John focuses on the road in front of him for a moment. He can't even think how to feel. And then instinctively, he yanks on the steering wheel and pulls over to the side of the road.
"*Payback?*" He looks incredulous. "For *what*?"
Grace shrugs carelessly. "Take your pick, John. Although I'm not quite sure why it is that I need to furnish you with a reason."
"Because you *stole* my money!" His face is tight with grief and anger. "My life wasn't enough for you?"
"What would you like me to say?" Grace cocks one eyebrow. And then, in a breathy voice, "Gee, I'm sorry I took all your money honey, I promise I'll never do it again." Her eyes narrow as she glares back at him. "I couldn't give a flying fuck about your pathetic life or your money. You're a rich, middle-aged fuck-up, John. The money simply made you marginally less boring than you actually are. You know, maybe if you actually had to *work* for something in your life, you wouldn't take the rest of it for granted. Maybe you wouldn't screw your wife over because she might actually *mean* something to you."
"My *wife* means *everything* to me," John says desperately. "I don't *care* about the money. I couldn't give a *shit* about the money. All I've *ever* wanted in my life is Marlena."
"You had a great way of showing it," Grace says bitterly.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John shakes his head. "Would you stop being so damn cryptic?""It was nothing," Grace demurs, angry with herself for the emotions that are threatening to cloud her judgement.
"You know, I don't have to sit here and justify my life to you," John replies. "I don't have to prove how much I love her."
"Yeah, well maybe you do." She gives him a sly smile that catches him off-guard. "You did say you'd do *anything* to get her back." She raises her brows, her eyes flashing a breathtaking burnished gold. "If you're so convinced she's locked up somewhere inside me, you might want to try playing nice for a change."
He doesn't say anything for a moment. He doesn’t know how to deal with this woman who wears Marlena's face but who twists his every word and who breaks his heart every time he looks at her. He stares instead into the distance, his body rigid. Battling the intense fight or flight sensations that flood him, he takes deep breaths.
He chooses not to answer her taunts and instead, he turns and asks her the question that has been haunting him for days.
"Did you kill Roman?"
"What do you think?" Her eyes sparkle obscenely as she smirks at him. "Or do you want details?" Her voice is soft but it worms its way in between John's mental defences, each word twisting his heart, slowly tearing him apart. "Do you want to hear how his nose sounded as it shattered under the heel of my palm? Or how he begged for his *pitiful* life as I held the gun to his head?"
"All right, all right!" John shouts, turning away from her, his stomach churning. He doesn't want to hear. Doesn't want to see Roman's last, terrified moments through her perverse eyes. Doesn't want to imagine the death of his friend at the hands of a woman he thought he knew. And loved.
His whole body is trembling as he turns back to her. His eyes are bloodshot and vivid with pain. "Why?" he whispers. "Why him?"
"Why not? She barely blinks as she looks back at him. Her voice is hard and caustic and it cuts through the thick atmosphere between them. "He was disgusting and obnoxious. Believe me, I did you all a favor."
"A *what*?" John stares at her, his expression glazed. He can't bear this. He can't.... what kind of a monster is she that she would take pleasure in the death of an innocent man? That she would brutally murder the father of Marlena's children?
No, Marlena wouldn't want this.
And then the nausea comes, welling up and exploding inside him. If Marlena is still inside her, how could she let this happen? How could she just stand by... And then a second, more prescient wave of emotion. The same way you stood by when *he* screwed Gina.
A shudder sweeps through him as he fumbles with the door handle. Finally he pushes the door open and he stumbles out of the car before collapses to his knees.
His skin is clammy as he retches uncontrollably, his stomach already painfully empty. The acid stings, his eyes burn, his body shivers and aches. Please, God. Please don't this be all that's left. I *need* her. I can't do this without her. I can't *be* without her.
Gasping, he crumples uncomfortably against the front wheel of his car and he wipes his face with his sleeve. He can't do this. He can't keep letting her shake him like this. He has to remain resolute. He has to gain the upper hand and he has to work *her* emotionally. That's the only way he'll ever be able to break through the walls that this 'Grace' has built around Marlena.
From inside the car, Grace watches his feet from under the open door. Her expression conveys an equal measure of interest and disgust. He's providing no challenge at all. He's making it far too easy for her and she's aggravated by the shallow display of vulnerability.
Since when did John Black care about the man purporting to be Roman Brady? In between stuttering bouts of pursuing Marlena, from what Grace can gather, John has never particularly shown any interest in Roman at all. He's been far too absorbed in his own life to care about anyone else. Not even his own children warrant a great deal of attention most of the time.
So the great dramatic display of emotion is simply tedious and boring and she wishes he'd just get on with it. His anger is so much more appealing. There is so much more to work with inside the rage and fear. It makes her stomach lurch with excitement just thinking about John in the penthouse the night she brought that boy home.
*That's* the John she wants to play with, that she wants to taunt and manipulate. Not this weak, half-assed idiot with a hero-complex. This merely makes her uncomfortable and edgy. It makes her desperate to get back to civilization. And Stefano.
She rolls her eyes as he climbs back inside the car and pulls the seatbelt into place. He doesn't even look at her as he starts the car again. He's obviously heard more than he bargained for, because there are no more questions, for now.
Bored, she looks out the window as John pulls back onto the road and she notes that the sky is brightening, bringing a pale wash of colour to the landscape around them.
And suddenly she realizes she is both tired and exceedingly hungry.
"So, do you intend to feed me any time soon?" She lifts one eyebrow.
John says nothing, just focuses on the road in front of him.
Annoyed, she continues. "Or is that part of your plan? Starve me until I'm incoherent and then have your way with me. Or whatever it is that you intend to do." She pauses and then with an edge to her voice, "what exactly is it that you intend to do, John?"
"I don't know how you expect me to feed you with no money," John says tonelessly, ignoring her pointed question.
"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure you'll think of something," she chuckles. "You weren't Stefano's mercenary for nothing."
"I was Stefano's mercenary because he fucked with my head and rewired my brain with his microchips," John says, his voice strong and unequivocal.
"Are you sure about that?" Her words take on a strangely lilting tone.
"I'm sure." There is nothing he is surer about right now. "I never had a choice in it. Stefano brainwashed me. He used me. Like he's using Marlena." He indicates and pulls out to pass a particularly slow car. "You're nothing but a leech that he planted inside Marlena's head."
"Stefano had nothing to do with me, John," she says smoothly. She's not going to let him think she's some freak invention of Stefano's. She's autonomous and the sooner he realizes that, the better. "I'm not the result of some surgically implanted chip. He didn't have to mess with Marlena's head. You did a good enough job of that for him."
"You're lying," the muscle in John's jaw twitches. "I know DiMera's MO. He wanted to mess with the Brady family and what better way than you?"
"What better way indeed?" One corner of her mouth curls into a lazy smile. "But my point, John, is that I'm not some stray personality he planted inside Marlena's head with the aid of technological gadgetry." She pauses, twisting slightly, stretching one slender leg slightly and propping her booted foot up on the leather seat.
"I'm simply what's left after you remove all the," she wrinkles her nose slightly, "sweet, *precious* naïveté of your beloved Marlena." She brushes the hair back off her face in a sensual gesture and smiles. "Honey, I'm Marlena without the weakness or the bland, pastel bedside manner. Without that boring, pesky moral compass."
"That's bullshit!" John snaps. "I *know* my wife. She would never even *think* of doing the things you've done. She couldn't hurt the people she loved. Marlena would never do that."
Grace quirks one eyebrow and shrugs. "You believe what you want to believe, John. Whatever, y'know?" She leans forward slightly in a conspiratorial manner. "But when you decide you want to know more, let me know, okay?"
"I know everything I need to know," John's voice is gruff.
"Whatever you say, honey." She leans back into the corner where the seat meets the door. "Let me know what you're going to do about food too. I'd like to eat some time this week."
She doesn't wait for his answer, but closes her eyes with a small sigh and tries to ignore the whir of the engine.
The sun is considerably higher in the sky when her eyelids flutter open. John is settling back in his seat and he turns and tosses her a sandwich with a grim expression. He starts the car immediately and pulls out of the parking lot. They are still heading south but the road is evidently a backroad and the countryside around them is lush, verdant pasture.
Grace wrinkles her nose disdainfully at the lukewarm object in her hands and then looks up at John.
"This is it? This is my breakfast?"
"Your lunch too," he replies tonelessly. "Make the most of it. I'm almost out of cash."
"Well," she stretches, rolling her head slightly to ease the stiffness out of her neck. "That's going to make running away rather interesting, isn't it?"
"I'll figure something out." John unwraps his sandwich and tosses the wrapper in the passengers seat. 'As you pointed out earlier, I was Stefano's mercenary. You'd do well to remember that."
"You think that makes you special?" Her lips curl into a sneer. "You think that the fact that I could take Roman is just a lucky fluke?" She watches as John chews on his sandwich. Suddenly, he looks almost green. "He's hardly the first man I've killed, John. Stefano's people are exceptional at what they do. You should know that."
Grace drops her lunch and it lands on the seat beside her with a thud. Then she leans forward, propping her chin in her hand. "John, every move you know, I know. And more." Her lips form a perfect pout for a moment and then they slide easily into a knowing smile. "I know *everything* that's going on inside your head honey, and I'm always going to be one step ahead of you."
John feels the half-eaten food settling in his stomach, like a leaden weight. He's seething with anger, although he's not quite sure where he should focus it. At Grace? At DiMera? At himself? He's a man of action and he feels frustrated and impotent because right now, there's nothing he can do but drive. There's no-one he can confront, no-one he can throttle in order to make this right. DiMera is the only conceivable source of any answers and right now to try and seek out those answers would be like walking into hell and delivering Marlena into the devil's arms. He will not do that. He will die before he lets DiMera get his hands on Marlena. Or Grace.
Grace watches him intently as he stares into the brightly sunlit landscape ahead of them. She can't quite work him out, despite her protestations to the contrary. She wishes she could, it would make things a lot simpler.
She still loathes him. He's arrogant and self-serving and worthy only of her contempt. Except that if she's honest, she no longer feels only contempt for him. Instead, despite what she knows of him, despite everything he's done to her and to Stefano, she's intrigued. And challenged.
She had expected him to roll over much earlier than this. It doesn't make sense.
Fourteen years ago, he had abandoned her to the mercies of Orpheus and the wildly churning sea. Her plane had crashed but there had been no bodies.
He had known.
She had seen the messages that had been sent to him when she had been found. She had lived and died through the silence that ensued.
He had left her to fend for herself against the likes of Lamont. He had let her warmth and compassion shrivel inside as she had witnessed his dalliances with the other women. He had forgotten all about her as he'd moved on and moved in with Diana. And she had responded by learning that to care meant only to be weak. That to allow any kind of compassion or love to remain in her heart was only going to cause her pain. And then. Stefano and his people had effectively trained any kind of morality out of her.
It had started as a way to please Stefano, to thank him for everything he had done for her. He had asked her to do several small jobs for him and her success had brought them both a great deal of satisfaction. At first, she'd found it difficult, but the end had justified the means, and she had done it for that reason. And then, after a while, she had started to get off on the power. Inflicting pain on people was pleasurable simply because it was the only time she knew that she was the one completely in control. And as time went on, control became the one thing that she could rely one. The one constant in her life. And beyond the control, there was the certainty that she would never again let anyone hurt her like Roman Brady had hurt her. She would hurt them before they even came close enough to try.
She and Stefano had become a formidable team in the two years they worked in tandem in Europe. Until the night she'd had that damned accident and the long-dormant Marlena had come back to life and made her way back to Salem. Only to be rejected by her damn fool husband.
He hadn't cared then, so why the hell does he care so much now? Grace can't work it out.
Her eyes drift away from John to the softly rolling countryside. She will work it out. She will tear the layers off John one by one until he is raw and bleeding and she knows exactly what makes him tick. And then she will break him, once and for all.