CHAPTER EIGHT Stefan Cassidine sat sipping his coffee, wondering how he could be so unutterably bored with Mother Russia and all that he'd worked so hard to garner. "You should have been careful what you asked for..." he chided himself. "You look pensive," Bobbie began, noting not without concern the expression on her husband's face. The last few weeks had been exciting, and a renewal of the vows they'd taken some months earlier. She'd never thought that the frustration and anguish of the previous months could possibly be erased, but Stefan's devotion had done much to ease the pain she'd felt. "I'd like to help..." "Barbara," he smiled, meeting her beautiful brown eyes. "You don't realize how much help you are to me just by being here. I'd thought you lost to me not long ago, but now..." "I understand why you did what you did, and I appreciate it. You stood between me and Helena's wrath, knowing that you might lose me emotionally. You were willing to let me go, drive me away, to save my life. Stefan, nobody--that is, no man has ever cared that much for me." "I may not always be able to reveal why I do what I do, but believe me, Barbara, I would never willingly sacrifice your happiness or your life if there was another way. I'd give you anything that's within my power to give." A brief flash of wistfulness flashed across her face, but was quickly squelched. "A Cassadine is powerful, but not that powerful." "Name it," he insisted, glad to have something to wrest him from the ennui that had gripped him in recent weeks. "If it is within my power, I'll grant your wish." "You can't bring someone back from the dead," Bobbie smiled gently. "You know about the daughter I had and gave up. Luke told me that she died, and I never got to tell her that I loved her, that I only wanted better for her than I had, than I ever hoped to be able to offer her." A tear hesitated at the corner of one eye, and she added, "You know, it's odd, but you always want the one thing that you can't have." Stefan sat quietly for a moment, his mind churning with the promise he'd made, and the fear that he'd hurt his wife in ways from which she might not recover. "And if you could have that one thing, at the risk of losing another relationship?" "You?" "Never me," he answered. "Your brother." "Luke? What are you...Luke knows something? Is my daughter alive?" "And well," Stefan found himself answering. "You knew? And didn't tell me?" "Have you ever feared that telling someone something would cause them greater pain than leaving them unaware of it? Your brother and I were in agreement that there were some things you need not know." "How could you? How could either of you not only presume to think for me, but to lie to me on top of it! This is my daughter," Bobbie insisted. "My only daughter. The only child I ever bore. I need to know, Stefan. I need to talk with her." "The cost is great, Barbara." "You think I haven't paid every day of my life since I gave her up? You think that I didn't wonder if she might have been alive if I'd kept her? I tortured myself with those thoughts, Stefan, after Luke told me that she was dead. And you knew!! You knew and you let me suffer!" Stefan hesitated, but realized that the genie was, quite frankly, out of the bottle. Pandora's proverbial box had been opened, and he knew the real desire to believe that hope was flitting around somewhere. "Barbara..." "Where is she?" Bobbie demanded, her eyes flashing angrily. "Tell me, or I'll ......." "Excuse me, sir," came a voice from the doorway. In it stood one of Stefan's assistants. "Can this wait?" "No sir. This is a most urgent call from your attorney in London." "Stefan," Bobbie began ominously. "We're not finished." "We must be, for the moment. Rest assured, my darling, your daughter is in the best of hands. That much I can guarantee, but at this time, I must deal with something else. Tell the servants that we're returning to the States tomorrow, that our things must be packed." "Mama," Lucas called as he brought a portable telephone into the room. "Daddy is on the phone. He says he's got big news." "Oh?" "Something about I'm getting a sibling. What's a sibling, Mama?" "Sean," Felicia began, as she watched her daughters ooh and aah over Sean and Tiffany's little girl. "Could you check on something for me?" "Sure, Princess," Sean smiled. Well rested since his return to action with WEB and the WSB, he was more than a little anxious to be doing something. He'd been alerted to keep an eye out for Sonny, but given Brenda's accident, he suspected that the man had skipped the country. That didn't preclude hired hits, but he'd kept his ears open and nothing had come from any of his contacts. "What do you want to know?" "I met this man today, Sean. He says that his name is Jamie Jacks, but he's a dead ringer for Peter Harrell, my ex-fiancé." Sean paused. "Did you say Jamie Jacks?" "And Peter Harrell. He's got a little girl with him--his daughter--her name is Jillian Rose Jacks, and she looks so much like my girls that they could be sisters." "Indeed." Sean was pensive. "Okay, Princess. I'll look into it. So," he continued, skillfully changing the topic. "I understand that you're seeing a lot of Jerry Jacks, and Frisco." "A lot more than I want to see of either of them," she admitted ruefully. "It's either feast or famine, and right now, I'd just as soon be on a diet." She shrugged. "They don't seem to realize that the last thing I need in my life is a man who can't stay put. They'll promise the sun, moon and stars, and then, the minute that duty calls--duty being adventure of any kind--they're gone with a passionate good-bye kiss and you don't see them again for a few years. I don't want that, Sean. I never did. I need to be able to put down roots with my girls, bring them up to feel that a man is more than a wandering sperm bank!" She blushed at her outburst, as Sean chuckled. "Why do you think that I didn't marry until later in life? Oh, I've had a few adventures since then, but only those that were absolutely necessary. Putting Faison away once and for all ranks right up there with that. Only the direst emergency would take me away from my wife and child at this point, and Tiffany knows that. But, she understands that now and then I might have to undertake the occasional mission." "Extremely occasional," Tiffany agreed. "And you were wonderful playing 'Mr. Mom' while I was in Russia." "I strive to please." "Oh, darlin'," she cooed, her southern drawl openly suggestive. "You know how to please!" "On that note," Felicia laughed, "the girls and I had better leave. Let me know what you turn up on Peter Harrell." When they'd gone, Tiffany turned to Sean and asked, "Peter Harrell? Who's Peter Harrell?" "An old business acquaintance," Sean admitted, "and Felicia's ex-fiancé. It's a long story, Tiffany." "I've got time." "I may not," Sean told her, as he grabbed a sport coat. "I'll fill you in later." Ned awoke suddenly. It wasn't the first time lately that he'd fallen asleep at his desk, but this time, he'd awakened to find himself drenched with sweat, terrified at the unknown demons that had chosen to plague him more and more often. Whatever it was, whatever nightmarish vision that continued to visit him, it was taking over more and more of his life. He cursed at the sight of his shaking hand, and then pushed away from his desk. This had to stop. He couldn't--no, wouldn't go on like this. He had no idea what was behind the sudden arrival of the nightmares, but decided that it was time to deal with them. But, not here--not in Port Charles. It was time that he took a vacation--out west, maybe. San Francisco, maybe. He had friends there. Friends with connections. But, first, he had to arrange for his grandfather to baby-sit ELQ for a few days--something that the old buzzard would be delighted to do. Ned sighed. It might mean that he'd have a mess to clean up when he returned, but it was better than the mess that was in his mind at the moment. He shrugged into his coat, and headed out after telling his secretary that he was taking the rest of the afternoon off. "I'll be with my grandfather," he told her, "if something comes up that needs attention." The drive home was uneventful, and he parked his car just outside of the mansion. Breathing in the aroma of fall, he detected something different as he entered the huge dwelling that he no longer shared with his extended family. For some reason, the scent bothered him, and as he drew closer to the study, he became aware that his heartbeat was speeding up, pounding. It couldn't be the scent, he told himself, when he identified the fragrance as rose. Grandmother had always kept the house filled with flowers, roses as often as possible. But, the fragrance seemed to swell, to strengthen, almost to the point of being stifling. He forced himself not to gag, and to walk into the study where his grandparents were chatting. Unaware that his eyes were dilated, that his breathing was erratic enough for others to notice, he willed himself into the room. "Grandfather?" he almost gasped. He walked forward, suddenly captivated by the vase of flowers that held the place of honor on a table in the middle of the room. Drawn to them, he reached out a shaking hand to the blossoms that were blood red, with the edges of the petals a distinctive gold. He stood transfixed as visions came and went with shocking speed, nightmares intertwined with memories, all fleeting and impossible for him to retain. "Ned? Ned!! Darling, what's wrong?" Lila's voice pulled him back from the edge of some unknown abyss, and Ned looked down to see his hands bleeding from the thorns of the rose stems that he'd gripped tightly. The roses fell to the table, shedding petals as his blood dripped beside them. "Ned?" Edward began, both shocked and appalled to see his grandson, CEO of ELQ standing, obviously in a state of acute anxiety. "Ned!" "Uh," Ned began, trying to assemble his thoughts, greatly shaken by some as yet unidentified memory. "I'm taking a few days off, Grandfather, Grandmother. I'll call you when I get back." With that, he turned and left the room, nearly running to escape the overpowering aroma of roses. "Damned odd," Edward muttered, unwilling to tell Lila that he was extremely disturbed by Ned's strange behavior. He looked down at the crushed flowers. "Damned odd roses, too. Where did you ever get them? They look like gilt edged splashes of blood on the floor." But Lila could only stare after her grandson, wondering what had happened.