The time drags by as Grace waits for John's return. It's unbelievably hot, the height of summer in Tennessee is stultifying with its thick, moist air and smoldering sun. She closes her eyes and leans languidly back against the trunk of the tree she is sitting beneath. Her thoughts drift and she curiously finds herself thinking about Marlena and John's children.
What a strange mix they are. Girls that love and despise their mother. Boys who are oddly absent from the family dynamic. She wonders what happened to Samantha and Eric while Marlena was gone. While she, Grace, ventured forth with Stefano across Europe, plundering and destroying lives. A sly grin flits across her lips. If only they had known the strong, brutal, sensual side of their mother, the side that existed, was personified in herself. How much might they hate her then?
She wonders too what would happen if she broke John. Bound him to her in blood and pain. Released the cruelty that she knows simmers just below the surface. She knows it is there, she's seen it behind his eyes. In the ripple of his muscles as he holds himself from her. Beneath the snarl of his voice as he snaps at her.
It makes her shiver. It makes her hot. She knows, if only she could draw out the beast that lurks in the shadows of John's mind, they could wreak havoc together. They could cause the kind of chaos and pain she's only dreamed about. And how much would Marlena's *precious* children hate her then?
John sees her immediately as he storms back towards the cabin. His mood is still black; he can't quite manage to shake the lust and the rage that seethe inside him. Just the sight of her raises his hackles. And other things.
She is sitting against a tree, her eyes closed and a tiny smile playing about her lush mouth. One bronzed leg is bent, revealing a white flash of her low-rise panties. His mouth is immediately parched as he imagines her body, hidden beneath the white shirt. Her blonde hair falls half-over her face and he envisions it brushing over his chest as she licks her way up his body....
Stop it. Fucking *stop* it, right now Black! You can't afford to play her games. You can't do this now. You have to control the play. You *know* that. So get with it.
He takes a deep breath and comes to where she sits.
"Grace."
She'd heard his approach, but she had simply enjoyed the knowledge that he couldn't drag his eyes away from her and she had made the moment last as long as she could.
Now, she opens her hazel eyes wide, and looks up at him with a mixture of curiosity and false innocence. Until she actually sees him, that is.
She takes in the vision of him, his torso strewn by glittering drops of water from the stream, his dark hair, slicked back and his eyes, bluer than should be humanly possible. And his boxer shorts, plastered to him, embracing every masculine plane they cover...
Her jaw drops slightly and then she recovers, with a small but eminently appreciative smile. "Hi stud," her voice is husky and almost hopeful.
"I want you to tell me," he completely ignores her greeting and lowers himself to the ground next to her, "what you remember from when Stefano found you. After the plane crash."
Grace almost recoils physically at the question. It's not what she expected and it's certainly not the direction she wanted their conversation to go in.
"What? I don't remember anything much."
"Bullshit." John grabs her wrist. "If you are what you say you are, a person in your own right and not just some fucked up, implanted personality that Stefano used to rape Marlena's mind, then you'll remember what happened. You'll remember *something* from when you woke up. You'll remember those feelings."
"So, I remember them." She abruptly wrenches her arm from his grip and rubs her wrist angrily. "What makes you think I have *any* desire to share those memories with you?"
"Because you want to hurt me. You want me to believe that you are a product of the way I failed Marlena." There is rage and pain in John's voice. He's not hiding anything anymore. "If you refuse to tell me then I know you're lying. You're just another fucking DiMera puppet, following his rules and dancing to the old man's tune."
"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" she grins. "You'd love to be able to pin this all on Stefano." Then her smile fades and bitterness threads her voice. "Then you can abdicate responsibility for this, along with the rest of the fucked up mess that is your life."
"Shut up with the fucking psychological analysis." John's eyes narrow. "Tell me what I want to know."
"Or what?" Grace shrugs her shoulders. "You'll tell mommy on me?" The smirk is back now, with a decidedly sexual invitation to it. "You'll beat me up?" She scrambles onto her knees and pulls her shirt open to reveal her décolletage. "Hit me with your best shot, baby."
John just takes a deep breath and glares at her with more than a hint of irritation.
"Oh Black, you're no fun when you don't bite." The smile doesn't leave her face as she pulls her shirt closed and settles back against the tree. She stretches out her leg and draws a dusty toe down his calf. "So exactly what do you want to know?"
"What's the first thing you remember?" John catches her foot and firmly removes it. He doesn't dare to hope that she might actually yield and tell him what he wants to know. But it is worth trying. If he can uncover how it is she came to inhabit Marlena's body, he might just stumble upon the way to expel her.
He waits expectantly as she considers her answer.
She watches him watching her and she wonders why it is that he is asking her this. And why he is asking it now. And how amusing it might be to play his game for a while.
"It's a jumble," she says slowly. "The first thing I remember is noise. I don't know if it was the accident itself, or if it was the storm or the waves," she shrugs with a hint of manufactured vulnerability. "Maybe it was all of the above."
"Go on," he urges her. There's no sign of anything akin to sympathy in his manner.
"I remember thinking I was going to drown. I remember water and struggling and I remember being pulled down. It hurt, it was black and there were flashes of light. I think maybe I hit something, some wreckage or some rocks," she shudders, "and that's it until I woke up in a bed."
"Bed?" he asks. "Where?"
"In a room, asshole," her eyes narrow. "Do you intend to keep interrupting? Do you really want to hear my answer or shall I just let you tell the story?"
"Sorry," he says, although he doesn't look sorry at all. "Carry on."
"I don't remember much," she shrugs, "just that it was all white. It was incredibly quiet and every day the sun came through the blinds and just fell short of the bed."
If she closes her eyes, she can almost see the room, smell the disinfectant... feel the overwhelming terror that had pervaded her. But that is something she will never reveal. Those feelings she had upon awakening. When she had possessed nothing except the memory of a desperate struggle for survival in the violent waves. She'd been utterly lost, alone with the darkness. No memories to shape her identity, nothing to hold onto, no past and no future.
She looks at him, banishing the betraying memories with a flick of her blonde mane.
"I could hear the sea too," she says, almost wistfully. "It lulled me to sleep at night." That wasn't strictly true either. Not at first, at least. She had barely slept when she had first woken completely. Her utter confusion and the flashes of inexplicable terror accompanied by unknown images inside her head had seen to that.
"After that," she grins, "I remember every sweet, bloody moment on that island."
"Tell me." His rasping voice reveals his trepidation. He's not sure he wants to hear the story. The pleasure on her face is enough to turn his stomach. He hates to think what that might be about. And yet, perversely, his curiosity is piqued and if he's to find out how Grace came to be embodied in his wife, he has to eke out every last fact he can.
"You really want to know?" She reads the turmoil of emotions on his face correctly and grins triumphantly as he pales and then nods. "Well," she leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't say I didn't warn you, stud."
"Just tell me what you remember," he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.
"The doctors were surprised to see I was awake," she laughs, the sound pure sex and it sends a thrill through John that he can't contain. He would give anything to be able to touch her now. To take her against that tree....
He shakes his head, his heart pounding as he wills himself to focus on her words. He can't lose his focus. Not now. He has a feeling he's getting close and he can't give up on her now.
"They didn't know yet that nothing keeps me down for long." She smirks, glancing down at his boxers, letting her words and her intent linger in the air. Or you either baby...
"And you had amnesia?" John directs the conversation away from her innuendo.
"I suppose you could call it that, yes," she shrugs.
"How?"
"How should I know?" She's not about to tell him about the severe head trauma or the fact that she'd been in a two week coma before she'd awoken. The facts in this conversation are being strictly divulged on a need to know basis and he definitely doesn't need to know that. "They couldn't explain it," she grins at John's frustration. She knows his game and she's not about to play it by his rules. "Sorry to disappoint," she smiles sweetly. "But to move on with the story, and I know you're going to *love* this bit; the next time I awoke, Stefano was there, at my bedside."
She can recall the moment as if it were yesterday. The magnetism he exuded, the way he held her gaze....
"So," he smiled magnanimously, "and how are you feeling, my dear?"
"Sore," she croaked, her voice rusty with disuse. "Uh..."
"Yes?" Stefano arched one bushy eyebrow and her breath caught in her throat as fear swamped her. Who was he? She had the feeling she knew him but...?
"Where am I?" Her voice faltered and Stefano's eyebrows rose a fraction.
"It's all right my dear, you are safe and among friends."
"I..." her eyes filled with tears, "I don't remember..."
"I know," he laid an enormous hand on hers and patted it. "The doctors told me. But I assure you, you are safe.
"Do you know me?" she whispered.
"Know you?" he roared with laughter and a chill swept across her skin. "My dear Marlena, we are mortal enemies."
"Enemies?" Confusion grew. "But you said I was among friends."
"And so you are." He patted her hand again and then picked it up, his own fingers dwarfing hers. "But please, let me explain. My name is Stefano DiMera. We lived in the same town, but your husband took a disliking to me. He poisoned you against me."
"My husband?" she looked down at her bare hands, devoid of rings or any sign of belonging. "But... where is he?"
"That, you should well ask," Stefano looked grim. "He left you for dead. After the " he indicated the hospital bed she lay in. "He left you for dead. He walked away and now he has another woman in your bed."
She flinched, a pain filling her chest that left her gasping for breath. She didn't even remember this husband and yet, the pain of his betrayal was agonizing. She was married and she'd woken with no memory, she had woken alone. Discarded.
"I am sorry," Stefano's voice was low and rumbling, the soft purr of it almost soothing. If not for the fear and anger that tore at her insides. "But you should know the truth. You know you were in a plane accident?" She nodded numbly. "Your husband made a cursory search for you off the coast of Florida. And then he went back to the Midwest and resumed his life. He and your children barely mention you any more."
"Why?" Whereas before she had been hollow and bereft of knowledge, now she felt as though she was brimming with grief, anger and betrayal. She didn't understand how her past could be a complete blank and yet she could feel this loss. And yet, she did. And she wanted a reason for it.
"Who knows why men do the things they do?" Stefano's smile was hard and she shivered. "Your husband is a fool and he grows bored quickly. Maybe your 'death' was convenient for him?" He shrugged and she grew breathless.
"You think *he* was the reason for the accident?" she was almost shaking. "You think he tried to kill me?"
"I do not know," Stefano shrugged again, but she was left in no doubt as to his thoughts on the matter. "All I know, my dear, is that I have taken care of you ever since." His expression softened as he took her hand again. "I care for you very deeply. And I wish to give you the chance to be what you never had the chance to be back in Salem. I want you to blossom and show the strength I know you are blessed with." He saw her reticence and reached out and cupped her cheek in his heavy palm. "I *do* care for you. More than your family *ever* could."
She found herself riding on the swell of his voice, his exotic accent and rolling r's. She was captured by his magnetism and she could not draw herself from his gaze. She was a tumult of emotions and questions. But ultimately, she had no answers. And no choice, but to trust him, for now
"What..." She took a breath and bit her lip hesitantly. And then she plunged forward. "What is my name?"
"Do you really want to know?" Stefano asked. "My dear, you can be *anything* you want to be. I can make you a *queen*." The passion in his voice mesmerized her. "I'll offer you all the world, if only you'll trust me." She swallowed as he bound her with his dark gaze. "Do you really want to tie yourself to a family that abandoned you so heartlessly?"
She looked at him. What he was offering... She had no idea where she came from, but deep inside her, she could feel the misery and a fear of the unknown past. A past that she didn't know she could trust.
And what he was offering? Anything she wanted? The opportunity to reinvent herself?
Somewhere inside her, the shadows sang a seductive song. The opportunity never to feel this fear and powerlessness again. Now, *that* was something to covet.
"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to know. I'll choose my own name."
"A wise decision." Stefano looked triumphant and for a moment, she felt the misgivings. And then she banished them. This was her choice. Her opportunity to control her own destiny. At last.
"Grace." She said, after a moment, a smile slowly breaking across her face. "My name will be Grace."
"After that," she grins, "life became fun." She pulls her legs up in front of her and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. "He had me trained in just about anything your pretty head could dream of." She grins happily. "I learnt to kill men twice my size," she raises an eyebrow, "and I learnt to enjoy it. The power and the control. Stefano made good on his promise. He gave me *anything* I could ever dream of wanting, and more besides."
"He bought you and he corrupted you," John passes judgment harshly.
"No," she shakes her head, her moss-green eyes glinting in the sunlight. "He taught me to take what I wanted in this world." Her expression hardens, "he taught me not to allow people like *you* to walk all over me. He showed me what power is all about. Everything else," she smirks, "is all me. I *was* your weak, pathetic Marlena once," she shrugs, "and then I grew up and I made my life into what I wanted."
"Marlena wouldn't have wanted *that*," John winces. This is painful for him, but it's what he wanted and he has to see it through. He already has much more than he had ever expected to glean from her and he is starting to see how Stefano had managed to manipulate the situation.
"Marlena is a *fool*!" Grace spits, scornfully. "A subservient, pitiful fool."
"And you think being a murderer is what gives you strength?" he demands angrily. "*You're* the fool, Grace."
"Well, you'd know," she replies enigmatically.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" he demands.
"Oh, come *on* Father John," she chuckles contemptuously. "You've got plenty of blood on your hands. Don't tell me you never *enjoyed* it."
"I never enjoyed it," he says, dully.
"Not the feeling of their bones breaking under your fingers? The gasping as you crushed their windpipe?" she smiles, her lips red and full. "Not even the feeling of their hot, sticky blood oozing over your hands and spilling on the floor? The look in their eyes as they realize that your face is the last thing they will *ever* see?"
"You're *twisted*!" he shudders.
"For once, you're right," she leans forward, her arms pressing her breasts together so that her cleavage spills out of her shirt. "But don't tell me it doesn't make you just that *little*, bit, *hot*."
John swallows and looks away. He can't deny that her darkness, her shadows sing to the blackness that lies within him. Her demons call to his with a strength that scares him. Because he knows it would be so easy to give in....
"I killed Orpheus, you know." She recaptures his attention, his head turning sharply. "He was one of the first."
What?" John sounds confused and pained.
"Aww, don't tell me you're sorry," she is thoroughly enjoying this, despite her earlier misgivings, "he had it coming."
"What did Stefano tell you about him?" John whispers. He can't understand how she thinks he abandoned her if he knew the truth about Orpheus.
"That he was the one who took me from you. That the accident was his fault." She shrugs. "For a while I thought maybe you *had* paid to have me killed, but then I saw how much hatred lay behind his eyes when he talked of you." She takes a deep breath and leans back against the tree, stretching languidly, like a cat in the hot sun. "I almost liked him then."
"So, why did you kill him?" John's voice keeps getting hoarser. He can't believe she would think that he would want to hurt her. He can't believe how much Stefano distorted and twisted the truth to poison her mind against him. Or... maybe he can. He knows if he ever gets his hands on the old man again, there will be bloodshed. And this time, he won't stop until DiMera is dead. He has ruined too many lives.
"Why not?" she shrugs. "He might have been the instrument of my resurrection, but he was a weak, stupid man." She sneers. "He was obsessed with petty motivations. And he thought he could play games with me. He thought he was dealing with *Marlena*." The bitterness in her voice is almost overwhelming. "He soon discovered he wasn't."
She doesn't tell John that like Lamont, Orpheus had bailed her up in her bedroom and had torn blindly at her clothes, all the time, screaming that she would pay for Roman's blunders.
She doesn't tell him that unlike Lamont, he had locked the door. She doesn't tell him that by the time Stefano's men had battered the door down, he was on top of her, inside her, thrusting, grunting, swearing at her, bawling at her that she could blame Roman for this. She doesn't tell him of the agony and the pain and the uncontrollable panic and how she had screamed and begged and pleaded and then sobbed helplessly as he raped her. She doesn't tell him that she had worn the bruises for weeks, that Stefano had been the one that had held her while she had wept, that he had arranged for the abortion of Orpheus' child.
She doesn't tell him that when she had recovered, Stefano had offered her Orpheus and unlike with Lamont, she had accepted his offer. She doesn't tell him that the rape had hardened her in a way Stefano's machinations never could have. That Orpheus had destroyed the last shreds of softness, the few remnants of Marlena glimmering within her.
Mostly she doesn't tell John any of this, because she doesn't remember it. She has obliterated the memory, her murder of Orpheus neatly covering the agony beneath, like the moon blotting out the sun in a solar eclipse. Only the flames of her hatred lick at the edges of the truth.
She had spent hours playing with him, a game of cat and mouse that had ended up with her torturing him with a razor blade and a cigarette lighter. He had screamed for mercy before she had straddled his lap kissed him and whispered in his ear that if he were a good boy, she would put him out of his misery.
She had felt him harden beneath her and she had laughed cruelly, grinding herself against him until she had shuddered with the release.
Then she had turned to find Stefano watching her and she had smiled wantonly at him and blown him a kiss before dragging Orpheus to the nearby tub.
She had plunged his head unto the tepid water and held it there as he had fought to escape, his struggles growing weaker and weaker as she pulled him out and dunked him in the water repeatedly.
Finally, he failed to resist any longer and she had left him there, face down in the water to go and claim her congratulatory kiss from Stefano.
"It wasn't exactly a challenge," she finishes pleasantly, "but it was a fun way to spend an afternoon."
John can't find a thing to say to her. He'd known she was perverse, that she got her kicks from hurting people, but this is something else, all together. That she would kill Orpheus for no real reason, and get off on it....
He just stares at her. She's more a stranger than ever. And if, as she claims, she is a personality developed within Marlena's psyche... a claim that is appearing more and more to be true... then how much of a stranger is Marlena to him?
"What's the matter sweetheart?" she smiles. "Cat got your tongue?"
Silence.
"John?" She cocks her head on one side.
"I didn't," he offers finally. "I would have given *anything* to get Marlena back. I tried everything I could to get them to search for her but they said it was hopeless. That there was no way you could have survived the accident."
"But I did, didn't I?" she says softly, a malicious glint in her eye.
"Yes," he says dully. "*You* did." He doesn't know where to go next. He feels as though he is up against a brick wall. He's run out of ideas, out of tactics. He feels beaten and defeated. He's failed Marlena again, like so many times before.
Grace is right. This *is* all his fault. He should have protected Marlena from Orpheus. That bastard had snatched her from right under his nose and that had been the beginning of the end. For all of them. And maybe Orpheus had deserved to die. But not by Marlena's hands. Not his good, sweet Marlena. She was the one that made everything *right*. She was the one that anchored him with her goodness, like the Sun -goddess to his war-god Mars.
He drops his face into his hands with a soft moan and Grace snickers quietly.
Check.