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 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, realizing that for the first time in his life, his existence had a purpose.

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

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. 

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