Miguel put the last of the boxes into the storage closet and locked it, sliding the key back into its hiding place inside a well-worn pharmacology book, then placing that book back among the dozens of other medical reference books on the shelves of his lab. His brother had agreed to disable the surveillance monitor for the lab weeks earlier to allow Miguel privacy as he worked here in his lab and this was the only key to that closet, so he knew that neither Juan nor anyone who worked for him knew about this. And they also couldn’t access anything inside without his knowledge.

Of course, Juan had somehow managed to access the drug cabinet without his knowledge and stolen additional pain medication, hadn’t he? Miguel silently berated himself for having been so lax about inventorying his supply of controlled substances, as well as missing all the signs that Juan was abusing his pain medication. His brother’s increasingly erratic moods should have been a major red flag for him.

But in Miguel’s own defense, Juan had always been moody and emotionally unstable, and that emotional instability had been magnified since the fire and Maria’s death, so Miguel had learned to ignore most of his brother’s outbursts and simply tried to stay out of his way. But in protecting himself, he’d missed the telltale signs of his brother’s escalating addiction. He had failed not only as Juan’s doctor, but also as his brother. But he was not going to fail Juan again, either as his doctor or his brother - especially not today.

He glanced at his watch: it was 2:56 a.m. Strangely, he didn’t feel at all tired, despite the full day and the busy night he’d had. But he supposed he really should get some rest, as he was going to need his wits about him for the day ahead. But first he wanted to check in on the woman.

He walked out of the lab, turning off the lights and locking the door securely behind him. The suite where the woman was housed was in his brother’s private wing on the other side of the compound, while his own suite was in the next wing within easy reach of his office and lab in this wing that also housed security. As he walked the darkened hallway leading from his lab, Miguel noticed lights on in an area that had remained empty since they’d moved into the compound three years before.

Cautiously, he opened the door, expecting to find one of the security people in there; instead, he found his brother standing in the large, empty room, staring through the glass partition that separated this room from the identical - and also empty - room beside it. “Juan, what are you doing here?” he asked, as he stepped inside. He glanced around and was surprised to see that Juan was completely alone, with no bodyguard around. “Where’s Roberto?” he asked.

“I gave him the night off,” Juan replied matter-of-factly, as he continued to stare through the glass into the other room.

“Why?” Miguel was truly puzzled. He couldn’t recall a time since Juan built this compound that his brother had ventured beyond his own private wing without one of his personal bodyguards beside him. And Juan had become increasingly paranoid about his own safety in the days since Jackson had first contacted him with the information about Jacks. Yet, on the very day that he would actually come face to face with Jacks again, Juan had suddenly decided to roam around alone? It made no sense to him.

“He needed his rest for the day ahead,” Juan Carlos replied curtly. “As do you, Miguelito,” he added, finally turning to face Miguel. He glanced at his watch. “Are you just now getting in from your errands?”

“I’ve been back for awhile,” Miguel lied; he’d only been back about thirty minutes. “I’ve been busy in the lab, getting things ready for today.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Good,” Juan Carlos nodded, then turned away to once again stare through the glass into the other room. “I would not be able to do this without your help.”

Miguel stood silent for a moment. “You didn’t answer my question, Juan: what are you doing here all alone at this hour?” he prodded.

“I am simply preparing for the day to come - planning each move before the game begins,” Juan Carlos explained. “I have waited for this day for so long that I can leave nothing to chance now. Everything must go as we have planned, Miguelito - everything… This Jacks is a master of deception, and I cannot allow him even the slightest opportunity to trick me yet again and somehow escape. I have to anticipate any possibility; I have to control every move of the game.”

He turned back to face Miguel again. “I plan for Jacks to be in this room, with the curtains drawn, but, when the time is right, I will open the curtains and he will be able to see every move that is made in that room,” he said, nodding toward the empty room that lay on the other side of the glass. “And, of course, she will be unaware that Jacks is even here, since this is one-way glass… But by then Jacks may no longer even be a memory for her - is that right?”

Miguel sighed deeply and shrugged. “Theoretically, that particular plant extract should cause memory loss, as well as easy suggestibility, but I have no idea what blood levels will bring those desired effects. But I’m hoping that she’ll be ready when the time comes.”

“She must be ready!” Juan exploded. “She is central to my plan!”

“I know,” Miguel replied, his voice quiet and measured as he tried to calm his brother. “I was just on my way to check on her when I saw the lights on in here.”

“Then go to her!” Juan ordered. “Do what you must do to prepare her, but she must be ready to do as she is told when the time comes!”

“She will,” Miguel assured him. “I guarantee she will do as I tell her when the time is right.”

“Good! That is all that I ask,” Juan Carlos replied, dismissing his brother with a wave of his hand. But Miguel remained. “Was there something more?” Juan asked, a tad impatiently.

Miguel nodded. “I was wondering when your guests will be arriving?” he replied, trying to gauge how much time he had before all of this would finally come to fruition.

“Not for several hours,” Juan answered. “I heard from Ramirez a little more than an hour ago, and they had just left Argentine airspace then. It had taken them longer than anticipated to get the jet loaded and airborne, but all is going as planned now.”

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler and faster to have had them fly directly to your airstrip or even to San Jose, rather than all the way to Argentina, only have to be flown back here from there?” Miguel asked, wondering why, when his brother seemed so anxious to get Jacks here as quickly as possible, he had chosen to trap Jacks in another country on another continent.

“Perhaps faster, but this way I can be certain that no one from Jacks’s organization will be able to follow him here,” Juan Carlos explained. “Sometimes the most circuitous route is the also the most expedient in the end. This way I definitely have the upper hand. The invitation I sent to Jacks and his brother to join me led him to believe that I would be meeting him at the Casino del Caribe, where we first met many years ago. Instead, I stayed here - a place that neither Jacks nor his organization is aware even exists… This way there will be no one to save any of them,” he added, allowing himself a brief smile at that thought.

Miguel watched the cruel smile on his brother’s lips and wondered how Juan would react if things did not go as he expected? Would his brother finally lose what little grasp he still had on his sanity? And even if Juan’s plan did succeed, would he really be able to find the peace he was seeking and so desperately needed? Maria was dead and Juan was permanently scarred - both emotionally and physically - and nothing could change those facts. Yet Juan seemed to be counting on a miracle, that Jacks’s death would somehow miraculously restore things to the way that they were before that terrible night four years ago.

He shook his head but said nothing as he left to do what he’d planned all along - check on Brenda Barrett, then get some sleep before the rest of his brother’s “guests” arrived and he would be forced to do what needed to be done to show his brother how much he truly loved him.

She was dreaming again…

She saw her dream self dressed in a long, flowing, white gown and walking slowly toward the figure of a man dressed completely in white and standing beside an altar covered with white roses. As she got closer she could see that the man was Jax, and he was holding his arms out for her. She looked down then to see that she was now holding a bouquet of white roses in her hands.

(Is this my wedding? Am I marrying Jax?)

She saw her dream self smile as she got closer to Jax, then she saw herself nod and smile again as she saw that JD, also dressed completely in white, was beside Jax at the altar now and that he was also holding his arms out for her.

(JD, too? Who am I marrying - Jax or JD?)

She saw her dream self continue to smile as she reached Jax and JD, allowing both men to embrace her and kiss her, then she kissed them both in return.

“I love you both,” she heard her dream self say.

Both Jax and JD smiled and nodded.

“But I can’t choose between you…” her dream self continued.

Again, both men nodded their understanding.

Then, she looked on in horror as the roses in her dream self’s hands transformed instantly into a gun. “…So I must kill you both…” her dream self explained, still smiling, as she raised the gun and took careful aim, then shot - first Jax, then JD - and they both fell dead at her feet.

(No!!!!!!)

(It’s only a dream! It’s only a dream!)

(Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!)

He held his arms open wide for her, and she watched helplessly as her dream self moved happily into his embrace and they kissed. Then, as the two finally broke apart, she shuddered as she heard her dream self whisper lovingly to him: “I’m yours now… Only yours… Forever…”

She fought her way out of the murky netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, trying to escape the unsettling nightmare. And when she finally was able to open her eyes, the dream images had faded from memory, but a distinct feeling of both dread and doom remained.

Confusion clouded her mind. What had she just dreamed that had upset her so? And why couldn’t she remember it now? She seemed to be having a lot of trouble remembering anything lately… Where she was… Why she was there… It was as if…

As if… What? She suddenly couldn’t remember what her next thought was and that frightened her more than the dream she’d just had. Oh, god! What was happening to her?

She had to get out of here, she thought, as she struggled to sit up in bed. But as she did, she felt someone’s strong arm across her torso, holding her down, then the prick of a needle in the crook of her arm, followed by a burning sensation in her bloodstream that quickly spread throughout her body. She struggled to remain awake, but she soon found herself once again falling backwards… down, down, down… back into that murky netherworld she’d fought so hard to escape…

And then there was nothing…

Quietly, Miguel closed the door to her suite, locking it behind him, then headed down the hallway toward the great room in the main part of the vast compound. He had thought about stopping by his brother’s suite next door while he was in this wing checking on the woman, but decided against it. Miguel needed his rest now more than Juan Carlos needed a progress report. Anything Juan needed to know could wait until later, after they’d both gotten some much-needed rest.

As he neared the great room, he heard voices, which surprised him, since it was just a little past 4:00 a.m. He supposed it could be the cook and the kitchen help, since they were usually up and about at this hour, but they had no need to be in this area, as this was nowhere near the kitchen or dining area. As he got closer, he saw that it was two members of his brother’s security team. They were standing by the fireplace, staring up at the painting of Maria that hung above the fireplace and dominated the entire room.

“What are you doing?” Miguel asked sharply, as he watched the men take ahold of the frame and slowly lift the painting off the wall and lower it to the floor.

He startled the men, causing them to nearly drop the unwieldy load.

Miguel ran to help them steady the painting. “What are you doing here?” he demanded again.

The man Miguel recognized as Luis Alvarez, one of his brother’s most trusted men, spoke up: “Your brother asked that this painting be moved immediately, Dr. Torres.”

“Moved?” Miguel was puzzled. This painting and the identical one that hung above Juan’s bed were holy icons in Juan’s eyes. No one was allowed to touch either painting. Even the maids had to ask permission to dust around the paintings. Why would he want this moved - and where was he having it moved?

“Yes,” Luis nodded. “Señor Sanchez asked that we take this down to the security wing. He wants it hung in one of the rooms there immediately, then covered. He says he plans to unveil it for his guest later,” Luis added, shrugging to indicate that he did not understand his boss’s orders; he simply complied.

But now Miguel did understand what his brother was doing and why. Juan held Jacks responsible for Maria’s death, therefore he felt it was only fitting that Jacks be made to see the image of the very person he was accused of killing - come face to face with his past sins, in Juan’s view, before being made to pay for them.

Miguel nodded, then watched in silence as the two men worked to get a firm grip on the painting, so as not to drop it or damage it in any way, then walked slowly out of the great room in the direction of the security wing. He followed behind, on his way to his own wing, pondering the day that lay ahead and wondering how it would all end.

One thing he knew for certain: Jacks would not be the only one having to face up to his past sins this day; before the day was over both he and Juan would also have to face up to their many sins as well.

It was nearly 5:45 a.m. as Father Santiago slowly climbed the narrow stone steps from his room in the basement of the church to the sacristy, on his way to prepare for 6 o’clock mass. He was late this morning. There were never more than a handful of parishioners each morning, but those who did attend had come faithfully each morning for the past two decades of his tenure here. And they always arrived early to pray silently and prepare themselves before the mass began. Their faith and faithfulness always made him smile and appreciate the goodness of these people he served.

But for the first time ever, he wished that he could simply turn back around and go back to his little room and back to bed. He felt both tired and troubled this morning; certainly not in the proper frame of mind to celebrate mass. He’d spent a sleepless night - or, rather morning, as it had been nearly 2 a.m. before he’d finally gone to his room - thinking about the things that Dr. Miguel Torres had confessed to him and praying for God’s guidance for Miguel.

He’d done what he could. He’d counseled Miguel as to the course God would have him take. His words had not been ambiguous in the least; there was no question as to what Miguel must do if he truly wanted God’s grace for both himself and his brother. He knew that Miguel understood that, but understanding what was right and actually doing what was right were often two very different things. He knew that, despite the goodness he saw in Miguel’s heart, it would still be a difficult choice for the young doctor to make. He only prayed that God would give Miguel the strength he needed in the end to do what was right this day.

Dee awoke with a start, momentarily confused as to where she was and why she was there. Then, as she became more fully awake, she remembered that she’d spent the night on the couch in Brenda’s apartment in the Village.

“What time is it?” she mumbled aloud, as she felt around for her watch which she’d taken off the night before and set on the coffee table. Just then she heard the grandfather clock behind her strike ten times. “Good lord! It can’t be that late!” she exclaimed, as she jumped up to look at the chiming clock behind her. She had never slept that late in her life!

She’d been an early riser all of her life. Even as a child she’d usually risen with the sun each morning. And since she’d begun her writing career, she’d found herself to be most creative in those hours between dawn and noon. Not that she would be getting any writing done this morning - This morning she had far more on her mind than worrying about the next dramatic development in her characters’ lives. This morning she was worried about the unfolding drama in the lives of three very real people - Brenda, JD, and Jax - all of whom she now held very dear to her heart.

It had been well after 4 that morning when she and Jane Jacks finally hung up the phone, after a more than four-hour conversation. It was funny. They’d started out the evening as total strangers with a common concern for the safety of Brenda, Jax, and JD, but ended as good friends - still with that same common concern, however. And, as of the end of their conversation, neither of them had heard anything from Jax or JD about where they were or what was happening, and that concerned her.

She immediately grabbed her cell phone to check her voice mail for messages she might have missed in the night, but there were none. Then she checked Brenda’s answering machine; nothing there either. They had promised to call. She suddenly felt very anxious. Something was terribly wrong - she could feel it!

“Don’t get ahead of yourself…You just need coffee - that’s all,” she told herself. “It’s late and you haven’t even had one cup yet, let alone the 4 or 5 cups you’ve normally had by this time of the morning; you’re just feeling anxious because you’re in dire need of your morning caffeine fix.”

“Yeah, that’s it - it’s just the beginning of caffeine withdrawal,” she muttered, as she made her way to the kitchen and retrieved the coffee carafe out of the sink, rinsed it, then filled it with water and poured the water into the coffeemaker.

“That has to be it!” she declared, as she grabbed the can of coffee and poured a generous scoopful into a clean filter in the coffeemaker, then flipped the coffeemaker on.

“Please, God, let that be it,” she prayed, as she walked to the table and picked up the picture of Jax and JD that Brenda had had with her on the plane and the very thing that had pulled Dee into this in the first place. But as she held the picture in her hands she knew without a doubt that it wasn’t lack of caffeine causing her anxiety - something bad had happened to Jax and JD…

“Aghhh!!!” Jerry gasped, as a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head. The icy wakeup call quickly pulled him back to consciousness. He immediately blinked, trying as best he could to shield his eyes from the glare of the bright lights of the room. He tried to move, but he could feel that he was tied to something - most likely a chair - with his arms bound tightly behind his back and his legs bound separately to the legs of the chair.

Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he squinted to look around. There were two large, uniformed men facing him. They were armed with uzis and standing one on either side of a door. He did a quick visual of the room, but there was no sign of Sanchez or Brenda anywhere. He imagined Sanchez would make his entrance shortly; he only prayed that Brenda was still alive and unharmed to make an entrance, as well.

He turned his attention then to the layout of the room. The room itself was large and austere; three of the walls were cement block, painted white, and the fourth wall, behind him, was covered almost entirely with floor-to-ceiling white drapes, with a second door peaking out just beyond the drapes. All of the block walls were bare, except the one directly in front of him, which had the door on one side and on the other side there was evidently something hanging on the wall that Sanchez didn’t want him to see because it was covered with a large cloth, also white. There was a small metal table to the left of him, with another heavy metal chair, identical to the one to which he was tied, just beyond that. Those, along with the chair he was on, were the only pieces of furniture in the enormous room.

He looked down to discover that he was wearing only his tux pants. His jacket and shirt were both gone, and even his feet were bare - no doubt to make it more difficult for him to escape if he did manage to get loose. Sanchez had likely discovered the GPS device imbedded in the heel of his left shoe, which was probably another reason he was currently barefoot. He could feel that his Rolex and ring had both also been removed, also to prevent the Agency from finding him, as both of those contained GPS transponders, too.

Sanchez had certainly become more savvy since their last encounter - and likely more dangerous.

Jerry’s thoughts went back to Brenda then, as he wondered where she was and what shape she was in now. He only prayed that she was still alive and that Sanchez hadn’t touched her in any way. The thought of that man laying a finger on her made Jerry’s blood boil, but he knew he couldn’t think about that possibility now. He needed to keep a cool head if both he and Brenda were going to survive this. He was just thankful that he’d managed to keep Jax away from here.

He wondered where exactly “here” was. He was certain this was not the Casino del Caribe. He’d memorized the blueprints of that place, and there was no room like this in or even below the casino. He supposed it could be anywhere in Bocagrande - or anywhere in Argentina, for that matter, since he’d been unconscious since the limo. The last thing he clearly remembered was being in the car on the way to the casino and checking his watch. It had been just after 3 a.m. Argentine time. But then he’d passed out, and there was no telling how long he was unconscious. And he had no idea what time it was now, so hours could have passed in which Sanchez could have easily taken him out of the country. Hell, he could have been unconscious for days, for all he knew!

That thought made him ill as he imagined the hell Brenda would have endured over several days with Sanchez. But common sense told him that Sanchez would not have been satisfied to have him within his grasp simply to keep him sedated for days on end. That was not Sanchez’s style at all. No, Sanchez would use sedation only as a means to get Jerry to him, then he’d want Jerry wide-awake and aware of every blow to come.

Besides, he doubted that Sanchez would want to miss a minute of payback once he finally had him. And since the anonymously delivered cold water shower had brought him around just moments before, Jerry imagined that it wouldn’t be long before Sanchez arrived to personally begin this game of retribution.

And Jerry was right. The door suddenly opened and Sanchez walked in; a sadistic, triumphant smile on his face and the glow of long-simmering hatred in his eyes. “Finally - we meet again!” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “But this time it is you who will taste suffering and death!… An eye for an eye…”

Miguel unlocked the door to her suite and opened it slowly. Carmen, who had once again been ordered to help Brenda Barrett bathe and dress, was standing just inside the door; her back pressed up against the wall, rapidly reciting a litany of prayers. When he stepped inside, Carmen whirled around to face him, her face pale and frightened. “Fantasma!” she spit out in a harsh whisper as she raced past him, nearly knocking him over in her haste to flee the room.

He looked up and immediately understood why the woman had been so unsettled. What he saw nearly took his breath away. Fantasma, Carmen had whispered - ghost; and if he didn’t know better he would also believe that he was seeing the ghost of Maria Montoya standing just a few feet in front of him.

Despite the fact that Maria had died four years before and none of the servants here had ever known her while she was alive, they were all well-acquainted with her since her death, having heard many times the tragic story that Juan had spun around her untimely and brutal death. And the larger-than-life paintings of her that hung in his brother’s suite and in the great room of the house served to remind all who saw them that, even in death, Maria Montoya was the mistress of both Juan Carlos Sanchez’s heart and his house. In a sense, her ghost had always walked the halls of this place. But now… today… that ghost had finally materialized.

Her resemblance to the paintings of Maria was uncanny - no, supernatural, especially dressed as she was now, in a white gown nearly identical to the one Maria was wearing in the paintings. Despite having only a faxed picture and a brief description of the gown, both Father Santiago and Javier had done a remarkable job finding this replica. It was perfect. And her hair… Her natural curl had been tamed tonight, and her hair now cascaded down her back in soft waves, just as Maria’s was in the paintings. It was almost as if Maria had stepped off the canvas…

He walked across the room and took her hand in his. She stared blankly at him, saying nothing, which didn’t surprise him. He knew that her mind was having more and more difficulty grasping what was happening to her. She was at her most vulnerable now. Now was the time to tell her what was expected of her…

Feeling completely detached, Brenda simply stared as the doctor entered the room and the terrified maid fled. She’d been trying to understand why the maid seemed so frightened of her, but she supposed it really didn’t matter. She couldn’t seem to understand much of anything lately…

…And nothing really mattered anymore now, did it?…

She’d realized some time during the night that she was slowly but surely losing her grip on reality, unable to understand anything anymore. And what she could understand she knew she was powerless to stop: she was a pawn in this deadly game between JD and Juan Carlos in which there would be no winners in the end.

She’d finally remembered where she was and a bit of what was happening, but that memory gave her little comfort: Juan Carlos planned to bring Jax and JD here and kill them. He was in total control of everything, even Dr. Torres. The doctor had been the one person she’d hoped would help her escape this and save Jax and JD, too, but he was Juan Carlos’s brother and his accomplice in this nightmare. So there was no hope of escape for any of them now - there was only pain and death.

How can you give up? You’re not a quitter; that’s not who you are, a voice inside her pleaded. It’s up to you, Brenda… This is all up to you… You’re the one in control… Those words echoed in her heart, but they seemed meaningless, given the reality of the situation.

“Come with me,” Dr. Torres’s voice broke through the haze of her thoughts, and she looked down to see that he was holding her hand, pulling her after him. She nodded numbly and followed along as he led her through a set of locked double doors into an adjoining suite.

This suite was large - nearly twice as large as the one in which she’d been kept - but it was similar in that all the walls and furniture and accessories were white, as was her suite. Here, too, as in her suite, the only accents of color came from the many vases of tropical flowers that dotted the room. But then she saw it - the huge painting above the king-sized bed. It was a portrait of a woman, and the vibrant background colors on the canvas served to offset the austerity of the all-white room, making the room feel amazingly warm and inviting.

The painting was spectacular. It was a larger-than-life, full-length portrait of a woman, and its sheer size made it the focal point of the room, demanding the full attention of all who entered here. She felt strangely drawn to it; the portrait seemed to beckon to her personally, as if it were somehow alive. She dropped the doctor’s hand and slowly walked closer until she was near enough to clearly see the face of the woman in the painting. She gasped and quickly stepped backwards. It looked exactly like her!

As she continued to stare in disbelief at the painting, she felt Dr. Torres beside her, taking her hand once again. He led her to the bed and sat her down on the edge, then knelt in front of her, gently turning her face from the painting and toward him. He had this strange look in his eyes, and he appeared to be trembling.

(He seems frightened.)

She thought she heard him mutter something softly in Spanish under his breath.

(Was that a prayer?)

Then he began to speak softly to her: “You must listen carefully to me as I explain all of this to you, and then you must do exactly as I say…”

Jerry could feel the hatred for him emanating from Sanchez the minute that he entered the room; it fairly oozed out of every pore. Sanchez held him solely responsible for Maria Montoya’s death, as well as the fire that destroyed his Mexican compound, and Jerry imagined that Sanchez’s animosity for him had grown exponentially every minute of every day of the past four years. Jerry understood and appreciated it because the feeling was mutual. He hated Juan Carlos Sanchez more than he’d ever hated anyone.

But as much as Jerry hated Sanchez, he feared him more because he was unpredictable -and he had Brenda. Sanchez had been on the verge of insanity when he’d known him four years before - How else could he have so easily executed the very woman he professed to love? - and the pain of the intervening years had likely driven him over that narrow precipice and into full-fledged madness. And since Brenda was the woman Jerry loved the way Sanchez had loved Maria, he knew that Sanchez would not hesitate to kill her with little or no provocation… An eye for an eye…

But he’ll likely do unspeakable things to Brenda before he kills her…

That thought made Jerry crazy with worry, but he tried to remain calm. “Where is she?” he asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice. Sanchez thrived on fear. It was like a stimulant to him; a tonic that fed his already sadistic personality.

Juan Carlos’s malicious smile broadened. He knew that, despite his relatively calm outward appearance, JD Jacks was a bundle of nerves inside now because of the woman. “She is somewhere safe - For now,” he added ominously.

Jerry needed more. “I want to see her - now,” he demanded, a tinge of anxiety creeping into his tone. “See for myself that she’s safe.”

Juan Carlos laughed at that. “You do not seem to understand that you are in no position to demand anything of me,” he pointed out gleefully as he began to slowly circle Jerry, “whereas I am in the position to demand everything of you.”

“Listen, I don’t care what you do to me, but Brenda has no part in any of this,” Jerry replied, trying to keep the overwhelming anxiety he felt for Brenda from his voice. “You have me now; you don’t need her any longer. Let her go.”

“As I said, you are in no position to demand anything,” Juan Carlos repeated brusquely. “But had you responded to my invitation as it was issued, then I might be in a more conciliatory mood - possibly even willing to allow the woman to go now… But you ignored my wishes, so that will cost you dearly - and her, as well.”

Jerry’s heart sank. He knew immediately that Sanchez was referring to Jax and the fact that Jax was not with him. Sanchez had addressed the “invitation” to both of them, but Jerry had sent Jax to safety. He’d known that Sanchez would consider that a personal affront, and he had. Jerry had gambled to save Jax’s life, but he’d lost Brenda’s in the process.

“So, why did your brother decline my invitation to join you and the woman here?” Juan Carlos asked, almost smiling now as he continued to circle Jerry.

“He sends his regrets, but I’m afraid he had a previous engagement and couldn’t make it tonight,” Jerry smirked, instantly sorry that he’d been so flip. He should have just kept quiet.

“Is that so?” Juan Carlos asked, his eyebrows raised and a smirk now on his face, as well. “Well, I would be most disappointed had your brother’s previous engagement not been cancelled at the last minute… I’m happy to say that he was able to join us after all.”

Sanchez gave Roberto a nod, and the hulking bodyguard immediately opened the drapes that had covered the fourth wall of the room, revealing a glass partition that looked into the identical room next door. Roberto then roughly turned Jerry’s head to the side so that he could see what had been revealed. To Jerry’s horror, inside that darkened room, spotlighted by a single desk lamp, was the one thing that he’d hoped he’d been able to prevent in all of this: there, also stripped to the waist, barefoot and tied to a chair, was Jax.

She sat motionless, her right hand tucked discreetly beneath the pillow beside her; her left hand, bearing the ring he’d slipped onto her finger earlier, poised beside her on the silken seat of the settee on which she now sat. She stared blankly into the light, trying not to focus on the object spotlighted there beneath its intense glare. Instead, she tried to focus on what the doctor had told her just moments before…

It will all be over soon, her mind repeated. Just listen carefully and do exactly as you are told. Soon it will be over, and then everything will be right again…

…Again…

Jerry stared in disbelief. Despite his best efforts to keep his brother safe and out of this, they’d gotten him anyway. He’d greatly underestimated Sanchez’s intelligence and his extensive network of people. Underestimating the enemy was the surest way to get killed.

- Or get someone else killed.

He cringed as he saw the extensive bruising on Jax’s face and chest and the dried blood at the corner of Jax’s mouth. His left eye looked badly swollen, too, but it was hard to tell from this distance and this angle, especially since he was unconscious and his head was hanging to the side in the shadows. Jerry felt a combination of rage and revulsion at seeing Jax like that and knowing that he was the one responsible for it.

Juan Carlos watched gleefully as the look of horror slid across Jerry’s face upon seeing his brother in the next room. “Did you really think that your little scheme to save your brother would work?” he asked, shaking his head. “You are even more arrogant and stupid than I thought!” he goaded.

“What have you done to him?” Jerry growled, his eyes flashing.

“Only what was necessary,” Juan Carlos shrugged. “It seems that your brother was less than cooperative on his journey here, and he needed a bit of… shall we say, persuasion… to make him remember his manners,” Juan Carlos smirked.

Jerry wanted to beat that smirk off of Sanchez’s face, and he easily forgot earlier resolve to keep his cool. “He doesn’t belong here, any more than Brenda does! They have no part in any of this! I’m the one you want! You have me now; let them go!” Jerry demanded.

“You arrogant fool! You still do not understand that you do not demand anything of me!” Juan Carlos shouted. “I owe you nothing! Nothing! Whereas you owe me everything! Everything and more!”

He raced to the painting on the wall and tore off the cloth covering it. “This is what you tried to take from me four years ago! Do you really think that your life alone would be enough to pay for your sins against her?! No! I will not rest until I have taken everyone that you love from you as cruelly and painfully as you tried to take her from me!”

As Sanchez ranted at him, Jerry gazed up at the painting in shocked silence. If he hadn’t known that it was indeed Maria Montoya there, he would have thought this was a portrait of Brenda. Why hadn’t he remembered how much they looked alike? Why had he always assumed it was the liquor that night that had made him see Brenda instead of Maria and allowed her to climb into his bed? Had he always seen the startling resemblance and actually been drawn to Maria because of her likeness to Brenda? Had he unwittingly sent out signals over all those weeks he’d lived in Sanchez’s Mexican compound that Maria had picked up on, and was that why she had come into his bed that night? Had he issued some sort of subliminal invitation to her that had ending up killing her and so many others that night?

That whole terrible night suddenly came flooding back to him then in agonizing detail and horrifying color: Maria coming to him (God, had she been wearing the same gown as in the painting?); their almost lovemaking; Sanchez’s security guards grabbing him and dragging him to Sanchez’s suite; Sanchez seated on that pure white settee, like a king on his throne; Maria crying at Sanchez’s feet, her face bloodied and bruised (Like Jax’s now.); then Sanchez pulling the gun from beneath the pillows beside him and shooting Maria in the head.

God, please get that horrible image out of my head!

He could still vaguely hear Sanchez screaming at him. Jerry tore his eyes away from the painting to see that Sanchez was pacing and gesticulating in front of him now, pointing from the painting to Jerry, then to Jax in the other room. It was only then that Sanchez’s words became clear again.

“Make no mistake: you will die before this night is over! But killing you outright would be too easy on you… I want more from you than that… I want you to suffer as I have suffered, knowing what you did to the only woman I will ever love… You caused both her and I unspeakable pain that night, and I want you to know that very pain, too… I want you to feel the pain of betrayal by the very woman you love more than life itself… You destroyed my world when you tried to take my Maria from me, and now I plan to destroy your world, a piece at a time! And when you finally do die, you will do so knowing the fullest measure of the pain of betrayal and loss of the only thing you have ever truly loved in your life!”

You put the gun to her head and you pulled the trigger! You killed her, not me, you sick bastard! Jerry wanted to shout, but he knew it would do no good. Sanchez’s sick mind had spun his own version of that night, most likely as a way of dealing with the guilt all these years.

But is Sanchez really so far off the mark in blaming you? Jerry wondered, as the true events of that night continued to dance before his eyes. Maybe Jerry hadn’t been the one to fire the bullet that ended Maria Montoya’s life so brutally that night, but had he been the one that set her on that inevitable path of doom? God, he hoped not!

He glanced through the window at Jax, and he knew that he couldn’t afford to wallow in self-doubt and self-pity now. There were other lives at stake tonight, and he had to keep a clear head and a rational mind to keep them both alive. He also couldn’t continue to stoke Sanchez’s anger, as he’d been doing. He needed to remain calm in order to keep Sanchez calm, too. Maybe by appearing contrite about all of this he could buy them all a little more time until he could figure a way out for Brenda, Jax, and himself.

He turned his attention back to Sanchez, who had finished his tirade and was now strangely quiet as he stared at the painting of the long-dead Maria. “You’re right,” Jerry began, his voice calm and low, “I am responsible for what happened to Maria that night…”

That caught Juan Carlos’s attention, and he turned around to look at Jerry.

“… and I am willing to face the consequences,” Jerry continued. “As you said, an eye for an eye - it’s only right…”

Juan Carlos eyed him warily. Why did Jacks suddenly seem eager to accept responsibility when he’d denied it for so long, he wondered? No matter, it changed nothing. “It is right and just,” Juan Carlos replied tersely.

“Yes, and I know you’re a just man, Juan Carlos,” Jerry went on, the bitter words nearly sticking in his throat as he spoke. He took a deep breath. He had to convince Sanchez of his sincere remorse here, for Jax and Brenda’s sakes. “And I know that you have repeatedly pointed out that I am in no position to make demands - and you’re right - but since I know you’re an honorable and just man, I know that you will also be merciful - far more merciful than I was when I… when I took your Maria from you…”

“What you did deserves no mercy!” Juan Carlos shouted. “And there will be no mercy!”

“Hear him out, Juan,” a male voice came from behind them. “After all, it is only right to show at least a little mercy for a man who has just confessed his sins and is facing certain death.”

Both Jerry and Juan Carlos turned at the interruption.

“Miguel, you are finally here,” Juan Carlos nodded, upon seeing his brother enter the room.

“I had some last minute preparations to finish,” Miguel replied, as he gave Jerry a cursory glance before motioning his brother to the side of the room where they could speak confidentially.

Juan Carlos signaled for the two armed guards at the door to step outside while they spoke. “Is she ready?” Juan asked anxiously.

Miguel nodded as he looked through the window into the next room at Jax. He’d known that he was unconscious - he’d assumed from the tranquilizer; he’d not been informed that he’d been beaten unconscious. But this would work even better… “Yes, she’s ready. I just have to get a few more things in place...” He hesitated momentarily, as he continued to gaze at Jax. “But I think all of this be more effective if the brother were conscious,” he suggested, knowing that would appeal to Juan’s perverted sense of justice.

Juan Carlos looked toward Jax as he considered his brother’s suggestion. It would be more satisfying if the brother were aware of what was happening to him - and more excruciating for JD Jacks to watch, as well. This way they would both be aware of her betrayal. “I like that, Miguelito,” Juan Carlos smiled, as he patted his brother on the back. “I should never have doubted your loyalty before - you have more than proven your allegiance to me in the past several hours.”

“You are my brother, Juan, and I love you, and everything I am doing is because I love you,” Miguel replied evenly.

“Yes… yes, you do love me, don’t you?” Juan Carlos sighed, as he pulled his brother in for a brief hug. Then, as he pulled away from Miguel, he added: “But if you love me, how can you ask me to be merciful to this man, who showed no mercy to my Maria or to me?”

“Because, Juan, you are the better man,” Miguel replied. The suspicious look was once again back in Juan’s eyes, which unsettled Miguel. “Listen, this can actually work in your favor, Juan.”

Juan Carlos knitted his brows together. “What are you thinking here, Miguel?”

“As a show of ‘mercy’ on your part, you’ll tell Jacks that I will tend to his brother’s injuries. In doing so, I will also bring him back to consciousness, so he is alert and aware of what is to come next,” Miguel suggested. “That will serve to satisfy our needs, as well as his. But it will appear that you are being merciful here, although you are simply doing what is best for us,” Miguel explained, watching as a slow smile again spread across his brother’s face.

“Yes, this is good,” Juan Carlos nodded. “And it will work very nicely into our plans for the game…”

Jerry watched with interest as Juan Carlos spoke in hushed tones with the other man. Juan Carlos had called the man ‘Miguel’. Jerry remembered from his research on Sanchez years ago that he had a brother, Miguel. He was much younger than Sanchez, and, after their mother had died when he was just 8 or 9, he’d been adopted and raised in San Diego by a wealthy Hispanic-American couple, the Torreses. Miguel had thrived with them, excelling academically, which had gotten into an Ivy League college, then a top-notch medical school, followed by a prized residency at Johns Hopkins. He’d just been ready to begin his own practice in the States around the time of the fire, four years before.

The brother had appeared to be the antithesis of Juan Carlos - on paper, at least. But evidently Dr. Miguel Torres was cut from the same insidious cloth as his older brother because he was here in the thick of all of this. Jerry imagined that it was Miguel’s medical expertise that had been used to drug and kidnap Brenda in the first place, as well as him and Jax later. That made the doctor as guilty as his brother in this. He wondered what would induce a young doctor with a brilliant career ahead of him to throw it all away for revenge?

He glanced through the window at Jax, then at Sanchez and his brother huddled together talking animatedly in the corner, and he had his answer - love. Love had brought the doctor to this point, just as love had been the driving force that had brought everyone involved here to this same point now.

It had been his love for Brenda that had blinded him to Maria that night and allowed her into his bed. It had been Sanchez’s obsessive love for Maria that had driven him to kill her when he thought she had betrayed him. It had been Jerry’s own undying love for Brenda that had allowed the Agency to use her to keep him tied to them all these years, and it had been that same love that had almost gotten her killed four years before and could still get her killed tonight.

It had been Brenda’s love for him that had kept her hostage all those years, until Jax came along, and it had been Jax’s love for Brenda and his own love for Brenda that Sanchez had exploited to get them both here now. It had been his love for Jax that had been behind his foolhardy decision to leave Jax behind in Bocagrande, which had resulted in Jax being savagely beaten. And he supposed it had been Miguel’s love for his brother that had driven him to choose helping his brother like this over his medical oath to do no harm. For all of them, in one way or another, love had been used as a weapon against them, instead of the balm it should be.

“I have decided that I will show mercy toward you after all.”

Sanchez’s voice broke through Jerry’s musings, bringing him back to the task at hand: trying to buy a little more time. The man’s words surprised him, as he’d never really expected Sanchez to relent so easily, if at all. Of course, his idea of mercy was likely as skewed as his idea of justice, which meant that this had to help Sanchez more than it did him or Jax or Brenda, but Jerry couldn’t let his suspicions show. He had to let Sanchez believe that he was grateful for any small concession on his part, which, truthfully, he was.

“Thank you,” Jerry replied, trying to sound as grateful as possible under the circumstances.

“My brother is a doctor, and I have decided to allow him to tend to your brother’s wounds,” Juan Carlos announced.

That surprised Jerry, as it had been exactly what he was going to ask of Sanchez. This was most likely the brother’s idea. Accomplice or not in all of this, Dr. Torres was evidently still being guided somewhat by his Hippocratic oath. So maybe there was also a shred of conscience there as well that Jerry could somehow exploit.

“Thank you,” Jerry whispered to Miguel, this time sincere in his sentiment.

Miguel merely nodded curtly at Jerry, then turned his attention back to his brother. “I would prefer to treat him without an audience,” he said, motioning toward the window. When Juan Carlos appeared about to question his motives, he quietly added: “That way I can get everything in place for later.”

Juan Carlos nodded, immediately understanding his brother’s inference. “Close the drapes,” he ordered, and Roberto immediately complied.

This made Jerry nervous. Why did he need to close the drapes? What was the doctor planning to do to Jax that he didn’t want him to see?

Miguel gave Jerry a brief look as he passed by him on his way to the door. “I’ll send the guards back in,” he said, as he paused by the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“No, tell them to stay where they are, Miguel,” Juan Carlos replied quickly. “I think it is time that Señor Jacks and I spoke privately now.”

Miguel nodded and smiled, then turned once again to leave when he heard his brother call after him.

“Miguel, take Roberto with you,” Juan Carlos ordered. When Miguel gave him a questioning look at that, he added: “It is for your own safety. The brother may be injured, but an animal is at its most dangerous when it is wounded.”

Once again Miguel nodded. “I will let you know when I’m finished and everything is ready,” he said as he opened the door, then stepped outside. Roberto followed obediently, closing the door securely behind them.

Miguel set his medical bag down on the table, then knelt in front of Jax, adjusting the table lamp toward the injured man, then gently turning Jax’s head so that he could take a better look at his facial injuries. There was extensive bruising and his left eye was swollen, but Miguel thought the eye probably looked much worse than it was. He gently felt around Jax’s face for possible facial fractures. It didn’t feel that way, but only an x-ray would tell for sure. Not that it really mattered, he supposed. His job was simply to give the man palliative aid; extensive treatment was not a part of this deal.

He then moved his focus to Jax’s chest, which was also bruised and bloodied with a definite imprint of a boot on the right side; someone had evidently kicked him hard. Miguel wondered which of the security guards had gotten carried away here - or had it been Juan Carlos himself who’d delivered this blow? Again, he supposed it really didn’t matter who had dealt the blow; it was simply his job to treat the man. But Miguel was having difficulty determining the extent of his injuries with him bound, as he was, to the chair.

“Roberto, untie him now,” Miguel ordered. When the hulking bodyguard did not move, he repeated it, more strongly this time: “I said to untie him! My brother instructed me to treat the man, and I can’t even determine the extent of his injuries with him tied like this!”

It appeared as if Roberto still was not going to comply with his wishes, but then he hesitantly bent over Jax, quickly untying his arms from behind his back, but leaving his legs tied to the chair.

“Untie him completely!” Miguel barked.

Again Roberto hesitated, but he relented as soon as he saw the angry glint in Miguel’s eyes - a glint he recognized as a family trait, although everyone knew that Miguel’s angry outbursts were far less frequent and far less painful than his brother’s. Still, Roberto knew better than to test that theory at the moment; both Miguel and Juan were too highly strung, and he understood that too much was at stake tonight for him to be crossing either of them now. He needed to keep his mouth shut, his eyes and ears open, and follow his gut here, and his gut was telling him to follow the doctor’s instructions to the letter.

Miguel watched as Roberto undid the last of the ropes that bound the still unconscious Jax to the chair, then once again moved to examine the extent of his injuries. He gingerly felt across Jax’s rib cage, which brought a wince from Jax. That told Miguel two things: the man had some badly bruised or cracked ribs, and, despite being unconscious, he was still able to feel pain. The latter helped Miguel know what dosage of drug he would need to bring the man fully around. It would also help with the dosage of drug he would need to use to put him out of his misery later…

He sighed, as he tried not to focus on what was inevitably to come from this. The ball was already in play; there was no way to stop the game now. Isn’t that what he’d told the woman last night when she’d begged him to help her? And it was even truer now than then. The ball was definitely in play here, and he’d had a major role in setting it in motion; there was nothing left to do now but to let the events unfold.

“Roberto, I need for you to go to my office and bring back two more of these,” he instructed, as he held up an elastic bandage that he’d just pulled from his medical bag. “I need to wrap his chest and this will not be enough to give him the support he needs.” He saw that Roberto was once again hesitating; no doubt remembering Juan’s admonition about the dangers of Miguel being alone with this man, injured or not.

“Roberto, my brother wants me to treat this man quickly, but I can’t do that if I don’t have all the supplies that I need,” he offered impatiently, but when he once again saw the hesitation in the hulking bodyguard’s eyes as Roberto looked from Miguel to the unconscious Jax, Miguel angrily barked: “Get the bandages - now!”

Roberto hesitated for a fraction of a second as he glanced toward the covered glass partition that separated this room from the one in which Juan Carlos stood, then he quickly turned and exited the room, intent on doing what he’d been told.

As soon as Roberto had left the room, Miguel reached into his bag and pulled out a gauze bandage he’d prepared earlier, then expertly taped the gauze in place just above Jax’s navel. He then quickly wrapped the elastic bandage over that and on up Jax’s chest as far as it would reach, securing it just as Roberto returned with the other elastic bandages and set them on the small metal table beside Miguel.

“Hold his arms up above his head,” Miguel instructed, as he took one of the new wraps and continued wrapping Jax’s chest to just below his nipple line. He checked for snugness before securing the second elastic bandage with a piece of tape. “You can put his arms down now,” Miguel instructed Roberto, “then I want you to steady him while I give him a shot intravenously.” He tossed the unused elastic bandage into his bag, then pulled out a pre-filled syringe, an alcohol swab, and a tourniquet.

Roberto did as he was told, and Miguel expertly wrapped the tourniquet just above Jax’s left elbow and popped a vein, then cleansed the area with the swab and quickly inserted the needle, slowly pushing the contents of the syringe into Jax’s bloodstream. Within minutes Jax began to moan softly, indicating that the drug was doing its job and he was slowly beginning to regain consciousness.

As soon as Jax began to move on his own, Roberto stooped to once again tie Jax’s hands and legs back to the heavy metal chair.

“No! My brother does not want him tied back up on the chair,” Miguel informed the bodyguard. “He is to be moved over there.” He pointed to the faint outline of a white settee just across the room. “Set him upright on the left-hand side of the settee and leave him untied,” he instructed. Roberto appeared ready to question him again, especially about the last part of the order, but then simply nodded and complied, which relieved Miguel. This situation was tense enough without Roberto questioning everything that he told him to do.

Miguel took one last look at the elastic wraps he’d secured around Jax’s torso, checking to make certain that the gauze bandage that he’d taped beneath it had not shifted. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he took a quick second look at Jax’s face. By rights he should have cleaned the wounds on his face, but time was at a premium here and the man’s facial injuries were not the ones that were of most importance here.

Jax moaned again and stirred slightly in his seat, further indication that he was quickly regaining consciousness. Miguel knew that he would be fully awake soon, and then the ball would truly be in full play. He turned to Roberto and motioned for the bodyguard to follow him from the room, adjusting the lamp on the table as he went out so that it once again spotlighted Jax in the otherwise darkened room.

He paused momentarily at the door, looking back at the scene he’d just prepared. The stage was fully set now; everything was finally ready for what was to come. He hated what he’d had to do tonight, but, despite everything, he loved his brother deeply, which is why he had done what he had for him tonight.

He just prayed that in the end his brother would appreciate his acts of love.

“I will let you know… when everything is ready…”

Jerry’s ears had perked up at those words that Miguel uttered just as he left to tend to Jax’s injuries. Did that “everything” include Brenda? It had to. Brenda was Sanchez’s trump card, and both Sanchez and he knew that, yet Sanchez had yet to show her. That led Jerry to believe that whatever Sanchez had planned for her would likely be the grand finale to Sanchez’s night of revenge. He had to find a way to get free to stop whatever horrors lay ahead.

But escape appeared impossible. Despite Jerry’s years of covert training, Sanchez seemed to be a step ahead of him this time, anticipating Jerry’s every move and blocking it before he’d even made it. That was something Jerry was not used to. He’d never before encountered an enemy who could outwit him. He felt this knot swell up in his stomach, as he began to seriously doubt that any of them - Brenda or Jax or him - would survive this night.

Suddenly, he could hear Dee’s voice in his head: “…you need to stay positive…”

Positive? It was hard to stay positive now, but Dee had been right when she’d said that to him just before he’d left Brenda’s apartment. And what else had she said? “- And keep in mind that not everythin’ is always as it seems - You know that more than most…”

Not everything is as it seems… She was right again. That had been an integral part of his training: don’t take anything at face value, yet that was what he was doing here. He had forgotten two very important aspects of his training: to stay positive and to never assume anything.

“… Don’t go forgettin’ that now…” he once again heard Dee’s voice in his head, and he almost smiled. Considering how much he’d distrusted that woman when he’d first met her a couple of days ago, she was certainly turning out to be an angel on his shoulder now when he needed one most.

He looked up to see that Sanchez was staring at him, a sneer on his lips, contempt in his eyes. “How the mighty have fallen!” Juan Carlos taunted, as he stood directly in front of Jerry and jerked Jerry’s face up to look at him. “You had it all, but you got greedy and wanted more - you wanted what was mine, too… You wanted my beautiful Maria - wanted her from the start - but she resisted you because her love for me was too strong… You had always gotten everything that you wanted when you wanted it, so her resistance ate at you like acid, did it not? … Until that night when you lured her to the room that I had so generously provided for you, plied her with my liquor, then forced yourself upon her - just meters from where I slept peacefully unaware of your treachery!” he shouted, his face so close to Jerry’s that Sanchez’s spittle wet his face.

Despite the lies Sanchez was spewing and the disgust Jerry felt at both the man’s words and his actions, he remained impassive. He knew this was all part of Sanchez’s game to try to get him to lose control and react emotionally, which would give Sanchez even more control than he already had. But Jerry had learned quickly and painfully what costs were involved when he allowed his emotions to drive him, rather than his intellect and his instincts.

He’d allowed his emotions to be in control for too long after Rick Jackson kidnapped Brenda, and that had cost him dearly; he’d gotten inside Jackson’s head too late to prevent Brenda from disappearing yet again and winding up here with this madman, Sanchez. He couldn’t allow his emotions to control him this time; what he did from this moment on - or allowed Sanchez to goad him into doing - would decide all of their fates. He had to remain in control, no matter what.

Jerry watched as Sanchez moved away from him then, moving to stand at the foot of Maria’s portrait. That painting seemed to dominate the room, not merely because of its sheer size, but also the incredible life-likeness of the image depicted there. Looking at it, Jerry could almost sense Maria’s presence; he knew that Sanchez certainly felt her there, as well.

Jerry moved his eyes from the portrait back to Sanchez, trying to gauge what was going on in the man’s mind now. It was only then, upon reflection, that he realized that Sanchez had never once used the word “dead” when speaking about Maria. In fact, now that Jerry thought about it, Sanchez had repeatedly used the words “tried to take her from me” when talking about Maria.

Tried to take from me…

…Not taken from me, as one would normally say when referring to someone in the past tense, but tried to take…

…

… Had Maria Montoya somehow survived that night?

No! Jerry knew that was impossible! He had seen her execution with his own eyes; Sanchez had pressed the gun to her temple and shot her - not once, but twice - at point-blank range. No one could have survived that. And even if she had somehow survived the shots to the head, she would never have survived the inferno that subsequently engulfed the place.

But then, Sanchez had somehow survived, hadn’t he?…

True, but Sanchez had only been hit once that night, and his wound had evidently not been life threatening; Maria’s wounds were fatal - there was no mistaking that. In fact, she was dead before her body even hit the floor that night.

So why is Sanchez acting as if she’s still alive?…

The door opened then, and Miguel entered. Ignoring Jerry completely, he walked immediately over to his brother’s side and whispered something to his brother, to which Jerry saw Sanchez nod and smile. Then Miguel quickly exited, once again leaving him and Sanchez alone together in the room.

Jerry watched as Sanchez pressed his fingers to his lips, then slowly and gingerly placed his hand on Maria’s image above him. Then he turned back around to face Jerry again; his face strangely serene, his demeanor uncharacteristically calm.

“You tried to take my Maria from me that night - and you succeeded - for a little while, at least…” Juan Carlos spoke, his voice as eerily calm as his demeanor now.

This made Jerry far more nervous than the ranting and raving Sanchez he’d seen just moments ago. That Sanchez he knew and understood; this Sanchez was beyond comprehension…

“… But my Maria has returned to me now, stronger and even more beautiful than she was when you tried to take her from me…” Juan Carlos continued, moving slowly and deliberately to the window wall and slowly drawing the drapes open to once again reveal the room next door.

Jerry felt as if he were in a theater, watching the curtain go up on the opening act of a play, and as his eyes focused on his brother, Jax, beaten and bandaged and barely conscious, seated at the center of the spotlighted area of the dimly lit room, he realized that was exactly what he was about to see: a morality play, written, directed, and produced by Juan Carlos Sanchez, especially for him, and starring Jax and most likely Brenda, as well. But where did Sanchez’s delusions about Maria being alive fit into all of this? he wondered.

He had his answer shortly, as Juan Carlos touched the dimmer switch on the wall and the lights in the next room slowly came up to reveal that Jax was seated on one end of a white settee, and there, seated at the opposite end of the settee was…

…Maria Montoya?

No, logically he knew it had to be Brenda, not Maria, but the resemblance was startling, and he involuntarily gasped as he tore his eyes from the scene before him to look back up at the painting of Maria that loomed above him. He realized then that this was no mere resemblance between the two women; they looked identical! Brenda was even wearing the same gown as Maria was in the painting! What the hell did Sanchez have planned?

It was then that Jerry noticed that Sanchez was standing with his hands pressed against the window, mesmerized by the sight of Brenda/Maria. “Querida,” Jerry heard him whisper. “¡Eeres tú de verdad!” The awed tone of his voice and the look of love and longing that Jerry saw on Sanchez’s face sent a shiver of fear through him: Sanchez saw Brenda as his resurrected Maria…

Jerry studied the scene before him: Jax still seated, but slowly finding his way back to consciousness and moaning with pain as he moved gingerly in his seat; and Brenda sitting impassively beside him, seemingly unaware that Jax was even beside her, let alone battered and bruised to within an inch of his life. Jerry wanted to shout to her to let her know he was here now for her and Jax, but he knew that even if they hadn’t been in separate rooms that she couldn’t hear him. She appeared to be in her own little world - or, rather, one of Sanchez’s making, likely under the influence of some mind-control drug.

What is Sanchez doing? he wondered, as he watched helplessly as the two people he loved most in the world began the first scene of what would turn out to be the last act of this sick and twisted play…

Jax struggled to stand, then groaned loudly, grabbing for his side and falling back hard onto the settee. It was then that he noticed Brenda beside him, placid and unmoving.

“Brenda?” Jax cried, a combination of joy, relief, and pain echoing in his voice as he reached for her. She was here, and she was alive!

She looked at Jax strangely, as if she didn’t fully recognize him at first, but then smiled softly at him. “You’re hurt,” she said so quietly that Jerry had to strain to hear her words. She appeared to study Jax’s face for a moment, then she slowly reached her left hand up to caress Jax’s neck and face.

Jerry saw a glint of something reflected in the light as Brenda moved her hand lovingly across Jax’s face. Is that a ring? He knew that Jax had said he’d proposed, but Jax had never mentioned a ring… But his thoughts about the ring were quickly forgotten, as he watched Jax wrap his arms around Brenda to hug her. Strangely, Brenda did not return his hug.

“Are you okay?” Jax gasped, fighting to talk despite the pain of that very effort. “Did they hurt you in any way?” He felt her pull away from him then.

“I’m fine,” she smiled, once again reaching up with her left hand to caress his face, then his neck, and slowly allowing her hand to glide lightly across his bandaged stomach. “But you’re hurt,” she repeated, her face momentarily clouding, then instantly brightening again. “You need help,” she whispered, smiling gently at him, as she once again slid her left hand up to caress his face.

The look on her face and the sound of her voice unsettled Jax. This wasn’t Brenda; what had these people done to her? He looked quickly around the room to see if they were alone, but the intensity of the lights focused on them made it impossible to see beyond a few feet in front of them. Where were they, and what the hell was with all these lights? he wondered.

He caught her left hand in his then and lowered it to his lap. “Brenda, listen to me: we both need help. We have to get out of here, any way we can. Do you understand me?”

She stared at their intertwined hands and nodded. Jax thought he heard a soft sob escape her lips, then, too, but when she looked back up into his face, the bright smile was back on her face. “I can get you out,” she offered, her voice still barely more than a whisper.

“Good… but we both …need to get out…” Jax explained haltingly, his voice catching in his throat as he suddenly found that it was becoming harder and harder to breathe.

“Yes, I know,” she nodded slowly. “But there is only one way out…”

“Then we have… to find it… and… fast…” Jax gasped, as he struggled to stand, despite the pain and the increasing difficulty in breathing.

Jerry tore his eyes away from Jax and Brenda momentarily to look at Sanchez, who was now smiling broadly at the scene playing out before them, eagerly anticipating what inevitably lay ahead. It was then that Jerry realized something strangely familiar about this entire scene: the white silk settee was identical to the one on which Sanchez had been sitting when he’d summarily executed Maria Montoya. In fact, Brenda was seated very much as Sanchez had been that night… It was then that Jerry realized something else eerily similar to that horrific night four years before - Brenda had moved and caressed Jax with her left hand (Just as Sanchez had done with Maria that night.), but her right hand had remained hidden… (Just as Sanchez’s had been…)

Praying that he was wrong about this, Jerry craned his neck to see where Brenda’s right hand was, and a sick feeling of déjà vu crept over him as he caught sight of the white silk pillow which discreetly covered her right hand. “No!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, despite knowing the futility of his efforts: the rooms were soundproofed, and the only communication from this room to the next was by speakers. Those in this room could hear the ones in the next, but no one in that room could hear anyone in here until Sanchez wanted them heard.

And Sanchez definitely did not want Jerry heard now. “Silencio!” he screamed, hitting Jerry hard across the face. Then he slowly backed away from Jerry and focused his eyes once again on the drama unfolding in the next room.

Brenda and Jax were oblivious to what was happening just meters away, beyond the glass partition they could not see that separated them from Jerry and Juan Carlos. Jax swayed slightly, feeling increasingly dizzy now that he was upright. “We… have to… get out… now…” Jax gasped, fighting with all of his strength to keep his focus on saving Brenda.

“Yes, now is the time,” she whispered, slowly pulling her right hand out from beneath the pillow.

A look of disbelief crossed Jax’s face as he looked down to see that Brenda held a small gun in her right hand, and she was pointing it directly at him as he stood before her. “Brenda… what…?”

“My name is Maria…” she corrected him, smiling sweetly as she pressed the barrel of the gun firmly into his stomach. “And soon everything will be right again…”

Jerry gasped aloud as he watched the events unfolding in the adjoining room. “Brenda - noooo!!!” he shouted, but his cries were drowned out by the roar of the gun. He watched, frozen in horror, while Brenda calmly sat back down, and Jax jerked hard, then fell forward onto the floor; a sea of red oozing from beneath his motionless body…