S. Marshal, Guy? Was that you on a vengeance rampage when Stefano got arrested in Greece?”

“NO. I didn’t kill them. I don’t know who did, but my guess is it was the work of some of Stefano’s crack assassins.” He narrowed his eyes and spoke with added venom, “Maybe you were among them once. I never was.”

John felt as if he’d been smashed in the solar plexus with that accusation. He hoped to God he never had participated in anything so vile, but he couldn’t be certain. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the matter at hand. “You did nearly run us over though, Guy. No question about that. You’re going to jail. But I meant what I said at the press conference — if you heard that. If you are telling the truth and didn’t murder those agents, you can get a deal. Tell what you know, and you won’t spend much time in the slammer.”

Guy spat at John again. “Done talkin’ to you. Call the cops. Whatever. Just get out of my face.”

Until this moment, John had been so preoccupied with Guy that he hadn’t noticed the dawning of the sky. In the early morning light, they were causing a spectacle on the street. People looked out at them from windows. Some also stood outside on their own lawns craning their necks to check out the commotion on their block.

Gus said matter-of-factly, “The guys have called the police, John. Their ETA is about a minute.”

John gave Gus’ shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, Gus.” He still reeled inside from the bitter confrontation with Guy. He continued to hope his former friend would change his bitter stance and cooperate with law enforcement. And, he felt acutely aware that Marlena had been standing a few feet behind him the entire time. She’d heard it all.

___________________________

Half an hour later — 7:30 or so — John and Marlena sat drinking coffee in her kitchen. John had changed into a clean shirt.

Between them on the table sat Belle’s missing contact case. On their way back in, Marlena spied it lying against the back of one of the stoops leading up to the condo building’s outside entrance. Earlier, in the dark, it had been easy to miss.

Salem police officers quickly arrested Guy Sigurdsson. It would be a good collar for them since he ranked on the federal wanted list. Gus and his support in the other car then made themselves scarce. Oh, at least one still stood watch, but they were back to guarding from the background, instead of giving the neighborhood an eyeful.

No reporters had gotten there in time to pepper anyone with questions when the cops took Guy into custody. But soon, the story would be out, and everyone would know John had returned to Salem. They would soon be inundated with family, friends, and media. So, they needed to make the most of their soon-to-be-gone privacy.

Neither Marlena nor John had an appetite for breakfast. They both slurped up the caffeine, but didn’t really taste the coffee either.

The aftermath of their adrenaline-filled early morning left them both a little shell-shocked.

Finally, Marlena said, testing the waters, “Do you think this will be the end of it?”

Clearing his throat, John cocked his head slightly to the side and held her swirling hazel eyes with his own azure ones. “Yes, I think so. When I talked to the Wyoming-based federal agents last night before I got on the plane, they told me they’d taken two men into custody who are suspects in the murder of FBI Agent Higby and Deputy Bright. That’s why I was pretty sure Guy Sigurdsson didn’t kill them.

“Now that Guy’s been arrested, and Stefano is back in prison, I believe we can rest easy. At least ‘easier.’ I’ll be keeping a detail around to watch for a while, but who knows, maybe in time, even that won’t be necessary. I just have to be sure NOT to break Stefano out of prison ever again.”

Marlena snorted at that. But then she reached out her hand and held his. “John. Guy obviously has issues. I hope he’ll get psychiatric care and work through them when he’s doing his time. But, please, honey, don’t allow him to guilt you. You did the right thing when you blew the whistle about Stefano’s ranch. Guy didn’t. That’s on him, not on you.”

John sighed. “I did blow up his world. That ranch will be seized by the government as a criminal enterprise, and even when Guy finishes his sentence, he won’t be able to go back there. There’ll be new owners, and, with his history, they won’t hire him.”

Curious, Marlena asked, “Did you like managing the ranch, John?”

John thought before answering. “You know, I did. There’s a lot to be said for the fresh, open skies and ranges of Wyoming. It gets pretty freakin’ cold in winter, but yeah, I have to admit it was the best experience I had during the last ten years.

“But being here with you right now tops everything else, Doc.” John’s intense eyes caught hers again. He smiled broadly, but a certain vulnerability lay behind it. “I love you, Marlena. More than I can ever put into words. You are my soulmate, my reason for being. I want to be by your side for the rest of my life.”

Marlena’s eyes began to water again. “Oh, John. I love YOU. So, so much. I’ve missed you incredibly. At night, especially, I’d lie in bed and my body would ache for you. I think we were made for each other, my love.”

John pushed his chair back, and he sank down on a knee. Taking her hand again, he said quietly, “Marry me, Marlena. And let’s not wait. Let’s get the license, and let’s become husband and wife asap. Absolutely no interruptions and no delays!”

Laughing, Marlena stood and pulled John up with her. “Honey, YES. Oh, YES.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely and felt his arms tighten around her. For a few moments they remained motionless, silent, and just supremely content in each others’ arms.

Then Marlena angled her face up to John’s. “You know, we don’t have to stick around here helplessly waiting for everyone to converge on us. If we hurriedly shower and get dressed, we can skedaddle. We can be the first ones at the county clerk’s office. If we get the license today, we can be married as early as tomorrow! After we get the license, we can go buy you a suit. And then –”

John grinned, waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and kissed her passionately.

Today was Friday, October 12, 2007. Death had not stopped for them after all.

**************************
Notes:

This tale was inspired in part by “One Life Twice Stolen,” by Sandra Bondelier, which haunted me after I read it. Her story is my catapult, so to speak — done with the utmost respect for Sandra’s superior work.

Also, “Amongst the Rubble,” by GatesRhiannon, another amazing fan fiction, served as inspiration, foundation, and source for some aspects of this story too.

Both of these extraordinary stories may be read too at thejarlenajournal.com.