Chapter 21
Stefano Dimera sat behind his desk, his fingers tapping idly against the polished surface. A warm tropical breeze wafted in from the open windows, the low roar of an aircraft engine momentarily drowning out the hum of the jungle. His attempt at composure failed and Dimera stalked over to lean against the window. Peering down on the dense canopy of leaves, he searched for a sign of his team and the prisoner they were supposed to be guarding. This was too damn easy and he wouldn’t believe John was back until he saw it with his own eyes.
The gall of the man. As if his betrayal weren’t enough, John thought he could simply return home and make amends. Nothing could repair this damage, nothing John could say and nothing he could do.
A knock at the door demanded his attention and he turned his back on the jungle. Grinding his teeth together, he fought to keep his temper in check.
“Come.”
“Sir,” Jefferson said, giving a deferential nod as he opened the door. Two black clad guards followed close on his heels, struggling beneath the dead weight of a limp body.
“No one was to touch him but me,” Stefano growled, stepping forward and yanking the captive’s head back. Half of John’s face was covered in bandages, the exposed skin either deathly pale or marked by bruises. “John? John?!”
John gave no sign of awareness and Dimera unleashed a hard slap, taking satisfaction as the blow forced a low moan. “Your insolence will be punished.”
“You’re going to kill him if you keep that up,” Jefferson said, his face expressionless as he leaned against the far wall.
Dimera spun on his heel to face his attorney. “And whose fault is that? I ordered him brought back unharmed. I trusted you to have enough sense to follow my orders!”
Jefferson straightened, squaring his shoulders. “I always follow orders, Mr. Dimera. No one laid a hand on the man. We picked him up at the hospital and brought him straight here. He passed out almost as soon as we got him on the plane and he’s been like this ever since.
“Less than 24 hours ago this man shot up my compound, killed halfadozen of my guards and flew off with my prized possession. You bring him back like this! He’s incoherent! He can’t even stand up on his own. I want to know who disobeyed my orders and I want to know now!
“Stefano, I am not one of your trained guerrillas,” Jefferson replied evenly. “I do not ‘rough people up’. The man was shot, and it wasn’t by me. He was only on his feet at all because he was taking enough drugs to power an entire Olympic team. I am not to blame for the state your man is in, I was simply cleaning up the mess.”
“You should have informed me,” Dimera muttered, turning back to John. Gently, he ran a hand down the bandaged torso, pressing hard as he reached the dressing taped low on the man’s left side. With a strangled cry, John jerked away.
“Take him to the infirmary and make certain he stays strapped to the bed. I want guards on him at all times. Is that understood?”
“I thought you wanted him dead?” Jefferson asked, watching as the guards dragged the body from the room.
“He doesn’t die without my permission.”
Distantly, he is aware that he hurts. But that pain is old. It’s dull. It’s boring. This pain is new. It eats at his brain, infects his thoughts. He can’t help but feed it. To lose the pain is to lose her, and that he won’t do. He pretends he isn’t watching them even as he feeds the pain.
“Welcome home!”
He stands alone in some distant unseen corner as the entire family rushes to the front door, surrounding the smiling man who enters the house like he owns it. It’s only right that the man act that way and John slouches further back into his dark corner, trying to feel something other than hate.
“Daddy, it’s really you!” Sami shouts, flinging her arms around Roman and laughing as he spins her around.
“I’m home, Pumpkin. I’m back where I belong and I will never leave you again.”
“You better not, son!” Beaming, Shawn pulls Roman into a quick hug.
“Don’t worry about him, Shawn. I’m not letting this man out of my sight,” Marlena says as she slips an arm around her husband’s waist and draws him close.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Chuckling, Roman leans down for a long lingering kiss. When he finally pulls back, the crowd of friends and family erupts into applause. Standing in his dark corner, John decides his hatred is justified.
The house goes dark and quiet, a peaceful calm settling in. The guests fade away, the children seek their beds. He waits unmoving, unable to leave. Unwilling to let her go. He can feel the outline of his knife in its sheath, pressing hard against his thigh.
“Let’s go upstairs, pretty lady,” Roman’s low voice rumbles.
“I love you, Roman. Only you. Always you.”
Marlena’s whispered words echo through the room. The knife appears in his hand and he can taste his hate, feel it pulsing in his veins. Planting his feet, he struggles not to give in to the demands of the knife. Things are better this way. She’s happy this way.
The knife doesn’t care that she’s happy. He tests the edge, drawing the blade across the thin skin of his wrist. The knife cuts to the bone and he watches in fascination as thick red drops seep from the gaping wound. He crouches down, watching the blood, pretending he’s not in the bedroom with them. Pretending he doesn’t see Marlena, rising to the touch of the one she loves....
“You did the right thing.”
“What are you doing here?” John asks, starting in confusion as the little girl wraps her fingers around his.
“You did the right thing, bringing him back to her.”
Long gold hair shields her face. He reaches out, uses the tip of the knife to tuck the hair behind the little girl’s ear. Sky blue eyes peer up at him, intense within her stark white face. “Go away,” he whispers.
“You did the right thing,” she repeats, staring down at their entwined hands as tiny rivulets of blood weave between their fingers.
“I know I did.”
“I love you, Roman,” Marlena’s voice calls again.
He drops the blade once more to his wrist.
Welcome home,” Marlena said, holding the door open and waiting for him to enter first.
Hesitantly, Roman stepped inside. Walking through the living room, he ran his hand along the back of the couch and scanned the pictures on the wall. “It’s not how I remember it.”
“We had to rebuild. After you left, there was… The house burned down. We had to rebuild.” She wrapped her arms around her chest and tried to think of something to say that would make this easier. Nothing came to mind.
“It’s… nice.”
“It isn’t so very different, Roman. We followed the same basic blue prints.”
“I’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Where are the kids? I thought they’d be here,” he said, looking at her from the far side of the room.
She can’t read him, can’t guess what he’s thinking. “They were a little upset. When they came to the hospital this morning and he was gone… They wanted to stay with their grandparents tonight.”
“Maybe they just wanted to give us a little time alone,” he replies, a quick smile lighting his face.
“Maybe.” Marlena shrugged, her stomach knotting. Might as well say it now…
“I had Bo pick up some clothes for you, some things you might need until we get out and go shopping. They’re in the guest room. I can show you if you want to freshen up.”
“The guest room, huh? Okay.”
He’s still watching her and this time she can easily tell what he’s thinking. For some reason, his anger irritates her. “Roman, I need to take this slowly. I don’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t just...”
“Can’t just what? Hop from his bed into mine?”
“I’ll show you upstairs,” she replied flatly.
“Doc, wait. I’m sorry,” Roman said, putting a hand to her shoulder and holding her in place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
She let him pull her back until her head rested against his chest and hoped he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry too, Roman. It’s just going to take a little time, that’s all I’m asking for.”
“We have all the time in the world, baby,” he replied, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “All the time in the world.”
Bright light split the inside of his head in two and he struggled to pull away from the painful glare.
“Nice to see you finally coming around. I am happy to say, it looks like your eye has healed nicely. A little surgery to repair the socket and the only permanent reminder you’ll have of this painful lesson will be the scars.”
Blinking frantically, John managed to focus on Sarte as the doctor flicked off his pen light and tucked a stray bandage back into place.
“Where am I?” John croaked.
“Don’t you remember? You got ahold of one of Dimera’s contacts and had him pick you up and bring you back to the compound. The joys of no extradition treaty, you know,” Sarte said with a smirk.
“Thought I was dead.” Nodding gratefully, John sipped at the water Sarte offered.
“Give it some time. Stefano did not seem too thrilled to see you back.”
“How pissed is he?”
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you were out of it for a couple of days. Gave him time to cool down. I don’t think he plans to kill you immediately, if that’s what’s got you worried.”
“I’m more worried about him killing me really slowly, but thanks for the encouragement,” John said, cracking a grin. “So when do I see him?”
“When he sends for you. I’m going up now to tell him you are ready for a coherent talk, if not much else. After that, who knows with him. Good luck, John. I think you may need it.”
John waited, tense in the silence of the small room. The hours passed slowly, the stonefaced guards refusing to answer his questions. Just before he fell back asleep, John realized that he actually missed Jarrod.
Pain streaked through his left arm, jarring him back to consciousness.
“Be careful, you idiots. He’s not a sack of potatoes. Now, ease him over to the wheelchair, and be careful with his ribs,” Sarte ordered.
“I don’t need a damn wheelchair,” John hissed, biting back a scream as the guards shifted him into a sitting position. “I need a freak’n painkiller, Sarte!”
“Sorry, kiddo. Dimera was very explicit. No meds for you of any type. I had to beg just to keep you on antibiotics.”
“I can’t breathe, Sarte. It fuck’n hurts!”
“I think it’s supposed to. I did mention that Mr. Dimera was angry, didn’t I?”
John concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, but he could feel Stefano’s angry glare as the guards lead him into the center of the room. His legs gave out as they let him go and he crashed down into the chair set before the big desk. With a grunt, he doubled over, clutching at his ribs.
“I must say, I was surprised to find the prodigal so quickly returned,” Stefano said, breaking the lingering silence.
“We both knew I’d come back here, one way or another,” John grated, his eyes fixed on the carpet below his feet.
“I expected you to come in the night, John. I expected you with a knife in your hand. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think you would be so foolish.”
“You always said there was no end to my foolishness,” John replied, managing to look up with a grin on his face.
“Oh, this amuses you, does it?” Waving the guards back, Stefano moved to stand beside John’s chair. “Get up.”
Leaning forward, John braced himself against the desk and rose slowly to his feet. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
“Not before I know the price for your betrayal, John. I trusted you above all others. I trusted you!” Putting his weight behind it, Dimera swung a vicious punch into the center of John’s gut. The man dropped like a rock to lay gasping on the floor.
“Get up,” Dimera ordered, no hint of emotion in his voice.
Crouched on his hands and knees, John raggedly gulped for air and tried not to be sick.
“Get up!”
Numbly, he gathered his feet beneath him and lunged upright. Looking Dimera straight in the eye, he smiled. It was a relief when the second blow sent him crashing back down to the floor.
“What did she offer? What did she promise you to make you a Judas?”
Curling into a tight ball, John waited for the guards to move in, wondering if Dimera would stop them before they stomped the life out of him, debating if he wanted him to.
“Get up,” Stefano spat, nudging a knee with the tip of his shoe.
It would have been funny, except for the fact he obeyed. At least, he tried. It was all John could do to make it to his knees, and he stayed there, waiting to be hit again. He knew Dimera was right. He knew that he deserved this.
“What was your price, John? Tell me what she did for you and I’ll make your death easy.”
Shaking his head, John gave a cracked chuckle. “I don’t want it to be easy.”
Stefano’s fingers wrapped around his throat, shoving him back against the desk until he was half stretched across it. He flinched, seeing the big hand raised for a blow to his face. Gritting his teeth, he braced for the agony he knew would follow.
Stefano hesitated, his face unreadable. “You owed me better than this, boy.”
Abruptly, John was released. Slumping to the floor, he waited for the bullet that was his due.
“I’ll have the plane made ready,” Dimera said. “I want you fit and ready to fight. I’m sending you to someone who can make that happen. When I come for you, I will expect an explanation for all of this. I will be able to trust you or I will see you dead. Do we understand each other?”
Dazed, John felt himself lifted to his feet, supported by the two guards. He didn’t understand anything, least of all why he was still alive. His head tilted back, held by a firm hand, and Dimera stared into his face.
“Damn you, John. I trusted you with her.”
“That was your mistake.”
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