Falling from Grace

by Rob1

This is a dark novel, heavy on the angst and violence. Book I begins with our 'hero' discovering that an old enemy still lives. He's about to discover something worse.

3. Book III: The Fallen

Falling from Grace
Book III: The Fallen

[Author note: I'd almost forgotten I'd started posting this one here! Thought it only right to bring it to something of a conclusion- so here it is. See http://daysfanfiction.com/falling/index.html if you want to find a continuation of this story. Otherwise- this can stand as an ending- bittersweet though it is.]

Chapter 14
"How is he?"

"He'll be fine," Sarte replied, hoping it was true. "He cracked a wrist, dislocated a shoulder, there's fluid in his lungs. None of it should kill him. Of course, he still hadn't recovered from the beatings...."

Dimera sat in an overstuffed armchair, picking absently at the crusted blood on his shirt and watching Sarte smooth down the bandages that now wrapped John's face. "That's not what I meant. I know he'll live. He's too tough to die so easily. Did he remember, Sarte? Did he accept it?"

Sarte tightened the leather restraints around the unconscious man's wrists, noting how odd they looked attached to the antique frame of the missionary style bed. With a muted sigh, he tried to form an answer that wouldn't get him killed. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "He remembered. The drugs left him no choice. And with Brady right there, staring him in the face- it would be hard for him to have rejected the truth. But the mind is complex, Stefano. I don't know how he'll react. If he wakes up, I guess we'll find out."

"He will wake up?" Stefano said, his tone dangerous.

"He should, but.... Stefano, I don't know what he will do. You told me you thought he recognized you when you first went into the cell. You yourself said it reminded you of when you pulled him out of the Soledino compound. He's hurt right now. Some of his last memories of his time with you are of the Soledinos and what they did to him. I've got him wrapped up like he was when he got back from that. If those memories have been triggered, he may latch on to them. It's what I'm hoping for. If he does, he may come back."

"Or he may not."

Sarte simply nodded. "Or he may not. He put a gun to his head, Stefano. He doesn't want these memories. If he refuses to accept them, he may never come back at all."

Stefano allowed himself a tired groan of frustration. "At least he's not going to wake up thinking he's Roman Brady, is he? That battle has grown tedious."

"No," Sarte chuckled. "I doubt even his powers of self-delusion are capable of that. He may remember his time as Brady, he may not. But I doubt even he can pretend that it's the truth anymore. At least some good came out of Davies' stupidity."

"Davies is a punk with an inflated ego. If John dies because of what he did, Davies will be quick to join him."
"And if John lives?" Sarte asked, looking curiously at Dimera.

An ugly smile curved Stefano's lips. "If John lives, Davies will be his first test."

"Already playing games," Sarte replied, shaking his head and moving to the door. "There's nothing more to be done right now. I'll check back on him in a few hours."

"I'll wait here," Dimera said, pulling his chair closer to the bed before sitting back down.

"It could be a long time, Stefano."

"Then I will wait a long time."

****************************************

"Where are they, Dr. Sarte?"

"Dr. Evans! How nice to see you. I thought my dinner invitation would be refused. For once, I am glad to be wrong."

Marlena eyed the wiry little man distastefully. The rumpled white linen suit seemed to be the same one he was wearing the last time she had had the displeasure of his company, and it showed no signs of having been washed since then. His grey hair billowed about his head like some unholy halo, Einstein on amphetamines. She could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away and his dirt-brown eyes were watery and unfocused. There was no point in seeking help from the deplorable old reprobate- she'd made the attempt enough times now to know. Dimera was the one she would have to work on and Dimera had been avoiding her like the plague.

"Please, my dear lady, join me." Sarte gestured to the dinning table, laden with fresh fish and tropical fruits. Stefano was an idiot to spend his time hovering over a comatose man when he could be ingratiating himself to such a fine looking woman. Oh well, Stefano's loss...

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Marlena crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Sarte, your attempts at Southern charm have no effect on me. I want to know where Stefano is and I want to know now!"

Sarte shrugged and turned his attention to the poached red fish on his plate. "I thought you disliked Mr. Dimera. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

With three quick strides, she was beside him. "Dislike is an understatement. But it has been three days since Stefano has inflicted his presence on me, and that means he is up to something. You are going to tell me what he is doing to Roman. You are going to tell me right now."

There was a threat in her voice and Sarte looked up, startled to find her looming above him. His mouth went dry and he watched mesmerized as firm breasts rose and fell within the thin cotton of her red sundress. "If I don't tell, will you punish me. Please?" he whispered, manic eyebrows rising suggestively.

"You are a twisted little pervert," she spat, stepping quickly back.

"True." Sarte nodded amicably, poking at the rapidly disappearing remains of his meal. Giving a satisfied grunt, he leaned back in his chair and picked his teeth with a thin sliver of bone. "However, since you ask so nicely, I will tell you this. Dimera won't hurt the boy. He's always had a fondness for him. If you feel the need to worry about someone, you'd best worry about yourself."

Marlena debated slapping the man, but decided he would enjoy the experience more than she would. Scowling in frustration, she merely shook her head. "You aren't a very good liar, Sarte. I've seen what Dimera is willing to do to Roman. There is no way I'm going to let him get away with it."

Sarte's sharp bark of laughter grated in her ears. "Oh, you are so beautiful yet so wrong. I am an excellent liar, Dr. Evans. Really, I am. But I have no need to lie to you. Whatever hurt was done to your 'Roman', he did to himself. Stefano will do everything in his power to see that he is returned to you, alive and well and fully aware of who he is. You have my word of honor on it."

"You have no honor, Sarte." Her fists clenched angrily at her sides, she stalked from the room to continue her search for some weapon to use in the coming battle.

"Damn fine woman, that. Damn fine," Sarte muttered, watching with pleasure as she left.

****************************************

Darkness. He was back in darkness and he hurt. His eyelids fluttered, trying to make the darkness go away. It didn't work. Where the hell was he? Gotta get out. Gotta get out now.

"You're Stefano's pretty boy, aren't you, hijo? You won't be so pretty when we send you back to him."

Strong fingers weave their way through his hair, wrenching his head back so that he stares into the burning lights above. He watches the dance of the knife, the light glinting off the blade the only thing he can see. His attempt at a laugh croaks out as a moan and he can't find the strength for a curse. He settles for a grin instead and earns another slap for his efforts.

"Hijo de puta! You will beg. Before I am finished, you will beg for your death." The voice he knows is Jesse's hisses out at him as strong arms wrap around him, holding his unresisting body still. He tries not to think about what's coming next, but three days in Hell have taught him all too well. He holds onto the pretense of ignorance even as the scream builds in the back of his throat.

The knife drops. It trails across his face, as gentle as a lover's touch. He tries to welcome it, but steel is a fickle mistress and her icy caress splits him open, just another offering for her to consume. His body rebels, flinching as the flesh breaks and the blood makes good its escape. How can one more wound still matter? How can one more cut still hurt? He bites back the scream his throat tries to make, unwilling to give the fuckers the satisfaction.

The scream echoes off the walls anyway, and he knows he has gone insane. He has lied to everyone else and now he lies to himself. He doesn't make a sound, yet the sound still grows. He clamps his lips together, stops the breath in his lungs. If it's the last thing he does, he will die in silence. The shrill shrieking pounds at him, piercing even the rumbling thunder of approaching guns. With every fearful cry, a tiny piece of his reality is lost.

Cold concrete burns his butchered face, telling him of his freedom. Telling him the screams aren't his. As the bodies drop to the floor around him, he begins to believe the concrete. He blinks the blood from his eyes and looks up into the face of God.

"Stefano. I knew you'd come," he lies with whispered words. "Kill these fuckers for me. Kill them all."

He was in darkness and he hurt. But if he hurt, he wasn't dead. If he wasn't dead, he must be home.

"Stefano?"

"Easy, boy. Just take it easy."

"The Soledinos. They all dead?" John whispered, stiff lips struggling to form the words.

That dark chuckle filled the room, as familiar to him as his own thoughts.

"Dead and buried, every one. Everything is going to be okay, John. I just want you to rest. Recover your strength. Don't try and think about it. I promise, everything will be okay."

The burning of a needle seared his forearm and John Black let himself sink back beneath the silent darkness. He was home. All that mattered was that he was home.

With a tired sigh, Stefano stood, stretching the kinks from his neck. After two days, he had begun to doubt that John would ever wake up. Still, he had waited. It had been well worth the wait. Now it was time for a shower and a comfortable night's sleep.

"He should sleep through the night, Jarrod," Dimera said, nodding to the nurse who stood beside the bed. "If you run into any trouble, call me immediately. And whatever happens, don't approach him. That man is dangerous. Just watch for any change, and call me if something, anything, occurs."

Stefano spared one last look at the bandaged figure now sleeping peacefully in the center of the big bed. John Black was back. At long last, he was back where he belonged. Now there was only Marlena left to conquer. Feeling better than he had in years, Dimera turned his thoughts to the future and the legacy he would create.

****************************************

Sitting back from the table, Stefano let the coffee sear his throat, washing down the last of a big breakfast. Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, he reached into his vest for his first cigar of the day, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Sir, he's awake and struggling. I'm afraid he may hurt himself. He's calling for you, and I think you might better get down here."

"Tell him to calm down, I'm on my way." Pleased despite having to forgo his morning smoke, Stefano headed downstairs to see the prodigal returned. If he had had any doubts as to the frame of mind John would be in, they were quickly dispelled.

"God-dammit, let me up. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm going to rip your eyes out if you don't let me up." John thrashed in the center of the bed, yanking hard against the straps that bound his arms.

"Easy, boy. The man is following my orders," Stefano admonished, stepping into the room with a smile on his face.

The bandaged head swivelled to face Dimera's voice, and though the gauze covered the man's eyes, Stefano could still feel the glare of those blue eyes.

"Dammit, Dimera. Get me out of here," John snarled, giving one more frustrated tug at his restraints.

"And a lovely morning to you too, John. I want you to know you've ruined a perfectly good breakfast for me. And watch that mouth of yours- I taught you better than that."

Reluctantly, John's head dropped back to rest on the pillow. With a conscious act of will, he forced the tension in his body to ease. "Sorry, boss," he said more calmly. "But what's going on? Why can't I see? I want up!"

"You're tied down to keep you from hurting yourself," Stefano said, motioning the nurse away as he moved to check the restraints himself. John jerked at his touch, and with a firm hand against the man's chest, Dimera pushed him back down. "It doesn't work if you insist on fighting it! You're going to be fine, so please stop acting like a neanderthal."

"Stefano, I can't see!"

"You can't see because there was some damage to your cheek and eye socket. It's nothing a little surgery won't correct. Now, I'm going to take the dressing off of the left side of your head, and you should see just fine. If you can manage to behave yourself, I'll release the restraints. However- you are not getting up. Do you understand me?"

John's only reply was a grunt that was suspiciously close to a curse.

"Fine, you can just lie there until you're ready to be civilized."

The silence stretched out defiantly, each second reminding Dimera of just exactly how stubborn his best agent could be. However, this was a contest in which Dimera held all the cards.

"I understand," John finally muttered. "I'll just lie here. Lie here like some pathetic little baby. Whatever you say, boss."

"Gracious, even in defeat," Stefano responded dryly, bending to unwind the bandages that wrapped John's face. There had been no need to bind both sides of John's face, but Dimera had wanted to control the first moment in which John could fully gather his bearings. Control the moment, and observe the reactions of the still befuddled mind.

"Nurse, cut the lights down. No sense in blinding him." He pulled away the last strip of gauze, revealing an icy blue eye attempting to stare him down.

"Damn, boss. You look tired!" John burst out.

"I see your manners haven't improved," Dimera noted wryly. "Tell me what you remember John. What's the last thing you remember?"

Keeping his eyes on John's face, Stefano took his time loosening the padded cuffs that held the man pinned to the bed.

The blue eye began to water, and John squinted against the dim light. "The Soledinos. There was no warning. They picked me out at a bar, jumped me coming out. Think they must have busted me a good one upside the head. It's all fuzzy. Think it involved a pretty thorough beating. Then the oldest son, Jesse, he started practicing a little knife-work on me. I kept passing out, and then you were there, and they started dying. Fuckers! Hope you killed them all!"

"Every last one John. The Soledino cartel no longer exists. Is that all you can recall?"

"Jesus, Stefano- you were there. What are you asking me for?"

"Stop being difficult. I need to know what you remember."

"I owe you one. Okay? Happy? I admit it. You came, you got me out, I owe you. Damn, not like I never saved your ass before!"

Stefano rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to wrap his fingers around the man's neck. If he had forgotten how irritating John could be, it was a characteristic he was quickly recalling.

"What, exactly, is the very last thing you remember?" Stefano growled, his patience running dangerously thin.

John turned away, no longer willing to meet his eyes. When he finally spoke, his tone was subdued. "You carried me out. That's the last thing I remember. You were pissed. Really pissed. Hell, you never take a mission yourself! Man, were you pissed....

"Thanks. You know.... Thanks a lot," he said, reaching for Dimera's shoulder with his now freed arm.

Silky blond hair tickles his bare shoulder, soft lips sliding across the muscles of his back. He aches at her touch, the need for her searing his veins.

"If you aren't back in a few days, I'm going to hunt you down and kick your butt." Her silvery laughter echoes through his mind, and he fights to see her face as she slowly drifts away.

John dropped his arm, pinched his fingers around the bridge of his nose. His head continued pounding as the blood roared in his ears. "Who was the woman?" he whispered in confusion.

"Forget the woman, John," Dimera replied, his voice suddenly tense.

"The Soledinos didn't do this to me. It was a mission.... Stefano, who was the woman?"

"She's no one you need to worry about now. Just rest. Whatever you need to know will come back to you with time." Against all good sense, Stefano released John's other arm, watching as he clenched his fist, testing torn and bruised muscles. He would not lose him. The plans were in place, John could not fail him now.

"Stefano, who did this to me? The woman? Who the hell was she?" The panic was back, a sense of urgency he couldn't explain. John tried to lift himself from the bed, to make Dimera tell him what he needed to know. Exhausted muscles failed him and he sank back against the sheets, hating to beg but willing to do it if it would buy him what he needed to know.

"You've lost a few years, John," Stefano said quietly, his eyes giving no hints of the secrets they held. "You went deep under on your last mission, and it's just going to take a while for it all to make sense to you. Don't worry about it. Just let your body heal. When you're ready, I'll answer all of your questions. Until then, I just want you to lie here and rest, okay?"

"Rest, hell! Dimera, I want to know. You owe me that!"
Dimera merely laughed. "That's not how things work around here, John. If you remember nothing else, you'd better remember that."

"Don't push me, old man. Something for you to remember as well."

"You are in no position to threaten anyone, John. When you can get to my office on your own, perhaps then, we will talk. For now, you will lie in that bed and pretend to like it. I will have breakfast sent in, and I want you to get it down. After that, you will sleep. And if you won't do it voluntarily, I'll put you out myself- it's a promise. Do we understand each other?"

John grit his teeth, again testing muscles that refused to answer. With a resigned sigh, he finally nodded. "We understand each other perfectly, just like always. But Stefano- I will be in your office tomorrow. One way or another, you will give me the answers I want."

"When you can get there under your own power, you can have the answers. Until then, you'll behave yourself. Jarrod there will see that my orders are followed. And Jarrod?" Stefano said, glancing at the large man who stood by the door. "If he gives you any more trouble, call me down.

"John, I do not expect to have to answer such a call," Dimera warned, shooting a hard look at the man in the bed.

"Tomorrow, then," John replied, a promise he meant to keep.

Chapter 15

He stands in the middle of a living room. No gun, no knife, no nothing. He wonders who he is here to kill. Pastel flower-print on an overstuffed couch. Soft beige carpet under his feet. Framed pictures on the wall, good prints, but not originals. He looks around, surrounded by upper-middle-class suburbia, and doubts there is anyone here who is worth his time.

"I thought you might like to meet your daughter. Her brother's still asleep, but this one woke up to say 'hi'."

So damn beautiful! What's a woman like her doing here? She is most definitely worth his time.

"Aren't you going to say hello?"

She moves closer to him, her very presence causing his temperature to rise. The tiny baby she has wrapped in her arms blinks owlishly up at him, impossibly small fingers reaching out to grab onto a dark curl of chest hair peeking from the open neck of his shirt. He can't help but laugh, the act utterly unfamiliar and utterly good.

"She looks just like her mother," he whispers in awe, his fingers stroking gently against the incredibly fragile cheek of the blue-eyed child.

"She's got her daddy's temperament- unfortunately," the woman teases him, planting a light kiss against his lips. The taste is sweet and he wants to taste more. She draws back, looking at him fondly, leaving him with his need and his want and his heat.

"Thank you," he groans, his arms tightening around the body of the babe in his arms. "Thank you for loving me."

"I've always loved you, Roman. I always will."

"No!" He jerked awake with a start, hissing in pain as burning ribs slammed him back against the clean white sheets. Panting shallowly and sweating, he tried to recapture the image, the touch, the feel. All that he had left was the pain and the sense that something important had been lost.

"What time is it? How long was I out?" he snapped, fixing his attention on the startled nurse who stood at his bedside.

"You slept a solid ten hours, sir. It's around eight o'clock at night. Do you need to use the bedpan before we try and get some more food down you?"

John wondered if his sudden hatred of the man beside him was unreasonable, then decided he didn't care. "I can get up, Jarrod. Just give me a second. Damn, what's wrong with me?"

"Sir, I don't think that's such a good idea," Jarrod said nervously, not exactly certain of the status of his patient. "You've got at least one broken rib and four or five others are cracked. There was massive bruising, your arms are all cut up, and your just starting to get over a severe concussion."

Ignoring the babbling cretin moving uncertainly toward him, John groaned aloud and rolled his legs toward the floor. He tucked his head to his knees, the dizziness making him nauseous as his vision narrowed to a pinprick.

"Maybe I'd better call Mr. Dimera." Backing away from the figure on the bed, Jarrod made his way cautiously toward the intercom. John Black reeked of danger, and the nurse had the distinct impression that bad things were about to happen. Dimera did not pay him enough to deal with shit like this.

"You touch that phone, I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it." The words came out hard and cold, and as if to prove he could back them up, John forced himself to his feet.

Jarrod froze in place, afraid to move forward and even more afraid to move back.

John smiled a threat, pleased to see that his powers of persuasion were still in full effect. "Now, where's the can?"

He made his way carefully to the bathroom, hoping he didn't look as weak as he felt. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was his. His face- but not. It's been altered slightly, Sarte's work, no doubt. He wondered if it had been voluntary or a result of repairs to the damage inflicted by the Soledinos. Fuck'n Soledinos, he only wished he could have killed them himself. Jesse, at least. Most especially, Jesse.

Swaying on his feet, he gripped the edge of the sink and tried to see past the bandages, the bruises, the swelling. In his mind's eye, there was another face. Another face that belonged to him in some way he couldn't quite see, couldn't quite place. Grunting in frustration, he debated whether it would hurt to brush his teeth. He couldn't help but chuckle at how pathetic he had become.

Still, at least now he understood his current weakness. Anything not tightly bandaged stood out in purple and black. His arms, his face, his chest- all of it sore and weak and pissing him off with every moment he stood there looking at it. The knowledge that these were the least injured areas did little to inspire confidence. Stefano was going to tell him who was responsible for this and John planned to make the man's death last for days. Of course- it might have been the woman. If it had been the woman.... It wasn't her. She wouldn't hurt him. Whoever she was, he knew she wouldn't hurt him.

He looked into the mirror and the face smiled back at him. "Fuck you," he told it, turning to walk stiffly back to his waiting bed. He'd have his answers in the morning.

****************************************

Her fingers move slowly down the row of pearl buttons. Her hazel eyes never leave his face, as inch by inch she reveals herself to him. He wants her so bad. He has wanted her from the moment he first saw her. If the devil has sent her to tempt him, then the devil is about to get his wish. Sometimes the fruit is worth the fall.

His hands skim across golden skin and she shivers at his touch. Her shirt falls in a puddle of silk at her feet, the camisole quick to follow. His heart pounds, the blood surges, the sight of her naked makes him burn. She curls in his arms, innocent and trusting and worth his very soul.

Teeth, nipping his neck as he lays her gently down on the big bed. He's never known how to be gentle. He's never cared to know. He's willing to learn. For her, he is willing to learn anything.

"I can call you John. If that's what you want, I can call you John."

He laughs at a joke that only he knows. He'll learn anything for her. Anything at all. "Call me Roman. John is dead."

With a low moan of pleasure, she wraps her arms around him and welcomes him home.

"Marlena?!"

"Sir?"

Jarrod. That stupid punk Jarrod. Wrong voice, wrong sex- wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Shut up, Jarrod."

"Yes sir."

John stared at the ceiling, grateful to find that the throbbing behind his eyes has receded into insignificance. 'Marlena.' That was the woman's name. 'Marlena.' He rolled the name around on his tongue, enjoying the feel of it.

"Is it morning yet," John asked, suddenly realizing how badly he wanted to see the sun. Too long in the shadows, John Too long in this damn bed. Blinking a bleary eye, he shifted his legs over the side of the bed and used the momentum to lurch to his feet.

"Uh, yes sir. It's a little after nine."

Jarrod looked frightened, and John decided he liked him that way. Swaying slightly, he moved to the bathroom, snapping his orders over his shoulder. "Get some clothes ready. I'm going to grab a shower."

He ignored the muted protests that followed behind him, slamming the bathroom door and trying to figure out how to take a shower with half of his body wrapped in bandages. Inspiration failed him, so he stepped into the tub and allowed the hot water to wash over him, bandages and all. The heat took away the ache, or at least, it dulled the edge. Lathering gently, he leaned against the wall and explored the damage done to his body. When the inventory grew too depressing, he cranked the hot water. The pain of the scalding spray masked the ache of muscles starting to protest bone-deep bruises. It was an odd form of relief, but a relief all the same. He faded slowly away, melting beneath the searing heat.

The cold water brought back, the icy spray making him wonder how long he had been gone. He cut the water and tried to towel off. The pain returned, worse than before. His hands slapped against the tile of the floor and he found himself crouched in the center of the bathroom. "Jarrod, get your ass in here!"

His head dropped to rest against the cool tile and he tried to pretend he could stand up if he really wanted to. Jarrod's hands were on his shoulders, tugging at his arms, trying to get him on his feet. Jarrod really was a fool.

John's hand shot out, grabbing a wrist and twisting viciously. With a terrified squeak, Jarrod joined him on the floor. "Get the meds- whatever you've been giving me. I need a stimulant and some painkillers. You fuck this up, you call Dimera, and I will hurt you in ways you cannot possibly imagine. Do you understand?" he hissed into the scared bunny eyes.

"Yes sir, Mr. Black!"

Those eyes were far too scared to lie, and John released his grip, putting all of his energy into the act of not throwing up. He listened to the frantic footfalls, trying to decide if Jarrod was more afraid of him or of Dimera. He had his answer as Jarrod came running back into the room, a medical bag at his side.

"You're not quite as stupid as you look, you know that?" John muttered, watching the needle as it plunged beneath his flesh.

"Um, thank you."

John's snicker turned into a sigh, the effect of the chemicals speeding through his blood. The pain wasn't gone, but it was no longer important and that was good enough for now. Straightening slowly, he granted Jarrod a friendly smile. "You got my clothes laid out?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Black."

"Then help me off this damned floor. I've got places to go and people to see."

****************************************

Dimera hung-up the phone, pleased with the arrangements he had made for lunch. A celebration feast was called for and Marlena would be joining him. Her fear for 'Roman' made her compliant, and he planned to use that fear for just a bit longer. When the time came for him to reveal the truth of things, it would simply make it that much more devastating.

A sharp rap on the door drew him from his internal debate over the wine list, and he looked up only to be struck by a feeling of deja vue. Leaning casually against the doorjamb, dressed in the black fatigues common to Dimera's fighting compounds, was his second in command- John Black.

"Like the patch?" John asked with a lopsided grin. "Made the nurse get rid of the bandages around my head- made me feel like an invalid. Besides, the girlies will love the eye patch. Makes me look mysterious."

"What the hell are you doing out of bed! I would have posted guards if I hadn't thought you had more sense."

"Now boss, we did have a date. You said you'd fill me in when I could get here under my own power. Well, I could and I did, so stop whining and pour me a drink. I could use one. Some asshole did a real number on me."

Noting the glazed look in the man's eyes, Dimera asked suspiciously, "That idiot didn't shoot you up, did he. I'm trying to wean you off of the drugs before they become addictive. John, you're going to damage yourself if you ignore what your body tells you."

"No painkillers, boss. Though I did request a little stimulant- what can I say, the nurse couldn't refuse me," John lied.

"No, I'd guess he couldn't. Well, sit down before you fall down. And I do owe you a drink. After all, I am the 'asshole who did a number on you' as you so eloquently put it."

Stefano stood very still, watching with interest as John's face paled and his hands curled into fists. He was suddenly grateful for the heavy bulk of his desk, standing between him and the dangerous man in the doorway.

John lurched forward a half-step, swaying unsteadily without the anchor of the doorjamb to hold him upright. "I'll assume you had a good reason? Care to share it with me before I decide whether to take your head? I had a very messy death planned for the man who did this to me."

Dimera gave a negligent wave in the direction of the couch and moved to the wet bar tucked along the wall. "Sit down, John. You know I always have my reasons- and this was a very good reason indeed."

****************************************

"Codename, 'The Pawn'? Why a pawn? Why not a bishop? A knight at the very least?" John rubbed at his temples, forcing his brain to accept words it didn't want to hear.

"Nice to see your ego is still intact," Dimera chuckled, relaxing back in his chair.

"Damn, Stefano. I can't believe you let me stay under for 14 years. What the hell were you thinking?" John sighed, raising his second glass of whiskey.

"You managed to escape from my men before the programing was complete, John. You were wandering around in a drugged-out daze and Marlena was only too willing to supply you with a ready to wear identity. An identity as her loving husband. Without the final controls implanted in your mind, you immersed yourself in becoming Roman Brady- not that I can particularly blame you. This happened right as the ISA cracked down and the war with the Soledinos was becoming a true threat. I needed you with me, but it would have created too much heat for 'Roman Brady' to disappear again. Besides, I wanted her watched and protected, and with you committed to being Roman, I knew she couldn't be in better hands. After all, that was your original assignment, why I implanted the memories I did. It was supposed to have been a little reprieve from the constant battling. A little break, watching over a woman who had become important to me."

"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard of, Stefano," John replied, shaking his head and sipping at his whisky.

Dimera grinned. "That's what you said the first time I told you about it."

"It appears I was right."

"John, the drugs shouldn't have destroyed your memories. It was... an unexpected reaction on your part. You were a bit volatile after the Soledino fiasco, I was hoping it would calm you down."

"Oh, it calmed me down, all right! Hell, Stefano, you turned me into a freak'n cop!"

"Yes, that was a bit- awkward, shall we say? As an arch rival, you were not someone to be casually dealt with. It seemed best to simply leave you be."

"So why'd you bring me back?" John spat out, his words an accusation.

Dimera did not miss hint of anger, nor the feelings it implied. "I got lucky, John. I caught you away from your home ground. You came after me, not the other way around!"

John threw back the last of the whisky, trying to wash away the bitter taste in his throat. "I never did know when to quit," he muttered.

Dimera shook his head. "No, you never did. Do you remember any of it? Any of your time as Brady?"

With a groan, John levered himself to his feet. The room spun around him as he staggered to the bar, filling his tumbler to the rim. "Want another cognac?"

"What do you remember?"

John eyed the golden liquid as if it carried the answers to questions he didn't want asked. With a shrug, he took another gulp. "I remember everything you told me. It comes back as you say the words- like some book I'd read and long forgotten. Sometimes, I think I remember more. It's all twisted up, it's all wrong- but it's there. The first time I held my daughter. The first time we... It's coming back. It's all coming back."

"You don't have a daughter, John. You know that, don't you?"

He could feel Dimera's concern. He could feel his fear. "Yea. I know."

John's throat grew tight, each breath suddenly harsh. He took another drink and pushed the memories away. "By the way, where's my gun? Feel naked without it. Feel like you don't trust me," he said, changing the subject to something safer.

Dimera hesitated, trying to read the slumped figure, trying to see inside. As usual, the brittle shell kept him out. Opening the bottom draw of his desk, he pulled out a beautiful silver inlay 9 millimeter encased in a black leather holster. With a studiously casual gesture, he tossed the weapon to the man at the bar.

John flashed a broad grin, the gun flashing out to take aim at some imaginary target against the far wall. With the flick of his finger, he dropped the clip and checked the rounds. Fully loaded, just as a gun should be. The clip slid home with the barest whisper of sound. He chambered a round and wished for something to shoot. Vaguely disappointed when nothing presented itself, he clicked on the safety and returned the weapon to its holster.

"You kept it," he said, strapping the belt around his waist, feeling as if a missing body part had been returned.

"Of course. It was a gift to you. I'd always hoped to return it."

"Best birthday present I ever got," John said, his fingers absently running across the cool grip, an old habit long forgotten.

"You earned it. Besides, you only turn 21 once. It's good to have you back John. It's very good." Dimera said the words, and in saying them, began to accept them. God, the man even looked like his old self from here. The baggy fatigues hid the heavily bandaged torso and arms. Viewed from the left side, very few bruises showed on his face, and those that did were fading. John was the finest weapon he had ever owned, and he hadn't realized how much he had missed him until he had gotten him back.

"Remember you said that when I hit you up for my back pay," John replied, his face flushing slightly.

"You were on vacation. You don't get paid to be on vacation," Stefano teased, his grin giving lie to his words. He turned his head at a sudden sound from the doorway, and his smile deepened at what he found there. Her face pale and her eyes gleaming- Marlena had arrived for lunch.

Chapter 16

"Roman?"

It was her- the dreams hadn't done her justice. "Marlena?"

"Thank God, you're all right," she whispered, closing the distance between them, her arms wrapping gingerly around his waist.

He sagged against the bar, letting the cold marble take his weight. He couldn't face her, couldn't tell her of his lies. God! She felt so right in his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes, content to let this moment last forever.


Dimera frowned in concern at John's reaction. He rarely worried. He kept too tight a reign on his world for worry to ever intrude. Marlena threatened his control, she threatened his world. For once, Dimera knew worry and he fervently hoped that he wouldn't regret the decision to arm John.

She pulled slowly back from him, needing to see him, needing to know that her nightmares had not come true. Her fingers trailed down his side, feeling the bandages beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt, feeling the rough leather of the holster. A gun. He carried a gun.

"Roman?" She stared up at him in confusion, noticing for the first time the patch covering his left eye and half his cheek. "What has he done to you?"

John simply stared back, the words refusing to come to him. He would not tell her. He would not be the one to destroy her world.

"I believe you know my other guest, though in a somewhat different role," Stefano cut in, the confusion on John's face all the opening he needed. "I would like to introduce you to John Black, my best agent and right-hand man."

"No," she stated flatly, hazel eyes never leaving John's face. "Roman, he lies. You are Roman Brady! Don't let him do this to you- to us."

"It's not a lie," John finally forced himself to admit. He stepped away from her grasping hands, his head shaking regretfully from side to side. "It's not a lie, Marlena. Stefano took nothing from me. I was never Roman Brady. It was an assignment, a job. I never remembered my past as Roman because it was never mine to remember."

"Marlena, Roman Brady is dead," Dimera said. "He has been dead for over a decade. He died on the island- I buried him myself." John shot him a startled look which he ignored. This wasn't what he had planned, but he could make it work. When this was over and done, Marlena would be his. If John did his part, Marlena would be his.

This could not be happening, she would not let it happen. Marlena's head snapped around, hatred on her face. "You liar! You think I wouldn't know my own husband?"

"Oh, I think you knew your husband only too well," Stefano replied with an ugly grin. "In your grief for him, you remade a John into his image. I had planted the seeds of Roman's memories in John so that he could get close to you, watch over you for me until I was free to come to you. You took those few memories and remade John into the husband you so desperately wanted. He didn't know any better- he had wandered away from my men before the conditioning was complete. He was a walking wound, a man with no place to call home. You offered him all any man could want and he took it out of desperation. If he became Roman Brady, it was because you taught him how, Marlena. No wonder you couldn't tell him from Roman! You made him over into your version of Roman Brady."

Marlena paled, all the old doubts rushing back full force. "No! Nothing you say can be trusted, Stefano. This is Roman Brady. I know him as I know my own soul."

"You know nothing, Marlena- nothing of who and what he really is. He is no more Roman than is the fantasy man you created from your own memories and desires. But believe as you will- it makes no difference to either myself or John. Now, the cook is holding dinner. If you still care to join us, your presence is always welcome."

With an ironic bow in Marlena's direction, Dimera walked quickly from the room, relieved to find John following closely on his heels.

****************************************

Damn! His ribs were on fire, the whisky churning in his gut like molten lava. The last thing he wanted to do was sit across the table from her and make polite conversation. John looked everywhere but at her face, but he knew that she was watching him, waiting for some sign it was all a trick, a plan.

He flashes her a sly wink and she grins in sudden understanding. She never doubted him, not for a moment. Her love is too strong, too pure to have been wrong.

His gun lashes out, the cold metal falling hard against the back of the old man's head. Soft fingers grab his hand and they run, never looking back.

"I love you, Roman. I knew that he lied...."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! His trembling hand knocked against a crystal glass, red wine spreading across the white lace of the table cloth. He stared stupidly at the growing stain, wondering whose blood he had spilled this time.

"John? John, are you feeling up to this?" Stefano's deep voice growled out, jarring him back to the present, back to his new reality.

"Yea. Yea, I'm fine," John replied, trying to make his back straighten, his left hand pushing hard against his screaming ribs.

The drugs were wearing off, whatever John had taken, whatever was keeping him on his feet. Stefano could see it in the sweat dripping off his forehead, could sense it in the way every breath seemed to cause pain. The man had to hold on a little bit longer, just a little bit longer and Marlena would know the truth.

"John, I was going to let this wait, but I have a little gift for you."

John looked up wearily, not liking it when Dimera turned his attention to Marlena.

"You see, my dear," Stefano continued, smiling over at Marlena from his place at the head of the long table, "one of my men objected to John's return. He is the one responsible for the damage done to my lieutenant. I've been holding him, knowing that John would wish to deal with him... personally."

Marlena simply glared back at Dimera, wondering what he was getting at. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John's face darkened, his visible eye icing over. John had never taken a physical challenge to his person lightly and Stefano had expected this time to be no different. It was gratifying to know he could still read the man so easily. With perfect timing, a knock sounded at the door and he indulged himself in a pleased smile. "Care to get that for me, John?"

Adrenalin surging, John eased from his chair, hardly noticing ribs that had constrained his every movement just moments before. He reached the door, breathing deeply, oxygenating his body in unconscious contemplation of the violence he felt building. He could taste it in the air, the metallic bite of fear. The fear wasn't his.

From her seat at the table, Marlena watched him, uncertain of what was happening, but attuned to the rising tension in the room. Something was wrong with Roman- something in the way he moved, the hunger in his stride. A cold sense of dread shot through her and she knew she should look away. Her eyes never left his dark form.

Two guards flanked Davies, shoving him forward through the now open door. The man looked fearfully around, trying to scuttle back from John's fast approaching figure.

The boot smashes into his back, grinding him down against the cold concrete floor. A sneering face, a hard fist, the sting of a needle. The needle brings the memories and the memories are all bad.

The smile was on his lips, lending no warmth to the blue of his eyes. John crashed into Davies, grabbing him by his collar, shaking him as a terrier would a rat. Davies' feet nearly left the floor and he lashed out in panic. A lucky blow, it took John in his blinded eye. The grate of bones was so loud he could hear it and he found himself on his knees, shaking his dazed head. White fire seared his vision, the exhilaration building. He wanted his fucking knife, it took a knife to do this right. Thighs drove like pistons and he shoved the ground away. His hands found that thick neck, the move instinctive. He forced Davies back, an awkward dance across the Parque floor. Hands tore ineffectively at his grip as he slammed his prey against the table, bending him over until his back pressed into the fine wood. Dimly, he heard a woman screaming and he released the neck, rained his fists down into the face before him. The force of the blows echoed through the room, a beautiful counterpoint to the screams. This was the poetry of hell.

No resistance left and through the white-fire haze he watched blood flowing over pristine lace. "Fucker," he whispered, his hand gliding up from his thigh bearing steel- blue and silver and cold. "Mess with the bull, boy..."

He shoved the barrel into the screaming mouth and pulled the trigger. Pulled and pulled and pulled, backing away from the spraying fountain of blood. He emptied the 11 shot clip and when he was done they'd need a sponge to get what remained of Davies' face off of the table. He thought it unlikely that anyone would want to use that table again anyway. The laughter shrieked inside his head, Godhead again achieved.

John balanced on the balls of his feet, acrid gunsmoke holding him in a lover's embrace. The feral grin was still on his face, the muscles rippling beneath his skin as icy fire flickered in his synapsis. He turned, hunting for more meat on which to vent the power that pulsed through his veins and found her, staring up at him with wounded eyes.

The strength drained as quickly as it had come and he had to lean against the table in an effort to keep his feet. Memories again. Always the wrong memories, always at the wrong time.

"Dad, come on! You promised you'd teach me how to throw a curve ball. What are you and mom doing in there, anyway?"

"Daddy! It's my senior prom! Nobody has to be home by midnight. And don't you dare give Tony the third degree when he comes to pick me up. The last boy you did that to never asked me out again!"

"Daddy, what's a hickey?"

"I could never leave you, Marlena. Never. I'll be back. I swear it."

He holstered his spent weapon, rubbing his hand against the tough fabric of his pants in a futile attempt to remove the blood. She stumbled from her chair, hazel eyes never blinking. As pale as death, she backed slowly away from him. There was nothing for him to say, the proof of what he was spread across the table in the gore of flesh and blood. Turning away from those accusing eyes, he stalked from the room, wishing he had saved one last bullet for himself.

****************************************

Two guards supported his weight, half-dragging him back to his room and he dimly remembered collapsing upon leaving the dinning room. The men carrying him were respectful, but he could feel their fear. He briefly considered killing them- just for the hell of it, the escape. Escape for him always seemed to come in the form of spilled blood- his own, someone else's- it didn't really matter. Blood wouldn't help him now. He couldn't wash himself clean, not in an ocean of it. Not after what he'd done to her.

He had raped her. Oh sweet Jesus, he had raped her. Raped her mind, her body- all of those years taking her through a lie. Taking her in the form of the man who now rotted away, locked in a cell floors below. Damn Stefano, for letting him do this to her. Damn him for making him stop.

He groaned aloud as the men shifted him gently into the bed, the anguish more mental than physical. He opened his eyes to see Stefano leaning worriedly over him and realized that he must have passed out for a time. The anger flared and he roughly grabbed Stefano by the collar. "You set me up, didn't you? You knew exactly what would happen when I saw Davies. Why in the hell did you have to hurt her like that?!"

"And what exactly would you have had me do, John?" Dimera replied, tugging free of the weak grasp of the man in the bed. "Do you really think you could have hidden the truth from her now that your mind is clear? Would you have wanted to try? Which would have hurt her more?"

John closed his eyes and turned away. He had no right to be mad at Dimera, the blame for this was his own. The way she had looked at him as he had walked from the room... "What now, Stefano? What are you going to do to her? To my... to the kids?"

"Marlena needs time, I plan to give her that time. Once she comes to understand her situation, to adjust to it, we will leave here. Perhaps Paris, a fresh start. I will make her a queen, John. Eventually, she will come to me. She will see that it is her only choice. You know I always get what I want in the end."

"Yea, you always do," John replied with a bitter laugh.

"Stefano, I've got to get out of here," he said, looking up with eyes gone dead. He was no longer willing to think about this. It was over, it was done. Nothing to do but move on. "I gotta get my head back together. I can't be around her- I don't even want to see her. Give me a mission, something to do. Something ugly."

Dimera smiled, the words pleasing him as nothing else could have. "John, I won't make you see her, but the only thing I'm going to give you right now is at least a month of laying around, flat on your back, healing up. I know you were as high as a kite in there. We've got to get the drugs out of your system. Let your body repair itself." Stefano shook his head at John's stupidity. He was too inherently unstable to be playing with chemicals, he always had been. Dimera still didn't know what happened in the child's past to create such a seething rage and had long since given the inquiry into the issue up as too dangerous. But one thing was certain, a mind as twisted as John's did not need the addition of pharmaceuticals.

"Now I want you to take it easy. I have to go to the mainland in the morning- a minor emergency. Tomorrow night, we'll have dinner and I'll fill you in on business. Until then, you've got the run of the place. But take it easy- and I've ordered that you receive no drugs. If you can't move without them, take it as a sign that you probably shouldn't be moving. Agreed?"

"Whatever you say, Stefano," John replied, too bone weary to fight anymore. Closing his eyes, he tried to forget the way she had looked at him.

****************************************

Marlena huddled in the center of the bed, her eyes closed in an attempt not to see the evidence of his lies. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She would have known. After all these years, she would have known if she shared her bed with a stranger. She would have always known- even at the beginning....

"I'm going to take a shower. A cold shower."

He stands there, oozing testosterone and gazing up at her with those shy little boy eyes of his. She can't help but chuckle. "Well- whatever works for you."

"Care to join me?" he asks, not quite willing to meet her eyes, not quite willing to admit he's not joking.

She's not quite willing to admit that she's considering it. "That's okay."

When the phone rings, he beats her to it, the shirt draped carelessly over his shoulder. Oh my, the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin, constantly in motion. She wonders what he would do if she touched him. Her fantasy is so vivid, she almost fails to see the tatoo, blazing out at her from his right shoulder blade. The phoenix, rising from the flames. The phoenix reborn- again and again and again. Her breath catches in her throat and she fears she's going to be sick.

Panic holds her in her place, afraid to make a move while he is in the same room with her. How could she ever have hoped he was Roman? How could she have ever thought she could trust him?

"I'm going to go out, scout around a little bit. Wait here- I'll be right back."

Marlena nods mutely, trying to keep the fear from her eyes, trying not to tremble at the sound of his voice. The second he clears the door, she runs for the phone.

"Bo! Thank God! Bo, he's Stefano! John Black is Stefano. I saw the tatoo- he's really Stefano Dimera!"

"Marlena, get out of there! I'll be there as soon as I can, but don't wait for me. Just get out. Go to the authorities. Whatever you do, you have to get away from him." Bo's voice crackles through the phone lines, anger and fear making his words harsh. She nods, already knowing what she has to do. She runs to the door and he is standing there waiting. She's too late. She's far too late.

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking at her suspiciously. Did he hear? Does he know? He could do anything to her out in the middle of the woods- there is no one here to stop him.

"Nothing's wrong," she replies, trying to smile, trying to back away from him. He follows her into the room, his eyes never leaving her face.

"You don't seem the type to panic."

"Oh, you know how women are," she stutters, her fingers finding the knife he left sitting on the desktop. She tucks her hands behind her back and prays that he didn't see.

He keeps coming after her, long smooth strides, stalking his prey. "I know how you are. I know how you react. Right now, you're acting just as I would suspect if you had seen the tatoo on my shoulder. Isn't that right, 'Doc'."

Her arm lashes out wildly, the knife arcing toward his face. His big hand catches her easily, the force of his grip threatening to snap her bones. With a muffled groan, she drops the knife and he shoves her back into a chair. He leans over her, snatching the knife from the floor. He doesn't need the knife. His size, his strength, they are more than enough of a threat. The way he looks at her with those burning eyes, his rage at her betrayal a force that strikes at her like a fist. "I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry. I panicked," she says, her words jumbling together in the rush to spit them out.

He leans in close, the knife at her throat almost as an afterthought. The knife isn't necessary, but it's a natural appendage to his hand. She watches as his eyes turn black and she knows that he has to fight to keep the knife from drawing blood. She feels the heat pouring off of him, the need and the desire and the rage. It takes everything she has not to scream.

"Damn him!" Marlena curled herself into a ball in the center of the bed, cursing Dimera, cursing herself, cursing Roman. It couldn't be true. She had gone through this once before. She had laid all doubts to rest. Roman was her husband. He was alive. Dimera was playing his sick stupid games again and she would not let him win. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. She would have known....

She has always loved watching him as he sleeps. It has been too long since she has had the chance. Ever so gently, she runs her fingers across the clean planes of his face, her touch drawing a smile from his lips. Moonlight from the window reflects back at her as one blue eye slowly opens.

"I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," she whispers, brushing her lips across his.

"Mm..." he moans. "I think I could get used to waking up like this."

"You'd better," she laughs, snuggling against him, feeling his strong arms pull her close.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks, playing with a strand of golden hair that lays across his chest.

"Nothing important. Go back to sleep."

"Everything about you is important. Tell me."

"You just... you look so different. It's a little strange, to lay in your arms in this bed we always shared. It's all so familiar, but it's different too." She feels him tense, worries that her words have hurt him. The last thing she wants is to hurt him.

"I'm sorry," he finally replies.

"Don't be. It wasn't a complaint. I love you, Roman. That will never change." Tightening her hold on him, she wishes she'd never said anything.

"When did you know? In your heart, when did you know I was really Roman?" he asks, his voice distant and remote.

"I loved you before I knew you were Roman."

"That's not what I asked," he replies, shifting away from her in the big bed.

She grabs his hand and tugs him back. "When I saw the picture. I knew it was you when I saw the picture."

She feels the tired sigh that echoes through his body and sees the shadowed outline of his head shaking back and forth. "I didn't know until you told me. It's still hard for me to believe. Am I so different now? My wife, my family, my children- am I so different that no one could tell it was me? Hell, I couldn't tell! What did Dimera do to me, Doc? What if I can't trust myself to be with you now?"

She had expected to hear anger, and his fear surprises her. Anger would have been preferable. "It's okay, baby. It's okay," she whispers, her hands softly caressing the tight muscles of his chest. "You aren't different. Not in any way that matters. I should have known it was you from the start. You are the only man I could ever love, and I should have known it was you from the start."

"Were you ever afraid? Did I ever make you afraid of me?" he asks, peering into her face, refusing to let her draw him down beside her.

"Never, Roman. I could never be afraid of you." She lies, knowing it is a lie he needs to hear, needs to believe.

He stares down at her for a long time. "I would never hurt you. Never."

"I know," she replies, smiling as he finally relaxes and eases back down into his place beside her.

"I'm sorry I'm not the same man you married," he mutters as she tucks her head beneath his chin.

She listens to the even beating of his heart, letting him drift back down into the world of dreams. 'You're the man I love. That's all that matters,' she thinks, as sleep comes to claim her too.

It had been 14 years. The differences were small, insignificant. In 14 years, he would have given her a sign. In 14 years, she would have known if the man she loved was Dimera's trained killer.

"Wow! Marlena, you should have seen this guy! The man is a machine!" Abe storms through the kitchen door, a 12-pack of beer in one hand a bag of chips in the other. Lexie is on his heels, smiling apologetically and carrying a platter of dip.

"The testosterone is in overdrive tonight," Lexie cuts in with a laugh.

"Well you two should have seen it. He broke every PT record the department had- including the ones he set the first time around! Jeesh, man, when did you get to be such a crack shot? 100% on the range and a full second faster than anyone has ever finished it before!"

"I've been practicing," Roman replies, shouldering his way into the kitchen. He buzzes a kiss against Marlena's cheek and sets the pizza boxes down on the table.

"I take it the tests went well?" she says with a laugh, dropping the silverware in a pile beside the paper plates.

"I told the Commander there was no need to re-test Roman before they let him back on the force. Did he listen to me? Nooo. Guess you showed him! Damn, you were a machine out there. It was almost scary!"

Abe's grin is carefree, and Marlena can't understand why she feels so unsettled. She glances at Roman, sees his quick wink, and smiles back. Really, she has to stop overanalyzing things!

Roman was a cop. It was what he had trained for. He was supposed to be good. He had always been good. It didn't make him a killer. She would have known.

Case File: Roman Brady
Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting. After a short foot pursuit, officer shot and killed a robbery suspect. Suspect was shot 4 times at a range of approximately 40 feet. Suspect was DOA. This officer appears indifferent to the incident.

Case File: Roman Brady
Subject was involved in an on-duty shooting. The subject of this interview opened fire, killing the suspect with a single shot to the head. The subject currently shows little emotional response to the shooting incident

Case File: Roman Brady
The officer opened fire and both men were killed, suffering from multiple gunshots at close range. I am coming to suspect that his indifference to the consequences of such violence is real and not due to repression of such feelings or a reluctance to discuss them. I have my doubts that the current shooting incident was justified. Given the lack of witnesses, no one but the officer involved may ever know what really happened.

After 14 years, she would have known....

He stands in the center of the room, bruised and battered and triumphant. He sucks up every molecule of air until there is nothing left for her to breathe. She watches as he slams the screaming man down, bending him back across the table. Her own cries are lost beneath the high-pitched wail of fear. He is smiling, his fist falling again and again, splattering blood and crunching bone.

"Mess with the bull, boy...."

The gunfire cracks out, over and over and over. She can feel it echoing in her soul. A red mist rises from what used to be a living human being. He stands within the crimson haze, eyes burning, teeth bared- reveling in the destruction. He is not Roman. He never has been.

After 14 years, she would know.

"Marlena?" The soft click of a switch, and artificial light filled the room.

"Get away from me. You are a monster. A hideous twisted monster."

She refused to look up, refused to face him. If she ignored him long enough, perhaps he would go away. The feather mattress sank down, his heavy weight making its presence known. Feeling sick, she scooted away. Finally, she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"I need to know you're all right," Stefano said, making no move to close the distance she had put between them.

Marlena's laughter came out as a sob. "How can I be 'all right'? You just showed me my whole life has been a lie. How can you possibly think that I am 'all right'?!"

Her eyes were red and tears streaked her face. It wasn't fair that she was still the most incredible woman he had ever known. With a sigh, Dimera shook his head. "I'm sorry you found out this way. I told you before, it was not what I wanted."

"Bullshit!" she spat at him. "It was exactly what you wanted! But then, everything that happened was because you wanted it. You did this. You planned this! It was no 'accident' when Roman died. You did that to him. You wanted it to happen! Just like it was no 'accident' when John Black came to town- with my husband's memories, my husband's feelings, my husband's desires! All of this is because of you."

"Marlena, be reasonable. Why would I have wanted John to take Roman's place? That was not my doing. Nor was it my fault that John shot that man down in front of you. It's his nature, Marlena. Don't blame me for that."

"You bastard," she snarled, kicking out at him with one long leg. She wanted him gone. She wanted everything he had ever touched gone.

Her bare foot caught him in the ribs, the blow hard enough to make him gasp. His temper flared, and he clamped down on her ankle, jerking her to him across the slick surface of the satin comforter. Sharp nails cut into his face, her frantic hands pounding at him. "Stop it!" he shouted, pushing her down on the bed, using his bulk to make her be still. "Marlena, stop it!"

She struggled beneath him, her blond hair flying about her face, the warmth of her body driving away his ability to think. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself," he continued, his voice gruff with need and anger. "The battle with Roman was always a battle over you. And John chose to be with you because it was what you wanted. It was 'who' you wanted him to be. Everything that has happened is because of you, Marlena. Roman fought for you. John fought for you. I fought for you. All of this, for you!"

"I don't want you," she said, staring up at him with golden eyes.

"You will. Before this is finished, you will."

She flinched, the pain in her arm sharp and hot. Her eyes blinked slowly, Dimera moving further and further away though his body still lay on top of her, weighting her down, making it hard to breathe. Dimly, she could her Sarte's southern drawl, the words too faint to understand. She blinked once more and then she faded away.

"Feisty!" Sarte said, twirling the syringe between his fingers. He suppressed a chuckle as Dimera slowly rose to his feet, his arousal plain to see.

"Your commentary is both unneeded and unwanted, Sarte. I'd suggest you shut up."

Sarte merely grinned. "At least she didn't pretend John was her husband. It appears your little exhibition was successful. You must be pleased."

"I will be more pleased in the morning," Dimera replied, straightening his tie and finally managing to bring his breathing under control. His hooded eyes swept over her unconscious body. Perfection. Sheer perfection.

"You know what I want you to do?" Stefano asked, not bothering to look in Sarte's direction.

"Oh yes, I know exactly what to do."

"I will have it all, Sarte. Everything I have ever dreamed of. I will have it all."

Chapter 17
In the dark, the visions come. He wears another man's face and he stands outside another man's home. He walks in the back door, the twins under his arms. Laughter echoes and he hugs them tight, unwilling to let them go. In his mind's eye, he sees his face shift, growing cold, growing into the face of a killer. This is the face he was born to.

He pulls his children closer- so close they break. The pieces crumble in his arms, drifting to dust before they can hit the floor. The laughter mocks him and he follows it through twisting halls. He climbs the steps, finds himself at the bedroom door. His door. His wife. He opens the door and she is there, as beautiful as he has ever seen her.

Marlena glows. Her white gown shifts with the invisible wind, revealing her form. The creamy skin of a thigh, the dark flash of a nipple, and he is hard and hot and aching. He goes to her, to her waiting arms. In her eyes, there is only fear.

He tries to scream a warning as his body flies toward hers, but it is far too late for redemption. He wrenches her into his embrace, forcing her down on the bed as she struggles to free herself. He tears into her and the echoes of laughter become the echoes of screams. He penetrates her, feels the blood welling, the familiar release of violence. His body shudders one last blissful convulsion and he stares down into dead eyes.

He awoke, retching over the side of the bed, emptying the sparse contents of his stomach and continuing to dry heave until the lack of breath forced him to pass out. When he came to, a cold towel was over his face.

"Take it easy, Mr. Black. You're going to be okay. Just take it easy."

"What happened?" he croaked. "Where's Marlena? What happened to her?"

"It was just a dream, sir. It's okay, it was just a dream."

John lay still, shaking as the last of the adrenalin pumped its way through his system. "Where's Dimera?"

"He's already left for the mainland, sir. He left instructions for you to take it easy."

He finally managed to catch his breath, clear for the first time in his life about what he had to do.

"Give me a shot, I need to get out of this damned bed."

"Sorry, sir. Mr. Dimera gave strict instructions..."

John choked him off, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing until the man's face began to turn blue. "I don't give a shit what he said, Jarrod. And I'm getting damn tired of having this same fucking conversation with you every time I wake up! Get me the drugs."

The nurse's hand shook, tearing a jagged hole as the needle broke through the skin. With a grimace, John snatched the jar of pills and levered himself to his feet, grimly aware that Stefano was right. Without the drugs, he wasn't even able to get out of bed. Of course, that was now a moot point. He pulled on black fatigues, not bothering with the effort of a shower. If he stopped moving, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to start again.

John strapped his gunbelt around his waist, feeling Jarrod's frightened eyes watching him. He debated shooting the man and remembered he was out of ammo. That would have to be remedied. The pain began to recede and John strode out the door, his steps almost steady. The armed guard leaning against the opposite wall straightened in sudden surprise, his hand creeping toward the gun at his side.

"What are you doing here?" John snapped.

"Uhh, Mr. Dimera said I should make sure you're okay. He didn't seem to think you would get out of bed, sir."

The stocky guard was confused, clearly uncertain of John's status. John was in no mood to make the man's life any easier. "Well Dimera was wrong, wasn't he? Give me a couple of clips, I'm out."

"I think I'm supposed to stay with you, sir."

"Fine, do what you want. Just give me the damn clips." The man hesitantly complied, falling in behind John as he headed down the hall. "Where's Dr. Evan's room? I need to see her."

Stopping at the indicated door, John thrust it open without knocking. She was there, sitting by the window, startled eyes watching him. So fucking beautiful...

John's hand snapped out, grabbed the guard by the throat. He jerked the man into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. As the guard stumbled forward, John's knee took him in the midriff, dropping him to the floor. The gun was in his hand and he slammed the butt down on the unprotected head. Two hard kicks to the downed man's ribs delivered purely for spite, the body on the floor clearly unconscious, before he allowed himself to look at her again.

Not even breathing hard, John glared across the room at his lover. "Get dressed."

"Tell me it's a lie," she said, stalking across the room to stand before him. "Tell me it was all a lie- make me believe it- 'Roman'."

Scant inches separated them and he didn't need to touch her to feel the warmth of her flesh. Her eyes spat fire and he wondered if she would believe him if he lied. Oh God, how he wanted to lie....

"My name's not Roman," was his cold reply.

"You bastard!" Her hand flashed out to slap his lying face, but he moved faster than she could ever hope to.

He grabbed the upraised arm, twisting it sharply up behind her back. He saw the grimace of pain, used his grip to pull her close, hard up against his body. His mind burned with barely leashed fury and the press of her tight against him made the heat rise. He wanted to take her, to lose himself inside of her, use her to drive away the demons in his soul. He growled in the back of his throat and roughly shoved her away. "Get dressed. Please... we don't have much time. I'm going to get you out of here."

For a second, she wavered, wondering if she could have been wrong. No, the man staring coldly down on her reeked of danger. He was not Roman, not her husband. Still, she found herself obeying his instructions, unsure of exactly why. Knowing only that if he had wanted to hurt her, he already would have.

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He walked her toward the terrace doors overlooking the long sandy beach. Two guards snapped to attention at their approach and he dismissed them with a nod. Turning to chat with Marlena, he pretended not to notice the puzzled looks on the faces of the armed men.

"Uhh, sir? We weren't informed you were up and around yet. Can we help you?"

"No," replied John coldly. "Just felt like seeing the sun. Been cooped up inside these walls for too long. Dr. Evans is along to make sure I don't over do it. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" he asked, squaring up on the man in a move that could only be seen as threatening.

"Uh, no sir, I guess not. Have a nice walk, sir."

"See what a reputation for violence can do for you," he whispered sardonically to Marlena as they strolled casually down the steps toward the beach. She didn't respond, which failed to surprise him.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Just a little further. If I remember correctly, the airstrip should be a little further inland. I'll hide you in a maintenance building- I've got a little business to take care of before we leave," John said, wishing it didn't hurt to talk to her.

"Someone else to kill?"

"What's one more?" he responded, goading her for reasons beyond both his comprehension and his control. The airstrip came into view, cutting off further comment. The jet was waiting, fueled and ready to go in case of emergency- just as John had known it would be.

Alone now, he ambled back toward the estate, making no effort to hide. The guards at the front door were no more certain how to deal with him than those on the terrace had been. "Hey, what are you doing out here? Uh, sir."

"Needed some fresh air. I came around from the back. Think I've had enough, though. Time to head in." Squinting at one of the guards, John gave a look of vague recognition. "Do I know you? You look familiar."

"No sir. Here, let me get the door," the man stammered fearfully. John suppressed a grin, now certain the man must have been in on one of his beatings. Not like he would have remembered him, they had pretty much been faceless blurs- meat to be tolerated or extinguished. With a wave, he reentered the house.

Out of sight, John leaned against a wall for support, dry swallowing a couple of stimulants. He avoided the painkillers, they tended to blur his thinking. Stefano was right about the drugs, he didn't need chemicals to achieve insanity. Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself and moved silently for the basement.

The heavy metal door pulled shut behind him with only the barest hint of protest and he crept carefully down the stairs. Soundproof, the door was meant to prevent any cries from the cellar from disturbing those above. That door was going to serve him well. Weapon drawn, he swung around the corner, drawing a bead on the men in the control room. His first shot took the man facing him through the right eye. So quick it sounded as if he only fired once, the second bullet tore through the back of the second man, shattering his spine. No time for an alarm to be given, but John knew that a normal shift contained three men and there was no sign of his last target. Damn!

Then he heard it- shallow breathing from behind the desk. He eased forward soundlessly, barely managing to hold his fire as the terrified face came into view. A kid. Just a kid, frozen in place still clutching the printer cable he had been replacing. John decided not to waste a bullet, the boy's body slipping silently to the ground as the hard metal of the gun butt impacted against the side of his head. The kid was still alive and John let him stay that way for the moment.

Moving slowly down the quiet corridor, he tried to avoid the memories of his last time in this place. His world had died the last time he was here- he didn't need to relive that. The sharp creak of a mattress spring grated on his nerves and he had to fight to control the shaking in his arm as the stimulants surged full force through his system. His head felt like it was going to explode- he decided he liked the buzz. Drawing up at the last cell, he once again stared into the face that used to be his. He found that his hatred for that face had not diminished.

"What are you doing here? I see you're back in uniform, you bastard," spat the man in the cell.

John decided that face would look much better with a bullet through it. "Why am I here? I'm here because I owe you one- and I always pay my debts."

Roman stared through the bars at his executioner. At this point, death would be a release- but he still fought the notion, knowing that he was the only hope for Marlena now. Besides, only a cruel universe would allow the man who had stolen everything from him to take his life as well. "You coward. Are you going to shoot me down through the bars, or do you have the guts to face me, one-on-one?"

John smiled coolly back at him, holstering his weapon and drawing the keys from his belt.

The cell door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Roman lunged at him- just as John had expected. Putting his weight behind the effort, he slammed the heavy bars forward, sending Roman crashing to the floor. He stepped quickly into the cell, delivering a savage kick to the man's gut. The air exploded from Roman's lungs and he doubled over on the cold concrete, gasping for breath. It took every bit of John's control not to smash the man at his feet into a bloody corpse. This was man who had taken all that he was, the man who owned all that he coveted. "Get up," he ordered, unable to call the man by name.

Roman struggled to his feet, painfully aware that he was no match for the hired gun, despite the wounds he knew must lurk beneath the black uniform. Still, he did not plan to go down without a fight.

Roman braced himself for another futile attack and against all instinct, John backed away, raising his arms above his shoulders in a gesture of surrender. When he spoke, he had to force the words from his throat. "Roman, Marlena needs you. Don't be stupid."

Understanding came slowly, Roman sensing that something odd was at work. "What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"I want your help. Marlena needs your help. You can kill me now and fail her. Or you can help me and get her out of here. Get her home, back to her children- back to your children. It's your choice."

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John strode purposefully back to the front door, followed by an armed guard who walked with his cap pulled low. He had given in to the need for the pain pills and he now seemed to float across the floor. Lord, how he loved the drugs! Filled with power, he was untouchable, invincible. He descended on the guards at the door like the wrath of God. They turned, sensing danger, and his hand flashed upwards, spewing death from his automatic. The thought of subtlety was foreign, subtlety was for the weak. He slammed the doors open wide, heading for the plane, not bothering to glance down at the dead men he left in his wake.

Roman trailed behind, stunned by the brutal force of the man he followed. Dead men in the cell block, dead men at the door. Roman knew violence- knew it intimately. He had killed in his day, when he had to, when there was no other option. Always, the taking of life had left a sickness in his stomach, a sorrow at a life cut short. The man in front of him rolled through the house like a force of nature, giving no more notice to the bleeding bodies than would a hurricane. He felt ill at the thought that this, this creature, had reared his children, had been with Marlena. Without conscious thought, he raised his weapon to point at the dark head directly in front of him.

His senses screamed a warning and John whirled to one side. His gun took Roman in temple, knocking him to the ground. "Challenge me again and I won't even bring her your body," he hissed. Jerking the downed man roughly to his feet, he shoved him toward the airstrip where Marlena was waiting.

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Marlena peered through a crack in the rough planks of the maintenance shed, certain that something must have gone wrong. She rolled her eyes at the understatement, everything in her life suddenly gone wrong. In the distance, the crackle of gunfire sounded, and the guards around the airstrip turned to look back at the estate. There were so many guards- too many guards. He should have been back by now. He wouldn't have brought her down her just to leave her alone. She smacked her hand against the wood, half-fearing he wouldn't return- half-fearing he would.

And then she saw him. She saw them. It couldn't be. Roman. Roman Brady as she had first known him. Behind him, the stranger- John. As they walked casually toward the curious guards, John raised his a gun toward Roman's unprotected head. The pistol belched fire and Marlena sprinted out the door.

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The two men walked down the hill toward the milling guards. John could sense their confusion as they tried to determine if the two men of them were friend or foe. The uniforms made them hesitate, just as he had known they would. His own weapon was hidden by Brady's broad back. John smiled, yelling a cheerful hello as they drew closer. The smile was still on his face as he raised his weapon and opened fire.

Two shots and two men dropped, their bodies unmoving. The remaining guards scattered, even as Marlena burst from the shed where he had left her to wait. Cursing, John shoved Roman toward her, laying down cover fire as shots begin to pluck at the ground around them.

Roman flew across the scant yards separating him from Marlena. She was oblivious to the gunfire, cracking with regularity, and he threw his arms around her trying to shield her from the flying shells. His steps never slowed as he shoved her back behind the meager protection of the wooden shed. Holding her tight, he was lost in the feel of her after all of their years apart. "Doc?"

A heavy body crashed against the wall next to him, shaking the entire building. John's eyes blazed death, and for a moment Roman thought that death would be his.

"Brady, get your shit together. I'm going to break for the dunes, draw their fire. As soon as I have their attention, you get her to the jet. Don't worry about the pre-flight, it should be ready for take-off. Don't waste any time- get her the hell out of her. And Roman," he said, looking down at the man, forcing himself to use his given name, "know that eventually, Stefano will come for her again." With that, John prepared to dash from the protection of the shack.

"No! Wait, dammit. I can't fly that plane. What in the hell are you talking about?" Roman shouted at him, everything happening too quickly.

"What do you mean you can't fly? Of course you can, what the hell kind of agent are you?" He grabbed Roman by the shirt, pressed him back against the wall. Damn! He had forgotten. He hadn't gotten his pilot's licence until after he had returned to Marlena, the training made ridiculously easy by the fact that he had been flying Dimera's jets since he was a teenager. Shit!

"Fucking amateur," he muttered at Roman, one more thing to hate him for. He couldn't go back to Salem, couldn't face the family, the kids. He glanced at her, shook his head once, even as he admitted to himself that he had no choice.

"When I start to fire, you two go. I'll be right behind." He shoved Roman toward the plane then hugged the corner of the shed and opened-up on the two remaining guards. He emptied his clip, hitting nothing, but keeping their heads down. He didn't wait to see their response, sprinting after the two figures just clearing the top of the jet's stairs. He slammed a fresh clip into his gun and made his legs move faster.

Roman pulled Marlena into the plane and out of the line of fire, then turned in the doorway to watch. John stumbled as he ran, his free hand pressed hard against damaged ribs. The remaining guards rose from cover, their pistols raining bullets. John wasn't going to make it and Roman could offer nothing in the way of cover fire, his pistol laying in the sand where it had fallen when John had knocked him off his feet.

John hit the first step, pitching forward to fall hard against the metal grate. The gun jarred loose from his hand, landing at Roman's feet. He grabbed the weapon, sending a wild fusillade of shots in the direction of the guards who once more ducked for cover. Reaching quickly down, Roman dragged the now struggling body into the safety of the cabin. Bullets clanged against the skin of the plane sending slivers of hot metal flying. Frantically, Roman tried to crank the door shut as John staggered to his feet and disappeared in the direction of the cockpit. As the door finally closed, Roman heard the roar of cold-started engines. The plane surged forward, lurching as it tore its way into the sky. With a tired sigh of relief, Roman Brady sank to the floor and smiled at his wife.

Chapter 18

"Marlena? Doc? Are you okay?" Roman asked, crawling to where she lay curled on the floor next to the now sealed hatch.

"Roman? Is it really you?" She looked at him as if he were a ghost, her fingers rising to brush gingerly across his cheek, the touch tentative and uncertain.

"Long time, no see," he said with a small smile.

Her tears competed with her laughter as she pulled him to her in a tight hug. "I am so sorry. I didn't know," she whispered down at his bowed head.

The last of his reserves crumbled and he sagged in her arms, unable to stop the sobs. This was what he had lived for. It was the only thing he had lived for in fourteen long years. "It's okay, Doc. It will all be okay now. I'm home."

He would have been content to lay in her arms forever. "You haven't changed. Not in all these years. How is that possible?" he said, his hands skimming the smooth curve of her neck.

Blood, sticky and warm on the tips of his fingers. Marlena pulled away, grabbing his hands in her own. "You're hurt, Roman. Oh Roman, no."

The professional in her took over, searching for some sign of the injury. "Just lie still, I need to see how bad it is. Roman, were you shot? Did you feel the impact?"

Confused, he sat up, tried to figure out what she was talking about. "Doc, I feel fine. I..." Dark crimson stained the carpet by the door, the blood still sticky. John. John had gone down on the stairs...

Trying not to let his panic show, Roman flashed a quick grin in her direction. They needed John alive. They needed a pilot. "I'm fine, Doc. Just stay here, I need to check on something."

He saw the realization in her eyes, the fear that quickly followed it. Roman hated that she still might care.

"No, Roman. I'll go. He might... he won't hurt me, Roman."

Marlena was on her feet before he could stop her, her fingers brushing absently against his shoulder as she ran to the cockpit. He watched her leave him, the jealousy spreading like a cancer. If they didn't need a pilot... Roman's hand tightened around the butt of John's gun.

John leaned back in the big pilot's chair, eyes closed against the bright sun that dazzled his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he reached for his gun, only to discover it had been lost in the conflict. He allowed himself to sink back against the seat as Marlena burst through the open passage. She was afraid. She was always afraid around him now. He wondered what she was afraid of this time.

She pulled up as she saw him staring at her with his empty eyes, a chill running down her spine. "Are you okay?" she asked stiffly.

He couldn't help the snort of laughter. 'Was he okay?' Every time he looked at her, he felt another piece of himself die. It would be so much easier if she would just use a gun. Too bad he couldn't tell her that. "I'm lovely, though I could seriously use a beer. There's a fridge just behind the bulkhead. Stefano keeps it stocked with Redhook, a personal favorite of mine. Why don't you make yourself useful?" He continued to stare through her, praying she would go away. Being near her was a personal agony, easily overshadowing the fire that burned in his gut. His prayer was answered as she turned away, tears in her eyes. Leave it to God to choose this prayer to hear.

Marlena barely noticed as she brushed past Roman, standing just out of sight behind her. He had listened to every word and heard the words unsaid. His eyes narrowed in anger, he stepped forward into the control center of the sleek jet.

"Nice to see you're feeling well enough to be an absolute bastard," he said coldly, hyper-aware of the gun in his hand.

"Fuck you too, Roman. What do you want?"

"I want a pilot who can get us home. There's blood in the passageway and I know it's not mine or Marlena's."

"Might want to clean that up for me. Dimera's going to be pissed enough as it is- a dirty rug just might push him over the edge." John grinned, wishing Roman would drop dead. This time, of course, God chose not to listen.

Roman simply stared down at the man in disgust. He had never seen anyone so cold. Roman briefly wondered if everything he had seen the man go through chained in the cell had driven him insane. "Look, I just need to know if you can get this plane home. That's really all I care about. Can you do it or not?"

"I can get you home all right. I've already got the coordinates set for the automatic pilot. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Oh, and I would appreciate my gun back. See you've got it tucked in your waistband. It was a gift, you see. Has some sentimental value."

Roman thought he would rather stick needles in his eyes than give a weapon to the monster beside him. "Think I'll keep it for a while. I kind of like the look of it."

John stared through him, then shoved the steering column forward, sending the plane into a sharp dive. Quietly he said, "You can give me my gun, or we can become a very small oil slick on a very big ocean. Your call Brady."

With absolutely no doubt that the man meant what he said, Roman handed the stylized weapon over. John hesitated for a long second before reluctantly pulling the plane out of the dive. "Get out of here, and don't ever think of pushing me again. You should know that your very existence serves to piss me off. My preferred method for dealing with you would be to simply end that existence."

Roman backed away from the psychopath controlling the plane and turned to find Marlena sitting dazed on the floor. "Doc, are you okay?"

"I think so, just lost my footing when the plane dropped. What happened?"

"He wanted his gun back and decided to offer me a little incentive to comply. It's okay. If he wanted to use the gun, he would have already. He has set the course for Salem, so I think everything will be okay. Forget about him- we're going home, Doc. Everything is going to be okay now."

The smile she gave him was the same one in his memories, but he couldn't help but notice how her eyes strayed toward the front of the plane.

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John watched the bright lights dance from behind closed eyelids, the comforting bulk of his gun resting against his hip. Oblivion called out, and he flirted with its cold embrace. The pain was the only thing he had left to fight with, and the pain was nothing he would miss.

For how long he lay there, he had no idea. A sudden jolt of turbulence caused him to snap his eyes open, but the instruments blurred in his gaze. So tired. Too tired. With a start, he realized he was coming down. If he crashed off the drugs now, he might not wake up until it was too late. He might not wake up at all.

Fumbling in his pocket for the vial of pills, he tried to remember why it was important he stay awake. The bottle slipped from his weakening grasp and he watched stupidly as it rolled away. When he reached down, the agony ripped through him like a knife and it was all he could do to stay conscious.

"Roman? Roman, I need a hand in here." His voice sounded weak in his ears, but he wasn't sure he could call out again. Fortunately, Roman came in just as he was trying to gather the will to make the effort. "Need some pills, but I dropped them. I need to keep my eye on the road, so you get to find them for me."

Roman almost turned on his heel and walked out, but something was clearly wrong with the man in the chair. John's head lolled back, his skin deathly pale. Damn. "Why do you need pills?"

"Narcolepsy. A severe case. Just get the damn pills!" He tried to sound threatening, but knew he had failed.

Roman knelt down, not really caring why John needed the pills. If the pills would help the man land the plane, then he would get the pills. If they killed him in the process, then so much the better. Slapping the vial into John's hand, he couldn't avoid noticing the blood. Too much blood. The black material of the fatigues shone dully in the green light from the instrument panel, evidence enough that the man was bleeding badly. Roman leaned over to check the wound and found the 9 millimeter under his chin.

"Give me the pills and go away," John whispered as he cocked the hammer.

Roman froze, undecided.

"Roman, what's wrong?" Marlena called out.

For a split second, John's finger tightened on the trigger, then she was there, her presence effectively disarming the man in the chair.

"Roman, what's wrong," she repeated, watching uncertainly as John let the pistol fall back to rest against his leg.

"I think you need to check him over. Make sure he's going to be able to land this plane once we get it home." Reluctantly, Roman let her take his place, fading into the background. He doubted she was even aware of his presence as she knelt beside John and gently pulled his hand away from the blood-soaked wound.

"You should have said something," she muttered as she ripped open the black t-shirt, her fingers gently probing the torn flesh of his left side.

John tried not to flinch, but her touch was impossible to ignore. "There was nothing to say," he grunted.

"We have to get him in back. I need to see what kind of damage was done," she called over her shoulder to Roman, her attention focused on the man in the chair.

John shook his head, pushed her feebly away. "Just give me the pills, Doc. Stimulants, painkillers... keep me going. If I crash out, I might not come to. Just keep me on the meds," he said, his voice now a whisper.

Ignoring his protests, she motioned for Roman. "Help me get him up."

Working together, they got the now almost unconscious man to his feet and half-dragged him toward the back of the plane.

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Marlena felt sick, staring down at the wounded body beneath her fingers. She had feared the damage done by the bullet, but what she'd found was much worse. Beneath his shirt, stained bandages wrapped his entire chest. Blood crusted his side, the still oozing exit-hole purpled and ugly. The bandages continued down his arms, dotted in spots with old blood. He hadn't been tended to properly since the last time she had seen him, days before. "Roman, see if you can find a first aid kit. There has to be one here somewhere," she said, trying to maintain her professional detachment.

She brushed his dark hair back from his face, her fingers running lightly across the angry cut on his left cheek. The bones shifted beneath her touch, and she drew back with a start. What had Dimera done to him? Gritting her teeth, she began to remove the bandages around his chest.

"Doc?" he cried out softly. "I'm sorry Doc... didn't know. I'm so sorry." His breath came out as a sob, and Marlena could tell he had no conscious awareness. It was impossible to reconcile this broken body with the cold-blooded killer that had stalked the Dimera compound.

"Sh..." she gentled. "It will be all right. Just hang on." As she peeled the strapping from his ribs, he tried to draw himself up, falling on his side and knotting into a ball. She gathered his head into her lap and simply held him, waiting for Roman to get back and help her. She needed to cut the bandages loose, and she would need Roman to hold him steady so that he didn't end up puncturing a lung.

"Don't hurt her Stefano. Please, God, I'll do anything you want. I beg you..." His lean body shook as he called out from his delirium, his voice a dry croak.

Angry now, she dashed at the tears that stung her eyes and gently rubbed his shoulders, willing him to relax. Needle tracks dotted the pale skin, her fingers skimming across the raised marks. She wondered if the drugs had left any trace of the man she had known. " Easy, honey, I'm here," she whispered in his ear. "Stefano didn't hurt me. You just have to hold on a little longer. I know you can hold on for me."

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Marlena sat back, completely exhausted. John lay peacefully now, a heavy blanket pulled to his chin, covering the fresh bandages that held his chest together. The gunshot wound was merely one more wound on a body that had been pushed to its limit and beyond. The bullet had cut in and out, low on his left side. Luckily, it hadn't been a hollow point, hadn't mushroomed or fragmented. She was fairly certain it had missed the kidney, though there was no way to tell for certain at the moment. The bleeding was stopped, it would have to be enough for now. She started, jarred from her thoughts, as 'Roman's' hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Doc, come on. You need to lie down, take it easy. You've had a lot to take in and I know you're worried about him."

The bitterness was there, barely disguised. She couldn't blame him for his anger, but right now, she just couldn't deal with it. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know this hurts you, but I can't help it. Roman, I thought he was you for so long. I believed it because I wanted to, I needed you so badly.

"Do you know what Stefano told me? He said that he became Roman Brady because I wanted him to. I made him believe it. I made him believe he was a husband, a father, a son. Now that's all gone and he's lying there hurt. Maybe I should hate him, but right now, I just can't."

"Doc, don't turn him into some martyr," Roman said, his voice harsher than he intended. "I've seen this man in action. He is sick! Something is missing inside of him. You didn't do that to him. I don't know what did, but he worked for Stefano long before you ever met him. We should both just be grateful he didn't revert to type with you or the kids. Marlena, killing is nothing to him- he's dangerous. I'm willing to let him let him leave, let him go back to Stefano. He saved you and I owe him more than my own life. But that doesn't mean I trust him. It doesn't mean you should trust him. You can't save some people, Marlena. You'll only get hurt if you try."

She managed a faint smile and changed the subject. "Roman, you better radio in to Salem. Let them know we're coming. The kids... what is this going to do to the kids?"

"Their father, their real father, is coming home," he said. "I don't see the problem, Marlena!"

"Roman, he raised them. You need to understand that," she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. "I don't want you to tell anyone what he is. Not yet. Tell them you are coming home. Tell them 'John' didn't know who he was, that he thought he was you. That's truth enough for now."

Roman jerked away from her, his anger bubbling over. How could she protect this man who had stolen so much from him? "How exactly are you planning to keep what he is a secret? He's dangerous, Marlena! He's not a naughty child and you aren't going to be able to just bat your eyes at him and make him behave! He'll end up hurting somebody- I just hope that somebody isn't you!" With that, he stormed away toward the cockpit.

****************************************

John came to slowly, reaching for the controls of the aircraft. His fingers brushed against skin, smooth as silk, and Marlena's face came slowly into focus. "Doc, what...?" The drugs brought back reality and he regretfully dropped his arm. Reality was highly overrated. "What happened?"

"You passed out," she replied as she fussed with the bandages on his side and avoided meeting his eyes. "You should have told me what they did to you, how badly you were hurt. We need to get you to a hospital as soon as we land. R... Roman radioed ahead. Bo and Abe are going to meet us at the airport with an ambulance. It's going to be okay."

Her hair fell in front of her face, a golden shield that blocked his view. He reached out, trailed his fingers through the silken mass, and tucked it behind her ear. Hazel eyes locked on his and it was all he could do to force breath into his lungs. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Any time," she whispered back.

"The drugs worked- is he going to be able to fly?" Roman's voice cut in.

Sensing a threat, John reached for his holster, resting his hand on the butt of his gun. She pulled away from him and he tightened his grip on the weapon, his new anchor to reality. "Don't worry, I'll get you on the ground in one piece."

"Go easy," Marlena warned. "We had to give you some of those pills to bring you to- you've been out cold the whole trip. You shouldn't even be conscious, but the airport is coming up, and we have to land. Just hold on a little longer and we'll get you some help."

"I don't need help, Marlena," he replied, trying to sit up. The pain streaked through his side despite the drugs, and he gave it up as a bad idea. Rolling to his side, he gathered his legs beneath him and tried not to notice Marlena's arm as it wrapped around his waist. Struggling to get to his feet, he let her take most of his weight. Swaying unsteadily, he pulled her close and found himself staring into the angry face of Roman Brady. His throat dry, he pushed himself away from her and lurched toward the cockpit.

****************************************

Bo leaned against the metal door of the ambulance, anxiously scanning the skies. "What's the word from the tower," he asked Abe, who sat bent over the ambulance's mike.

"The tower just confirmed them for final approach, Bo. They should be down any minute."

"Man, I just can't believe that Roman... that Roman's really been Dimera's prisoner for all of these years. I can't believe it wasn't my brother who has been here. Hell, he's the one... This is way too weird!" Bo trailed off, shaking his head.

"I know what you mean Bo, but have a little faith. The man who left here to go hunt Stefano is a good man, a man I'm proud to call a friend. And your brother, Roman, he's a good man too. Everything will work out, we just have to have some faith and give the whole thing a little time."

In silence, the two men watched as the sleek jet screamed toward the runway, coming in far too fast for safety. Skipping roughly across the tarmac, smoke billowed as the brakes ground and the tires skittered for traction. Still rolling, the plane skewed around sharply as the runway ran out. In a cloud of dust, the aircraft finally came to a halt.

The ambulance carrying Bo and Abe screeched to a halt beside the plane before the dust had time to settle. Leaping out, Bo caught sight of his brother standing in the open hatchway. Hardly believing his eyes, he hesitantly approached the descending stairs. "Roman- is it really you?"

"Bo, God it is good to see you little brother! Come on up, I think I'm going to need some help."

"What is it? Is it Marlena? Is she okay?" Bo asked, sprinting up the stairs.

"She's fine. As soon as the plane stopped, she went up front- to him," Roman replied, his voice sounding strangely bitter to Bo's ears.

"It's really you, huh?" Hesitantly, Bo put a hand to Roman's shoulder, then pulled him into a tight hug. "Man, I'm so sorry for what happened to you. If I had known..."

"It's okay, Bo. Nobody knew," Roman said, slapping his little brother's back. "Nobody knew it wasn't really me."

Almost embarrassed, Bo finally broke away, dashing furtively at his eyes. "So, um, what do you need my help with?"

"It's John, he's pretty banged-up."

"I thought he was piloting? He's hurt? Damn, let's go get him out of here," Bo exclaimed, heading for the front of the plane. In his wake, Roman grimly followed.

****************************************

"Marlena, dammit! Get off the plane. I told you I'm fine, just get out of here," he was angry and he was tired and he hated arguing with her more than he hated anything else on earth.

"Tower, this is nc178 requesting refueling for immediate take-off. Over," he spat into the mike.

Bo wedged his way into the crowded cockpit, his glance darting from John to Marlena and back again. "What's up? What's the problem you two?"

"Bo, get her the hell off of this plane. I've got to start my pre-flight," John snapped, sparing a glance in Bo's direction.

Bo paled. Beneath the bandages and the swelling, he could hardly recognize the man he had been closest to for the last fourteen years of his life. "Oh God, R... Uh, John. Come on, we've got to get you to the hospital."

Crouching down, Bo got a good grip on the man's shoulders and tried to help lever him out of the chair. He found himself staring down the barrel of a 9 millimeter handgun and slowly let go, taking a small step back.

"Bo, I want you to get these people off the plane right now. Take my word for it, this is best for everyone. Now get them the hell out of here!"

More startled than anything, Bo looked to Marlena for some explanation. She waved him back and moved closer to John.

"Honey, put the gun down," she said, her hand coming to rest on top of his, trembling now under the weight of the gun. Surrendering to his own weariness, the man in the pilot's seat let his arm drop and Bo plucked the gun from his fingers.

Too tired to fight her, he tried one last tactic. Tilting his now drooping head, he peered toward the darkened doorway. "Roman . . . Roman, you know I'm right. It's too dangerous for me to stay. I have to go back to Dimera. He won't hurt me and I can keep him from coming for Marlena. You know I have to go back."

"You are not going back to him!" Marlena said, grabbing him beneath the jaw and forcing him to look at her. "I've seen what he did to you and I won't let you go back."

Taking charge of the situation, she ignored any further argument and ordered Bo to help her. John passed out before they managed to get him off the plane.

Chapter 19

"Marlena, damn him! We do not need to wait around and see how he is. Let him get out of here as fast as he can and good riddance," Roman snapped, grabbing Marlena's arm as she tried to follow the gurney down the hospital corridor.

"Roman, I can't just abandon him! You saw what was done to him- who knows if he really worked for Dimera at all? The drugs, the beatings- Stefano could have made him believe just about anything!"

"Yea, Marlena- I did see it. I saw everything! I saw how he shot those men down at the compound. Hell, John was there when Dimera first captured me. He was in on the plan to take my place from the very start! You're the one who needs to open her eyes!"

She jerked free of his hold, shaking her head. "He got us out of there, Roman. He risked everything to bring us home. To bring both of us home. He wouldn't have done that if he worked for Stefano!"

"Okay, you two. I want you to tell me what's wrong with him," Bo interrupted, his face an angry mask. "What happened to him? Why is he trying to get away from here, from his family? What the hell is going on?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong, little brother," Roman said, his eyes never leaving Marlena's face. "Your 'bro' in there is nothing more than one of Stefano's hired guns. He's a stone cold killer and all of you accepted him as me! That's what wrong!"

"No way. No way. Marlena?" Stunned, Bo took a half step back, looking to Marlena for support.

"I... I don't know, Bo," she finally replied, her eyes downcast. "He did things... I saw him do things I would have never believed possible. But he brought us home. In the end, he defied Dimera. He brought us home. I don't know what to think anymore..."

It was not the denial Bo had hoped for and he looked uncertainly at Roman. "What did John say? Did he say for sure he worked for Dimera?"

"Bo, there is no doubt. I was there when he remembered who he was. He was yelling for Stefano to get him out of the cell and Dimera carried him out of there like he was golden. He locked-up the guy who did the damage to him, and according to Marlena, he let John kill the man. I have no doubts, John was close to Dimera, high-up in his organization. I don't know what he was like when you knew him, but now he is just violent. The man's a killer and I don't want him anywhere near my family!"

"No. No, it's got to be a trick. I would have known. After all these years... Marlena, are you sure it's true?"

"John says it is," she said with a broken laugh. "He said he had always worked for Dimera- his right-hand man. When he was here as Roman, he didn't know who he was, he accepted that he was Roman Brady. But now, now he says he remembers who he really is. He believes it, Bo. He believes he is Dimera's hired gun and he wants to go back to him."

"Oh Damn!" Bo slapped a hand to his forehead, unable to believe this was happening. "I've already called mom and pop, they're on their way down right now. This is going to kill them. And the kids! What's this going to do to Carrie and the twins?"

"Bo, their father is back. They're going to be fine. The man was an imposter and now he's gone. It's all going to be for the best." Roman couldn't figure out why Bo was making such a big deal out of it. John Black was nothing- a liar, an imposter. The sooner he was out of their lives, the better off they would be.

"Yeah, I guess," Bo replied dubiously. "It's just, it's hard not to think of him as family. It's going to be really hard for the kids. For everybody. Roman, he was there for us. You could always count on him, no matter what. This is, it's going to be hard to adjust to."

"Roman!?" The loud cry drew their attention, and Caroline Brady came rushing down the hall toward her eldest son. "I couldn't believe it when Bo told me. Oh, Roman! Is it really you?" She took him into her arms and held on tightly, the tears streaming down her face.

"Ma... it's been so long," he said softly, a deep sadness he hadn't known he felt welling up from inside.

Turning away, Marlena brushed at the tears now falling from her own eyes. This is so unfair... to both of the men. Most especially, to Roman. He deserved her undivided attention, her undivided heart. They should be home, with their children, their family. After all the time apart, he deserved nothing less. But still, there was... the other.

"Son? My son," Sean said, coming up behind Caroline to grasp Roman's shoulder. "We are so glad you are okay."

"Mike?" Bo called, startling them all. "How is he?"

Dr. Mike Horton looked up from the medical chart, approaching the worried family he had known since he was a child. He still wasn't exactly certain what was going on, and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Is he going to be okay, Mike?" Sean echoed, the concern in his voice bringing Roman back to the realities of the moment.

"We're still running tests. There was a lot of damage over a pretty long period of time and on top of that, there's the gunshot wound. It's the drugs that have us worried, though. We analyzed the pills he's been taking. Strong stuff. It would have to be to keep him on his feet in the condition he's in. But the tests indicate other substances we haven't been able to identify. It's making it hard to know how to treat him and we don't know if it may result in long term effects."

"Mike," Marlena interrupted. "I don't think Stefano wanted him permanently injured. Whatever he gave him, I don't think the effects will be long term"

"I hope you're right, Marlena, because right now, there isn't much we can do about it."

Still holding tight to her son's arm, Caroline asked, "When can we see him, Mike. I need to be sure he's okay?"

"It's going to be a while. The gunshot wound wasn't bad, it didn't hit anything vital, but there's still a lot of work to do. They have to stabilize his eye-socket, he broke some bones in his face. His arms... they're pretty cut-up. It's going to take a while. Why don't you all go sit down, have some coffee? I'll send a nurse once they have him cleaned up. Don't expect too much. He probably won't regain consciousness for quite some time. He's been through a lot- I just want you to be prepared for it, okay?"

As the Bradys turned reluctantly toward the waiting room, Mike called quietly to Marlena, "Can I see you inside for a minute?"

"Of course, Mike."

Roman watched in silence as she followed Mike down the hall.

****************************************

"What is it Mike? Is he really okay?" Marlena asked, joining Mike in the trauma unit.

"I haven't gotten the full story of what's going on- though I know that 'Roman' wasn't Roman. But the guy we have in there... Marlena, what did Stefano do to him? We had to put him in restraints as soon as we got him in here. He was delusional, yelling and screaming and he nearly choked one of our nurses who was trying to hold him down. I need to know what's going on. Is it the drugs Dimera gave him? He is really out of control and when he comes to, I need to know what to expect."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mike. It looks like John might have been one of Stefano's operatives- at least that is what he believes. Stefano drugged him- tortured him- into 'remembering', but I'm still not sure what the truth. But Mike, he is dangerous. He isn't the man we all know. You need to be careful with him- especially if he's delusional."

"Have you told the family?" Mike asked.

"Bo knows, but he won't say anything. I want to wait until he's conscious, until he can explain what happened. Mike, I just can't believe the man I knew would have every willingly worked for Dimera! I can't tell the kids the man who raised them was really some hired killer. I need to wait, at least until things become clearer.

"Mike, I can keep him calm, you don't have to worry. I'll stay here until he's lucid, make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else. Please Mike, I'll watch him. Just don't tell anyone what's going on, not until we know more."

"Marlena, you know it's not my job to make announcements about my patient's mental health. I'm just worried about how best to treat him. But you have to know this is going to come out and you'd better be prepared. This isn't going to stay a secret long. Roman's a cop, apteral! He's going to have to tell Abe what he knows. There may even be an arrest warrant out for John. It might be best to get the kids ready for that possibility. I know one thing- I sure wouldn't want them around him the in state he was in when he was brought here. You're going to have to tell them something, and I've found the truth is usually best."

"This is just all so wrong!" she muttered, angry and tired and hating the fact that she couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

Awkwardly, Mike wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Marlena had always been the strong one, the one he could look to when he didn't know how to handle a case, how to tell a family their child was hurt or worse yet, gone. "It's gonna be okay, Marlena. The main thing is that you are back. All of you are home, the rest will work itself out."

"When did you get so grown-up, 'Dr. Horton'?" she asked, forcing a smile and dabbing at her eyes.

"I've had good teachers," Mike replied, stepping back and wiping away the tracks of her tears. "Are you all right?"

"I will be- after I talk to the family."
****************************************

Marlena leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath, give herself some time to make sense of it all. Her entire life had been turned upside down and now she had to try and explain it all to her children. How could she explain it when she couldn't understand it herself?

She turned the corner and found Roman, holding all three children tightly to him. He finally stepped back, his hands going out to gently frame Carrie's face. "I can't believe how much you have grown. Carrie... my God, you're an adult now! Look at you."

Sami looked up from her inspection of the floor and caught sight of her mother. In a flash, she was streaking down the hallway. "Mom, we were so worried!" she said, throwing herself into Marlena's arms. "They won't tell us anything about Daddy. Mom, is he going to be okay?"

Marlena glanced up in time to catch Roman's frown of displeasure. Returning Sami's embrace, she brushed the hair back from the young woman's face and managed a weak smile. "It's going to be okay, kids. He's just a little beat-up and they want to keep him under observation for a while. Look, why don't we all go sit down. I know this has to be confusing to you, but it will all work out. The important thing is we are all here together. We'll face whatever comes as a family."

****************************************

The whole family clustered around a big dinning table in the almost deserted cafeteria. "I still don't understand, Mom. Are you saying that our Dad, or, the guy who raised us, was really working for Stefano Dimera? That just doesn't make any sense. Dad would never hurt us," Eric stated flatly. "There's no way that's right. We would have known. You have to be wrong."

The children's responses to the news were consistent with each of their characters, Marlena thought to herself. Carrie was quiet, turning inwards to process the information flowing around her. Eric was openly suspicious of both the story being laid out and of Roman himself. He was so like his father- so like John- expressive, confrontational and feeling very much the need to protect his mother and sisters from any outside threat. In many was, though, it was Sami who had Marlena most concerned. She had distanced herself from the entire discussion and Marlena wasn't certain she had really heard her explanation of the complex relationship between the man who had left town as their father and the one who had returned. Though Rom... no John, John loved all of his children, he and Sami shared a special bond. She was her Daddy's little girl and did not appear interested in engaging in a discussion that could challenge that relationship. The situation had to be handled very carefully if there was any hope of this family surviving intact.

"Eric, kids- we don't know exactly what John's relationship to Stefano is. I'm not even sure he really knows. He was drugged, maybe even brainwashed. But there is no doubt that he is not Roman Brady. He didn't know it until Dimera triggered his memories. He thought he was your father, your biological father, for the past fourteen years. That was a mistake on Dimera's part. John was a good father and he has always protected this family. He is the one who brought me and Roman back to you. I know he cares about you, it's just that he's not the man we all thought he was. And the man who is your father, he is back after all of these years. The only thing that kept him going for all of those years as a prisoner was his family. You owe him your respect," Marlena said gently.

"Son, we're so sorry for what happened to you," Sean said, shifting the focus of the table to Roman. "I can't explain why we didn't know it wasn't you. All I can say is that it was so hard when we thought you had died. When you came back, when we thought you had come back, we wanted it to be true so badly. He was different- more brittle, more intense than you ever were. But we wanted it to be true, we thought the time away had hardened you. He never gave us any reason to doubt him. Not once did he give us reason to doubt. But I am sorry, so sorry, that we accepted it so willingly. It was just that we wanted you back so badly. Can you understand that?"

Fighting to control the hurt he was feeling, Roman nodded his head. "It's okay, Pop. There was really no way you could know that I was locked in some damn cell while an imposter watched over my family. I'm just glad he never hurt any of you."

Eric snorted, rolling his eyes. "Dad would never hurt any of us, I don't care what you say. How do we know that this isn't some trick of Dimera's?"

"He's right," a calm voice cut in, and all eyes turned to Carrie, who until this point had remained a mute observer.

"Carrie?" Marlena prompted, when she failed to continue with her thought.

"Grandpa is right. He was different. When he came back, I mean. Sami and Eric were too little when he left. They don't remember. But, when he came back, he was different. Not just his memory. He was... more careful. I remember when he'd pick me up when I was little. It was like I was made of glass, like he'd never held me before and he thought he might break me. Before he came back, he took us all for granted. I mean, like it was just normal- to have a family, to love each other. But when he came back... Even now, sometimes I'd watch him, watching us. It was like we were something very precious, some rare thing that he couldn't believe existed and that might disappear at any time. Grandpa is right. He was different."

The room was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sami said plaintively, "I want to see Dad. Didn't Mike say we could see him, Mom?"

"Sami, why don't you wait until tomorrow," Roman replied. "Mike said he wouldn't be able to talk until tomorrow at best. Maybe you should just get some rest. Let this all sink in. You can see him in the morning, if you want to."

Irritated at being told what to do by a man who pretended to be her father, Sami became stubborn, as only she could. "I am not leaving here until I see my Dad and I don't have to do anything you say!"

Laying a gentling hand on Roman's forearm to forestall an angry retort, Marlena said sternly, "Samantha, you are welcome to your own interpretation of events, at least until the DNA tests come back. But you will show respect. Now, I think it might be a good idea to wait and give John time to gain strength." Noting the stubborn glint in Sami's eye, a look so like her 'father's' when he had made his mind up about something, Marlena sighed in surrender. "However, if you really want to look in on him, Mike did say it would be okay. But we really need to let him rest, so try and be as quiet as you can. Okay? I'm going to stay here tonight, just to make sure he's all right and I'll call you if anything at all happens."

"Thanks, mom. I'll be really quiet. I just want to see that he's okay," Sami replied with a grateful smile.

****************************************
As Sami hesitantly pushed open the door to the private room, Marlena took Roman's hand and pulled him back. "Why don't we give them a minute alone, Roman."

He grimaced, managing to hold his tongue until the door closed behind the three children. When he turned to her, he was angry. "They should not be in there! That man is violent and I don't want him near my kids. He's done enough harm already, Marlena. I won't let him cause more."

"Roman, I know you're mad, but you have to see this from the children's point of view. He is the only father they have known for the past 14 years. We need to be able to work with him to help the children accept what has happened. If you attack him, it's just going to confuse the kids, drive them away from you. We have to give them some time to understand things."

"Marlena, the only way for us to get on with our life together is to get him out of it. As soon as he is out of this hospital, he's either getting out of town or he's going to jail. He will not be a part of our lives and he will not be a part of our children's lives. The issue is not open for discussion!" Not waiting to hear her reply, Roman turned on his heel and stormed away.

With a muttered sigh, she let him go. Maybe time alone was what he needed. At the moment, the children needed her more. Pushing her way silently into the room, she saw Eric and Carrie standing together at the foot of the bed. Staring down in confusion, they were clearly unsure how to react to the battered figure laying in the bed. Marlena could sympathisize, confusion the most apt label she could put on her own feelings. Sami, however, appeared to be operating under no such dilemmas.

Standing beside the bed, Samantha Brady had John's good hand clutched firmly in her grasp. "Daddy? It's me, Sami. Please, Daddy. Can you hear me?" she whispered, the tears running freely down her cheeks.

John lay motionless, only the gentle rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was still alive. Putting her arms around Eric and Carrie, Marlena pulled them close. "Come on kids. We need to let him rest."

Sami showed no inclination to move and Marlena joined her at the side of the bed. Flashing her mother a silent look of thanks, Sami wrapped her arm around Marlena's waist and rested her head on her shoulder. "I thought I felt him squeeze my hand, mom."

Reaching down, Marlena tucked the stiff white sheet up beneath his chin, her fingers checking his pulse as she did so. Weak but steady- what he needed now was sleep. "He will get better, Sami. We just need to give him some time to heal. We'll come back tomorrow when he's awake. Okay?"

Unable to speak, Sami simply nodded and allowed her mother to lead her from the room.

Chapter 20

Marlena eased down into the chair beside John's bed. Sean and Caroline had taken the children home with them, and for the first time since John had appeared at her door she wasn't running, getting shot at, patching wounds or trying to explain things that made no sense. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips and she recognized herself slipping into 'shrink mode', as Roman- no, as John- had always called it. Lord! No wonder she was so confused.

Too much history, too many memories. The man in the bed was the man she had been married to for the past decade and a half. He was the one she had planned to grow old with. Roman, the real Roman, had been a part of her life for less than 2 years. They had been great years, but they had been so long ago.

Ruefully, she reached out and took his hand in her own. "I know you can hear me, John. I saw the way your skin flushed when I checked your pulse. I would have thought Dimera's soldier a much better liar than that."

Slowly, his eye cracked open. "First time you've called me John," he said, his voice a whisper.

"No it's not," she replied, tightening her grip on his hand as he tried to pull away. "When I first met you, you told me your name was John. Remember? Apparently, it was one of the few times you weren't lying to me."

"Did you drag me off the plane just so you could yell at me?"

"Are you suggesting I don't have the right?" She quirked a brow and waited for him to deny it.

"No- shit, you have every right. God! You know how much I hate arguing with you. Marlena, you should have left me on the plane. I'd be halfway home to Stefano by now. You wouldn't even have to be looking at my damn face, much less wasting your time telling me what an asshole I am. Believe me, I already know."

"If you had tried to fly that plane, you would have died! You came close enough as it was. Besides, I'm more than happy to spare the time to explain the ways in which you are an asshole."

His dry chuckle tore at his chest, but he couldn't help a smile. "You're the toughest person I've ever known and we both know things would be better if you had let me leave."

"You aren't going back to him," Marlena said firmly. "You are going to stay here and you are going to make this right. You can start by figuring out what to tell the children."

Tiredly, he turned his head, forced himself to meet her eyes. "I can't make this right, Marlena. You don't know me. You don't want to know me. The sooner I'm gone, the better off you will be."

It was her turn to pull away and he wasn't strong enough to stop her. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she tried to pretend he couldn't hurt her. "You helped us escape from the compound. That had to mean something."

His eyelid drooped closed, the effort of being awake too much for him to maintain. She had to leave. She had to let him go. She had no idea... "Just a chance to piss Stefano off, that's all it was. Fucker left me here for fourteen damn years, he deserved a little payback. It's time for me to go home, rub his face in it a little. Time for you to go home too."

He let himself fade away, unwilling to see how his words would hurt her. He never felt it as her fingers again curled around his own.

"You really are a terrible liar," she whispered. Leaning back in her chair, she watched him sleep and wondered what to tell their children.

****************************************

Peering through the small window in the hospital door, Roman watched as his wife held the hand of the man who had stolen his life. Damn it, he would not let him get away with this. Roman had just gotten off of the phone with Jameson, his controller from his days with the ISA and now an assistant director at the agency. While he had been very interested to find out that John Black had surfaced, he had also informed Roman that there were no warrants out for the man. They had a dossier on Black going back to his teens, but he had always been a bit too good for them to get anything that would hold up in court.

Roman already knew that nothing that had happened on the island would put John away. In the first place, it was outside of U.S. jurisdiction. In the second place, Roman thought grimly, Marlena wouldn't testify to anything that would see him locked up. Concealing his frustration, Roman pushed the door open and went to join his wife.

"Hey," he called to her quietly.

Almost guiltily, Marlena released John's hand and turned to smile up at him. "Hey yourself. Are you okay?"

Moving to her side, he laid a hand on her shoulder and looked down at the body of the man in the bed. "Yea, I'm fine. Sorry I was so abrupt with you. This is all just a little hard for me to take. I just, I missed you so much for so many years. This isn't how I saw my homecoming."

"I know," she said sadly. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Marlena, I love you so much. I missed you and I just want this to be done with. I want us to be together again." Looking down at her face, he almost missed the glint of light from John's nearly closed eye. Masking his recognition, he pulled Marlena up into a quick hug. "Look, you must be exhausted. He's not going anywhere. I'll sit with him. Why don't you try and get some rest? Mike said we can use the empty room next door."

Marlena looked uncertain, but Roman placed a hand beneath her elbow and edged her toward the door. "Come on. Sleep will do you good. Tomorrow looks to be a long day and you've been through a lot."

Laughing at the understatement, she allowed Roman to lead her out of the room.

****************************************

Marlena safely tucked away in the bed Mike had made available, Roman eased back into John's room. "I know you're awake, you bastard. Stop pretending."

A low chuckle came from the unmoving figure in the bed. "I thought you caught that," John said weakly. "I'm glad you came back."

"I didn't do it as a favor to you. I just don't want you anywhere near Marlena, or anyone else in my family for that matter."

"At least we're in agreement. While we're on the topic, there is something I need you to do," John said.

"Unless it's a request for assisted suicide, I wouldn't count on any help from me- but I admire the gall it took to ask," Roman replied.

"Oh, I think you'll be glad to help me, Roman. I need to get back to Dimera and I can't do it alone."

Roman just stared at him blankly for a moment. "Call a cab."

"Don't be stupider than usual. You want me gone more than I want to go. Drop the act, Brady."

"I don't want you gone, John. I want you dead," Roman hissed, glad of the chance to say what he felt.

John merely chuckled, deliberately pushing the man's buttons. He was going to make Roman help him or kill him, and at the moment, he wasn't sure which it would be. "Do you really want me here, Roman? You know I still dream about her, don't you? I dream about how we used to make love and I think maybe, just maybe, I can have that again. Roman, if I stay, I'll destroy her. You're not doing me any favors by helping me leave- you're doing her a favor."

Roman stared down at the pale figure in the bed, his hands balling into tight fists. This man had already stolen so much of his life, he would not allow him to take any more. Roman didn't want John Black to ever so much as see Marlena again. "Tell me what I need to do."

****************************************

At 11:45 the night shift desk-nurse started her rounds. As she disappeared up the hallway, the door to John's private room slowly cracked open. Seconds later, the bundled form of John Black was wheeled toward the service elevator. The doors closed and he looked up at Roman's grim face. "You contacted the number I gave you? The men are waiting in the parking structure?"

"Yea, John. I called D-Bar Enterprises and gave them the codewords. They said they'd have a man waiting," Roman replied shortly, wanting only to get this over with.

The elevator lurched as they came to a stop, John muffling a harsh grunt of pain.

"You think that hurt, you try coming back to Salem, John. I don't ever want to see you in this town again," Roman snarled as he pushed the wheelchair down the loading dock.

"The feelings mutual," John muttered, concentrating on staying conscious.

As they reached the curb, a black Mercedes glided to a halt beside them, a silver haired man in an impeccably tailored suit emerging from the back. "John Black?" he asked, looking expectantly at the man in the chair. "Mr. Dimera is very eager to see you."

"I'll bet," John replied, as two goons appeared at his sides, lifting him from the chair. He twisted in their grip and felt stitches start to give. Planting his feet, he managed a quick look back at Roman. "You better take care of her," he stated, his words a warning.

"Sir, you need to get in the car, we have to meet the jet in less than 20 minutes."

With a silent nod of acceptance, John Black disappeared into the night.

****************************************

High in the mountains of Europe, a servant walked noiselessly through granite halls. Rapping lightly on the double doors to the library, he awaited permission to enter. Dreading delivering the news to his master, he half hoped that his knock would go unacknowledged.

"Come," a gruff voice ordered.

The library soared a full 3 stories, dominated on one end by a marble fireplace surrounded by stained-glass windows depicting the family history. Hesitantly, the servant approached the lord of the manor, lounging at ease behind a solid oak desk. The man's looks belied his age. At 48, his massive body was still toned and firm. His 6'3 frame easily carrying in excess of 220 pounds, the man was built like a bear. The analogy was enhanced by the long black hair he wore pulled back, knotted with a leather band. He was dressed casually, but expensively. Fine wool trousers, in the black he always tended to favor, encased long legs. Dark chest hair, shot through with grey, peeked from the neck of his silk shirt. On the middle finger of his right hand, the only piece of jewelry he wore glinted in the early morning light. The family crest, a gryphon rampant on a field of emerald green, was depicted in heavy gold, a sign of his sovereignty.

"Well, Ivan? What is it? You know I hate to be disturbed when I'm working," the man snapped irritably.

"Sir, I'm sorry sir. A message just came in that I thought you would want to be made aware of immediately. One of our contacts in the ISA. It seems that John Black has finally resurfaced. Apparently he wasn't dead, as we had initially surmised. He's back and still a member of the Dimera cartel."

"Damn it!" the man behind the desk swore. He slammed a hand against the dark wood, the sound ringing out like a rifle shot. "I felt that he was still alive. He wouldn't die that easily- I should know. Get in touch with our contact. I want a sample of his DNA sent here immediately. Ivan, I want that sample yesterday. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir. I will see to it." Relieved at being able to escape the man's presence, Ivan scurried quickly to the door.

As the doors swung shut behind the frightened servant, Mikovitch Alamain leaned back in his chair. He looked up at the portrait of his father and smiled. "It's time we find out for certain if you are still out there, little brother."
The End? The Beginning? Make of it what you will.