At the top of the stairs, John sees another thug standing outside what he presumes is Grace's room. Before the man can react to John's appearance, John leans over and slips a knife out of his boot.
His death is quick and relatively painless as John slits his throat. He dies with a quiet gurgle and a look of surprise on his face.
With a blank expression, John drags the body away from the door as a wash of blood soaks into the cream carpet. Then he turns to the door and wrenches the key in the lock.
Grace drops the papers from her hand as she hears the key turn. Suddenly her heart is pounding as she anticipates Stefano's anger. The blizzard of emotions that swirls inside her barely stands still long enough for her to recognize any of them. She just knows she wants to sort this out. There are answers she wants from Stefano.
But it's not Stefano who steps through the door.
"John," she gasps, horrified at the sight of the blood that is smeared over his hands. "What the hell have you done!?"
John ignores her for a moment and instead locks the door behind him. He slips the key in his pocket and then advances on her. His eyes are dark, almost black and there is a malignance in them that gives Grace chills.
"Who am I?" he demands without pre-emption.
"What?" Now that he is closer she can see the dark patches on his clothing and she realizes that it is more blood. "John, what have you done? Is Stefano....?"
"Shut UP and answer the damn *question*!" John shouts at her.
"Don't you *dare* tell me what to do!" she hisses defiantly. "I will not be bullied by *you*."
John gives a roar of fury and exasperation and launches himself across the room at her, throwing her against the wall. The impact winds her momentarily and in that moment, John's hand is around her throat, staining her with blood and he's glaring at her.
And the hatred and malice in those eyes terrifies her.
"Listen *lady*," he rasps the words as his indigo eyes bore into her. "I don't give a *shit* what you want, or what you think. I just want the fucking *truth* for once."
Grace grits her teeth, trying to ignore the panic that is rising in the pit of her belly.
"What do you want to know?" she croaks.
"The old man tried to feed me some bullshit about Roman Brady." John rasps. His pupils are dilated and Grace realizes in a moment of shocking clarity that he is completely unbalanced. "I want you to tell me the truth." He grins, baring white teeth in a weather beaten face. "You know as well as I do. I'm John Black, right?"
She just stares at him, saying nothing.
"*RIGHT*?" He roars, tightening his grip on her so that she has to struggle to take a breath. Her eyes widen as she wraps her hands around his wrist and tries to loosen his grip. He obliges her and she gasps, sucking in a deep breath as her heart races uncontrollably.
She could lie to him, she could tell him what he wants to hear, but it's only delaying the inevitable. Even if he chooses to believe her, he'll find the papers on the floor and then this will start all over again.
"No," she says hoarsely. "You are.... you *used* to be Roman Brady."
John's nostrils flare and the muscles flicker where he clenches his jaw. "*Liar*," he finally manages to spit out.
"I'm not lying," she says indignantly. "You were born 26th August, 1951 to Shawn and Caroline Brady. If you don't like it, then that's tough shit."
John's face reddens with rage, his complexion growing dark and livid as his breathing becomes labored. His head is pounding and his thinking is becoming erratic and more irrational by the moment.
"I'm John Black!" He insists frantically. "You know I'm John Black."
"No, you're *not*!" She finally garners the strength to push him away and she glares at him, almost daring him to challenge her again. "You have John Black's memory and you've clearly inherited more than his fair share of insanity, but you *are* Roman Brady. Deal with it!"
She's angry enough now to try and push past him. And that's all it takes for John Black to snap. He's had more than enough of this arrogant whore of Stefano's and her stuck-up posturing.
"Bitch!" He grabs her arm and her shoulder and slams her back against the wall. Her eyes widen in shock as she sees the mania flaring in his eyes. "You think you can fucking tell me what to do? You think you're better than me, that you can taunt me and play the fucking cock-tease and then fucking *walk away* from me?"
He thrusts himself against her until they are nose to nose and he is staring right into those golden eyes. Her alarm grows exponentially as his hot breath caresses her face.
"I'll *prove* to you that I'm *not* Roman fucking Brady." He laughs but the sound is cold and sharp, and it cuts through Grace like the blade of a knife.
"John," she is shaking now and she berates herself for her weakness. "John, you don't want to do-"
"Of *course* I fucking want to do this!" He roars at her. "That's your fucking *problem* woman, you think you fucking know *everything*." He narrows his eyes and then his lips curve into the merest hint of a smile.
A wave of terror hits Grace as he presses his lips against hers and rams his thigh between her legs. Pressing her lips tightly together, she ignores the tears that spill from her eyes and pushes against his body, trying to dislodge him.
Unfortunately he takes her by surprise and still controlling her wrist with a vice-like grip, he flings her around and onto the bed.
She screams as he is immediately on top of her, his thighs on the outside of hers, gripping them almost painfully and his torso pinning her to the bed. She squirms beneath the weight of him, trying to escape, her free arm flails, and she manages to lodge it under his chin, desperately pushing his head back.
Angrily, he rolls his head away and takes a swipe at her, his palm connecting loudly with the side of her face, dazing her slightly.
"Behave yourself, Grace, or this could get nasty." He laughs as he grasps one end of her robe tie, slipping the silk out from under her.
"No, John," she begs as he quickly binds her wrists together and then knots them to the carved poster at the corner of the bed. "Please... please don't..."
~ * ~
Stefano is halfway up the stairs when he hears Grace scream. He is bleeding from a gash in his forehead, cut when John had pushed him against the cabinets. And he is limping. Behind him, the heavy from downstairs is nursing a black eye.
At the sound of Grace's terrified scream, Stefano's heart lurches in his chest and he hastens up to the landing. He's not completely surprised to see the body in the middle of the hallway, but it increases his misgivings tenfold as he staggers towards Grace's door.
His worst fears are realized when he rattles the door and realizes that John has locked it from the inside. With increasing frustration, he turns to the man behind him. "Find another key!" he orders angrily and then turns back to the door.
"Grace!" He pounds on the door, fear burgeoning in his heart with every passing moment. "Grace!"
~ * ~
"Stefano!" she half-screams, half sobs as she hears the continued pounding on the other side of the thick door. "Help me! Please help me!"
"Old man's not going to help you now!" John spits in a fit of rage. "All DiMera ever does is ruin shit. Everything he fucking *touches* withers and dies. He's like a fucking *disease*."
"John..." Grace cries desperately, tears streaming down her face. "Roman.... Please, *Roman*.... Don't let him do this!"
"FUCK Roman Brady," John snarls as he lifts himself off her. His head is killing him now. Throbbing like a fucking jackhammer. But he will not give in. He's.... he's got something to prove. To this *whore*, to DiMera. To himself.
With deliberate and chilling intent, he wraps one hand around her throat and the other he uses to shove the hem of the flimsy nightgown up her legs. There is an insane gleam in his eyes as he looks down at her exposed flesh and Grace squeezes her eyes shut as she hears the tearing of fabric and then she screams, trying to drown out the sound.
Trying to drown out the memories.
Because suddenly she feels like she's drowning, herself. Reality seems to be disintegrating around her and she sees not only John coming at her, but also Lamont... and then... Oh God! *Orpheus.* And there is tearing and screaming, screaming.... screaming. And they are shouting at her. Calling her names. Trying to break her. Trying to make her....
The faces come at her again. Eyes filled with evil, vile lips spilling out putrid laughter. And there is pain. God, there is so much *pain*.... It's all hands and voices and pain and she wants to die.
God, why couldn't he have just let me die? Pain.... *agony* and this unutterable emptiness. Anything... god, *death*... would have been better than this pain.
On the other side of the door, the pounding intensifies and Grace's sobbing reaches a crescendo.
"Please..." she pleads in a halting whisper, although it's no longer aimed at anyone in particular. She just knows that she'd rather die than go through this again. Dying now would be preferable to the waves of grief and fear that are coming in great choking waves.
But on top of her, John's lost in a hell of his own.
The headache has suddenly become so intense that it's crippling him. He jerks, as though in spasm as the woman below him blurs and distorts. But he can still hear her screams and her sobs and they tear at him, each tiny sound sending daggers of pain through his head.
And then she whispers that name and he knows in that instant that he has lost the battle.
"Roman, please help me..."
MARLENA!
And everything that John Black is and knows, shatters. It is almost as though one moment he is looking in a mirror that reflects his life and the next moment... that mirror explodes as though hit by a wrecking ball. The shards and fragments of his life, of everything he remembers, everything he is, scatter and fade. And then at last... there is nothing left.
It's a moment before Grace realizes that John has come to complete stillness and silence on top of her. Still choking back fearful tears, she opens her eyes.
Roman Brady looks completely horrified as he stares back at her, his azure eyes conveying the abject shock that has grabbed him.
And then suddenly, he scrambles desperately off the bed, stumbling as he pushes himself away from the bed. Away from her. His back hits the wall and he shakes his head, moaning.
"Jesus," he rasps. "God, what have I done? Oh God..."
His mouth fills with bile but he manages for force it down. He can't be weak now. He has to face this. He has to...
Grace is still crying as she drops her head back to the bed and painfully, she rolls onto her side and curls into a ball, burying her face in the covers.
"Shit!" Roman isn't quite sure if she'll let him anywhere near her. But he can't just leave her like that. Christ, Brady, pull yourself together! She needs you. It doesn't matter if she'll accept it or not. You have to do *something*....
Shaking, he makes his way to the other side of the bed and unpicks the knotted silk with trembling fingers. Her wrists are already bruised where the cord has cut into her flesh and he has to suppress a physical wave of nausea as she moans.
She draws her arms down into herself, curling into even more of a fetal position. Outside the room, Stefano is still banging on the door and cursing furiously, but Roman barely hears him.
He doesn't remember very much of what has just happened. It seems nothing more than a distant, fragmented memory, shrouded in the fog of time. He only knows that her cries had awoken him, given him strength to fight John Black. She might not be Marlena, but... there are ways in which she is still the woman he loves. He would *die* rather than hurt her. And he sure as hell isn't going to let John Black use his body to do it.
Quietly, he edges onto the bed beside her and with nervous fingers, he shifts her robe, smoothing it over the still naked flesh. He feels her shudder under his touch and he snatches his fingers back guiltily.
"Don't *touch* me," she cries mutedly.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, tears swimming in his own eyes. "God, I am *so* sorry."
Painfully, Grace lifts her head from the bedcovers. Her eye is already puffy and bruised. "If you're sorry," she whispers, "then just *leave* *me* *alone*."
"It wasn't..." Roman starts and then his voice fades. It wasn't him? Why would that matter to her? She has just been attacked and almost violated. By a man that had worn this face. How can he expect her to forgive him?
"Grace," he says softly. "I would never have let him hurt you. You *know* me. All the time we've spent together. Stefano told you I never loved you... but you know *better* than that now...."
After a painfully long moment of silence, punctuated only by Stefano's shouts, Grace uncurls slightly and pulls the robe around her.
It's at that moment that Stefano's henchman finally comes back with a key and Stefano unlocks the door. It swings open violently, hitting the dresser beside it and bouncing back slightly as Stefano strides into the room.
He takes one look at Grace and directs his full fury at Roman.
"Get *away* from her, John!" he bellows, his distress quite clear as he crosses the room to the bed.
Roman, however, has no intention of leaving Grace, and he blithely ignores Stefano's order. Instead, he catches her gaze with his own, dark and pleading. He has to find some way to connect with Marlena. He knows she's inside there. He knows now that Grace simply exists to protect Marlena from the pain that she has suffered. Both the pain he has caused and the pain Stefano has manipulated. And he can't hate her for that. He can't blame her for the wrongs that have brought her to life.
After all, she is part of the woman he loves.
He's so entranced by the play of emotions in her eyes that he is taken by surprise when Stefano's goon yanks him from the bed and sends him stumbling across the room. He stills himself on the sill of the open window as Stefano sits on the edge of the bed.
"Grace, my darling, are you all right?" Stefano reaches out to her, but she flinches away from his touch, scrambling backwards to the head of the bed, shrinking into the pile of pillows.
"Stay away from me!" she says angrily. She doesn't want his comfort, doesn't want his concern. She just wants... she wants.... Her head aches and the tears start again and she clenches her fists to her. "Leave me alone!"
"You heard her," Roman growls, his heart breaking for her. For both the little girl lost that is Grace and for his wife. "Get away from her."
"I rather think you should be the very *last* to speak, John," Stefano turns to his opponent, his voice full of rage. "You have gone *too* far this time! Simmons-" He indicates to his goon who immediately pulls a gun on Roman. "I have had enough of this *imposter*. He has overstayed his welcome." His visage twists into a grim approximation of a smile. He would prefer to be present, but Grace needs his attention, his care right now.
"It is time. Take him downstairs and *dispose* of him."