By night, stars; by day, family - alternate reality story

[Little-Sweetness]

Hi, everyone, and welcome to the start of my little side project that took far too long to start and far too much of my mind in recent weeks.

As you all might have guessed, I’m a die-hard fan of Stephanie Johnson, and have often felt that her character didn’t get the justice she deserved. Growing up, I was a huge fan of Steve and Kayla; and as a result I was expecting a welcome breath of fire in the long-awaited introduction of their legacy child. Finally, I thought to myself, her character would surely fire a necessary jolt of lightning and shake up Salem in the same manner that her father did back in the day — but unfortunately, I feel to this day that her character was somewhat wasted. She started out with promise as a feisty race car driver with enough attitude to cause an upset when it was necessary; but while I enjoyed the portrayal of the character herself by Shayna Rose and later, Shelley Hennig, the storylines for me just sort of flatlined. We went from sassy sports enthusiast who refused to take any bull from anyone, to a lovesick teenager getting tattoos and wearing belly shirts to shock people. Then we ventured into rape culture once again, kidnapping storylines, love triangles… but I digress.

Anyway, I went off on a rant when I was mainly trying to convey a point: which is that I’ve wanted to write my own take on Stephanie’s character for a long time. But to do that in the manner I really wanted, I first wanted to try my hand at re-writing a little bit of Days history first. For starters, in my own little made-up universe, Stephanie had to grow up with two loving parents. I know, in the land of fiction, this is a shocker. But to tell this story right, I wanted a long-forgotten family dynamic that I feel has been missing in recent episodes. And once I got over the whole “This is canon so it has to stay” mind-set (for the love of Pete, this is FANfiction, anything goes!) I decided to write a prequel of sorts and fix a few things for my ideal alternate Salem dimension.

So, that being said, we’re going to travel to the land of 1993, with a few major details changed:
1. Steve’s missing body is investigated, thoroughly.
— Thanks to the magic of the internet, I was able to watch Steve and Kayla’s full backstory, which I’m actually in the midst of enjoying right now. While I’m not at the business of our Patchman’s “death” just yet (I’ve only seen clips and read the synopsis), I know that his IV was poisoned after he was caught in a boat explosion and that his body was stolen. So with that in mind, in my world Kayla catches on that something is amiss here, and like her character has always done, she doesn’t give up on Steve. She knows he’s alive, and she’s going to find him…
2. And it’s going to happen way sooner than 2006.
— In this story, I’m speeding the “find Steve” part of the story up heavily. Kayla is involved, Jack is involved, Bo is involved, and Shane and Kimberly are involved (and yes, Shane and Kimberly are together in this story. Sorry to the “Shayla” fans out there, that’s not happening in my world). Not to spoil too much, but there is action here, folks. Salem is the launchpad, but we’re doing a good old-fashioned rescue mission here. Get ready for explosions!
3. This will tie in with another reunion.
— I will say no more, just read it and find out.

You’ll learn very quickly that I take writing fanfiction a little TOO seriously at times; but as a full-time writer I find a lot of enjoyment in goofing off and playing around in my imagination with the things I love. That being said, I welcome any form of criticism you have to throw my way. Just please keep in mind that I’m absolutely not trying to follow the actual story; aside from the events that took place before the end of Steve’s first run. So if you see something that is not in line with anything after that, the truth is that I probably meant to do that. But if something seems off and you want to point it out, well, that’s part of the reason why I’m only sharing this here with people who know the material!

Alright, enough of my rambling, and on to the fun. I’ve enjoyed writing this a lot, and I hope you enjoy reading it if you’re into this sort of thing.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER ONE

BO

Bo Brady forked over a handful of crisp bills and thanked the barista before she heaved a cardboard tray loaded with an assortment of piping hot caffeinated drinks into his arms — fuel for the worker bees back at the compound. Bo had signed up as the official “coffee gopher” about a month after the evidence in the case started piling up — not because the chore itself was particularly enjoyable for him, but because it gave him a good half hour of fresh air on the walk to and from the cafe, and a much needed brainstorming session over everything that was going on.
The disappearance of Bo’s best friend, Steve Johnson’s body was considered a cold case by the Salem P.D.; but the ISA was quick to snatch it up after Shane picked up a strange tidbit from a conversation between his wife, Kimberly, and his sister-in-law (Johnson’s widow), Kayla. No one expected Kayla to be in her right mind after the death of her husband — God only knows how much agony the two of them had gone through just to be together in the first place — but something about her urgency during her late-night call to their home after the chaos-turned-on-its-head funeral made Shane’s ears perk with interest and his mind reel with possibilities.
“Kim, he was FINE. He was awake, and talking to us, and then he just started feeling so weak,” Kayla’s words lurched out between aggressive sobs while Kim patted her shoulder. “It wasn’t the explosion, he made it through that. Something or someone else did this, and I KNOW it was the same people who stole his body!”
Shane had bolted out the door and straight to Bo with the information; and Bo had launched into action. Like Steve, Bo wasn’t afraid to get creative for a little information; and they had plenty of friends willing to help out at the hospital. Thanks to a lot of help and cooperation (God saw the need for an angel on earth the day Alice Horton came into the world), they weren’t only able to get Johnson’s patient file (Bo had paper cuts for months after taping together an entire month’s contents from a document shredder that Dr. Marcus Hunter saved just before they went into the incinerator), but they got enough statements to nail a suspect in the case.
That’s when Bo and Shane really had some fun. The good cop/bad cop routine always worked, and they’d managed to get a confession and a name for the drug that had been used to poison Steve’s IV.
But here was the kicker: that drug wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to knock someone out. Thanks to some tampering with the equipment, it was easy to understand how Steve might have looked dead at the time. But who’s to say what happened after that?
The suspect was clueless, as they figured he would be. But that was enough to reopen the case under a much more thorough agency. It was just too bad that Kayla figured it out, too. Against the wishes of practically everyone in the division, she'd taken a sabbatical at the Emergency Center, and delved into the investigation along with everyone else. The only person who'd encouraged this act was Shane, who'd pointed out that her personal involvement with the case had already lead them to their first clue. Perhaps her perspective was needed here.
But judging by the way the case had up-ended her life in the past three years — she was still MIA from her day job about 50 percent of the time — Bo was still adamant about Kayla slowing down.

Back at the compound, Bo’s arrival yielded a sigh of relief from the majority of the team. The chorus of chairs pushing back and agents stampeding towards the break room lasted a total of 30 seconds, before leaving the room almost completely empty.
Like he always did, Bo made his way over to the desk Kayla had commandeered about three weeks into the investigation. He rapped on the edge of it and handed over a latte and a chocolate-coated biscotti.
“Thanks,” his sister spoke flatly, never looking up from her screen.
“Kay… please take ten minutes. You’ve been staring at that box all day,” Bo said in a half-hearted attempt.
Kayla shook her head and used one hand to pry the lid from her drink. She dunked the biscotti and brought it to her mouth, her eyes still on the screen.
“Bo, do you still have those security cam shots from that mall in Santa Fe?” she finally asked him.
“Kayla, you’ve stared at those images five times now. It’s not him.”
“Please Bo, just get them,” she pressed.
“Look Kay, you agonized about this yesterday and when I showed them to you, you still didn’t notice anyth—“
“Well, maybe I’m missing something!” she snapped, sweeping her arm and accidentally knocking the piping hot drink all over her desk. She shot up from her seat and cursed before she began rummaging around for something to clean it up.
Bo held up his hand and she froze, blinking back the threat of tears. She’d been like this a lot in the last week; Bo suspected it had something to do with Stephanie starting preschool. Bo ran to the break room and dodged the chattering mass of agents, returning to the scene of the spill with a full roll of paper towels. Kayla took them from him and sniffed, patting herself down before she began cleaning off her keyboard.
“Bo, I’m sorry. It’s just been very stressful lately and I’m afraid that I might have missed something,” she said, her voice shaking.
Bo skirted around her desk and grabbed Kayla in a tight hug.
“I get it, Kay. I want to find him too. But you have to slow it down a bit for your own sake as much as Steph’s, alright?”
Kayla nodded. “Fine… just please, get me the file first.”
Bo sighed, and went back to his cabinet to do what she’d asked.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

BO (CONT.)


The rest of the day went on without incident. Bo swallowed a lump in his throat every time a case wrapped up that wasn’t Steve’s; and today was the same as every other day had been for the past three years.
Bo had been invited to his parents’ house for dinner that night, and the evening settled into a comfortable silence when Bo’s father, Shawn, offered to take his grandson out for a little bit of fishing.
“You’d be surprised how well the fish bite after dark!” his father always said. Shawn Douglas was positively beaming as he grabbed his grandfather’s spare fishing pole and the duo had clomped out the door loaded with their gear. Bo helped his mother, Caroline, finish up the dishes, before sitting back down at the table.
“So,” Caroline began cautiously, “Do you know why Kayla didn’t make it tonight?”
Bo shot his mother an apologetic look, and she waved her hand dismissively. “Nevermind, I think I already know.”
“She’s just been under a lot of stress lately, Ma. The case has been pretty flat lately, and we don’t have any new leads.”
Caroline sighed. “I just hope she’s not working herself too hard over this. It’s not good for her or for Stephanie.”
“Yeah… I keep telling her that, too. But you know how Kayla is,” Bo answered.
Caroline smiled. “We can’t fault her for that now, can we?”
“Can’t fault me for what?” came a voice from behind Bo, startling him. He turned to see Kayla hauling a plate full of donuts into the kitchen. She placed them in the middle of the table and maneuvered around it to give her mother a peck on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late. These are from Alice.”
Caroline hugged Kayla and pulled out a chair for her to sit. Kayla smiled across the table at Bo, but froze when she saw the look on her brother’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Bo shook his head. “Nothing. I’m glad you’re here… we were starting to wonder.”
Kayla’s face colored. “Sorry… paperwork.”
She and Bo stared at each other in silence for a minute, before Caroline cut in. “It was nice of Alice to send these our way. Did she stop by the office today?”
Kayla’s stare didn’t leave Bo's. “Yes, she came by to see how everything was going, and she reminded me that ‘family time would be a breath of fresh air for me.’” She smiled.
“Like I said,” Bo pointed out. His sister "harrumphed" in response.
“Where’s Stephanie?” Caroline asked.
“At home with Adrienne. So I can’t really stay — but I wanted to come by and say hello,” Kayla said. She squeezed her mother’s hand before standing up again and making her way to the door.
“Kayla, why don’t you come by here tomorrow for lunch instead?” Caroline offered.
Kayla smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll be here.”
Bo stood and Kayla glared. She made her way to the door, and Bo followed her outside.
A few steps from the door, Kayla wheeled to face him. “Look. I know I messed up tonight, but with everything going on I honestly forgot what time it was. So just don’t start with me.”
Bo sighed and pressed his fingers against his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.
“Kay, I’m not trying to start anything with you. But you can’t let this take over your life. The rest of your family needs you, too.”
“I’m aware of that. But someone has to take this case seriously; and if it’s not me, who else will it be?”
“ME. He’s my best friend, and I’m not letting this case get away from us.” Bo stepped forward and grasped Kayla’s shoulders. “Look at me, Kay.”
She glared up at him.
“Please, just trust me. We’re going to get to the bottom of this thing and bring Steve home. But you can’t do this by yourself. No one expects you to.”
Kayla nodded, and dropped her head to stare at the ground. “Fine. But don’t expect me to give his up. I know I’m not as seasoned with this kind of work as you and Shane are, but I’m in on this. And I’m staying on this case until we find him. Please understand THAT.”
“Okay,” Bo said simply, and dropped his hands to his sides.
Kayla nodded, and turned back towards home.

A few hours later, Bo returned to his house boat without Shawn D., who elected to stay the night at his grandparents’ so they wouldn’t have to cut the fishing trip short. Knowing he wouldn’t have time in the morning, he stepped into the shower and sighed as the warm water jetted over his body, washing the day away. When he was finished, he dried off and headed into the bedroom to lay out a fresh set of clothes for in the morning.
It didn’t matter how many times he passed by that nightstand: her piercing eyes always caught his full attention. He plucked up the framed picture of Hope and touched his lips to the image of hers.
“I miss you, Fancy Face, every day,” he whispered as he admired her smile. He wished he could talk to her more than anything right now. If she were here, she’d know exactly what to do.
Glancing up at the mirror, he turned to catch a glimpse of the dagger tattoo on his back — the tattoo that he’d gotten with Steve when they were in the Merchant Marines together. Steve had gotten an identical dagger tattooed on his chest, a sign of brotherhood, at least before things had turned ugly between the two of them. But that was then.
“Steve, buddy, if you’re out there, you have to give us some kind of a hint,” he spoke into the quiet room, as if his best friend were right in front of him. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your family. They need you.”
Exhausted and discouraged, Bo sighed and sank onto the mattress, falling asleep before his head had even settled on the pillow.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER TWO

KAYLA

Kayla quietly opened the door to her home to find Adrienne perched on the end of the couch, her nose buried in a Stephen King novel. Kayla shut the door behind her quietly, but even that sound was enough to make her sister-in-law jump.
“Oh! Kayla! I’m sorry… this is pretty intense stuff,” Adrienne regarded her with an embarrassed chuckle. She dog-eared the page and clapped the volume shut, dropping it on the coffee table. “I just put Steph to bed a few minutes ago; but she’s probably still awake.”
Adrienne paused. “She seemed upset today.”
“Bad day at school again?” Kayla asked as she shrugged out of her jacket.
“Nothing she’d talk to me about. Just sad about things, i think,” Adrienne replied.
Kayla regarded Adrienne for a moment, and sighed. “I’m doing it again.”
“No, Kay, I didn’t mean —“ Adrienne began, but Kayla held up a hand to silence her.
“Please, don’t sugarcoat it. Bo has already given me his lecture, and he’s right,” Kayla said.
Adrienne patted the spot on the couch next to her, and Kayla flopped back against the soft cushions. It would be the most comfortable seat she’d had all day besides the 20-second rest at her mother’s house. Adrienne threw her arm up and Kayla leaned in, a nostalgia wave hitting her and reminding her of the thousands of late night heart-to-hearts she’d had with Kimberly over the years. She and Adrienne had always been good friends — but after Steve’s disappearance, they’d really bonded as sisters. Adrienne was young and optimistic about the search, and Kayla knew that when she needed support, she would always come through.
“What do you think he’s doing right now?” Kayla ventured, and Adrienne laughed.
“In that book I’m reading, there’s a prisoner trying to dig his way out of his cell with a spoon,” she answered. “I could see him trying that.”
“A SPOON?!” Kayla laughed. “How on earth would that even work? Aren’t prison walls made of concrete?”
Adrienne chuckled. “Yup. But he’s managing it so far.”
“Well in that case, I hope wherever Steve is, he can find himself a good sharp kitchen utensil,” Kayla replied.
Adrienne grinned. “Knowing my brother, Kay, even if he didn’t, he’d probably use his bare hands.”
She was right, Kayla thought to herself, feeling a wave of comfort wash over her. “If he’s working as hard as I am for us to find each other again, we’re at least cutting the wait time in half, right?”
“Right!” Adrienne agreed. “And imagine the look on his captor’s face right before he brings those same fists out for some revenge.”
“Ha, I’d like to get in on that myself,” Kayla said.
“Cheers to that!” Adrienne exclaimed, holding up her hand for a fist bump that Kayla returned with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
But resting her head back against the couch, the wave passed and left her feeling lower than ever. “But still… how long is that going to be?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Kayla, you can’t think like that," Adrienne admonished.
But Kayla was already sobbing. Adrienne reached for the tissue box on the coffee table and handed one to Kayla.
“Stephanie is already four years old. She just st- started preschool. He’s missed so much of her life, Adrienne,” Kayla managed to choke out. “And I can’t stop thinking about how much more time he’ll m-miss if I don’t figure this wh-whole thing out. And now she’s losing m-me too!”
“Hey, now,” Adrienne soothed, giving her a hug.
Boy, Kayla thought, she must be in pretty bad shape to get two of these in one day.
Adrienne pulled back. “Now, what do you think my brother would say to you right now if he were here?”
Kayla laughed through her tears. “He’d tell me to p-pull myself together and t-trust that everything will be okay,” she answered.
Adrienne nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what he’d say.” She ventured a glance towards the stairs, before looking back at Kayla. “He’d also tell you to get your butt upstairs and read his ‘little sweetness’ a bedtime story.”

After Kayla took a moment to compose herself, and Adrienne had excused herself for the evening, she softly padded up the stairs and down the hallway to her daughter’s room. The door was open a crack, and Stephanie’s night light cast a soft glow into the hallway.
She rapped three times against the door frame. “Steph? Are you still awake, sweetheart?”
“Mhm,” came a tired reply.
Kayla opened the door to find Stephanie snuggled under the covers, hugging a familiar stuffed bear against her cheek. The worn old thing was raggedy, with several rips and a stubborn ear that Kayla herself had stitched back in place time and time again over the years, but it still sported that old patch over its eye.
Kayla sat on the edge of the bed, and reached out to trace one of the bear’s many scars from countless “operations.”
“Did Max give you that?” Kayla asked Stephanie.
“Mhm,” she mumbled again, hugging the plush even more tightly.
“That was nice of him,” Kayla said.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Sweetheart?”
“You missed bedtime again.”
Kayla’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know, baby. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry.”
“Is it too late to do bedtime again now?” Stephanie asked.
Kayla smiled. “Of course not, kiddo.” She stood up and made her way to the book shelf while her daughter crawled out of bed and stood on her tiptoes to turn on the light.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

KAYLA (CONT.)

“What’ll it be tonight, baby? ‘The Velveteen Rabbit?’ Or maybe we could start something longer like ‘Matilda?”
Stephanie wrinkled her nose as she crawled back into bed, paused, and answered simply, “I want a real story.”
Stephanie’s “real story” requests had been coming a lot lately, which Kayla assumed was a reflection on how hard she’d been working on Steve’s case. Whenever things started going south in the past, Kayla would feel a sense of urgency to make sure Stephanie knew as much about her father as possible; and she herself hungered for an excuse to remind herself about what she was fighting to get back.
When Stephanie got older, she latched onto the stories with fervor, wanting to hear about the time Papa saved Max from the water; or the time Papa dressed up as “Patchy Claus” for the kids at the Riverfront. Kayla knew hearing stories about Steve made Stephanie happy; but what she didn’t know was how much she herself smiled when she told the stories, and how that made Stephanie happy, too.
Kayla settled onto the bed and Stephanie snuggled up under her arm. Tonight, Kayla told her about the boxing ring Steve had set up at the Riverfront Community Center for the wayward youth in that area of the neighborhood; and how Frankie had visited the ring for a one-on-one match and accidentally launched himself over the ropes and onto a fresh plate of refreshments Kayla had just finished for an evening class she was setting up. Stephanie giggled as Kayla recalled the fruit punch dripping from Frankie’s hair and staining his shirt bright red.
“Why did Papa set up a ring for people to fight? I thought fighting was bad,” Stephanie asked her mother.
Kayla threaded her fingers through Stephanie’s hair, and carefully considered her answer. “Well, baby, sometimes people feel really really bad about things, and they need to get that feeling out any way they can. The boxing ring let the boys on the Riverfront do that, but in a safe way so they couldn’t really hurt anybody.”
“Like when Max got on the bumper cars and ‘boomed’ into the wall over and over and laughed about it?” Stephanie asked, bringing forth a snort from Kayla.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Kayla said.
“Mama… I get sad about Papa sometimes. Can I have something to box?” Stephanie asked.
Kayla looked down at her. “Baby, someday I think that would be a great way to do it. But you’re still pretty little for it.”
Stephanie sighed, and nodded. “Okay, Mama.”
Kayla eyed the bear, and had an idea. “I’ll tell you what you can do though, the next time you feel sad. You see this bear Max gave you? It’s a really special bear, and it has a special link to your Papa. Did you know that?”
Stephanie nodded, grinning. “Max said Papa gave it to him a long time ago. It’s why he gave it to me.”
“Well, what Max didn’t tell you is that this bear right here,” Kayla said, holding it up for Stephanie to see, “has your papa’s very first patch that he ever wore.”
“Really?!” Stephanie exclaimed. She reached out and carefully touched a finger to the patch.
“Yes. So that means whenever you have this bear with you, you have a piece of your papa close by. So when you feel sad, I want you to give that bear the biggest BEAR hug you possibly can,” Kayla said.
Stephanie grabbed the bear and squeezed it in a huge bear hug. Kayla smiled. “That’s right. And your papa felt that hug, no matter where he is.”

After finishing the story, Kayla followed up with their “goodnight” ritual: tucking the covers in around Stephanie super tight: “snug as a bug in a rug.”
Stephanie popping her arms free over the top of the blanket: “stubborn little bug crawled right out!”
And finally, Stephanie’s “Good Night” poem: one that her Aunt Kimberly wrote for her when she was born, and Kayla had recited (and signed) to her every night. Kayla had decided long before she’d had children that she would teach them the same language she’d used to retain her link to her family when she’d lost her hearing. The poem had been a gift from Kimberly, “to start this little one off right.”
They recited it together, Stephanie’s small hands miming her mother’s:
“When I lay under the moon, and close my eyes at night,
I know the stars are shining up above me, strong and bright;
And through the night they will stand watch until the morning light,
While in my dreams I sail the seas and spread my wings in flight.
For all the stars that twinkle in the sky so far above;
Take all the light that’s in our hearts and shine bright with our love;
I will not fear the darkness, for they always are with me;
By night, in dreams, they are the stars; by day, they’re family.”
Kayla kissed Stephanie on the forehead, and tucked the covers around her once more for good measure.
“Need the night light anymore?” she asked.
“No. I'm okay,” Stephanie replied.
Kayla smiled and stood up, padding softly back to the door. She left it open just a crack, and whispered one more “goodnight” before continuing down the hall to her bedroom.

Kayla’s private bedtime ritual wasn’t as uplifting. Changing into her nightgown, she glanced into the mirror to see her reflection look more tired than ever. She shook her head and returned to the simple tasks at hand: hair: brushed. teeth: brushed; clothes: on the dresser for tomorrow.
All that was left was to crawl into bed.
Kayla considered staying awake just a little longer. She’d brought a few papers home with her, just in case she was attacked with another case of insomnia. But she thought better of it. Bo was right, at least, to a point. And being honest with herself, she knew that she couldn’t keep up her search for Steve to this degree and still take care of herself for the sake of her family.
Sighing, she plopped down on the edge of the mattress, and glanced longingly at the picture on her night stand. She reached over and picked it up, tracing Steve’s face as he smiled up at her from the frame.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to need to hold onto you for a bit,” she whispered. Still grasping the frame, she pulled back the covers and crawled in. Settled, she hugged the picture to her chest, letting the tears come until she finally drifted off to sleep.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER THREE

“NICK”

In another place on the other side of the world, Inmate #346 of the Aremid Penitentiary rolled from side to side on the sorry cot in his dingy little corner of the prison, the first and only place he could remember clearly. The lights in his cell flicked on, casting everything in a fluorescent wash that blinded him for a moment. He squinted and waited for his vision to adjust, then turned, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. He took care of his morning rituals before maneuvering back to the cot, this time sitting up against the back wall and turning so that his left ear pressed against the concrete.
“Lights on, my friend,” he called softly. “Any plans for today?”
A muffled response came from the groggy inmate next door. “Oh, the same. Shopping at Melrose, dinner at the Met, possibly taking in an opera this evening. You?”
He chuckled. “Eh, figured I’d take in a Red Sox game, then take the private jet over to Paris for dinner with Stevie Nicks. The usual.”
There was a moment of silence, and the voice came again. “I thought I dreamed about something last night from before this place, but now I can’t remember it.”
The inmate furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember if he’d had any dreams, but couldn’t recall anything. “Are they taking you anywhere today?”
“If they were, they wouldn’t announce it to me beforehand, would they?”
More silence.
“What do you think they want from us?” the voice asked.
“You ask me that every day, baby. I have no clue what they want. But whatever it is, it’s not to make us well again.”
“You’re definitely right about that,” his neighbor replied.
He had a sudden flicker in the back of his mind, and laughed.
“What?” came the voice.
“I don't know… I just wish I had a spoon.”
Silence, and then, “… Why?”
“Just something I thought I remembered for a minute. I think I remembered it from a book or something.”
“Forget the spoon. I want a bazooka and an underground tunnel,” the voice joked.
The two chatted on for a minute, trading fantasies about their dreams of escaping, until they heard the familiar clatter of someone coming down the hallway.
“That’s our cue. Good luck today, and let me know if you get any ideas,” the patient said.
“Same to you,” the voice responded. “Talk to you later, Nick.”
Nick Stockton: the name they called him had just never seemed to stick. Considering the nature of their treatment here, he was certain it was just another lie. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and adjusting the patch over his left eye.
“Later, Gina,” he replied.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER FOUR:

NICK

A long time ago, Nick kept a calendar etched into the back wall of his cell, even though he had no way of keeping track of what day it actually was. In his mind, the first day counted as a Monday, and subsequent days followed. But over the years the chore seemed more and more pointless. The drugs his captors gave him made him lose all sense of time; and he would lose days and sometimes weeks at a time during their tedious experiments. Then came weeks at a time when nothing would happen; and the boredom made each day blend into the next. He slept when he could; rummaged around in his brain for any memory or anything that seemed the least bit concrete, but even those were slipping away. He remembered faintly that he could play an instrument; a flute or some kind of pipe, but he wasn’t sure. They didn’t exactly offer musical recreation in this place, so he didn’t get much of a chance to find out. He also knew a little bit of sign language, but he could only remember enough to piece together a small line from a poem he’d learned from someone long before he’d wound up here.
As for the rest, it was all a blur of faces, colors, a few words here and there that held a mysterious significance for him. “Brother” was one, so he figured he had one somewhere. There was also the color yellow; a color that for some reason he liked very much. Once when he was granted a bit of yard time after several weeks of silence and lack of nasty business on his part (fighting with the guards was pointless; but for Nick, it was something to do, at least for a while), he’d used the time to count things that were yellow. The number didn’t get very high; had it not been for a stripe on one of the guards’ uniforms and a bird that had flown overhead just before he was escorted back inside, the number would have been zero.
Nick’s memories weren’t safe in his mind; and he couldn’t put them on paper because he wasn’t allowed any; so he did the best he could to preserve them by swapping the puzzle pieces with his neighboring inmate, Gina. They’d discovered they could talk to each other by chance one evening. He’d been thrown in his cell after a scuffle with the guards, and he’d found some relief for his blacked-out “good” eye by pressing the side of his face against the cool wall beside his cot. He’d heard Gina crying on the other side of the wall, and called out. The exchange was muffled, but by the grace of whatever being up there that cared about both of their levels of sanity, they were able to speak to one another clearly enough.
At that point, Nick and Gina had not been allowed to converse with or even see one another, or any other inmates, for that matter. Gina’s and Nick’s names were triple-underlined under the “trouble” category, due to their lack of cooperation and consistent aggression whenever they were removed for testing or assignments. So they made a pact with each other to play “good guys” long enough to gain some privileges.
When their plan worked weeks (months?) down the line, they were allowed half an hour in the mess hall in the mornings and evenings.
Gina’s voice, muffled as it was, had struck a faint chord in Nick’s memory, but he’d dismissed it as wishful thinking. A few times, he’d noticed a small depression around the skin on his left ring finger, which made him wonder if he’d ever been married. So he figured any female voice at this point would only serve to confirm that memory. Nick wasn’t even sure if his name was real; much less if he’d been a family man or even the type of man some woman would be crazy enough to chain herself to.
The first day of Nick’s “free” schedule, he was led by the guards — masked freaks that they were — into the mess hall, throwing him at the back of the line with several other inmates.
“One problem out of you, Stockton, and I’ll put you back down for room service,” one of the guards barked. Nick bit back a smart-aleck reply, and stared straight ahead into the room.
They’d seen each other immediately.
“Okay, you’re going to think I’m absolutely nuts, but I know you,” Gina’d said when he’d finally grabbed his tray — not even bothering to check what was on it — and sat across from her.
“Pretty sure that’s wishful thinking, baby,” he’d countered. But she was right. This woman definitely looked familiar.
He’d glanced at her hand, noticing a similar depression on her ring finger, and pointed.
“Hah, maybe we were married.”
Gina threw her head back and laughed. “Ha! Yeah, then they threw us in cells right next to each other. Small world.”
Nick chuckled. “Yup, you’re probably right. But I gotta admit, I do feel like I remember you from somewhere.”
They’d discussed the possibilities at length. Sister? Unlikely, given that they didn’t resemble each other in the slightest. Enemy? Doubtful, though that wouldn’t surprise Nick — their tempers along with their very presence here indicated that they had at least one enemy somewhere in the world.
Nick had told Gina about the tattoo on his chest — a dagger, probably some kind of memento from a wild night in high school, he’d assumed — but he wasn’t exactly in a place where he could show her without looking suspicious. But a few weeks into their meetings, he’d managed to “accidentally” rip his shirt open enough for her to get a look.
Gina’s eyes had widened, and then furrowed in confusion. “Yup, something’s ringing a bell. Big time,” she’d finally said. But she couldn’t tell him why.
Perhaps it had been the recognition, or perhaps it was because they only had each other in this place. But an alliance formed from that point on. Together, they were going to find a way out of here, and back to wherever it was they came from. And whether the higher powers at Aremid liked it or not, they were going to remember who they were again.

Today’s breakfast, all things considered, seemed pretty hopeful. Nick found Gina deep in thought when he claimed his usual seat across from her. The buzz of inmates chatting around them hummed and fell around them like waves.
“I had a baby,” she finally said.
“Gina, didn’t you know that already?” Nick replied. She’d told him about the stretch marks long before this conversation. He’d never forget the blushing - it had been kinda cute.
“No, I mean, I was convinced that I’d been pregnant already, Nick. But remember how I told you I was dreaming last night? Well, I finally remembered some of it. Nick, I SAW HIM,” she said.
The duo paused their conversation as one of the guards patrolled by. When he was safely away, she continued.
“He was perfect. I was in the delivery room with him, and he’d grabbed a hold of someone’s finger while they were kneeling next to the hospital bed,” she said, her eyes glimmering.
“The father?” Nick asked.
“I suppose so. But I can’t remember him. That part was too fuzzy. I wish I could.”
“One thing at a time. What did your baby look like?”
Gina recalled every detail she could pull from her dream from the night before: a head full of dark hair, the way his face crinkled when he smiled, his eyes, “they were like mine!” she’d gushed.
Dream or memory, it didn’t matter. Nick pressed. “Was there an ID bracelet? Did someone say a name?”
Her smile widened. “Shawn. His name was Shawn.”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted when the shadow of one of the guards fell over the two of them.
“Von Amberg, please come with us,” a voice drawled from behind the solid black screen of the guard’s mask.
“Dude, what’s the problem here? My friend and I were just having a nice conversation here,” Nick said as he attempted to stand up. Another hand shoved him back down — a second guard serving as backup — as the first guard hauled Gina from her seat and began dragging her away.
“No! Stop this! She didn’t do anything!” Nick cried out, struggling as the second guard pulled him backwards. He watched helplessly as they dragged Gina away. Sensing the inevitable, she went limp. Fighting was pointless. He knew that and she knew that. But he couldn’t help but feel that this was his fault.

Later that evening from his perch on the cot, he heard the tired muffle of Gina’s voice on the other side of the wall.
“… Nick?” she called.
“Hey baby… how are you doing over there?” he replied, his voice breaking.
“I’m okay,” she said, pausing before the inevitable question came. The lights in their cells went out, and the small bulbs in the hallway of their cell block blinked on, casting the faintest of glows through the slatted windows on the doors of their cells.
“Nick… I remembered something today, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” he choked. “You’re a mama.”
Another pause, and then a sob from the opposite side of the wall wracked another shudder of guilt through Nick.
“I remembered my baby?” she replied softly.
He recalled the morning’s conversation with Gina through the wall, careful to be quiet enough so the guards outside wouldn’t hear, while Gina continued crying. She traced the marks on her skin that served as proof of her long-ago pregnancy as she listened, trying to put the picture back together in her mind.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER FIVE

BO

It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning; and Bo had decided to take a breather from the piles of paperwork waiting on his desk to spend some quality time with Shawn Douglas. They’d packed a lunch for an afternoon at the park, where they were surprised to find Kayla and Stephanie.
The kids had run off to the playground together, and Shawn D. was giving his little cousin a push on the swings. With every swing, Stephanie would kick her feet in the air and giggle. They continued like that for several minutes until they were joined by Frankie and Max, who steered them over to the basketball court for a round of “Horse.”
Frankie threw a hand up at Kayla, which she returned before going back to her picnic basket. She pulled out a chicken salad sandwich and used her hands to tear it in half, handing one to Bo.
Bo was distracted, watching Max and Shawn D. taking great pains to include Stephanie in the basketball game. Max was coaching Stephanie at one of the lower hoops, showing her the “granny style” throw where you use both hands to lob the ball through the hoop.
“I wish you and Roman would have been that patient with me when I was little,” Kayla joked between bites of chicken, then giggled when Bo picked some of the crust off of his sandwich and threw it at her.
“Maybe if you’d managed to make a basket or two, we would’ve!” Bo teased. He held his hands up in a mock throwing gesture and dramatically huffed, raising his voice several octaves in mockery: “I missed agaiiiin!”
“Shut up, I wasn’t that whiny,” Kayla retorted.
Bo laughed, “Uh, yeah, you definitely were.”
Kayla fake-pouted for a second, then smiled. “Well, it worked on Mom and Dad at least.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Bo said.
They watched the kids for another minute, and Bo found himself sinking deep into his own thoughts. He’d been so hard on Kayla these last few weeks, but he had to admit that he knew the pain she was going through all too well.
“I know that look,” Kayla said, jarring Bo from a daydream of one of his visits here with Hope.
“What look?” Bo asked.
Kayla tossed a piece of sandwich crust aside and wiped her hands on a napkin. “You know what look.”
Bo sighed, and Kayla regarded him for a minute before finally asking, “How do you get through it?”
“You mean without her? Watching our son grow up before my very eyes and knowing Hope will never see it? Thinking about how he’s never going to know what an amazing person his mother was? Or see his parents together as a strong, solid couple setting a good example for what his family will hopefully be someday?”
Bo frowned, leaning back on his elbows and turning his face into the sky, shutting his eyes against the glaring sun overhead.
“I have no clue how I do it, Kay. Somehow the world just… keeps going…”
“… Without them in it,” Kayla finished.
Bo turned to face his sister, suddenly realizing how harsh his petty ranting must have sounded to her, of all people.
“It’s not the same with you and Steve. We’re going to find him, Kayla.”
“Then why do you want me off of this case, Bo?” she asked him.
Bo kept his voice steady, gesturing with his eyes towards the basketball court. “Because of you… and because of that little one over there.”
Kayla followed his eyes to where the kids were playing; this time Stephanie had the basketball, dribbling it cross the field and shrieking with laughter while the boys chased after her.
“I don’t want you off the case permanently, Kay. But I think you need to pick up your life in Salem too,” Bo said. “Maybe just a few times a week, log in some hours at that emergency center that you and Steve worked so hard to rebuild. Spend some time with your friends and family. Make your life a priority again.”
Bo thought for a second and added, “And when you have the time, I’ll make sure the vultures at the office leave your desk alone so it’ll be waiting for you.”
Kayla laughed. “You be sure they do, or I’ll be sending some patients to that center myself.”
Bo stared. “Is that a, ‘Yes, dear brother, you’re absolutely right!’ or is that just my wishful thinking?”
“I’m saying that… I’ll try,” Kayla promised.

That evening, Kayla offered to take Shawn D. with them to Caroline and Shawn’s for dinner while he finished some paperwork. It was past midnight when he started wrapping things up, and he was interrupted by the phone ringing.
He picked up the receiver: “Brady.”
A familiar voice answered: “Uh… yeah, hey Bo. It’s me. If you have a minute, I think I might have something interesting that might have to do with my brother’s case.”
Bo straightened back in his seat. “This better be good, Jack,” he said.

 

[the look of love]

Good Job! You got me hooked. I can't wait for the next chapter.

 

[Little-Sweetness]

Thanks, look of love!

Posting a small chapter today; following up with more hopefully this weekend:

CHAPTER SIX

JACK

Jack Deveraux was always a force to be reckoned with; whether it was in politics, journalism or even on a personal level. This hadn’t always been a good thing; but in recent years, he’d been a lifesaver for the ISA.
A former giant in politics with an unhealthy previous establishment of “friends in low places,” Jack was a powerhouse under the Spectator when he first took the helm. The was just at the beginning of his road to redemption at that time — having previously been a walking nightmare in many lives, namely, Steve and Kayla’s, the details of which everyone had chosen to put aside for the sake of moving forward — but his true motivation to redeem himself came from meeting the love of his life, Jennifer; at that time, an intern for the paper.
After Steve was seemingly killed, Jack went on a rampage, seeking justice for his brother. Some believed it was in the name of penance for all he’d put Steve and Kayla through in the past; but Kayla surprisingly came to his defense after the investigation began and Jack had funneled several leads their way. His information had led to a few hopeful clues — unfortunately, all before ultimately falling flat — and Jack was given some respect at that point as a trusted informant. After all, with a premise as crazy as a staged death and kidnapping, they wanted all the help they could get.
From the beginning, Jack was convinced that Lawrence Alamain was behind Steve’s disappearance; but neither he or the ISA could ever nail down enough evidence to convict him.
But that was about to change.

“Alright, Jack, lay it out for me. What have you got?” Bo said, leaning back in his chair and using his desk as a footrest. It was nearing one o’clock in the morning and his exhaustion — mixed with a healthy dose of defeat after the last three leads Jack fed them going belly-up — had left him with very little patience to entertain a visit from Deveraux that evening.
But Jack wasn’t having it. Practically bouncing in his boots, he tossed a folder on Bo’s desk and gestured with a flourish.
“Read. Quickly,” Jack said, plopping down in the chair opposite Bo’s desk. He waited impatiently, tapping his foot and glancing at his watch several times while Bo settled back with the folder, skimming through the pages with feigned interest.
About halfway through, feigned became tentative, and then downright urgent.
“What is this?” he demanded, leafing through the pages more quickly. “How did you get this information?”
Jack grinned. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.
“Cut the crap, Jack. A prison in Bali, with 75 percent of the shareholdings owned by Alamain? What would he want with something like that?”
“There’s the million dollar question now, isn’t it?” Jack replied, reaching forward to pluck the folder out of Bo’s hands. He leafed through a few more pages until he found what he was looking for. He slapped another page on the desk, the text facing Bo. “This prison,” he said, “has been in operation for more than ten years; and in that time it has been shut down and relocated three different times - always in a remote location, and always without any press.
He pointed to the dates, and Bo cocked an eyebrow at the last relocation date: October, 1990, the month Steve's body went missing.
"Also," Jack continued, "The place has absolutely no documentation whatsoever to put it on the map. There isn’t a public phone number, or an inmate database, nothing. We checked. A lot. To the public, it's like this place doesn't even exist.”
“So, how did YOU find out it existed?” Bo asked him.
Jack’s smile widened, his white teeth a stunning contrast to the dark circles that had begun forming around his eyes. Bo wondered how many cups of coffee he’d downed during the last 24 hours. “Let’s just say Jen and I decided to snoop around the Alamain mansion a little bit last night.”
Bo shook his head. “Jack, we clearly stated that you were to leave the Alamains out of his until we had something concrete. Getting yourself arrested for harassment isn’t going to help us here!”
“Right. And look how far that’s gotten us! Look at these documents! Look at the name of the prison! This is a lead, Bo! And we wouldn’t have found it if it wasn’t for us finally saying, to hell with the system!”
“Spoken like a true Johnson,” Bo muttered, smirking as he returned to the document. He read the name aloud, sounding it out carefully. “Aremid Penitentiary… Aremid…”
He paused, the cogs in his addled brain turning slowly, and then he groaned, threading both hands in his hair and tugging the strands angrily.
“Dimera... after all this time. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

[redsquirrel]

This is how Days used to be written!

 

[the look of love]

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE CONFERENCE

The next morning, Bo had barely slept at all. The implications of what he’d read in that folder ran laps in his brain in a frenzied blur as he jetted towards Kayla’s house. He reached it in what felt like minutes, pulling up on his bike and revving the engine a few times to announce his arrival. A few moments passed before a tiny hand pried open the slatted blinds of the living room window for a peek outside.
At the same time, Kayla emerged, confused, and met Bo at the end of her driveway.
“Bo, what’s going on? I was just about to leave for the emergency center,” she told him.
“Uncle Bo!” Stephanie cried as she trotted outside, throwing her arms out as Bo caught her in a hug, lifting her up in the air.
“Hey little bug! You behaving yourself?” He asked, and she nodded.
Still holding his niece, he returned his attention to Kayla.
“Yeah sis, there’s been a change of plans. You’re coming with me today. Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Kayla’s eyes widened. “A lead?”
Bo nodded, setting Stephanie back down. He dropped to his knees and put hands on Stephanie’s shoulders. “Your aunt Adrienne here?” he asked her.
Stephanie nodded again.
“Okay, good. I want you to run inside and play. Be good and do everything she tells you, and I’ll have your mama back here in a jiffy, okay?”
Stephanie turned to her mother. “Mama, is Papa coming home?”
Kayla stuttered, looking to Bo for help.
Bo coughed, and Stephanie turned back to him. “Uncle Bo?”
Bo smiled. “I don’t know yet, sweetheart, but we’re looking really hard, and we’re not giving up. Okay?”

An hour later, Bo faced a packed conference room, flanked by Jack and Jennifer Deveraux and armed with Jack’s folder. Several other agents and law enforcement officers were seated, pens at the ready; including Shane Donovan, Roman Brady and John Black. At the front of the conference table perched Kayla, looking up at the trio expectantly.
“Alright everyone, I called this meeting to brief you on a new lead in the Johnson case. As you all know, this monster has been eating away at us for a long time, and we’ve had a number of helping hands trying to chip away at it with no success.
“But as Johnson himself would have told me from the very beginning, we’ve been going at this the wrong way; namely, by following protocol.”
John cocked an eyebrow at this, swallowing his amusement as he remembered the number of verbal sparring matches he’d had with Steve over the years about how “the system” never worked for anybody. How fitting this would be the case now.
“So, what have we got, Brady?” John asked.
Bo looked to Jack, who turned and gave Jennifer a supportive nod. Jennifer took the papers Bo offered her and stood at the head of the conference table.
“Alright, so as Bo put it, I’ll state up front that Jack and I didn’t get this information through the most… honest… of means… but after seeing what we have here, I think you’ll agree that this is something worth looking into.”
She opened the folder and picked up the first page, placing it on a projector for the room to see. Projected on the wall behind her was a frenzied mess of notes, with a bold-faced header reading “Aremid Penitentiary.”
“We’re looking at a prison?” Shane asked, confused.
“We’re not sure what it is yet, but after what I’ve managed to sift through with Jack over the last 36 hours, I’m convinced that it’s more of a concentration camp or even a brainwashing facility,” Jennifer answered. She used a pen to shove the first page aside, and then pointed with the tip of the instrument at a paragraph she’d underlined.
“This is from a stack of correspondence I found between Lawrence Alamain and a man by the name of Dr. Wilhelm Rolf. Although there are no documents to prove this, it appears by these letters that he is the head of this operation.
From his stance beside Bo, Jack added, “I’m not sure what kind of a doctor this man claims to be, but he’s into some pretty crazy stuff.”
Roman squinted as he read the paragraph: “Inmate status has improved drastically since the introduction of bi-weekly shock therapy and deep hypnosis exercises; particularly after the eradication of our most problematic resident, #045. The perimeter remains secure, and there is no reason to believe our location has been compromised at this time.”
“Wait a minute, eradication? So we have proof in print here that he’s offing prisoners?” John asked.
“Looks like it,” Jennifer said, her lips set in a firm line.
Roman kept reading: “Segregation has also proven to be a tremendous help not only in categorizing our successful efforts; but in encouraging our more problematic specimens. Inmates #345 and #346 continue to elude full compliance, but not to worry; I’ve taken into account the special assignment our esteemed benefactor has in mind for these two, and they will not be eliminated unless critical interference is necessary.”
Roman shook his head. “Specimens… you’d think we were reading about a bunch of rats in cages,” he spat.
“To Dr. Rolf, that’s exactly what they are,” Jennifer continued. She shifted through more pages, pointing as she flipped: “Hypnotherapy, shock treatment, inhumane periods of solitary confinement.”
She flipped to the last page and stabbed at another troubling phrase: “Introduction of mind-altering limbiserum complex.”
“We ran that phrase by Alice and Mike at the hospital, and they had never heard of it before,” said Jack. “But from what Mike could figure out from the context of the letter, he believes this ‘complex’ is interfering with the limbic system of the brain, which is the part of the brain that processes our memories.”
“He’s giving them amnesia,” Shane concluded.
“As a last resort, it appears so,” Jack said.
“What about the inmates. Do we know anything about them?” asked Roman.
“At this time, no we don’t. There are no public databases; and no names mentioned in any of the correspondence Jennifer and I found. They are classified by numbers, and that’s all,” said Jack.
He smirked before gesturing back towards his wife. Jennifer winked before regarding their audience again. “But what we did manage to do was devise a plan.”

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER EIGHT:

JENNIFER

Two nights prior to the conference, while Jack was busy causing a ruckus out on the grounds — she never found out the full details, but she knew it somehow involved a high-powered racing lawnmower, a dinosaur costume and an angry dog — Jennifer had breached security in true investigative reporting ninja fashion, and practically bled into Lawrence Alamain’s office on the far wing of the mansion. Jumping into action, she began rifling frantically through his wall of filing cabinets on the back wall. Without knowing exactly what it was she was looking for — “Anything that can nail his head to a wall!” her husband had affectionately spat earlier that evening — her eyes glazed over rows of what looked like personal budget files and company database compilings over what looked like half a century of documents about the Alamain fortune.
“Ugh, incriminating. This man bleeds incriminating,” she muttered under her breath as she moved along the shelves. “Half of these would probably expose him for corporate fraud.”
But she needed something better than that, and she knew it.
It was a miracle she’d even noticed it; but when a noise made her jump, she’d jammed her hand into the base of the cabinet she’d been sifting through, and heard a solid “thunk” at the base. She felt around until her nail caught under a latch, pulling it up.
“Bingo,” she’d whispered, pulling out a “War and Peace” sized folder. She moved it to the desk, opening it and scanning through the find as quickly as she could.
Her mouth opened in a perfect O as she read, and she quickly closed the folder and opened Lawrence’s desk drawer, pulling out several industrial-sized rubber bands to make sure everything was wrapped tightly while she made her escape.
Then after closing the drawer, she’d remembered Jack’s second instruction and fished around in her pocket. She pulled out a pea-sized microphone and reached back under the desk, securing it tightly under the lip of the drawer.
“Let’s see what slips out of your filthy mouth when you find out these babies are gone,” she’d growled at his image amidst a family photo on his desk; and then flashed a victorious smile as she stuffed the papers into her jacket and made her way back down the corridor. Once she’d made it back outside, she sneaked back off of the grounds, giggling to herself while the roar of the mower and the disbelieving cries of Alamain’s security team sounded somewhere on the opposite side of the mansion.

CONFERENCE

With their briefing nearly concluded, Jennifer had saved the best tidbit for last. She brought out a tape player and hooked it up to the speakers inside the conference room, before pressing the “Play” button. Already fast-forwarded to the good part, the room suddenly filled with the panicked voice of Lawrence Alamain:
“I have no idea how this happened. But the files are missing. Yes, it was recent. I just received a letter from Rolf two days ago!”
A muffled response was heard in the background — it sounded like yelling — and Lawrence continued. “Yes, I’ll notify the doctor. We’ll be relocating to the new compound in Ireland immediately. Yes, coordinates 53.1432, 7.6941. Yes! In the next 48 hours, I assure you.”
More muffled yelling followed.
“This changes nothing! I’ve held up my financial end of the bargain, and ensured the safety of your precious specimens. Don’t you dare threaten me, or I assure you, you’ll be very sorry.”
A pause, followed by, “I hardly see how my threats are a laughing matter. Their lives are in mine and Dr. Rolf’s hands! — Hello? HELLO???”
No sooner had Jennifer hit “Stop” on the player, when the whole place erupted in applause. She grinned and turned to Jack, who held up two thumbs and mouthed an “I love you.”
John raised a hand. "Jack, I know your suspicions about Alamain, but what proof do we have that this has to do with Steve's disappearance?" he asked.
"All circumstantial at this point, but the last time the prison was relocated was the same month my brother disappeared. And we're already aware that my brother's death was faked using medicine that we don't exactly see filled at CVS pharmacies on a daily basis," said Jack.
"Either way, we're about to find out," Bo cut in. "We have a location and 48 hours to find out what is going on in that compound. And thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux here, there will hopefully be enough confusion with this impromptu relocation to get someone on the inside."
A hand shot into the air. “Me. I’ll do it.”
The room turned to face Kayla, who had been silent up until that point.
"Look, I know I'm not a seasoned agent like any of you. But I'm not just volunteering my help here because of my husband. This could involve him, but we already know that it involves other innocent people. If I can help them, I want to," she said.
“I understand where you're coming from, sis, but sending you inside that compound a hard no. We need someone in there who knows what they’re doing,” Bo replied.
Jennifer walked over to Kayla, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Jack and I have already volunteered to be the moles; and Bo will be helping. But we will need your help to pull it off.”
“She’s right,” Jack agreed, crossing the room to stand at Jennifer’s side. “Since your expertise is in medicine, we’ve asked Mike to work with you while we're gone. We need someone to research brainwashing techniques, along with potential methods of reversing them.”
He added, “When we’re inside, we plan on swiping a few samples of this ‘limbiserum' so you two can use it to work up an antidote.”
“An antidote? But we've never even seen this drug before! And for how many prisoners?” Kayla asked.
Jennifer and Jack looked to Bo, who hesitated before answering: “From what we found in the files, it looks to be about two hundred.”
Kayla looked at him quizzically. “Two hundred? But what about the two inmates numbered at 300?”
Bo swallowed. “Two hundred… at last count.”
Kayla stared, and then the weight of what Bo had just told her crashed around her like a tsunami wave. Out of who knows how many hundreds or even thousands of “specimens,” only two hundred of them were still alive.
She could only pray that one of them was Steve.

 

[redsquirrel]

WOW !

 

[Noel]

Bravo LS!!!

My favorite chapter is Jack........then Jennifer...........:love:

So great to have an extra day off and catch up with these stories. You are a very talented writer!!

 

[Little-Sweetness]

Author's Note: This chapter includes a little prelude. I was struggling to write this part of the story, because everything I came up with seemed to come straight out of a cheesy sci-fi B movie. The fragmented Ellen Hopkins-inspired style gave me a little more freedom in expressing what "Nick" would be going through in this moment.

(I'll be uploading it as an image, rather than text, because the formatting made the image look strange. More writing soon to follow.)

"NICK"


“…. Sweet...ness...” he breathed, in a whisper too quiet for his captors to hear, as he drifted into a fitful sleep.​

 

[Little-Sweetness]

(Author's note: Another little cameo. I love him. He had to be in this story.)

CHAPTER NINE:

KAYLA

An assortment of textbooks and medical journals towered precariously on the desk in Mike’s office, the slightest breeze from a door slamming down the hallway making Kayla nervous about a potential paper avalanche. In just a few short hours, Mike had called on every resource he could think of, from masters in neurological medicine to new-age practices such as crystal healing and meditation. Some of the stuff Mike had brought in struck a scientific mind like Kayla’s as a little odd at first; before she’d remembered her own dealings with the supernatural and of how seriously she’d learned to take matters such as tarot card readings.
Speaking of the devil, Mike had brought along some company when he’d returned with the next stack.
“Monty, it’s so good to see you!” Kayla cried. She dropped the books she was holding and met Montague at the door, taking an assortment of volumes from his arms that heavily focused in brain chemistry and the common meanings behind a person’s dreams.
He laughed and used the back of his hand to wipe a few beads of sweat from his brow.
“Kayla, you know I wouldn’t be carrying half a library across town for just anyone,” he said.
Mike eyeballed the desk for a minute before walking back to the door. He shut it and pulled the blinds over the windows closed.
Montague watched this and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, Dr. Horton? A little embarrassed to be seen with an old seer like me in such an esteemed facility?” he asked Mike.
Mike shook his head and smiled. “I just figured we would need some peace and quiet so we can concentrate, Monty. No offense meant,” he said.
Kayla was glad for the privacy; before Mike had shut the blinds, she’d noticed more than a few curious eyes peering through the window. With all of the activity around the office that day, the entire hospital staff had no doubt been gossiping all morning.
“I’m going to grab us all some coffee. Marlena should be here soon, so we can get started,” Mike said.
When he left the room, Kayla turned her attention back to Montague.
“Monty, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here. I knew you would be willing to help,” she said.
“No offense taken; but I have to admit, I’m a little curious as to what I can do for you,” Montague ventured.
Kayla pulled back a chair. “Well, Monty, what we’re going to be doing here is going to be somewhat outside of our comfort zone. While we know enough scientifically about the human brain to treat most cases medically, we’re not exactly equipped to tackle something as complex as mind control,” she said.
Montague pulled out his trusty tarot card deck, his face flushing. “Not that I don’t want to help, dear lady… but I only read messages that I receive from the spirit world; I don’t know anything about hypnotism or mind control.”
Kayla nodded. “I know. But I also needed someone with an open mind and a little bit of an ‘extra sight’ to help us out, here.”
Montague smiled. “You know I’d do anything to help you… and Steve too, my dear,” he said.
Kayla offered a tentative smile. “So… you think Steve might really be there?” she asked him.
Montague’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, so it is information from the spirits you are seeking!” he said.
Kayla’s face flushed. “It’s just… Jack and Jennifer found all of these files with all of these numbers for ‘inmates,’ but the count has remained low all this time. They think the doctors there are… well, killing them.”
Montague nodded. “I understand. There is indeed a darkness surrounding this investigation, my dear. But I’ve been consulting the cards ever since I received your call, and I have no reason to believe that your search will be in vain.”
Kayla exhaled. “So… he really is there,” she said.
“If you’d like, I could do a reading right here,” Montague offered.
Kayla started to nod, but then the door opened as Mike ushered in Marlena. She offered a smile in greeting, and hesitated before turning back to Montague and nodding.
Monty pulled out the tarot deck and began dividing the cards into piles on the table. Kayla felt Mike and Marlena’s eyes on them, and ventured a glance up to find them both staring.
“It’s a bit eccentric, I know, but I thought any good vibes we could get from this might help,” Kayla offered feebly.
Mike picked up a volume titled “Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism,” and smirked. “Like I said, no judgment here,” he said.
Marlena chuckled. “Don’t look at me. I was supposed to be dead a few years ago, in case you’ve forgotten.”
My God, they were right, Kayla thought to herself. She briefly wondered what could have possibly brought down so many bizarre events upon her family over the years. Next to Marlena back from the dead, along with her brother’s return and the discovery that John Black had been conditioned to believe for years that he was Roman Brady, a little help from the spirits didn’t exactly fall into the realm of being so “out there” at this point.
Montague began flipping the cards, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The first card was “The Tower.”
“This card holds many meanings; it can mean a sudden upheaval or a disaster in the making,” Montague began. “There is a great battle on the horizon for not just one who is close to you, Kayla, but for many.”
The second card was “The Hanged Man.” Kayla’s eyes widened.
Montague saw her expression and held up a hand. “Not to worry, Kayla. This card does not read of disaster; but rather, of sacrifice. To make it through this ordeal, everyone will need to rely on one another, and be willing to make difficult decisions in order to progress unharmed.”
“What about Steve? What do the cards say about him?” Kayla pressed.
Montague flipped another card: “The Star.”
Kayla’s mind briefly flitted to Stephanie’s poem. “What does that mean?”
Montague smiled. “It means, my dear, that Steve still has enough strength to triumph over the upheaval in his life. This card ties directly to the 'Tower' card, in that as a direct result of the trauma he has faced, he will have to rely on his strength and his love for you more than ever.”
Kayla frowned. “But Monty, there’s a real chance that Steve doesn’t even remember me. He probably doesn’t even know who he is,” she reminded him.
“They have disconnected him from his memories, Kayla; but the cards are strong-willed in their message. It’s all still within him, the will to fight, and the will to prevail. All he needs is courage.”
“Courage.” Kayla signed the word, remembering all the times he’d used the sign as encouragement when she’d been cut off from everyone around her. It was the same sign he’d used at their wedding, just before she’d regained her ability to speak.
“Yes, Kayla. He has his courage, because it is tied to you. You gave him courage from the very beginning, and he has it now.
“And another virtue that will carry him through, the spirits are saying, is close to him as well. In fact, they’re practically screaming the word,” he said.
“What’s that?” Kayla asked him.
The door opened behind them, revealing Bo. Still focused on the cards, Montague continued, offering a single word that made Bo freeze in his tracks.
“Hope.”

 

[Little-Sweetness]

CHAPTER TEN

‘GINA’

In the middle of the night, Gina had awakened to two guards arguing in the hallway outside her cell. She’d crept over to the door to hear them more clearly, and she’d made out enough of the conversation to discover that they were planning a relocation, and soon.
As they walked by, she’d heard a small clatter by her door; and saw under the crack enough to spot an ink pen lying in the middle of the hallway.
She’d tried to get Nick’s attention through the wall in her cell, but he was either sleeping or ignoring her. Since they’d brought him back, she hadn’t been able to reach him. She was worried that their circumstances were beginning to get the better of him.
Back on the floor, she got down at eye level and stared at the pen longingly. The crack might be large enough to fit the pen through, but she needed something to help her reach it, and she didn’t have much.
She thought for a minute; and then began tearing at one of the threadbare sheets on her cot. She ripped out a length of thread and then glanced around the room for something small.
She chuckled, remembering what Nick had told her the other day: “I wish I had a spoon.”
“I wish I had anything,” she muttered, before her eyes fell on a bit of tiled floor that had come loose. She crawled over to it and used her fingernail to dig along the edge, loosening a small piece that had a slight hook to it. The chunk came free; and with it, her nail loosened. She cursed, stabbing her finger against the mattress to staunch the small flow of blood from under her nail. With her free hand, she pried up the piece, marveling at its small boomerang shape.
Fixing it to the string, she fell back down to floor level, and spent several minutes tossing the makeshift anchor under the door. She missed again and again, before the tile finally lodged itself beside the pen. She pulled slightly, and the pen inched towards her.
Several successful throws later, and she had the pen by its edge, wriggling it under the door. Once it was in her hand, she clicked it in triumph.
Back on her cot, she ripped another chunk of her sheets free, and leaned back against the wall. She knew if she waited long enough, he would begin talking in his sleep. She’d never been able to record what he’d said before, and her mind wasn’t exactly seasoned in remembering half of it long enough to recall it the next day — sometimes even when she did, the guards would haul her off for another “treatment” before she could relay anything to Nick — but now, she was ready.
Time crawled by as she waited, and what felt like hours later, she finally heard him mumbling. As she listened, she made notes on the sheet in the smallest letters she could manage — she had to make this little “notebook” of hers last.
“Sw…eet…ness…” was what she’d heard first. He said it several times, and she wondered if he was finally remembering someone from his past. It was a romantic endearment, sure enough, but she supposed it could be for anyone.
“…Y…yellow…” was another. She smiled and jotted it down, even though she’d heard him talk about the color before.
The night progressed, and by the time dawn broke, she’d managed to note everything he’d said. Most words seemed fragmented and useless — she wasn’t sure what in the world a sing-song crooning of “Barnacle Bill” was supposed to mean to anyone — but the last word he’d muttered took her by surprise.
At first, she thought the word was “boat.” But then she’d heard it again, and her mind reeled.
She wrote down the two letters carefully, in another column that she began for herself: “Bo.”

 

[the look of love]

You are keeping me in suspense. I am looking forward to the next chapter!