Critical Moments
Relieved was the only word that came to mind, but it didn't begin to
describe how Marlena felt after talking to her friend and fellow
psychiatrist Joel Stephenson about John's situation. She couldn't wait
to see him. Delaying even for a couple hours until he awakened from
some much needed rest, was tantamount to torture. It had been almost a
week since the escape attempt and she now knew that John had interpreted
her absence as a change of heart, thinking she had decided to go through
with the divorce after all. According to Joel, John was genuinely
surprised to hear that she still loved him and wanted to make a life
with him again.
Unfortunately, he had never received her letter, one full of
reassurance, the affirmation of her commitment to him, and an
explanation of her plans to aide in his defense. Supposedly, it had been
lost in the paper shuffle during his transfer to the county jail. For
all the bluster of the mercenary, John was on shaky ground emotionally.
And in his mind--without her visits to bolster his failing spirits--it
made perfect sense, and even seemed like the right thing for everyone if
she left him alone to face what he perceived to be a dismal future.
After nearly an hour of sitting, then alternately rising to essentially
pace back and forth in the visitor's room, it was time to see him. A
jolt of nausea coursed through her abdomen in the second the heavy metal
door opened. Every time she saw him walk through that creaky metal door,
his wrists and ankles encircled by thick shackles attached to heavy
chains, it made her heart break. He was losing weight and he wasn't
sleeping well; that much was obvious from his drawn appearance. John was
clinically depressed and didn't deserve this kind of treatment. 'He
should be in a hospital bed, not a jail cell,' she thought, wishing she
had the clout to make it happen. Unfortunately, John's case was a
political football, being tossed about by a prosecutor who wanted to
further his career and a mayor who wanted to give the impression that
Salem was tough on crime, including and especially drunken driving. But
maybe she could talk to Joel about putting him on anti-depressant
medication, to help level him out during the most stressful period.
Sensing her evaluation of his condition, John averted his eyes and
settled awkwardly into the plastic chair opposite hers. He was so
ashamed and embarrassed to be looking at her through plexi glass that it
brought tears to his eyes.
Seeing the blue through a light mist made her ache even more for his
suffering. They picked up the phones at the same time, but she spoke
first, "Oh, John.... you shouldn't be here.... this just isn't
right."
Still not looking at her, he argued the point, "Yes, it is, Doc...
there's a family out there, parents, grandparents, brothers, and
sisters, friends. Lots of people who are mourning four deaths. Deaths
I'm responsible for...."
She hated seeing him so consumed with guilt. "No, John... you are *not*
responsible for what happened. I know that now, beyond any doubt. It was
the mercenary who killed that family, John. You have to find a way to
believe that." If only her will could make it so.
"I can't separate it all out like that, Marlena.. it's all so... blurry
and confusing to me. I don't remember half of the last year, hell, the
last two years. I don't know what to believe."
And the doubting of his own basic goodness, that was even worse. "Well,
I do... I saw you transform into him, John... he's completely different
from you. He's angry, *so* angry. He's a hard, cold, selfish bastard.
He's nothing like you, John, nothing."
"Okay, so, let's say the jury buys that explanation. What's going to
happen to me?" He tried not to care, but he didn't want to go to jail,
and he didn't want to go to a nuthouse either.
Marlena wanted to hedge, but he deserved the truth. "I'm not sure.
You'll probably be remanded to a psychiatric facility where you'll
undergo extensive psychological testing and treatment. You'll have a
psychiatrist and a therapist who will work together to...."
She paused and it left him wondering. Her voice was starting to crackle
with emotion. Marlena was scared for him. "Doc.... finish that
sentence... what are they going to do?"
"John, they have to find a way to help you...integrate the personalities
into one cohesive whole. It's going to be some of the hardest work
you've ever done, John.... remember what happened with Kimberly?"
Suddenly, it dawned on him just how serious his situation was. "You
mean... I have to....accept him... as a part of myself?" He was shaking
his head and muttering more to himself than to his companion, "No, I.. I
can't... do that, Doc. I can't do that! He's not, no...it won't work."
"John... it's going to be okay....please try to calm down." She could
see the telltale signs. Whenever John was struggling to come to grips
with his reality, the mercenary was right there to take over.
He started to shake, his fists balled at his sides as he slowly rose
from the table. "John.... don't let him take control. Fight, John...
fight for who you are."
The trembling intensified briefly, and then abruptly stopped. The man's
face soon bore a sickening smile of triumph, one meant to wound her. He
sat back down and laughed in her face, "Score another one for mean old
mister mercenary. Poor Johnny boy just can't take the pressure, Doc.."
he added, his tone derisive.
"So, you're protecting him?"
"What do you think?"
An exasperated sigh escaped before she answered, "To be honest, I don't
know what to think."
"He needs me to take control right now."
She confronted him with her perspective, "No, you need it."
"Right, whatever you say, Doc."
She looked him square in the face. There was no connection between them
at all and it left her wondering how he could have fooled her for so
long. She was about to say it out loud when she saw something in his eye
that told her he already knew what she'd been thinking.
"You want to know how I faked being him all those times. You're
wondering why the great lady shrink didn't catch on to what was
happening, don't you?"
Marlena tried to lie to him, but they both knew the truth, and in the
end she gave it to him. "Yes, actually, that *was* what I was thinking
about. I don't know why I didn't see it before. You're nothing like
him."
He laughed harshly and said, "Because you didn't want to see it,
Marlena! You didn't want to believe that your precious hero man was
losing control of his mind. And better yet, because he hurt you, a part
of you wanted *him* to suffer too. Well, Doctor Evans, you got your
wish. He's hurting like never before, now isn't he?"
Rising abruptly, she didn't reply to his accusation or his question, "I
have to leave, visiting hours are almost over."
Again, he laughed at her, realizing he had her on the run. Marlena was
feeling guilty, responsible for the pain her husband was experiencing.
"Don't worry, Doc... he won't be going to prison, and I promise I'll
take real good care of him."
"No, that's where you're wrong, I'll take care of him! *I* will, with
the help of all the people who love him."
She was about to hang up the phone and leave him alone, when he reacted
to her assertion, his eyes ablaze. "Love, you call it love? You left us
when he was at his lowest point, when we didn't know who to turn to
anymore, except Dimera. And you have the nerve to say that you still
love him and you're going to take care of him. That's bullshit!"
His statements were so unnerving, all she could do at that point was
shake her head and call for the guard.
In minutes, she was in Abe's office sitting in a chair next to his desk,
holding a cup of coffee in her trembling hands, and saying
disconsolately, "If only I'd done something sooner. If only I let myself
see what was happening to him, that family would be alive and John
wouldn't be locked up in this dismal place."
"Marlena, it's not your fault."
"No, maybe it isn't, but I could have... prevented it from going so far,
I could have... paid more attention to what he was going through. "
"Marlena, he hurt you... a lot, how could you expect yourself to..."
"Abe, that's no excuse... I should have known it wasn't John, not my
John anyway."
"Alright, maybe you should have, but it doesn't matter now. What
matters, is that he's finally going to get the help he needs. Right?" Bo
added, stepping inside the office to lend some moral support. He felt he
had a lot to make up for at this point.
Thankful for the support and encouragement, Marlena agreed, "Yes, of
course you're right, both of you. I just feel so bad for him. He won't
admit it, but he's scared and he feels so guilty about the accident. And
because of that, he's more vulnerable to the mercenary. I just feel so
helpless right now."
"I know, so do I. I'm not sure how to help him either, "Abe offered.
Bo, who had missed part of the proceedings because of his anger, asked
about the psychiatrist she'd brought in. "What about Dr. Stephenson,
what does he say about it?"
Her sigh was one of emotional exhaustion and she wasn't sure if it was
for the man she loved, for herself, or for all of them because of what
was soon to come. "Not much more than he told all of us earlier. John
has a long road to recovery ahead of him and it's going to be a rough
one. He doesn't want to accept that the mercenary is a part of who he
is, and that he needs to integrate the two personalities in order to
become whole. I'm afraid that he'll resist therapy and then the
mercenary will completely take over."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marlena watched the man she loved as they led him into the courtroom.
Briefly, she caught his eye and knew that it was the mercenary she was
seeing. His irises were a shade or two darker than usual, almost navy
blue. It was clear that he was poised and ready to fight for his
freedom, believing he was capable of escaping whenever he wanted. It was
as if he had no concern whatsoever about the proceedings, so confident
that he appeared to be paying very little attention to what the Judge
was saying as he addressed the defendant.
"John Black, you've been charged with four counts of aggravated
vehicular homicide and operation of a motor vehicle in a grossly
negligent manner while under the influence of alcohol, how do you plead?
Mickey spoke up on John's behalf, noticing that John seemed distant. "My
client pleads 'not guilty by reason of insanity,' your Honor."
"Does the prosecution accept this plea?"
Suddenly, John stepped out from behind the table where he'd been seated
and approached the bench uninvited, crying out his remorse. "No, that's
not right, I plead guilty. I'm guilty, I did it. I got drunk and I
killed those people. Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm SO sorry!"
There was bedlam as both of John's attorneys rushed to corral their
charge. "John, what are you doing?" Mickey said in a loud whisper.
"Order, order! I will have order in my courtroom. Defense, I suggest
that you get your client under control or I will order that he be
remanded to his cell until such time as he is called to testify."
Glancing at his client, who was sitting now, his head down, his body
completely still, Joseph Strapinsky spoke to the Judge. "Yes, Sir, I
assure you that it won't happen again your Honor."
"See that it doesn't. Now, I also suggest that you and your colleague
confer with your client and decide once and for all how he's going to
plead on the charges leveled against him. These are serious charges, Mr.
Black, do you realize the gravity of the situation you face here today
in this courtroom?"
The man didn't answer. In fact, he didn't even look up in response to
the question. "Mr. Black, I expect you to answer me. Do you understand
the seriousness of the crimes of which you've been accused?"
Still no response. John seemed completely withdrawn, unaware of his
surroundings, and was apparently not capable of replying.
The judge motioned for counsel to approach the bench. "Counselors, I'm
going to call a 60 minute recess here. And, Mr. Strapinsky, I expect
that when you re-enter my courtroom, your client will be capable of
handling these proceedings. If not, I would suggest that he spend the
day in his cell with his therapist. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your Honor, perfectly clear."
"Frankly, at this point, I'm beginning to question his competence to
stand trial on the charges."
"So am I, Sir, so am I," Joe Strapinsky said under his breath as he
stepped away to confer briefly with Mickey, both of them watching as
John was cuffed and then led out of the courtroom and back toward the
holding cell.
Marlena wanted to go to him, but was concerned about the legal
situation. She stood there and watched with tears in her eyes as he
shuffled awkwardly down the long corridor of Salem's newly restored
courthouse, flanked by two burly uniformed policemen. She'd been
informed that morning that John was to remain in shackles and leg irons
while being escorted to and from the courtroom because he was considered
a serious escape risk. It broke her heart to see him go through another
experience like he had in Aremid. Somehow, this seemed even worse,
because it was a family with young children that had been killed, and
John believed he was responsible, at least in part, for the loss of four
lives and the pain everyone who knew them was experiencing.
Regardless of the trial's eventual outcome, Marlena wondered how the man
she loved would ever come to terms with what had happened while the
mercenary persona was in control of his mind and his behavior. That was
enough to deal with, let alone how he would fare during the process
designed to help him integrate the fractured elements of his personality
into a cohesive whole. Suddenly, the unthinkable came to mind. If John
was sent to prison for what the mercenary did, he might never receive
the treatment he so desperately needed.
What then?
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Sandra H. Bondelier
2000-2004