Maison Blanche Revisited

Chapter 13: Slough of Despond

AS THE MORNING LIGHT penetrated her puffy eyelids, Kristen DiMera gave a soft groan and buried her face in her pillow, trying to recapture the only state in which she could find a measure of peace anymore: the comforting depths of sleep. She craved those depths now because her waking hours were such a nightmare. Ever since the gruesome discovery of John's tortured body at Maison Blanche, her world had been spinning out of control. Sometimes she felt as if she were still caught in the grip of the recent hurricane, its mighty forces tearing her from the life anchors she had thought were so strong, but which had proved to be worthless, insubstantial clay. And now that clay had crumbled, casting her adrift on a stormy sea of doubt, pain, betrayal and guilt.

How could she have been so blind? How could she have not seen that the face of the loving father, who had cared for her since she was a little girl, was only a mask concealing the monster within? And if Stefano had betrayed her, what about Tony? He, too, had been lying to her all her life. It may have been from the best of motives, at least when she was younger, but she was an adult now. Why hadn't he told her the truth when John's accusations came to light? Was Tony also hiding behind a mask? What would she find if she peered beneath the surface gloss...another Stefano? It was terrifying to contemplate.

And what of her brother, Peter? She had seen the way Caroline looked at him in the hospital yesterday, her eyes so contemptuous. The Bradys obviously thought he was involved in Stefano's dirty business. Were they right? Was he more than just Stefano's lawyer? Was he also Stefano's partner in crime? She didn't want to believe it, but she had to prepare herself for the worst.

And lastly, what of herself? Over the last few days she had taken a good hard look at the person she saw in the mirror each morning, and it wasn't a pretty picture. She had thought she was a strong mature woman, confident in herself and giving to others. But when she had been tested, she had been found woefully lacking. That strong confident woman was really a cowering little girl... a scared little rabbit so afraid to face the truth about herself and her family that she had destroyed the one person who had loved her more completely than anyone she had ever known. Pain squeezed her heart as she thought of what she had done to John. He had loved her, and thought his love had been returned in equal measure. But she had betrayed that love over and over. By concealing her relationship with Stefano and her engagement to Tony; by continuing (in the face of overwhelming evidence) to deny Stefano's criminal activities, particularly his sadistic mistreatment of John; and finally, by accusing John of murder and marrying Tony to fulfill Stefano's "dying" request. No wonder Caroline had looked at her like she crawled out of a sewer. She was as much responsible for the hideous assault on John as Stefano was.

Blinking tears from her eyes, Kristen threw back the covers to begin another day of misery and torment. She felt barely able to function, but there were things she had to do. Jennifer badly needed support after her grandfather's death, and she wanted to go over to Victor's to check on Belle and Brady. Carrie was competent enough, but she would feel much better if she saw for herself that John's children were all right. Dear God, what was going to happen to those two little ones? John was hovering on the brink of death and there was still no word about Marlena.

Kristen's dismal thoughts accompanied her throughout her shower, while dressing, and down the stairs to the dining room. At her ring, Iliana brought in a breakfast tray with coffee, orange juice, toast and half a grapefruit. The maid set the tray on the table and started back toward the kitchen, but stopped at the door. Turning around, she said somberly. "I'm really sorry about your friend dying, Mrs. DiMera."

"Thank you, Iliana. We'll all miss Dr. Horton very much."

Iliana blinked. "I didn't mean Dr. Horton, Mrs. DiMera. I'm talking about Dr. Evans."

"Dr. Evans?" Kristen stared at her in horror, hoping against hope she had heard incorrectly. "Dr. Marlena Evans?"

The maid blanched. "Yes, m...m...ma'am," she stammered. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. I just heard it on the radio in the kitchen. They said she was shot in the back, trying to get away from your...your father. Mrs. DiMera, are you all right? Mrs. DiMera? Mrs. DiMera!!"

Breakfast in the Kiriakis suite was a somber affair. Everyone was worn out both mentally and physically, Bo thought, and they showed it. His parents, all three of them, he told himself with grim humor, looked older than he had ever seen them, and he himself felt drawn and gaunt. If Dr. Rosenthal could see them now, he would never let them back into John's room. Well, maybe seeing Kim and her kids would cheer everyone up. They would be arriving in a couple of hours and should be just what the doctor (Dr. Rosenthal, that is) ordered.

There was a knock at the door, and Bo forced himself from his chair and went to answer it, assuming it was room service to pick up the remains of the mostly untouched meal. He was wrong. "Kim!" he choked.

"Hi, little brother," she said softly, enveloping him in a warm hug as he heard excited gasps from behind him.

"Kimmie! Oh God, Kimmie!" That was his mother. "Darlin'!" And that was Shawn. Then the hug went four ways, while Victor stayed in the background, watching with satisfaction.

When the clinch finally broke, Kim made her way across the room to her former nemesis. "Thank you," she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile of his own, clasping her hand in both of his. "I'm glad I could help."

Kim turned to her wondering parents and brother. "Victor arranged for me to get an earlier flight," she explained. "We wanted to surprise you."

"That you did, darlin'," Shawn said gruffly, a sheen of tears in his eyes, "an' we're mighty glad. You're a sight for sore eyes, girl, you truly are. With my best an' my brightest here, my spirits are finally lookin' up."

"Oh, Pop," Kim murmured, "you make me sound like some kind of miracle worker."

"You are, dear," Caroline joined in with a teary smile. "It's a miracle you're even here at all, after everything you've been through. A miracle you've come through so strong and healthy. John needs a miracle like that now, honey...he needs it desperately. He needs to know he has a chance to make it back, just like you did. Talk to him, Kimmie. Try to bring him back to us. Marlena's gone. We can't lose John, too."

"I'll try, Ma. I'll try everything I can think of."

"I know you will." Caroline suddenly looked around. "Where are Jeannie and Andrew?"

"I left them in Los Angeles with Kayla. They're catching a flight to Salem this afternoon, along with Stephanie. Kay wants to help Roman with Marlena's memorial service, and we thought it would be better for the kids to be in Salem rather than cooped up here in a hotel room while I'm at the hospital with John. Philip wanted to come, but he's still in Bosnia filming that documentary about the 'ethnic cleansing' going on over there. His visa's only good for one visit. If he leaves now, they won't let him back into the country. He sends his love though, and says he's thinking about all of us."

The phone rang and Victor went to answer it. After picking it up, he immediately gestured to Bo, who rushed to the instrument. "This is Bo Brady."

He listened silently for several minutes, then hung up the phone. His face was grave as he turned back to his family. "That was Susan Belchek, the U.S. Attorney I told you about. They just found the guy who shot Marlena. His body was buried in the woods near Maison Blanche, along with the blood-spattered rug. I have to get back over there."

"I'll call the pilot," Victor said. As he reached for the phone, he asked in a whisper just audible enough to reach Bo's ears. "Doesn't this ruin your theory about Marlena?"

"No," Bo answered just as quietly, "it only means the guard was expendable. I also expect to find Marlena's blood on the rug, but my theory still stands: she's alive."

"Kristen? Come on, Kristen, open your eyes. That's right. Come on."

She blinked fuzzily, shaking her head, then wished she had hadn't. It hurt. "Ouch," she muttered, closing her eyes.

"Come on, Kristen," the voice urged once more. "Stay with me here. Open your eyes again. That's a girl. Come on now. Look at me."

She blinked again, into a bright light, and the speaker suddenly came into focus: Mike Horton. Careful not to move her head this time, she scanned her surroundings. She was in the emergency room at University Hospital. "What happened?" she whispered.

"You fainted and hit your head," Jenn's brother told her. "You've got a nice bump, but no concussion. You're going to be fine."

"I fainted? Why?"

Mike looked at her clinically. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was in the dining room. Iliana had just brought me my breakfast..." Memory suddenly flooded in, and tears started to cascade down her cheeks. "I remember," she choked. "She told me about Marlena! Oh, Mike," she sobbed, "please don't hate me! I know it was my fault, but please don't hate me!"

"It's all right, Kristen," he soothed. "I don't hate you. I promise. Nobody hates you. Why on earth would you think this is your fault?"

"I wouldn't listen!" she wailed. "You all warned me, but I wouldn't listen! Stefano tortured and brainwashed John because of me, to keep him away from me! And now Marlena! Oh, Mike, what am I going to do!? Help me, please! I don't know what to do!" Her voice trailed off into incoherent sobs, and she didn't even feel the prick of the needle in her arm, then blessed darkness overtook her.

Maison Blanche was a beehive of activity. Now that there were at least two murders involved, the pace of the investigation had stepped up dramatically. Besides the omnipresent helicopters and law enforcement vehicles, a coroner's wagon had been added to the mix. For some strange reason, however, for which Bo was very thankful, there weren't any media present yet. Although there was starting to be local coverage in Salem after official notice of Marlena's death, the New Orleans media had not picked up on the story. Either someone at the ISA was keeping the lid on very tight, or more probably, since this whole thing had started during the hurricane, the press had had much more urgent matters on its collective mind.

Approaching the back of the house after departing the Titan helicopter, which was starting to feel like an old friend, Bo was surprised to see Tony DiMera talking to the guard (Jenkins, he thought his name was) at the kitchen door. Ever since the investigators had taken over the mansion, Tony, and the rest of the contingent from Salem, had been forced into the hunting lodge deep in the woods. And even though everyone else had gone back home, he had assumed that that was still Tony's base of operation for the time being.

"Hello, Tony," he said casually. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to find out what's going on," Stefano DiMera's son answered with more than a hint of frustration in his voice. "Officer Jenkins isn't being very forthcoming though. Nobody is." 

"Sorry, sir," Jenkins said stiffly. "We're just doing our jobs."

"I know," Tony sighed.

"C'mon," Bo offered, "take a walk with me. I'll fill you in."

The two meandered across the lawn, and Bo asked tentatively, "Did you hear about Marlena?"

"You mean did I hear that she died? Yes. That's the one thing they would tell me. But they wouldn't say how or why."

Bo gave him the grim details, and Tony was silent for a long time, staring at the ground. Wandering over near the edge of the woods, they were just entering the shade of the trees when a solemn procession emerged from the underbrush. Accompanied by several state troopers, two men with "Coroner" emblazoned on their jackets carried a black body bag on a stretcher, followed by five more troopers carrying an immense rolled-up carpet smeared with dirt. The two men watched them pass, and then, as the group trudged up the lawn toward the house with their heavy burdens, Tony finally spoke. "Is he the one?--" nodding toward the black bag on the stretcher, "--Is he the one who shot Marlena?"

"Yeah," Bo responded quietly, but thinking hopefully, She's still alive. Remember that. She is still alive.

"Bo, I have to tell you something." Tony's voice was strained, as if he was forcing the words out. "It will probably ruin my marriage, and may even put me in jail, but it's been eating away at me ever since we found John. I just can't keep it inside any longer...not after what happened to Marlena."

Bo waited silently, letting him take his own pace.

"I... I knew Stefano was alive, Bo. I knew it the day Kristen and I came back from our honeymoon on Smith Island. I found him in the house."

"Kristen." The voice was soft and gentle, beckoning her to come towards it, to come into the light. She didn't want to do that. She wanted to stay in the dark, where it was safe and secure and no one hated her. She could have John there if she wished, whole and strong and unblemished, and Marlena could be there too, laughing and playing with little Belle. Yes, the dark was a good place...a place where she could be happy again.

"Kristen." The voice called again, a little sterner this time, forbidding her to ignore it.

"Go 'way," she muttered, hugging the dark to herself.

"No, Kristen," the voice persisted, "I'm not going away. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. I've lost too much already. I'm not going to let Stefano take you, too."

Suddenly she knew who the voice belonged to, and the safety of the dark evaporated. "Roman!" she gasped, staring into his bitter, ruthless face. She was dimly aware of Peter and Jenn and Mike hovering in the background, but her whole being was focused on Roman: the husband of the woman who had died because of her. "Oh, Roman!" she sobbed. "Please go away! How can you bear to look me, after what I did!? How can anyone bear to look at me!? Go away! Please, please, go away! I can't stand to see the hate in your eyes!"

She tried to hide her face in the pillow, but a hand gripped her chin, pulling her head around, and Roman's eyes bored into hers like lasers. "I'm not going to let you go, Kristen," he said softly. "Look at me. There's no hate in my eyes, not for you. I know what you're feeling... I feel guilty too. There are so many things I should have done differently, so many chances wasted, so many wrong paths taken. But we have to get past that, Kristen, because you're innocent, and so am I. We're just as much victims in this as John and Marlena. This isn't what they would want for us, to waste our lives on guilt and self-hatred. They know we had nothing to do with Stefano's evil. Remember what John wrote? He said we mustn't blame ourselves, and he said something else, too...remember? He said he loves you, Kristen. He wouldn't have said that if it wasn't true. He knows you're a good person, and that you would never intentionally hurt anyone. Trust me, Kristen. Remember that night in the storm? I didn't hate you then, and I don't hate you now. I'll never hate you. I promise."

Kristen gazed at him tearfully, trying to absorb his words. She was so tired, she couldn't make sense of them all, not just yet, but the tone of his voice, it was so tender...there was no harshness there, no hatred. And she did remember that night, when they had fought so hard to save John's life... Fought side by side, and won. She shook her head, and it was as if a dark veil had suddenly been lifted from her eyes and she could see clearly once again. She stared at Roman, and wondered how she could ever have mistaken that concerned, compassionate expression for hatred. There was only love there...the love of a cherished friend who had taken precious time away from his own anguished family to pull her from the dark back into the light. She would not waste his sacrifice. As hard as things might get in the days and weeks ahead, she would never retreat into the dark again.

"Thank you, Roman," she said quietly. "I'm going to be all right now. Go on home to your family. They need you."

"Just call me the Lone Ranger," he teased gently. "I go where I'm needed. And if you need me again, just give me a call." Then he brushed his lips against her cheek, and walked out the door.

"You knew he was alive?" Bo stared at Tony in outraged disbelief, trying to contain a murderous tide of anger from overwhelming his senses. "All this time, you knew?"

"Yes."

"When John was accused of killing him, and everyone thought he was crazy for insisting he was still alive...you knew?"

"Yes."

"When Billie was on trial for murder, and you were sooo indignant that anyone could think Stefano was responsible...you knew?

"Yes, Bo. Yes. Yes! Yes!! Yes to all of it!!!"

"My God, Tony! Do you realize what you've done!? If we'd known for sure Stefano was alive, we never would have let John and Marlena come down here...or at least, not alone. Why didn't you tell anybody? Why?"

Tony's face was pale and drawn under his tan, and his eyes were filled with remorse. "I would have lost Kristen," he confessed miserably. "She would have known that everything John said about Stefano was true, and I would have lost her. John would have taken her away from me."

"So you just kept quiet, lied to Kristen and everybody else, and let John and Marlena walk into that hell-hole totally unprepared. You let Stefano torture them for months, and didn't say a word. My God, Tony, my family considered you a friend. I guess we know better now. You really are Stefano's son." Shaking his head in disgust, Bo turned to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm.

"No! You have to listen to me, Bo, please. I didn't know about Maison Blanche. I didn't know what he was doing to John and Marlena! I swear it on my mother's grave. You have to believe me!"

"Believe you?" Bo scoffed, distastefully prying Tony's hand from his arm. "Why should I believe you? Because you're such a truthful person?" Sarcasm dripped from his tongue, causing Tony to wince. "Try telling it to John, if he ever wakes up long enough to hear you. Maybe he'll believe you. Or, I know...why don't you try telling it to Marlena. I'm afraid you'll have to talk to just her headstone though, because Stefano kept her body. But, hey, since you're such good friends with your daddy, you can probably persuade him to take you to her grave. I bet it's a great big mausoleum, with a marble angel and everything. Of course, that wouldn't be what Marlena wanted, but that wouldn't bother Stefano. He never cared what Marlena wanted, he just cared about what he wanted. And you're just like him, Tony. You wanted Kristen, and you did anything you had to to get her, including letting your damned father tear my family to pieces!"

"No!" Tony protested. "It wasn't like that! I didn't want anyone to get hurt, especially John. Stefano had hurt him too much already."

"What did you say?" Bo grasped Tony by the front of his silk shirt and jerked him close, until his face was just inches away. "What do mean Stefano had hurt him too much already?"

Tony swallowed several times. "I... I didn't mean anything, Bo. Just forget it."

"Oh, no!" Bo snarled. "I'm not going to just forget it! You've said over and over you didn't believe Stefano brainwashed John. Well, you just got caught in another lie, Tony. You know something, and you're going to tell me what it is, even if, so help me God, I have to beat it out of you."

He raised his fist threateningly, ready to pummel the too-perfect face of the devil's son, when Tony suddenly capitulated. "That won't be necessary," he said stiffly. "I'll tell you. Just let go of me first."

The grip on his shirt slowly released, and he stepped back a pace, absently smoothing the crumpled material, while staring guiltily at the powder keg that went by the name of Bo Brady. "It was before Kristen and I got married," he said quietly. "She wanted me to investigate John's claims...to find out if Stefano really had kidnapped and brainwashed him. I told her I would, but I honestly didn't believe I'd find anything. I was wrong. I persuaded one of Stefano's people to check his files, and he sent me proof that everything John said was true. There were papers, in Stefano's own handwriting, documenting the kidnapping and brainwashing."

"Dear God," Bo whispered.

"I was stunned. I know now I should have taken the papers directly to Kristen, or given them to John. Instead, I confronted Stefano. I was furious. I demanded to know why he would do such a thing, what had John done to deserve something so horrible."

"What did he tell you?" Bo found he could hardly breathe. Was he finally going to get the answers John had been seeking so long? The answers to his past?"

"He said John knew a secret. That he brainwashed him to keep him from revealing it. He said if John ever remembered, it would destroy our family."

"Destroy Stefano, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you what the secret was?"

"No. He said it was too dangerous for even me to know. He was absolutely terrified, Bo. I'd never seen him like that before."

"What did you do?"

Tony sighed, casting his eyes down toward the ground. "I burned the papers, then told Kristen I hadn't found anything."

"And went right on denying Stefano's involvement."

"Yes."

Bo gazed at his former friend in sorrow. There was no anger anymore, only pity. Pity for a tormented man who could have done the right thing, but had chosen another path long ago. A path which was now leading to his own slow destruction.

"I can't let this go, Tony," he uttered sadly. "I have to tell Kristen, and the police."

"I know. I'll be at the hunting lodge." Tony started to walk through the trees, elegant shoulders slumped in despair, then glanced back momentarily, his face lost in the shadows. "Goodbye, Bo."

"Goodbye, Tony."

Then the two men went their separate ways, one into the dark of the woods, the dark of the soul, and the other into the light.

to be continued...

© 1998 by Ruth Stout - All Rights Reserved

Background Image Courtesy of Proof New Media Inc. at freeimages.com

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