He awoke at the first sounds of the birds, heralding in the false dawn. For a moment he lay still, lost in the feel of her bare skin pressed tight against his own. She was the reason for his existence. She was the only reason. His stomach clenched tightly with the sudden realization that he had to leave her. He had to leave now or he wouldn’t leave at all. Fighting the urge to burrow beneath the covers and once again seek the safety of her warmth, he instead drew a deep lungful of the sharp air and released her from his loose embrace.

It must have dropped below freezing outside and John was surprised his breath didn’t fog the air. With an effort, he narrowed his focus to the demands of the day and tried to ignore the ache of leaving her lying all alone. Silently slipping from the smooth sheets, he started the beginnings of a new fire on the still warm remains of the old. As the flames licked angrily at the dry wood, he gathered his scattered clothes. Within moments of waking, he was dressed and ready to meet his men. Only then did he allow himself to turn back to the peacefully sleeping figure of the woman he loved.

With his absence, she had curled herself into a tight ball. Laying on her side facing away from him, only the blond of her hair showed above the covers. Crouching next to her, he resisted the urge to run his fingers through the strands of hair that curled across the pillows. Resting his arms on his bent knees, John rubbed at his temples and imagined her fury when she woke to find him gone.

He should wake her. He should say goodbye. He should do a lot of things. But he was too afraid to face her now. He would deal with the anger when he returned. If he tried to say goodbye, he knew she would try to stop him. She’d plead for the lives of the men he sought, try to convince him it wasn’t necessary. She’d say it wasn’t right. If she asked him for anything right now, he doubted he’d have the strength to deny her. Dimera was right- she made him weak.

In his weakness, he’d allow them to live, make himself believe they didn’t have to die. His weakness would doom them all. The strong survived and the weak perished. He would not break that sacrament. He would not allow her to sacrifice herself on the altar of some benevolent God, some impotent God whose children found peace only in death. He’d make his own peace, the only way he knew how.





With a sigh, he watched her, remmebering the night before, remmebering how she looked as their flesh became one. He would bathe in an ocean of blood if that was what it took to keep her safe. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode to the door. He didn’t look back as he gently pulled it shut and walked away.

Marlena bolted upright, her heart pounding as if it wanted to escape from her chest. Faster than thought, she knew he was gone. As the heat of a roaring fire blazed at her back, she called his name anyway. The cry of her voice echoing back from the cold stone walls was the loneliest sound she had ever heard. Her eyes tearing, she hugged her knees to her body and listened as the faint whirl of rotor blades faded swiftly away in the still morning air.

She walked slowly through the tall grass, oblivious to the beauty that surrounded her. The early morning sun shone down from a cloudless sky, the frost-covered fields shimmering under its touch. She burrowed deeper into the thick barn jacket that John had left tossed over a chair and tried to escape a bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with the crisp fall air. To her eyes, all the world appeared a brittle facade that would shatter into ugly jagged pieces at a single careless touch.

Careless touches.... She hated the fact that he had left her. Hated that he had touched her on a level she had not thought possible and then stole away like a thief in the night carrying away with him some irreplaceable piece of her heart. She had known he would not leave her. Had known that he could not leave, not after they had found each other once again. And yet when she awoke, he had been gone.

Halfway up the porch steps, she realized that she was not alone. The reek of the cigar hung bitterly in the air and she looked up to find him studying her over the rim of a steaming cup of coffee.

“Marlena. You are up early on this beautiful morning. Would you care to join me for breakfast?” the deep voice called, a hint of amusement in its tone.

“I would rather starve,” she snapped, bristling at the sudden intrusion of the man’s noxious presence.

Stefano chuckled and shot her an evil smile, once again surprised by the feelings this woman stirred in him. She still had the fire that had drawn him to her those many years before. It was an odd sensation to have something he wanted so badly standing within his grasp yet not reach out and take it. He decided it was not a sensation he was in any hurry to experience again. Still, if he could not have her, he could at least toy with her a bit.

“Tut tut, Marlena. I do not think that John would appreciate it if I were to allow that to happen, my dear. After all, he did ask me to watch over you in his absence.”

“You lie! He doesn’t want you anywhere near me, Stefano. I don’t know what twisted hold it is that you have over him, but he would never trust you. Not around me and not around my children!” she replied, drawn into the argument despite the fact that she knew better.

“And his would, of course, be evidenced by the fact that he brought you to my compound? Or is it the fact that he has left you here, alone with me, on what, two occasions now? Marlena, really! You are much too perceptive a woman for such extreme self-delusion.”

The man infuriated her, all the more so when he was right. “You made him go, Stefano. It is some perverse game of yours where you twist things around until he thinks it is the only way he can protect his family. The only way he can protect me. I don’t know how you did it, but he would never have gone otherwise.”

“I did not ‘make’ John do anything, Marlena. I never have. Actually, I sincerely doubt that such a thing would be possible. John took this mission because he wanted to. He took it for the same reason he has taken every mission I have ever put before him. He enjoys it, Marlena. If you think that is going to change simply because you are sleeping with the man, you had best reconsider,” Stefano replied mildly.

She flushed at the comment and fought down her urge to slap him. “You talk to me of self-delusion! John was only with you because you beat him and you drugged him and you twisted his mind until you thought you had created the perfect little puppet! The hell you never ‘made’ him do anything! You ripped him from his home and his life and his children. You ‘made’ him into some broken thing that you thought would serve your will. And it kills you that despite all you have done, you still can’t control him. You still can’t destroy the love we share. When this is all said and done, he will go home to his family. And when he does, Stefano, your hold over him will finally be broken!” She fought back the tears of rage, refusing to let the man see her cry. Standing in the center of the porch, she glared down at Dimera with hate filled eyes, and it was joy, not fear, that she felt as his face twisted in anger at her words.

Slowly he rose to his feet, his features hardening into a bitter mask. It was all he could do to resist the desire to move toward her. To break her with his hands or to take her with his lips. Either option would have sufficed at that moment. Instead, he spat out words he knew would hurt. “I am not the one who created a lie, Marlena. You did that. You turned him into something he was not. You played house with him in some fairytale existence where you were the princess and he the gallant knight. And for a long while, it worked. It worked because the lie was so sweet that he wanted to believe that it was true. But it was still a lie, Marlena. The truth is, I am John’s family. I always have been and I always will be and nothing that he feels for you will ever change that.” Before she could respond with words that might drive him past the edge of reason, he turned stiffly around and strode to the door.

John fidgeted irritably and tried not to pace. The men surrounding him were keyed up enough without their commander stalking around the room like some madman. Christ! He needed this to be over, needed it to be done. His desire for her burned white-hot, the possibility that they could be together the driving force in his life. But as hard as he tried, he could not quite make himself believe that it would ever happen. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a fear he had never felt before. Something very bad, something very ugly, was going to happen. He was going to fail her and it would cost him everything. A shiver ran through him, the bile rising. Closing his eyes tightly shut, he pushed away the fear and turned back to his men and made an effort to focus on the mission at hand.

The men gathered around him as he spread the big map of the D.C. area over the conference table. They had identified 21 men as known members of the Brotherhood, not counting Jameson., and Jameson no longer mattered.. Almost half of those men resided in D.C., the rest scattered throughout the world. The foreign hits had had teams assigned to them days ago. Those op.s were less complicated. They didn’t require the coordination of the concerted attack on the D.C. members. The teams assigned to them were given the freedom to pick their time and place so long as they didn’t move until after the first D.C. hit was scheduled.

John was coordinating the D.C. operation himself. Nine walking dead men, a two-man team assigned to each. One spotter and one sniper, with John and Bryce remaining to back-up any team that needed assistance. John hoped that no one would. There would be no room for error. With this type of concerted attack on multiple targets, deviations from the timetable would likely spell disaster. Tossing a stale donut down in disgust, John sipped at cold coffee and bent to go over team placements one last time.

Marlena walked into the sitting room, surprised by the familiar smell of coffee. For a moment, she almost made herself believe he was there. That by some miracle, he had returned to her. Was sitting waiting, that boyish smile on his face as he anticipated her reaction.

“Mom? I didn’t think you would be back this early. Where’s dad?” Carrie asked, her voice jarring Marlena from the fantasy she had tried to create.

“Mmm. Oh, John had to leave. He flew out early this morning,” she replied, her tone detached. Noting the mug of coffee Carrie held in her hand, she drifted over to the table and poured herself a cup more out of habit than desire.

“Are you okay, Marlena?” Carrie asked, noting the stiffness in Marlena’s posture. Her usual easy grace had been replaced by stilted movements that bespoke some deeper hurt.

“I’m fine Carrie. Just a little tired, I guess,” was the wooden reply.

Carrie bit back the kidding response that had immediately popped to mind. She knew when John had led Marlena away the night before, shooting the kids a wink and telling them not to wait up, that he had planned a special night with her. She had thought that the night would signal an end to the pain and longing she had glimpsed in both of her parents. This sense of hurt was not what she had expected in the aftermath.

Slipping to her feet, Carrie padded over to wrap her arms around her mother in a tight hug. “Marlena, what’s wrong? I thought that you and John… I thought that you would be together. I thought that was what you wanted. What happened?”

Against her will, Marlena felt the tears begin to fall and she gasped for breath in a shuddering sob. She did not want Carrie to see this. Her children did not deserve any more chaos in their lives. But the feelings were overwhelming and her defenses crumbled under the pounding of her grief. “He left, Carrie. When I woke up this morning, he was gone. He didn’t even say goodby, and he was gone,” she whispered brokenly.





“Mom, what happened last night? I thought… I thought everything was going to be okay between you two. What went wrong?” Carrie asked, unnerved by the way her mother stood shaking uncontrollably in her grip.

With a bitter laugh, Marlena broke from Carrie’s touch and angrily swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Nothing went wrong. Carrie, it was so, so perfect and so right and… I love him so much, Carrie. And then he left! He left to go on some stupid mission for that bastard Dimera!” Her mind drifting back to her confrontation with the old man, she slammed the coffee cup down on the table, the glass shattering with the force.

Startled, the two women looked down on the broken shards. With a weary sight, Marlena bent to clean up the jagged pieces, slicing her fingers in her haste.

“Mom, stop. Please. I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you go take a hot bath? Dad will be back. He’ll make this okay. I know he will.” Carrie said, putting her hand to Marlena’s shoulder.

“Honey, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m just, I’m very ttired,” she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice.

“Mom. Really. It’s okay. There’s nothing broken here that can’t be fixed. Okay?” Carrie asked, studying her mother with a worried look.

Forcing what she hoped was a smile to her face, Marlena turned to leave. So softly the words barely be heard, she whispered, “I hope you are right, Carrie. I really do.”

John slumped down in the hard seat. The beat-up old van had not been built for comfort and it had definitely seen better days. However looks could be decieving, and the tweaked out eight cylinder engine under the hood had been designed to get them where they were going in a hurry if the need arose. Sipping at yet another cup of too strong coffee, he wearily hoped that the need would not arise. He wanted this thing over and done with. A clean hit, wiping out the organization entirely. Ending the threat. Images of Marlena danced through his mind and with a short nod he signaled Bryce to move the van out. As they pulled carefully into the heavy D.C. traffic, John heard the crackle of static come over the radio as the first of his teams reported that they had reached their destination.

They cruised the highways, making good time despite the traffic. The route he had picked was a long loop halfway around the beltway and back. It put them roughly at the midpoint of the action, in position to respond quickly to any team that ran into trouble. Being certain to keep his hands out of sight, John again checked the action on the light submachine gun he held.


“You look nervous, boss,” Bryce cracked with a grin, his eyes darting over to the dark figure perched restlessly on the seat beside him.

“The wages of sin, Bryce. You do this kind of op a hundred times, you won’t be so bloody cocky either,” John grunted, glancing at his watch for the fourth time in the last half-hour. This was always the worst part, the long moments that stretched out before the action began, the excruciating wait before he could lose himself in the immediacy of the violence.

“I’d think this would get easier with age. By now you ought to be able to run an operation like this in your sleep!” the younger man replied. Oblivious to the tension that held John firmly in its grip, he reached over to crank the radio. Bryce suppressed a smile at the look John shot him and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as Kid Rock blasted through the speakers. As much as he admired John, the guy was just way too serious. Bryce almost hoped that they would get called in to back-up one of the hit squads. He was too young to just sit around on his ass out in the middle of a blasted forest. The fact that the only cute girl he had seen in weeks had a daddy who was more than willing to rip his arms out of their sockets if he so much as looked in her direction hadn’t helped. The thought of Carrie Brady lit up his face with a happy smile and he leaned back in the seat and bobbed his head to the music. Cruising down the freeway, he couldn’t imagine life getting any better than this.

“Bryce, turn that crap down!” John snapped, jerking Bryce back from the hypnotic trance of the road. “We’ve got calls coming in. The targets are starting to fall.”

As he turned his attention to the shortwave, John couldn’t help but note the spark of excitement that lit Bryce’s eyes. He knew the man was bored acting as back-up, but had decided it was time to start giving him some experience at directing a large operation like this one. Still, he could hardly blame the young man for wanting to be a part of the action. He could barely stand it himself, waiting and listening while others made the kill. Still, John hoped that this was one mission he could sit out. If he and Bryce saw action, it would mean that something had gone bad with one of the hits. This was not a mission he could afford to have go bad. Trying to ignore his sense of unease, he turned his attention to the voices on the radio.

“So? How’s it looking?” Bryce asked, the excitement showing in his voice.

“Ease of the accelerator there, Bryce. We don’t want to get pulled over,” John muttered, trying to match the reports crackling in over the radio with the list of targets in his head.

Unconsciously, he nodded in satisfaction. The first wave of four targets had been dropped without a hitch. They had been the most worrisome, taking place out in the suburbs. Too many houses, too many families, and not enough cover to make things easy. With the most complex part of the mission a success, he began to relax into the flow of the action and a small smile creased his face.

“Head us into the city, Bryce,” he ordered. “Anybody has a problem now, it’s going to be the folks downtown.”

As Bryce obligingly steered the van toward an exit, he couldn’t help but comment. “You don’t have to look quite so pleased that we aren’t going to see any action, boss. I mean, I’m still young! I could do with the opportunity to show Dimera what I’m capable of when things get ugly.”

Suppressing a chuckle, John raised an eyebrow and replied mildly, “Well, let me just get my walker out of the back of the van and you can drop me off right here, Bryce. I’d hate to think I’m cramping your style.”

Bryce smiled and gave a shrug, steering the van down a crowded street toward the Loop. “Hell, boss. It’s not that you’re old. I mean, damn! You must be doing something right to get with a woman like that Dr. Evans. Wow! The way she had you bent over that table in the munitions room...” Bryce’s voice died abruptly as he noticed the ominous silence filling the suddenly tight confines of the van.

“Uh, I just mean… She is really pretty,” he said nervously, trying to ignore John’s eyes boring into him.

“Pretty like her daughters?” John asked, his tone low and even as he studied the young man who sat sweating beside him.

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I never look at her daughters,” Bryce replied, his knuckles whitening with the ferocity of the grip he had on the steering wheel.

“Good answer, Bryce,” John finally said, leaning his body back against the worn seat. Cracking a small grin, he muttered, “But, she really is a hottie, isn’t she?!”

Keeping his eyes glued firmly to the road, Bryce fervently replied, “Yes sir!”

She had lain for hours in the big bed, seeking the black nothingness of sleep. Seeking the oblivion that would wash away the bitter sound of Dimera’s words. Searching for a place where John belonged to her and only her.

‘I am John’s family. I always have been and I always will be...’ The words echoed like some dark curse, invading every recess of her mind. She wanted it to be a lie, wanted to deny it as the rantings of a madman. But the reality of it was that John had gone. He had shared himself with her in a way she had not thought possible. The memories of his touch, the depth of feeling in his eyes… it still sent a shiver through her. But despite all that they had shared, he had still gone. It was the one thing he could have done to make her realize that she did not know him. It was the only thing he could have done. But his leaving had forced her to acknowledge that the man she loved was also a true son of Dimera. He was stronger than she could ever have imagined. He was a force she could not understand and one she was uncertain she would like if she did.

Groaning, she buried her head in the pillows, trying to escape the smell of his touch that still lingered on her skin. The subtle reminder of how very much she loved him produced a constant ache in the face of his absence. She admitted to herself that he had done it to protect her. He had left in order to protect her, to eliminate the danger to her and her children. But in protecting her, he was willing to kill. He would exterminate a dozen men like they were bugs, all because he thought they were a threat to her. Human beings, with wives, with families. John would kill them all and he would feel nothing but relief at the loss. The conflicting thoughts roiled in her mind and the only label she could find for her feelings was anger. Anger at him, for being something so evil. Anger at herself, for not being able to make him whole through her love alone. And ultimately, the anger was because she knew she would love him no matter what he did.

Uwilling to wrestle her dark thoughts any longer, she slid from the bed and moved to the shower. The hot water pounded against her, washing away the last traces of the scent of him. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry. But the tears leaked out, mingled with the stinging stream of water, and swirled away down the drain. As the water washed over her, it somehow felt that she was losing the last little piece of him, the last sign of the love that they had shared. With that recognition, she finally acknowledged to herself that it was not anger she felt at his leaving. It was fear. Fear that he would not come back.

Shit! It was all going to hell. The police response was so much quicker than expected. The city teams were reporting a heavy police presence, and John knew that some of the members of the Brotherhood must have been calling them in at the first reports of the attacks in the suburbs. The men would eventually have to explain why they were the targets of a hit. Eventually, their lies would unravel and they would end-up in prison. But John didn’t want them in prison. He wanted them dead.

“Fuck! Step on it Bryce, or we are going to lose that team,” he ordered tightly, slipping off his jacket to reveal a S.W.A.T. kevlar vest worn over a tight black T-shirt. Both he and Bryce were dressed to blend in with the D.C. forces and it gave them an excuse to wear the black ski masks that would hide their identities. He yanked the mask out, ready to pull it over his face the second the van reached their destination. The adrenalin surged through his body and the icy calm that had carried him through a hundred battles engulfed his mind. He was unaware of the ugly smile that marred his features. He was aware of nothing but the immediacy of death and his desire to make it happen.

John chambered a round and rested his index finger on the safety catch, willing the van to go faster. At least his men were responding as ordered. Three city hits had gone down without problem, and his men had already slipped away to vanish into the crowded city streets. But the last two teams were in trouble. One team had failed to report in after their last message. John could only hope they had managed to take down their mark as he had been led out to a waiting police car.

The other team was stationed on a rooftop and had been biding their time, watching as their target finished his lunch, and waiting for him to leave the diner. When the police had come screeching up to the building, they had called for back-up, knowing that they could not escape from the third floor once they took down their mark. The police would know their location and they would be trapped. John had ordered the hit to proceed and now he and Bryce sped through the city streets in order to reach them in time. With speed, deception and precision, he knew he could create a diversion and give the men their chance to rappel down the rear of the building and fade away into the city.

As they careened around the last corner, John saw the flashing lights of three police cars. The officers milled behind their cars, just starting to spread out to approach the building John knew housed his team. With grim satisfaction, he noted the crumpled body that had been pulled behind one of the cars and knew that his team had been successful. Whatever else happened, at least the Brotherhood was broken. It would never threaten Marlena or her children again. Pushing the thought of her away, he waited impatiently to be released into the fray. As the van screached to a halt, John pulled the mask over his face and left the vehicle at a dead sprint.

He charged toward the nearest police car, hoping that no formal chain of command was in place and that his S.W.A.T. gear would generate enough confusion to allow him to pull this off. If it didn’t, this was going to be a bloodbath. As he ran, he grabbed a grenade from the pouch on his belt. With a casual toss, he lobbed an incendiary directly into the doorway of the building. A brilliant flash of light and heat, and the doorway exploded just as John slammed into the rear fender of one of the police cars surrounding the building. The noise and the fire drew him in and he was lost to the wildness.

“They’re coming out,” he screamed, ignoring the startled look on the face of the officer at the opposite end of the car. He opened up on the doorway with his weapon set on full automatic. The crackle of gunfire filled the air, and as he had expected, the other officers responded with withering fire of their own. The entryway to the building disintegrated under the assault, and he almost grinned at their predictability. Street officers really weren’t trained for this sort of operation. Jazz them with a little adrenalin and they would forget their training and open fire on anything another cop was shooting at. Caught in the moment, it was all he could do not to charge the building. He had no doubt the young officers would follow him, he held them in the palm of his hand. Forcing himself back to the goal of the mission, he eased off the trigger and popped in a fresh clip. Time to finish this little diversion.

The cops were completely fixated on the building and John backed slowly away from them. Almost casually, he eased toward the van that drifted up the street toward the patrol cars and their flashing blue lights. The gunfire was slacking off as he popped the door, the sound of sirens racing toward their location urging him to hurry. Refusing to be rushed, he reached into his pouch and tossed three smoke bombs in the direction of the still oblivious officers. Leaping into the van, he slammed the door and leaned out the open window as the first of the grenades exploded into dense gray plumes of smoke. The startled cops shifted to face the new threat and he opened up with his automatic, stitching the police cars with a deadly hail of bullets. As the startled officers scattered, John realized that he was purposely aiming for metal rather than flesh. That he cared at all was an unexpected weakness, and in sudden confusion he ceased firing, watching as the men ran for cover.

The smoke bombs had been the signal Bryce had been waiting for and with a squeal of tires he sent the van racing backward down the city street. As the van slammed into motion, John slipped down into the seat and pulled his seatbelt tight. The cops were milling about in the middle of the street, a few firing futile angry shots after the retreating van. Recognizing that the cops were now totally focused on the van, John again allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. If that hadn’t provided his team with enough of a diversion to rappel down the back of the building, nothing would.

The satisfaction died abruptly, as Bryce spun the van around to head back toward the beltway. Two cruisers skidded to a halt a hundred yards ahead of them, effectively blocking the roadway. Without hesitation, Bryce floored the accelerator. The big engine screamed with power, and by the time they blasted through the center of the cruisers they were hitting 50 miles an hour. The impact was staggering and John lurched hard against the seatbelt as Bryce fought for control of the van. The van veered sharply to the left as rear tires blew. With a tight grimace, John braced for impact. At least he would die with the knowledge he had ended the threat to his family.

The van swerved wildly and Bryce pumped the breaks in a hopeless attempt to control the shuddering vehicle. With a loud ‘thud’ the tires hit the curb and they went airborne. The sound of the front tires blowing out was the last thing John heard before they slammed into the thick telephone pole head-on. The impact flipped the van and it continued to shoot across the pavement on its side, the tortured metal sending up a shower of sparks.

As the skidding wreckage finally slid to a halt, John gathered his bearings. His right arm felt like it was on fire, hard pavement where his window should have been. Trapped in his seat, the rage blossomed in the center of his brain. He would not go down like this. He raised his feet and kicked against the shattered safety glass of the windshield. “Christ, Bryce! Give me a hand here!” he yelled in irritation, looking up to meet the gaze of the man who hung above him, secured by his safety belt. As the glass suddenly popped loose, John noticed that the entire front driver’s side had collapse. Blood dripped down from the top of one of Bryce’s thighs and John thought he glimpsed bone where the steering wheel had been smashed down across the man’s legs. With frieghtened eyes Bryce held his gaze, helplessly pinned by the twisted metal.

Cursing, John shoved the glass away and crawled out the window. They had to run. They had to run now, or they were dead. Forcing his right arm to function despite the growing numbness, he grabbed the remains of the steering wheel and tried to wrench it back from the broken legs of the young man. They had to run now.

A sudden ‘Whoosh’ of air, and black smoke began to fill the interior of the van. A bright tongue of orange flame shot across the top of the vehicle and in sudden desperation, John braced his leg against the frame of the window and levered himself backward. He sensed a slight give in the metal as the inside of the cabin burst into flames, ruptured gas exploding with the heat. The hair on his arm crinkled and he dropped his head to shield his eyes. He ignored the pain and gave another desperate yank, the flesh of his hands starting to burn. The last thing he saw before the tears blurred his vision was Bryce’s blond hair scorching to black cinders. And then the screaming started.

John had heard a sound like that only once before in his life. Walking through the woods, the shrill shriek had pierced the peace of the afternoon. It was the sound of the damned in hell, and John could not believe it was made by a living thing. He had traced the sound to its source, only to find a rabbit, caught in the steel jaws of a trap. Its rear legs were crushed, mangled beyond recognition. The rabbit lay looking at him, howling that ungodly sound from its tiny throat. The screaming had stopped when John reached to touch the animal. It had stopped when he had grasped its head and snapped its neck.

He would never have thought a sound like that could come from a human’s throat. He released his hold on the melting rubber of the steering wheel. Standing in the center of the fire, the flames licked the air around him as he gently squeezed the trigger of the automatic. Even through the dense black clouds that engulfed him, John could see the spray of the blood as round after round ripped through flesh and bone. He could feel the splatter, as the heat of the flames finally forced him back. In that instance, he could hear it- the beautiful sound of silence as the screaming finally stopped. Without hesitation, he turned and ran.

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