Why? 

She didn’t understand. 

Why, goddamn it?

She put her dress back on as she stared at him, her sadness seemed to ebb. Her outer shell had cracked, broken, wide and gaping, and the inner part of her was no better. Her soul shattered, her spirit was battered, and she hated him for that.

She knew she’d have to say something soon, anything. Her lips moved, but no voice came out.

 

Oh, my God. 

 

Her heart began to race. How could he? Her chest ached painfully, and her throat tightened with anger, fury, and resentment. How could he? She closed her eyes and lifted her face, trying in vain to steady her breathing. 

 

“Marlena,” he tried once.

 

Oh my God. 

 

She could barely take in a full breath. She was fuming. Her jaw tight. She paced the small room, her entire being stilled when she heard him.

“Doc, talk to me.” So warm. So familiar. As if nothing happened.

 

John stood in the white room, looking down at his feet, his jaw tight, and she took that moment to roam him. 

Why? 

Why did he do it? Her throat tightened in a way that cut off her air supply. It was so cruel. In her mind, she’d imagined their lives together, how she was always happy to see him. Running a hand through his too-long hair, he paused to scratch as the too-long stubble on his sharp jaw and peeked up at her through his lowered gaze. His nose was swollen, and the purple bands under his eyes told her Fernando hadn’t held back when he tore into him last night.

He ran a nervous tongue across his full bottom lip, his hands clenching, then unclenching in a move that told her he was anxious. 

 

This man had always been good, her knight in shining armor, and now she was scared, she wasn’t sure who he was anymore. 

“Doc...it wasn't me...I have no memory of that...I’m sorry.” 

The intense fury that lit in her belly was warm but soon raged into a fiery inferno. She found the fucking words. Her voice was quiet, giving off false calm. 

“You’re sorry?” A single step closer, a whole new level of rage. “You’re sorry?” Another step, another internal meltdown. Eyes wild, she whispered, “Is that what you said just now? You’re sorry?” Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might be having a heart attack. Who wouldn't after the last few weeks. It wouldn’t have surprised her, given the circumstances. It was already broken anyway.

 

John looked her right in the eye, that rough whiskey voice floating over her as she seethed. “Oh my god Doc, I wasn’t myself.” 

Her neck began to heat with raw fury. Her hands shook, and when she took the final step over to him, she looked up into his face and blinked at the gall of this man. 

 

When she lifted her hand, reared back, and slapped him across the cheek as hard as she could, the sound echoed in the closed space surrounding them. He flinched, surprised. She could hear Fernando’s laughter, and it only made her madder. Panting, she gritted her teeth. The pain was a welcome change to what she’d been feeling the last couple of days. It was nice to feel something other than numb. Before she could hit him another time, he caught her wrist, gripping it tightly in his grasp, staring at her penetratingly. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He gently ran his thumb over her thumping pulse and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, Doc.” Her eyes flashed, and her voice quivered, not from sadness but from unsullied anger. “You do not apologize for this. Do you hear me?” Her breaths started coming in short, rapid pants. 

 

“You say sorry for accidentally stepping on somebody’s toes.” Lifting her hand, she smacked him across the arm.

 

Smack. 

 

“You say sorry for buying the wrong brand of shampoo.” 

 

Smack. A harder strike. 

 

Her voice lifted an octave. “You say sorry for coming home late, John.” 

 

Smack. 

 

Her eyes stung with the force of her tears as she shook all over. “You do not say sorry for raping me.” 

 

Smack. 

 

Tears fell from her lashes and trailed her cheeks. John’s body tensed with every hit she landed, but all he did was back himself into the wall, his jaw steeled, his brows drawn as he took what she needed to dole out. He moved away, and she followed in an unconventional dance she didn’t even know the steps to. Every stroke she dealt felt like a punishment on herself. This was not who she was. 

 

This was the person she turned to in the last few weeks. And she hated Fernando for it. The blows came faster and faster, and he moved slowly, his body rigid and unyielding, allowing her to back him up against the wall. Her shaking arms flailed in all directions, not caring where the knocks landed, only that they did. 

 

A distressed whimper left her. “How could you do this?” 

 

Whack. 

 

The words were rough. “How could you do this to me?” 

 

Thump. 

 

Her voice cracked. “To us?” 

 

Smack. 

 

Her body shook as she wept, and her blows weakened as her grief drained her like a cell phone battery. “I love you, you..” 

 

Thwack. 

 

When his eyes closed and he swallowed hard, she held her arm up, ready to strike again, but held it midair. Her voice was weak, and she focused on the rapid beating of her heart, taking in a slow, trembling breath. 

 

“You can not apologize for this.” she dropped her arm. “I don’t know what is real anymore, but I know one thing, I’m not doing this anymore. I’m done playing his sick games.”

 

They stood in silence for a long moment, the way her feet shuffled across the floor, the only sound between them. He ached to wrap his arms around her—to wipe that horrified, angry look off her face. But every time he wanted to touch her, anything he wanted to say to her went right out the door, forgotten by the way the feel of her skin beneath his palms made his heart race. 

 

Ignoring his wondering hand, she turned, “And you,” the fury in her eyes never-fading when she searched for Fernando’s. “Why don’t you walk me through this, Fernando, huh?” she said, deciding to follow her steps back to the big window. “Enough about me, my dreadful past, and my suffering. You’re here for a reason, just as I am, by your doing. Tell me where the exit is, I’m done, I’ve had enough.” 

 

He stared at her, amused. Everything with Fernando was a test.

 

“Tell me how to get out of here, Fernando.” Past the shadows, she glimpsed his stillness. 

“Why? What does it matter?” 

So confident. So cocky. 

What does it matter. If that man was seated in her therapy room, she’d log a note to explore the antisocial spectrum, to distinguish if there was a particular psychopathy. But they were not in her office, and there was only time to acknowledge that he must be one. 

“I’m a psychiatrist,” she said, taking a moment before she reached for the doorknob. “I can help you. Well, in theory. Truthfully, I don’t really care whether you live or die. I just want to get as far as I can from you and this place.” 

 

Brutal honesty. 

 

“I thought I wanted to know. I thought it would make a difference; in fact, it made all the difference in the world. I want out; I’m not playing anymore.” 

“This is not your decision to make, Doctor Evans.” he snarled down at her. “Principessa—you’re just as fucked up as me. You hurt people.” 

 

She shrugged. Maybe. Probably. 

 

But the adrenaline has run its course, and sheer exhaustion was wearing her patience. Before Fernando ever entered her world, she was decided. Rehabilitation was not possible for the truly sadistic. If she was given an infinity of nights to transform that man, she would not succeed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered. She’d been there before, standing in the same room. The moment she realized it for the first time that she was fighting an impossible battle, waging a mental war with no end. During this discovery, she was trying to break into that man’s mind. She turned his psychosis against him and urged it to devour him. 

 

To end him. 

Her chest caught fire, her breaths erratic. She dragged in a lungful of cool air, dousing the burn. Now that she’d been shown the truth, she’ll never see the lie again.

 

“I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. I did nothing to hurt you, you, or anyone else who was down here at that time. Nothing. I know that now, I was only here to console the testers,” she said, steadying herself on her bare feet. “I’m just sorry I ever believed you. That I ever believed I was capable of hurting people.” 

 

She looked at him, taking one step closer, her hand reached for the doorknob, and turned it. A loud click echoed the small room. 

“Where is the exit, Fernando?” 

He came closer, no fear in his steps. 

 

“Marlena! What are you doing?” 

 

John’s outbursts didn't even waver her steps.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor Evans.” 

 

She blew her bangs from her eyes, hands anchored to her hips, impatient. “You’ve kidnapped us. You wanted us to find this place, or at least, you hoped one of us would remember and find it for you. So, here we are, you’ve found it. Now, let us go.” 

Her hand thrust into the air. 

 

“You’re Black Bird. How?” He shouted, his body was lifted higher. He wasn’t playing according to her rules. He was still in control. 

 

“Where is the exit?” she asked. He didn’t respond though he moved forward towards her. She didn't flinch.

“Marlena, what are you doing?”

“Let me handle that, John” she said, and with a quick swift to her hand, she shoved the white door. It locked when it closed — leaving John standing where she wanted him at that moment. 

 

Fernando was always a step ahead; he had their world twisted around his finger. She could see the rage in his eyes, dominated by a world that no longer existed. Anger seethed in his eyes as he moved closer. No matter what his reasoning, his justification, he won’t be given a second chance. 

Not by her. She felt his presence looming, a dark shadow growing and swallowing the light. And when the blackness descended over her, he was there to claim his prize.

 

His arm bent around her waist in a tight vise. 

“Where’s the exi-”

“Shh,” he cooed as he placed a sweaty hand over her mouth. “We’re just going to have a little talk, Mi Amore. Didn’t think you’d open the door, come near me and leave this place just like that?” he closed his fingers around her chin. “You know what happens to little teases?” His sour breath twisted her stomach. She shook her head against his hold, maintaining her firm disposition. Giving him the guise of being in control. 

 

Although she was not sure, he needed the reassurance. He appeared confident. “Teases get punished,” he said. His arm was suddenly gone from around her waist, and she heard the snap of a weapon—a knife. 

 

“DOC!”

 

Turning her, his elbow dug into her back. He smashed her body against the wall. “Now, I want your palms planted against the wall. You got me?” she whimpered against his hand in affirmation. 

“Good. Now be a good girl and answer my question, and I won’t have to mark up that pretty face.” He moved back, allowing her hands to reach for the wall. The feel of his knife was against her bareback. 

“You answer my question first,” she hissed, and felt the tip of the knife on her skin, she whimpered again. She didn't want too, but the voice just came out.

“Make all the noise you want,” he said around a grunt as he leaned into her, “but if you don’t answer, I’m going to make it hurt so much worse.” Her nails dug at the wall. 

 

Something was wrong.

He was too confident, even for him.

The thought hit her as he pressed up against her backside. His strong arm circled her waist. Irritation clawed at her defenses, and she clamped her hand around the thick wrist at her pelvis. 

“Get off me.” 

“I could probably manage that, but I’d love to know what getting you off—really off—feels like.” Fernando’s gruff voice reached her ears. Her body tensed, her hold on his arm, turning to stone. 

 

“Where’s the exit? How do we get out of here?”

It was the most critical question. 

 

Every contingency to follow rode on his answer. He feathered her hair over her shoulder; rough fingers stroked her neck. “Shh. You’re going to ruin the surprise.” 

Then he pressed hard against her, making her aware of the knife. She wrenched out of his hold and spun to face him straight-on. 

“What are you going to do? kill me?” She looked around the room, in the corner of her eye, she saw John.

 

“This isn’t some cliché movie, Fernando. You’re not going to kill us.” 

He chuckled. “God, you really are an arrogant bitch.” 

“And you’re merely a pathetic man,” she shot back. 

“At least we can be honest with each other now.” He stalked forward and lowered his voice. “Do you really want to make a scene? What are your chances to discover what I’ve done with your children then?”

 

The rules of psychiatric warfare were different for everyone. How far someone will go to demoralize and dominate their opponent was dependent on their level of commitment. Their desire and need to win—to make their enemy suffer. 

So the question was: Who wanted it more? 

She did. 

 

Her eyes filled with horror. “Oh my God! Take me to them,” she demanded. She didn't give him another moment. 

 

“Are they okay?” The question left behind a sour aftertaste. She squeezed her eyes closed. Then he moved in front of her. In the dim glow of the room, she noticed the scratches on his face. Now faint and healed over, but they were there. He noticed her inspection with an irritated scowl. 

 

“Why do you do it, Fernando? For the rush? For the sheer satisfaction of outsmarting us?” 

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Understand is what I do. Try me.” When he remained silent, she added, “I know about your family. What happened to them.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he snapped, driving a hand through his messy hair. 

“Then explain it to me. Make me understand.” 

 

He chuckled, incensed. “You’re so fucking annoying, Doc.” Only he delved into his story. “I met her by the lake; she was so beautiful, Stefano never wanted me anywhere near her, so we had to run, to hide, ” he said. “For a few years we managed alright, but he wanted her back, he found out that we had a child,” she slowed her breathing, and Fernando matched her pace. “I was wrong to run away with her. Had I played by his rules, that accident never would’ve happened.” 

“You don’t know that. You can’t.”

“Oh, but I can. I know that if we hadn't been there, she never would’ve run outside, my son would have never been exposed to a life of a refuge. I would’ve been the only one shot, not them.” Marlena looked at him. “You wanted a better life for your family—” 

“As far as I’m concerned, they are dead because of me. Because of him” he nodded his head toward the door, towards John. 

 

“You couldn’t prepare for something like that, no one could,” she said, analyzing.

“Funny.” He scoffed. “Stefano planned it all along… how I would become his lab rat” She eyed him from her periphery. 

 

“How does he know that you are Black Bird?” he asked. Silent, he strolled around the room in a white T-shirt and jeans. He strolled like they were just two people on a walk. 

No worries. 

No malice between them. 

She was not a threat to him. At least, not in the traditional sense. She finally looked at him and said, “I'm not answering anymore of your questions. Take me to my children.” 

 

He brought out a key, and she noticed a rusted metal door. Where was that before? 

“Doc!! Where are you taking her! DOC!” John’s voice was muffled in the distance.

He pushed the door open and swept his hands in an invitation, urging her forward. As she entered the other room, memories of John flooded her mind. She felt him everywhere. 

 

Then she saw the locks. She was thrust back to the mouth of a keylock maze. Every silver and gold and bronze lock was a bright object that stared back at her with the eyes of rusted notches and mouths of keyholes. Memories washed over her when she blinked.

 

“This is a trap,” she said, her voice breathy. 

 

She recognized the construct, the details—all the hours of study and research Stefano put into the design, years ago. 

“I can’t take the credit,” Fernando said, edging closer. “But I can get rid of you. Black Bird.” 

 

A sharp prick at her neck and she reacted. She was fighting off Fernando and grasping at the needle sinking deep as her vision blurred. Drowsiness claimed her, and her muscles went lax.

 

Fernando captured her before she hit the cement. Her breaths shallowed, her racing heart the only part of her body still filled with fight. 

 

“Noooo...” she whispered. 

 

He smoothed her hair away from her face, gaze cast down as he cradled her. “It is time to die, Principessa.” 

 

John. 

 

Was her last thought before blackness took her.