Marlena stared at the screen, at the last face in the files the indicator that she was done with her end of the bargain she had struck with Dimera. For two full days, she and the children had stayed in the suite. She had clicked through file after file, marking the pictures that matched the images in her mind. Two days of staring at the screen as her children had read, played cards, watched the TV that now sat in a corner of the room. As their nerves had frayed, and friendly banter had turned to sniping, she had sat, going through file after file. Their little world had been disturbed only by Jensen, the meals he brought marking the time they spent locked in this gilded cage. Now it was over with and she felt not joy, but emptiness.

When she had sent him away, she had meant it. Not wanted it, but meant it none the less. He could not be a part of their lives and it was cruel to pretend otherwise. But every minute that had passed, she had waited for him. Expected him. Was disappointed when the knock on the door didn’t come. Now she was done and they would leave. Soon they would leave. She could go home to a house that would feel empty because he wasn’t there. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer a prayer that one day she would wake up, and her world would no longer feel empty.

“You want me to kill him while he sits in his office?! It’s a federal building!” Startled from his pacing, John halted before Dimera’s desk. “Why? Why the office? I could walk into his home on a whim and splatter his brains across a wall. Why a federal building?” John asked, realizing as he did so that he didn’t care the idea itself captivated.

Stefano steepled his hands on the desk and smiled at the eagerness he saw on John’s face. “We need to send a message. Can you think of a better way?”

With a sharp laugh, John shook his head. “No. Killing an assistant director of the ISA while he sits in his office is certain to catch attention. I’m just not sure why we want that attention.”

“If you would leave the gym once in a while, you might have a better feel for the situation.”

John merely shrugged, refusing to be baited. “I get antsy. You know that.”





Stefano snorted at the understatement. John had spent the past two days working himself to the point of exhaustion. He had pounded on the guards until they had refused to spar with him. Deprived of human bodies, he had taken his anger out on the heavy bag, spending hours slamming his callused fists into the canvas. When he had grown bored with that, he had spent time on the range, firing shot after shot into the human shaped targets. He was unpredictable to the point that only Dimera would willingly approach him. Stefano had designed this mission to give John a focus for his rage. The manner of Jameson’s death was not really so important, but this way had style and it would give John the challenge he needed.

“‘Antsy.’ So that is what you call it. I would have said insufferable. However, if you must have it explained to you… Marlena has gone through the files. Identified all of the faces she recognized. But there is no way we have them all. Our files are not complete and it is doubtful that Roman knew of all of the members of the Brotherhood Jameson is proof enough of that. We already have men observing the members we know of. We have their phones tapped, their mail monitored. What we need now is an emergency, something that will shock the organization into action. If our surveillance teams do their jobs, we will be able to trace the lines of communication. Confirm that the men we have identified are members. Find out who we have missed. Jameson’s death can give us that emergency.”

John nodded, recognizing the wisdom of the plan recognizing he didn’t really give a shit as long as he got to have Jameson. And to take him right under the nose of the feds… “So, when do we start?”

The four man team sat around the conference table that had been setup in the media room. They stared attentively at Dimera while John slouched against the back wall. He tried to contain the desire to smash something, at least for a little while longer. With a start, John realized it had been years since he had gotten to kill someone he truly hated. And he did hate Jameson. He remembered listening to the tape, Jameson’s voice easy to identify. He had gloated over the death of the traitor in their group’s midst. That death had cost Marlena her husband, her child. The thought of it sent the beginnings of the icy fire racing through his synapses. Made it hard to concentrate as Stefano laid out his entry. Laid out his escape. The only escape that concerned John now would be found in Jameson’s death.

He needed this kill. Needed to vent the black thoughts that twisted in his brain, that tied his stomach into knots. He was going insane, stalking through this house, this hell of his own design. To know she was there and not to be with her his mere presence an abomination… He would use what he was to serve her this one last time and then he would set her free from his taint. Forcing his mind back to the logistics of death, he buried the fire deep inside.

John felt sharp. He had forgotten this was why he did it. This was why he put up with all of the bullshit that constituted his life. It was for this. This feeling. Sharp. Pure. With a purpose. One purpose. To kill. God, he missed this.

Complete, he moved to the office where his prey awaited. Sheep to the slaughter he lived to see the look in their eyes as they died.

Outside the door, he paused. Savoring the anticipation. The cold fire that consumed him, that tempered him. This was so right. Drawing in a deep breath of the artificial air, he lunged forward, slamming the door wide. He filled the room bone, blood and sinew existing for only one focused purpose.

Jameson’s eyes stared up at him, denying the reality of his immanent death.

With a smile on his face that he didn’t know existed, John stalked across the industrial carpet, blade held easily in his hand. Feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, he crossed the floor in the time it took Jameson to blink. “I believe you’ve been looking for me? Well, here I am. Enjoy.”

Shoving the smaller man’s head back, John struck. The blade bit through meat and cartilage, the sound a grisly indicator of the force behind the blow. A crimson fountain exploded from the severed artery and Jameson’s hands came up in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow. His life slipping through his fingers, he looked up into the smiling face of death.

“Stefano Dimera sends his regards.” The familiar words hissed from his lips and time snapped back into focus. Moving quickly now, John finished sending the message that Stefano had dictated. Completing his grisly task, he striped off the suit he had been wearing, revealing the janitor’s jumpsuit that had been hidden beneath. John checked his watch only minutes left before he had to be at the security checkpoint. Snatching the trashbag from the bin beside Jameson’s desk, he ran for the door, pausing for a last look over the scene of the crime. This was one message that would be hard to miss. Closing the door on the sight of Jameson’s severed head, he moved to meet the exit team.

As he had expected, none of the busy people in suits paid any attention to the janitor carrying his load of trash through the halls. At the security desk for the front door, however, both guards looked curiously up it was not standard practice to carry the trash through the front hall. Ducking his head low under the brim of his cap, John kept walking and prayed that his team would be on time.

Right on cue, the front doors slammed open. Gas grenades exploding everywhere, the four man team swept inside. Dressed in black fatigues and masks, kevlar protecting them from the small arms carried by security, they opened fire.

Dropping the bag to the floor, John ran for the exit. Visibility was nonexistent, the edge of the security desk jabbing hard against his hip. He vaulted the desk, muscles tensed in expectation of a bullet as he made his way through the dense smoke. Gunfire cracked with regularity, bringing home the danger, and he wished he could have worn a vest. While his men had orders to fire into the air, their presence meant largely as a diversion, he doubted that the security forces now pouring toward the entry would be so accommodating.

Scrambling through the shrouded chaos of the room, he crashed into an unseen body before he was halfway to the door. Sensing it was one of his own, he yelled through the haze. “Fall back! We’re out of here!”

The team ducked out the double doors, the gunfire behind them becoming more regular. Smoke billowed from the building as they raced for the waiting van. Coughing to clear his lungs, John collapsed onto the hard metal floor, tears streaming from stinging eyes. The last man was pulled aboard and the van roared out into the deepening twilight. Thirty minutes after cutting Jameson’s throat, John and his team were on a chopper back to the Blue Ridge.

-----