“How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sarte replied, hoping it was true. “He cracked a wrist, dislocated a shoulder, there’s fluid in his lungs. None of it should kill him. Of course, he still hadn’t recovered from the beatings....”

Dimera sat in an overstuffed armchair, picking absently at the crusted blood on his shirt and watching Sarte smooth down the bandages that now wrapped John’s face. “That’s not what I meant. I know he’ll live. He’s too tough to die so easily. Did he remember, Sarte? Did he accept it?”

Sarte tightened the leather restraints around the unconscious man’s wrists, noting how odd they looked attached to the antique frame of the missionary style bed. With a muted sigh, he tried to form an answer that wouldn’t get him killed. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “He remembered. The drugs left him no choice. And with Brady right there, staring him in the face- it would be hard for him to have rejected the truth. But the mind is complex, Stefano. I don’t know how he’ll react. If he wakes up, I guess we’ll find out.”

“He will wake up?” Stefano said, his tone dangerous.

“He should, but.... Stefano, I don’t know what he will do. You told me you thought he recognized you when you first went into the cell. You yourself said it reminded you of when you pulled him out of the Soledino compound. He’s hurt right now. Some of his last memories of his time with you are of the Soledinos and what they did to him. I’ve got him wrapped up like he was when he got back from that. If those memories have been triggered, he may latch on to them. It’s what I’m hoping for. If he does, he may come back.”

“Or he may not.”

Sarte simply nodded. “Or he may not. He put a gun to his head, Stefano. He doesn’t want these memories. If he refuses to accept them, he may never come back at all.”

Stefano allowed himself a tired groan of frustration. “At least he’s not going to wake up thinking he’s Roman Brady, is he? That battle has grown tedious.”

“No,” Sarte chuckled. “I doubt even his powers of self-delusion are capable of that. He may remember his time as Brady, he may not. But I doubt even he can pretend that it’s the truth anymore. At least some good came out of Davies’ stupidity.”

“Davies is a punk with an inflated ego. If John dies because of what he did, Davies will be quick to join him.”


“And if John lives?” Sarte asked, looking curiously at Dimera.

An ugly smile curved Stefano’s lips. “If John lives, Davies will be his first test.”

“Already playing games,” Sarte replied, shaking his head and moving to the door. “There’s nothing more to be done right now. I’ll check back on him in a few hours.”

“I’ll wait here,” Dimera said, pulling his chair closer to the bed before sitting back down.

“It could be a long time, Stefano.”

“Then I will wait a long time.”

“Where are they, Dr. Sarte?”

“Dr. Evans! How nice to see you. I thought my dinner invitation would be refused. For once, I am glad to be wrong.”

Marlena eyed the wiry little man distastefully. The rumpled white linen suit seemed to be the same one he was wearing the last time she had had the displeasure of his company, and it showed no signs of having been washed since then. His grey hair billowed about his head like some unholy halo, Einstein on amphetamines. She could smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away and his dirt-brown eyes were watery and unfocused. There was no point in seeking help from the deplorable old reprobate- she’d made the attempt enough times now to know. Dimera was the one she would have to work on and Dimera had been avoiding her like the plague.

“Please, my dear lady, join me.” Sarte gestured to the dinning table, laden with fresh fish and tropical fruits. Stefano was an idiot to spend his time hovering over a comatose man when he could be ingratiating himself to such a fine looking woman. Oh well, Stefano’s loss…

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Marlena crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Sarte, your attempts at Southern charm have no effect on me. I want to know where Stefano is and I want to know now!”

Sarte shrugged and turned his attention to the poached red fish on his plate. “I thought you disliked Mr. Dimera. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

With three quick strides, she was beside him. “Dislike is an understatement. But it has been three days since Stefano has inflicted his presence on me, and that means he is up to something. You are going to tell me what he is doing to Roman. You are going to tell me right now.”

There was a threat in her voice and Sarte looked up, startled to find her looming above him. His mouth went dry and he watched mesmerized as firm breasts rose and fell within the thin cotton of her red sundress. “If I don’t tell, will you punish me. Please?” he whispered, manic eyebrows rising suggestively.

“You are a twisted little pervert,” she spat, stepping quickly back.

“True.” Sarte nodded amicably, poking at the rapidly disappearing remains of his meal. Giving a satisfied grunt, he leaned back in his chair and picked his teeth with a thin sliver of bone. “However, since you ask so nicely, I will tell you this. Dimera won’t hurt the boy. He’s always had a fondness for him. If you feel the need to worry about someone, you’d best worry about yourself.”

Marlena debated slapping the man, but decided he would enjoy the experience more than she would. Scowling in frustration, she merely shook her head. “You aren’t a very good liar, Sarte. I’ve seen what Dimera is willing to do to Roman. There is no way I’m going to let him get away with it.”

Sarte’s sharp bark of laughter grated in her ears. “Oh, you are so beautiful yet so wrong. I am an excellent liar, Dr. Evans. Really, I am. But I have no need to lie to you. Whatever hurt was done to your ‘Roman’, he did to himself. Stefano will do everything in his power to see that he is returned to you, alive and well and fully aware of who he is. You have my word of honor on it.”

“You have no honor, Sarte.” Her fists clenched angrily at her sides, she stalked from the room to continue her search for some weapon to use in the coming battle.

“Damn fine woman, that. Damn fine,” Sarte muttered, watching with pleasure as she left.

Darkness. He was back in darkness and he hurt. His eyelids fluttered, trying to make the darkness go away. It didn’t work. Where the hell was he? Gotta get out. Gotta get out now.

“You’re Stefano’s pretty boy, aren’t you, hijo? You won’t be so pretty when we send you back to him.”

“Stefano. I knew you’d come,” he lies with whispered words. “Kill these fuckers for me. Kill them all.”

He was in darkness and he hurt. But if he hurt, he wasn’t dead. If he wasn’t dead, he must be home.

“Stefano?”

“Easy, boy. Just take it easy.”

“The Soledinos. They all dead?” John whispered, stiff lips struggling to form the words.

That dark chuckle filled the room, as familiar to him as his own thoughts.

“Dead and buried, every one. Everything is going to be okay, John. I just want you to rest. Recover your strength. Don’t try and think about it. I promise, everything will be okay.”

The burning of a needle seared his forearm and John Black let himself sink back beneath the silent darkness. He was home. All that mattered was that he was home.

With a tired sigh, Stefano stood, stretching the kinks from his neck. After two days, he had begun to doubt that John would ever wake up. Still, he had waited. It had been well worth the wait. Now it was time for a shower and a comfortable night’s sleep.

“He should sleep through the night, Jarrod,” Dimera said, nodding to the nurse who stood beside the bed. “If you run into any trouble, call me immediately. And whatever happens, don’t approach him. That man is dangerous. Just watch for any change, and call me if something, anything, occurs.”

Stefano spared one last look at the bandaged figure now sleeping peacefully in the center of the big bed. John Black was back. At long last, he was back where he belonged. Now there was only Marlena left to conquer. Feeling better than he had in years, Dimera turned his thoughts to the future and the legacy he would create.

Sitting back from the table, Stefano let the coffee sear his throat, washing down the last of a big breakfast. Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, he reached into his vest for his first cigar of the day, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Sir, he’s awake and struggling. I’m afraid he may hurt himself. He’s calling for you, and I think you might better get down here.”

“Tell him to calm down, I’m on my way.” Pleased despite having to forgo his morning smoke, Stefano headed downstairs to see the prodigal returned. If he had had any doubts as to the frame of mind John would be in, they were quickly dispelled.

“God-dammit, let me up. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m going to rip your eyes out if you don’t let me up.” John thrashed in the center of the bed, yanking hard against the straps that bound his arms.

“Easy, boy. The man is following my orders,” Stefano admonished, stepping into the room with a smile on his face.

The bandaged head swivelled to face Dimera’s voice, and though the gauze covered the man’s eyes, Stefano could still feel the glare of those blue eyes.

“Dammit, Dimera. Get me out of here,” John snarled, giving one more frustrated tug at his restraints.

“And a lovely morning to you too, John. I want you to know you’ve ruined a perfectly good breakfast for me. And watch that mouth of yours- I taught you better than that.”

Reluctantly, John’s head dropped back to rest on the pillow. With a conscious act of will, he forced the tension in his body to ease. “Sorry, boss,” he said more calmly. “But what’s going on? Why can’t I see? I want up!”

“You’re tied down to keep you from hurting yourself,” Stefano said, motioning the nurse away as he moved to check the restraints himself. John jerked at his touch, and with a firm hand against the man’s chest, Dimera pushed him back down. “It doesn’t work if you insist on fighting it! You’re going to be fine, so please stop acting like a neanderthal.”

“Stefano, I can’t see!”

“You can’t see because there was some damage to your cheek and eye socket. It’s nothing a little surgery won’t correct. Now, I’m going to take the dressing off of the left side of your head, and you should see just fine. If you can manage to behave yourself, I’ll release the restraints. However- you are not getting up. Do you understand me?”

John’s only reply was a grunt that was suspiciously close to a curse.

“Fine, you can just lie there until you’re ready to be civilized.”

The silence stretched out defiantly, each second reminding Dimera of just exactly how stubborn his best agent could be. However, this was a contest in which Dimera held all the cards.

“I understand,” John finally muttered. “I’ll just lie here. Lie here like some pathetic little baby. Whatever you say, boss.”

“Gracious, even in defeat,” Stefano responded dryly, bending to unwind the bandages that wrapped John’s face. There had been no need to bind both sides of John’s face, but Dimera had wanted to control the first moment in which John could fully gather his bearings. Control the moment, and observe the reactions of the still befuddled mind.

“Nurse, cut the lights down. No sense in blinding him.” He pulled away the last strip of gauze, revealing an icy blue eye attempting to stare him down.

“Damn, boss. You look tired!” John burst out.

“I see your manners haven’t improved,” Dimera noted wryly. “Tell me what you remember John. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Keeping his eyes on John’s face, Stefano took his time loosening the padded cuffs that held the man pinned to the bed.

The blue eye began to water, and John squinted against the dim light. “The Soledinos. There was no warning. They picked me out at a bar, jumped me coming out. Think they must have busted me a good one upside the head. It’s all fuzzy. Think it involved a pretty thorough beating. Then the oldest son, Jesse, he started practicing a little knife-work on me. I kept passing out, and then you were there, and they started dying. Fuckers! Hope you killed them all!”

“Every last one John. The Soledino cartel no longer exists. Is that all you can recall?”

“Jesus, Stefano- you were there. What are you asking me for?”

“Stop being difficult. I need to know what you remember.”

“I owe you one. Okay? Happy? I admit it. You came, you got me out, I owe you. Damn, not like I never saved your ass before!”

Stefano rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. If he had forgotten how irritating John could be, it was a characteristic he was quickly recalling.

“What, exactly, is the very last thing you remember?” Stefano growled, his patience running dangerously thin.

John turned away, no longer willing to meet his eyes. When he finally spoke, his tone was subdued. “You carried me out. That’s the last thing I remember. You were pissed. Really pissed. Hell, you never take a mission yourself! Man, were you pissed....

“Thanks. You know.... Thanks a lot,” he said, reaching for Dimera’s shoulder with his now freed arm.





Silky blond hair tickles his bare shoulder, soft lips sliding across the muscles of his back. He aches at her touch, the need for her searing his veins.

“If you aren’t back in a few days, I’m going to hunt you down and kick your butt.” Her silvery laughter echoes through his mind, and he fights to see her face as she slowly drifts away.

John dropped his arm, pinched his fingers around the bridge of his nose. His head continued pounding as the blood roared in his ears. “Who was the woman?” he whispered in confusion.

“Forget the woman, John,” Dimera replied, his voice suddenly tense.

“The Soledinos didn’t do this to me. It was a mission.... Stefano, who was the woman?”

“She’s no one you need to worry about now. Just rest. Whatever you need to know will come back to you with time.” Against all good sense, Stefano released John’s other arm, watching as he clenched his fist, testing torn and bruised muscles. He would not lose him. The plans were in place, John could not fail him now.

“Stefano, who did this to me? The woman? Who the hell was she?” The panic was back, a sense of urgency he couldn’t explain. John tried to lift himself from the bed, to make Dimera tell him what he needed to know. Exhausted muscles failed him and he sank back against the sheets, hating to beg but willing to do it if it would buy him what he needed to know.

“You’ve lost a few years, John,” Stefano said quietly, his eyes giving no hints of the secrets they held. “You went deep under on your last mission, and it’s just going to take a while for it all to make sense to you. Don’t worry about it. Just let your body heal. When you’re ready, I’ll answer all of your questions. Until then, I just want you to lie here and rest, okay?”

“Rest, hell! Dimera, I want to know. You owe me that!”

Dimera merely laughed. “That’s not how things work around here, John. If you remember nothing else, you’d better remember that.”

“Don’t push me, old man. Something for you to remember as well.”

“You are in no position to threaten anyone, John. When you can get to my office on your own, perhaps then, we will talk. For now, you will lie in that bed and pretend to like it. I will have breakfast sent in, and I want you to get it down. After that, you will sleep. And if you won’t do it voluntarily, I’ll put you out myself- it’s a promise. Do we understand each other?”

John grit his teeth, again testing muscles that refused to answer. With a resigned sigh, he finally nodded. “We understand each other perfectly, just like always. But Stefano- I will be in your office tomorrow. One way or another, you will give me the answers I want.”

“When you can get there under your own power, you can have the answers. Until then, you’ll behave yourself. Jarrod there will see that my orders are followed. And Jarrod?” Stefano said, glancing at the large man who stood by the door. “If he gives you any more trouble, call me down.

“John, I do not expect to have to answer such a call,” Dimera warned, shooting a hard look at the man in the bed.

“Tomorrow, then,” John replied, a promise he meant to keep.

-----