Rain moves in on Monday night and stays put like an uninvited guest through most of the week. It keeps Sonny inside, by himself. With some random station playing on his boombox, he starts his prep work on the library.
He builds a fire to light up the room as well as warm him up, then finds himself sitting right in front of it, running a finger over the chipped tile. Maybe he'll leave it as is. Not everything has to be perfect. Accidents happen, and they make for wonderful stories.
Sonny really wants to put life back into this mansion, but does that have to mean it has to look exactly like it used to? He's already made changes, and those changes make it his.
If he replaces the tile, was he honoring the mansion's history, or sanitizing it?
It wasn't a happy place to live.
The thought hits him like a chill, despite having his back against the hot fire.
A cold, freezing house, full of secrets and hatred and jealousy.
Death.
She wants a book. Reading is an enjoyment for her--a slow and wonderful enjoyment. The sight of the library, with all the rows of books, makes her think of it as much of a place of worship as a church.Now, with Tom in the study with his stepfather going over business in the hospital, and the rain pattering against the windows, she can treat herself to a quiet afternoon to read.She's still not used to being able to do whatever she wants, so she slips into the room like she knows she's doing something wrong. She no longer folds sheets, dusts tables, or carries dishes.She's no longer the help in this place, but a wife.Wife. She embraces the word. It's still so new, so pretty. Just like the tiny bundle of life growing inside her is new. So new, in fact, she hasn't told Tom yet.Her period is late, when she knows it's never late. She's woken up sick three days and counting. But she's still going to wait one more week. If she says anything now, it could end up being not true.And she desperately wants a baby. Desperately wants to give Tom a baby. Alice puts a hand on her belly as she wanders along the shelves and imagines the beautiful son or daughter she'd carry into the world.And maybe, just maybe, a baby will soften up Tom's mother. Maybe a baby will bring happiness into the house like the hope for one brings happiness to her heart.She chooses Dickens' Great Expectations. The title, she thinks, calls out to her. The DiMera has that in spades. She bites her lip as she flips through the pages. She's a notoriously slow reader, but Tom liked to say that just means she's really stopping to taste the words.Tripping over them, she thinks, but she's slowly getting better. Satisfied with herself, she turns and sees Santo slouched in one of the chairs, a bottle next to his arm.Staring at her.He scares the daylights out of her. Disgusts her. But she reminds herself she's not the help anymore. She's his stepbrother's wife, and should at least try to be civil."Hello, Santo. I didn't see you."Santo lifts the bottle, pouring more liquor into his glass. "That book." he says, before drinking deeply. "Has more than one word in it.""I know how to read." She stiffens her spine. "And I like it.""What else do you like?"She tightens her grip on the book when he stands up, but relaxes again when he walks to the fireplace, resting a shoe in front of it, an elbow on the mantel."I'm learning to drive. Tom's teaching me. I'm not so good yet, but I still enjoy it." She really does want to be friends with him. This place deserves to be filled with warmth, laughter and love.Santo laughs, and she can hear the liquor laced in it. "I'll bet you drive. I'll bet you know how to really get a man's engine running. Those sweet innocent eyes may work on my step brother--he's always been blind. But I know exactly what you are, and what you're really doing here.""I'm your step brother's wife." Someone has to be the one to take the first step towards getting along. For Tom, for the baby growing inside her, she takes it, walking towards Santo. "All I've ever wanted was for him to be happy. I do that. You're his family, Santo. It's not right that we keep fighting like this. I want to at least try and be your step sister. A friend, even."He knocks back the rest of his drink. "You want to be my friend?""Yes, for Tom's sake, we should--""How friendly are you?" Santo lunges at her, grabbing her breasts painfully tight.The sheer shock of it freezes her in place. The insult comes through the shock with a flaming heat. Her hand smacks his cheek, hard enough to send him staggering."Bastard! Filth! Ever try to touch me again, I'll kill you with my bare hands. I'm Tom's. I'm your step brother's wife.""My brother's slut!" He shouts as she runs for the door. "Grayson whore, I'll have you dead before you take what's rightfully mine."Raging, he pushes himself away from the mantel. The heavy candlestick falls off, smashing against the edge of the tile, chipping off a corner.
Sonny's not even moving. When he's back inside his body, he's still sitting in front of the fireplace, back to the fire, the rain still hitting on the ground, running down the windows.
Just like it was, he thinks in the...vision? Amnesia? Delirium?
He pushes the heel of his hands right between his eyes, where a pounding headache is stabbing him like a spike through his skull.
Maybe they're not ghosts at all, he thinks. Maybe he has a fucking brain tumor. It would make much more sense. Literally anything else would make more sense.
Doors slamming, cold spots, even the sleepwalking are conditions of buying the mansion he can handle. But those people were in his head. He'd heard them right here--the words, the tone. But so much more unsettling, was how he'd felt them.
His legs are weak, almost give out from under him as he gets to his feet. He has to grab the mantel, fingers holding on tightly, it's a wonder the marble doesn't break off.
If there's really something wrong with him, physically or mentally, he needs to deal with it. Kiriakises don't run and hide in the closet when things get hard.
Deciding he's as steady as he's going to get, he goes into the kitchen to grab an aspirin. Which, he decides as he pours out four, is like trying to put a bandaid on a broken limb. But he swallows them down, then rests the cold glass against his forehead.
He'll drive up to Chicago and see his Uncle Vic. He might know a neurosurgeon he can talk to. Just a few days, and a few tests, and he'll know if he's crazy, possessed or dying.
He starts to go for his phone, before stopping himself and shaking his head. Insane, he thinks, now has another thing going for it. If he goes to Uncle Vic, word would spread the family like the plague.
And besides, what's the point in going to Chicago? Salem has doctors. He'd get a name from Chad. He'll just tell him he wanted to get himself a doctor, dentist, and all the rest in town. Logical.
He'll get himself a physical, then ask the doctor to recommend a specialist. Short, sweet, and to the point.
If ghosts can't drive him away from the DiMera mansion, he'll be damned before a brain tumor will.
As he puts down the glass, a door slams on the second floor. He just glances up at the ceiling and gives a grim smile.
"Yeah, well this is no picnic for me either."
