A Grand Design
Emotional Eruptions
The young man in a French police
uniform looked at Shane Donovan but he was talking to all three of the men who
were slumped in wooden chairs staring at a detailed map, trying to figure out
where the hell their quarry could be holed up. "Sir, I'm sorry, but
there's no sign of Black or the woman anywhere. There are no new leads. He
seems to have... disappeared without a trace."
In response, three lawmen from
three different countries, pounded their fists on the table in front of them
and uttered the same expletive in English, which somehow seemed the most
appropriate language for the word. "Dammit!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miles from Paris, out in the area
affectionately known as the French Countryside, Stefano Dimera sat in the den
of his estate, listening to a similar report. "We cannot locate him as
yet, Sir, but all your best men are on it."
"Well, he's got to be
somewhere in those mountains, and you damn well better find him! Or you will
all pay for your ineptitude!"
"Yes, Sir!" The man
turned and exited the room hastily, praying that those men did find Black or
heads would roll, literally. Dimera's version of discipline wasn't pretty and
usually meant a long and painful death. The underling shuddered momentarily
when he thought about what would happen to Black if they did catch up with him
and bring him back to the compound to face the wrath of Stefano Dimera.
Betrayal was the worst offense. Failure was a close second.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At last the worn out, injured man
was sleeping, his body in desperate need of rest in order for the bullet wound
to fully heal. The bleeding had resumed while they were on the run. Marlena
used the professionally stocked first aide kit he'd left on hand in the secluded
cabin, cleansing and then properly stitching it for the first time since the
night of the shooting, which she figured was now seven nights ago.
Surveying the contents of the kit,
she realized that this was a man who was obviously accustomed to field dressing
his wounds, or those of his compatriots. Deciding that thinking on that
particular concept for any length of time wasn't such a great idea, she focused
on the task at hand, which was tending to the injured man she'd come to care
about. So much had happened in a compressed period of time that it was hard to
keep track, and it seemed like much longer that seven days since she'd bumped
into a charming stranger on the Champs Elysee in Paris.
After a few harrowing days in which
she feared for his life, his fever was down. John wasn't running a temperature
above 100, and she simply soothed his warm forehead with cool washcloths. The
wound was finally beginning to show genuine signs of healing, and she'd been
happy to find a bottle of over the counter analgesic medication to ease the
dull throbbing pain she knew accompanied the injury. John awakened only for
brief periods to drink, eat a bite or two of whatever she'd managed to cook,
and take a pain pill. That was it.
In the mean time, she had familiarized
herself with what was obviously a man's cabin. It was sparsely furnished, with
very little in the way of decoration, but comfortable in a rustic manner of
speaking. It had one bedroom, a great room with a couch and oversized chair,
and a large wall of windows with a spectacular view of the Italian Alps, a well
stocked kitchen, and a full bath all on one level. There was a loft up above,
which housed a double sleeper sofa, an end table, and a lamp.
Watching him sleep, she remembered
one particular time in which he'd given her a glimpse of the man he was at
heart, behind the tough exterior. He was feverish and possibly hallucinating,
but what he was experiencing was very real.
She awakened with a start and took
a moment to figure out what was happening. She heard a voice crying out,
"Gina, oh no, Gina... no, don't leave me.... please don't die!" When
the fog of sleep began to clear, she realized that it was John who was calling
out. Marlena rushed to his side, intent on helping him through it, and on urging
him to allow himself to grieve over the loss of the woman he'd loved, something
he had not yet begun to do. Marlena knew from her own experience that it was
vital to a mourner's survival and sanity.
"John....you're dreaming...
"
"Gina.... oh, God, Gina, no!
No!" he cried out in his misery, reliving the scene of her death over and
over again in his tortured mind. Hating to do it, but knowing it was necessary,
Marlena shook him lightly until his eyelids fluttered several times and he
finally opened his bleary eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears. Maybe
this would be the time he could let them flow out, as she believed he needed to
do. He had to face the reality of the loss in the waking hours, and that was
only the beginning.
After several long moments, he
seemed to focus on her, and then he was processing the internal visions again,
his eyes glossed over and far away.
"You loved her, didn't
you?"
He nodded but said nothing,
obviously fighting back the swell of emotion, his head tilted downward as if he
were ashamed of his reaction.
"How did she die, John?"
This time, he only shook his head
and looked away, lost in the pain. Marlena waited for him to speak again. The
silence lasted so long, the sound of his voice made her jump when he finally
answered.
"It was my fault. She's dead
because of me."
"I'm so sorry, John..."
"Yea... me too."
Suddenly, he straightened up, as if finally cognizant of his state of
vulnerability. "You know what, you don't need to hear this."
"Yes, I do... "
He fired back, the sadness turning
to anger. "Why, why in the hell do you care?" he asked, hoping to
push her away, realizing that he would only lead her into danger, had in fact
already done so. There was no sense in her being subjected to more of the same.
Not someone like Marlena. She deserved so much better than he could begin to
give her. He had to make her leave him.
Her tone was equally as fierce, and
determined. "I don't.... know, exactly... but I do!"
"Well, just stop then... I'm
going to heal up just fine now, Doc, so you can leave me here. Take the Rover,
get yourself to the airport and forget you ever met me!"
"No, I won't leave you here.
You have a long way to go before you're out of the woods, John Black. And I
couldn't forget you, even if I wanted to, even if I tried."
"I don't get you, lady I
really don't. I kidnapped you, remember? I held a gun to your head and forced
you to leave your hotel with me!"
"Well, that makes two of us I
guess, because I don't understand it either. I should have been long gone, back
home in my own bed, days ago. Instead, I'm standing here arguing with a half
dressed man with a hole in his side which is a perfect match for the one in his
head!"
It made him laugh to see her
reaction and that made his side hurt and he groaned at the wave of pain that
shot through him, and began to crumple. Before he knew it, she was helping him
into bed and he was fading out again.
'Oh, Marlena... what are you getting yourself into here?' she had said to herself, as she watched him drift off to a
restless slumber. When his breathing settled into a normal rhythm, she decided
that it was allright to take a bath. God only knew how much she needed to
relax.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he reawakened and was fully
alert, he found that he was alone. He sat up and almost immediately regretted
the swift movement. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him and he laid
back down. But it was too late to stop the bile from rising up. John leaned
over the edge of the bed and promptly lost the meager contents of his stomach.
Retching like that was painful and he moaned, a sound that brought Marlena back
from wherever she'd been.
When she arrived at his side, he
was still leaning heavily on his elbows, with his head drooping, half on and
half off the bed.
"John, are you alright?"
"I guess so, yea," he
said, struggling to make his body cooperate and move himself into a supine
position on the bed. It was difficult at best, but he managed it without
assistance, while she started cleaning up the mess.
Seeing her turn up her nose at the
smell, he apologized, "Sorry about that, thanks for... helping."
"It's no problem. It's not the
first time, John."
"Oh, so I uh... I've been out
of it for awhile, then...."
"Yes, you've been pretty sick,
John. For awhile there, I wasn't sure you were going to make it."
"Oh, well, I uh... I guess I
should say thank you for... taking care of me."
"You're welcome."
"You saved my life, you know
what that means, don't you ?" he asked, inching up on his elbows again, a
welcome twinkle in his eye, telling her he was truly on the mend at last.
"No, what does it mean?"
she asked, not quite meeting his gaze.
"You're stuck with me for the
rest of your life."
She laughed. It was a glorious
sound. "Oh, really? According to whom?"
"Ancient Chinese Proverb...
beautiful woman who save man from flying bullets take care of him
forever," he answered, in a horrible imitation of a stereotypical Chinese
accent.
All she could do was smile and
shake her head in wonder. Obviously, the man was feeling much better than he
had since the moment he'd appeared outside her door in Paris. And maybe he was
more like himself; this dashing rogue who seemed so cold, hard, and rough
around the edges was actually quite charming when not under the stress of
fighting for his basic survival.
"So, John, are you
hungry?"
He didn't respond at first, having
decided he would try out his legs. Swinging them toward the opposite side from
his injury, he managed to get them on the floor, with only a muffled groan to
indicate his discomfort. However, when he tried to bear weight, he nearly
toppled. If she hadn't had her eyes trained on him at that exact moment, he
would have gone down. As it was, she managed to reach him and ease him back
down, rather unceremoniously, onto the bed, leaving them both out of breath.
John grinned sheepishly and said,
"I uh, guess I'm not quite ready for the marathon."
Smiling warmly in response, his
doctor agreed, "No, not just yet. So, how about some soup to help you get
your strength back?"
"Soup. Yea, I guess I could
eat some soup, sure. But first I uh... well, I..."
Her face flushed unexpectedly when
she caught his meaning, his eyes having landed on a door across the room.
"Oh, of course, I'll uh... help you."
Averting his gaze, he replied with
a quiet, "Thanks." And with that, she placed her arm around his waist
and assisted him in easing his way to a standing position again. In silence,
they shuffled haltingly across the wood floor to the bathroom.
Once there, she slowly disengaged
and stood next to him, waiting for him to ask for further assistance if he
needed it, rather than offering it. "I think I can manage this by myself,
thanks for.. getting me here. I'm okay on my own now."
She smiled again, wishing she could
spare him the embarrassment he clearly felt about being so weak yet.
"Good, then I'll go and get us something to eat. I'll be right out here if
you need me."
"Okay, I'll just be a
minute." He gave her a half-baked smile, turned and stepped inside the
restroom, flipping on the light without looking toward the switch.
Nodding, she said nothing further
and turned toward the kitchen area of the cabin.
Five minutes later, they were
sitting down to two steaming bowls of soup, some crackers, and two mugs filled
with black coffee. They ate in silence for a little while, their hunger taking
precedence over other needs. Finally, it was John who broke the silence,
"So, Marlena... tell me something. Why are you here... really?"
"I've been doing a lot of
thinking about that John, these past couple of days, and you know it's the
strangest thing, but I still haven't come up with a good answer to that
question."
"Oh... well, I want you to
know, I appreciate everything you've done for me and anytime you want to leave
here, you go right ahead. In a day or two, when I'm strong enough, if you want
me to, I can drive you down to the nearest city, where you can catch a train
back to Paris, so you can go home to the States."
"Thank you. And John... I was
just doing what...."
"Lady, don't say that again.
You weren't just doing what anyone would have done. After what I put you
through, most people would have left me to die here, or in any one of a half
dozen other places along the way. "
"Alright... okay, you're
probably right. A lot of people wouldn't have stayed. I guess I'm not like most
people. I take my oath very seriously."
"Yea, that's right, the
Hippocratic oath.... that's the reason." He said it believing that maybe
it was true, maybe she had only stayed with him because she was dedicated to
her profession of medicine and couldn't leave him to die. Now that the crisis
had passed, maybe she was going to leave him. 'Of course she's going to leave, you idiot! She has a family to go back
home to, so why in the hell would she want to stay here, on the run with a jerk
like you?'
He sounded so discouraged. "I
didn't say that, John."
"You didn't have to, I
understand." He began to rise from his chair.
"John.... please," she
said with a gentle restraining hand on his left forearm.
He glanced down at her hand,
admiring it momentarily, and wondered what it meant, if anything, other than
sympathy. "What?"
"Let's talk for awhile. I'd
like to.... I don't know, get to know you. Would that be alright?"
At first, he said nothing, his only
response a gentle shake of head as he extricated his arm from her light grasp.
When standing about three feet away, he answered her by negating the idea.
"You don't want to know about me, about my life. It's nothing you want to
hear, I'm sure."
"Why don't you let me be the
judge of that?"
"Alright, for starters, I'm
sure you realize I worked for Stefano Dimera. I went around Europe, pretending
to be a Priest and I stole from people. I lied and I got close to them, and
then I robbed them of their most treasured, most valuable possessions. And
that's only the tip of it."
The silence that enveloped them was
quite powerful and long lasting. Marlena had suspected as much, but hearing him
say it so plainly was startling at best.
"I thought so," John said
as he took a handful of steps toward the wall of windows.
Deciding it was best to change the
subject, she asked him a question, "Who was Gina?"
Startled by the question, he
contemplated whether or not he should answer it. Opting for honesty, he said,
"My.. partner. My.... friend." ‘Or
partial honesty anyway.’
Marlena hesitated only briefly
before making a more probing query, "You were in love with her and you
were going to run away together, weren't you?"
"How do you know that?"
he said, while at the same time turning to search her eyes, having suddenly
become suspicious.
"You've been... well, you've
been... muttering in your sleep. When the fever was high, you were... upset.
You were calling out for her. And then there was the suitcase. I guessed what
was happening, that the two of you were trying to escape your life with Stefano
Dimera."
He looked away again. A quiet,
"Oh," was all he could manage to say in response, his head tilted
downward, the reality of his situation finally beginning to sink in. Those
plans were all for naught and Gina was dead. She was gone from his life forever
and Dimera was coming after him, blaming him for her death. John completed his
journey to the front windows, looking out over the snow-covered mountaintops, a
heavy sigh escaping his mouth.
His silence told her that he was
losing the battle for control over his emotions. Believing he needed to say it
out loud, she asked him, "Tell me about her, John... about your
plans."
Shaking his head, he tried to deny
her, "Doesn't matter anymore. It's over. That's all over now. There's no
sense in discussing it."
"You need to talk about it,
John.... you know you do. And I know you do," she finished, softly.
Whirling around to face her,
ignoring the stab of pain it caused, he shouted at her, "How, Marlena...
how do you *know* what I NEED!"
"Because I've been there,
right where you are now, John. Four months ago, my husband was murdered by your
former boss Stefano Dimera! I know the terror you're afraid to admit, that
panic and that pain. I know what it's like, John... and I know that if you
don't face it and find a way to express it, the grief you're feeling will
destroy you."
Stunned, he just stood there and
stared at her for the longest time, not knowing what to say. Mercifully, as he
stepped closer to the woman who had begun to weep, he found a few comforting
words and spoke them with tenderness, "I'm sorry, I had no idea. I'm so
sorry."
Realizing it was important, she
allowed the emotions to wash over her and the tears flowed out like water. John
instinctively moved to hold her while she cried. After a few moments of
anguish, Marlena pulled out of the embrace, swiped at the moisture on her face,
and said, "John... you have to let yourself feel it."
He shook his head but said nothing,
as he moved away from her again, evading her unsettling scrutiny of his
emotional state. It was unnerving to find out that she knew much of what he was
feeling. She knew that pain, she let herself experience the full intensity of
it, and she was still standing. But somehow it was different for him, the need
to control it, to keep it locked up tight. It was something he'd learned at a
very tender age, something the Old Man had taught him. Never show your emotions, keep them to yourself, and don't *ever* let
them interfere with the job. To wear ones feelings on the outside was to
demonstrate weakness, something John could never afford to do if he wanted to
stay alive and on top of his game.
Marlena continued to look on in
silence, allowing the power of the moment to work on him. When she heard a
slight change in his breathing and noticed his shoulders tighten up, she knew
he was fighting a wave of sadness. "Let it go, John.... let yourself feel
it, it's okay to give in to the pain."
His head dropped, then came up
briefly as he sucked in a deep breath, still struggling for control.
Slipping up behind him and slightly
to his right, she spoke very softly, "You're safe with me, John....this is
a safe place to let it out. "
After several agonizing seconds, he
pushed out an apprehensive sigh, as if maybe it was a relief to him, as if
having been given permission was exactly what he needed and yet feared at the
same time. " I loved her... I loved her and now she's dead, and it's all
my fault."
"I'm so sorry, John."
He looked up, peering at her out of
slightly hidden eyes as he finished in self-recrimination, "I was supposed
to protect her but I failed, and now she's gone. Gina's gone forever." The
swell of emotion and the salty liquid that pooled behind the blue began to leak
out, and when she reached out with tender hands to touch his unshaven cheeks,
the dam broke. John melted into her welcoming embrace, where for several long
minutes, he wept, laying his weary head upon her shoulders.
She held him in silence,
unconsciously rubbing his back and stroking his thick mane of dark hair,
somewhat absently noting that it needed to be washed and cut.
Sandra H. Bondelier
2000