Donovan House, Salem, one week later
A splinter of morning sunlight peeked through a crack in the thick, slate-blue curtains and pricked at Shane's eyelids but failed to lift them as he continued to toss and turn in bed, images flashing before him. In his mind, he saw the sun-dappled maple trees of his boyhood home standing guard like army sentries over the rolling countryside that stretched out for acres behind the manor. He could hear the faraway shouts of his father's friends and the periodic thwack! of a cricket bat; visualize his mother on the wide patio straightening the cutlery on a row of linen-topped tables, with brightly dressed women arrayed like carnations around her and a small gaggle of servants puttering about to assist. Suddenly, a clipped and solid voice broke through the summer afternoon haze and burst into Shane's consciousness like a hammer:
"What the devil is he doing here?!" Andrew Donovan, Shane's sturdy, sandy-haired father, turned from the game, bat in hand, and shielded his hazel eyes from the sun to view the coming entourage of men, headed by a tall, dark-haired figure weaving through a line of hedgerows on the far side of the gardens. Still holding the bat and flanked by three of his friends from the now defunct cricket match, Andrew marched purposefully up the small slope to the flagstone patio, where two burly men emerged from their watch-post and joined him.
Startled by her husband's tone of voice, Margaret ran a worried hand over her black, neatly pinned curls, then wiped her hands on her ruffled apron and whipped round to greet the unexpected visitor. Her charcoal eyes grew wide with recognition and she turned anxiously back to Andrew as he approached her, touching her arm gently, protectively, his eyes fixed on the approaching men.
"Gather the boys," he said in a hushed but firm manner.
She hesitated, her eyes seeking his. "What does he want?"
He looked at her calmly. "That's precisely what I intend finding out." He took a step away from her, but she detained him by the elbow.
"What are you going to do?"
He turned back to her. "I'll simply stress once again that he and Father are unwelcome here," he assured her. Then he took her trembling hand in both of his and patted it. "Trust me, Jeannie. Hmm?"
She nodded slowly, resolutely.
"That's my girl." He touched her chin with the tip of his thumb and resumed his trek to greet the lanky stranger who had halted near a leafy archway in the garden, hands stuffed in his light gray pants pockets, his men fanning out a discreet distance behind.
Margaret looked to her right and motioned to a portly, white-haired woman in a flowered dress standing by the barn doors of the stables. The woman waved her arms in flowing circles as if gathering fluffy chicks under her wings and escorted a group of children up the hill where their mothers waited to take them to the front of the house. A set of four imposing men emerged from their posts and assisted the group, with some of the women's husbands joining the exodus and others staying behind, their attention trained on the scene set to unfold.
"Nanny Rose." Margaret stepped up to the woman. "Aren't the boys with you?"
"Oh, no, my dear," she responded between puffs of air as she regained her breath. "They came back up here...more than twenty minutes ago."
The women's eyes locked in understanding. Then they looked up simultaneously at the thick twist of branches belonging to the stately oak tree that rose like a giant between the edge of the patio and the garden path.
Nanny wagged a finger at a small, dark-haired boy perched on a low branch. "Get down here this instant, young man!"
"But, Nan..." the seven-year-old whined. Still, knowing the full consequences of ignoring that particular stare, he quickly complied with her request. He hit the ground and straggled over to his mother.
"Where's your brother?" Margaret asked, her eyes darting about.
All three looked around in time to spot a slim boy as he dropped from the other side of the tree and ran up the lawn towards his father.
"Shane!" Margaret called after him, turning fleetingly back to Rose. "Take Drew round the side of the house with the others." She lifted the edges of her tulip-shaped, yellow skirt and chased after her son. "Shane!"
Andrew planted his feet squarely on the stone pathway between the house and the garden and folded his arms. Three quiet, muscular men came up alongside him, eyeing the grounds, each other, and their counterparts behind the man who towered before them. The man removed his sunglasses and tucked them neatly in the breast pocket of his pale gray linen shirt.
Andrew lifted his chin at him. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"
A hard smile creased the man's face as he surveyed the bulldog of a man in front of him against the idyllic setting of verdant, manicured lawns and gardens. "Don't go gettin' all narky on me, Andrew," he said in a low Irish brogue. "Can't a man enjoy a day in the country once in awhile?"
Scurrying footsteps interrupted the unbending stare between the two men, their eyes turning downward to the disheveled boy dressed in navy plaid shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt. The boy looked unblinkingly up at them.
"Shane!" Margaret called emphatically as she caught up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and catching her breath. "Don't you ever run from me like that again! Do you hear me?"
"Yes, ma'am," came his automatic response.
The dark-haired man rested his eyes on Margaret a moment, then bobbed his head at her cordially. "Good to see you, Maggie," he said softly. "It's been too long."
Andrew stiffened, fists forming at his sides, watching intently as the man squatted low, his dark green eyes level with the boy's.
"And you must be Shane," the man said. "Pleasure to meet ya." He extended a hand.
Shane completed the handshake, then shot back suspiciously: "What do you want with my father?"
The man lifted his eyebrows approvingly. "Fair play, that." He straightened and glared at Andrew. "Been coachin' the lad, I see."
Shane squinted his eyes at the bright sun that framed the dark stranger -- the backlight causing the man's features to blend together and blacken like an underdeveloped photograph.
"Leave him alone, Rory," Margaret pleaded in a brittle tone, holding her son against the fullness of her skirt and wrapping her arms across his chest.
Andrew cast his wife a pointed look, then inserted a wide arm between her and the man and bent down to speak with Shane. "Go with your mother, son."
"Aren't you coming?" he asked.
"I'll be along shortly," Andrew returned, his voice growing stern. "Now, do as I say."
"Yes, sir." He reluctantly agreed, allowing his mother to turn him by the shoulders as they readied to leave.
"Be seein' ya, Shane." The stranger winked at him. "And your brother, too."
Andrew stood to his full height, drawing to within inches of the man's face and shoving a finger at him. "I don't know why you've come and I don't care to venture a guess, but for the last time -- stay away from my family!" Shane could hear his father's voice rise exponentially as his mother dragged him away. "Do I make myself clear?!"
Pulling Shane along by the hand, Margaret broke into a run. As they moved swiftly across the patio, Shane glanced behind him, nearly stumbling, as distant yells escalated into scuffles and the men on both sides rushed at each other.
His mother yanked on his arm and quickened the pace. "Hurry, Shane! Run!"
Shane squeezed his eyes shut and turned over in his sleep, punching the pillow under his head as the vision blurred and faded. A singular voice echoed in his brain as a new, darker vision formed...
"I'm not an eejit, Freddy. Why should I spare you?" the deep voice boomed in the musty, dank cavern.
"Because, I..." The balding man coughed, grasping at his bleeding side. "I delivered..." He gasped. "I brought him to you. I thought -- " He coughed and wheezed. "I thought you'd be grateful."
"Fair play, that," the deep voice uttered, eerily calm.
Shane could hear a low chuckle, followed by the thud of a quick and forceful kick, then a sharp cry, pinched with pain.
"Shame of it is," the voice continued. "I've always been a bit of an ungrateful bugger." He forced a laugh. "Take him outside," he commanded. "Make it look good for our friends at the ISA. Remember, he was killed in the explosion."
Shane could feel someone's eyes on him, but found it impossible to move or even muster the strength to open his eyes.
"They both were..." the voice emphasized strongly...
Shane sat bolt upright in bed, beads of sweat dripping down his back, his breath coming in short bursts and his heart beating wildly. He rubbed a hand down over his eyes, blinking at the sage-green coverlet he had kicked to the floor in his sleep and taking in the familiar surroundings of the master bedroom as they came gradually into focus. He stared at the edge of the bed a minute, filling his lungs with steady streams of air. Then he swallowed hard and sat back, resting his head against the headboard and closing his eyes. Who the hell is Rory? he puzzled. That deep, sinister voice had haunted him ever since Prague, but he had never been able to put a face to it, or a name. Who the hell is he? He opened his eyes and reached past the cell phone on the nightstand for the secure phone next to it. He punched two buttons and listened for the voice on the other end. "Nico? I need you to do something for me." He wiped the sweat from his brow with his free hand. "I need you to cross-reference the name Rory against all the information we have on the Donovan organization." How do I know him? He ran a hand hurriedly through his hair. How did Father know him? He blinked to clear his mind. "No, I don't have a surname. Just Rory. R-o-r-y. Oh, and be sure and ask our new friend Oliver to check into it, too." He nodded. "Yeah. Make it a priority. I'll be here. Thanks." He turned the phone off and leaned his head back again, pressing his palms to his eyes. And why am I remembering all this now? He let out a frustrated sigh.
Office of Dr. Marlena Evans-Black, later that afternoon
The corners of Marlena's mouth turned up in a warm, tender smile as she settled into the brown leather chair behind her desk, propped her elbows on the armrests and formed a tent with her hands. "So, we've talked around it for..." She glanced up at the antique clock on the wall. "Over an hour now." She tapped her fingers together and narrowed her deep brown eyes. "Are you going to level with me?"
Kimberly halted mid-step, holding the edge of the teacup to her lips with one hand and the saucer in the other. They had discussed the children, the mystery surrounding Shane's disappearance, the danger they were all in, but not once had she expressed her true feelings about his being a part of their lives again. Truth is, she hadn't been able to sort through how she really felt. The events since New Year's had rained down on her like rolling waves, leaving her barely a moment to lift her head above water and survey her surroundings before another came crashing over her. And the latest developments had unnerved her even more. The sudden loss of Peachy, the shooting, Shane's letters, the feel of his arms around her -- his lips on hers -- everything came together at once, forcing a confession from her she wasn't ready for. So, after a week of distancing herself from him, avoiding her feelings as best she could by immersing herself in casework and the children, she agreed to a late lunch with Marlena, knowing full well she needed more than just an afternoon with a colleague, a sympathetic friend, or a sounding board. She was still treading water, looking for solid ground, hoping the next wave would be kind and carry her closer to shore -- praying it wouldn't drag her under even further. She placed the cup gently on the saucer and turned back to Marlena. "Are you asking as a therapist or a friend?"
Marlena leaned forward, placing her lavender silk-clad arms on the desk and returning Kimberly's teasing stare. "I'm asking you as family."
Kimberly gave her a grateful smile and stepped back to the flaxen-yellow chair, sinking down into it and setting her teacup on a side table. She took a moment to smooth her teal skirt, before crossing her legs and straightening the wide cuffs on her matching satin blouse. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyes to Marlena's circumspectly. "All right, I'll admit it. I'm scared."
"It makes perfect sense you would be with all that's happened." Marlena glanced up at the closed door to her office, considering who stood beyond it in the hallway, waiting. "You have armed guards surrounding you twenty-four hours a day..."
"No." Kim shook her head. "That's not it."
Marlena tilted her head to the side and said softly, "I know."
"Figures." Kim sighed, resting her head back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling. "It took me more than half my life to really lay claim to myself, to bury my past and all the demons associated with it..." She lifted her head, rubbing the back of her neck as she met Marlena's eyes once more. "To start to put my needs ahead of other people's once in awhile."
"And now here he is." Marlena finished the thought.
"Yeah. Here he is." She put her hands on the chair and pushed herself to a standing position. "And he needs me," she added solemnly, still rubbing at the base of her neck.
"What makes you say that?"
"It's just a feeling I have." And Peachy's infallible insight, she said to herself. She folded her arms and began to pace the room. "Truth is, I've held onto that feeling for a long time. Ever since..." She turned back to her. "Since just before we lost him." She inhaled sharply. "Correction..." She poked an index finger in the air. "Since before he led us to believe we lost him," she added with a trace of bitterness. Knowing the reasons for his actions only lessened the hurt of the lie by degrees, she'd discovered.
"I remember when you thought he had died..." Marlena's voice dropped off and she looked down for a moment, pierced yet again with the ache of a more personal loss. Memories of John invaded her thoughts when she least expected them.
Kim looked over at her, her heart in her throat. "Oh, Marlena. I'm so sorry." She approached her and took her hand. "How insensitive of me..."
"It's okay. We talked about me at lunch, remember?" Marlena cleared her throat softly. "And you promised me then you'd tell me what's going on with you for a change." She squeezed her hand. "You're not gonna weasel out of your promise, are you?"
Kimberly took the well-placed hint. "Who me?" She smiled sweetly. "Of course not." Their eyes locked for a minute to mark the empty space with a depth of understanding that could only come from truly knowing what the other was going through.
Then Marlena quietly and deliberately picked up the thread, "You know, when you lost Shane..." Her eyes still held the sadness from moments before, instantly transferring it to Kimberly. "What struck me the most is, you didn't seem surprised by it. It was like you'd been expecting it."
Kim went back in her mind to that time. She had told no one except Peachy how she really felt: that she wasn't completely convinced he was actually dead. Now, looking at it through Marlena's eyes, she supposed, on some level, she had been expecting it. The feeling was there; real or imagined, she had picked up on it from Shane somehow. "I knew what he was up against, even though he never gave me the details." She rubbed her hands over her arms as if to ward off a chill. "I knew after what they did to him in Prague...Or rather, what he wouldn't say they did to him..." Her voice trailed off as one thought tumbled over another. "It changed him, Marlena. Made him more guarded, distant. But, ironically, at the same time, he was never more like the man I fell in love with than he was then."
"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing the answer from experience, but waiting patiently for Kimberly's response.
Kim resumed pacing, walking to the latticed window. "You know better than anybody how much he hurt me. More than anyone ever has, I think."
Marlena nodded with understanding.
"But I dealt with all that." Kim stared out the window at the budding tree limbs and the first crocus flowers of the season, poking their heads out of a nearby flower box. "And I was willing to push aside whatever residual feelings I had because I owed it to him. I owed it to Andrew and Jeannie and the memory of their father..." Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she swallowed hard. "But I also owed it to the memory of the man who..." She bit her lip. "Who held me in his arms one long night in Rome..." She drew a shaky breath. "And made me feel more accepted..." She brushed the tears aside. "And loved and cherished in that one night than I had in years."
"I remember when you told me how much that meant to you." Marlena looked over at her.
"You were the only one I could tell." Kim turned to meet her gracious stare. "It was as if he really saw me again, you know? That he knew who I was and, more importantly, he knew who he was. As if the man I first fell in love with had finally come home..." She moved away from the window and paced back to the chair. "But then he pulled away from me again. Only, this time, he didn't do it out of spite or confusion; he did it to protect me." She picked up her teacup and took a slow sip. "And, as it turns out, to protect Andrew..." She stared at the tightly woven beige carpet, lost in thought, hearing the latent strains of guilt that laced Shane's voice whenever he spoke of his son. The wounds from the kidnapping and his helplessness in the face of it had never healed, and probably never would.
Marlena stood to her feet, walked to the front of the desk and sat on its edge, crossing her arms in front of her. "Now, as your family..." She let her words hang in the air a minute. "Let me ask you the one question you've probably been asking yourself since the day he came back."
Kim smiled faintly. Having a dialogue with Marlena was like looking in a mirror. She saw through every artifice effortlessly. It helped having someone else ask the discomfiting questions for a change. She looked up at her. "Do I trust him?"
Marlena raised her eyebrows. "Well, do you?"
"I trust him with my life." Kim returned the cup and saucer to the table. "He's proven himself there."
"Kimberly Brady..." Marlena shook her head at her. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Kim's eyes sparkled. "You also knew I'd throw that back at you, didn't you?"
Marlena chuckled. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"Well..." All mischief left Kim's eyes as she returned to the window. "The simple, yet infinitely complicated answer is: I don't know." She shrugged, glancing back at Marlena briefly. "He says he can't trust himself."
Marlena lowered her voice. "Has he told anyone what really happened to him in Prague?"
"I don't think so." Kim lifted the curtain to look outside once more. "Oh, I'm sure he told the ISA psychiatrists exactly what they wanted to hear, in order to get reinstated as quickly as possible."
"That does sound like him." Marlena uncrossed her arms and leaned back on the desk.
Kim let the curtain fall back into place. "And there's more to it." She turned to face Marlena. "More than he'll allow himself to tell me, maybe even more than he knows."
"And you're afraid for him."
Kimberly nodded, the breath leaving her body as she admitted, "I want to help him."
"I see," Marlena returned knowingly.
"So, now..." Kim drew an unsteady breath. "If you could just tell me how I do that without losing myself this time..." She lifted her shoulders in an attempt to appear casual, but her eyes brimmed with new tears and she turned back to the window.
"You lost him, just like that?" Roman checked his rearview mirror out of force of habit and made a right onto a boulevard lined with brownstones and dotted with trees planted equidistant along the grass median. "I thought you traced him to Baltimore."
Shane rested his elbow against the passenger side door and leaned his head on his fist. "Someone must have tipped him off." He sighed. "My man had him, right there. He had his exact location pinpointed and then..." He dropped his fist into the palm of his other hand, then looked over at Roman. "You'll never guess where he found him."
Roman cast him a sidelong glance. "I'm all ears."
He peered at Roman intently. "Working as a temporary dockhand for a little-known but well-funded subsidiary of Allied Shipping."
Roman pulled alongside the curb and parked his silver El Dorado. He removed his sunglasses and turned to Shane. "Now, where do I know that name from?"
"It would take some digging for anyone who hasn't been paying close attention, but..." he added sarcastically, "fortunately for me, I remember investigating that very same company twenty years ago."
Roman lifted the latch on his door and exited the car, eyeing Shane across the wide hood. "You don't mean...?"
"Yep." Shane returned his look. "Victor Kiriakis."
Roman led the way into the lobby of the red-brick building, stepped up to the elevator, and punched the "up" arrow. "So, he knew where to find him all along?"
Shane shrugged. "That's assuming he also knew it was Winters who attacked Andrew in the first place."
"And that's a pretty reasonable assumption to make," Roman replied, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. He looked over at Shane cautiously, the silence telling him not to pursue the subject any further.
Shane shoved his hands in his pockets, grateful Roman hadn't asked the next, most obvious question. He was in no mood to face the implications of Victor's possible involvement with Cal. "So...I thought we were headed to the hospital," he said, making small talk for cover.
"Got an errand to run first," Roman returned smoothly as the doors closed.
Shane sized him up carefully. "I sort of figured that. Why bring me along?" The doors slid open and, as they stepped out, Shane read the top name on the wall directory and stopped, shaking his head. "I might have known."
Roman turned back to him, straightening the collar of his scuffed leather jacket. "Listen, it won't do you any harm to talk to her. You said you remembered something. She may be able to help or, at least, point you in the right direction."
Shane peered at him skeptically.
"Come on." Roman clapped him on the back as they strode to the end of the hall and up to a rough-looking man wearing a gun holster, seated outside the office door.
"Wilson..." Shane furrowed his brow.
The man stood, setting his magazine on the chair. "How are you, sir?" He proffered a hand.
"Kimberly's here?" Shane shook his hand. "I thought she'd be at the hospital."
"Been here all afternoon," Wilson reported dutifully.
Keeping one eye on Shane, Roman rapped rhythmically on the door, then tried and turned the knob. "Hello there, doc," he said cheerily as he burst into the office.
Marlena smiled.
"Or, should I say 'docs'?" he hastily corrected himself, moving in to give his sister a big hug.
"Roman..." Kim's eyes brightened. "What are you doing here?"
He glanced back at Shane. "Just dropping something off," he tossed out, releasing Kimberly and smoothing his hands over his woven navy shirt.
Shane smirked at him, remaining in the doorway, hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat. His eyes sought Kimberly's. "I thought you were going to the hospital with Andrew."
"I'm about to head over there now," she replied.
Marlena wrinkled her brow. "Is everything all right, Kim?"
Kimberly whirled around. "Oh, Marlena, he's fine." She covered her mouth briefly with a hand. "Can't believe I forgot to mention it. He gets his cast removed today." She glanced at her watch. "In about an hour, I think."
"That's great news." Marlena looked at Roman then back at Kim. "Well, you should get over there, huh?" She stepped over and hugged her. "I enjoyed our lunch today. Let's do this more often."
"I'd like that," Kim responded warmly. "Thank you, Marlena." They smiled quiet smiles at each other, then Kim reached for her coat from the coat rack. Shane grabbed it first, assisting her on with it. She lifted her hair over the collar and craned her neck back to address him. "Are you heading over?"
"I don't think he wants me there, Kim," Shane responded guardedly, lifting his hands from her shoulders.
"You don't know that." She pivoted to face him, the look he sent her confirming that her feeble attempt to deny the truth had failed. "Okay." She lifted her eyebrows. "So, you're not going over..."
He paused, putting an index finger to his sealed lips. "Actually, I was planning to drop by..." He rocked back on his heels and wrinkled his nose. "Thought I'd at least give him the option of kicking me out."
"Literally," she added with a ready smile.
"I'll admit, I would like to see that," he returned easily.
She started for the hallway. "Can I give you a lift?"
Roman exchanged a quick look with Marlena, then followed Kimberly out and put an arm around her. "Um, if you don't mind, I need to borrow Shane for a bit."
Shane joined them in the hallway. "Oh. Uh, that's right." He looked over at Roman and cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, catch you up in a half-hour or so."
Kimberly pulled her trenchcoat around her and tied the sash. "Okay," she said slowly, eyeing them both. "I'll see you later, then?"
Shane nodded to her as she and Wilson stepped onto the elevator.
"Bye." Roman gave her a quick wave as the doors closed.
Marlena looked over at Shane, her eyes then narrowing and zooming in on Roman. "Would anyone care to fill me in on what just happened?"
Shane jerked a thumb in Roman's direction. "Ask him."
"Just talk to her. All right?" he returned impatiently. Then he leaned over and touched Marlena's arm gently. "I'll see you for dinner. Around 8:00?"
Marlena smiled softly and nodded. She folded her arms about her and watched Roman give one last nod to Shane and head for the stairs.
They stood in the hallway for a few minutes until the door to the stairwell banged shut and they were alone. Marlena then turned her attention to Shane. "Kimberly's worried about you, you know."
He glanced over at her. "She needn't be." He folded his arms and sighed. "She should be thinking about herself." He paused for a moment, kicking at the carpet lightly. "Me?" He lifted his head and strolled casually past Marlena into her office. "I'm fine."
Marlena's eyes tracked him closely, taking note of his efforts to remove himself from the equation. "Are you?"
He turned back to her. "I have to be," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Who says?"
He met her unflinching stare, then pursed his lips and looked away, running a hand along the edge of a chair.
She closed the door behind them and stepped up to the sideboard. "Can I get you anything?" She poured out two cups of tea from a pewter thermos.
"No, thank you." Shane shifted from one leg to the other. "Listen, Marlena...I know you mean well." He looked at her, dropping his hands at his sides. "You and Roman both do." She held out a cup and saucer, and he took them from her with a wry smile. "I just don't see how this will help matters any." He blew on the cup and took a quick sip.
"You mean it won't change anything." She took her cup to the chair next to him and sat down. "Kimberly and the children are still in danger and you have to protect them." She set her cup on the table. "What's there to talk about?"
Glossing over his mild annoyance at her well-intended comments, he plunged ahead with the perfunctory explanation. "I have to focus all my energies on trapping this madman and destroying his hold over my family once and for all." He turned away from her. "I don't have time for..." He shrugged. "Self-indulgence."
She nodded slowly. "As a matter of fact, you don't have time for yourself at all. Isn't that how it works, Shane?"
He spun round to face her. "How what works?"
"You can't tell me you don't know."
"Assignments like this take 98 percent of you." He could hear Peachy's voice wafting softly over the chilled, night air during a stakeout years before. "Leaving two percent for Kimberly." He heard himself say. "It's hardly fair, is it?" He inhaled sharply, his thoughts returning to the present. He nodded his acknowledgment to Marlena, turning his back to her once more.
"You deliberately sacrifice yourself to save others," Marlena continued serenely. "It's what you do."
He walked past her to the sideboard and set his cup on it.
"It's what you've always done," she added quietly. Though she knew the difference professionally, it was hard to separate her words to Shane from what she might have said to her own husband, were he still alive. "You jump on the bomb before it explodes to prevent others from getting hurt."
"Doesn't always work," he returned bitterly.
Marlena's eyes brimmed with tears. "No, it doesn't." She took a breath to clear her head. "Why are you still here, Shane?" She stood and approached him. "If talking about it is so...selfish, so pointless..."
He leaned his hands on the edge of the sideboard, keeping his head down, refusing eye contact. "What if..." He swallowed as his mouth went dry. "What if the real threat lies somewhere locked inside me?" He turned slowly, reluctantly. "What if my very presence here is a danger to them?" He lifted uncertain eyes to hers. "How do I protect them then?"
She squinted at him and replied in a gentle voice, "Maybe you can't."
"No, no." He shook his head forcefully. "That's not an option." He took a long, heavy breath, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Marlena, I think I need your rather serious help."