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Ch 443 - A Romantic Interlude

Jennifer's skirts swished, the only sound she could hear as her legs moved, taking her out of the house and into the sunlight of the day. Breathing in the fresh air was something she had nearly forgotten how to do, but right now her mind was too occupied to give it full consideration or appreciation. Legs moved, uncaring of a destination, as she pattered over the grassy area and away from the house, her black heels dangling from her hands as her bare feet reveled in the feel of the cool grass upon her toes.

She had bypassed the door that would take her out and into the gardens, fearing she might inadvertently run into the Salemites or Lawrence, someplace in the middle of their planned reception. She needed to be alone and away from them all, finding a place of solace in which she might bolster her sagging spirits. The continual swish of the dress was a small sense of comfort to her, her legs still moving her across the grounds.

Unthinking, unknowing, she came to a circular patio, once that enclosed a round pool. Set on a hill above the village below, one side was marked with tall palm trees, standing guard over this silent refuge. About the pool were inviting lounge chairs, but none of this captured her remotest attention in those initial moments. Instead, Jennifer was seeing something before her that made her blink in surprise. The patio table had been set with a beautiful meal that she was only just now noticing as she stood before it. Her heart dropped. Perhaps there was no reception for the 'friends' from Salem. Perhaps it was all a trick, designed by Lawrence, and instead she would be called upon to sit through an excruciating private luncheon with him. Jennifer's heart refused to beat as she gave consideration to that possibility, hoping against reason that it was not true. She looked back and forth, confused, and then she saw what caused her heart to lurch within her chest, beating now so wildly that she had trouble finding air to breathe.

It was Jack. He stood across the way from her, moving into place, and Jennifer's heart skidded crazily as she saw how he was dressed. Polished black shoes and black slacks over his trim hips, with a white dinner jacket fitted across his broad shoulders, a black bow tie in place. He was the perfect complement to her formally attired self, as if this moment had been designed to take place between them, and she could not hope to understand how that might be.

He bumped up against the corner of the pillar where he stood, and then he lifted his right hand and waggled his fingers at her, tilting his head to one side, and then gesturing with his left hand for her to examine the table beside her.



Her eyes filled with tears she could not release. It was a moment in the making, and one that she could only have dreamed about for such a long time. She wasn't sure what was more touching to consider-that she and Jack were standing across from one another, poised to make this happen, or the idea that he had obviously set it all up. Could she have ever possibly imagined that Jack did not have a romantic inclination? She swallowed, her throat suddenly aching, as she stared at him, not quite able to make this all make sense in her befuddled brain.

He was waiting for some sort of response from her, and she could only stare, her mouth finally forming a word, a whisper. "Jack..." It was, apparently, the only invitation he would need.

He was waiting for her smile, and it was not forthcoming, but then it had been so long since he had even seen her smile that he instinctively knew not to hold back and wait for it to occur. She stood before him, as if a statue, held in place, and only her lips moved, uttering his name, he somehow knew. Jack felt a surge of triumph move him, as he slowly began to walk to her.

Her beauty was utterly captivating, as she stood, sparkling in the bright sunshine, illuminating the day in a way the sun could never hope to do. She usurped the sun's rightful position and purpose, and she dazzled him; he felt as if he could not breathe for a moment, watching her. He understood that she was shocked, both by his appearance and by the luncheon he had set in place for them to share. Quite possibly, she had not fully comprehended that yet, because she did not move, just watching him as he came closer. It took mighty effort for him not to move faster, not to allow the magnetism that was attracting them to one another to cause him to snap to her side. But he understood something else in that moment. He had one chance to get this right, and much was riding upon it. He had pledged to himself to show her how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her, how he cherished her and loved her. And he was prepared to do this right.

But then he could not contain himself either, and in his eagerness, he quickened the pace, glancing backward toward the house and giving a little hop of victory as he bounded the rest of the way to her, a jubilant grin lighting his face.

Jennifer leaned forward, fixing her shoes back onto her feet, a slight frown leveled in his direction as he came near. "Jack," she hissed, finally finding her voice. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm hungry," he said, his light, eager tones belying the thundering of his heart at being near her again. "I thought we could have a snack." He forced himself to remain lighthearted and to keep things that way between them, hoping to at least entice a small smile from her. Anything to remove that wounded look she was now wearing. To ease that serious expression that was so foreign to what he loved and expected of her.

She was nervous, and understandably so, her eyes skittering back and forth toward the house, as if she feared being discovered. He had to set her mind at ease, but before he could find words to do that, she let anxious words escape. "No, Lawrence would never..."

He was now standing right before her, and he gave her the assurance she needed. "Lawrence will never know," he said, with confidence. "He's currently being wined and dined by our friends and loved ones. I figure we have..." He did quick mental calculations and continued, "They're in the middle of an appetizer, right...we have six, maybe four if he's really concerned, courses before he goes to your room to see how you're feeling, right?" She shook her head, as if his words were not penetrating her consciousness, but he plowed on. "Now, you did tell him you weren't feeling well, isn't that correct?" How could he know that? Jennifer's heart skipped another beat as she stared at him, the frown still in place.

He knew much. And he had known how to make this all happen, too. Jack understood that once she got past the initial moments of shock and worry, Jennifer would relax enough so that he might be able to woo her. Woo her. He almost laughed aloud. There had been a time in their distant past when he had not imagined he would even attempt such a thing, but now he was not only performing it-oddly, he was looking forward to it. He knew it was what she needed for him to do, but somehow he sensed that it was something HE needed to do, as well.

"Please," he said, moving over to her side of the table and reaching for the chair to pull back. "Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat. Take a load off." And much as a gentleman would do, he moved the chair back, waiting for her to be seated.

Jennifer smoothed her skirts and allowed herself to weakly sit. Her mind was racing, but she was having difficulty forming thoughts. All she could do was try to register what he was saying, even as she furtively continued to watch the house, as if at any moment someone would find them here. To relax was an impossibility. She had to be prepared for flight. And she had to be prepared to explain this situation to whomever might come upon them. But at the same time, how could she not appreciate the significance of this moment? This was Jack, and he was here and he was treating her with such beautiful, sweet and tender regard. He was romancing her, and she could not breathe at the idea of it.

He was behind her, leaning low, speaking words into her ear, causing shivers to come over her. "I do hope you're hungry," he said, casually, oozing with confidence. "You have no idea how much trouble I went to get all this out here." He gave her a little pat on each arm, and then he crossed before her and around to his own side of the table, taking his place, even as he continued to talk.

He was babbling, and she knew it was because he was nervous, too. She found it so endearing that the tears she was trying so valiantly to hold back edged closer as she listened to him speak. "They're going to be missing some silverware in there, you can bet."

He really was pleased with the progress he had been able to make in this venture, and perhaps if they had more time with one another, uninterrupted, he might have even confessed to her how he had made it all happen. It might have teased a smile from her, but right now he let it go. She was still looking back and forth, her eyebrows furrowed at him, even as her eyes moved toward the house, watching and waiting. He had to get her mind off that.

"You are hungry," he told her, knowingly, as he smiled gently and tried to put her at ease. "I know that, because you didn't go in and eat with anyone else."

She questioned him, breathless with anxiety. "How did you know, Jack?" And the knot of worry between her eyes only increased in that moment.

Leaning forward, he spoke to her with that same easygoing manner. "Elementary, my dear Horton," he said, the smile never wavering. "You're avoiding them the same way you're avoiding me. You're afraid you're going to break."

It wasn't working. She was still frowning, and she began to slowly rise to her feet as she spoke to him in that same quavering voice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jack. I have no reason to break." But if she meant to move away, she was certainly taking her time about it, because she just stood there, eying him uneasily, torn between conflicting emotions.

"So you say," he replied, evenly.

"Yes, so I say," was her serious response. And now he was on his feet, as well, ready to take matters into his own hands and swing things back in his direction again.

"If that's the case," he notified her, "then this shouldn't bother you one bit." And Jack pulled from his pocket a remote control. With one deft click, the outdoor area was alive with sultry instrumental music, so beautifully romantic that Jennifer felt the tears come near again. "I know it certainly doesn't bother me," he declared, moving around the table and toward her.

She was frantic. This was all wrong. It was so beautiful and perfect and right. What could she do? She didn't know if she should stay or leave, if she should go along with what he was doing or end it before it had even begun. But before her head could make the choice, her body found itself in his arms, as Jack began to gently sway with her, dancing to that incredible music.



Could she hope to get lost here for a few minutes, she asked herself, breathless with want. Was there a way she could just experience this for a few minutes and then lose it again-forever? Her throat ached with the misery of unshed tears her eyes were trying to blink away. Jennifer turned her head away from him, unable to even look. It was sweet and torturous perfection, and she was too close to it. Too close to him. She turned aside, hoping against hope to gather her wits before she lost herself completely in his embrace. But Jack leaned forward, putting his cheek against her hair, and she stopped breathing altogether. She was trapped. Hopelessly ensnared in this romantic interlude he had created. And the problem was, she had no idea what to do about it. Could she get lost in his arms, if even for a moment in time? And would she find the way to break away again? And this time, forever.

Ch 445 - A Timeless Moment

Water. It was one of the basic needs of human life, and yet in the wrong circumstance and amount, it could take a life, as well. Jack was aware of the splash as he went teetering into the pool, his arms flailing in an unsuccessful effort to remain upright, and suddenly the water was everywhere, saturating his clothing, running into each pore and crevice, filling his mouth and nose and throat and brain.

It was his brain that screamed for the attention of the rest of his body, urging him to pull himself upward and into place. After all, it was a pool, and not a terribly deep one, at that. He could stand, he understood, somewhere deep and away and beyond his initial panic. And he continued to flail his arms and legs, hoping to somehow right himself.

From a far off distance, he was aware of her. Her words led him back to the edge of reason and sanity. If he could grasp hold of her words, he could find his way back, but right now all he could do was push away the water that threatened to fill his lungs. Expelling it, he surged to the surface, gasping for air, even as he went under again.

Her words called to him in shouts that were panicked. "You can't swim!" he heard her exclaiming, from between repeated shouts of his name. Couldn't he swim? He was never quite sure about that, and especially now, in such a dire situation. COULD he, in fact, swim?

One small compartment of his brain analyzed it, even as the survival mode kicked in, allowing him to bob up and down to the surface, finding air and then going under again. He could swim, could he not? Everyone could swim, right? Wasn't it basic survival, at best? Just move your arms and legs and keep your head above the surface line of the water. It was what she was shouting to him, even now. "Kick your legs!"

This was a pool, he reminded himself, managing to somehow stay calm. It wasn't the same as those horrifying moments when they had been on Ernesto's island, as he had found himself in the dark, murky water, fearing as much for Jennifer's life as for his own. She was safe, here and now, and this water was different. The pervading smell of the chlorine reminded him of it this time. The sun was shining brightly, the water was not so very deep, and it was a pool. He had grown up around pools. Yes! Yes! He could swim. Of course he could! This was different.

Of course, with the weight of the water saturating his fully-clothed self, this was a strange time to think back to his childhood swimming experiences. This was different, and yet somehow the same, too. There was no question in his mind that he could survive this, and yet from his awareness of Jennifer and her frantic shouts, he knew she wasn't so sure about that.

She DID care! It didn't matter what she had been saying to him or how she had been responding-THIS was the truth. She was frantic because she was frightened. Frightened for him at the moment. Jack made his decision with that in mind. He would come out of the water. But in his own time and way. And something stilled inside himself, as a memory found him through the water and across the many months. A bathtub. A beautiful, angry, glittering girl. He had pushed her for the truth by creating an untruth, and it had worked. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he was in just such a place.

"Kick your legs!" he heard her call again, and he obliged. Taking himself back to his early childhood moments in the family's pool, he dove to the bottom and pushed his hands against the floor of the pool, simultaneously raising his feet. He could feel where they moved across the surface and into the air, and he nearly grinned with delight, knowing that he was performing one of his old childhood tricks. Never let it be said that Jennifer Horton didn't cause him to do handstands to get her attention, he thought with devious delight.

He allowed himself back to place, kicking and sputtering, and he could hear her desperation from beyond as she moved into rescue mode. One of his bobs for the surface allowed him to see what she was doing, and he watched as she hastened for the lifesaving hook that was waiting nearby. He flailed his arms, hollering for her to hook him, and she reached for him, wrapping the hook about his neck and tugging with all her might.

She screamed as he went under again, and he was aware of her barrage of words, instructions for him to breathe and blow out the water, which he did. He understood the concept of adrenaline and what it could make one capable of doing, but he was still mightily impressed that she managed to pull him first to the side of the pool, and then upward from the edge and out of the water, and suddenly he found himself lying in the bright sunshine, feeling the cold, hard concrete against his back as he streamed water from every pocket and pore and place upon him.

The urge to take this just a bit farther was unmistakable and undeniable, and he was slave to that urge, holding his eyes closed and slowing his breathing, with effort. No reaction, no response. And then what would she do? He had to know.

It was near superhuman effort that enabled her to have pulled him from the water, and Jennifer could not stop the frenetic beating of her heart, even now. Jack was free from the water, but he was silent and still, lying poolside, and she was so caught up in her fear and horror that she could not see the truth before her. If she had, she might have noticed the small, almost half-smile upon his lips as he waited for what would come next.

He had stopped breathing. She was sure of it. And she understood what it meant. She would have to breathe for him, and she could do that. Gone was any memory in that moment of a previous time and place, so far off but so alike this moment. Gone was her prior knowledge of Jack and what he was capable of pulling off. All she could focus upon was the idea that he was in trouble and needed her, and she was there for him. "Okay, just hold on...okay...okay..." She spoke words of reassurance, as much to herself as to him, as she positioned herself alongside him, understanding that which she needed to do.

Uncaring of anything in that moment but him, she went to work quickly, bending low and using the fingers of her right hand to pinch closed his nose, while her left hand tilted his chin upward, just as she had learned to do. His mouth was open, and she leaned close, forming a seal and blowing in air, giving him life with her own air going into his body. Jennifer's mind was racing, trying to remember the procedure. How many breaths? Wasn't there something else she was supposed to do? Was this right? She forged on, uncaring, knowing that he needed her help, whether or not she was doing this properly. Another breath went in.

Twice. Two times he felt it-her lips warm against his lips, her air his own. Two times he could resist, but a third he could not. Not now, when he finally had her where he wanted her. And as her lips came down upon him a third time, he made his move, lunging upward and grabbing her with his arm and hand, even as he grabbed her with his own lips, taking her in a sweeping and magnificent kiss that stole more air from his lungs than the pool water had moments before. And it was working, because he felt the resistance go out of her as she abandoned her reserve, returning his kiss with one so deep and fulfilling that he felt as if he was drowning all over again. It was all the proof he would need, and he kissed her back with hunger and desperation, reveling in the feel of her fingers cradling his head, moving against his wet hair, the steady rise and fall of her back as he held her in place, the pure joy of her lips moving against his.



For a timeless moment, it was as near to perfection as he could hope to attain. Ever. The silent music of this moment swelled to a crescendo, and the kiss deepened, and then it changed. He sensed her begin to break away and drift apart, and as she began to pull back, he tried to right himself, wanting to hold to her in some way in these fleeting moments.

She sat back, staring at him, understanding and realization dawning in her, and he saw the furrow of her brow as reality intruded upon their moment. Actions accompanied that frown, and as he sat up, supporting himself with his hands behind him, she gave him a small shove, pushing him away with her hands and with her words. "That was cheap," she told him, breathlessly and with disgust. "That was really cheap."

And now he would need to atone for his actions, but he did not care. He had glimpsed at the truth, and it was what he had known all along, deep in his heart. Her words, her actions and reactions-nothing could keep him from the truth. But he would get to that in a moment. Sitting up, with effort, he responded to her charge. "That was cheap, and you liked it," he countered, gesturing with one finger pointing, wanting her to admit the truth before him now.

"I didn't like it," she said, quietly and with anger throbbing in her voice, and he could feel her slipping away from him again. So quickly and so simply it was almost frightening. It was wrong. So very wrong. This wasn't Jennifer. Not the feisty, determined, beautiful, spunky girl he had fallen for. This was a glistening imitation of that girl, a shell of a woman he could not quite recognize. Someone so cool and aloof, who resembled the real Jennifer. It was part of her masquerade. But what he could not grasp was why. Why was she still going on with this? Especially now, when it was just the two of them, far from prying eyes or listening ears. Why wasn't she admitting the truth to him? The selfsame truth he had seen demonstrated in her actions just moments ago.

She was angry. Hurt and betrayed, and in another moment she would be on her feet, moving away from him. He had to penetrate this barrier between them. He had to make her understand why he had done it. It wasn't a game. For the first time in their lives, this wasn't a game. This was real and true and right. Couldn't she see that? Somehow, he had to make her see the truth.

Ch 447 - The Isolation

Jack plodded back to his room, the distinct sound of a sloshing, squishing set of shoes accompanying each soggy step he took, but he paid it no mind. Ordinarily, the feel of a wet suit against his skin, the unmistakable smell of chlorine all over him-it would leave him feeling antsy and uncomfortable, but he could barely even notice such a thing. He was busy trying to hold to the pieces of his broken heart as they threatened to fall about him, and he trudged onward, finding his room and finding infinitesimal consolation in the fact that he had managed to avoid any human interaction and interruption on his trek. Finding the solace of his room, he pushed open the door, entered, and closed the world behind him.

Shower and change. It was all a routine he followed with precision, unable to even think of what was happening. Thoughts were hard enough to keep, let alone feelings. He would not entertain either. Instead, he immersed himself in the blessed numbness of going through the motions of changing.

Changing. Life was changing, all around him, but he couldn't quite grasp how that had happened. Jennifer had changed, that was certainly true, but he could not understand how or why it was. For a person who had built a professional life out of examination and exploration of facts and information, he was completely in the dark about this situation, and that frustrated him immensely. What was going on here? What was this twisted universe in which he was dwelling? And most importantly, what was going on with Jennifer?

She had told him she did not love him. He had pushed for her to do that, and she had. But he still could not believe it, let alone accept it. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't adding up. It was as if her heart and her head were in two different places, and no matter what her lips proclaimed to him, her eyes would beseech him in a far different way. He had never seen her eyes so full of desolation and emptiness. It was almost frightening to consider. It was almost as if Jennifer's body had been infiltrated by some other force. It was as if someone else was alive inside her body. Those eyes. They still haunted him. So like Jennifer's, but so staggeringly different, at the same time. Those eyes he had seen today-they had been empty, vacant. Even when her words flashed fire at him, her eyes were dull and listless. She was saying all the words, but how could he believe her? He could not.

Jack was more than willing to acknowledge, to himself and to her, his share of the responsibility for this huge mess and misunderstanding. He hated the divide between them, and he would have said or done anything to bridge that gap and stand beside her again. But something was keeping it from happening, and he was sure that Jennifer herself was the key to that. There had to be a reason why she was keeping him away. He could not believe she did not love him anymore. Not after all they had been through together. All that they had undergone to reach this place. The place where he was finally able to express to her what she meant to him. And now that he was trying to do that, she was pushing him farther away. Why?

He peeled off the wet clothing, his natural shudder of distaste all but forgotten. It didn't even matter, and it certainly didn't warrant his energy or consideration. And then, as he moved into the shower, he felt the warm water cascade over him, trying to heal him and soothe him with its gentle spray. But this water choked him, as the other had. Again, just as before, his chest constricted, his airway closing off, and as he stood in the shower, he had to fight off the sudden surge of panic that nearly overtook him.

He could not be wrong about this. She had to still love him, no matter what she had said. There still had to be a reason, even if nothing in his power could seem to find it. His heart hurt, but he pushed that aside, as well. He could not allow himself even a moment to wallow. He had a much more important mission.

Saving Jennifer. It was still his primary goal, his preeminent plan. No matter what she had said or might do, it was still his mission. He would save her, no matter what she proclaimed that she wanted. And then, when they returned to Salem, if she did not want him, she could tell him so. But not here. Not in this time and place, with Lawrence Alamain lurking about every corner. If he could just get her home, he might have a chance to chisel away at the layer of stone that surrounded her.

Pushing aside the horrible, aching hurt, he sought to fortify himself against the despair. He was not giving up! He could not give up. Not now, and not ever. Not when he so desperately had to believe that something more was going on. She was his. She belonged to him in a way no one and nothing in his life ever had. Surely that had to mean something! He could not give that up. Not now, when he had finally figured it out. Not now when it meant more to him than anything in his life had before. He could not give up the new-found dream. Because to abandon it meant he might never breathe again. And without breath and without life, he had no chance of survival. He didn't even care to exist. Not without her, somehow, in his life.

His mind grasped for answers and choices. He would finish this shower, change and meet the others again. He would at least create the illusion of working with them all, but inside he held the truth, guarding it with unrivaled possessiveness. He would find his next opportunity, and he would try again. 'If at first you don't succeed...' He could hear it in his head in Angelica's voice. 'Get the hell back in there and do it again!' she would tell him. He was no quitter. And this wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot...

* * * * * * *

Jennifer changed out of the beautiful sequined dress she now hated, back into something more suitable for Katerina and her daytime attire. She dined alone in the room, her tray being brought by one of the household staff, the only human interaction she would have for the remainder of the day. Suddenly, despite her resolution to remain away from the others, she felt lost and alone, isolated from everyone and everything. Even the effort to commit her thoughts and feelings and information to the ledger gave her no comfort. The minutes ticked off endlessly, the hours painstakingly melting away, her life going in reverse.

Jack didn't return. Jack would never return. Not now. Not with the way she had pushed him away. She did not know what would become of him, but she understood that much. Jack would not return for her, and she had to accept that. Her life was set in place, like a huge, gaudy stone in an ornate setting. This was her life now. Her future. In this place, with a man she abhorred as her husband and partner for life. Jennifer felt a chill run through her. She could not even contemplate such a thing right now. She could not. She simply had to struggle to exist.

With agonizing disregard for her situation, the minutes became hours and the hours filled the remainder of the day. Still, no one came. She was lost, alone and forgotten in the world, and she had nobody to blame but herself. She had created this disaster, and now all she could hope to do was be the lone casualty of her misbegotten choices. She had effectively pushed Jack away, and she had only the hope of his freedom now. But there was still her grandmother to consider. And Frankie.

Frankie. Jennifer sighed, remembering him. How odd, really, that Jack was never completely out of her mind for even a minute, and yet an entire day could go by and she would have forgotten about Frankie. Perhaps it was because she could not be entirely sure of her grandmother's whereabouts, that she could hold to the hope that it wasn't true. Jack had told her that her grandmother had never arrived home, and while she could not believe he would lie about such a thing, maybe he had been wrong. She had to hold to the tiny hope that perhaps her grandmother had been spared, even though her heart told her otherwise. But Frankie was now in her mind. Frankie she had seen for herself. She had seen him in his captivity, held prisoner, in part because of her and her foolish choices. She could only take care of them all, one person at a time.

Jack. The terrible, awful conclusion had been accomplished. Jack would not stay now. He would go home and forget about her. Next, she had to work on Frankie. She had to see him again and find out what she might do to secure his release. Her heart was flooded with shame and remorse that her idiocy had led to his capture, as well. She still didn't understand how or why that was, but she believed it was because of her and the choices she had made. Frankie was being held captive, and perhaps there was something she could do about it.

Tomorrow she would demand that Lawrence take her to him, and she would see him and talk to him again. Only when she could do that, could she hope to begin to find a way to enable his release. She was responsible, she told herself again, and she would have to find a way to get him out next. Just one at a time, she reminded herself, trying to breathe through the horror of it all. One person at a time.

Gradually, without her even realizing it, the light of the day ceased to exist as daylight ebbed and faded from the room. Jennifer faced the night. Her darkest moments were at night, as the full events of each new and terrifying day would be relived again in the silence and stillness of her room. With heavy heart, she went through the motions of preparing for the evening, alone and isolated, but at least grateful that Lawrence had not come. Every night, the last thing she would do before she would pray for sleep to come to her was to beg God to keep Lawrence away for another night. Nothing terrified her more than the idea that he might come for her again.

Tonight, as she lay in her bed, she was overtaken by trembling, as hot tears discharged, coursing down her face as she sobbed silently. Some nights were worse than others, and this one was among the worst she had experienced. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jack's face, begging for her to admit her love for him. And then she would watch as Jack's face would fade, leaving only the terrifying image of Lawrence, his eyes boring into her, his lips curved back in a snarl of evil delight. His hands, reaching for her. His words, caressing her until she could not breathe. Jennifer fought the images, her eyes wide and opened, darting about the room as she fought for air to breathe.

Would she ever get over the shame and revulsion she had felt ever since he had put his hands upon her? Would she ever feel safe or normal or loved or real again? Alone in the deadened heart of this distant, monstrous villa, Jennifer lay in the dark, hugging herself and crying away her horror and fear. She had never felt so alone or vulnerable. Or fearful. It was as if she was a little girl again, alone and so frightened.

There could be no more hopes or dreams or wishes for her. There could be nothing left to believe in or hold on to. All that remained, as the last of her tears rolled away, was one tiny flicker of light in the darkened world. To survive. To survive or to die. And right now, she didn't know which was worse.

Ch 448 - The Feel of Real

Jack breathed in and out, feeling the air enter and leave his body, but sleep was his master, finally. It seemed like hours that he had tossed and turned in the bed, not finding the blessed release of his slumbers, but now, near dawn, he was at last able to doze, finding some respite from the nightmare that pursued him. Except that this nightmare was a stark reality, not a dream from which he could awaken. Oh, he had tried. Valiantly, one might say. But this awful dream was not going away. In his sleep, he pushed it back, as a distant dream threaded its way into his subconscious mind, finding him as he breathed gently. It was a dream he had dreamed before.

He was lying in a bed, the covers pulled up and about his chin, and feelings were warring within him. There was a sense of gentle peace and sweet comfort from the presence beside him. Her soft voice was tenderly lulling him, and fingers of calm reached forward, gentling him. Jack sighed. His mother. Yes, he knew that much. On the rarest of occasions she would visit him in his sleep, this woman who had lovingly nurtured him in his earliest years, before she had disappeared so completely from his life.

She was reading to him, he realized on some level. Sharing a story, and he tried to listen and hear it, but her words seemed faraway. And despite the incredible peacefulness she embodied, Jack felt his heart beating erratically, as panic clawed inside him. Something about this story. Something about it, he could not place, but it unsettled him. It was supposed to calm him before his sleep, but he was innerly agitated by it. The story. He struggled to understand what it was about, and what about it was bothering him this much. He understood from her voice that it was meant to be a sweet, childhood tale, something to give him comfort before he slept, but he could not understand what it was that was upsetting him. Again, he reached out for her voice, wanting to know what it was that she was saying.

He could hear her words, if he just listened closely enough. She read from the book, her quiet voice reaching out to him. "He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden-how happy they were-and a great sadness came over him." His heard pounded, because he understood that which came next was what had the power to disturb him so greatly. "He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower bed, the quiet evenings in the wood, when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real." Her words went on, even as his heart beat wildly and he wanted her to stop.

She had read this book to him, several times by now. She knew that it somehow bothered him, and yet she wanted to read it again. Why? Vaguely he seemed to recall her wanting him to understand it. It seemed important to her that he would. But he could not. This was the part of the story where things turned and it all went so horribly wrong.

The rabbit! Yes, the rabbit. He remembered in his dream. The rabbit was going to the bonfire, slated to be burned and lost forever. But he was real, wasn't he? The heart of the boy hearing the story hurt terribly, and the heart of the man sleeping paralleled that feeling. He heard her words as she read on. "Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real, if it all ended like this?"

What use, indeed? Jack rolled over in his sleep, the image in the dream evaporating, that voice silenced again. Panicked, he rolled back, seeking it once more, but it was gone, and he somehow sensed that. She was gone. He had lost her. Forever. They had told him she wasn't ever coming back, and she hadn't.

Sleep had such strange powers of recollection. Jack opened his eyes, and in that initial moment, he knew not where he was or anything of what had happened. But he understood that he was real. Just like the rabbit in the story, he was real. Someone had made him real-a real boy with real feelings and a heart that would beat, and this was all real, too. It came back upon him in quiet, steady waves of enlightenment. She had made him real. Love had made him real.

But being real brought with it a price, and that price was the hurt that coursed through him now, in the silence of the early morning hours in that far-off villa. Love had made him real, but it had hurt him, as well. Eyes upward on the ceiling, he let the natural question pervade his moment. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to have become real, only to find that it could end like this?

And he knew the answer, as surely as he knew that which had been the silent, unspoken message so long ago. YES! Even the hurt was worth it, to be real. For a long time he had forgotten how to be real. He had put it upon a shelf and left it there to wither and fade and decay. But it had not. Someone had taken it down and dusted it off and presented it back to him. Someone had loved him, and he had been so very real this time. Could he give up such an incredible blessing? And he knew that answer, too. No, he could not. He was real now, dammit! He would not go back to what he had been before. He could not go back, and he did not wish to. He could only go forward.

He was not giving up, and even just to acknowledge that brought him closer to the blessed peace he sought. He would not give up. She had taught him how to be real again, and he could not lose such a thing. Even if he had to fight for it. Even if he had to fight HER for it. He was not giving up. Even if she had already given up, he could not. He couldn't!

He turned again, pulling up the covers and holding fast to them. Today he would try again. Try again to see her and to make her understand. He loved her. He LOVED her! And despite everything, that love was what made them real together. He could not let that go. Not now. Not ever.

* * * * * * *

A shaft of moonlight pierced the window, leaving an illuminated splotch upon the floor, and it moved slowly. Jennifer had finally drifted off to a restless sleep, and she opened her eyes into the darkness of the room. Why had she awakened, she wondered. Had it been a noise, a sound? An image in her brain? A dream? She could not recall. She turned slightly, and she felt the dampness of the fallen teardrops upon her pillow, just as she did each night when she awakened before morn. For that first, blessed moment that she could never seem to recapture, the truth evaded her. But as it began to seep back into her again, she felt the cold, harsh grip of reality as it overtook her.

Jennifer sighed into the room. She could not escape this reality, even in those fleeting moments of sleep. She would awaken and they were right before her, eager to pursue her again. But she was alone. Thankfully, Lawrence had not come, and she had survived another night, or so she had to believe.

Sleep. She should return to it, while there were still moments left of the darkness. She could not bear the vastness of it. The dark. So stifling. So oppressive. But as awareness increased within her, so did the swirl of thoughts and the jumble of emotions that accompanied. Another endless day was before her. Another day in which she was powerless. A victim of her own life. A casualty in this twisted fairy-tale gone awry. She knew not what to do about it or even with it. There was nothing to do but survive.

Fairy tales. She still wanted so desperately to believe in them. She wanted to think that they were real and could be real and could be achieved. But her faith was greatly shaken. There was a reason why fairy tales had a 'happily ever after' ending, she now understood. Because the reality was an intrusion in the magical spell of such stories. What happened the day after the Princess and the Prince were united at last? And those evil queens and wicked stepmothers and horrible wolves in disguise-they didn't go away, did they? She knew the truth now. The power of the magic was weak alongside the gripping, evil power of the queens and stepmothers and wolves. And as much as she wished to believe in the power of the fairy tales themselves, she could not see it anymore. She had grown up. She had moved into the real world and away from the fantasies a young, impressionable girl might harbor.

Reality was strong and cold and constant, and it forced her to see it clearly. The magic had dazzled her for a brief moment in time. For that time, she had been so happy. On that island, making love with Jack. It had been their own 'happily ever after' to share. But it had ended. It was gone. There was no more Jack and Jennifer. There wasn't even a Jennifer. She had lost everything.

Last night she had sobbed herself to sleep, and her tears were now spent. She was strangely fortified for the new day, putting on her false bravado again. It was early, but she rose from the bed, putting upon her a robe and a cloak of strength to meet the day. Her mind began to race with the details of the previous day and what she had decided to do next. Memories of those beautiful moments, with Jack professing to her his dreams for their future-she pushed those aside when they threatened near her. She could not think of them, consider them. She had to deny them, again and again. If she was to have the strength to survive, she had to release every last one, like a lone balloon, plucked from a handful of tethered strings, released to rise into the air and never be seen again. One by one, she was letting them go. Watching wistfully as they rose and disappeared forever. And while she wanted desperately to grab hold of each string as the balloon went by her, she could only watch in her silent suffering as they moved off.

She could do nothing about her lost dreams of Jack. And she was beyond sadness. She had reached a point of numb acceptance. For her own survival, she had to. And today she would try to secure the release of the next person she had put in harm's way. Frankie. Somehow, she had to see him again. She had to find a way to get him free and know that she had done something right in all this tremendous, awful mess. Then she would find out about her grandmother and the others. And once they were all taken care of, she would find a way to live out the remainder of her days, a slave of this sick and twisted plot.

Jennifer sniffled, piteously. Strength. She had to reach for it. She had to find it and hold it and keep it, even if it killed her inside. She had to be strong. No more dreams. This was real. This was her reality now. She sighed and began to move toward the shower, meeting the day, if not actually greeting it. It didn't feel good, but it was the feel of real, and she would have to wear it again today. And the next day. And the one after, as well. Always.

Ch 450 - A Friendship Renewed

Jennifer went through the motions of setting things up to tend to Frankie, her hands shaking, her heart equally shaken. It was the very least she could do to try to atone for what she had caused to happen to him. Frankie had been beaten because she and Jack had seen one another, and it was a critical mistake she was not likely to make again. Hands shaking as she assembled the needed elements, she pushed aside the thought of what could have happened to Jack. Was he, even now, someplace in this villa, imprisoned again, beaten just as Frankie had been? The thought was too terrifying to consider, and she pushed it far away. Jack was okay. He had to be. But she could not make such a mistake again. Jack had to remain away. Far, far away. It was now more certain than ever. She would say or do anything to protect him from such a thing as this. Anything at all.

Frankie was saying something, and she found his words, as she poured the water from a pitcher into a small basin. "You heard Lawrence," she said, almost automatically. "He did this to you because I was with Jack." The very idea of it was painful to consider. How much more would the people she cared about have to suffer for her idiocy? This nightmare was unending.

Frankie's words surprised her a bit. "Why did Jack come back anyway?" he wanted to know, his voice small. "I thought he escaped and went for help." She wasn't sure if the words were accusing or merely laced with thoughtful consideration.

"Yeah, he did," she murmured. "But he came back here."

Turning to face her friend, she saw the question in his eyes. "It's pretty risky," he said, with an amount of wonder in his voice.

She understood the unspoken inquiry that was before her. Frankie was comparing this Jack Deveraux to the one he believed he had known before, and she had tried to tell him that Jack was different. Changed. "Yeah, well you don't know Jack," she said, unable to keep the small laugh away that accompanied those words. She understood the reality far better than anyone else ever had. Jack and risks went hand in hand. When something was important enough to him, the risks be damned. She had been just that important, she realized again, with a small sigh she kept in check.

"Maybe I know him better than you think," Frankie said, quietly and seriously. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, wondering what it was he was trying to say. "I'd have done the same thing for you," he ventured, softly. And what followed that profession was a moment of brief and awkward silence, each unwilling to speak completely from the heart, but each understanding what was in the heart of the other. Jennifer knew that Frankie was expressing his devotion to her-his support. But she also knew something beyond that. They could not go back to what had once been between them. Too much had changed. SHE had changed, every bit as much as she said Jack had. She didn't feel the same way she had so long ago, when things had been so much simpler. She was a woman now, no longer a little girl. And her schoolgirl crush on Frankie was a distinct piece of her past now. Jack had been her present and her dreams for the future. And even though that was gone now, she could not harbor regrets for what they had shared with one another. She knew in her heart it was something she would cherish for the rest of her life.

Frankie turned away, likely sensing the truth in her, and he was silent and still. She spoke up, trying to get past the moment. "Uhh...Frankie...I hate that Lawrence did this to you, and I hate that he did it to you because of me."

But Frankie was shaking his head, back and forth. "Don't," he said, simply. "Don't blame yourself, okay?"

"But you don't understand," she said, in earnest. "He's been threatening me all along that he would hurt you if I did anything out of line." She felt utterly responsible for all of this.

This time he turned, his voice hardened. "Jenn, c'mon," he pleaded. "Look," he ground out, in frustration. "Lawrence is the one to blame for all of this, okay? He is responsible! Not you! You can't let him get away with it!"

"But how are we supposed to stop him?" she appealed, wild with anxiety.

"We can stop being scared of him," Frankie told her, "for starters. He thinks he's holding the cards here, but he's not." And he turned and moved past her, completing the thought. "We have to come up with a plan to get us out of here."

For a brief, unguarded moment, she was wild with hope. If only there was a way. A small, infinitesimal hope for escape. But then she pushed it back into place and allowed reality hold once more. "No," she said, heartbreakingly. "We're better off staying here and just doing what Lawrence tells us."

Frankie was the voice of reason. "We can't stay here for the rest of our lives," he declared. But it was exactly what she was planning to do. To stay, forever if necessary, to keep that man from harming anyone else she cared about. It was the only option she could see.

"He might end up killing you," she said, frantically.

"If I stay, he may end up killing me anyway," he said, somberly, and she felt her heart fall. But Frankie was focused on his line of reasoning, and he went on. "Look, Jack's wandering around here, and Alamain knows it, right? Now, Jack must have some kind of freedom," he reasoned, and Jennifer considered it, for the very first time. Was that true? New and glorious hope sprang up in her. Hope for Jack. Of course. Jack was there with the others. Lawrence would not dare take his anger out upon Jack. Not with Shane and Julie and Kayla there to know of it. And every fear she had for his safety and well-being was suddenly calmed and quiet within her. Jack was safe. He had to be. And knowing that, she could focus again upon Frankie.

"I don't know how much," she said, reasonably, fear for her friend welling up within her again.

"Yeah, well he may have enough freedom to get us out of here," he reasoned. And then, thinking, he asked, "Now, did he bring back any help with him?"

She knew. She knew the answer to that question, but she could not share it. And it was not because she could not trust Frankie. She did not want him to learn of anything more that might harm or endanger him. "I can't tell you any more," she said, breathlessly. He persisted, and she strove onward. "The more I tell you, the more danger you're going to be in, Frankie," she said, her voice shaking again. This was all so complicated and so complex. She could not even be certain of what was wrong or right anymore.

"I'll take that chance," he said, taking her by the arm and pulling her around to face him.

"I can't take that chance," she exclaimed. "Especially if I know he's holding my grandmother here!" She had to do what was ultimately best for all of them. She could not put the well-being of even one ahead of any of the others. It was all inter-connected and inter-related. Her actions could jeopardize any one of them. Or all of them.

He understood. "Yeah, you're right," he said, shaking his head, his voice quiet. "I understand." He was disappointed, but he knew their limitations. "I don't want anything to happen to her, either," he said, softly. But then he said, "Look, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can help her. And I'm going to, okay? You're either with me, or you're not."

"All right," she quavered, frustration thick in her voice. "Just promise me you won't do anything until after this whole big party, okay?"

She realized her mistake instantly, as he stared at her, his eyes filled with confusion. "What party?" he wanted to know.

She was silent and still, and then she told him it was nothing. "It's a party that Lawrence is throwing for his father, that's all," she explained, hoping he would be satisfied without further details. But again he persisted, wanting to know when, and she told him she did not know, moving away and avoiding his penetrating stare. His questions continued, but she would not give answer, choosing to keep him uninformed and away from further potential danger.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "We'll wait until tomorrow. We'll use the party as a diversion to get us out of here."

And once more she was frantic with fear. "Frankie, you've gotta listen to me," she pleaded. "You can't...you can't just..." But he interrupted her feeble protests.

"Jenn...Jenn!" he got her attention. "Don't be afraid." And he tried to soothe her.

"What do you mean?" she lashed out in frustration and more fear. "How can I help it?" She could not even begin to explain to him how helpless and alone she was feeling. But perhaps he sensed that.

"I'll take care of you," he vowed, quietly.

"I don't want you to take care of me," she countered, stubbornly. After all, Jack had tried to take care of her, and look where it had gotten him. She could not bear any more of this. "All right? I don't want you worrying about me," she informed him.

"I do," he said, his eyes glittering. "I still care about you."

And therein lay the crux of the matter. She did not wish for him to care about her anymore. Because she understood that which he did not say aloud. He cared about her as he once had. And she didn't feel the same anymore. Whatever had long ago been between them had now been relegated to mere friendship once more. There was nothing beyond friendship between them, nor could there ever be again. She cared about Frankie, just as she cared about the others who were caught up in this mess. But not in the same way she cared about Jack. Not even close. No one and nothing could take Jack's place inside her now. He was the only one she wanted-the only one she truly loved. It was one thing to feel responsible for Frankie and to actively try to free him. But she didn't think about him constantly, with an unrequited ache inside her. Not like she did with Jack.

It would never be over, she somehow understood in that moment. Her actions might proclaim otherwise, and she might be forced to make him believe it, but her heart could not be swayed from the truth. In her heart was where he would always be, no matter what would become of either of them. Jack. The only man she had ever really loved. The only man she would ever want. Her past, her present and her hopes for a future she could never have. Even if it was not to be, it could not erase the feelings of want that rose up from the depths of her soul. Jack. The only one she wanted. Now or ever.

Ch 452 - A Sense of Despair

No words were spoken, and the only sound in the room was the trickling of water as it ran from the washcloth back into the basin. Jennifer ignored the beat of her heart, as she understood that Frankie was awaiting a response. "You didn't say anything," he observed, softly, and she refused to look at him, putting her attention upon the task before her. "When I said I still cared about you," he mumbled.

"Well," she finally responded, with grave concern. "I still care about you, too." She faced him, and he questioned if it was so. She confirmed. "Yes, that's why I'm here. Because I want to help you." It was, after all, the truth. The motives behind her actions did not matter; no matter that it was born of guilt and shame, not the sort of feelings to which he was referring.

She saw the enlightenment and disappointment in his eyes. He knew. He knew she didn't feel the same as she once had, and his chosen words demonstrated how let down he was. "Jenn," he said, slowly. "I don't want you to help me. I just want you to get out of here, any way you can."

"You know I can't do that," she countered, stubbornly. "The same way you couldn't if I was in danger."

"Yeah, but you are in danger," he insisted, and she denied it to him, declaring that it wasn't the same.

"That's why I'm going to make sure that I don't do anything else to make things worse," she said, voicing her resolve in the matter. She wrung out the washcloth again, keeping busy, but he reached across the small expanse and put his hand upon hers, startling her.

She stared as he spoke, grateful that he had moved his hand away again. She could not bear to have him touch her. "Hey, listen to me," he said, quietly. "You've already done so much for me," he said, with evident sincerity. "Too much," he added.

"All right," she responded quickly, trying to push aside the moment and his feelings. "Well, I'm going to keep doing it," she said, firmly. "Whatever it takes to make sure Lawrence doesn't hurt you again." That was all she cared about at the moment. Securing Frankie's safety with her complacency and submission. One at a time, she reminded herself. Just one at a time.

She wanted the moment broken between them. She just didn't want it broken in the way that it was, because at that moment, the door flung open and Lawrence began to stride into the room, a man in command. "I take it you enjoyed your visit," he asked, sardonically, and she remained turned away from him, gathering her strength against him. "Unfortunately, it must come to an end," he informed them both, as Frankie stood, staring and silent. "I'm a generous man, Frankie," he said, addressing his captive. "But I've shared my bride long enough." Reaching out, he took her by the shoulders and murmured, hypnotically to her. "Come along, my darling."

With a slight jolt, she allowed herself to be lead away, as Frankie stopped them long enough to say to her, "Remember what I told you." No further words were spoken, and Jennifer was taken from the room with a rough civility. The door closed, resounding in the hallway before her, and she took in a breath.

"Feeling better?" Lawrence inquired, coolly and casually, and she huffed, trying to breathe once more.

"As if you cared," she said, not quite addressing him, but rather speaking to the walls of the villa.

"Oh, but I do," came his certain response, as he moved closer to her, having secured the door to Frankie's cell. "And in the future, to avoid further incidents, I suggest you stay away from the swimming pool."

There could be no mistaking the clear cut message of such a warning. She was still mortified that he had known of it all. Her greatest fear, and it was so. "It IS the leading cause of household accidents, you know," he intoned.

She turned, finally, to face him, staring up at the face of evil incarnate. "I'd hate any harm to befall a single loved one of yours while they were here," he suggested, rather blandly. "Especially Jack Deveraux," he added, for her benefit. "Or Frankie," he added, thoughtfully. And then he spoke again. "Or even your grandmother, if she were to show up again." His eyebrows were raised in mocking concern, and she hated him with every ounce of feeling she possessed.

Her fear was still mighty, but her hate was growing stronger. They were warring within her. Two alien emotions she had no right to be feeling. Neither was inherent to her nature, and each was a powerful anti-force. Staring at him intently, she finally spoke her first words to him again. "Isn't it time for dinner?" she wanted to know, having chosen to ignore everything else he was putting before her.

"Yes," he said, simply. "But you'll be dining alone from now on," he instructed her. "For your own safety, of course." His level of superiority over her was staggering in that moment. His control over her was complete, and they both knew it. "Until after my father's party, when our guests will no longer be with us."

The snakelike coils of such words wound and unwound about her, and she was struck with fear again. Such words were an obvious warning, but she was uncertain as to their full import. Did he mean, simply, that he would see them off? Or had he other plans for his guests? She could not be sure, and she understood either option might apply. Lawrence could pretty much do anything he chose to do, in this and any other situation. She was completely powerless.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she quavered, seeking clarification.

"It means," he said, whipping out the blindfold he used, with a flourish, and he roughly began to bind her eyes again, "once the party's over, and our guests are gone, you will never see them again."

Blinded by the fold of cloth, she felt him move her back in the direction of the elevator, and Jennifer could not hold back one final gasp for air. She was no closer to an actual answer than she had been before she'd asked. Either way, his words could be interpreted in one of two ways. Either he was letting the others go and his intention was to keep her as his bride forever. Or he was going to dispose of them all, and perhaps even her, too. She was sick with fear and apprehension.

And the worst part was, he intended to keep her away from the rest of them until the moment of the party. Yesterday and earlier today it was all she had wanted, as well. To be kept away from the others. But now she hadn't even a hope of signaling any one of them to try to warn them. She could do nothing but follow along with Lawrence's plan, an unwitting pawn to be used against them. She felt sick.

He escorted her back to her room without further words, and once she was inside the haven of her own room and he was gone, she allowed her mind to race.

The party. It was all coming to a head. Tomorrow. She had tried to keep the knowledge away from Frankie, but she had been unsuccessful. He had guessed at the import of the occasion and the date, and she could only hope it would not bring him further trouble.

But her mind turned, and she was struck again with overwhelming fear and anxiety for her precious grandmother. Lawrence's hints were tantalizing, but she was now as sure as she could be. Somewhere in the heart of this place, her grandmother was being held, probably in much the same way as Frankie. What if Lawrence had harmed her already? What if she was beaten and bruised, as well, yet another victim in this grotesque nightmare?

Jennifer's eyes flooded with tears of silent sympathy and aching and massive regret. "Oh Grandma," she whispered, the tears puddling and racing down her cheeks, as she restlessly moved about the room. "I'm so sorry," she mouthed, silently, as she pressed a hand to her mouth, holding away the moans of fear that threatened to overcome her.

And then Jack. Remembrance need not return, for indeed it never fully left her-his place in her heart. Surely Lawrence would relish the opportunity to save his most stunning and terrifying consequences for the man she loved. What could she do? She was trapped inside her own room, guards positioned in place to see to it that she did not leave and no one else might enter. She was trapped, alone with her feelings, and so terrified at the prospects of what might happen next.

Just about the only thing she was sure of was that something would happen at the party. Tomorrow evening. One short day away, and something would happen, but she could not know what. Was Lawrence planning a terrible conclusion to this entire fiasco? Or would the others simply drift off and leave her here forever?

Jennifer sat limply upon her bed, picking up her pillow and pressing her face into it, as she struggled to muffle the sobs that began to wrack her body. She was overwhelmed with such a sense of despair in that moment. How much more of this could she withstand? And how much more was still to come?

Ch 454 - A Chance Encounter

At last a diversion. At last, an opportunity. Jack dressed for dinner, and after an afternoon of pacing and fretting and silence that knew no bounds, he was almost ready to face the others now. Human interaction was not entirely bad. And besides, if nothing else, sight of Jennifer across the expanse of dining table would do him good. At least when he could see her, he could see for himself that she was well. Or as well as could be expected in such circumstances.

Truth be told, he would not have admitted it to Jennifer, but he was strangely proud of her. He hated the situation they found themselves in, and he was frustrated beyond measure by the helplessness he felt, but every time he looked at her, seeing her anew, he was soothed by one thing. She looked all right. In fact, if he wanted to examine his true feelings, she looked vastly better than simply 'all right.' She was stunning. In this setting, dressed as the heiress she had been portraying for weeks, she dazzled the eye. His eye. There were moments when he found he had trouble keeping his eyes off her. Everything. The beautiful dresses she wore. The make up. The jewels. Some that hung about her neck, framing her delicate throat. Others that dangled from her dainty earlobes. And that hair. How he longed to touch it, smell it, get lost inside it again. He swallowed back the sudden rush of yearning that was now in him, and he continued dressing. Still, he could not remove such images from his mind.

But it was something more that gave him hope and a small measure of peace. It was Jennifer herself. He knew no other person in the entirety of his life who had such resilience as the girl who had claimed his heart. Of course, he recognized with a wry smile, he had given her much opportunity for practice. He had thrown quite an impressive array of nonsense her way, and she had gotten past all of it, fighting and always emerging triumphant. And as much as he harbored anxieties for what she had been through, there was simply no doubt in his mind that she would bounce back from it. Once he had spirited her away from this bizarre world-within-a-world, once he had her safely settled back in Salem, she would be fine. He was certain of it. Picking up the pieces and resuming the life they had begun to build would not be so difficult. As long as she understood the truth. And the truth was rather plain and every bit as simple as she had always told him it was. It was just the two of them. Two people who loved each other. It was just that simple.

Jack emitted a sigh, one part longing and one part impatience. He could feel the charge, almost as if it was a crackle of static electricity in the air around him. Things were coming to a head, and soon this would all be behind them. A terrible nightmare, but memories that would fade and dim quickly as they found themselves facing a life together again. He had no doubts on that measure.

He resumed dressing, having forgotten in his moments of silent consideration that it was what he had been doing. Simple attire for this evening. Tomorrow was the big event, and tonight just a quiet dinner with the others. It was all well and fine, no matter of import anyway. Just another opportunity to see Jennifer and make sure that she was holding up under the strain of it all. Another sigh tore loose, and this one of relief. It had been an endlessly long day, but it was finally nearing an end. It seemed almost a lifetime ago-his luncheon surprise for her. It had ended badly, but perhaps all was not lost. Even despite the way she had turned and fled, even after her harsh declaration that she did not love him. He knew the truth. She did. And he did. They did.

Jack completed his dressing ritual, sliding on his shoes and ruffling his hair with his fingers, too impatient for a comb. Now he needed occupation. Something to pass the minutes until he was to dine. He looked about. There was nothing here in this room for him. Nothing but the tux hanging, awaiting tomorrow evening's gala. The other selection, the white dinner jacket, had been returned with sheepish hesitance to the startled maid, her eyes a question mark. Jack had stammered about a mishap at the pool, and she had simply blinked her surprise and nodded, taking away the offending items.

What could be done, he asked himself, as he waited for an idea to come. Jack opened the door of his room and peered into the empty hallway. Should he check on the others? Should he explore a bit? The decision was a simple one. He would see the others soon enough. He had a few extra moments, and he might as well use them.

Wandering the hallway, his eyes roamed every inch of the territory, his active mind engaged in making mental pictures to go along with the blueprints he had committed to memory by now. Every chance he had, it was important to make a mental layout of the place, to be ready at a given moment to terminate the stay.

His eyes glanced each way, taking in the artwork upon the walls, the doors, windows, plants, even the wallpaper. He had to remember it, somehow. He moved past the area and into a new one, another hallway leading in a different direction. He had been this way, but he wanted to compare it now to the remembrance in his brain. Jack moved, silent and stealthily, like a prowler. He wandered. He moved. He saw everything, making pictures for his brain.

A small noise startled him, and he suddenly and unexpectedly found himself face to face with one of the maids. She was one he had not seen before, and she stared at him, looking like a frightened rabbit who had been caught in the farmer's garden. Eyes behind glasses studied him, and she spoke, stammering in a soft accent, "Sir, you should not be here."

Jack smiled his most engaging smile and dipped his head. "I was just on my way for dinner, and I must have taken a wrong turn," he said, managing to sound as apologetic as he did not feel. "I can't ever seem to find my way around here, you know."

She did not return the smile, and her face showed her fear and distrust. Jack forged on, taking advantage of the opportunity and the moment. "I don't believe I've seen you before," he said, thoughtfully, and she blinked. "Do you, perhaps, work the downstairs quarters?" He studied her and awaited a reply.

She flinched, and he had his answer. She knew there were others downstairs. She knew that he knew that there was such a place. "I don't know what you are talking about," she said, fearfully, her eyes moving away from his and looking down the hall, as if she expected them to be seen by someone.

"Well, I seem to have been separated from one of the guests," he said, taking the chance with this frightened maid. "He's about yay tall," Jack gestured, moving his hand down to under his chin. "Medium build...answers to the name Spanky," he muttered, for good measure. He feigned innocence as he waited for her reaction, and it was there. She looked away, nervously.

"I cannot help you," she finally said, in a strangled voice. Her eyes darted about, back and forth, and he took note of that, too. "I think you need to return to your party," she suggested, gesturing back from the direction in which he had come.

Jack plowed on, unwilling to back down yet. He persisted. "Then how 'bout a woman?" he asked, still with the smile upon his face and his eyebrows raised a bit in question. "Older woman, quite pleasant. Silver hair, lovely smile and kind eyes." He hoped for confirmation of what he believed he already knew. Alice Horton was still here someplace, as well. He hadn't seen any sign of her during his stay in the lower quarters, but he believed she was being held, too. "Have you seen her?"

Again, the maid looked fearful, as if they might be discovered conversing at any moment. "Please, Sir," she said, in her soft brogue. "You need to return to the others, and I need to get back to my work."

She turned to leave, and he stopped her. "Wait, wait," he said, putting out a hand and touching her arm. She whirled about and stared at him, nervously. "Just one more question," he promised, using his smile to charm her. She peered at him, saying nothing, and he took full advantage of the chance before him. "Miss von Leusch--" He realized his mistake and forced the distasteful words from his lips. "Mrs. Alamain," he said, holding his smile in place with effort. "Have you seen her today? Is she well?"

At such words, the poor maid visibly flinched once more, letting out a small gasp of air. Jack was as startled at her reaction as she was at his question. Frightened, she backed up a step or two, staring at him in seeming horror. "I-I--I cannot help you," she repeated, backing away. "I must go."

"Well certainly," he said, easily, although his mind was racing. "Thank you anyway, for your assistance..." He purposely hesitated in that moment, and then seeing her wild eyes, he questioned her. "Your name?"

She murmured something he did not quite catch, and then she was gone, away from his sight and out of his presence. Jack stared at the now empty hallway, feeling equal parts of satisfaction and unease. It was obvious this maid knew something that she could not share, but he could not decide what it was. But it was also obvious that something about her rang familiar within him, and he could not decide what it was. He had not heard her name, so he could not say it was that. Something, though, made her seem terribly familiar. As if he already knew her. Or as if he should.

Jack tucked the thought away for later consideration. Here, at last, was somebody who knew something, he was sure. And as sure as he was a reporter, a news hound, he would find her again and pump her once more. And next time, she would give him something more to go on. He was confident of it, and he gave himself a self-satisfied smile. Then Jack turned and retraced his earlier steps, heading back toward the rest of the Salemites.

Dinner, he said to himself, reminding himself of what came next. Dinner with the others. And that included his next sight of Jennifer. His heart beating faster, he moved through the halls with deliberation. Toward them. Toward her.

Ch 456 - The Crippling Doubts

Something is going to happen. Jack awoke with the words thrumming through his brain. I'll make something happen, he reminded himself, as early morning moments descended upon him. Today. He still hadn't a clue how it would come about, only that his resolve had not been shaken. And despite the fact he had lain awake for what felt like hours last night, straining to come up with some sort of coherent, cohesive plan of action. There was none. He had used up his ubiquitous supply of backup plans, and now he was left with nothing. Nothing but that damned, blessed resolve.

But he knew it to be true. He knew, too, that he was at the end of the proverbial road here. This was the day that was to lead into Lawrence's party for his father. And Jack understood one thing, if nothing else. After said party, Lawrence would be making sure that his 'guests' were packing their bags to return home. The hospitality corner would be closed, and he and the others would be expected to return to Salem. Only there was no way he would ever think of leaving this place without Jennifer. Even if he had to kidnap her to do it.

That thought took hold and began to burn itself into his mind. Kidnapping. Well, after all, it wasn't as if he hadn't tried that tactic before. He had kidnapped her from her intended marriage to Emilio. A lifetime ago. Jack supposed he would have to kidnap Jennifer away from this marriage, as well. At any rate, such a plan had worked the last time. And he knew he was certainly up for the challenge.

There was just one thing that continued to worry him. After all, the last time Jennifer had nearly gotten married, there had been a distinct, clear and definite reason. She had chosen to marry another man in order to force his hand. To make him stand up and take notice of her. To drive from deep within him the feelings they both knew he had for her. He had been so resistant, all those many months ago. So determined to keep her away. And for what? In the end, his gestures had been pointless and his attempts had been futile. The blaring truth had begun to work its way to the surface of his consciousness. He had loved her all along. It had been almost as simple as she had proclaimed it to be. And it was true, just as she had tried to show him. He had loved her, and when she had finally awakened the truth from within him, they had both discovered the glory of such a revelation. The wonder of it all.

And for a time, albeit short, things had been as near idyllic as he could have ever hoped to achieve in his sordid life. Of course, crippling doubts had gnawed upon him, and he had pushed her away again. For her own good, or so he had wanted to believe. He knew the truth now.

But truth brought with it something more. A terrible knowledge and doubts exchanged for crippling concerns this time. This time she had actually gotten married, and the reality of that was something that burned within him with a hurt unlike any he had known. It hurt to even think the words. She had married Lawrence Alamain. And what was worse, she wanted him to believe it was real.

It wasn't real, though. It was a hideous anomaly, something so insanely grotesque that it was monstrous, really. The very idea of her marrying such a man. Jack might have at least understood Emilio, even though it was apparent that they were worlds apart from one another. Emilio was so far below Jennifer's league that they nearly existed on separate planets. But Lawrence Alamain was a much more real and insidious threat.

He acknowledged it within himself as he lay in the bed and allowed thoughts to gather. He had never really taken Emilio seriously, even when he had seen Jennifer dressed as the bride in the twisted fairy tale. Who could have taken someone like Emilio seriously? But he had understood, somehow, how Jennifer might have looked in that direction. Her known propensity for taking in strays was nearly epic in nature. In an offbeat way, he could almost admire that about her. After all, it was Jennifer's tendency to nurture, and her inclination to reach out to those in need was a part of her that had intrigued, amazed and even delighted him, at times. Was it not, in fact, the very reason she had been attracted to him in the first place?

But what on earth could have caused her to go through with this wedding, here and now? Especially when he was finally being honest about his feelings, coming to her halfway across the world, proclaiming his feelings instead of running from them. He frowned with remembrance. They had stood before one another, even in this place, and had exchanged imaginary wedding vows. And Jennifer had shone with a radiance he had never seen before in her. She had even told him that she wanted to go home and be with him. What had changed then?

He shook with silent frustration. This was where his picture ended. Where he was no longer able to connect the dots and see clearly what was before him. Something had changed, on the day of her wedding, and he could not imagine what it was. Why had she changed? Why had she stopped dreaming? Why had she left behind everything that mattered to them both?

At first he had believed it was simple fear. And he knew how much her grandmother meant to her. He had understood that much. She likely feared for her grandmother and was playing along with Lawrence's pretense of a happy marriage. But try as he had, he had been unable to convince her that he and the others could free her AND her grandmother. It made no sense. He was not alone. Shane and Bo and all the others were here, too. They could free Jennifer and her grandmother and anyone else who might be held against their will in this bizarre country by this daunting man. Why didn't she believe that?

Why didn't she believe in him anymore? Jack squeezed his eyes closed and tried to remember how to breathe. In his brain, the image of her was fixed before him. Jennifer, eyes luminous, that beautiful blond mane held back in a swinging ponytail. Stars. So many stars he could not see them all. Her pitiful sniffles as she faced him so bravely. And her words. 'I believe IN you,' she had proclaimed, and in the moment when the stunning revelation was trying to make contact with his brain, her face came forward, her lips making contact with his in a glorious tribute to those professed words and feelings.

Even all these months later, he could remember that moment so clearly. Every word spoken, every sigh from her throbbing throat. The incredible surge of joy that it brought him to get lost inside her. To feel that connected to another human being. And not just anyone. Her. He had not been able to admit it yet, but he had known it, someplace down inside his heart. She had been the only 'her' he could want or need or know. The 'her' who made everything right in his life. The 'her' who had the power to heal him from his life. And she had.

There could be no going back. It was just that simple. He would fight everyone, anyone and EVEN her-all just to have it back again. To have it back like it was when they were on the island, opening up to one another. Belonging to one another. Needing one another. He could settle for no less than the continuation of that dream. A life with Jennifer at the center. Working together, side by side, each day. Sharing the evenings together, side by side, every night. An endless array of discovery and exploration of what it meant to belong to another person so completely. He wanted it. More than he ever could have dreamed possible during those months of pushing it aside. He wanted it so badly he was nearly paralyzed by it. Because he still didn't know how to have it. How to get it and to keep it this time. He only knew that he had to embrace it. Giving up that dream was not an option; grasping it was his only possibility.

The doubts assailed him once more. Doubts in himself and his own ability to make it happen. Doubts that she would still want him, after all he had done to fail. But this time, perhaps for the first time, he was stronger than the collective power of those doubts. He was master over them, and he pushed them away. He loved her. He did! And he wanted her with a desperation that made everything else pale in comparison. He would accept nothing less than the complete and total fulfillment of every one of their dreams. He was certain of it, and he would find the way to make her believe again, as well.

He just didn't know how yet. And try as he might, in those early morning hours of solitude, entombed within a dwelling that was as silent as a crypt, he wracked his brain to know the rest of it. To find the solution. To discover the way. But the harder he pushed for it, the more elusive it became.

No matter, he thought to himself, trying to remain uncharacteristically upbeat and optimistic. When the moment was before him, he would know how to reach her. He had to believe that much. The alternative was simply unimaginable.

Atonement. He faced the concept. Apparently, he still had some atoning to do. And that hardly mattered, either. If that was all it took, then so be it. He would continue to atone for his misdeeds and actions-in any way possible. Because this was too important to release. Jennifer needed him. And the rest of that equation was just as true and real. He needed her, too.

He did understand it now. They needed one another. And it didn't make either of them weaker to need the other. If anything, it made them stronger. It took far greater courage to allow oneself such need than to thrust it aside and deny it.

He would show her. Today, even. He would show her that he still needed her. And he would make her believe that she needed him, too. He would make her believe in him again-like she had before. He had to. Jack pushed aside the last shreds of doubt and allowed a breath of release to waft from his lungs into the room. It was time to get moving. It was time to make this dream a reality now.

Ch 458 - A Foreseeable Future

The door flung open, causing Jennifer to gasp in surprise. Usually Lawrence knocked when he was about to enter. Usually he would call out to her first. But this time he simply pushed open the door and strode into the room, and she felt her heart begin to pound all over again. Something in his demeanor suggested that he meant business with her, and she tried to imagine what might be happening. Perhaps it had something to do with his father's party later today. But she did not have to wait long to discover the answer to her many questions. Lawrence came forward, speaking as he did so.

"Katerina," he called out, and she turned back from where she had been looking out the window, peering into the bright light of a day that did not know her. Hands clasped together anxiously, she moved forward to ascertain what was going on.

"What do you want?" she asked, hating the fact that she was always breathless before him. It made her appear weak. It made her feel weak and out of control, like little more than a small girl. "What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent and now crossing her arms.

"Relax, my love, relax," he teased with a small smile she found abhorrent. Refusing to even look at him, she waited for what was sure to follow. More demands. More expectations. More impositions. "I've simply come by to advise you of an unexpected visitor."

Her neck snapped around before she could maintain her calm facade. Staring up at him, she watched as he continued with his latest round of the game. "Now," he said, authoritatively, "I did my best to dissuade him, but he's quite determined."

She knew in that instant that he meant Jack. And if Lawrence's words were true, they had spoken to one another. Jack was still determined to get to her, and she was heartsick with fear. She had done her best to push him away yesterday, even despite how horribly painful it had been to do such a thing. But Jack hadn't given up, even then. She should be filled with joy to consider it, but she was panicked, nonetheless. Lawrence went on speaking. "So, before the party tonight, a very worried Mr. Jack Deveraux will be stopping by to see you." She did not react or respond, and he went on, mocking her. "To satisfy himself as to your continuing joy in our marriage."

She stared up at him, unmoving, unflinching, and he completed the thought. "And now I'm going to tell you exactly what you are going to tell him when he gets here..."

Jennifer held her arms to her side, almost hugging herself as she faced what he would surely say next. And as she listened, she felt a strange sense of coldness come over her, originating deep in her heart and working outwardly toward the surface in gradual increments. It was every bit as she would have expected. Carefully chosen words, instructing her in how to handle the meeting. What to say to Jack. How to address his questions and demands. And she was sick as she heard the words in the air between them. She was to tell Jack, once and for all, that it was over between them. She was to push him away, and this time completely, so there could be no doubt, whatsoever, in her intention to remain in this place with her new husband. She was to make him believe her words. Or else. That part was not quite verbalized, but it was every bit implied and crystal clear to her. There would be direct and dire consequences if she were to deviate from that which Lawrence was proposing.

Somewhere in amongst it all, she focused on his words. "Tell him exactly what I have told you. And you will do it with such startling conviction that even I will believe the performance." He hesitated only a moment and then added, "Because you wouldn't want to pay the price for anything less than utter believability."

She turned slowly, speaking slowly, as well. "All right," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. He questioned her, needling her, and she said it again. "I said all right." This time her voice was louder and held more conviction. "I'll tell him what you want," she said, trying to keep the defeat from her voice. And she turned aside from him once more.

"Good...good..." his voice came back to her, and she was startled to feel his hands upon her arms. This time she did flinch at his touch, whirling around and unable to keep the fight within her from springing up.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, in a low and accusatory voice.

He had the audacity to look surprised, and then he hid away that emotion and instead held out his hand, showing her the answer she sought. In between his fingers, he held a small listening device. "So that I can hear your recitation," he informed her. Feeling her heart sink, she heard the rest of his thought aloud. "From afar..." And she could do nothing as he reached forward and clipped it to the down-turned collar of her blouse, hiding it and then smoothing it into place. "Confident that my orders are being followed..." And with a small "there...there..." he ran his fingers along her arms.

"Now, I'll leave you to rehearse your lines, my love," he said, smiling soullessly. She stared, too filled with hate to even react to this all. "Jack will be coming by soon to hear them," he reminded her, and she knew how much he was relishing her discomfort. She briefly wondered if it was even possible to hate him more than she had already. The man was truly evil, and she absolutely despised him.

He moved toward the door, and she moved away, hugging herself again, and then she heard him stop alongside the door. "Oh, and don't forget," he reminded her, "I'll be listening to you..." The door closed, and she was alone.

It took several long minutes before she could do anything more than simply try to breathe in and out. Her moments were limited, she knew. Very soon Jack would arrive at the door and she would be forced to reject him, coolly and civilly. And completely. Or else. Jack's life, the life of her grandmother, the life of Frankie and possibly even her own life would depend upon what she did in the coming minutes.

She felt panic as it clawed at her throat, and she forced herself to try to remain calm. How could she face the man she loved, knowing how her words and actions would surely break his heart? It broke her own heart just to consider it. He had done everything possible to express himself to her, and all she could do in return was turn him aside, cast him away, without so much as an explanation.

Jennifer was terrified, and her breath froze within her. How could she do it? How could she play such a part, knowing that it was killing her inside and seeing how it would kill him? What if he actually believed she didn't love him at all? What if he really thought that she wanted to be with Lawrence? But more terrifying, what if he did not? What would she have to say or do to make it happen this time?

The questions swirled in the air about her, and she could not face them. And yet, she could not thrust them aside, either. The situation was beyond hopeless and she was filled with absolute dread of the nearing moments. Her heart beat out of control, flip-flopping and threatening to send her careening to the floor, but she held firm, forcing her feeble brain to find the words she would need very soon. Very soon.

She had to do this horrible thing. She had to, to save the life of people she cared about. To save the life of her precious grandmother. To save the life of the man she loved. She could hate it all she wanted to, but it mattered not. Only they mattered to her. She had not the luxury of liking or disliking anything of what was to come. She had only the truth. She had caused this monstrosity, and she would see it through until she was certain that the lives of the people she cherished were preserved from the wicked machinations of a crazed, maniacal lunatic. And one whose life had intersected their own, thanks in great part to her own stubborn tendencies and foolish inclinations.

Jennifer released a shuddering breath and hugged herself tightly again. She would find the way to set Jack free, and then she would continue to play the part at this birthday event. And once that was complete, her life would be, finally and forever, over.

It mattered not, she tried to convince herself again. It only mattered that they would all be saved, one way or another. She was expendable, the one whose life could be forfeited for theirs. And it wasn't even a particularly noble thought she held.

The truth, as she could see it, was finite and palpable. She was nobody anymore. Nothing. Not worth the time and effort of those who had risked their lives to come to her aid. And certainly not someone who could ever remotely be worthy of Jack Deveraux again. Maybe once, long ago. But no longer. And never again. Jennifer Rose Horton was all but gone, all but forgotten. Her life as Katerina Alamain had begun and would continue for the foreseeable future. The foreseeable and endless future.