Maison Blanche Revisited

Chapter 6: Dear John

CAROLINE WALKED SLOWLY towards John’s room in intensive care, trying to calm her pounding heart. Bo’s revelation of John’s near suicide had shaken her to the core. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing back then, using John’s faulty memory against him, trying to force the young man she loved so much to accept the reality of his situation. It had all gone so horribly wrong....but just how wrong she hadn’t fully realized until now. She was the one who had driven John to the brink of taking his own life. That was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. He had trusted her, and she had cruelly abused that trust, planting the seeds of rejection, pain and despair that were still bearing their deadly fruit all these years later.

It was still was so fresh in her mind: she would never forget the incredible look of shock and pain on his face, the way he had stormed out of the house, so scornful of her protestations of love. And why should he have believed her? The people who love you don’t betray and reject you the way she had done to him. She could see so clearly now--that had been the moment when he had started to withdraw from the family, had begun to feel so isolated and alone. No wonder he hadn’t been able to turn to her after the test results were announced...after all, how could you expect support from someone who had already abandoned you? And after his return from Mexico, he had withdrawn even more, so emotionally wounded, unable to accept or believe that he could still be a part of the family. They should have realized then how traumatized he was--so traumatized that even after he had reconnected with the family and finally seemed to be adjusting to his new life, that the pain and fear and insecurity were still there, hiding deep inside, subconsciously controlling his actions.

These last few months must have so terrible for him: not only tortured and helpless, but consumed by guilt, rejected again (as he thought) by the family who had promised him over and over that he would always belong, would always be a Brady. He was so insecure that he didn’t realize they could condemn his actions, but still love him at the same time. That was the way things worked in families, and just as they had told him, John was and always would be a part of their family. What they had to do now was convince him of that.

The door to John’s room was in front of her now. Taking a deep breath, steeling herself for the sight she had been warned to expect, she pushed open the door. But even though she was prepared, she had to stifle a gasp as her gaze fell on the motionless figure in the stark bed. Her strong, handsome, vital son was gone, and in his place was a gaunt scarecrow. His face was so thin and bruised that if she hadn’t known who he was, she might not have even recognized him. “Oh, John,” she whispered, almost crying as she hurried to the bed, “I’m here, honey. It’s Mom. It’s going to be all right now. I promise.”

Carefully avoiding the tubes and wires attached to his body, she bent and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, softly brushing the long hair back from his brow. “You need a haircut,” she choked, swallowing a sob. “As soon as you’re better, I’ll give you a Brady special. No charge. And you are going to get better,” she said firmly. “You have to. You’re my son--I love you so much, John. I don’t know what I’d do without you, what the family would do without you. We love you, honey. You have to believe that.”

As she talked, she gently stroked his hair, remembering how soothing it had been when the children had been sick and needed comfort. “And there’s something else you have to believe,” she continued softly. “You have to believe we forgive you. We really do, John. We know now you couldn’t help what happened with Marlena. We know, and understand, how much you were hurting, how much you needed her. And you have to understand that too, honey. You have to understand that what happened wasn’t your fault. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about anymore. Let it go,” she pleaded. “Let it go and come back to us, come back to the family. That’s where you belong, not here in this hospital bed. You belong with us, with the Bradys.” Reaching for his limp hand, she griped it tightly. "That’s what you are, John--a Brady. And you’re always going to be a Brady, now and forever. And you know what the best quality of the Bradys is? The very best quality? They’re fighters. They never give up, no matter what. That’s what you have to do now, honey. You have to fight. You have to fight harder than you’ve ever fought before. You have to fight to live. They’re going to take you into surgery very soon now. They think you’re going to die on the operating table. But I know better. I know how strong you are. You’re going to fight, and you’re going to live, John. You’re going to live, and you’re going to come home...to all of us.

"Oh, Johnny boy, jus' look at you." Shawn's Irish was thick and mournful as he exchanged places with Caroline at John's side. "Tis a fine mess you've got yourself into, lad. A fine mess indeed. All hooked up to these tubes an' machines... I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry for what we did... for what I did. We blamed you for somethin' that was never your fault. We let you come down here thinkin' you didn't matter to us anymore...thinkin' you were all alone. Forgive me, son. Forgive me for bein' such a stubborn, pig-headed fool. I was angry, but I never meant ta drive you away. I love you, boy, I always will. Do you know what it's doin' to me, seein' you hurt like this? It's tearin' me apart inside! These fancy doctors say you're gonna die. Well, I don't believe it!" he said fiercely, "an' don't you believe it, either! It takes more'n a few cuts an' bruises ta kill a Brady, Johnny boy, a hell of a lot more. You're jus' tired right now, that's all. You jus' need ta get a little strength back, an' you can lick this thing. I can give you that strength, lad, if you'll let me."

As Caroline had done, he reached down and griped John's withered hand with his strong, calloused one. "Feel my hand, Johnny," he said gruffly. "All the strength you need is right here in this hand. It's a father's hand, Johnny...your father's hand. Everything I feel for you is in this hand. All my love, an' all my heart, an' all my soul is in this hand. This hand isn't jus' holding yours, it's wrapped around your heart, keeping it safe and strong and warm. Can you feel it, Johnny? Can you feel the strength? Can you feel the love? All those things are yours, son, whenever you need 'em. They're all right here in this hand. It won't let go of you, I promise. This hand is goin' in ta that operating room with you. If you get tired, if you feel yourself slipping away, you hold tight ta this hand. You draw on that strength...you draw on that love...and you keep fighting!! That's an order from your father, John Brady Black, an' I expect it ta be obeyed."

Kate Roberts stood solemnly by John's bed, wondering what on earth she could say to give him encouragement. She didn't know him as well as the others did, she wasn't really part of his 'family' yet, but she loved Victor, and he loved John like a son. A son. Maybe that was it. If she couldn't speak for herself, maybe she could speak on behalf of his son and daughter. Maybe she could give voice to those two tiny children, still too young to know what a gaping hole his death would create in their lives.

"Hello, John," she quietly. "It's Kate. I want to talk to you about Belle and Brady. They're at Victor's right now, and they're all right, but they need you so badly. You and Marlena have been gone a long time, Marlena may never come back. What's going to happen to them if you die, John? Oh, I know they'll be taken care of, but it's not the same thing as having their father around. And how do you think they'll feel when they ask how you died, and they learn you didn't care enough to put up a fight for them? They'll hate you, John...think about that. Your children should be the most important things in your life. I know mine are to me. I was so devastated when Curtis took Austin and Billie away from me. I would have done anything to have them back, to be with them again, to protect them. How can you even think of leaving those children like this? A good parent fights for his children, John. He fights for them with everything he has. And that's what I expect you to do. You fight for Belle and Brady! You get back on your feet and you show them just how much their father loves them!"

Victor stared down at the ravaged body of his son-in-law, thinking regretfully how once he would have gloated at seeing John in such circumstances. But not anymore, thank God, not anymore. Now it pained him beyond words to see John like this, but in a way that pain was welcome, because it proved once and for all just how much his life had changed. A change due solely to the kindness and generosity of two people: John and Isabella. They had given him one last chance to turn his life around, and with their help, he had succeeded. He just hoped he could now do for John what John had done for him: pull him back from the brink and give him a reason to live.

Bending low over the bed, he spoke in John's ear. "Can you hear me, John? It's Victor. I need you listen to me...I have something very important to tell you. These doctors say you want to die--that you think you only bring pain and heartache to the people you love; that you think we'd all be better off without you in our lives. That isn't true. Not for the Bradys, and especially not for me. You changed my life--you and Isabella. You let me be Brady's grandfather, you let me into your lives. I never had a real family before. Bo despises me; I can never be more than a token grandfather to Shawn-Douglas. But you and Isabella gave me a chance to be part of a family. That changed my life, John. Not just outwardly, but inside, where it counts. Before you and Isabella my life was a desert. I had wealth, I had power, but there was no joy, no love, no compassion. You gave me all those things. You made me into an entirely new person. If it hadn't been for you, Kate could never have fallen in love with me. There wouldn't have been anything there for her to love: just an empty shell of a man. But I'm not that soulless, joyless man anymore, and it's all because of you. I still need you in my life, John--my journey isn't through yet. I still need your guidance, your insight, your friendship. You're my best friend. Isn't that an amazing thing? In just two short years we've gone from literally trying to kill each other, to a friendship greater than I've ever known. I don't want to lose that, John. I don't want to lose you, my friend."

"Hey, big brother. It's Bo. I need to talk to you, man. I've been a real jerk. I promised Isabella I'd watch out for you, and I let her down big time--both her and you. If Izzy were here right now she'd let me have it with both barrels, right between the eyes. I'm so sorry, bro. I jumped all over you because of Marlena. I should've known better. I should've known it wasn't your fault. I should have been there for you instead of leaving everything up to her. But it was just easier that way, you know? I mean...she was the professional, right? I thought she knew what she was doing. Boy, was I wrong."

"I've been wrong about a lot of things, John, especially how I've acted since I found out about the affair. I let you down, but you were always there for me, even when I said I hated you. How can you think we'd be better off without you? If it hadn't been for you, Billie would be in prison right now for a crime she never committed. I never thanked you for that. Thank you, bro, for saving the woman I love. We got engaged last night: I asked her marry me, and she said yes. That wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for you--it couldn't have happened. I love you, man, and I need you. If you die, who's gonna bail me out the next time I get in trouble? You can't check out on me now, John, you just can't."

Roman sagged against the wall outside the ICU, staring blindly at the door as John's other visitors came and went. He had elected to go last to give himself time to decide what to say. He was also trying, not very successfully, to block from his mind Dr. Rosenthal's scathing condemnation of Marlena. Time was so short, he would have to deal with that painful subject later. Right now, he had to concentrate all his energies on John.

Bo's somber description of John's near suicides had hit him like a bombshell. For the first time, he had been forced to really consider the true impact his resurrection had made on John's life. It was sobering, and more than a little painful. Intellectually, of course, he had known it must have been devastating to have one's world wrenched apart like that, but just how devastating he hadn't fully appreciated until just moments ago. John had been so explosively angry back then, so seemingly out of control--his attack on Victor, and his irrational outbursts in Mexico, for example--that he had taken it as a sign of the man's guilt. But that hadn't been the case at all.

With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, he remembered how triumphant he had been when Chief Tarrington announced the results of the DNA tests--how he had gloated at John's anguished cries of disbelief as he fled into the night...fled to avoid arrest and interrogation by the ISA, and by police officers who only days before had been his loyal friends and colleagues. Dear God, how ashamed he felt. Despite his family's unwavering faith in the other man's character, he had been so sure John was the villain. Only now, in hindsight, could he see where that surety had come from...see that his own anger and rage at his seven-year separation from his loved ones had needed a focus, and that John had been an easy target. Until their fateful confrontation with Stefano in the Mayan temple, he had never believed for one moment John might be innocent, or been concerned that while he was being restored to his rightful place in the family, his hated impersonator's life was being torn asunder. No wonder John had been so angry back then, so desperately insistent he was the real Roman Brady. He hadn't been trying to avoid arrest and prosecution, he had literally been fighting to stay alive.

And what of everything that had happened since then? If Rosenthal was correct, John's outward demeanor of strength and assurance was only a front: he needed emotional support as much as he needed air to breathe and food to eat. If that were the case, it wasn't really all that surprising he had contemplated suicide after Isabella died. She had been such a tower of strength in such a tiny package. Her impact on John had been extraordinary, Roman thought, recalling the first time he had actually seen the two of them together: It had been at Chichen Itza, and John had gone tearing out of the villa in one of his violent outbursts of anger. Then Bo and Carly and Isabella had unexpectedly arrived, and Isabella went looking for John. When they came back together, the change in John had been nothing short of miraculous--the anger, the violence, the irrationality were gone. He had been calm, decisive and determined. And it was all because of Isabella, Roman realized now. It had been her strength and support that had pulled John through those dark hours--and the even darker days and months ahead, when he had had to come to terms with his loss and start to build a new life.

Isabella's death must have been so crushing for him. No wonder he had grabbed at the lifeline Marlena offered. When you're drowning, you don't ask who's throwing you the rope, you just reach for it and hang on. The only problem with that was, Marlena never should have been the one throwing the rope...or not the only one, anyway. They had all let John down: Marlena, and the whole family. Marlena, because her guilt in beliveing she was the one who had convinced John he was Roman Brady had led her to take his therapy solely upon herself...and the rest of the family for letting her do it--for taking the easy way out and not being there with her holding onto that metaphorical rope as she pulled John to safety.

Damn... he was thinking about Marlena again. It was a vicious circle. The more he tried to get her out of his thoughts, the more he thought about her. He couldn't do that now. John's needs were paramount and time was running out. What could he say to make up for all the years of misunderstanding and heartache and bitterness? More than anything, he wanted to go back to the beginning and start over. Do it right this time. He and John were so alike--for a few brief months they had actually been friends, almost brothers. Maybe they could be that way again...if John survived. And John had to survive--if only to take this enormous weight of guilt off his shoulders.

"Roman?"

Jerking his head up, he saw Bo standing in front of him. "It's time, bro. If you want to see him, it has to be now. They're taking him to surgery in a few minutes."

He hurridly thrust himself away from the wall. "Thanks. Wish me luck."

Bo clapped him briefly on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. "You got it. Now go in there and tell him to get his butt out of bed. You're good at that, remember? You used to tell it to me all the time. If John reacts the same way I did, he'll jump out of bed and try to punch you in the face."

Roman paused for a moment with his hand on the door and turned to look at his brother, smiling somberly at the childhood memory. "That would solve all our problems, wouldn't it. I don't think its going to be that easy though. I only wish it was."

"Me too. Go on, Roman. And good luck...from all of us." Bo nodded toward the others, huddled together at the end of the hall in the classic pose adopted by worried relatives in waiting rooms the world over.

"Thanks." With a final look at his family, John's family, Roman pushed open the door and entered the room. John lay unmoving in the bed, surrounded by pulsating, beeping machines. They seemed to loom over him, accentuating his helplessness. Roman stopped at the head of the bed, his eyes focused on the pallid, bruised face on the pillow. "It's Roman, John. I have a message from Bo. I'm supposed to tell you to get your butt out of bed. So that's what I'm going to do. Get up, man! Get your butt out of bed! Now!"

Feeling more than a little stupid, he studied John hopefully, then sighed when there was no response. "I knew it wouldn't work," he muttered to himself. "Why did I even try? Now it's back to reality. Listen to me, John," he said firmly. "You've got a choice to make here. You can choose to live, or you can choose to die. I can see, from your point of view, that right now, dying looks very attractive. If you die, your pain and suffering will be over--no one can hurt you anymore, no one can take your world and tear it apart again, you won't feel guilty anymore. Choosing to live will be hard. You'll have to deal with all those things that hurt so much: me, Marlena, the family, Stefano. But there's more to life than just pain, John. Think of all the wonderful things you'll be missing if you leave now: Belle and Brady's first bicycles, their first day in school; Brady's first home run, his first touchdown; Belle's first piano recital, her first date; teaching them how to drive, walking Belle down the aisle--those are all things to look forward to. And you have other things to look forward to. Your family's a whole lot bigger than just Belle and Brady, you know, and I'm not talking about Vivian and Lawrence. We Bradys are your family, too, and we want to prove it to you...I want to prove it to you. I want to make things right between us, John. I understand now, we all do, what was really happening in your life. I forgive you for what happened with Marlena. Those aren't just words, I really mean it. And I need your forgiveness, too...the whole family does. Choose to live, John. Give us a chance to start over, to do things right this time. We won't let you down again, I promise."

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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