Marlena walked slowly, aimlessly across the hard-packed sand. She was alone, completely free to come and go as she pleased. She was trapped, unable to leave no matter how hard she tried. Wading out into the warm water, she climbed up on one the jagged rocks that jutted from the sea like the shattered remains of some long dead monster’s bones. Oblivious to the hot sun that beat down on her shoulders, the blue water that lapped at her toes, she sat and she stared into the horizon, hoping for a rescue she knew would never come.

Dimera had been too preoccupied to bother her. That bothered her. It meant he was with Roman. It meant he was hard at work, stripping her husband away from her one piece at a time. She was afraid that he would succeed. If she was truthful, she would have admitted that she was afraid of more than that. Marlena had no desire to be so truthful. The past was dead, she was content to leave it buried. All she wanted was the man she loved. She wanted him home, safe, with her and her children and the life they had made together. Any doubts she had ever held had long been laid to rest. Not even Stefano Dimera could resurrect them now.

There had to be some way off of this damn island. There had to be some pathway home. She had looked for days, and she still hadn’t found it. She would keep looking until she did. Marlena knew where Dimera’s secrets were hidden. The locations had been easy to find. Armed guards stood in darkened doorways, their uniformed bodies blocked shadowed halls. Those were the places where Roman would be. Those were the only places she wasn’t allowed to go. Those were the only places on this godforsaken island she wanted to go. No amount of pleading, of flattery, of flirting had gotten her in. She would simply have to find another way.

Dimera was one key to escape. He had always been vulnerable to her, drawn like a moth to fire. Dimera was too smart, smart enough to know his own weaknesses. She suspected that he avoided her now because he recognized the threat she posed. She would draw his attention from Roman. If Stefano gave her half a chance, she knew she could consume him. He knew it too. Stefano had always been too damn smart. Sarte, on the other hand....

Sarte was a weakness, a chink in the wall Dimera had built around her. The little man had never taken his eyes off of her during the entire dinner Stefano had forced her to endure. Sarte was not nearly so smart as Dimera, he might let something slip if she approached him the right way. Of course, Sarte was probably too afraid of Stefano to ever take a risk- but it couldn’t hurt to try.





She had to try something. Every day her husband could be falling further and further away from her. If she waited too long, he might never come back. That was a loss she would not accept. Marlena tilted her head back, studied the gulls as they soared on the warm thermals. When the chance came to talk to Sarte alone, she would take it. If Sarte wouldn’t help her, Dimera would still be there. There were some things Stefano wanted even more than his Pawn. She would remind him of that if she had to. She would make certain that he grew to regret it.

Stefano paced the floor, nursing a glass of cognac and allowing the strains of an aria to drift through his weary mind. “He won’t let go of her,” he muttered absently.

Sarte chuckled. “Can you blame him? She’s a beauty.”

“She is that,” Stefano replied, an unnoticed smile on his lips.

“She asked where you were at lunch. It surprised me- I didn’t think you were one of her favorite people.”

“Nothing that woman does surprises me anymore,” Stefano said, nodding his head. “She’s more dangerous than she appears. I have the scars to prove it.”

“If I were you, she would be my first priority. After all, Stefano, you can always buy more soldiers.”

“John is more than a mere soldier, Sarte. Don’t underestimate his value to me,” Dimera snapped, his eyes hard. “Besides, he’s the first step toward having Marlena. If she were to lose him, if I could taint his very memory… She will not be an easy prize to achieve. I will claim her when the time is right and not before.”

“Well, at least she’s keeping him rational. Stubborn, but rational. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“I want him back- he refuses to come. I’m not pleased, Sarte. Not at all. I suggest you find some means of remedying that.”

“Stefano- I am not to blame in this. The man doesn’t want to remember! If he has any choice in the matter, he will go to his grave as Roman Brady. The drugs can break him down, force him to relive the memories. When he refuses to accept the memories, it causes a break with reality- it’s as if he doesn’t own the memories he’s seeing but is trapped by them. I can make him remember but there’s not a damn thing I can do to make him accept!”

“I suggest you try harder,” Stefano said, his voice deceptively mild.

The pointed look Dimera sent in his direction was a warning and Sarte recognized it as such. “Well, we aren’t doing much good right now. You drug him up, he loses his mind. The drugs wear off, he’s Roman Brady again. You can probably continue that cycle until it kills him and it won’t get you what you want. Maybe it’s time for the next step.”

“You’re the one who told me he wasn’t ready. Remember?”

“He’s not getting any more ready, Stefano. He clings to his identity as Roman Brady like a damn pitbull. That isn’t likely to change. All he’s doing now is getting weaker. You’re going to have to risk it some time. The longer you wait, the less likely it is he will survive.”

Stefano blinked slowly, cold black eyes revealing nothing of the thoughts that lay beneath. Finally, he nodded. “Tomorrow then. And Sarte, if he dies on me, you are very likely to follow. Do you understand?”

Sarte raised a glass in Dimera’s direction before downing the contents in one deep swallow. “I understand perfectly.”

Roman’s head swam with memories that were not his own. Images of death and violence, planted by Stefano. It was becoming harder every minute to separate truth from fiction. He was so damn tired. The only time he wasn’t tired was in the midst of the dark rages. They were so real. He could remember the sounds, even the smells that accompanied the visions of destruction. God, he couldn’t remember the birth of his children with such clarity.

His children… he pictured their faces, using them to hold on to who he was. He had no doubt of his identity, the possibility that he could have been Dimera’s man repugnant. Marlena would never have loved a man like that. He clung to the thought- Marlena loved him, he could not be the killer that stalked the dark corridors of his drug addled mind. He would not allow Stefano’s illusions to take her away from him.

He heard the key turn in the big iron door, the creak of hinges that rusted quickly in the tropical air. He tried to gather his energy, pull his thoughts together for the continuing battle. Soft footsteps approached, stopping directly behind him. Oh Christ, the waiting was the worst. When Dimera was actually there pushing him, he could gather the threads of his mind and focus on the fight. It was when he was alone, or even worse, at moments like this when Stefano simply stood and watched that the despair surged over him and the red fog threatened to take him. Roman feared the madness. He feared it more than anything Dimera could do to him. He knew that if he lost himself in the red fog he would never come back to her, and if he did, it would only serve to cause her pain. That, he would never do.

The heavy hand gripped his shoulder, bringing him back to awareness. It was a relief to have human contact anchoring him to the present, even if the contact came from Dimera. The large hands kneaded muscles that seemed to knot each time he was left alone. He hated when Stefano did this, especially because it eased the pain and he could not stop himself from relaxing into the soothing motion. “Are you still with me, John?” came the low voice of his captor.

“John’s not here, Dimera. Why don’t you stop deluding yourself and recognize that this time, you won’t break me? I’m stronger this time, nothing you can do will erase the memories of my family.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” replied Dimera. “This does appear to be an exercise in futility- and I have no desire to inflict unnecessary pain.”

Roman snorted in derision, “Yea, I’ve noticed that about you.”

Stefano chuckled, pleased to note the man’s resilience. He sometimes forgot the reserves of strength that had carried him through many a seemingly hopeless situation. He hoped those reserves would be adequate this time.

“I just wanted to be certain you were aware of your surroundings, John. So often now you seem to slip away into the past. It makes you unpredictable, it makes you violent. Do you remember what you’re like when you slip away?”

“Go to hell,” Roman muttered, too tired to fight about it.

“I think it’s time you remember, John. Your pretended ignorance has grown tedious. I’ve decided to introduce you to someone who will help you accept the truth. You be a good boy and behave yourself, and I will make this as painless as possible.”

Having assured himself that John was sufficiently in control of himself to be manageable, Stefano reached down and released the straps holding neck and chest against the well-worn wood of the chair. Stepping quickly back, he observed the reaction, trying to gage the level of force this was going to require.

Roman doubled over, lacking the strength to hold himself upright without the support of the straps. He had been tied down the entire time he had been conscious, though he had no idea how long that might have been. He knew he must have been unbound at times, because he would come-to, cleaned-up and wearing fresh clothes. He never remembered the experience, though, and the ability to move, even to this extent, felt so good it was almost painful. He rested his head on his knees and tried to control his suddenly ragged breathing. Dimera’s hands touched his shoulders, kneading the bunched muscles of his neck and back. For a moment he simply allowed himself to go with it, too exhausted to fight anymore. Stefano would take care of him, he always had.

Dimera could feel the man’s utter exhaustion, could sense his surrender. Perhaps the trip to the basement would not be necessary after all. Keeping one hand on the back of the bowed neck, he firmly held the man down and released the straps on his arms. All things considered, he had continued to heal nicely. The swelling was almost gone and the bandages were no longer spotted with fresh blood. John still didn’t seem to realize his arms were free and Dimera let go of his neck, bending to address the straps securing his ankles. With snake-like quickness, a bandage encased arm shot upwards, hard fingers digging into his throat, searching for his spine. Using his weight, Dimera threw himself backwards, breaking the hold. Crashing to the floor gasping, he put his hand to his neck and felt the warm trickle of blood. He stared up into flaming eyes, watching as his attacker reached down, releasing his bound ankles.

The guards at the door immediately stepped into the room on seeing their boss felled. God, he had to get to his feet, get to Dimera while he still had the will. So close, so close to caving and accepting the inevitable. End it now, kill the bastard and be done with it. His legs refused to work, too long with no use, the circulation cut off. Roman fell hard, taking the brunt with a shoulder, trying to buy himself some time. Get to his enemy, end this nightmare. Prove that he was Roman Brady. Prove it on Dimera’s body. Prove it to himself. A booted foot slammed into his face and his head snapped back, the blood flowing. Too late. Too damn late.

“Don’t,” Dimera ordered, crawling slowly to his feet. The guards reluctantly backed off and Roman was left to lay in the center of the floor, trying to stifle the now unproductive fire that had forced either action or capitulation.

Dimera moved stiffly to stand above the downed man. He reached out, dragging the man’s head up by the hair. Dazed eyes stared back into his own, their challenge plain to see. No one could be allowed to challenge him- not even John. Especially not John.

“Never, John. You are never to lay a hand on me. Marlena will pay for your actions this day,” Stefano said, allowing the cold anger he felt to show in his voice. It was the only threat that he had, but it was the only threat that he needed.

Roman raised his hand, Stefano’s blood still wet on his fingers. Closing his eyes on what he was about to do, he clutched at the arm holding him off the floor. “I’m sorry, Stefano. I didn’t think, I swear to you… Don’t take this out on her.” He groaned, levering himself to his knees in front of Dimera. Bowing the head still held by one of Stefano’s big hands, he did the unthinkable. “I beg you- anything you ask, I will do.”

Part of Stefano’s anger was at his own stupidity. He had known better, but the prisoner’s utter weariness had lulled him into carelessness. All he had needed to do to have retained control was to have reminded the man of the consequences of his actions, as he had been careful to do all week. Now he would have to answer the violent attack, there was no choice. John responded to power- it was to be respected. To allow this attack to go unanswered could well sow the seeds of a future clash of wills. “From now on, John, you will answer to your true name. You will instantly obey any command of mine or my men. And you will offer no resistance John. None at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I understand perfectly.”

The words were contrite, subdued, even subservient. Dimera didn’t believe it for a second. Turning to his head of security, Davies, he ordered, “Make him regret his actions, then bring him down to me in the cell block. This ends tonight.”

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