Previously...

Joel Armitage was struck by a car and killed while running from Ethan and the police.  Before he died, he admitted that Will Thomerson had kidnapped Michael and given him to him.  Later, they stopped Missy Armitage from running away with Michael, returning him to Brooke's arms at the police station.  Ethan was then filled with regret because James still believed himself to be Michael's father, even though he finally knew the truth.  Brooke's bail was denied and the judge insisted she be charged with first degree murder.  Kenny begged Renee to reconsider the divorce.  A suspicious Miranda questioned Brett about his role in Stormy's frame job.  Alex pleaded with Jordan to drop his plight in getting Nathan Blackthorne cleared of charges so that he could return to Hollywood.  

Episode 49

"The Stray Bullet"

The news coverage of that morning’s events came fast and furious.  Every television, radio and print media had swiftly secured headlines and broadcasts detailing the death of Joel Armitage, as well as the discovery that the Hollywood porn director had illegally adopted Michael Blackthorne.  As soon as they’d heard the news, Stormy and Heather raced back to the courthouse.

“Is it true?” Heather asked as she and Stormy approached Miranda and Brett in the waiting area.  “Did they find Michael?”

Miranda wrung her hands anxiously together and stared at the ticking clock.  “Yeah, he’s in the detention area right now with Brooke and James.”

“Is he okay?” Stormy asked.  “Did Joel Armitage really have him this whole time?”

Brett put a hand on Miranda’s shoulder and nodded with conviction.  “Apparently Thomerson gave him to the Armitage’s.  Some kind of payback for James. Armitage's wife tried running but they fired a warning shot and she surrendered.”

Staring distantly at the floor, Heather grew into a daze and thought about the disgusting things Will Thomerson had done before he died.  She shook her head and resisted the urge to cry.  “I can’t help but think part of this is my fault,” she said distantly.

“Why would you say that?” Miranda snapped.  “What Will Thomerson and Joel Armitage did to you had nothing to do with Michael’s kidnapping.  You were a victim as much as anybody.”

Suddenly Brett chimed in, a wicked tone to his already wavering voice as he rested his accusing eyes on Heather.  “Actually, I think Heather’s right.”

“What?” Stormy demanded with a deep frown embedded in his face.

“If she hadn’t double crossed Thomerson then he wouldn’t have set her up on that phony audition with Joel Armitage,” Brett reasoned.  “They might never have met and then Michael wouldn’t have been living with strangers for all these months.”

“You son of a bitch!” Heather screamed and lunged forward.  She attacked him mercilessly, slamming her fists into his chest and pummeling him against the wall.  “How dare you!”

Miranda shot up from her seat and physically restrained Heather, although something inside her wanted Brett to get what he deserved for the nasty remark.   “Heather, stop it!” she exclaimed.

But Heather fought her step-sister for control and continued her assault, raising her hand and slapping Brett clean across the face.  “I hate you!  Do you hear me?  I hate you!”

Stormy couldn’t help but smile inside, amused by the look of fear on Brett’s smug face.  Finally Miranda managed to pull Heather off of her husband and safely drag her to the row of chairs across the hall.

“I’m only saying what’s on everyone’s mind,” Brett said defensively as he struggled to catch his breath and maintain his composure.  He ran his fingers through his hair to settle it back into place and adjusted the collar on his blazer. 

“Heather didn’t double cross Thomerson by herself,” Stormy reminded him.  “It was you who put her up to it just so you could win points with my father.  If this is anyone’s fault it’s yours, Brett!”

Just then, James and Ethan appeared from the detention area and approached them quickly.   The tenseness of the situation seemed to fade away and Miranda quickly raced up to her father.

“Daddy, what’s going on?  Where’s Michael?”

Unable to hide his pleased expression, James put his arm around his daughter and glanced at Stormy and Heather.  “They agreed to let Brooke have a few minutes by herself with him.  There’s a DNA specialist on his way to do a test to prove he’s really Michael.”

“Thank God,” Stormy said and pulled James into a strong embrace.  “At least one thing’s going right today.  How is Brooke?”

Sighing, James and Ethan exchanged worried glances.   “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.  I just pray that she’ll be able to handle it when Michael comes home and she’s still in this God forsaken place.”

“Talk about impossible situations,” Miranda mused and reached out for Ethan’s hand.  “We finally get Michael back and Brooke’s in jail being charged with murder.”

James nodded in agreement.  “I just pray that Brandon works up a defense good enough to get her out of there.”

Just then, Missy Armitage was led down the corridor by two police officers.  Behind them was a slew of reporters snapping pictures and clamoring for a quote.  Missy’s head hung low and her eyes were wide and empty, staring at the floor in a trance.

Ethan watched her out of the corner of his eyes, his heart breaking for the pain the woman would have to endure.  Her husband was killed and now her son was being taken away from her.

Suddenly Missy’s eyes darted up and landed on James and Ethan.  For a few seconds time seemed to stand still.  She felt like she was walking in slow motion.  The sight of the man who’d taken her husband and son from her caused more pain than she could have imagined.  All she could remember next was looking down at the gun in the police officer’s holster.

The next few seconds seemingly lasted an eternity.  Missy’s hand darted to the gun and swiftly lifted it from its resting place.  Before the police officer could react, she raised it into the air and aimed it at Ethan.  Her vision cloudy with tears, she moved her hand onto the trigger.

“She’s got a gun!” one of the reporters screamed.  “Look out!”

Miranda’s eyes flashed open in horror and her mouth opened in a silent scream.  Stormy instinctively stepped in front of Heather to protect her from the chaos.  Brett cowered in the corner and closed his eyes tightly.

“No!” James yelled just as Missy pulled the trigger and fired the shot.  He pushed himself into action, using all his strength to shove Ethan out of the way.  The gunshot echoed through the corridor of the courthouse and instigated screams of terror and fear.

“Daddy!” Miranda screamed.

Heather recoiled in horror, the sound of the gunshot echoing through her ears and she cried out in a panic.  Shoving Stormy out of her way, she bolted down the hallway and dashed outside away from the chaos.

The bullet shot through the air and shattered into the far wall of the corridor.  James and Ethan plummeted to the floor and crashed onto one another, bruised but safely out of harms way.

Before Missy could fire again, the police tackled her to the ground, snatching the gun from her hand and securely placing her wrists into a pair of handcuffs.  

“Daddy, Ethan, are you okay?” Miranda exclaimed and bent down to her knees.

“I think so,” James said breathlessly and pulled Ethan up with him.   “Is everyone all right?”

Ethan took a deep breath and nodded, alarmed by the devastating turn of events.  He looked at James and embraced him warmly, grateful for his fast action and quick thinking.

“He took my baby!” Missy Armitage screamed, struggling to free herself from the handcuffs that bound her arms behind her back.  “He killed my husband and he took my baby!”

Reporters snapped photos and struggled for a clear view of the happenings.  The police quickly led Missy down the hall to the detention area, fighting to keep her upright in her state of despair and desperation.

Outside, Stormy dashed down the courthouse steps and raced over to Heather who buried her face in her hands as she stood beneath a tree in the grassy area off to the side.

“Heather, are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

She sobbed silently, the sound of the gunshot playing over and over in her mind.  She extended her arms and pulled Stormy into an embrace, crying into his chest and holding on as tight as she could.

Stormy smoothed his hand down the back of her head and tried his best to comfort her.  Quietly, he wondered why her reaction to the incident had been so extreme.

That night at the Blackthorne mansion, Miranda sat in the conservatory tinkling the keys on the piano when Brett entered, his bare chest glistening with sweat after his workout in the gym.

“There you are,” he said and kissed her lightly on the neck.  “What are you doing in here all by yourself?”

Shrugging, she stared in a daze at the black and white keys, strumming a delicate melody and letting her mind wander effortlessly.   “Just thinking about today,” she said distantly.

Brett draped a towel around his neck and sat down in a nearby chair.  “Yeah, that was a close call.  That nutty woman could have killed Ethan.  She should be locked up for the rest of her life.”

Miranda’s face twisted into a look of disgust and she shot him a penetrating stare.  “She just lost her husband and her baby,” she spat.  “You’d think you could offer up a little more compassion, Brett.  Put yourself in her shoes.”

Alarmed by his wife’s sudden hasty reaction, Brett raised an eyebrow and looked into her eyes.  “Why are you getting so defensive?” he asked.  “What if she’d shot Ethan?  Or your father?  Would you still be on her side?”

Rolling her eyes, Miranda stood up and walked across the room.  “Sometime you can be so cruel,” she said.  “What was all that stuff with Heather today?”

“What stuff with Heather?” he asked.  “She freaked out and ran out of there like a scared rabbit.”

Miranda shook her head.  “No, I mean before that.  All that stuff about blaming her for Michael’s kidnapping.  Do you know how hateful you were being?”

Realizing she was in one of her moods, Brett threw his hands up in resignation and rose to his feet.  “I just think that she’s not as much of an innocent bystander as everyone thinks.”

“But it was you who put her up to that business with Will Thomerson,” Miranda said and leveled her eyes directly on him.  “How can you put the blame on Heather when this whole thing has your name written all over it?”

“Why are you attacking me?” Brett asked with a perplexed look on his face.  “I didn’t kidnap Michael, I didn’t shoot Will Thomerson, and I didn’t pull that gun on Ethan today at the courthouse.  But strangely enough, I’m the one you want to blame for all of it.  And frankly, I’m getting a little sick of it.”

Before Miranda could reply, Brett was darting out of the room and down the hall to the family room.  She shook her head in frustration.  Brett had a clever way of making himself look like the victim in everything.  No, he didn’t kidnap anyone or kill anyone, but his hands weren’t exactly clean either.  He did put Heather in danger by having her seduce Will Thomerson.  She wondered again if he also was the one who planted the videotape in Stormy’s closet and phoned in the phony anonymous tip.  One thing was for certain, she was bound to get to the bottom of it one way or the other.

Making her way out of the conservatory, she started down the hall and up the stairs to their bedroom.  When she reached the top landing, she heard the faint sounds of crying and whimpering from Heather’s bedroom.

Frowning, she inched over to the door and paused to listen.  Carefully turning the knob and walking inside the dark room, she saw Heather laying on her bed tossing and turning in a nightmarish fit.

“Heather?” she asked and rushed over to the bed.  It was clear that the young woman was dreaming of something awful.  She gently shook her to wake her up.  Seconds later, Heather screamed out and shot up on the bed with a shriek, her skin cold and clammy and her nightgown soaked in sweat.

“Are you okay?” Miranda asked and placed a hand gently on hers.  “Heather?”

After a few moments, Heather caught her breath and stared at Miranda with wide eyes.  “I think so,” she said breathlessly.  “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

“Well, what was it about?” Miranda asked, her voice full of concern.  “You were tossing and turning like crazy.”

Shaking her head, Heather laid back down and stared blankly at the ceiling.  “It was nothing,” she said.  “Nothing at all.”

Unsure whether to believe her or not, Miranda went into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under the cold water for a few minutes.  She returned and placed it gently on Heather’s forehead.  Something told her that Heather was being torn apart inside by the events of the past few days.  The only question was why?

When Ethan got home that night he threw his keys onto the table inside the entryway and ran his hand over his face.  He was exhausted and drained after the emotional last few hours.  He unfolded a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the outside.  A note from Janet expressing her apologies and then a quick goodbye.  He wasn’t surprised at all.  After James filled him in on her manuscript and her deal with Thomerson, he finally understood what her agenda had been all along.  Not that he could cast all the blame her way.  He used her as much as she used him. 

A million different thoughts raced through his mind as he sat down on the sofa and stared blankly at the far wall.

Michael was safe, temporarily in the custody of a state social worker until the results of the DNA test were made official.  The thought of his son in yet another’s stranger’s care was enough to send anxiety coursing through his veins.  On top of that, Brooke was in jail awaiting a first degree murder trial, and James was blindly under the impression that he was Michael’s father.  Everything was so messed up and it was difficult to find a silver lining.

Brooke’s declaration played over and over in his mind.  He couldn’t think of anything else…

“It isn’t fair,” Brooke finally said after a long silence.   She turned to face him and took a deep breath.  “What I’ve done to you isn’t fair, Ethan.  I thought I was doing the right thing for my baby, and for James, but how can I keep lying?”

He looked into her eyes, his heart telling him what she was about to say with words.

“Michael is your son, Ethan,” Brooke continued…

Ethan closed his eyes and wrapped himself in the comforting knowledge that he finally knew the truth.  But now that he did things were even more complicated.  Would Brooke tell James the truth?  And if she did would James turn his back on them like he had before?

Early the next morning, James sat in the visitation room at the police station with Brooke.  Brandon stood by and looked over a stack of notes in preparation for detailing their defense strategy.

“I hate the thought of Michael being in some social workers care,” Brooke said listlessly as she held James’s hand across the table.  “He must be so confused."

“It’ll only be until they get the DNA tests back,” James assured her.  “As soon as they prove that he’s a match with your DNA he’ll be at home with me where he belongs.  And so will you.”

Brooke closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek.  “I’m not so sure about that.”

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Brandon said and sat down next to James with his notes.  “Brooke, I know it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but Michael right now, but we have to go over what happened that night.  There’s got to be something that you missed.  Something that can help us prove that Thomerson’s murder wasn’t premeditated.”

Brooke sighed and shook her head in despair.  “There’s nothing.  I’ve already told you everything.”

“Think, Brooke,” James insisted.  “Is there anything that you can think of that we’ve overlooked?”

Frustrated, Brooke struggled to recall the events of that night.  She burst into tears and shook her head fervently.  “No, there isn’t!  I told you.  We argued, I grabbed the gun and I shot him.  That’s all there is to it.  I am a cold blooded killer!”

“What time did you say you got to his house?” Brandon asked.

Brooke shrugged.  “I don’t remember.”

“Okay, what about afterwards?” Brandon asked.  “You said you drove around for a while.  Do you remember how long you drove around before you went home?”

Struggling to remember the horrific events, Brooke buried her face in her hands and cried.  “I don’t know.  It was a long time. “

“A long time as in an hour?  Half and hour?  What?”

“I don’t know!  I don’t remember!”

Losing hope, Brandon reached into his briefcase and removed a set of crime scene photographs.  Maybe something there would jar her memory.  “The coroner claims that Thomerson was killed at seven o’clock.”

“Seven o’clock?” Brooke asked, instantly looking up at him.  She frowned and then looked at James.  “Are you sure?”

“Why?” James asked.  “Do you remember something?”

Confusion settled in and Brooke placed a hand on her forehead.  “I just didn’t think it was already that late when I got to his house,” she said.  “I was only there for maybe ten minutes.  It was still light out when I left.”

James’s forehead creased and he looked at Brandon.  “The sun sets by seven o’clock.”

Brooke glanced across the table at the photographs and picked them up.  The sight of Will’s dead body laying on the floor of his parlor room made her stomach turn.  The bullet hole in his chest, gushing blood onto his white tuxedo shirt and dripping onto the carpet and seeping into the floor sent chills down her spine. 

Suddenly she frowned, examining the pictures more closely and scratching her head  in confusion.  “That’s strange…” she murmured under her breath.

“What?” Brandon asked hopefully.  “What is it?”

Brooke looked at him and then back at the photos.  “I’m not sure.  It’s just that…”  She paused, increasingly more distraught over what she saw.   “Did someone change his clothes?”

“What do you mean?” James asked.

 “Well, it’s just that when I was there that night he was dressed in a robe.  A smoking jacket or something.  He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo.”

James and Brandon looked at each other in amazement.  “Are you sure about that?” Brandon asked.

Nodding, Brooke looked at the pictures again. “Yes, I’m positive.  That much I can remember.  He was wearing a smoking jacket and a pair of black trousers.  He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo when I shot him.”

Miranda took a seat in the chair next to Detective Baines’ rusty metal tank desk and flipped her hair over her shoulder.   Dropping her purse in her lap and crossing her legs, she leveled her eyes on the detective and offered a vague smile.

“So what can I do for you, Mrs. Armstrong?” Baines asked.  “If this is about your step mother’s case or about the kidnapping then…”

“Uh, no, not exactly,” she cut him off.