Chapter 13 B

Shawn Brady sat bolt up right on the silk lined chaise lounge, head pounding and hands shaking. "What the hell happened?"

"Angelo, are you OK?" Kirsten was sitting near him, a wet cloth in her hand with which she had been gently dabbing his forehead, and holding his hand. She smiled tenderly. He looked so young, younger even than her, and the cold mercenary look in his eyes had gone, leaving only confusion, sadness and pain, so much pain. "You passed out."

"No, before that," Shawn lifted a hand to his head. He felt so confused, as if the whole world was in a fog, and he was standing in the middle of a labyrinth completely lost.

"Well," Kirsten said slowly, thinking over the night before, "you’ve been shot, hit, punched, kicked, chased off the side of a building, nearly run over by a taxi, and that was before you’d started the fight downstairs, which we won, by the way."

"Oh, God," Shawn murmured, slumping back and wishing he hadn’t asked, or, more simply, that he hadn’t woken up yet.

"That’s what Harry said when you hit the floor," a gentle smile spread over her lovely features. "Are you feeling better now?"

Shawn did a mental inventory of his body, quietly testing the feeling in each of his limbs and finding no irreparable damage. Even as he began to speak, however, he felt his jaw stiffen, his arm throb, and a dozen other injuries beg for his attention. "I don’t remember how I was feeling before, so I can’t really answer the question."

A little pause followed. Shawn still lost in the fog, lay back and was fussed over by an anxious Kirsten. Too tired to speak, Shawn was hit by a sudden remembrance of his life before the voice’s interference.

Flashback

End of flashback

"Belle?" the name came to him suddenly.

Kirsten raised her head from her nursing of him. "What?"

The door opened abruptly, and a woman with golden hair and an ageing Italian bodyguard glided in. She wore a tailored black suit and a blank smile. He wore an Armani grey suit, a gun in a holster beneath his shoulder and a grim expression.

Danger signals shot through Shawn’s nervous system, and in a conditioned response to keep his body from harm, Shawn’s persona was subdued again by Angelo’s. Kristen’s machine had done its work well. Angelo won through though Shawn fought every step of the way. His Boss would have been pleased.

With eyes as cold as they were wise and brown, Angelo turned slowly, his body aching and complaining with every minute movement, and stared at his visitors.

"Darling boy…"

"Where are we, Miss Belle?" Spanner Joe was tired. He felt that the flight had robbed his big body of its last trace of strength.

"Home," Belle returned happily, marching out of the airport, pushing their luggage cart before her, loaded with suitcases from New Orleans.

"Not Salem, Miss Belle!" Spanner Joe begged, not having paid attention to any part of their flight on We Fly Anyone Anywhere Anytime Airlines. "You forget that we escaped from jail the last time we were here!"

"That was ages ago," Belle dismissed his fears casually, signalling for a taxi.

"It was two days ago!" Spanner Joe glanced at Belle’s resolute face and sighed.

"Joe," the way she said his name was wonderful, and he was immediately half won over by her. "Time moves differently here in Salem. The cops will already have forgotten we escaped, were imprisoned, or even did anything wrong." She briefly considered the reason for her father’s unreasonable imprisonment of her. "Not that I did."

"And if they haven’t?" Spanner Joe wasn’t willing to return to jail. He had a report to make to his employer the next day, and he didn’t want to make her mad.

"Then my future uncle-in-law and father-in-law are senior detectives," Belle answered breezily. "They’ll get us out."

Worn out, Spanner Joe scratched his head. "You getting married, Miss Belle?"

"Ask me again in February, Joe," Belle answered him with a pleasant smile.

"Does that mean I can set a date for the wedding to be in April?" Henry asked from behind them, making Belle jump and Spanner Joe growl out something unprintable.

"What the hell are you doing here, Henry?" Belle’s eyes narrowed and her fists clenched as he came closer.

"I was picking up some brochures for our Winter Break together at the Travel Agents’ next door." He showed her a handful of glossy magazines displaying vacation destinations in bright colours. "Would you prefer Hawaii or the Rocky mountains? We could visit Eric in Colorado, but I’m not sure how he would feel about us sleeping in the same bed."

Spanner Joe shifted forwards and rippled his muscles. "You want me to break his jaw, Miss Belle?"

"No." Spanner Joe looked disappointed at her answer. He was just in the mood to break Henry’s jaw. "Henry, I have no idea where you’ve come up with this," Belle was too well bred to say what she meant, but Spanner Joe’s muttering made it abundantly clear, "but I have never and will never sleep in the same bed as you!"

"But, darling," Henry looked at her with a mixture of pity and amusement. "You already have."

Babe rained kisses down on Angelo’s upturned handsome face, noting his coldness and his blood matted hair. "Darling, darling boy…" Babe repeated again and again.

Angelo didn’t resist her affectionate assault on his form. He glanced over at Kirsten, who was lying on the floor giggling helpless and kicking the ground whenever Babe slipped into Italian. "Caro, Caro mia."

"Signora," Angelo choked out at last when Babe’s fingers had patted his head, her arms embraced him and her lips been pressed to his skin so often that no end appeared in sight.

Babe stepped back far enough to let her caresses cease to inhibit his breathing.

"Grazie, Signora," he added.

"No, no," Babe insisted, "thank you, dear boy."

"Aunt B.," Kirsten begged as she slowly rose from the floor, still giggling at times but recovering at a steady rate. "I think you’re worrying him."

Babe turned on her niece, "I’m still angry with you for ignoring my warnings and running away from your bodyguard!"

She muttered something about kidnap trauma, but before it could escalate into a full scale fight, a shout from outside interrupted them.

"I don’t care! I must go!" The yelled words were followed by a string of Italian curses, most of which Angelo could understand and a few of which were so obscene that he almost blushed.

"What in the Virgin Mother’s name is that?" Babe shouted in exasperation.

"Mrs Corleone," one of the two heavily armed men she had left outside of Angelo’s room came in meekly. "We’re real sorry, Mrs Corleone, but…"

He was shoved out of the way by a series of beautiful women, all bruised and battered, who sauntered into the room.

"There he is, girls!" One at the front called back to her companions, and the flood became a tidal wave.

"Uh oh," Kirsten muttered with false sincerity, "you’re in trouble now."

Angelo didn’t flinch, didn’t move a single muscle, didn’t even blink. The mercenary in his brain calculated the odds. He had taken in the room as he had lain there, and knew that if attacked, his one hope would be to leap through the window and run. Of course, the point was academic. He doubted he could walk, let alone run.

Babe straightened her back and glared over the mass of women. Dignity flowed through her as they gave her the slight nod of acceptance of her authority. She was Queen here, they her subjects. As such, she ruled with a stainless steel rod, a will of titanium and a heart of gold - if you could touch it. Angelo had. He didn’t know it, but he was in no danger. He had saved Kirsten, had rescued the women and had helped Babe to win out against the siege that had threatened her home.

He had won her eternal gratitude, her loyalty, and best of all, her love. He had nothing to fear, but Angelo didn’t know that and every instinct in his body told him to run like hell.

"What da hell are you talking about?" Belle nearly shrieked, unconsciously quoting her ex-step father, Roman.

"You and I," Henry, feeling bolder than he had ever since he’d glimpsed Spanner Joe’s muscles behind Belle, took a small step forwards and pointed at Belle, "have shared the same bed before. The night of Philip’s party."

"What?" Belle couldn’t remember anything about that party except missing Shawn, and then wondering where he had gone. No other memory flickered even dimly through her mind.

"You heard me," Henry was smirking now. "You don’t believe me?" Henry put a hand to her hip bone. "You have a small birthmark here - in the shape of a heart."

No one except her parents, her brother and Shawn knew that she had a birthmark there, and he only knew because he had seen her swimming suit ride up once. What had happened that night?

Spanner Joe watched as Belle’s expression became harder. She was going to blow her top.

"You know what, Henry?" She sounded sweet then, like butter wouldn’t melt between those lovely lips.

"What?" Another smirk, this time with more self satisfaction than before.

Belle smiled prettily. "You’re a disgusting, dirty minded, egotistical psychotic with delusions of sex appeal, but right now I don’t have time to deal with you. Joe," she took her bodyguard by the arm and turned on Henry, "let’s go. Henry - if you’re lying to me, you’re a dead man. If you’re not lying, you’re jail bait. Capiche." She walked away from him then, letting Spanner Joe bring the luggage.

Henry quivered as Spanner Joe stared him down, but as the man broke his stare and hurried after Belle, Henry shouted eagerly, "I’ll call you!"

"What’s today?" John looked like he wanted to shake Megan until she told him what he wanted to know. "What?"

"Our last final. It was postponed from yesterday." Megan shifted uncomfortably, disliking the level of intentness that John’s gaze fixed upon her. "Someone stole the exam paper and they had to rewrite it."

"And Belle is taking this final?" Marlena was trying to calm her husband down, but his words came out spoken in an accent so staccato that it could have been the stuttering of a machine gun.

"Taking it?" Megan almost laughed. "It’s in fashion design. She’s going to ace it." Another thought passed through her mind. "That is, if she turns up."

Brady had noticeably relaxed, and now a wide smile spread across his lips. "Tink miss an opportunity to write about clothes? Dad would sooner miss a drink." Then he remembered his father was still in the room, and he quickly corrected himself. "I didn’t mean it like that."

John muttered something and then said more distinctly, "And that’s a fact."

Belle brushed her blonde hair out and glanced over at her companion. Spanner Joe was nursing his swollen feet. She felt wonderful. All she had to do was max out her credit card buying herself another round trip plane ticket, ace her fashion design final, find and rescue her kidnapped best friend, evade the Salem police, Bo, her brother and her father, avoid the Dimera clan who would surely be out for revenge, prevent everyone from killing Henry until she found out what he had meant before about their going to bed together, and convince Spanner Joe that another trip was going to be worthwhile so that she could have a little backup when she stormed whatever stronghold Shawn was being held in. All in a day’s work for a Black, really.

In the grand room where a roaring fire crackled in the enormous fireplace casting devilish shadows onto the walls, the women crowded Angelo, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of budding claustrophobia, but no danger signals quickened his pulse and his pupils failed to dilate. As they came closer, a peculiar sense of safety filled him, which was ridiculous. He was in unfamiliar territory, besieged by possible enemies, weaponless, wounded and if a fight ensued, without a hope, but for the first time in months, he felt safe.

He must be getting old - he was clearly losing whatever small sense of self preservation he had salvaged from the night before.

Then, as if to prove that his instincts could be utterly wrong, a slim blonde pulled a gun and pointed it directly at his head. "Bang."

Babe nearly ripped the gun out of her hand. "Do that again, and I’ll use this on you." It was no idle threat, and Kirsten, her customary joke with new members to the clan having failed, bowed her head in shame. "Fool." Babe spat, and turned back to Angelo with an apology on her lips.

The people surrounding him ignored this little drama, fascinated by his reaction. This is not strictly true, however, as he hadn’t had one. He had stared along the barrel of the gun with the complete indifference to it that only madmen and the perfect poker player could master.

"Congratulations," a tall brunette stepped forwards smiling and a flicker of recognition passed through Angelo’s eyes, he had seen her before, he thought. "Kirsten’s tried that on every bodyguard she’s ever had, and you’re the first not to flinch."

He accepted the compliment gracefully, his eyes fixed on Babe’s face.

"I owe you," she said after a pause that seemed to last forever.

Kirsten shifted uneasily. "We all do."

There were emphatic nods from the women, and even Babe’s bodyguards appeared to believe themselves in his debt.

Angelo said nothing. A dismissal would be insulting, a demand rude, and anything else unacceptable. He didn’t move a single muscle. As if his life depended on it, he remained perfectly still.

Babe went on, her voice a little roughened by emotion. "My niece," she waved a hand at a blushing Kirsten, "she’s very foolish, headstrong and stubborn, but we love her. Dearly. She’s one of our own." A gentle smile graced Babe’s features. "Blood of our blood. For bringing her back to us, we thank you."

More nods from around the room, and that uncomfortable sensation of claustrophobia began to return. Kirsten was loved by, and belonged to, so many people, and he had no one. Slamming it back down with a powerful mental parry, Angelo forced himself to believe that alone was better, safer, made him stronger, and at the same time realised he was lying to himself. ‘No man is an island’ - he could not exist without others, even if he spent most of his time pretending that he could.

Perhaps that was why he ignored everything that he should have been doing to further his Boss’s plans, and instead said in a voice broken, low and hoarse the words that twenty four hours before he wouldn’t have even thought: "I need your help."

"Miss Black?" The final had been easy. Belle had known all the right answers, had worked her way through the paper, had remembered to turn over the last page and had seen that the question carrying the most marks was one she could answer confidently. She felt wonderful. Now it was time to rescue Shawn. So it was with irritation rather than pleasure that she turned to face her lecturer.

"Yes, Miss Dee?" her tone was sweet, but Shawn would have been able to see the tension in her finely made limbs.

"I noticed that you’ve been a little distracted in class recently," the very well dressed teacher assessed the girl’s clothes, "And quite frankly, last week your shoes simply did not go with your purse."

Belle blushed, to be faulted be Miss Dee was to know that you had fallen far below the fashion standards set by the well dressed. "I know, and I’m really sorry, Miss Dee, but-"

"No excuses, Belle," Miss Dee’s face broke into a wide smile. "I realise that Megan brought it in for you. I believe you’d spent the previous night in circumstances less than conducive to fashion excellence."

"You mean I was in jail," Belle replied brightly. Miss Dee blushed a little. She was young, beautiful and not quite in control of the tastes of her class. "Don’t worry, Miss Dee, it won’t happen again."

Belle’s teacher obviously had no idea what to reply to that so changed the subject. "Belle, what I really wanted to tell you was that in January there’s a trip to Paris for a fashion show - we only have limited tickets, one to be precise, but as you are our best student and work on the Salem Young Herald newspaper for the college, we thought you might like to cover it for us. It would mean having to make up your classes for that week, but you have an A average, and none of your teachers feel that you will suffer particularly from missing that week. We would pay for your ticket, and your hotel, but unfortunately we couldn’t afford the plane tickets for transatlantic flights…"

"Not going to be a problem," Belle was smiling broadly now. "When will I be going?"

Miss Dee smiled back. Belle was going to have a marvellous time. "Last week of January."

Fifteen minutes later as Miss Dee sat in the staff room gripping the mug of coffee tightly between her clenched fists, she still felt the shock of the surprise of having Belle Black, daughter of John Black one of the richest men in Salem, fling her arms around her and hug her tightly, crying ‘Thank you!’ again and again before almost skipping out of the door, losing her high heeled Gucci shoes on the way and not caring.

She had thought that Belle would have had more respect for fashion than that.

"You want our help?" Kirsten felt shocked. Angelo was always so in control, so calm and cool, how on earth could he need anyone’s help? It was as if an immortal had descended from their pedestal to beg the aid of a mere human.

Angelo nodded in reply, turning his gaze from Babe to Kirsten at last. She flushed a little, despairing of ever finding the poise in herself that her aunt was famed for, and turned her face from his.

"Anything," Babe promised rashly, "we can do to help, we will do."

"Find my past," Angelo was staring through her, not at her. "Tell me who I am."

"That’s two tickets round trip to New York," the airline hostess had been a little surprised at Belle’s reappearance, but rather enjoyed the sight of her unmanageable manager flinching away from Spanner Joe.

"Thank you," Belle smiled brightly. She was going to find Shawn. She was sure of it.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" Brady sounded furious, standing directly behind her as he was.

She turned around and faced her brother with a pleasant smile. "To find Shawn."

A thing never before happened then: Babe was stunned into silence. Famous for her quick wit and quicker temper, she found her mind blank for a reply.

"You don’t know your family?" Kirsten was shocked. Angelo Salvatore not knowing something? It seemed so unlikely as to be impossible.

He waited to answer her as the rest of the occupants of the room, in obedience to Babe’s peremptory click of her fingers, filed out with many backward glances at Angelo’s prostrate form on the chaise-lounge.

"No." The word came slowly at last, almost as if it pained him, which perhaps it did.

"Angelo…" Babe spoke with hesitation. He seemed to have deprived her of speech. "I…"

Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by the ringing of Angelo’s cellphone.

Harry, having been forgotten in the crowd, tossed it across the room and with the grace of a jungle cat, marred only by a wince of discomfort at the end, Angelo caught it.

"Yes?" The word was neither barked nor purred. It was as without passion as if he was ordering pizza, less, for hunger brings needy eagerness to the voice.

Kirsten was left wondering who was calling.

A subtle change came over Angelo’s whole body, a stiffening that spoke of tension and even, perhaps, fear. "Yes, of course. Two hours, and I’ll bring the Roses."

‘Roses?’ Everyone else thought simultaneously.

Angelo ended the call and began to pull himself up, a mask as pale as marble settling over his handsome face. No flicker of expression betrayed the pain he felt as the pieces of broken bones rub against each other.

"Where are you going?" Harry moved from his place leaning against the wall and rushed across the room, preparing to catch his new friend if he fell.

A sudden, fascinating, brilliant smile broke through Angelo’s mask. "To church."

"You’re not going alone," Brady re-crossed his arms and stared at Belle hard.

"You’re right," Belle smiled up at him, then she pointed to Spanner Joe who was standing behind Brady watching Belle quietly for any sign of distress, ready to spring to her defence, "I’m taking him with me."

Brady turned around slowly, and looked straight at her bodyguard, "Hi."

"Hi," Joe replied, as Belle grinned happily over at him.

"Joe, I presume?" Megan asked politely, walking past her astounded boyfriend and offering ‘Spanner’ her hand.

"Yeah," Spanner Joe moved uncomfortable unconsciously twitching the muscle under his favourite - non-obscene - tattoo. "Sorry, I don’t know your name; Miss Belle hasn’t introduced us properly."

Brady’s eyebrow flickered in his father’s best mercenary style at the words ‘Miss Belle’.

Megan smiled prettily, catching Brady’s hand and pulling him over to them. "I’m Megan and this is my boyfriend and Belle’s brother Brady."

Belle moved to the front again, "Look, it’s nice to know you care, but we have a plane to catch."

"Belle," Brady’s tone was not one to be disobeyed, "you’re not going anywhere by yourself or with only Joe here - no offence, Joe, but she’s my sister."

"No worries," Joe flashed a gold toothed grin, "got six sisters myself, each more headstrong than the last."

Brady winced in sympathy.

"Brady," Belle interrupted their brother to brother bonding session, "tempus fugit!"

"What have I told you about swearing, Belle?" John barked as he ran up behind Brady, panting slightly.

"It means ‘time flies’, Dad," Belle replied with a roll of her pretty eyes, "not," her next words were lost in a mumble as Brady clamped a hand over his sister’s mouth before she could finish.

"Anyway," Philip’s slow drawl was heard as he and Rose walked slowly through the airport, Pink and Kitty swapping notes on Shawn and their flight tickets behind them, "we’re all coming with you."

"New York, baby," Pink yelped excitedly, having regained the more sensible portion of her vivacity.

Kitty slid her sunglasses down her nose slowly, peering over the top of them. "Shawn would never forgive us if we let you go only to be kidnapped again." The smile that always foretold trouble to come spread over her face. "Besides, I’d like to take a little tour of my old stomping grounds."

For a moment Belle thought she saw Kitty’s eyes flash, but then the look was gone and their flight was being called.

Thus it was so that Belle, her bodyguard, her brother, his girlfriend, her brother’s uncle, his girlfriend, Belle’s best friend’s wild girl friend, and his pink haired protégéé set off a plane to New York to rescue Shawn from whatever dread fate had befallen him, unaware of the near unbelievable consequences of their actions that day.

"We’re coming with you," Harry moved forwards. Kirsten was by his side. They weren’t leaving Angelo when he was in such a vulnerable state.

"No," Angelo reached for the edge of the chaise-lounge and pulled himself off it. "You can’t come."

"Why not?" Kirsten had crossed her arms and was staring at him hard.

"Because if you do, you’ll get hurt." The pain in his chest was worsening again. He needed his medication, but he didn’t know where it was anymore. He’d have to brave it out. He couldn’t show the agony, or Kirsten and Babe would never let him out of the room, and if he didn’t get to the church within two hours, the pain would be far worse than a few twinges in his chest.

Sitting on the plane, with Spanner Joe in the seat behind her and Kitty sitting in the aisle seat next to her, trapping her next to the window so she couldn’t run the moment the plane touched down, Belle clenched and unclenched her hands repeatedly. Shawn, she kept thinking, she was going to Shawn, and then everything would be OK. The terrible ache inside of her would go, the guilt of being so stupid as to be kidnapped would fade the moment she held him in her arms once more, and everything would come right. She needed her best friend back, not with a whining, self pitying greed of ungrounded feelings of selfish lust but with the low down powerful urge of her soul and her gut and her blood all screaming out in unison for him. She loved him. She admitted it to herself freely. She needed him too. He was the only one to know her ugliest sides, her petty jealousies and spites, and still see her whole and beautiful despite them.

The plane’s flight path curved as they approached the runway. They were nearly there. Belle’s heart quickened in anticipation. Now all she had to do was find him, one man in a city of millions, and save him from a fate as bad as being a pawn of Stefano Dimera.

Or rather, that was what she thought. In fact his fate was about to become a lot worse than that of a mere foot soldier caught in the crossfire of an intertribal war. Much, much worse.

Kristen paced restlessly through the vestry, waiting impatiently for the priest’s arrival, cursing under her breath. Stopping as the door opened, she stared over at her ally.

"This isn’t going to work." She worried at her lower scarlet lip.

"Of course, it will work," Angelo’s Boss replied. "Smoke a cigarette or drink some Communion wine. The priest will suspect something if you continue to pace like that."

She lit a cigarette, took a long drag and relaxed a little. "He’ll just think I’m an anxious in-law."

The slightest smile crossed the Boss’s cold face. "Somehow, I imagine not."

A shadow fell into the room. "You called?" Angelo asked from his position leaning against the doorjamb, the briefcase he had carried the night before clenched in one hand, the tightness of his grip the only indicator of his fear.

"Yes," his Boss replied. "Did you get the papers?"

"Yes," Angelo’s expression was cool and pragmatic. "Also the rubies, and I found Babe Corleone."

A simple nod from his master sufficed as acceptance and praise.

Kristen spent a few moments admiring Angelo’s face, tracing his ancestry in it and marvelling at his fineness of feature, but at Babe’s name she started forwards. "You found her? Really?"

The Boss twitched the slightest frown at her, easily subduing her into silence. Kristen flinched back, took another long drag on the cigarette, and brooded.

"These are your new orders," he stopped however, at the entrance of Lady Sarah Hamilton and her illegitimate daughter, la Vicomtesse de la Fere, known to her friends as Ivy. He sank into the shadows unnoticed as the two women walked forwards.

Lady Sarah’s hand had a slight tremble to it, Angelo noticed, as she extended it to him. Doubtless she was remembering his last words to her and feared the consequential events which were about to befall her.

Flashback

End of Flashback

He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers gently. "Lady Sarah."

She gave him a slight nod in response. "Mr Salvatore."

His Boss gave a hint of a smile as Ivy offered her hand to Angelo and he took it with perfectly masked distaste.

"Vicomtesse," Angelo managed not to drop her hand in undue haste. "You’re looking well."

"Thank you, Mr Salvatore," Ivy’s manner had none of her mother’s grace. "I wish I could say the same to you."

His bruises darkened as a slightly flush came to his cheeks.

Ignoring her remark, he went on, "May I introduce Miss Kristen Dimera?" Angelo brought Kristen forward, and with a ladylike grace, she was introduced to both mother and daughter.

"Forgive me, Mr Salvatore," there was no tremble of fear in Lady Sarah’s voice, but still her hand was not quite steady, "but why have we been asked here?"

"Because," for the first time the Boss took a step forwards and was noticed by the noblewomen, "there is to be a wedding."

"Really? And who is to be married?" The trembling of Lady Sarah’s hand had ceased. The fear flowed out of her. This was not the moment of her downfall after all, apparently. Her worries had been unfounded. Colour returned to her Ladyship’s cheeks.

For the first time, Kristen smiled as the Boss spoke the devastating words: "Why, Ivy and Angelo of course."

"No!"

Belle picked up her luggage and almost ran to the exit, her friends trailing behind her. Something bad was going to happen, she thought. Not something catastrophic, but something bad nonetheless. She didn’t just feel it in her bones, but in every cell in her body. What she had been determined to do before became even more urgent now. She had to get to him. He needed her, and she could not fail him now. If she did, she might never be able to be with him again.

She ran faster, and the tug of her soul told her that she was coming closer to him with every step. Nothing could stop her now. She dropped her bags into Rose’s waiting trolley and leapt into a cab. Shawn was waiting for her. He had to be. Forget moonlit bridges in Paris, crazy kidnapping European psychopaths and compounds in freezing Russian forests, there reunion had to be here and now.

"Mama?" JT Brady, having readjusted once more to the facts of his paternity with the ease and serenity of mind of small children, reached out his arms to his beautiful parent. Hope swept him up, and wished that Shawn was still as small, as easy to protect from harm, and most of all, was still in her arms.

"Yes, sweetie?" She pressed the child’s cheek against her own. He smelled so sweet, and when she looked down, she saw the deep brown eyes of his father and his brother in miniature staring out of his chubby cute little face.

"When Shawn coming home?" JT was playing with the strands of his mother’s hair, his face was full of hope.

"Soon, sweetie," Hope promised, knowing that with every passing day the probability of ever seeing Shawn again grew more and more distant, "soon."

"But I want him now!" JT screwed up his face, and started to cry. He wanted his big brother, the only one who could make just the right kind of aeroplane noises, whose pretty girl gave him cookies, who tucked him up in bed, who was the only one who could read ‘It Could Be Worse’ in just the right tone of voice and who loved him more than life itself, whoever’s child he was.

"Oh sweetie, it will be OK. I promise." Hope clutched the child closer to her. He needed his Mama, but he needed his big brother too, and nothing they had done had brought his lost brother back to him. Knowing that no other comfort would work, she began to sing softly to her youngest son, her heart longing for her eldest to walk through the door and join their hug, and her head knowing that it wasn’t going to happen, not now, perhaps not ever. "Love, Love, Love…
Love, Love, Love.
Love, Love, Love.
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.
Nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.
All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.
All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.
Nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.
All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need."

JT’s young voice joined in at last, softly singing the words as his mother cried and he drifted into sleep.
"All you need is love

"Belle, slow down!" Megan panted as the petite blonde dodged between the barely moving cars with the courage and ease of a native New Yorker and ran downtown. "We lost Pink and Philip two blocks back, Rose is stranded outside of Tiffany’s with the luggage, Kitty’s a block behind us, and I’ve no idea where Brady and Spanner Joe are except I think I saw a traffic cop chasing them!"

Belle stopped for long enough to let Megan catch up, adjusting her grip on her handbag and calculating how much further it would be to Shawn. Not far now, her heart told her. She prayed she would get to him in time, but understood the basic physics of fairy tale endings: the heroine will always get to the hero in time, but only if she doesn’t stop. Fairy tales don’t happen to the lazy. You could count on finding him in the nick of time only if you didn’t stop for a coffee along the way. A million to one chance, but it might just work…

"She’s on her way to New York, Bo," John said with unaccustomed softness. "She thinks Shawn is there."

"I know," Bo brought his fist down on his desk hard in frustration. It hit with a dull sound. "Shane keeps saying it’s not ready, though. For God’s sake, after all we’ve been through, surely now is the moment to act!"

John expelled a slow breath in exasperation. "Bo, I know how you feel, but we have to wait. We all agreed on the plan."

"That was before Dimera stole my son, damn it!" Bo started pacing, much as Kristen had in New York.

"Shawn’s abduction can’t alter our plan, Bo," John leaned forwards on the desk. "You know that as well as I do."

"He’s my son, John," Bo stopped pacing. "I have to do something."

"And we will," Shane’s English accented voice came to them from the doorway. "But we have to follow the plan. If we’re to bring Dimera down, we need the full of co-operation and support of the ISA."

"But my son…" Bo was thinking not only of Shawn, but also of his wife and little JT, missing Shawn as badly as his parents did, crying out in the night for his big brother.

"I know, Bo," Shane laid a comforting hand on his distraught friend’s shoulder, "but we’ll bring him home by Christmas, I promise."

Bo stared into Shane’s eyes, giving emphasis to his words, "By Christmas, Donovan, or I’ll go after him myself, plan or no plan."

"No!"

The word burst from three mouths at once, Angelo’s the softest spoken, Lady Sarah’s and Ivy’s more angrily barked.

The Boss heard Angelo’s word, and it decided him. The boy was getting above himself, his total obedience to his, the Boss’s, will was wavering.

"Lady Sarah," the cold dark eyes of the Boss settled their gaze on the pale, furious, trembling woman, "you said once that you would give anything to have your daughter returned to you." Those terrible eyes narrowed and he rapped on the wooden bookcase with each syllable uttered. "Anything."

"But…" Lady Sarah shook badly, her very lips tinged blue against the white parchment of her skin. She could say nothing. It was only too true that she had promised anything, but to see her only child married to a man she neither loved nor even knew! She rebelled against the thought.

"I know what you’re thinking, Lady Sarah," the Boss went on cool as Steve McQueen and as nasty as if playing a Robert Mitchum role, "You’re thinking that I am asking you to sacrifice your daughter, but I do not ask you for her life, only her hand. Refuse me and it will be your reputation, even your life, that is sacrificed."

"Don’t I get a say in this?" Ivy stood as straight as a poker, eyes blazing with fury.

The Boss turned on her the full weight of his stare. "You will be given an income for as long as you remain married, for life if Angelo dies first, a lump sum if you divorce far less than the income, but substantial enough. Angelo has good looks, position in society, an intelligent mind, wealth…"

"A body to kill for, generosity and sweetness when he cares to show it," Kristen finished helpfully.

"And if you marry him now," the Boss was as seductive as the devil and just as tempting, "these will be your wedding present from Angelo. A larger, more public wedding will follow, but only today can these become yours." He opened the briefcase his pet soldier had brought, showing the rubies referred to as ‘the Roses’. Large, well cut, with flawless centres in beautiful gold settings, they were enough to temp Ivy’s mercenary heart and make her eyes flash with greed rather than anger.

"I’ll do it," she murmured, fascinated by their glister.

"Ivy!" Lady Sarah cried, hurt and shocked.

"Father Michael will officiate," Angelo wasn’t really listening to his employer even as the words were begun. He was thinking of his future life, chained to Ivy.

A Catholic priest, straight backed, grey haired, looking venerable and scared, was led into the room by an anxious Kristen.

"This is most irregular," he murmured, but was pushed out of the vestry into the main part of the church to stand before the altar, with Angelo reluctantly walking arm in arm with Ivy after them, a pale Lady Sarah and a narrow eyed Boss bringing up the rear. "Most irregular."

"Not so irregular that the marriage will be invalid," the Boss reminded him with the slightest hint of threat in his voice. With a voice like that, ostentatiously displayed weapons were unnecessary.

"No, not that irregular," the priest hurriedly corrected himself, drawing himself up and beginning the service.

They sang the responses to the Mass, crossing themselves with due reverence, and bowing their heads to pray, each action bringing back some dim remembrance of services passed to Angelo’s confused memory, each adding to his feelings of resentment and rebellion, until the Father asked of Ivy, "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honour and cherish him, through sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, as long as you both shall live?"

She simpered prettily, her wide red lips pouting a little, her blonde head giving a small nod, and answered, pretending that the ‘for richer for poorer’ did not give her a choking feeling, "I do."

Father Michael nodded and turned to Angelo, "And do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise love, honour and cherish her, through sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, as long as you both shall live?"

"No. She may take me," he moved suddenly, straightening up, crossing his arms, growling out the words with bitterness, "but I refuse her."

"What?" Shrieked Ivy and Lady Sarah at once, the daughter in dismay seeing the rubies and power slip through her fingers, the mother seeing the dawn of hope.

Kristen took a faltering step forwards. "But…"

"But nothing," Angelo snarled like a caged tiger, "I will not marry her."

Surprisingly, the Boss did not argue with his rebellious protégé. He turned to Lady Sarah, "A slight change of plan nothing more is necessary, I perceive. The wedding, public and legal, will take place on the 24^th of December, I swear to you."

"But Christmas is less than a week away!" Ivy whined. "How will anything be ready? I want a big proper fancy wedding! I want all my friends to see me and be jealous! I want the rubies around my neck, satin on my feet and diamonds in my hair!"

"I assure you," the Boss didn’t snap, that wasn’t his way. Instead he let no emotion be shown in his voice, replacing it with the emptiness of contempt. His hand rested gently on a Bible lying on the side of the pew. "Everything will be ready." He signalled to Angelo, a little flicker of his eyebrow the only indication of his displeasure, "Everything."

"Goodbye," Kristen’s smile was hiding fear. She had not expected such open rebellion from this quarter. She liked Angelo more than she would admit to her co-conspirator. The Boss wouldn’t forgive the simple treachery of her feelings anymore than he would forgive a betrayal to the authorities.

"Goodbye," Lady Sarah answered in defeat, despising her own weakness, and dragged Ivy away from the church.

The Boss nodded in reply, and turned to Angelo.

"Fool." He didn’t even spit the word, but spoke it as if it meant nothing, and held no hurt. "This is not the end."

He walked out of the church then, leaving Kristen to handcuff herself to Angelo and the briefcase.

Angelo sighed gently as she pulled him to the waiting car. "It never is."

Belle was racing, her heart in her mouth, beating harder with each pumping step she took, mind turning, everything pushing her towards the only thing that mattered, finding Shawn. She paused briefly as a bus rushed past her, breathing harshly. Where was he? She felt her something like her spirit tug her to the left, and leaving a panting Megan in her wake, she skittered between the traffic and ran down a long avenue.

She had to stop, her breath was coming in short gasps now, but she knew if she stopped she would lose him. She couldn’t afford to lose him now. Another block, another turn, and then the white visage of the church was laid before her. It was a squat building, ugly and impressive rather than beautiful and magnificent. A bell tolled the hour. It was later than she thought.

The trouble with million to one chances that might just work is that there are nine hundred and nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine chances that say it won’t. Prayers rolled off Belle’s lips as she came closer and closer to her goal. ‘Please’ - the word had never meant so much to her. ‘Please let him be there.’

The priest, an old man with hair the colour of dirty snow and shaking hands, was locking the doors as Belle threw herself across the street, praying that she was in time, not seeing the limousine that forced its way down the road behind her. Shawn had been here, she knew, but was he still inside? Had she come so far only to lose him now? She pushed back the thought. She would not be defeated so easily.

Even more breathless from running up the church steps, Belle was panting when she reached the priest. "Father," she reached out to touch the man, and realised that he was shaking. "Please, I have to know, is there a young man here? He’s tall, handsome, hair so dark it’s almost black, eyes the colour of chocolate…" Belle didn’t know what else to say. The old man was shaking his head.

"You’re too late," he was fiddling with the door’s lock when he spoke, and so did not say Belle’s face whiten or her knuckles grip tighter around the handbag’s handle. "There was a young man here, but he’s gone. They’re all gone."

"Was he alright?" Belle felt her heart breaking at losing Shawn again, but she had to know if he was healthy after all her father had been through at their kidnapper’s hands.

"No," the priest turned at last and realised how lovely Belle was, and how terrified, "he was banged up." He touched his own forehead. "Bruises on his face. Made me wonder more. I mean, who would want to look like they’d just been in a boxing match in their wedding photos?"

"Wedding?" Belle grasped at the word. "Who was getting married?"

"The young man, and the Vicomtesse, only they weren’t you see," the priest was turning the keys over and over in his hand. "She said ‘I do’ and he said ‘I don’t’, you see."

A thought flickered through Belle’s mind, perhaps she had the wrong church, perhaps all the instincts in her small body were wrong, and Shawn had never been here. She reached into her bag and fumbled around until she found the picture of Megan and Shawn in New York. Shawn was leaning against a Harley Davidson motorbike, in what looked like an apple orchard in bloom, with a leather jacket on, a gold earring glinting, and the cheekiest, cockiest most gorgeous smile ever seen across his lips. "Was this him?"

It was the priest’s turn to fumble around then as he searched for his glasses. "Yes, he’s a little older than in this, and his hair’s shorter, and he’s a lot more bruised now, and he wasn’t smiling much, but that would be him."

"Belle!" Brady and Spanner Joe, at very long last, had escaped the traffic cop chasing them, found the rest of the group, and were now catching up with Belle.

"Please, you have to tell me, are they married? Shawn and his Vicomtesse?" The words were clinging to Belle’s throat, she didn’t want to speak them, but she had to. She had to know. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘his fiancée’.

"Angelo, they called him." The old priest’s mind was wandering rather. "Not Shawn, Angelo." He caught sight of Belle’s stare and the group running up behind her. "No. They’re not."

The air rushed from Belle’s lungs in relief. He wasn’t married. He was alive. He was in deep trouble, but he was alive. The world was a blessed place once more. "Did you hear the surname?" She gripped the man’s arm. "What did they call him other than Angelo?"

"Salvatore," Father Michael shook his head, "I wondered about that. He didn’t look much like an angel of salvation to me, but then," he scratched his head by way of contrast, "I suppose they never do."

Belle hugged him hard. She knew enough now. She could find him. She knew exactly where to start looking too, and to her friend’s astonishment, she was off and running immediately, throwing kisses back to the priest and with a huge smile on her face. She knew that name. The summer he had been lost to her, he had come to New York, he had stayed with Megan, working in ‘Guiseppe’s Café’, and then his nickname had been ‘Angelo’. Now, at last, she knew exactly where to find her missing Shawn.

"Is that really you?" His heart pounded. He couldn’t believe it.

"Yes, it’s me." She was so beautiful. He’d forgotten just how beautiful she was. She looked like an angel… "Come closer."

He moved towards her, noticing the way the light breeze was caressing her blonde hair, the way the moonlight made her eyes shimmer, and how wondrous she looked in that light.

"It’s been so long," he was near her now.

"Too long," she put out her hand to take his. "You know I’m yours, don’t you?"

"Are you?"

"Always and forever."

His. His Belle. The words seemed almost as unreal as the idea that lay behind them. She was his. Always and forever.

He looked down at their linked fingers, and a thousand memories ran through his mind.

The voice’s words echoed abruptly through his head. ‘Aim low. Fire. Now.’

And then he raised the gun in his other hand, took a single step backwards, and fired point blank into Belle’s chest, a shot that could not fail to kill her. It broke her heart and his irredeemably.

The boy she had once claimed to love so desperately, the boy who had loved her more than his own life, took her life with no more compunction than he would have had in shooting Stefano Dimera.

Darkness fell, hope died, and all was lost.

Shawn Douglas Brady had killed Isabella Black.

TBC?...