Thursday
Marlena woke with a jolt. She felt disjointed, unanchored. With a rush, everything about yesterday came back to her. She also recalled that because John had crowded everything else out of her consciousness, she had not called any family last night. That was okay though. They weren't likely to compare notes every day to find out who'd been called the night before. She wasn't sure she would call anyone tonight because she wasn't yet ready to tell them about finding John, and she suspected if she were to call, she wouldn't be able to keep the excitement from her voice.
She really didn't want to go to work. For the first time since she'd come to Palo Alto, she wanted to call in sick and see John instead. He'd said he was retired, and, of course, his leg still kept him from being fully physically fit, so she had no idea what he did all day. He'd told her he lived less than two miles from this hotel, but she didn't know the address. No phone number either. That made her a little anxious. What if he got so nervous that he skipped town? She shook her head ruefully. No, he wouldn't. Would he?
Although Marlena could make no claim to being a great internet detective, she supposed she might be able to find his address and phone number on one of the people search sites. Getting out of bed, she fired up the ipad and checked. Good thing he'd given her his full name. Sami had told her about a pretty reliable search site, and when she typed his name and the city in, one entry came up. It did give a Palo Alto address as his current residence. It also listed a couple other US addresses, one in another California city and the other in Washington D.C., as his prior American residences. Concerning phone numbers, there were a few. One was wireless, one a landline with a Palo Alto area code, and the others were probably landlines from his previous residences. Marlena jotted down the pertinent numbers and the address. But she knew she would not do anything with them unless he did not turn up this afternoon.
Reluctantly, she did force herself to go to work. After all, she could not justify showing up at John's home. And so until 4:30, she might as well occupy herself doing some good for others if possible.
The day did drag, and she also remonstrated with herself several times because she found herself daydreaming about John instead of listening intently to the patient.
Just before 4:30, she freshened up in the ladies' room and practically ran (she didn't really) for the parking lot.
Once outside, she looked around for the blue Cherokee. She didn't see it. Checking her watch, it said 4:32. Okay, he was a little late. No big deal - although, the John she'd known had been a stickler for punctuality.
Five minutes later, uneasiness began to creep in. The temptation to call his cell number grew. No, she told herself sternly. He's not that late yet.
She was facing out toward the parking lot and away from the hospital doors. Behind her, the automatic door opened often as people left the building. Suddenly to her left, John came from the rear and stood beside her.
"Oh," she exclaimed, taken by surprise at his sudden appearance from a direction she hadn't expected.
"Sorry!" he said. "Didn't mean to startle you."
"No, that's okay. I just didn't realize you'd be in the building."
"Yeah, I needed them to make an adjustment on the brace. I didn't think it would take as long as it did. Sorry to keep you waiting out here."
"That's quite all right. Is the brace okay now?"
"We'll see," he said. "My car's over there." He pointed.
As he had yesterday, he opened the passenger door for her before going around to his side. Once they were buckled in and out of the parking lot, she said, "So, you live very close to the hospital?"
"Yes," he agreed, "intentionally. I moved here a couple months ago because they have some specialists in the rehabilitation of bad breaks like mine."
"How bad was it?"
"Very." He chuffed wryly. "I don't usually give details because most people would turn green. But you are a physician, so I'll be a little more candid. My femur was fractured in multiple places because I landed on it before spilling forward and then hitting parts of the rest of my body including my chest and head. There were broken bone pieces sticking out of my skin. I had several types of fractures. Not only did I do great damage to the bone, but also to many of the muscles, tendons, etc. The doctors at my first hospital told me it usually takes at least six months for a femur break to heal. But I had to have multiple surgeries on it, and the healing time extended a lot. I was lucky they were willing to save it. One wanted to amputate it at the knee, and I put up a huge fight. They warned me it would probably never be anything close to what it was before the breaks, but they agreed to save it. It has been a long road. Right now, just about everything is as healed as it's ever going to be. The brace is new though, and I'm getting used to it here. Once I do, I should be able to walk and even run without a cane. But I'll probably never be able to shuck the brace."
"That sounds like a very gruesome injury. I'm glad they respected your wishes about saving the leg, John. But, it must have meant a lot of pain along the way."
"Yeah, it hasn't been a picnic."
John turned the Cherokee toward the curb and parked. "We're here at my humble abode."
The small apartment building along a quiet lane had a red exterior. John's apartment was, surprisingly, on the second of the two floors. He told Marlena he wanted that so he'd have to climb stairs. They stopped in front of 1b, and John produced his key and let her in. Inside, the walls shone white, and black and red and white comprised the color scheme of the decor.
"I'm renting it furnished," John informed her. "My plan was to stay here just as long as I needed to keep going to the hospital. Feel free to look around."
"It's a nice, spacious place, John. It's got everything you need, right? And it is so conveniently close to the hospital." She didn't notice many personal items. There were some books - which told her he was still an avid reader. She saw no photos. She looked out the front window by the door. Through the trees out front, losing their leaves in the Fall, she saw the quiet street and a few residences on the other side. She thought it must be restful here at night. The kitchen wasn't large, but it was well-equipped and next to it, a little table for two stood in the breakfast nook. The bathroom gleamed spic-and-span. The spartan bedroom contained only a queen-size bed, with a black bedspread, and a closet. The living area had a black couch with red pillows, an armchair, a large flat-screen, and a small desk in the corner. A few papers lay on the desk.
This, she thought, was definitely a temporary residence. She wondered if he had in mind a permanent place to live...maybe it was one of those other addresses she'd seen on the search site.
John busied himself in the kitchen, getting together his ingredients for the meal. She came in and smiled, "Well, this place kind of suits John Black - with all the black in the furnishings, etc."
He smiled good-naturedly. "Who knows? It might be a subconscious thing, right? I have no idea why my other self chose that last name."
"I know," she replied, "You told me at one point that when you first came to Salem, you didn't know your name and you needed one. You happened to see a sports trophy - no, a plaque - and you saw the name "John Black" on it and took it for your own."
"Hmm. That makes sense, I guess." He invited her to sit down at the little table. "You're my guest, so you don't have to lift a finger. But if you sit there, we can talk. Would you like something to drink?" Before she could answer, he added, "Unless you want to help? Do you find time to cook?"
Marlena laughed. A real laugh. Warm and rolling. John smiled at her reaction, but looked a little puzzled. "Okay. What's the joke?"
"It's funny because, no, I'm not known as a good cook. I don't do it very much, and when I do, I'm afraid I often make rookie mistakes and end up spoiling the dish. My children kid me about it, as do others. In fact you did a few times too."
"I see. Not very gallant of me."
"Well, eggshells in omelettes aren't exactly tasty."
Marlena ended up with a small glass of white wine, and she watched John at work. "May I ask what you're making?"
"Nothing fancy. I'm no chef. I'm making garlic butter pork chops, roasted brussel sprouts, and smashed potatoes. Plus a green salad. Hope you don't mind about the garlic."
"That sounds delicious," she said sincerely, "and, no, I don't mind about the garlic. One of my children loves an excessive amount of it on spaghetti and other foods." After she said this, she wanted to kick herself because she didn't really want the question that he naturally asked.
"How many children do you have? Are they all grown, or not yet?"
But she decided she could answer truthfully without telling him things she didn't want to yet. "My husband - this is my second husband, not Don Craig whom I mentioned yesterday - had a daughter from his first marriage when we wed. Then I gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Later, we adopted two other children, another boy and another girl. All of them are adults now."
"Phuw. That's a pretty big brood, Doc."
Marlena, sipping her wine at the moment he said that, nearly spluttered it from the shock. "Doc." But she quickly tamped down her joy at hearing it. She was sure he hadn't said it because he remembered.
Coughing a little to get the wine out of the wrong pipes, she took another sip without incident and then agreed. "Yes, our house was filled with activity for a lot of years. But now, they're all on their own. After my husband died, I sold the house and now live in a townhouse closer to University Hospital where I'm on staff. It's by the river, and it has three bedrooms so the kids can come visit."
John, making noise grilling and boiling and frying, gave her an encouraging look. "That makes sense. What do your children do as adults?"
"Oh my. The oldest lives in Los Angeles with her husband. She's an attorney, and he's an accountant. The twins went in different directions. Eric became a priest, and he serves as pastor at a small church in the next town over from Salem. Sami lives in Switzerland with her husband and three kids whom I don't get to see very much. My other daughter is a doctor - a pediatrician. She and her husband have twins too - two little boys. They live nearby. And my other son, also still in Salem, works in the corporate world, at a company called Titan. He's not married yet."
John looked impressed. "A family to be proud of. Los Angeles is about 350 miles from here. Have you gone to visit your daughter? Or have she and her husband been here to see you?"
Marlena nodded. "The first weekend I was here, I flew down to see them. We did talk about them coming up here before I went back to Salem, but I don't know if that will happen. They are very much in demand in their professions."
"Well so are you! Isn't that so?" John asked, cocking his head at her from the stove.
Marlena blushed a little. "Yes, I suppose so." She decided to change the subject. "Now it's your turn. Will you tell me more about your family? Where did you grow up?"
Giving her a wink as he poured off the water from the potatoes, he replied, "I can do that. I was born here in California. In what used to be called "The Chicken Capital of the World," Petaluma. Chicken coops all over the countryside outside the city limits. It's about forty miles north of San Francisco, and let me tell you, back when the chickens were king, the smell could be unbelievable. I'm glad we lived in the city limits. My best friend lived on a chicken farm and every time I visited him, the stench worked its way into my nostrils."
"That does sound bad."
"Anyway, my dad and mom got married there too in 1952 after my dad finished his stint in Korea. He was in the MPs, and when he became a civilian again, he decided he wanted to be a sheriff's deputy. He worked his way up to investigator, and then got the undersheriff's job. When I was eleven, he ran for sheriff and became the main man. He won reelection repeatedly, and was still sheriff when he and my mother got creamed by a drunk driver in their regular, non-law enforcement Buick."
"That is a terrible tragedy, John. Again, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, me too. The thing is, it wasn't just a run-of-the-mill drunk driver. I didn't know that when it happened, but later on, I found there was a lot more to it. I can't go into it, but I will say that justice was served - at least as much as it could be. It couldn't bring my parents back, obviously."
"No. The world doesn't allow us that. At least not usually." She mulled that for a bit, but then moved on, "Was your mother a housewife (as they used to say) the way mine was?"
"Mm. No. She had a job as a bank manager. Well, she worked her way up. I think she started as a teller. But back then the banks routinely closed at 3 pm, so by the time I got home from after school sports, she was around."
Marlena gave him a wide grin. "You loved baseball, right?"
Now it was John's turn to really laugh. "Yeah. How'd you guess? Don't tell me. I used baseball metaphors, told endless baseball stories, and quoted box scores to you and anybody else who'd listen, didn't I?"
"Bingo!"
He was busy putting the chops on the two plates, and then adding the spuds and the sprouts. He gave the salad a quick toss, and began bringing everything they needed to the little table. He muttered to himself, "Flatware. Napkins."
Marlena quickly said, "Tell me which drawers, and I'll get them."
He did, and soon they were both seated and ready to enjoy the dinner.
"It smells and looks delicious." Marlena praised.
"Hope it tastes that way too," John said.
It did. Marlena, for once, ate everything on her plate. Seeing that, John looked pleased as punch. They drank a little more wine with the meal, and John offered dessert, but Marlena said she couldn't possibly manage another bite.
Just as they finished, John's cell phone rang. Checking it, he said he needed to take it, and he excused himself and went into his bedroom and closed the door.
Marlena knew it was pointless to be curious, so instead she busied herself cleaning up the kitchen. John's call took quite a while, and when he came out, the dishes were rinsed and in the dishwasher.
"Hey, you didn't have to do that," he said.
"I wanted to. My pleasure."
"Thank you," he said graciously. Then he asked her if she'd like to have a seat on the living room couch. He pulled over his desk chair. Once they were settled, he spoke immediately, "I'd been waiting for that call. Yesterday you asked me a few times about the possibility of doing hypnosis, and I shot you down each time.
"The truth is that I have been hypnotized more than once, trying to regain all my memories. Now maybe that hypnotist isn't as skilled or doesn't have as much experience as you do. But, for whatever reason, those attempts were futile. In fact, I'm not even sure I was actually hypnotized. I mean, how does one really know unless there are results, and we didn't get any."
Marlena felt she should speak up here, "When you came to Salem and didn't know who you were, we tried hypnosis a few times. And you did remember a few things. I can't say you had a huge breakthrough and suddenly everything came back, because, no, that didn't happen. But you definitely were able to respond to hypnosis techniques."
"Okay, good to know. After I got home last night, I thought a lot about what you'd said. Especially the part about there being things I need to know about Salem, about the life I had there." He seemed nervous and got up, pacing as though trying to burn off the nerves. Stopping by the desk, he perched on the corner, "I want to know it all. And I especially want to know what happened with us." He waved his index finger between himself and Marlena.
"And I want you to know."
"Yes," he said. "But we were at kind of a standoff yesterday. So, today, I called the director of the AIAF, and that was him calling back. I asked him to let you do the hypnosis. It took a while because I had to explain who you were and what happened yesterday, etc. Since he doesn't know you, he was a little suspicious. The point is that he's going to come here. He said he'll let you do it as long as he is present so you don't learn any secrets you shouldn't know. He'll be here tomorrow."
Marlena was stunned. "Wow, John. That's great. That's wonderful." She rose from the couch and went over to him. "Thank you for doing that. I know it kind of went against your instincts, and that probably, you still think that since it didn't work before, it may be a waste of time to try it again. But all I can say is that we can try. One advantage might be that I do know what happened in Salem - at least during the time I was there - and the other hypnotist - or was it more than one? - didn't. So perhaps I can try to guide you to bring up some images that they wouldn't have known about."
Standing straight, John reached out and raised her chin a little with his knuckle. "I love that you have optimism. But I think there's something I should tell you. Please, sit down" He moved back to his own seat, and so she did too.
"Sometime in 2001 or 2002, I was captured by a worldwide crime syndicate, run at the time by a murderous, blood-thirsty psycho named Raffaelle Estanza. I was held prisoner on an island and tortured and drugged for months. During that ordeal, I lost all sense of time, and I'm still not sure exactly how long I was held. The drugs they constantly gave me did something to my mind, and I wasn't able to remember anything. If I was conscious, I was only barely aware of my surroundings. They said they wanted me to work for them, and if I would, they would stop the beatings, the electro-shock, and all the other things they did to break me.
"I finally said I would do their bidding. In order to have me in any shape to do anything for them, they had to give my body and mind a chance to heal at least a little. So, by agreeing to help them, I gained enough of a reprieve to finally be able to gather my senses. As I regained some physical strength, my mind came back too. At least some of it. I also pretended to still be sluggish and out of it more than I was so they'd leave me alone.
"It was then I realized I had memories of everything but a number of recent years. The thing was my brain had been so addled by the drugs that I didn't realize I hadn't known about my early life before. I didn't realize somehow all this torment had given me the gift of regaining those memories. The problem was the drugs had made me trade blankness over the part of my life I'd remembered before. And I think it was an unintended consequence. I think crazy Raffaelle and his cohorts wanted to erase every bit of memory from me, but for some unexplained reason, it didn't go according to their plan.
"When I recovered enough to have some sense of what was going on around me, I noticed a supply plane that came in regularly. I knew I didn't have a lot of time to make a plan, but I managed to take a little time to figure out movements of the skeleton crew and others. I finally made my move before dawn early one morning in 2002, and commandeered the plane.
"Flying before daylight is extremely dangerous, especially in a plane with minimal instruments. But I had no choice. I knew by then I wasn't too far from the Australian mainland, and I navigated there and safely landed on an airstrip I remembered from my earlier service with the AIAF - I think it belongs to the CIA though.
"Then, I contacted my old boss, whom I knew as 'Lou Whistler' (that's not his real name). Needless to say, it stunned him to hear my voice. He thought I'd died on an operation in 1985. I went missing and until then, they'd heard nothing from me.
"I resumed working for the AIAF in June 2002 and in 2009, we were able to bring Raffaelle and many of his lieutenants to justice. In fact, we pretty much closed down the entire syndicate, with help from other agencies around the world. Once in a while, someone tries to revive the syndicate, but is shut down hard and quickly. By the way, the ISA also helped to put an end to Raffaelle's terribly ruthless and violent organization. I guess though, from 1985 until 2002, I never remembered my pre-1985 past. What you've told me seems to corroborate that. There was just a complete block on it in my mind. Nothing could get past that. And now, I apparently have the same kind of block on the years 1985 - 2002. So, forgive me, but I'm not optimistic that we can overcome it."
John finally stopped his extraordinary speech. Marlena had been listening with horror as he quite matter-of-factly talked about being tortured and drugged into oblivion.
"Oh, John, how can you be so dispassionate about what happened to you? I mean, thank God you got away, but all those months you suffered so much." Just saying that much caused tears to well up in her eyes.
"Look, I won't say it wasn't excruciating, because it was. What they did left me with some scars, both physical and mental. But I got through it, so I've really tried not to think about it. I'm just telling you because I want you to understand the little I know about how I came to remember the early part of my life again. As I said, I didn't even know I'd ever not remembered my early life. I couldn't tell Lou where I'd been or why I'd gone AWOL from my operation. I didn't know. He had every right not to trust me when I showed up again, and he probably didn't for a while. But, as I began working long, complex undercover operations again, I guess I proved my trustworthiness or at least my ability to get the job done."
"It just kills me that we had no idea what was being done to you. We looked for you again, I swear. But dammit, somehow, were unable to find you."
"Don't blame yourself. The world is a big place. But I don't understand why you were looking for me again in 2001? You thought I was dead, didn't you?
Marlena implored him with her eyes. "Can I give you the answer to that question after we try the hypnosis, please?
He sighed. "Yeah, I suppose I've already roped myself into trying the hypnosis first." He sounded resigned and definitely not hopeful.
Marlena couldn't stand it. Leaving the couch, she dropped down on her knees in front of John's legs. She placed her hands on his knees and said, "Listen to me, John, please. You are not alone. I love you. I've loved you since the first time I met you. No matter what happens with your memory, I will always love you. It's not conditional. It never was." Her voice was cracking, and she knew she should stop. But she looked him directly in the eyes and, as she had tried once yesterday, she again willed him to remember, to allow his own love for her to surface.
Instead, John put his large, strong hands over hers. He said nothing. But he didn't look away either. Finally, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. He got to his feet and helped her up. "Come on. I think we've had enough drama for today. I'll take you back to the hotel."