It is a few moments before anyone speaks. They are too shocked by Marlena's exit to know what to say. Finally Caroline turns to John, her face pallid.
"John, what is *wrong* with her?"
"She's not herself, Caroline," John stares at the door sadly. "I wish I could tell you more than that, but that's as much as I know at the moment."
"We have to help her!" Shawn claps his hand around John's upper arm. "Son, this can't go on."
"I know Pop," John turns to his one-time family with pleading eyes. "Please, you have to trust me on this. I'm doing everything I can at this point. I just need you to stay out of it for the moment until I can work out how to get through to her."
"John," Bo is clearly uncertain. "You said you thought DiMera might try and snatch Marlena. It seems to me at this point he wouldn't have to try very hard."
John is silent for a moment as he considers how much to tell the people in front of him. The people who have had their lives torn apart because of what he has done and it's effect on the woman they all love. That he loves more than anything else in this life.
"Bo," he runs his fingers over the stiff stubble on his chin. "You all have to know that Marlena would never do the things she's done, would never say the things she's said.... not under any normal kind of circumstances."
He turns his gaze to the woman he still thinks of as a mother. He wants to trust these people. They're the closest thing to a family he's known and if anyone can help him, they can. Without Marlena, he's drifting but the Brady's could be just the anchor he needs to steady himself if he's going to get her back.
But even as these thoughts fly through his head, he dismisses them. He can't tell them. Roman was their son. If he was to tell them the truth, that Marlena is no longer Marlena, how could he expect them to stay silent? Bo would be sure to put two and two together. He has to know that she is a suspect in Roman's death and if he were to find out this was not Marlena, he might feel it his duty to tell Abe. And the moment Abe finds out the truth, he will piece the jigsaw together. This is the one piece he is missing and John has no intention of handing it to him on a silver platter.
There is too much at stake here to risk it. To put the Brady's in that situation. It wouldn't be fair.
"We know son," Shawn says carefully, almost as if he is reading John's thoughts.
"Go on," Caroline adds with an air of expectation.
"I wish I knew what else to tell you." John lets out a weary sigh and runs his fingers through his dark hair. "Other than to beg for your patience -"
He is interrupted by the musical shrill of Bo's cell phone and he turns to Bo, who looks apologetic. The timing is fortuitous and he nods, trying not to appear grateful for the interruption. Bo moves a short distance away and his shoulders visibly tighten as he speaks into the receiver. Finally he ends the call and walks back to his family.
"There's action at Ridgecrest," he looks directly at John. "The old man is on the move."
The news triggers a chain of chemical reactions in John's body. His heart thumps and his palms grow clammy. Fear coils in the pit of his stomach, waiting to strike, to incapacitate him and, for a moment, he feels the blinding intensity of a headache that begins to unleash inside his head.
He clenches his fist, the nails digging deeply into the heels of his palms and he concentrates on the pain in his hands, willing the pain in his head to retreat, the mercenary with it. As long as he can keep a memory of Marlena in his head, he knows he can beat this.
"John?" Caroline's worried voice splits through the middle of the pain and as suddenly as it came, the headache is gone.
"I'm okay, Ma," he says without thinking. Caroline blinks as he turns to Bo. "I need you to find Stefano and stay on his tail for me. I don't want him to make a move without knowing about it. You think you can handle that?"
Bo nods. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find Marlena," John says with grim determination.
~
Abe is sitting in his car outside the Salem Inn when he receives the call. When he is done, he flips his cell phone closed and looks at his partner in disbelief.
"What is it Abe?"
He looks at the phone and then looks back at Adams. "That was the assistant D.A. The office wants us to drop the investigation into Marlena."
"But they were the ones that insisted we pursue Dr. Evans as a suspect!" Adams looks as disgruntled as Abe feels.
"I know." Abe nods, but there is anger in his movements. He has the distinct feeling that he is being played here but he can't quite work out how, or by whom.
He will get to the bottom of it though, of that he is sure.
~
John pulls up across the road from the Salem Inn and immediately sees Abe getting out of the car across the street.
"Oh well, there goes that idea," he mutters to himself.
Barely pausing to think, he guns the accelerator and he is gone before Abe enters the hotel.
~
It's cool at the penthouse, the muggy heat of the day has been swept away by rainclouds and wind. There appears to be a storm brewing and Grace has changed into black leather pants and a white linen shirt which hangs loose over a tightly-fitted tank-top. Her hair is tied into a loose knot at the back of her head, a few strands escaping to frame her reddened cheeks. The attire should make the trip easier, at least until they get on the plane in New York.
But, the convocation of thunderclouds outside is only one of the storms fermenting in Salem. Grace jams a leather jacket into her case with white-hot venom. Damn John Black! Damn the man for thinking he can order her around. For having the nerve to think he can tell her what to do.
She hates his smugness and his supercilious attitude. She hates him for thinking that she is so weak that she can't help but fall for his limited charms. She hates him for his bogus chivalry and fake concern for his family and his poor pathetic wife.
"Why pretend you care now, John?" she mutters heatedly as she stuffs lingerie into the spaces left in her case. "You never bothered before." She stalks over to the bedside table and yanks the top-drawer open. Then she turns it upside down over the bed so that the contents tumble haphazardly and skid over the satin sheet. She rummages in the mess that litters the bed and comes up with a small burnished pistol.
Her fingers swiftly slip into the crevices, a gesture that is completely unconscious as she removes the safety catch. "You self-righteous, arrogant son of a bitch."
"Sorry you feel like that, Doc."
She jumps, her body reacting with infuriating abruptness, as his hand closes over the gun, his other arm looping easily around her neck. "But I think I'd prefer it if you didn't have quite such an upper hand right now."
John eases the safety back into place and then quickly draws the tiny but deadly weapon behind him, tucking it into the waistband between his worn blue jeans and the maroon shirt that he wears. The maroon shirt and blue jeans that send Grace's mind reeling back through the years.
He still looks the same as he did all those years ago. Maybe a little more weight and a little less hair, but essentially he is still the same man that is harboured in those fugitive memories
"Get *away* from me," Grace struggles against his powerful grip, furious that she let him sneak up on her like that. She's a professional, she knows better than that. Her instincts should have picked him up the moment he walked into the room. She should have been able to take him with one hand tied behind her back.
"Sorry pretty lady," he tightens his grip on her. "Can't do that."
"Don't you *dare* call me that!" She practically screams at him and her struggles begin anew. "Don't you dare!"
"Wha-?" John is taken aback by the vehemence of her demand.
"You think I'm another one of your harem of bimbos?" she manages to twist in his arms and with an almighty shove, she pushes herself back out of his arms and she stumbles back against the bed. John automatically reaches out to stop her from falling, but she simply yanks her arm from his grip and looks up at him from a semi-sitting position on the bed. "*Don't* touch me."
"Harem? What the hell are you talking about?" He is genuinely confused as she glares up at him with burning amber eyes and he is starting to get flustered by her closeness.
"You're not very imaginative, are you John?" she says scathingly. "Yvette, Diana, Isabella. You called them all pretty lady. I'll bet you even whispered sweet 'pretty lady's' in Hope's ear when you fucked her on our honeymoon."
"How would you know what I called Yvette and Diana?" John asks coldly. Grace's cheeks burn as she returns his stare and she thinks of the photos and the videos provided by Stefano on their island haven. She thinks of how John couldn't even be bothered searching for her while he bedded a succession of dim-witted women. She remembers watching his face on the screen as he laughed with each of them and how it felt as her heart hardened and the pain crystallized into anger and hatred.
"I know you, John," she answers with icy precision. "That's how I know."
"You planning on going somewhere?" he nods at the open suitcase on the bed.
"I told you, I'm leaving Salem." She pushes herself from the bed finally and flips the lid of the suitcase closed. "You don't listen very well, do you?"
"Oh, better than you think," he raises one eyebrow.
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" she wrenches the zip closed on the suitcase.
"It means I know my wife." He takes a step towards her. "And you've underestimated me if you think I'm going to give up on her." The intensity in his eyes throws Grace and she feels her throat constricting.
He knows.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she snaps angrily. She will not give herself away willingly. Not yet.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," John narrows his eyes. "I'm not quite as stupid as you seem to think."
"John, you really aren't making any sense," she pushes past him and grabs her leather coat from the sofa.
"No, for the first time since this whole nightmare began, everything *is* making sense," he grabs her and yanks the coat from her hands. His fingers are like steel around her wrists as he pulls her close to him. Grace has no choice but to stare up into his eyes. Icy rage burns within them. "I don't know who you are, but I'm giving you notice. You picked the wrong person to go up against. I *will* get Marlena back."
"John, you're scaring me." Her voice trembles as she speaks and she hates herself for the weakness that suddenly manifests as a fluttering in her stomach. "Ow, you're *hurting* me."
"Doesn't even begin to compare to the campaign you've been waging," he growls, barely managing to keep a cap on his anger.
"John-" Tears gather precipitously along the base of her lashes as she looks up at him. "*Please*." It's a whisper, but it vibrates through her body and moisture spills over her right cheek.
John's stomach lurches, his face blanching an ashen gray at the look of her. She's so beautiful. It's almost as though he can see Marlena behind her eyes and it both frightens him and provides him with the spark of hope he so desperately needs.
Instinctively, he loosens his grip on her wrists. But he immediately realizes that he has allowed himself to be manipulated again as her fists plough into his middle several times before she delivers an explosive roundhouse kick into the same area.
He staggers backwards, his eyes widening.
"Don't mess with me John." There is danger lurking in her voice as he rubs her wrists. This isn't a battle you're going to win. Give it up now."
"No way." He straightens, his eyes drilling into her. "I'll *never* give up on Marlena. Haven't you worked that out yet? I will follow you to the ends of the fucking *earth* and I *will* get her back." A small muscle in his cheek flickers as he takes a step towards her. "You know, the *devil* couldn't beat our love, what makes you think you have a hope in hell?"
"And how are you going to stop me, John?" There is scornful laughter contained within her taunt as she pulls on her coat. "Are you going to tie me up and torture me until I...," she raises her eyebrows and the tip of her tongue swipes across her upper lip, "break?"
"*Christ*, enough with the games!" John barks as he moves in front of her again.
"Oh," a throaty laugh erupts from her as she stares him down. "Does that get you excited honey?" She narrows her eyes and reaches out to lay a hand against his chest. His heart is pounding beneath his ribs and she looks up at him, a slight flush on her cheeks. "You want to inflict pain on me? You want to see me cry?"
John's lips tighten into a pale, bloodless grimace. "What I want," his voice is hoarse as he grabs her hand and wrenches it away from him. "Is my *wife*. And I don't care what I have to do," he makes a quick move with his free hand and Grace suddenly looks down in surprise to see the glint of metal around her wrist. "I *will* get her back."
"Don't count on it!" Grace snarls back her response as she twists in his arms. She's stronger than John expected and she almost manages to break free but he lunges for her and tackles her. They fall to the ground together and John manages to pull her arms behind her back and he cuffs her wrists together.
"You're not *listening*!" he spits while he yanks on her arms, forcing her to sit up. She winces with obvious pain but she's stubborn and does not make a sound. "I said I'll do *anything* to get her back. I'm a desperate man, so don't mess with me. Don't play games."
"So sayeth the man with the handcuffs," her lips twist into a half-smile.
"Turn about is fair play, don't you think?" His words are forced as he tries to catch his breath. "That's as far as it goes."
"Big threats." Grace widens her eyes and flutters her lashes. "Kinda hollow though. If you hurt me, what chance do you think you have of getting *her* back?" Her heart is thumping uncontrollably in her chest as she stares at John, challenging him, provoking him.
"I'm prepared to take my chances," he glares back at her. She is breathing heavily and with her flushed cheeks and golden eyes she is almost irresistibly beautiful. For a moment, he has to fight the urge to kiss her, and that moment is all she needs to recognize it for what it is.
Her chest rises and falls as she stares hungrily at his lips. Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet his. "I know you want me."
"I *want* my wife," he replies angrily.
"You *want* this body," Grace insists, edging closer to him. The cuffs are digging into her wrists and she glances down at them. "You have me at your mercy." Her gaze flicks back to his molten, longing stare. "You could do *anything* you wanted to me." In an overtly sexual gesture, she slides her tongue along her lower lip, leaving it crimson and shining. "There's no-one here to stop you John. How about it, for old times sake? You can take me here, right now, on the floor." She leans closer to him. So close he can feel her breath against his cheek, hot and sweet and her voice slides like warm honey through his veins. "You can fuck me until I'm screaming and nobody will ever know the difference."
John is silent for a long moment and then he speaks, his voice dark and rasping, his face contorted with disgust.
"I'd know the difference."
Grace simply laughs.
A tremor ripples through John's body. That laugh. It takes him back ten, even fifteen years. It takes him back to the time he was Roman and the love for Marlena which had felt like, and still feels like, it had always existed. But *she* is not Marlena and he needs to move if he is to have any hope of making it out of here with her.
"Get up!" He grimaces as he pulls on her arm. They both climb to their feet and John stares at her. "We're going to get out of here and you're going to co-operate with me."
"Or what?" Grace coos, her eyes glittering treacherously. "You're going to hit me?"
"Don't tempt me," John mutters. Unceremoniously, he yanks on her arm and she stumbles towards him. "Just play nice," he shakes his head, "whatever you call yourself, and I'll do the same."
"And where's the fun in that?" she smirks. She is glad to finally be free of the pesky Marlena and there is a certain perverse joy that she gets from seeing the pain in John's eyes every time she says something that is so very un-Marlena.
"We're going now," he ignores her as he pushes her in the direction of the bedroom door.
"I do not think so John." The voice comes from the doorway. Stefano DiMera's voice.