Marlena didn’t bother to knock, just pushed the door to the study open and stepped inside. As much as she hated facing Dimera, he was the only one who could ease the sick feeling of dread that burned through the very fiber of her being. She could feel it in her gut. Something had gone wrong. Something had happened to John. The certainty of it coursed through her with every breath she took. She could only pray that Dimera would tell her she was wrong.

His back was to her, but his anger was clear as he yelled into the phone. “Dammit! I do not care how many police officers they have crawling the streets. I want every man we have at our disposal out there. The reports tell us they found only one body. That means he is out there somewhere. I want him found and I want him found now! If I lose him because you incompetent cretins are afraid of clashing with the local police, I will teach you the real meaning of fear! Do I make myself clear?!”

The big man turned and slammed the phone down, noticing Marlena’s precence. Standing in the doorway, a haunted look in her eyes, she clasped her arms around herself and tried to stop the tremors that shook her slim frame.

“What happened?”

With a silent sigh, Stefano cursed his carelessness and decided it was time to start locking his office door. Trying to keep the fear from his voice, he replied steadily, “Nothing has happened, Marlena. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Now, please, I have work to do.”

He was not surprised when she ignored his invitation to leave and instead crossed the gap between them with stiff stilted steps. “Something is wrong. Please, Stefano. I am begging you. Tell me where he is,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You show a disturbing lack of confidence in the man, Marlena,” he replied gently, waving her toward the big leather sofa. “You really don’t know him very well if you think he would fall so easily at the hands of a mob of inept local cops. Really now! John will be insulted by your lack of faith.”





Marlena allowed herself to be led to the sofa, failing to notice Dimera’s light touch on her arm. She was aware only of the overwhelming fear and dropped her head to her knees in an attempt to draw air into her lungs. It was only when she choked on the harsh taste of the brandy from the glass Stefano forced to her lips that she was brought back to her present reality.

“You said there was a body. I heard you say it!” she accused, staring up at the man through eyes bright with tears. “Stefano, I have to know!”

Rubbing irritably at the back of his neck, Stefano picked up his own glass and settled into the armchair opposite her. God, she was stubborn. “Marlena, the mission was a success. The Brotherhood has been utterly destroyed. Their entire leadership was wiped out, just as we had planned. However… John was supervising the mission. He went to provide back-up for one of the teams. The team managed to escape, but the vehicle John was in was completely destroyed. We haven’t heard from him since the accident. If he was able, he would have made contact by now. My men are sweeping the area for him. The will find him. They know better than to fail.”

“And the body? Whose body did they find, Stefano?”

Closing his eyes, Stefano leaned his head back and took a long pull on his glass. His voice emotionless, he replied. “The van John was in flipped over and caught fire. They found one body in it. It was burned beyond recognition. Bryce was John’s partner on the assignment. I assume that the body is his.”

“But you don’t know, do you Stefano? You can’t know that the body isn’t John’s!” Marlena said, an empty coldness in her voice.

“Marlena. You know John. You have seen what he is capable of. Do you really have any doubt that if one man made it out of the wreckage, that man was John?” Wearily, Dimera fixed his dark eyes on her face. He did not miss the look of relief that crossed her features.

“No. No, you’re right. He got out. If it was possible, he would do it,” she said, nodding to herself, feeling the certainty of it, even through the fear that had clouded her mind. As the fear subsided to a manageable level, she was ashamed of herself. Ashamed that a young man, barely more than a boy, was dead and all she could feel was the relief that it wasn’t John.

“Marlena, why don’t you try and get some rest. I will call you as soon as I hear anything,”

Curling her knees up beneath her, she shook her head. “No, Stefano. I want to stay here. I want to stay here until we know.”

He saw her determination in the set of her shoulders, the tightly clenched fists in her lap. Without argument, he shrugged and again lay his head against the back of the chair. Sipping deeply from his glass, he tilted his head back and studied the faint cracks in the plastered ceiling. In the tomblike silence, the two enemies sat and waited.

John collapsed against the brick wall of the alley. Unable to keep his feet, he dropped to his knees and let his head fall forward to rest against the cool pavement. Breathing in great lungfuls of air, he tried to focus his eyes despite the dizziness. As the pounding in his ears subsided, he sat up and attempted to plan his escape.

The fact that the van had caught on fire was the only thing that had saved him. The thick black smoke had concealed him from the searching eyes of the police. The heat of the fire had set-off the munitions in the back of the van, sending the cops scrambling for cover. It had allowed him to reach the temporary safety of a side alley and from there he had simply started running. With a grimace, he realized there was no way he could run fast enough and far enough to escape the net they would throw out for him. It was time to stop running and start thinking.

He suppressed a shiver at the touch of the cold fall air and glanced down at his bare arms. He was covered in black soot, but beneath the grime he could make-out reddened skin already blistering from the heat of the flames. The reek of gasoline and burnt flesh clung to him. With an irritated shake of his dark head, he pushed back the images of Bryce, wreathed in flames and dissolving under the assault of the bullets. John’s bullets. John’s gun.

Stumbling to his feet, he tucked the memories away and fought for focus. But while his mind was willing, his body was weak. With the barest whimper, he fell again to his knees. Huddled against the wall. Assessed the damage that had forced his body to betray him. The right sleeve of his shirt was missing, scrapped away by the asphalt as the van had slid across the road on its side. The flesh was rubbed raw and the blood still oozed out in a slow trickle. He attempted to make a fist, was relieved to find that the muscles still responded to his will. His ribs ached and the tremors shook his body as the aftershock set in. None of that would kill him. None of it would stop him. He could make his body function, despite the damage to the flesh. But there was no way in Hell he was going to blend in with the crowd. Not like this. He looked like a refugee from the losing side of some war.

Unconsciously clenching his right hand into a fist in an effort to keep the limb from completely stiffening up, he slowly rose to his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and it was only with a conscious effort that he kept his feet. Dimly, he realized that he would have to go to ground soon. He would not be able to function for much longer. It was time to hide.

Two doors let out onto the grimy alley, a restaurant if the smell of rotten food from the dumpster was any indication. The doors were firmly locked and he briefly considered kicking one in. Stupid move, in this area of town there was sure to be an alarm system. There had to be another way to get off of this blasted street.

A fire escape climbed the side of one of the buildings, its bottom ladder pulled up far beyond his reach. But the windows… The lower windows were covered by a lattice-work of bars, sealing them off from easy entry. A strong man could use those bars to pull himself up the side of the building, maybe reach the lowest rung of the fire escape. Maybe.

Ignoring the protests of his right arm, John jumped up and managed to grabbed the bottom bars on the second story windows. Grunting with the effort, he pulled himself slowly upward, climbing the bars like a ladder until he could jam the toe of his boot onto the lowest grate. He was still a good five feet away from the tantalizing lower rung of the fire escape. If he tried and failed, he knew he’d lack the energy to make a second attempt. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he thrust his body across the empty space.

It wasn’t going to be enough. For a split-second, he thought his tired body had failed him. Then hard metal slapped against his right palm and he clung to it with all his might. Torn muscles screamed in protest as he clawed for a perch with his good left hand and slowly pulled himself up to the security of the first landing. Mind and body exhausted, he simply sat for a moment, clenching his knees to his chest. His vision narrowed to a pinprick, the darkness closing in. Numbly, he forced himself to his feet. Staggering to the nearest window, he pushed against it with all he had left. He was not surprised when it failed to budge. Fighting down the urge to simply smash through the pane of glass, he pushed his lank hair back from his eyes and studied the lock. Steadied his breathing. Tried to concentrate. Fumbling in his back pocket, he pulled out a set of picks. Using a long slim rod, he reached through a gap in the sill and jiggled the simple mechanism until it slipped from the metal bracket that had secured the window. With the last of his fading strength, he tugged the window open and fell inside.

The mumble of a deep voice pulled her out of the nightmare, and it was with relief that she made her escape from the clutches of sleep. Her dreams had been filled with fire and the screams of dying men. Even the sound of Stefano’s hated voice was an improvement over that. Groggily Marlena rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked over the back of the sofa to see him gently setting the phone back in its cradle.

“What is it? What did you hear?” she asked, the hope and the fear warring in her voice.

Tiredly, he shook his head. “There’s still no word. Dammit!” he yelled, slamming a thick hand to the face of the desk, the sharp sound of the impact making her flinch. Oblivious to her reaction, Stefano rose irritably to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head in an attempt to release the tension. Shaking his head from side to side like a wounded bull, he muttered to himself. “I should never have let him go on this mission. Dammit, I knew better!”

As he stalked past her, clenching his meaty hands into fists, she could not help the curiosity that his words inspired. “What do you mean ‘let him go’, Stefano? You sent him on this mission. Don’t try and pretend that this is not your fault!”

Her accusation brought his pacing to a halt, and he spun to face her with angry eyes. “Marlena, I have told you. I do not ‘make’ John do anything. I tried to pull him off the mission this morning. The plans were already laid out. His presence was not necessary for the success of the mission. And after your ‘night together’I thought he was too distracted to be in the field. But no! He insisted on supervising. He was unwilling to trust your safety to another man. He went to protect you, despite my wishes. And if he was careless, I am certain that it was because his thoughts were on you! You make him weak, Marlena. One of these days, that weakness will get him killed!”

He turned from her in sudden irritation. Irritation with the woman, and the hold she had over John. Irritation with John, for not being here. Most of all, he turned in irritation with himself for letting this woman get to him yet again. With a groan of frustration, he collapsed into the big armchair and took up his vigil yet again.

Marlena stared at him in shocked silence. Finally, she could contain herself no longer, and let out a chuckle that was tinged with hysteria. “You are mad at me! You are actually mad at me for putting John in danger! Do you realize the insanity of that! I was a witness to your tortures, Stefano! I saw how much you care for John. I saw it in the bruises on his body. I saw it in the marks of the chains. Don’t pretend you see him as anything more than some wounded animal you have trained to kill on your command!” Her eyes wide with amazement at the man’s twisted view of the world, she could not bring herself to be angry. The man was too bizarre for anger, his thought processes too perverse.

“Marlena, I have no desire to discuss my relationship with John. I am sorry if I have offended you, but frankly, you do not have any idea what I feel for John,” Dimera answered, his tone dismissive.

“I have no wish to understand what you think or what you feel, Stefano. The very possibility sickens me,” she snapped back tiredly, goading the man more out of frustration than anything else.

It should not have mattered to him what she thought. It had never mattered to him what anyone else thought. But as he looked wearily across at her, he realized that it did matter. “Marlena, have you never wondered why I allowed John to stay with you? For 14 years, I let him believe he was Roman. I let him live that life. I could have brought it down with a single command, yet I did not. Why do you think I did that?”

His question took her by surprise, and she studied him suspiciously. “I… He would never have believed you Stefano. To make him believe he wasn’t Roman, you had to drug him. You had to torture him. You had to have him in your control. You never destroyed his life because you couldn’t. And the first chance you had at him, you took it!”

“Marlena, all that I had to do was release Roman. The ‘real’ Roman Brady. If I had wanted to shatter John’s life, that is all it would have required.”

Uneasily, she looked away. Suddenly uncertain that she wanted to continue this discussion, she gave an uncomfortable shrug of her shoulders. “I am sure you had your reasons, just as I am sure that it was done in your own self-interest. The fact of the matter is, you did shatter his life. You destroyed the only life he wanted to know. That is all that matters now.”

He gave a grim chuckle. “You avoid my question, Marlena. Is it because you fear you will not like the answer? Marlena, I wanted him back. I wanted him to remember just exactly who and what he was. And yes, the first chance I had to do that safely, I took the risk. But if I had simply wanted him out of your life, I would have allowed Roman his freedom. The man meant nothing to me once he was beaten. I kept him only as insurance for the future. It would have cost me nothing to release him. And one way or another, that would have driven John from your life.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” she whispered, looking away from the dark figure that sat across from her.

“I know it, and you do too, Marlena. If Roman had returned, it would have driven John mad. As you say, he would never have admitted that he was not the real Roman. He would never have admitted it to himself! I don’t know if you have realized this yet, but John is not the most stable man on the planet. In the end, he would have killed Roman- or he would have killed himself. In either case, it would have destroyed him. And Marlena, that was never what I wanted.” The soft words were said with a certainty that was undeniable. Irresistible. And it was the truth of the words that she hated.

“You are evil, Stefano. Everything that you have done to me. To my family. For God’s sake, what you did to Roman. You are evil and I don’t want you anywhere near me or my family. And more than anything, I don’t want you anywhere near John!” She hissed the words at him and in the hazel depths of her eyes, the threat was plain to see.

“Ah, Marlena. There is no need to be nasty. In the end, it is not what you want, or what I want, that matters. In the end, it boils down to what John wants,” he replied, flashing an ugly smile that never quite reached his eyes. With silken words, he twisted the knife.

“Let us be honest with each other, Marlena. When you call me evil, you are mistaken. I do not choose to follow the rules that bind most people. I have the power and the will to make my own rules. It is what sets me apart from other men, my dear. I accept no higher authority than my own will. But this does not make me evil. It makes me amoral. You should learn to distinguish the difference. After all, it is what sets John apart as well.”

The pulsing music brought him back to consciousness and he suppressed a groan as he attempted to sit up. His eyes fought to focus in the thick gloom, and it was clear that he had been out for several hours. The sun was a fading memory beyond the dirty panes of the window, the bright light filtering in from the main room was the only source of illumination. Squinting against the glare of from the doorway, he saw that the rooms were separated by long strings of black chain. As his head began throbbing in time to the pounding of industrial music, he wondered just where the hell he was.

He tried to get to his feet, but the dizziness kept him on his knees. His right side was on fire, his right arm now completely useless. Gingerly, he reached over and probed at his aching side. The kevlar vest was ripped and as soon as he tore open the velcro, he could feel the crusted blood that soaked the T-shirt he wore beneath the vest. Gritting his teeth, he explored the damage with his fingers. A shallow cut had sliced through his skin in a three inch long grove. He had no idea when it had happened. At least it explained his weakness. Between the cut on his side and the abrasions on his arm, he’d lost enough blood to make him shocky. With a wry grin, he held tight to his injured side and slowly levered himself to his feet. Figuring that it couldn’t get much worse, he carefully crossed to the doorway and peeked out into the main room. It was then that he realized that things could indeed get worse.

He was in a bar. He was in a gay bar. He was in one of the gay leather bars off the Loop. A couple of pretty young men sat at the bar, tight jeans and T-shirts the uniform of the day. Hw watched in amusement as the two youngsters shot obvious looks in the direction of a giant bruiser of a man who sat at one of the small round tables that edged the dance floor. The man wore a black leather duster, even in the heated confines of the bar. John supposed it was made bearable by his lack of a shirt underneath. Watching the less than subtle flirting, he fought down a chuckle as the thought ran through his head that at least he shouldn’t have any problem finding someone to give him a ride home. Leaning heavily against the wall, he struggled to contain an almost hysterical laugh, and realized that he was not entirely lucid. He needed to contact Dimera and get the hell out of D.C. before he got careless. The police were certain to still be searching for him and his escape was far from complete.

His mind again on the business at hand, he limped from the doorway and looked for another way out. For a moment, he wondered why no one had found him when they opened the bar up. The room he stood in was still shrouded in blackness. The only light that penetrated was that which danced through the curtain of chains. Finding no door but the one that led to the main room, he perched on the arm of the couch. Absently, he searched through the debris on the end-table beside him. A sodden mass of crushed out cigarettes. The crinkle of a hand-rolled butt, its pungent smell indicating it was not tobacco that the fragile paper contained. A half-empty box, vacuum wrapped condoms its silent offering. The purpose of the small dark room in which he sat became immediately clear.

Again the humor of the situation struck him, and he figured at least he didn’t have to worry about having stained the couch with the blood and grime that covered his body. Deciding the best way out was the way he got in, he started to ease himself out the window. The howl of distant sirens reminded him of his rather conspicuous appearance, even for this part of town. With a slowly spreading grin, he decided that his best bet was to wait here. It was certain that eventually, his manner of escape would come to him. Moving stiffly, he went to crouch in the shadows beside the entry to the small dark room. Settling back on his heels, he cocked his head and listened for the sound of approaching footsteps through the din of the loud music. The tortured screams of the vocals tore through his head and he lost himself in the lyrics.

Unconsciously, he freed the burnt roach from the fist that had cradled it since its rescue from the ash tray. The flashing strobe lights painted splintered pictures across the far wall, the postmodern images a rapid fire assault that hurt his eyes, made him struggle to remember why he was here, made him wonder why he was at all. With a flick of his nail, a match burst into life and he drew the pungent smoke deep into his lungs.

‘Stupid, John. Stupid.’ The tiny voice yammered at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. ‘Gotta stay sharp. Gotta stay clear.’ The placid smoke stilled the voice and he drifted along below the surface of the assaulting waves of sound. He didn’t need to be sharp for this. How many times had he crouched like this? Alone. In the dark. Waiting. He didn’t need to be sharp. He needed to be numb.

Oh God. Not this. Please not this. Please not now. He didn’t want to think of her. Not in this place. He clasped his hands over his ears. Tried to reject the images of Her. Gold and white and pure, the images overwhelmed him. He had never been able to reject her. Not in any form. Not in any way. She was the only sin he had ever wished to repent.

He had clutched her body against his, striving to protect it from the bitter cold that permeated the cave. She had let him hold her. He hadn’t thought she would. She had let him hold her so tight that she had believed her ribs would break. Despite everything he had done, despite everything he was, that night she had given him her trust. He had gazed down on her still body, the peaceful look on her face taunting him. Challenging him. It was then he had known that he would sacrifice all that he was in order to be the man she wanted him to be. In a cold dark cave in the West Virginia wilderness, John Black had prayed for the first time since Katherine had died.

Tears burned bloodshot eyes and he tried to make himself sorry he had believed the lie. Tried to give contrition for living another man’s life. Tried and failed. He could not regret knowing her. Being with her. He would die rather than see her hurt, but he could not make himself free her from his taint. His curse. He would fight the heavens rather than lose her again.

The pungent smoke washed away the stench of the room and he rocked gently on his heels. Studied the glowing ember of the butt. Saw in the tiny flicker of light the glow of flames reflecting off of alabaster skin. Felt the moan in her throat, rumbling through the flesh that he pressed against. Knew again that fragment of eternity in which he could finally see clearly, that shining moment when he lost himself in her and became more than he had ever imagined possible. The moans in his memories mirrored the rasp of the guitar, became the screams of the song. The flickering flames in his mind’s eye shifted. Grew. Attacked and consumed. Bryce’s face contorted under their heat. Shriveled, charred, blackened. His bullets smashed through the ashes, scattering them to dust. As the pulsing rhythm died, he opened glittering eyes. With frightening clarity, he knew his purpose. He would return to her. It was the only thing that mattered. He crushed the remains of the joint into the dirty floor and clamped down on the pain that had threatened to overwhelm him. With the smile of a predator, he turned toward the approaching sound of heavy footfalls.





The chains across the doorway rattled an unnecessary warning, the slim form of one of the boys passing before his watchful eyes. Then, as he had hoped, the bruiser in the duster stalked into the room. Gritting his teeth against the pain, John rose smoothly to his feet and reach out with his left hand to swing the larger man around. As John’s knee connected with the soft tissue of his genitals, the man dropped without a sound. Certain that the punk would be out for a few moments, John reached for the boy. Grabbing him by the thick chain he wore around his neck, John pulled him close and looked down into frightened eyes. For a moment, he considered snapping his neck. But he was a kid. Just a kid. She wouldn’t like it. Besides, it wasn’t necessary.

“What are you doing with a guy like this, boy? You don’t belong to him, do you? Because this asshole took something of mine and I plan to get it back. If you belong to him, maybe I’ll just take you and we’ll call it even,” he growled menacingly.

Backlit by the light, the kevlar vest adding even more bulk to John’s muscular frame, the threat almost caused the boy to piss himself. “No! No, sir! I’m not his. Really. I was just...”

Struggling to keep the grin from his face, John shoved the young man toward the door. “Then get the hell out, ‘cause I have business to attend to,” he said gruffly, turning his attention to the man on the floor. Swiftly, he bent down and tugged the jacket from the motionless form. As he yanked the man’s belt from his waist, he was startled by the sound of the boy’s voice.

“Um, I could stay. If you want me to, I could stay,” he said, gaining confidence as he looked over the dark figure that dominated the small room.

John looked back in exasperation, wondering if he had made a mistake in letting the kid live. “Boy, get the hell out. Run on back to daddy and come see me when you grow up.” With a rough jerk, he yanked the belt away and the boy scuttled from the room with one wishful glance back.

As John flipped the man over to bind his hands, he saw the glint of metal hanging from a loop at the thick waist. “My, my. This is just too convenient,” he muttered as he tugged the handcuffs loose. Efficiently, he snapped the steel cuffs around the wrists and swiftly secured the man’s ankles with the belt. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it wouldn’t have to. He simply needed enough time to put a few blocks between himself and the bar. He had the distinct impression that no one around here would be calling the cops over the theft of a jacket. Hell, depending on who found him, the bound man might actually get a good time out of their little encounter.

Rising from the prone form, John settled the heavy leather duster over his shoulders. Reaching into a pocket, he found a not unexpected pack of tissues. Grateful that his unwilling partner was a fastidious man, John scrubbed furiously at his tender face, attempting to wipe away the worst of the soot and blood. Deciding it would have to do for the moment, he buttoned the front of the jacket and moved to the window. The drop to the ground was not going to feel good, but it was better than the risk of walking through the bright interior of the bar. He was fairly certain that he would not pass through unnoticed and it was past time for him to leave. He wanted to be home and the window was the fastest route there.





John eased his way down the stairs. He reached the end, dangling a moment from his left arm. Grimacing in anticipation of the impact, he let go and fell awkwardly to the pavement. Crouching, he waited for his vision to clear. If he wanted to be with her, he would suck it up and make himself move. Slowly, he straightened to his full height and walked down the dim alley to join the early revelers who already strolled the streets.

Marlena paced the width of the room for what seemed like the millionth time on this, what to had to be, the longest day of her life. “Stefano, damn! Why hasn’t anyone called? If you have so much power, why can’t you find one single man who has to be within a few miles of where the van wrecked?!” She snapped the words out, unconcerned with Dimera’s reaction. They had managed to survive this most excruciating of days without killing each other and she was past the point of being afraid of him. She was past the point of feeling anything at all toward him. He was a tool for her to use and until John had been found she would look on his presence as an irritating necessity. Nothing more and nothing less than that.

Dimera lay back on the sofa, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “Marlena, there is nothing more to be done. My men will call when there is news. There is nothing to do but wait.”

“I hate this. Oh God, I just hate this so much,” she sighed in frustration. Exhausted by the strains of the day, her worry for John and her constant battling with Stefano, she collapsed across the legs of the big armchair.

“I hate it too,” was the weary reply.

“I want you to promise me that you will never send him out like this again. I want you to swear it to me now, or so help me I will see you dead.”

Stefano looked over at her in surprise, and the glint in her eyes was one he had seen before. She had worn that same look on the day she had shot him. The memory sent a sharp shiver down his spine and he sat slowly up on the couch to face her. “I do not take threats well, Marlena. Not even from you. But… I will not have him as an operative while he is with you. Never again. You make him weak and you will get him killed. I will not risk him in the field while thoughts of you cloud his judgement. That, I can promise you.”

The response was not what she had expected, no matter that she had meant the words. She studied his face curiously and found that she could almost believe the man. Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone on Dimera’s desk. At the sound, her heart seemed to stop. Hardly daring to breathe, she waited as Stefano cautiously lifted the phone.

He stood wordlessly, intent on the voice at the other end of the line. Finally, he gave a brief nod. “Well done. Bring him out when you are able. We will expect you tomorrow at the latest.”

As the words registered in her mind, she felt the beginnings of the relief. When Stefano turned to her with what was the only genuine smile she had ever seen from him, she knew it was going to be all right. “He’s okay?”

Stefano released a loud laugh. “He’s fine. A little banged-up, but he will be fine. He will be out here by tomorrow morning. I wanted the doctors to examine him before he flew back to the compound. See- I told you he would be fine!”





She rolled her eyes at his ego, but even Dimera could not stop her grin. “He’s okay. He really is?”

“Would I lie to you, Marlena?” Stefano asked, his smile taking on its usual slightly sinister cast.

“Not about this. You would know better than to lie about this, Stefano. And your promise? You will keep your promise to me as well. John will never go out like this again. I have your word on it?”

“You have my word.”

-----