#wayne-daniel berard

[ejabbyfanficbywdb-blog]

The Dimera Has Two Faces

At last they were together. Alone with their child.

Thomas Jack slept peacefully in the adjacent room of their suite in the Salem Inn. Chad hoisted Abigail up in a dance of joy, cupping his low hands strategically to hold her close to him. They kissed as if it had been a lifetime.

Eyes closed blissfully, Abigail snuggled into Chad’s shoulder and said, “Oh EJ.”

The world stopped.

“Oh my God!” Abigail sputtered and choked on her words, as Chad lowered her down. “Oh my God, Chad! I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I said that! I’m here with you, where I want to be! The two of us and our son. Maybe . . . maybe it was all those horrible things JJ said, about my lack of judgment, and EJ and me! But I didn’t mean it, Chad! Please, I didn’t mean it!”

“Many a truth is spake in jest,” Chad replied, seeming to stare right through her.

“You’re quoting Shakespeare? Now?” Abby replied.

“Not Shakespeare, darling,” came the response with a twinkle. “Chaucer. The Cook’s Tale, to be precise. But you like to cook, don’t you? I particularly remember your cupcakes?”

Abigail backed away. She could hear much less Salem and much more Soho in Chad’s voice. His entire demeanor seemed to change; he seemed to stand taller, as if he’d been stooping before.

“No, “ she put her hand to her mouth. “It can’t be! EJ??!!”

He reached forward and took her in his strong arms. The voice she heard was entirely EJ’s, although the face still looked like Chad Dimera’s.

“In the flesh, darling. My sister, Kristen, injected my dying body with one of father’s wonder drugs. Don’t know what poor fellow he cremated in my place. He held me at a clinic of his in Switzerland. But I escaped, and reached out to Chad. It seems he wanted a new start as much as I did. A little plastic surgery and – C’est voila!”

“But, but . . . Chad loved me. He wanted me.”

“Yes, darling, he did. But you chose Ben. Chad accepted this. And it all was a tad soon after Jordan for him, don’t you think? But I, I couldn’t live another moment without you, despite all the Westons in the Ozarks. I came back for you.”

“But Chad would never abandon his child!” Abigail exclaimed.

“Oh, darling, “ and EJ grinned that wickedly seductive grin, “I’ve been back quite awhile. And I love the garden!”

“So . . . so Thomas is YOURS?!”

“Ours, darling, ours. And I love the name, by the way. ‘TJ’ is remarkably akin to ‘EJ,’ don’t you think? Or deep-down, did you know the real truth?”

He scooped her once more into his arms. She knew it was true. Just as she knew the unimportance of appearance. They were together again. That was all that mattered.

“But Chad?” the ever-caring Abigail asked. “What’s happened to him? Is he okay?”

“Plastic surgery cuts both ways, my darling,” EJ replied. “Right now, he and Jordan are enjoying his new face and their new life, far away from Salem and the Dimeras.” EJ’s heart smiled at her through Chad’s eyes. Who said you can’t have it all?

“Perhaps we have time for a quick shower before our son awakens?” . . .

A half a continent away, a darkly handsome young man was closing up his new establishment for the night, Club VBG*. He himself had a late date with a beautiful physical therapist.

Just as he went to lock the door, one straggling customer tried to gain entry.

“Sorry, buddy, we’re closed,” Chad said.

“That’s okay; thanks any . . . wait! Rafe Hernandez? Haven’t seen you since our FBI days! What the heck are you doing in St. Louis?”

*(Very Big Grin!)

[kloudygirl]

So, let me tell you about my friend and co-creator, Claudia Yvette (as if you all didn't know): To say that she is gifted is to call Christmas morning just another day! Her energy is incredibly alive and contagious! She has just the right sort of edginess but a heart without sharp edges! She is a pro as an artist and a pro as a human being (and that combo ain't always easy!) It is an honor to work with her and privelege to know her! Claudia Yvette, you're the best, kiddo!

Wayne-Daniel Berard

[ejabbyfanficbywdb-blog]

Ej needs Abby: chapter1

Stefano to Abigail, "I know you love my son."

Abigail: "I don't love Chad."

Stefano: Not that son. The one who is being kept artificially alive in a clinic in Italy."

Abigail: "What?"

Stefano: "The doctors say that he can only be roused from his coma by being given something to live for. That something is you, my dear."

Abigail: "But what about Sami?"

Stefano: "I've had the speaker phone on in his hospital room when I've spoken with Samantha about seeing my grandchildren. Her voice caused no response. But yours, on the other hand . . . "

Abigail: "My voice?"

Stefano: "As I told you, I know -- and hear -- everything that goes on under my roof. And when I played your voice for Elvis, only then did his vital signs change. Abigail, you can bring him back from the dead. He loves you, and I know you love him. It was his loss that drew you back to Chad; I understand this. But the doctors say that time is short. He is slipping away, even as we speak. Please, Abigail, get on the plane with me now. Save my son's life! Only you can do this!"

Abigail told herself that she could not let any human being die, not when she could help it. The people she respected most, her mother, brother, Daniel, they would all have understood. She was saving a life, that was all. It had nothing to do with EJ. So why had she left without telling any of them why? She had texted Ben and her mom that her former Nanny in Ireland had taken a turn, that she was asking for Abigail, and she had had to leave suddenly. Would they believe her? Chad would surely check the Dimera mansion and Chad. When he found him to be there without Abby, that should satisfy him for awhile. Stefano was waiting in the private jet on the runaway when she arrived. "I knew you would not abandon him," he said. Then he went through a curtain and left her with her thoughts. The jet's engines rumbled and came to life. Abigail's heart, her passion, began to do the same. It surprised her; she had thought she was over EJ. Thought that Chad and Ben had proved this . . . "You're alive," she whispered to herself. It still amazed her. The engines revved, stronger and stronger. So did Abigail's pulse; she closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. But all she could see was EJ's face, those dark perceptive eyes seeing clear down to her soul. Knowing exactly what she wanted. How to bring her there. The jet started down the runway. There was EJ in her mind's eye -- bending to her,holding her to himself. The island. The shower. The intensity of the approach. The ascent. The lift off . . . Abigail stifled a little cry as the jet took flight toward the man who had never left her, the love she had sought, but only approximated,in others. "I tried, EJ, I tried," she said under her breath. "But I never could abandon you." Abigail looked out the window at the lights of Salem twinkling below. Beautiful, some even lovable. But none of them the sun that could rise over her horizon. "You're alive," she said fully aloud. "And so am I."

Back From the Dead - chapter 2

The black limousine cruised easily through the winding roads of the Italian countryside. The little hills, the robin’s egg sky, the shimmering poplars -- all beautiful, and all wasted on Abigail, lost as she was in her own thoughts.

Stefano had been nowhere to be seen when she’d disembarked the plane, but his presence was still everywhere. “Only you can save his life,” he had told her. “Only you.”

The limousine was top of the line. For such a contained space, she felt oddly uncontained. It reminded her of the storage room in the hospital, where she and EJ . . . Her mind returned to that afternoon. Every sway of the car was he swaying her in his arms; each dip and rise in the road, their finding one another, pulling back to stare amazedly at each other, then each returning to the other’s embrace. Yes, that tiny space had contained a whole universe -- hers, theirs. She had thought that world had passed forever. Now she knew it was only sleeping. Waiting for her.

The car pulled up to a lovely white building by a calm, clear lake. “More like a villa than a clinic,” Abby thought to herself. The silent driver opened her door and motioned for her to enter. Inside, sat a rather large, stern woman, looking like she’d be more at home in a Wagner opera than in her nurse’s uniform. She merely humphed at Abigail and pointed down a corridor.

Abigail walked slowly down the hallway, as if in a dream. Open doors to the left and the right revealed hospital beds, each empty. If EJ were a patient here, he was the only one.

Finally, Abigail came to a room at the end of the hall with a closed door. She knocked tentatively and opened it. Inside, lying on a crisp white hospital bed, white gossamer curtains fluttering in the lake breeze, was EJ Dimera.

His was shirtless; leads of various types were taped to his chest and led to machines that beeped and buzzed and monitored. But he didn’t look in the least diminished. On the contrary, he looked powerful and strong, like a warrior resting before vaulting once more into the fray.

Abigail took his hand. “EJ,” she said, “It’s me, Abby. I’m here. EJ, please, open your eyes.”

His eyes stayed closed; the machines registered no change. Abigail leaned closer.

“Please, EJ. Can you hear me? It’s Abigail. I’ve come for you. Please come back to me. Find me. Like you always did. At the cabin, remember? At the hospital? You always found me. This is my hand in your hand, EJ. These are my fingers curled around yours. Squeeze me back. Hold me again, EJ. I won’t let you go. I won’t!”

Still no response.

“Maybe you can’t hear me on the surface,” Abigail said, “but your feelings -- I know they’re there, underneath. I know you can feel me, no matter what.”

She reached over, and gently began to spread herself over him, like a comforter, a reminder. Gingerly, she lowered herself down. Her face touched his face. Her breathing matched his, motion for motion. Her hips and legs stretched out over his like a surfer seeking the perfect wave. Her arms overlapped his; her fingers ran across his.

Everything about her corresponded to him. As it always had.

Slowly, carefully, she kissed him.

"EJ, I breathe you with my breath,” she whispered.

She stilled herself, willing her heart to beat in rhythm with his, strongly pulsing beneath her chest.

“My heart beats with your heart.”

She allowed herself to feel as she had felt that day on Smith Island, when they had first really known each other. In the full, rich afterwards, they had held each other just like this, parallel lines that weren't supposed to meet, to ever intersect. But merge they had. The laws of physics, even the rules of medicine, were nothing compared to the reality of such love, such passion.

“There is nothing about you that I do not love,” Abigail sighed, her eyelashes fluttering against his.

"COSA E'QUESTO?!! WHAT IS THIS?!!"

The nurse’s bellowing voice sent Abigail tumbling from the bed.

“PERVITTO!!” The nurse raised her impressive fists and started toward Abigail. “PUTTANA!!”

Abigail ducked down and raised her arms over her face.

“Must you be such a prude, nurse?” A familiar voice coated the room like velvet. “You’d fit right in in Salem.”

Abigail whipped around frantically. There, sitting upright on the bed, leads snapped off like a gladiator unchained, beamed EJ Dimera.

“I’m starving, darling,” he grinned that dashing grin. “I don’t suppose you brought any of your cupcakes, by any chance?”

[ejabbyfanfictionbywdbcla-blog]

EJabby FanFiction by Wayne-Daniel Berard artwork by ClaudiaYvette

Part IX: The Engagement

“Mom,” Will tried to say to his mother on his cell phone. His face told the story of someone being cut off before even beginning.

“I understand how you feel, Mom, but Abby is my friend . . . yes, I know you’re my mother. But our lives are separate . . . Yes, I know what she did to you. And I know what you did to Rafe. And to Dad. And to Uncle Austin . . . I don’t know if they’re the same things or not, Mom. All I’m saying is people who live in glass houses should have sex in the basement!

“Look, Mom, what goes on between you, EJ, and Abigail has nothing to do with me. Abby is Arianna’s godmother, she needs a place to stay, and Gabby’s room is empty, of course. And with my writing taking off, and Sonny’s new club, time is so difficult, and Abigail needs a job, so why not nanny for Arianna?”

Will pulled the phone away from his ear, so loud was the shrieking at the other end.

“Mom, your ‘never stepping foot in the apartment as long as THAT woman is here’ is your business and your call. And how I run my life is mine. I love you. Goodbye!” And Will hung up.

Scene change: Abigail, decked out in a green and turquoise halter dress with a bulky cardigan sweater over it, rings the bell at EJ’s new apartment; he has moved out of the mansion and managed to secure the spot he’d once lived in, across from Samantha’s old apartment (she and the children now live with her mother). EJ opens the door, dressed in jeans and a white-tee shirt, that reads "Hornés Paris" in orange letters above the image of an equally orange rhinoceros. He’s drying his hair with a towel.

“Just in Paris?” Abigail asks smilingly.

“It’s a spoof,” replied EJ, “on all those pretentious Hermes ads. Still, you know what they say about rhinos?”

“What’s that?” Abby tilted her head just so.

EJ grabbed her, turned her around, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and pressed against her unmistakably.

“Never turn your back on one,” he snuggled her ear.

“Alright, alright,“ Abby slid herself -- but not too quickly -- from his grasp. “Tell me what this big surprise is? And why did you tell me to ‘dress lightly?’ It’s almost winter out there.”

From behind his back, EJ produced . . . a picnic basket.

“A picnic? Really? At this time of year? How?”

EJ’s eyes licked her lips. “Whet your curiosity, my dear,” he said. “And your appetite.”

A ride in EJ’s Bentley, and the couple found themselves on the far side of the Salem U campus.

“We’re having a picnic where, under the bleachers? How . . . freshman year of you!” Abigail grinned.

“Just trust me,” EJ took her hand as he held the car door open for her.

The two took a path through a stand of linden trees, their dangling leaves already a bright yellow, and emerged in front of a large geodesic dome. The sign posted in front of it said, “The Ashley Devon Butterfly Pavilion.”

Abigail turned quickly toward EJ, her bright brown eyes brimming, recognizing her old European alias.

“But how?”

“Oh, I’d donated the funds long before my . . . . incident. The signage always goes last. A quick phone call from Paris and, c’est voila!”

They entered the anteroom of the pavilion, where a campus security officer awaited them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dimera, Ms Deveraux.”  “Where is everyone else?” Abigail asked.

“Oh, I managed a . . . private viewing, just for us. Amazing what being a board member, not to mention major donor, can do. Would you take the lady’s sweater, please? Thank you, officer.”

“I’ll be right here, Mr. Dimera. You won’t be disturbed. And everything’s as you asked.”

“Everything?” said Abigail, lifting one tantalizing eyebrow.

“Apres toi, mon coeur,” EJ answered, and the tall, zippered entry to the warmly climate-controlled dome opened with a resounding ziiiiipp. Abigail grinned even wider and stepped through.

Butterflies fluttered everywhere, from the indoor trees and rocks, hovering over the waterfalls and barley liting on the multitude of flowering plants that filled the dome. Their wings were purple, blue, yellow, orange, in every color and hue imaginable. It was magical. And there, in the center of this garden of delight was spread a wide, red-checked cloth, upon which sat two (electronic) candles and an ice bucket holding a very old looking bottle of champagne.

“My God, EJ,” whispered Abigail, overwhelmed.

“You stole my line, darling. My goddess.” He once more reached around her from behind. “This is our personal Eden; here, no one else exists but you and I . . .”

“And these amazing creatures!“ Abigail positively giggled as a butterfly, the colors of which matched her sundress, landed on her outstretched index finger. EJ gently took her other hand and led her to sit on the cloth beside him.

“No flames for the candles, I’m afraid,” his voice perfectly matched to the atmosphere, “but then, we’re each other’s light. And warmth.” And he reached across and kissed her lingeringly.

He then reached for the wine, two blue-crystal glasses already somehow having materialized on the cloth. Butterflies fluttered around the couple, one liting on the basket handle, another on each of EJ’s shoulders.

POP! went the cork, which seemed to disturb the monarchs and swallowtails not a bit. EJ poured; his two new companions stayed on his shoulders.

“Veuve Clicquot, 1940. Only 162 bottles survived the war. As we have survived ours, darling. To us.” And EJ clinked his goblet with Abigail’s. They left them touching each other a moment, just as their eyes did.

The repast was elegant and playful. Pâté and beluga caviar. Sandwiches of peanut butter (crunchy!) and homemade pear preserves.

“This is just like my gramma Alice used to make!” Abigail beamed with delight. “We used to help her put up her preserves.”

“You did a good job,” EJ smiled and retrieved a jar from the depths of the picnic basket. “They last forever.” The label had the word “Pear,” written on it in Alice Horton’s steady hand.

“But how did you . . . ?” Abigail positively sputtered. “These jars are like gold! We store them away and only bring out one at a time at the holidays! How were you able . . . ?”

A green and gold butterfly landed gingerly on the jar rim.

“Your brother,” EJ answered. “I texted him, asking for your favorite dishes. He feels terrible about the state of affairs. He doesn’t want to alienate your mother right now, but wants you to know he understands.”

Perhaps it was the effervescence of the wine or the scent of the pears, but it seemed that all the butterflies in the dome were hovering above the two lovers, like a canopy of yes.

EJ reached under the checked cloth; what Abigail had thought was just a rise in the floor turned out to be a box, about a foot in length, wrapped in the most delicate tissue she had ever seen.

“For you, my angel,” EJ said. “Open it?”

Inside the box was a porcelain doll, an exact replica of one of the Renaissance angels that had graced the walls of the monastery chapel where they had re-found each other. It was clothed in gold-spun cloth, and its wings were patterned after those of butterflies.

“I’m going to stop asking ‘How did you” . . .” Abigail said.

“Master Nangyo is an old family friend,” EJ assured her. “The angel is Boccacio, but the Japanese have made the most exquisite porcelain dolls for millennia.”

Then EJ grimaced visibly. “Oh, look at that, darling,” he said, pointing toward the angel’s bodice. “There’s a loose thread there, around her neck. Uncharacteristically shoddy of the Master. I’ll have to have a word with him. Just give that a gentle tug, will you?”

Abigail did so, and from its place tucked in the angel’s bodice came . . . a ring. Its diamond was light blue and pear-shaped, and its band, silver.

Abigail seemed frozen in place, staring at the light in the stone, doubly sparkling with the reflection of myriads of shimmering butterflies above.

EJ reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny child’s pair of rounded scissors.

“Johnny sends his love; all the children do. Nothing’s changed there.” Then he oh so gently snipped the gold thread, took the ring, and held it just in front of Abigail’s third finger.

““I almost wish we were butterflies  and liv'd but three summer days, three such days with you I could fill  with more delight than fifty common years  could ever contain.”

“That’s Keats,” Abigail barely whispered, still staring at the ring.

“I hadn’t realized that Keats knew you,” EJ answered. Then . . .

“There is something I must say to you, my love, something I have wanted to say from the first moment our hearts touched, over pages of angels in a coffee shop. And it isn’t “Will you marry me?” although I hope by every angel in heaven that you will. Rather, it is this: Abigail Johanna Deveraux, may we please, please marry each other? Equal partners, equal hearts, a life lived in oneness without loss of who either of us is? I love you with all that I am; I delight in the person that you are. And most of all, I respect you, and want nothing more than to live every day of our lives in that love, that respect. Together.”

Abigail finally looked up, her dark eyes never so clear, never so sure.

“Together. Let’s say it together. One, two . . .”

“Yes!” they both said at the same moment, although the final reverberation of the word was lost somewhat in the echo of their lips over the other’s. Above the kiss of the two lovers, a single butterfly, orange-yellow, hovered, like flame.

[ejabbyfanfictionbywdbcla-blog]

EJabby FanFiction by Wayne-Daniel Berard artwork by ClaudiaYvette

Part VIII: Mutual Exclusive

“She found him where?!” Eric said, bemused.

“In a monastery, of all places,” his mother smiled that knowing smile at him. “EJ had apparently survived the shooting and escaped from his father’s hospital in Europe. Abigail just . . . came upon him, apparently, in this monastery in Italy, and the rest, as they say, is . . .”

“Blasphemy!” said Eric, his eyes always ready to redden, “I can just imagine what they did in that sacred place!”

“Can you?” Marlena’s eyes narrowed, though her smile never wavered. “Are they the only couple you can imagine in that . . . situation?”

“Mom!” Eric answered, aghast. “What are you suggesting?!”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Marlena said. “I’m stating it outright. You are a priest, no matter your -- what’s the term? ‘Canonical status’? A priest in love. With Nicole.”

Eric turned away and shook his head.

“Oh, please, my sweet boy, stop denying it. And stop fighting it! You are a priest, and you’re in love. And it’s time to bring the two together. EJ and Abigail aren’t the only ones who should find love in a sanctuary.”

“But they can’t be brought together!” Eric knit his brow and stiffened his neck and shoulders, as he always did when upset. “They’re mutually exclusive!”

“Are they?” asked Marlena, her almond eyes dancing more like a fairy godmother’s than a birth-mom’s.

Scene change: Apparently Eric Brady wasn’t the only one of strong opinion. Abigail is having a heated conversation with her mother and brother.

“Reeeealy, Honey?!” Jennifer was almost squealing her disapproval. Her skirt was too short for a woman of her . . . dignified years. And her multi-colored paisley blouse looked like it had come from the ready-room of the Mod Squad. “EJ Dimera?? You can’t be seeeerious!!”

“I’m very serious, Mom. I know all about EJ, know him better than anyone. And I love him. And he loves me. Look, I didn’t plan this, but the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“And not just the heart!” snuffled JJ derisively.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!!” Abigail turned on him, fury burning in her dark eyes. JJ stepped back visibly.

“Sweetie,” her mom stepped forward and nervously smoothed her daughter’s hair. “I think what your brother means is that it’s easy to confuse love with . . . other things. Now, we know EJ is charming and handsome . . .”

“And kind, and caring, and loyal and . . . fascinating!” Abigail was positively glowing as she spoke about him. “He makes me feel alive, Mom! He is my twin-soul, the one I was born to be with.”

“There is nothing ‘twin’ about you and EJ Dimera,” her mother laughed. “You are polar opposites.”

“Don’t be too sure, Mom,” Abigail held her ground. “When I spoke with Stefano, he said . . .”

“You SPOKE with that man?!!”

“Yes, Mom, I spoke with him; I stared him down, and I beat him at his own game. He said I was a granddaughter worthy of Alice Horton. And EJ is a husband worthy of me!”

“HUSBAND!!” Jennifer’s forehead nearly exploded through her tightly-pulled-back hair. “Absolutely not! No way!”

“Not your decision, Mom. He is the man I love. And the father of your grandchild.”

“Wha . . . ? What? Hold on!” stammered JJ. “Grandchild? But that would mean you’re . . .”

Abigail turned to her mom. “Not exactly MENSA material, is he?”

Just then the doorbell rang.

“That will be EJ,” Abigail said resolutely. “What’s it going to be, Mom? JJ?”

Scene change: Eric is sitting pensively by the side of what appears to be a Zen garden. Islands of smooth black stone rise peacefully from a sea of white pebbles, raked into swirls. A man enters the area; he is older than Eric and wears a herring bone suit jacket over a light grey clerical shirt and white collar. He sits next to the younger man.

“Serene, isn’t it?” he asks, in a slight Scotts accent.

“Yes, very,” Eric answers. “But oddly . . . challenging, as well. How does one reach those islands of calm? And look how separated they are, each from the other?”

“Are you forgetting that you can walk on this ‘water,’” the older man smiled. ”As long as you don’t mind disturbing the pattern.”

Eric shifted a little uncomfortably. “I’m surprised to see a Zen garden here?”

“In the foyer of an Episcopal church?” laughed the other. “I did my deacon year in Japan. And here at All Souls we’re a little . . . unique, but well within our tradition’s approach to things.” And he gestured to a plaque hanging over the entry to the nave: “I like to eavesdrop at all the gates to Paradise.” Hermann Hesse.

‘It’s good to see you, lad,” the man continued. “The Salem Interfaith Council misses you.”

“Preston, you know I’m no longer a priest?” Eric said.

“Actually, I know nothing of the sort,” smiled Preston Whittier, rector of All Souls Church.

“You sound like my mother,” Eric shrugged.

“A wise woman,” Preston continued. “Eric, in my experience, no one ‘becomes’ a priest. A priest is born, not made. He or she can choose to ignore who they are, but they can never truly change it.”

“But isn’t it a calling?” Eric asked.

“Yes, but a calling in the sense of a “naming”; one is called a priest because that is one’s soul-name, one’s deepest identity. Tell me, Eric, do you feel differently called these days? Is ‘priest’ still truly your soul-name?”

Eric stared at the floor. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Or perhaps you hear a different, though not necessarily opposite, name? In fact, they’re often quite synonymous, even here: ‘Father?’”

“I know you’re married, Preston. Jeanie is a wonderful woman, a true partner in your ministry. And your children, how old are they now?”

“Ginny is eight, and PJ is fourteen -- a teenager. Not easy being the child of a priest; you’re really in fishbowl. But then, you know all about those?

“Eric, we’ve worked together often. Do you think that my service as a priest is diminished by my being a father? Or husband? Do you see me as less than yourself?”

“Oh, no, no!” Eric stood up. “You’re a marvelous priest, Preston. Everyone in Salem knows that!”

“As are you, Eric. And everyone in Salem know that, as well. Thanks to Nicole’s exposé. How is Nicole, by the way?”

When Eric’ silence replied, Preston very wisely let it fill the room. Both men centered on the Zen garden before them, on the peaceful islands and the ‘walkable water.’

“I know several men, good priests, who have gone from my island to yours,” Preston said finally. “They found a harbor there, a further naming that they could not find here. And they were permitted to take their wives with them. I rejoiced with them at their fulfilment.”

Eric could have sworn he heard the pebbles crunch, but when he looked up, the pattern had still not changed.

“If they could go from this island to that, why not from that to this?” Preston asked.

“Leave the Church?” Eric asked, incredulously.

“Oh, not at all,” said the rector, reassuredly. “Do you know Toyohiko Kagawa? No? Not many in the States do, but he was one of the leading Christian figures in Japan. He had this one saying that I love: "I speak English very badly’ (which was not true) ‘and when I say 'denomination,' people think I'm saying 'damnation'; I don't really care because I don't think there's much difference!’” And the older man laughed heartily!

“Eric, the Kingdom is One, and has many mansions, as our Man himself said! Do you truly think they would be only a single gate? Besides our two damna – sorry, denominations, recognize each other’s ordinations; that’s why my friends were able to move so seamlessly to their new home.

“To me, my young friend, the real question isn’t, ‘What would I be leaving?’ but ‘Where am I being called? And what is my true name? The name God gave me and is still giving me?’ Everything else is commentary.”

“I just don’t know. I’m so lost, Father.”

“That’s because you’re trying to do it all yourself, Eric,” the rector nearly whispered, “trying to save yourself by yourself. Isn’t the entire message that we can’t do that, we can only be saved by each other?

“Who else is trying to save you, Eric? Find that person. And listen to her.”

Another scene change. Back at the Horton home, there is a very awkward silence as EJ and Abigail confront Jennifer and JJ.

“You!” Jennifer tried to snarl, but it came out more like a forced sneeze.

“I am Lazarus, come from the dead,” EJ beamed, then turned to Abigail. “T.S. Eliot,” he said in his best grinning stage whisper.

“Take your cultured charm and shove it!!” Jennifer glared. “I wish you had stayed dead!”

“MOM!” cried Abigail. “You don’t mean that!”

“Yes, I do, Honey. He’s not your poet in shining armor; he’s evil incarnate. And he’s about to snare my little girl.”

“Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?” smiled EJ, still quoting.

“EJ, you’re not helping!” said Abigail. “Mom, EJ is far from perfect, but neither am I. Or you,” and looking at JJ, “and especially not you!” And then she leaned into her brother’s ear, “Your girlfriend’s mother talks to herself in public places,” she whispered.

JJ’s eyes popped three times their size, and he vaulted up the stairs toward his room.

“What DID you do to your brother?!” Jennifer demanded. “Has everyone gone insane?”

“For I have known them all already, known them all,” intoned EJ.

“Listen, Honey,” Jennifer did her best to ignore EJ’s presence. “Forget what happened. You were . . . seduced. Bewitched. Dimera’d. You’re not the first, Sweetie. Just come home. Put it all behind you. This is where you belong. With us.” She put her hands on Abigail’s shoulders. “The three of us can raise this baby -- together.”

“When I am pinned and wriggling one the wall, then how should I begin?” EJ went on.

“No, Mom,” and Abigail pushed her mother’s arms away. “This baby is not the only thing of EJ growing inside of me.” And she turned to him, her eyes just inches from his. “His face . . . has become my heart. He is the very life I live, and I know I am his. We are one.”

EJ gently placed a finger to her cheek, then looked past her into Jennifer’s face.

“And in short,” he said, “I was afraid.”  “ Jennifer took a deep breath, then said, “Understand this, Honey. If you go through with . . . this,” and she snarled in EJ’s direction, “you are on your own. You can’t be a Dimera AND a Horton. The two are just -- mutually exclusive.”

“Oh, no, you’re wrong, Mom. Love, real love, is too mutual to ever be exclusive. EJ knows how you feel about him, and he’s never pressured me to choose.”

Abigail looked for a moment deeply into her mother’s face. Then turned back to the man she loved.

“Let us go then, you and I,” she quoted.

EJ shone like the prince of love.

“Wait for me in the car, will you darling? I’d like a word with your mother.”

Without looking back, Abigail walked out her mother’s doorway. Jennifer stood there, (skinny) arms crossed over her (skinny) chest, glaring at EJ.

“A story for you,” said EJ, smiling, prepossessed. A man in control. “I heard it in a monastery sermon, but will adjust it for the occasion.”

“Three people find themselves in Paradise, standing before the heavenly throne. They hear a Voice that says, ‘Who might you be?’ The first person says, ‘My name is Alexandra Dimera Carver. I’ve done some terrible things in my lifetime. But I turned myself around and finally led a life based on love.’ ‘Come sit here at my right hand,’ says the Voice. “And you, who might you be?’”

“’My name is Jack Devereaux,’ the second person replies. (Jennifer visibly bristled). ‘I, too, have done terrible things. Nasty things. But I likewise reversed my life, and embraced real love.’ ‘Very well,’ says the Voice, ‘You sit here, at my left hand.’”

“The Voice then says to the last person, ‘Tell us about you?’

“’ My name is Jennifer Horton,” answers the third. ‘And I believe you are in my seat!’”

EJ proceeded to almost theatrically back through the doorway.

“I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that Life to spell: And by and by my Soul Returned to me, And answered: ‘I Myself am Heav’n and Hell.”

Vertical palm raised beside his mouth, like an aside, he said, “Omar Khayyam. Enjoy your lonely throne.”

One more scene change: We see Nicole in her room in the Salem inn. There’s a knock at the door. When she answers it, she’s surprised to see Eric standing there.

“What, come here to do my follow-up story after all?” she sing-songs at him. “Has Hell frozen over? Because that was what you’d said it would take -- and after my first story cleared the air about you! Some gratitude!”

“You’re right,” Eric walked slowly into the room. “I am here to do another story. But not the one you think?”

“Really?” Nicole tilted her head to one side, and rolled her eyes a little. “Ok, let me just set up my phone-cam here.”

“No need, “ said Eric. ‘We can tape it all later. Let me just give you the gist of it: I’m a priest.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” laughed Nicole. “Wait, you’re serious? You’ve gotten your vocation back?”

“I never really lost it. Someone helped me to see that today. Being a priest was never just my vocation; it is my summation. It’s the sum and substance of who I am. I could no more stop being a priest than I could stop . . .”

“Breathing?” said Nicole.

“Loving,” answered Eric. And he took a step closer.

“Eric, what is this? What’s happening?”

“A friend asked me today who in my life saves me. Who makes it worth living.”

“Well, certainly not me, “Nicole turned away, fiddled with a scarf on the bed stand. “I just make it miserable, apparently.”

“Which you would have no power to do, if you weren’t so overwhelmingly important. To me.”

She turned back toward him, fear wrestling with hope in her flashing violet eyes.

“I just have one question for you,” Eric said with the fullest of voices. “Could you be a priest’s wife?”

“I already am,” Nicole answered. “A priest is who you’ve always been. That’s your story. Church is only the font your story’s set in.

“And yours is who I’ve always have been. Haven’t always done a good job of it! But I could no more stop then . . .”

Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny white pebble, offering it to Nicole.

“What’s this?”

“A new pattern,” Eric answered. “Or a key to one of many mansions -- my Father invests broadly! Or better yet, the stone for an engagement ring?”

“Some diamond!” she laughed out loud. Then settled her gaze into his. “Yeah,” she purred, “some rock.” And she fell into his arms as he kissed her deeply.

Her head now on his shoulder, she asked, “So, we’re exclusive?”

“Mutually,” Eric smiled, for the first time in God knows how long.

[ejabbyfanfictionbywdbcla-blog]

EJabby FanFiction by Wayne-Daniel Berard artwork by ClaudiaYvette

Part VII: What I Did For Love

(Returning us to where we left off -- EJ and Abigail, with the help of Melanie and Shane, have just fended off an attack at Euro Disney by Stefano’s toughs, including Marco in a Captain Hook costume . . .)

Suddenly, the air was filled with the theme from “The Young and The Restless.” It seemed to be emanating from Captain Hook.

“My ring tone,” the crook said. “I like Victor Newman, and I don’t give a damn!”

“Answer it,” Shane motioned to EJ.

He reached into the jacket pocket and removed the phone, putting it to his ear.

“Elvis?” an all-too-familiar raspy base voice echoed in EJ’s ear. “I have your family. You need to be here. NOW!”

Everyone could hear Stefano’s loud demand. Abigail, who had removed her dark, Snow-White wig and shaken out her lighter locks, stepped forward.

“Give me the phone,” she motioned to EJ. He raised an eyebrow, but there was a determination in her voice which he’d learned to yield to -- and love. The fact that she could be so gentle and soft, without sacrificing strength and resolve made her unique among any women he’d ever known.

“Stefano,” she said firmly, “this is Abigail Deveraux.”

“I know who it is -- a Horton female! I recognize the velvet defiance in your voice,” Stefano answered with a little laugh. “Just like your grandmother -- now she was a worthy opponent! But you, young lady, what can you possibly have to say to me?”

“Apparently you have Sami and her children,” Abigail continued, quite calmly. “You will release them immediately and send them back home. And you will leave Elvis, myself, and anyone connected to us entirely alone.”

“And why should I do this, pray tell? I’m holding all the cards here, signorina.”

“And I’m carrying your grandchild -- Nono,” she coolly announced.

EJ sword dropped to the ground, as did everyone’s jaw!

“You’re lying,” Stefano sneered.

“A quick trip to Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital here in Paris will confirm it; you have contacts everywhere, right? But I already know it, and have for some weeks.”

“The third lock, the tiny one that we joined to both of ours on the bridge . . .” EJ‘s dark eyes widened.

Abigail glowed as she nodded.

“Another grandchild!” said Stefano triumphant. “How wonderful! I can hardly wait to meet him!”

“If you don’t do exactly as I’ve asked, you won’t meet him -- or her -- ever!” Abigail answered.

“Oh, my dear, do you really think you will be able to keep my own flesh and blood from me? There is nowhere you could hide . . .”

“Oh, I don’t intend to hide at all. And testing for pregnancy is not the only . . . procedure that Pitié-Salpêtrière performs . This is France, after all. Very respectful of women’s reproductive freedom . . .”

“You wouldn’t dare! My grandchild??!!”

“I would dare anything, do anything, for the man I love. I would mourn the decision the rest of my life, but never regret it -- not if it kept EJ out of your dirty hands, and set Sami and the children free.”

“Samantha? What do you care for that . . . cagna!! That bitch will eat you alive once she finds out -- and believe me, she will find out! Immediately! ”

“EJ loves her, too,” Abigail responded, tears welling in her dark eyes like a sea beneath a chocolate moon. “And she is the mother of his children. Shane Donovan is here with a squad from ISA. I’ll be quite safe for the time being. I’m on my way to the hospital right now. What will it be -- Nono?”

A second’s pause, then, “Alright, alright. Don’t do anything rash, my dear. I will . . . obtain confirmation of your condition; if it is as you say, Samantha and the children will be on the next flight back to Salem.”

“And EJ and me? Our family? Our friends?”

“They will have nothing to fear from me,” sighed Stefano.

“Ask him to swear by the Dimera name,” said a still-astounded EJ.

“I heard him,” Stefano growled. “I swear by the name of Dimera to all I have said to you.”

“Good!” and Abigail smiled that noon-light smile. “Ciao bella!”

“Wait!” called out Stefano. “Let me speak to my son.”

Abigail handed the phone back to the father of her child; their fingers lingered in the exchange.

“This isn’t over!” Stefano rumbled like Mt. Vesuvius on hold.

“Of course it isn’t, Father,” EJ answered, but his eyes never left Abigail. “It never is.”

He clicked off and handed the phone to Shane Donovan.

“To Pitié-Salpêtrière?” the agent asked.

Abigail nodded, not knowing what now to say or how she would be received.

Back in their own clothes and in the back of an agency car, EJ turned to Abigail.

“Would you have really . . . ?”

“No,” she said softly, eyes downcast. “No, I couldn’t have. But HE didn’t know that.”

EJ took her hand.

“Your father is a bully,” Abigail went on, “and all bullies are the same -- they assume that everyone else is just like them, just as untrustworthy, just as vile. He thought I would do it, because that’s what he’d do, in similar circumstance.”

She finally looked up at EJ.

“Do I disappoint you now? Or worse? You know, I don’t hold you responsible for any of this. You owe me -- owe us -- nothing. I can take care of this baby on my own.”

“No, no,” EJ raised his fingers gently to her lips. “Don’t say such things. Disappoint me? Darling, you are the only thing that that uplifts me in this world, you and my children. And soon, ours.

“I will be as present, as protective, as steadfast in this child’s life, and yours, as you were on that parapet this afternoon. You stared down arguably the most dangerous man in the world, and did so without losing a single iota of your grace, your beauty. I love you now more than ever!” And EJ put his head back and laughed!

“What are you laughing about?” asked Abigail delightedly.

“At the prospect of what a child this will be!” EJ answered. “A combination of the two of us. He or she will rule the world, from its very center. The heart.”

“I doubt Sami is laughing right now,” Abigail added.

“Ah, yes,” said EJ, staring off into space. “Samantha.”

Scene shift. The pregnancy confirmed, EJ and Abigail jet back to Salem. A car from the mansion drops Abigail at her family home, while EJ returns, trepidatiously, to his.

He walks in through the large double-doors of the living room. There stands Samantha, back to him, in a seductively tight, short, and low-cut black leather dress.

“Your back,” she says, not turning around to him. Clearly steaming.

“Yes,” EJ responds.

“No!” Sami turns, a wicked looking, multi-corded black whip in her hand. Thwack!! Her hand lashes out and the whip slashes at EJ’s face.

“Your back! Turn your back, you bastard! Unless you want to permanently scar that pretty face of yours!” And she brings the whip down again.

EJ raises his hands and turns his back. “Agghhhhh!” he shouts in pain as the cords rip his Saville Row suit to shreds. He falls to his knees. “The children?” he call out.

“Safely with my grandmother at the pub,” Sami the dominatrix stands over her fiancé. “Tell me, EJ, do you like pain?” Thwack! Another blow. “You certainly like inflicting it. How does it feel to get it right back at you . . .”

She raises her hand again, but EJ jumps up and rushes at her, pinning her whip arm against the mantle of the fireplace.

“That’s quite enough of that,” he asserts, and twists her wrist just enough to cause the whip to drop to the floor. “Really, darling, if you’d been this interesting to begin with . . . or is this the sort of thing my little brother is into?”

“Don’t you dare!” Sami rubbed her wrist and glared at EJ like a wounded animal. “I thought you were dead! You let me think you were dead!”

“I was imprisoned by my father. I escaped. Abigail found me. She actually went searching for me . While all you did was hop into bed with my own brother before my corpse would have even been cold!”

“Don’t mention that whore’s name to me!!” Sami screamed and lunged at EJ, nails extended. He grabbed both her arms and wrapped them behind her own back, then pressed his mouth up against her ear from behind.

“She’s worth a thousand of you!” he hissed at her as she struggled. “Yes, I was torn. I admit it. I loved you both – don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean? Weren’t you once in love with Rafe and I at the same time?”

“Yes! And I chose you!”

“Did you? Convenient memory, darling. As I recall it, we ended up grappling with each other, much like this, in this very room, the night we thought Johnny was dead. Then, in a moment of blind, raging despair, we made love right here, on this sofa. William saw us, remember? He blew the whistle, and Rafe tossed you aside like a used condom.” EJ released Sami’s arms and tossed her to the sofa. “It was only then that you ‘chose’ me!!”

“I loved you!” screamed Samantha through enraged tears.

“And I loved you,” EJ answered, “I truly did. But there is love, and there is love . . .

“Do you know what I did while I was hiding out in that monastery in Italy? I read, read the old manuscripts the monks have kept there for centuries. One particularly spoke to me. It was by an ancient mystic, who spoke of something I’d never heard of before – a twin soul.”

“You used to call me your soul mate!” Samantha sobbed.

“So I did, because you were just that, a mate, a companion. But a twin-soul is different. According to this mystic, at the time just before a soul enters the body, it splits into two. That second half enters into another body; that person is your twin soul. They are half of who you are; they complete you, are absolutely essential to you. It is your one task on earth to find this person, to reunite with your twin soul. They will be much more than any mate, any companion. They will be . . . indispensable.

“Answer me honestly, Samantha, were we ever indispensable to each other? Truly, haven’t we dispensed with each other time and again? Were we soul mates or joint obsessions? Each always seeking to . . .” and he ran a finger across her plunging leather neckline, “dominate the other? And would someone’s completion, their twin soul, be able to so quickly take up with another man?”

“And sweet, innocent Abby,” growled Samantha, “she is this ‘twin soul’ to you? Is that what you’re saying to me? Do twin souls need to entrap each other by getting knocked up?”

“She and I had been ‘entrapped,’ quite willingly, long before.”

Samantha shook her head back and forth, repeating “no, no” to herself.

“I knew, when I read that manuscript in that sacred place, I knew why my life had been spared. I knew who my twin soul truly was. And I likewise knew that twin souls always find each other, or rather life itself throws them together, no matter what. And one day, I looked up in the chapel, and there she was . . .”

“NO!!!!” Samantha bellowed and wrapped herself around EJ. “You’re mine! Forget her. You’d been shot, then drugged by Stefano. You were confused. Come back to me! To me and the children!”

“I will never abandon my children,” said EJ firmly, while just as firmly peeling Sami off his body. “And I will always have love for you, Samantha. But it is not the kind of love you want or need. Perhaps Chad . . .”

“Chad?! Don’t make me laugh! He’s just another slimy Dimera! Pretending to care about me, all the time in the service of his father. And yours! Like father, like scum!!”

“Then you are well rid of me,” EJ said calmly, adjusting the cuffs of his ruined suit jacket and heading for the door.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, EJ Dimera!” Sami screamed. “I’m not done with you!”

“But I am done with you, my dear,” he said, and left the mansion behind.

Once safely outside, he sent a text:

“I now have no home but you.”

A split second later, and the reply appeared:

“So glad. It looks like I might need one.”

[ejabbyfanfictionbywdbcla-blog]

EJabby FanFiction by Wayne-Daniel Berard artwork by ClaudiaYvette

Part III

Dawn came with the crystal blue clarity of morning in the Alps. It was very early, and both Paige and Abigail/EJ moaned (but for different reasons!)

"A mornjng's hike, and we'll reach Lugano," said EJ. "I have a friend there. And we can take the TGV out of Italy. Kristen and my father will have no idea as to a destination."

"But won't our passports give it away?" Paige complained. "Stefano has eyes and ears everywhere."

"Why don't you just leave the details to me," EJ smiled, with that British accent on the last syllable. All charm.

"Oh yes," Abby snuggled in beneath his arm, looking up at him adoringly. "EJ is great with details."

"Gag me with a Brady-pub spoon!" thought Paige. But she said nothing.

Lugano was a major tourist hub; it was easy for the three travelers to lose themselves in the sea of back pikers and hikers.

"Do you have your sketchbooks in your pack?" EJ asked. The girls nodded.

"Alright then, wait about fifteen minutes, then follow this road to the lake. I'll be sitting on one of the benches, but you don't know me. Just sit on the grass and sketch the lakeside; they'll be a gaggle of artists and students doing the same. When you see me leave, once again, wait fifteen minutes, then meet me at that cafe over there." He motioned across the street.

"L'oscuro Segreto?" Abby read the sign aloud.

"The Dark Secret," EJ translated, with a twinkle. "Fits, don't you think?"

"Oh, a perfect fit," Abigail glowed and hugged EJ at the hips.

"Oh, get a room -- with a cold shower!" Paige thought.

Fifteen minutes later, Paige and Abigail are sitting in the grass on the shore of stunning Lake Lugano. A very still day, with the peaks of the Alps reflected perfectly, if upside-down, in its undisturbed surface.

"Upside-down. Just like my life. And perfectly so," thought the lovely Abigail as she sketched. Off to their left sat EJ on a bench, reading. They had passed him by, as he had instructed, ignoring him.

"Did you see the title of that book?" Paige snorted. " 'God Is an Englishman' !"

"He is," Abby replied, clearly enraptured.

After about 20 minutes, an elderly man in beret and scarf sat down on the bench next to EJ. A few moments later, he walked off, leaving behind an envelope, which EJ non-chalantly covered with his open book as he stood up and stretched. Then, closing the book over the envelope, he walked away.

Fifteen minutes later, the three fugitives keep their rendezvous atThe Dark Secret.

"Here you are," EJ says, and slides two napkins across he table, one toward each of them. "Open them on your laps, please." And he smiled devilishly at Abigail, who does just blush a little.

"New passports?" said Paige.

"Shhh, please. Lower your voice. Yes."

"But how?"

"Darling," EJ said to Abigail, " remind your friend of the name of my family's company?"

Abigail whispers, "Dimera Enterprises."

"And we are nothing if not that," smiles EJ, almost winking to her.

"So, now I'm Ashley Devon?" laughs Abigail. "And I'm British?"

"Yes, but with dual American citizenship, very common. So no worry about faking accents. And I'm Evan Kent, art consultant from London. You can call me EK. And you, my dear, are my lovely . . . assistant." He reaches for her hand, and stage whispers, " We're having an office tryst!"

"And me?" said Paige, unhappy. "Peyton Aresenal?"

"It's the most popular football club in England," EJ smiled. "You're an art student from Leeds, and our intern."

"I work for YOU? BOTH?!"

"You're younger than Abigail. A student intern is the perfect cover."

"And my lack of British accent?"

"Look again. You're from Bermuda; you're here on a Commonwealth Grant and passport. You did vacation there several times, when your mother's music career was still in high gear?"

"How did you…?"

"He's enterprising," beamed Ashley Devon.

"With these passports, we will be able to enter or exit any EU country with no record or scrutiny," Said EJ.

"Looks like you've thought of everything," mumbled Paige.

"You have no idea," smiled EJ, eyeing Abigail desiringly.

He looked down at her sketchpad. "May I take a look?" And he opened the pad.

There he found an amazing series of sketches, but not of the lake per se. Abigail had embellished her fantasies. It was clearly night ; ribbons of stars twinkled in the dark waters of Lake Lugano. On his bench, EJ lay on his back in a black tuxedo and white shirt, black tie undone at its open collar. He looked like he had just finished an evening of elite but empty parties at the grand hotels that lined the lakeside. He wanted something more, something of depth and purpose in his life. Someone?

His eyes were closed, not seeing the enchanting figure hovering behind and over him in the white chiffon and pinned back hair of a prima ballerina. Abigail had sketched herself into his dream; she stood on point, arms extended, face beaming down at him as if a young goddess of the moon had finally found the planet she so longed to orbit, and he her, as well . . .

Above the scene ran a set of eight musical notes. EJ beamed.

"The pas de deux from the Nutcracker," he smiled.

Abigail nodded. "Pas de deux. 'For two only,' " she whispered.

EJ flipped the pages of the sketch pad, each of which had the moonlit ballerina gracefully poised in a different position, as she encircled him, bent her face til almost touching his, returned upright, nearly spread herself over him like a blanket of light, and finally arched a perfect leg over his dreaming firm, and settled herself, gently but unreservedly, upon him, arching her back in pleasure and fulfillment. It was only then that he opened his eyes and looked at her . . .

EJ flipped the pages again and again, bringing the sketches to sensuous life, in perfect time to the opening eight notes of the pas de deux, which he hummed quietly, serenading her.

Then he stopped. For all its bustle, the cafe seemed very still.

"For two only," EJ covered Abigail's slender hands in his.

"Leaving me where, exactly?" Peyton Arsenal fumed to herself.

[ejabbyfanfictionbywdbcla-blog]

EJabby FanFiction by Wayne-Daniel Berard artwork by ClaudiaYvette

Part II

(When we left EJ and Abigail, they were making love in the chapel of a monastery on an island in Lake Como, Italy, where EJ was in hiding after escaping from his father's clinic. Most think EJ is dead. Paige accompanied Abigail to Italy and to the monastery).

The night was as wild and tumultuous as their love making. The chapel shook, and so did every fiber of their love and pleasure together. When they were both exhausted, they lay together in each others' arms, in the soft flicker of the vigil lamp.

"Quite a storm," Abigail said.

"Quite," smiled EJ as only he could, "and the weather is quite something, too."

Abby gave that smile that stretched from bright brown eye to bright brown eye.

"We need to think about departing here as soon as possible," said EJ. "I have friends in the area who will help."

"Friends? Here?" said Abby.

"Yes, dahling. Do you know what this region is called?"

She shook her head, and her gold-brown locks glistened in the candle light.

"We're in the Mera," EJ laughed.

"The Mera? So people who live here would be . . . ?"

"Dimera's, my love. Exactly!"

"You chose Stefano's home area to hide in???"

"It's perfect! He would never think to look for me here."

One could begin to make out movement in the corridor.

"The brothers will be here for the vigil prayer soon, my love," EJ said. "Talk to Paige; we'll need to trust her. I'll find you tomorrow." He leaned over and kised her deeply. "And every tomorrow thereafter."

The next day, if a monastery could be abuzz, this one was, with news of a local fishing boat that had been wrecked upon the island in the storm. Despite their retreat from the world, the monks felt obligated to care for the victims until the authorities could arrive.

Abby informed Paige of her discovery, who was more than a little nervous. "You wanted adventure!" Abby laughed,

"Be careful what we wish for," Paige replied.

Later that day, Abby returned to the chapel; she wanted to relive every moment of that night with EJ. Still, she did feel a bit guilty. He was officially a married man, and they had exchanged more than a kiss of peace in this space!

She noticed that a small red light was on over the confessional box, indicating that a priest was within. "Well," Abby thought to herself, "they can't reveal anything they're told . . . "

She entered through the dark curtain of the confessional. She heard the small grating slide open between herself and the priest. All else was darkness.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned," she began.

"Indeed you have, my child," she heard back, in a low, whispery voice. "Being partner to adultery is a serious sin, as is accomplishing it in a holy place. Blasphemous."

"Can't . . . can't I be forgiven?" Abigail asked, taken aback.

"Oh, sweetie," snarled the voice, " you got the wrong sacrament! You need anointing of the dead!! --" at which a knife in a heavily ringed and feminine hand slices though the grating, just missing Abigail's face.

"Kristin??!!" Abigail gasped, recognizing the voice. She tried to part the curtains and escape, but the Dimera daughter was quicker. She slashes wildly though the curtains, trying to slice Abigail to bits.

Suddenly, Abby heard a dull "thud" and then a crashing sound. She looked out and saw Kristin down on the chapel floor. Standing over her is EJ, glowering that angry EJ glower! He had come up behind his sister and whacked her on the head with a large painting from the chapel wall. There she sat, crumpled against the confessional, her head stuck through the canvas where the face of the Virgin Mary had been! The gilt halo still glowed around her grimacing, unconscious face.

"Holy mother . . . !" Abigail started to say.

"Nothing holy or virginal about this one," EJ interrupted. "She used this storm as the perfect way to get on the island. That means that my father suspects I'm here. Get Paige. We're leaving NOW!"

Paige is beginning to freak out, but EJ has a way of calming women down (when he's not doing the opposite!) They go to a small dock and take a skiff across Lake Como.

Paige wants to return to Florence and school right away. EJ contradicts this; he says that they are all on Kristin's radar now. They have to lie low and get safe.

"But how?" asks Abigail.

"Trust me, my darling. Leave it to me."

But Paige is none too sure.

EJ pulls the skiff up onto a deserted beach, then pushes the boat back off onto the lake. "We need to stay out of sight at first. A little Alpine hiking?" he says with that smile.

The viewer is treated to beautiful scenes of the Alps, EJ and Abigail walking the trails hand-in-hand (with a disgruntled Paige following behind).

That night, they come to a hiker's hut, one of many the Alpine services set up in the area.

"I thought you'd find this romantic, darling?" Says EJ looking deeply into Abigail's eyes.

"Oh, I do," she replies. Paige rolls her provincial Salem eyes.

There are bed roles in the hut, but not very much room. EJ and Abigail, with eyes only for each other, snuggle in together.

"I'm going for a walk," says Paige.

"You do understand that it is imperative we have no contact whatsoever with the outside world? You do understand that?" says EJ.

"I get it!" says Paige and leaves.

"No contact at all?" asks Abigail with raised eyebrows.

"Luckily we are not in the outside world," says EJ.

He rolls closer to her. His lips find her ear, the nape of her neck. Abigail closes her eyes; her head tilts back, already sensing ecstasy.

"I want there not to be a single inch of you that I have not kissed," whispers EJ.

His kisses begin to descend from her face, her lips, raining down like a shower of love. Soon his head disappears beneath the covers. Abigail's doe eyes open wide in amazement and joy! They have never really had this much unhurried time together before.

EJ pushes himself up by his wrists. He gazes down at the woman he loves.

"All I want is to be as deep inside your body as you are inside my heart," he murmurs, the light of the Alpine moon shining in his eyes.

He lowers himself gently but powerfully.

Outside in the cool night, Paige is trying to send a text message.

"No service!" she says to herself disgustedly. "I thought the Swiss were so good with machines!"