Maison Blanche Revisited

Chapter 2: Red Letter Days

ROMAN UNFOLDED the three pieces of paper and laid them on the bed. They were labeled, appropriately enough, Letter 1, Letter 2 and Letter 3. He picked up the first one and started to read out loud. The writing was cramped and difficult to make out on the blood-stained paper.

 

Roman,

I am writing this to let you know what happened in case, by the time I am found, I am either dead or mentally incapacitated. The night I arrived in New Orleans, I followed your lead to a mansion Stefano owns called ‘Maison Blanche.’ I found Kristen drugged unconscious in an upstairs bedroom, and when I tried to get help for her, Stefano appeared and pulled a gun on me. We struggled for the gun and I got it away from him, but then someone hit me on the head. When I came to, I found myself in what can best be described as a dungeon. As it turns out, I had been there before. It was the same place Stefano brainwashed me nine years ago, and he said he was going to do it again. When I kept trying to escape, almost succeeding several times, and refused to eat his drugged food, he tricked Marlena into coming to New Orleans and threatened to starve her unless I cooperated. So Stefano started drugging me, both in my food, and with shots, and when Marlena tried to intervene, he blackmailed her into calling you to say we had run off together, promising that he would stop drugging me if she did as he asked. But it was a lie of course. Stefano is still drugging me, and with each shot my thoughts are growing hazier and hazier. I fear that in a few days my mind will be completely gone. That’s why I am writing this now, while I am still able to think. (A sympathetic guard smuggled a paper and pencil in to me and the only time I can write is when he is the one watching the security monitors.) I know that Stefano is planning something, Roman, but I don’t know what it is. I am sure it has something to do with Marlena though, and that terrifies me. All I can do to protect her is pray, and I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.

John

As Roman finished the letter, Kristen looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “There was blood in my room,” she choked. “When I woke up, there was blood on the floor. Celeste said she cut her hand and I believed her. But it was John’s blood,” she quavered in misery, lifting her hand to gently finger John’s blood-matted hair. “He tried to help me, and this is the result. I should have believed him, Roman. If I’d believed him, maybe none of this would have happened.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Kristen,” Roman said gently. “Isn’t that what you just told me? And you were right. There’s only one person to blame for this, and that’s Stefano. Shall we read the next letter?”

She nodded, giving a little sniffle, and he picked up the second letter. The handwriting was different from the first: oddly slanted, almost childish. It didn’t look like John’s writing at all, and as Roman started reading, he realized in shock that was exactly the case.

Roman,

Henri, my guard, says I should write to you, to tell you what is happening, but I don’t know who you are anymore. I read the first letter, so I guess we know each other, but I don’t remember you. I don’t remember much of anything anymore. I wish you could help me, Roman. I wish anybody could help me. I’m so scared. This man hurts me, and I don’t know why. He hangs me from the ceiling and hits me with a chain. I try not to scream, but I can’t help it, and he laughs at me. He straps me in a chair so I can’t even move my head, and then injects me with something. It burns like fire in my brain and I scream some more, and every time I scream he laughs. Who is he, Roman? Why is he doing this to me? Sometimes he brings a beautiful woman in to see me. She cries and holds my hand. When I ask who she is, she cries even harder, and the man laughs again. He’s so evil, Roman. She’s terrified of him. He forces her to kiss him and she hates it. I want to help her, but I can’t even help myself. Is she Marlena, Roman, from the first letter? I wish you could find us, Roman. We need help so badly. Maybe if I pray hard enough, God will let us die. It would be much better to be dead than to be here.

John (I think)

Sick to his very soul, Roman dropped the letter and sank to his knees beside the bed. This wasn’t a letter from John; it was a letter from a child. A lost, horribly abused child, pleading for help from a stranger. A stranger who should have been there to save him but wasn’t. Roman was dimly aware of Kristen sobbing in the background, but was too full of his own pain to deal with hers as well. “I’m sorry, John,” he groaned. “I’m sorry, Doc. You were counting on me to help you and I didn’t even try. Please forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me for not being there.

In the midst of his anguish Roman felt a warm hand grip his shoulder. “He does forgive you, Roman,” Kristen said tearfully. “They both do. You know that.” Then she gave a soggy chuckle. “They’d probably even say there was nothing to forgive.”

She was right, Roman thought wearily, climbing to his feet and wiping his wet eyes. John and Marlena would say there was nothing to forgive. He just hoped and prayed they would have the chance to tell him that themselves. But to do that, John had to survive, and they had to find Marlena, and right now, both of those occurrences seemed more and more unlikely.

Sighing, he picked up the third letter and cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to continue, but he owed it to John to read his final words. The handwriting in this letter was different yet again; thin and shaky, as though the author were very weak or feeble.

Roman concluded the heart-wrenching letter in a choked voice. As he carefully tucked it and the other two in his jacket for safekeeping, the unpleasant realization struck him that his reaction to recent events had been petty and vindictive. I’ve been so wrong about so many things, he thought remorsefully. When John and Doc had the affair, if you can even call a one night stand an affair, I accused him of being uncaring, ungrateful and selfish. That was so untrue. He’s the most caring, unselfish person I’ve ever met. When I came home, he stepped aside so I could have my family, my job and my life back, even though it must have killed him inside. He could have made all kinds of trouble, but he didn’t. He didn’t sue for custody of the children; he didn’t object when they gave me the police rank he earned; he didn’t ask for the money back that he used to rebuild the house. Except for the one lapse with Marlena, he was always thinking of what was best for other people. Even now, on the verge of death, he’s more concerned about everyone else than he is about himself. Somehow, some way, I’ve got to make things right with him,” Roman told himself grimly, But first, I’ve got to keep him alive...

Taking a deep breath to hold his emotions in check, he knelt by the bed and grasped John’s limp hand in his own. “John,” he said quietly, “ it’s Roman. Everything’s going to be all right now; you’re not alone anymore. I know you’re hurt, but you have to hang on for just a little while longer. Tony, Kristen and I are going to get you out of here and into a hospital just as soon as we can. You’re going to get well, and then you and I will look for Marlena together.”

At the mention of Marlena’s name Roman thought he saw John’s eyelids flicker, and seized on that response to reinforce his message. “Marlena needs you, John,” he whispered fiercely. “She needs you to keep fighting, to stay alive. And it’s not just Marlena: Belle and Brady need you too...they need their Daddy. Think about Belle and Brady, John. Think about all the people who love you, who want you to live. Think about Mom and Pop and Bo and Carrie and Sami and Eric. You’re strong, John, you can do it; you can do it for all of them.” He paused, then made a final impassioned plea. “And if you can’t do it for them, John, then do it for me. Stay alive for me. Because if you die now, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.” He watched John’s haggard face intently, praying for some small sign to indicate his words had gotten through, but there was nothing.

“He’ll make it won’t he, Roman?” Kristen asked anxiously, seeking reassurance he couldn’t give her. “He can’t die now. He just can’t.”

He met her fearful gaze with his own somber one. “I’m sorry, Kristen,” he sighed regretfully, “but I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’ll do what we can for him, but a lot of it’s going to be up to him. We just have to pray he heard me and knows that help is here. And speaking of help,” he muttered, glancing at his watch, “where the hell is Tony? He’s been gone almost half-an-hour. If he can’t find those bolt cutters we’ll have to come up with something else to get John out of here.”

“You won’t have to,” Tony announced from the doorway. “We finally found them.” Followed by Franklin, he hurried across the room with the heavy tool. “Has there been any change?” he asked as he reached John’s bedside.

Roman shook his head. “No. But we did find some letters he wrote. We were right,” he bit out in icy rage. “Stefano did do this. He tricked Marlena into coming here so John wouldn’t try to escape, and forced her to watch him being drugged and tortured. Then he took her away somewhere and left John here to die.”

“Damn him,” Tony gritted through clenched teeth. “Damn him straight to hell.”

“That’s exactly where he belongs,” Roman agreed harshly, “and when I find him, I’ll send him there myself.”

Roman’s tone was angry, but Tony saw the fear and terror hiding underneath and knew their cause. “We’ll get her back, Roman,” he promised with steely determination. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“So will I,” Kristen added with equal determination as she gazed at John’s mangled body. “Stefano has to pay for this.”

“Thanks. To both of you,” Roman said gratefully. “Now let’s get these shackles off.”

Cutting through the iron shackles entailed but a few minutes work. Once John was finally released, they quickly transferred him to the folding cot and tucked the sheets around him. He was then tied securely to the makeshift stretcher with strips torn from another sheet. Roman had hoped by this time John would have given some sign he was aware of their presence, but he remained motionless and silent throughout the entire procedure, reinforcing the urgency of their task. After giving the bindings one last quick check to make sure the helpless John couldn't fall off the cot, Roman turned to the others. “He’s secure. Let’s get him out of here.”

to be continued...

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