Previously...

Stormy asked a reluctant Miranda if he and Kelly could have their wedding at Hotel Terranova.  Eddie informed Miranda that he wanted to try to be friends, then asked her to attend his father's play with him.  Ethan and Brooke decided to leave town after Stormy's wedding.  Alex and Scott had a very public lunch out together in order to keep the media talking about Angel Assassin 2.  Scott's wife, Shailene Summers, showed up and tried to physically attack Alex.  Heather told Dr. Anderson about her flashbacks, who informed her that she was blocking something out that had to do with her mother.  Armed with Frank's reveal that Jordan had had an affair with Sylvie Distefano, Benji invited Blake for dinner and made the situation awkward by asking him about his mother.  Jordan exploded into a rage when Benji accused him of hiding something about Suzanne.  Later, Jordan filled Alex in on the night he told Suzanne about the affair, prompting Suzanne to drive to Sylvie's house with Heather in the car.  Heather took Violet to the emergency room when she detected a fever.  While waiting for the doctor, she saw a patient with a guresome head injury, prompting her to remember being operated on during brain surgery.  

Episode 88

"Crash"

Brett knocked on the door of Jordan’s house in Beverly Hills, pausing only momentarily before raising his fist and knocking again.  Finally, the butler appeared, eyes narrowing on Brett in disapproval.

“Where’s Jordan?” Brett demanded.  “I need to see him.”

“I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Rydell do not wish to be disturbed,” Gordon said in his customary proper manner.  “I can tell them that you stopped by.”

“You can tell him that I’m here and I want to see him now,” Brett said and forced his way inside. 

“Mr. Armstrong-“ he began to protest.

“Gordon, it’s fine,” Jordan said from the staircase as he appeared in a Gucci track suit.  “I’ll talk to Mr. Armstrong.”

The butler nodded obediently and disappeared into the recesses of the house.

“What are you thinking coming over here screaming like a mad man?” Jordan asked and approached Brett.  “What’s the matter with you?”

"It’s Heather,” Brett said, his hands dug into the pockets of his jeans.  “We have to tell her…no, you have to tell her about the accident.  She needs to know, Jordan.”

Glancing around the foyer to make sure Alex wasn’t in earshot, Jordan grabbed his son-in-law by the arm and pulled him into the drawing room.  Brett ran his fingers through his hair and turned in frustration as Jordan securely closed the doors.

“Keep your voice down,” he commanded and turned toward him.  “I thought I made it clear that that was to stay between us.”

“Of course, Alex doesn’t know either,” Brett said with a chuckle.  “Nobody knows.  Most certainly not Heather.  The one person that should know.”

“What are you talking about?” Jordan asked.  “Did something happen?”

Brett stopped to collect his thoughts.  “Heather took Violet to the hospital tonight,” he began.

“Violet?  Is she okay?  What happened?”

“It’s nothing.  Just a fever.  She’ll be fine.”

“Well that’s a relief.  So what happened at the hospital?”

Brett shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  Something triggered a memory.  When I showed up she was frantic.”

“What kind of memory?” Jordan asked skeptically.

“About the surgery.”

Jordan exhaled deeply, storming across the room and pouring himself a glass of bourbon.  “Damnit,” he exclaimed under his breath.  “How?  The doctors said…”

“Said what?”  Brett asked when Jordan stopped mid-sentence.

Closing his eyes, Jordan swallowed the liquid in one gulp.  “They said her memory was compromised.  She blocked out the accident, among other things.”

“Well she remembered something,” Brett cautioned him.  “And she’ll remember more.  What are you going to do when she remembers the accident?  Or about what happened to her mother?”

Jordan shook his head with uncertainty.  It had never crossed his mind before.  The doctors had told him that she’d blocked everything out.  The stress of the situation coupled with the surgery set a defense mechanism into place in Heather’s brain.  The same defense mechanism that protected her when she shot Will Thomerson. “

“Something must be going on that’s bringing these things to the surface,” he surmised.  “What if Dr. Anderson is intentionally trying to get her to remember?”

“I talked to Anderson,” Brett informed him.  “I don’t think any of it has come up.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Why would he lie?” Brett asked, his brow furrowed.  “He’s a psychiatrist.  He’s on Heather’s side.  Besides, he doesn't know any more than she does.”

Jordan shook his head in frustration.  “I just don’t trust psychiatrists,” he remarked, his eyes glazing over.  “Suzanne was seeing a psychiatrist.”

“So?”

“He destroyed my marriage,” Jordan replied, meeting his gaze.  “Dr. Wainwright was supposed to help my wife, but all he did was mess with her mind.”  Slowly, he turned toward the fireplace.   “I don’t know that Dr. Anderson is doing any better with Heather.”

“If you were concerned, why did you suggest she see a psychiatrist in the first place?” Brett asked.  “If you knew there was a chance that she could remember what happened.”

“Because they said it was impossible,” Jordan said with gritted teeth.

Brett ran his fingers through his hair and glanced downward.  “Well it’s not impossible, I guarantee you that,” he began.  “She’s remembering little by little.  And sooner or later she’ll remember everything.”

Jordan pressed his lips together while he contemplated his words.

Miranda was impressed by the crowd that Don Juan had attracted.  The play was mediocre at best with its crude lighting and the minimalist sets, indicating that the real draw was in fact Victor himself.  She had to admit he was quite good, enacting an unbelievable amount of realism in the three roles he played in the three-act production. He had a knack for dialect and enunciation.   She’d often written him off as a hack acquaintance of her mother’s, but tonight proved her wrong. 

Eddie was a perfect gentleman, treating her with just the right amount of gallantry without being too clingy.  Maybe he was on the level about being friends.  This was especially surprising since Benji and Blake never showed, yet he didn’t take the opportunity to hit on her.

After the curtain closed, they went backstage to the modest dressing room of the Black Dahlia theatre.  Fans and a few local reporters waited in line outside while Eddie led them straight through to his father.

“Edward, thank you for coming,” Victor said, admiring a bouquet of roses at his dressing mirror.  He turned to Miranda and gave her a quick squeeze and a kiss on each cheek.  “Miranda, Darling, always wonderful to see you.  You are your mother’s daughter. So beautiful.   Did you enjoy the production?”

“It was wonderful,” she said, ensuring the pancake makeup covering his weathered skin didn’t come off on her blouse.

“Quite the tour de force, I’d say,” Victor continued, then looked past them to the doorway.  “Where is Blake?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie replied with a shrug.  “The dickhead said he’d be here.  Probably getting into trouble somewhere.  Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ll kick him around for you later.”

“Que Sera,” Victor sighed and went back to his dressing table.  “I tell you, performing on stage in front of a live audience is a truly divine experience.  I feel alive.  Alive I tell you!”  He raised one arm in a dramatic pose and held it for a few lingering moments before going limp and relaxing in a zen-like state. 

Miranda watched with amusement, exchanging knowing glances with Eddie who simply shook his head in embarrassment.  Her eyes landed on the top of the dressing table where a collection of stage makeup and props were scattered.  A small bottle of clear liquid caught her attention and she paused, trying to decide why it seemed familiar to her.

“What’s this?” she asked and picked the bottle up in her fingers.

“Theatrical glue,” Victor replied and pulled a smoking jacket over his costume.   He reached into the pocket and removed his cell phone and held it to his ear.

Eddie pulled Miranda aside and offered a crooked smile.  “Sorry, I know my dad can be a little out there sometimes,” he said.  “Too many years as a character actor.  But it means a lot that you came with me.  I would have asked Stormy but he’s been so wrapped up in his wedding plans that-“

“Eddie, it’s okay,” Miranda cut him off.  She acknowledged his hand that had lingered for a few too many seconds on her arm, surprising herself when she didn’t oppose.  “I wanted to come.  Thank you for asking me.  I’ve really had a good time.”

Eddie glanced around and quickly shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Okay, I’m going to step back a minute.  This is usually the part where I make an idiot of myself by kissing you.  I’ll just be over here.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and laughed just as Victor reappeared at her side.

“Well, looks like the cast party is at my house,” he said, dropping his cell phone into his pocket.  “Either of you care to tag along?”

Eddie shook his head quickly and ushered Miranda to the door.  “Nope, sorry Dad.  I’ve got to get Miranda home and then I need to get to bed.  Early stakeout tomorrow morning.  Great show tonight.  Talk to you tomorrow.”

Before Miranda could protest, they were flying out the door of the dressing room.  Eddie knew that he couldn’t spend any longer with her and successfully avoid the temptations.  And the less said about it, the better.

The next day, Stormy and Kelly were seated in the kitchen at the Blackthorne mansion poring over the guest list for the wedding.  Leilani hovered nearby as she went about her usual duties. 

“I don’t know half of the people who have RSVP’d,” Kelly said, tossing her mane of black hair over her shoulder.  “Who is Kenny DeWitt?

“My dad’s best friend,” Stormy replied and placed his name card with a grouping of others.

“What about this Sierra person?”

“Sierra is my….cousin, or aunt, or-.  I’m not exactly sure.  Anyway, she’s got to come to the wedding.  She’s family.”

Leaning on her elbow, Kelly shuffled through the place cards and sighed.  “It sucks.  I don’t know anyone here.  Except for you and your family and the people from the set.”

“Kelly, you know me,” Leilani piped in as she dried her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Who’s going to walk me down the aisle?” Kelly asked, throwing her hands up in resignation.  “It’s not like I have a father.”

“I’ll walk you down the aisle,” Leilani said with a smile.

“My mother can’t walk me down the aisle,” she complained.  “It’s got to be my father.  Or at least a father figure.”

“My dad will do it,” Stormy said with a smile.  “He’d be happy to.  He said himself he thinks of you as a daughter.”

The offer made her face light up with excitement.  “Do you really think he would?”

“I know he would,” Stormy said, leaning in and kissing her.

Finally Leilani turned and wiped her teary eyes with a dishtowel.

“Mother, stop,” Kelly said with exasperation.  “At this rate you’re not going to have anything left for the wedding.  I know you don’t want that.”

"I’m sorry.  I just can’t help it.”  Leilani turned and started through the servant’s entrance in a fit of tears.

After she’d gone, Stormy offered a knowing smile.  “I don’t think she’s going to make it another week,” he said.

Kelly laughed in turn.  “I think you’re right.”

Growing serious, Stormy took her hand and pulled her onto his lap.  “I know you’re trying, but I want you to remember how much I love you and how much you mean to me.   Nothing else matters.  Not guest lists or walks down the aisle.  The only thing I care about is making you my wife.”

Kelly put her arms around him.  “That’s all I want too,” she said.  “But it is wrong that I also want a wedding with some sort of tradition?  With bridesmaids and someone to give me away?  I mean, I don’t have any of that.   I haven’t exactly made any friends since I’ve been here.”

Stormy pushed her hair from her eyes and kissed her lovingly on the cheek.

"I started sleeping with you a week after I showed up in town,” she continued.  “We were so concerned about anyone finding out about us that I wound up pushing everyone away so I wouldn’t slip up.  I never got a chance to show anyone who I really am.”

"I know who you are,” Stormy said.  “And like I keep telling you, my family will learn to love you as much as I do.”

She blinked her eyes a few times to prevent them from tearing up.  “Okay,” she said inanimately.

"I mean it,” Stormy insisted, lifting her head by the chin.

She smiled as he pulled her into an embrace.  “Sure,” she said softly, fully aware that it would be a cold day in hell before Stormy’s mother or sister accepted her. 

"I think you owe me an explanation,” James said. 

“Seems like you’re the one who owes me,” David replied as they stood in his study down the hall.  “I just baied you out of your twenty-five million dollar financial casualty.  I had to sell one of my father’s hotels to do it.”

James looked at him in bewilderment.  “Who asked you to?” he responded with hostility.

"I beg your pardon?”

“Who asked you to bail me out?” James repeated himself.  “What possible reason could you have had for doing it?  We’re not especially close.  I was friends with Royce, but you and I haven’t had that kind of a relationship.  Not even when you were seeing Miranda.”

“I just couldn’t let you lose everything,” David said.  “Not like that.”

“But why?” James asked.  “I don’t understand.  Is it because of Brooke?  She and I aren’t even together.  She’s with Ethan.  So if this was some kind of grand gesture to protect your sister-“

“That’s not exactly it,” David interrupted.

“Then enlighten me, please.”

David sighed and ran a hand over his face.  “You were close to my grandfather,” he said.  “You’re living in the house that he built.  Sunset Studios was built off of the foundation of his own company.   He wouldn’t have left it to you if you hadn’t meant something to him, if he didn’t think you were worthy of continuing his legacy.”

“So you bailed me out because you believe Jonas would have wanted it that way?” James asked, confused.

“I’m afraid of what would happen to the studio if you weren’t running it.  I can’t take a chance like that.  Not when it comes to my grandfather.”

James shook his head in frustration.  “You’re acting like the bank foreclosing on the studio would have been some kind of personal attack against me.  It wasn’t, David.  It was just business.”

“You’re wrong.  It was personal,” David said ominously.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing.  James waited for Leilani to answer it but when it rang two more times, he sighed and charged out into the foyer. 

“Leilani!” he screamed through the house, then pulled the door open with aggravation.

“Surprise,” Jacqueline Lamont said from the doorstep, a decidedly wicked pout on her lips.  "I'm home."

Heather laid Violet down in the crib and closed the door to the bedroom just as a knock at the door alerted her to a visitor.  Quietly, she walked across the room and peered through the peephole. 

“Hi Daddy,” she said upon opening the door.  “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to check on my girls,” he said with a smile and kissed her on the cheek.  “How is Violet feeling?”

“Better.  Her fever’s gone down and I-“  She paused and looked at him crossly.  “How did you know Violet was sick?”

Jordan shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  “Brett came to see me last night,” he replied.  “He was very worried about you.  Something about you having a flashback.  What is it you think you remembered?”

Heather turned away, recalling the warning she’d received from Dr. Anderson at their last visit.

“I think for now it would be best if you didn’t tell him, or anyone else for that matter, when you have these flashbacks.  There could be a reason why no one has told you if something important happened regarding you and your mother.  I’d rather you came to any realizations yourself.”

She hadn’t considered the fact that people were hiding things from her.  If there was something that she was blocking out, then her father at the very least had to know about it.  And if that were the case, why was he keeping it from her?

“Heather?” Jordan asked, sensing that she was somewhere else.  “What happened when you were at the hospital?”

She forced herself to appear unaffected.  “Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head with a meek smile.  “I was just worried about Violet.  I think I panicked, that’s all.”

Jordan wondered why she was covering.  She’d told Brett that she’d remembered the surgery.  He wanted to know how much more she remembered, and then attempt to do some damage control. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, watching the way her eyes teared up.  “Because if you did remember something, or think you remembered something, then it might help to talk about it.”

She shook her head and tried desperately to avoid eye contact with him.  Maybe he was willing to tell her the truth about whatever happened all those years ago.  The rainy night in the car with her mother at Victor’s house, the gruesome surgery that she could now picture vividly.  All she wanted was the truth.

“I don’t even know what I remembered,” she said.  “Or why I remembered it.  My whole life has been about Violet for so long.  She’s all I can think about.  Why would I start having these visions now?”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed on her.  “What visions?”

Heather wrapped her arms around herself and stared off in a daze.  “About mom,” she said softly.

Jordan closed his eyes briefly, quickly deciding that he had to do whatever was necessary to protect his daughter.  Even if it meant lying to her.  He took her trembling hand and led her to the sofa.

“You’re tired,” he said.  “I know you aren’t getting much sleep because you’re worried about Violet.  It’s no wonder your mind is playing tricks on you.  After everything you’ve been through lately.”

Heather considered his explanation, wondering if maybe he was right.  She could be imagining things.  It happened in the bathroom just the other day when she imagined her mother submerged in the bathtub full of blood.  Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight. 

“Heather, I’m worried about you,” Jordan said and took her hand.  “I’m worried because Violet has needs that you aren’t even aware of yet.  If you’re this exhausted after just a few months-“

She knew where he was going and quickly pushed his hand away.  “I can take care of my daughter,” she said.  “I’m not going to send her away to a home.  I don’t care what Dr. Katzman said.”

“But how do you know?” Jordan pleaded with her.  “How do you know that you’ll be able to take care of her if already you’re...“

“Going crazy?” she angrily cut him off.  “I’m not crazy, Daddy.  Maybe there is something to those memories, and maybe there isn’t.  Maybe you’re right and I’m just tired.  I’ll get through it.  We have Brett to take care of us.  That’s all we need.”

Jordan rubbed the sides of his head and prayed that she was right.   Still, he had to find out what was causing her to have the flashbacks"

“I don’t think you should see Dr. Anderson anymore,” he said and watched as she paced across the room.

“Why?” she demanded angrily.  “Dr. Anderson is helping me.  He’s helping me more than you know.”

Jordan shook his head and followed her.  “I don’t know that he is,” he said.

“How can you say that?” Heather exclaimed.  “You don’t know anything about him or anything that we talk about.”

“Does he talk about your mother?”

Heather stopped and turned slowly toward him.  “No,” she lied.

“She’s never come up in the year that you’ve been seeing him?”

“No, he helps me.  He helps me cope with everything.  With Will Thomerson, with the rape, with the blackouts, and with Violet.  I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t for him.”

Jordan closed his eyes and walked toward her.  “I don’t want anyone filling your head with ideas,” he said.  “You’re perfect the way you are.  I just think you need to rest.”

Heather grew limp as he pulled her into an embrace.  She was suddenly unsure if her father was being honest with her.  First he tried to tell her she was seeing things, and then he tried to get her to stop seeing the one man who helps her make sense of her life.  She wondered if he was covering for something.  She was sure it had to do with the memory at Victor’s house.

“Please, Heather.  Just don’t see the psychiatrist anymore.” 

She had no intention of quitting her sessions, but knowing her father and his insistence, she knew she only had one course of action.

“Okay,” she said.  “I won’t see Dr. Anderson anymore."

At Hotel Terranova, Miranda stood at the front desk barking a list of orders at the concierge when Stormy approached from behind. 

“Oh God, what now?” Miranda asked with a roll of her eyes.  “This better be quick, Stormy.  I have a lot of work to do today.”

He disregarded her warning and leaned against the desk with a cocky grin.  “I need a favor,” he began.

“Are you serious?” she asked and started across the lobby with a clipboard and pen poised in her hands.  “I’m letting you use the hotel for your wedding.  That alone should fill my quota of favors for at least a year.”

He quickly ran after her, following fast on her heels.  “This favor kind of goes with the last one.  It’s a two-part favor, really.  I just forgot to mention this part before.”

She crinkled her nose at him and marched up the steps to the bar in the lounge.  “Two-part favor?” she asked, taking a stack of receipts from the bartender and proceeding down the hall to the restaurant.  “You never said anything about a two-part favor before.”

“That’s because it’s a surprise,” he said, continuing to follow her on her path.

“Surprise?  Now I know you’ve lost it.  You know I hate surprises.”

“Not this one,” he said as she turned and went back through the lobby.  “I think you’ll be excited.  I know I am.  So is Kelly.”

Miranda finally stopped and looked at him square in the eyes.  “Excited about what?” she asked.  “Just spit it out.”

“Would you be Kelly’s maid of honor?” he asked, taking a tentative step back in expectation of her reaction.

A few moments of silence followed, coupled with Miranda’s stunned expression.  Finally, she placed a hand on her forehead and sighed dramatically.

“Oh my God, you poor thing,” she began with a shake of her head.  “You actually think that load of crap will work on me.”

“Huh?”

She punched him on the shoulder, her eyebrows furrowed.  “Do you have a death wish or something?  How could you even ask me something so heinous?  I would sooner let this hotel burn to the ground than be maid of honor to your Polynesian Cupie Doll.”

“Miranda, don’t be that way,” Stormy said and darted after her when she ran off toward her office.  “This grudge you have against Kelly has gone too far.  What did she ever do to you, anyway?”

“She’s manipulative,” she insisted, throwing her stack of papers onto her desk.  “She’s calculating, she’s a liar, and she’s an opportunist.”

“How can you say that?  You barely know her.”

“Oh, I know her,” Miranda insisted, her hands planted firmly on her hips.  “In case you’ve forgotten, big brother, we live in Hollywood.  Tramps like Kelly are a dime a dozen.  It didn’t take her any time to weasel her way into your bed and onto the set of Angel Assassin 2.”

“She doesn’t have any friends.  It’s not her fault that she moved here and had to start over.  I wish you’d give her a break.”

“You gave her a three-picture contract and an engagement ring.  I’d say she’s had her share of breaks without my help.”

“You know what your problem is?” Stormy asked, now growing angry.  “You’re a snob.  Your whole life you’ve rebelled from everything that’s important to anyone else.”

“Name one thing, aside from Kelly the bimbo.”

“High school,” Stormy began.  “You were too good for West Beverly High.  Everyone there was fake.  You had to go to Hollywood High as some kind of grand stand against the rest of us.”

“Like I wanted to go to school with those sheep!” Miranda exclaimed.  “All they cared about was their Coach handbags and their fancy sports cars.”

“Give me a break.  You had no problem spending Dad’s money.  You were just as shallow as anyone at that school.  Your big pronouncement that you were going to Hollywood High was nothing but a show.  Just like when you had Dad give you this hotel.”

“I’ve worked hard at this hotel.”

“And turned your back on Dad’s business.  He’s gone through hell over the last few months and you haven’t offered one bit of support.  At least I’m there getting my hands dirty and doing something to fulfill his vision.”

“If your hands are dirty, it’s only because you’re diddling the help,” Miranda said with a scowl.  “And don’t you dare insinuate that I’m any less of a member of this family just because I’m not interested in the film business.”

“I never said that.”

“And don’t insinuate that I’m any less a Blackthorne just because I don’t want to stand up for your stupid bride,” Miranda continued and walked to the door and held it open for him.   “This wedding is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made.  Nothing good will come from you marrying this woman.  She’ll hurt you, Stormy.  I love you and I don’t want to see that happen.”

He shook his head with a scoff.  “Whatever.  Fine.  Don’t be Kelly’s maid of honor.  Don’t even come to the wedding.  I really don’t care, Miranda.”

With that, he stormed out of the office and disappeared from view.  After he’d gone, Miranda closed the door and sighed with exasperation.  She hated fighting with her brother, but she didn’t know how to make him understand what a mistake it was to marry Kelly Kahoano.

Jacqueline strolled through the foyer, her delicate hands running along surfaces and touching walls.  She smiled brilliantly, taking in every detail before turning and throwing her hands up in resignation.

“The mansion is as beautiful as ever,” she said and gestured to the staircase.  “I remember running up and down those stairs as a young girl.”  She moved across the foyer and let her hand run across one of the hidden doorways.  Giving the bottom a forceful kick of her toe, she laughed when it creaked open.  “You had the tunnels unsealed.”

James cleared his throat.  “Not intentionally,” he said, recalling the various nefarious deeds that tunnels had lent themselves to over the past few years.

“I had so much fun exploring them,” Jacqueline went on, a faraway look in her eyes.   “I remember the day I met your uncle Nathan-“

“Cut to the chase, Jackie,” James interrupted with a scowl as he exchanged glances with David.  “What are you doing here?  Or do I even need to ask?”

She turned to him and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.  She was a ravishing woman, her flawless appearance defying her true age of sixty.  She had lustrous chestnut hair, brilliant green eyes and an incredible figure for her age.   Her plastic surgeon in New York could be credited for some of it, but she liked to think her rigorous fitness regime was primarily responsible.  Either way, she was gorgeous and she knew it.

“Whatever do you mean, James?” she asked with a wink.

“Knock it off, mother,” David interrupted with a roll of his eyes.  “James is a smart man.  I think he can figure out what’s been going on.”

“You supplied me with the loan,” James said, realization finally dawning.  “Its been you all along.”

“Not at first,” Jackie corrected him.  “I simply purchased the loan from the bank.”

“Why?” James asked.  “So you could foreclose on me and take the studio?   Was that your plan all along?”

She took a breath and removed her white gloves.  “Lamont 3 was my father’s company,” she began.  “I didn’t fight for it when he died.  His lawyers liquidated everything and passed the proceeds off to you so that you could start Sunset Studios.  With Nathan’s help of course.  Then you took this house and-"

“I bought this house,” James interrupted.

“With my father’s money.”

James shook his head dismissively.  “So what are you saying?  That now you’ve decided that you do want to fight?  You want the studio?  You’ve never had any desire to carry on his legacy.  You left Hollywood decades ago when you married Royce.”

“I had a child and a husband,” Jackie said.  “I was a child myself.”

“And now you’re a grown woman and you’ve decided you want to carry on your father’s name, is that it?” James asked.

Jackie shrugged and folded her arms neatly across her chest.  “Something like that,” she said.  “That studio is rightfully mine, and if David hadn’t come in and saved the day, it would be.”

“I told you that what you’re doing is wrong,” David said to his mother.  “I told you that months ago.”

James turned to him with a frown. “You’ve known about this for that long?  And why exactly is it that you never said anything to me?  Were you too busy chasing after Brooke?”

“That’s not fair,” David said crossly.

“How is Brooke?” Jackie asked.  “I haven’t seen her since she was a little girl.”

“Shut up mother,” David snapped.  “I told you that Brooke is off limits to you.  I don’t want you going anywhere near her.”

“So protective of your new sister,” Jackie said with a snarl.  “Tell me, did she give it to Roz as good as you gave it to me when you came to New York a couple of weeks ago?”

“Roz is out of Brooke’s life,” David insisted.  “And if you don’t want the same thing to happen between us, I’d be very careful about your next move.”

Jackie’s attitude finally changed and she stepped toward him, her hands outstretched.  “Darling, don’t say that.  You know I love you and would never do anything to damage what we have.  Reclaiming your grandfather’s legacy is as much for you as anyone.”

“Fine,” David said.  “Then it worked out for all of us.  I paid off the loan so I’m part owner of Sunset Studios, and the great Jonas Lamont’s legacy will continue.”

“I’m grateful for that,” Jackie said.  “All is as it should be.  Sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?” James asked with a frown.

She shrugged and looked around the foyer.  “I just think my father would have wanted me to be part of all of this.”

“You’re not getting anything from me,” James said sternly.  “And David may have bought himself a portion of my studio, but I intend to pay him back.  Sunset Studios is a family business.  Blackthorne family business.”

”I was a Blackthorne, remember?” Jackie asked.  “Nathan and I were married once.  I’m practically family, James.  Just as my father considered you to be practically family.  You, Jordan Rydell, Alex Reynolds.  You’ve all done quite well for yourselves thanks to Jonas Lamont.”

James had had enough of her being coy.  “What do you want?” he asked.

She walked to the door, still inspecting the house with eager eyes.  “What do I want?” she asked.  “I want it all, James.  The house, the studio, everything.”

“You can’t be serious,” James said with a laugh.

She paused before leaving, glancing back and smiling wickedly.  “Oh but I am,” she said.  “And I always get what I want.”

With that, she turned and traipsed out of the house, leaving a bewildered James standing in the foyer.

“I’m sorry I missed your call last night,” Dr. Anderson said as Heather paced back and forth in his office.  “My service didn’t get me the message that you’d called until late.  Tell me what happened.”

Still reeling from the conversation that morning with her father, Heather raked her fingers through her hair and scratched her arms while darting around the office. 

“I had another vision,” she said in a panic.  “It was so vivid it felt like it was happening at that very minute."

“Slow down and tell me what you saw,” the doctor said, his hand instinctively running down his short, trimmed beard.

“Blood,” she said.

“You mean your mother’s blood?  Like you saw in your vision in the shower?"

She shook her head.  “No, it was mine.”

“But the last time we spoke, you said you saw your mother bleeding from a wound in her head.  Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand what you were seeing?”

Agitated, Heather turned violently toward him.  “No, it was me!  It was me!  I was on an operating table with doctors cutting into my head!”

“Where was your mother in this vision?” Dr. Anderson asked. 

“I don’t know.  Dr. Anderson, you have to help me.  Why am I seeing these things?  Are they real or am I imagining them?”

He stood up and walked over to her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.  “I think they’re very real,” he said.   “But we won’t know what they mean until we find out what happened all those years ago.  However this surgery is connected with your other visions could be the key to unlock your mind.”

“I’m trying to remember,” Heather said.  “It’s all I can think about.”

He took a breath and walked back to his desk.  “There is something we can do to expedite matters,” he said.

“How?  I’ll do anything.”

“I’d like to use hypnosis,” he explained.  “It’s perfectly safe under a controlled environment.  We can do it right here in my office.  Today, if you’d like.”

Hesitating briefly, Heather considered the alternative.  She could go on not knowing where these memories were coming from, her father denying their validity, or she could get to the bottom of them now and find out why she was seeing things.  Her choice was simple.

“I’ll do it,” she said.  “I just want to know.”

“Hi,” Brett said, supporting a crying Violet in one arm while using the other to open the door. 

“Hi,” Miranda said and walked into the condo.  “Aww, what’s wrong with this little princess?  She doesn’t sound happy.”

“She’s got a little fever,” Brett replied, kissing his daughter on the forehead.

“Well let me have her,” Miranda said and took the baby from him.   “She does feel a little warm.  Have you taken her to the doctor?”

Brett nodded and watched her carry Violet around the living room.  “Yeah.  We’re giving her some baby aspirin.  He said it should do the trick.  I just can’t get her to lay down.”

“She will when she’s ready,” Miranda said and smiled at the baby.  “Where’s Heather?  I actually came by to see how she’s feeling.”

“She went to see Dr. Anderson.”

“Really?” Miranda asked.  “That’s great.  So I guess we were worried for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Brett replied, thinking about his conversation with Jordan the night before.  He had a feeling that things would be a whole lot easier for Heather if she just knew the truth.  It could solve a lot of her problems.  But then again, it might also create a whole new set of them.

Staring off in concentration, Miranda recalled something she wanted to bring to Brett’s attention.  Now was as good a time as any.  “Do you know why Dr. Anderson would need theatrical glue?”

Brett’s eyebrows pressed together into a frown. “No, why?”

She shrugged and switched Violet to her other arm.  “I don’t know.  Do you remember that time we went to his office to talk to him?  You found that bottle of stuff in his desk drawer.”

Brett shrugged.  “I guess so, yeah.”

“Well, last night I went with Eddie to see his father in a play,” Miranda continued.  “Afterwards, we went backstage and I saw the same kind of bottle in his dressing room.  He said it was theatrical glue.  I mean, it was almost identical to what we found in Anderson’s office.”

Her deduction escaped him for the moment.  “Maybe he was gluing something, Miranda.  I don’t know.”

“I just think it’s weird is all,” she said handing the baby back to him.  “What does Dr. Anderson look like, anyway?”

“He looks like a shrink,” Brett said and placed Violet in her bassinette when she finally began to quiet down.  “Late fifties, tall, glasses, beard.”

Miranda considered his description carefully.  “Why would he have theatrical glue in his desk?  It just seems like an odd thing for a psychiatrist to have.”

“Maybe his beard is fake,” Brett suggested, only half-serious.

“Do you think so?” Miranda asked with wide eyes.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance.  “I don’t know, Miranda, and I don’t care.  All I care about is that he helps my wife through whatever she’s going through.  All I care about is keeping my family together.”

Miranda looked at him and saw so much change in him from when they were married.  He was so concerned, actually caring about another human being rather than focusing on himself and his own selfish needs.  She was actually glad that Heather and Violet had him in their lives.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to snap.  I just….”  He paused while he thought about Heather’s past and everything Jordan had told him.  “I know you all grew up together.  You and Stormy and Heather and Eddie.  Do you remember Heather ever going away?”

“What? Like to camp or something?”

He shook his head.  “No, longer than camp.  Like for a few months.”

Miranda sat on the sofa and set her purse in her lap.  “Not really, but to be honest I never associated with any of those guys until after high school.  We ran in very different crowds.  I was kind of off in my own universe.  You know, rebelling and all that stuff.  Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said.  In his mind he tried piecing together the events that Jordan had outlined for him.  Following the surgery, Heather was in recovery for months.  He wondered if anyone else knew about the surgery, or if Jordan had kept it under wraps. Maybe Stormy knew something.  The accident happened just before they began dating freshman year. 

“What’s going on, Brett?” Miranda asked and stepped toward him.  “Tell me.”

He ran his hands through his hair and looked down at Violet.  “Like I said, I’m just trying to keep my family together.” 

Heather lay perfectly still on the sofa in Dr. Anderson’s office.  She held on to his voice, hearing only his instructions and blocking out every other sound.  The tick of the clock, the traffic outside, even the sound of her heart beating faded away as she let herself fall into a completely relaxed state. 

“Can you still hear me, Heather?” Dr. Anderson asked from the chair just behind her.

“Yes,” she replied slowly. 

“I’m going to count to three, and when I’m finished, you will see that night with clarify and confidence,” he said, speaking slowly and evenly.  “You will not struggle to remember.  Everything will be clear.  Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"One…two….three....”

Heather’s eyes moved back and forth but remained closed.   She concentrated, listening to his voice as she let herself remember.

“What do you see, Heather?”

“It’s raining,” she said softly.  “It’s raining hard.  My mother is upset.  She’s crying and I’m trying to calm her down.”

“Why is she crying?”

“She was angry at my father,” Heather said.  “He had an affair with another woman.  She went to see her and I got in the car.  She’s standing at the gate of the woman’s house and it’s raining and I’m honking the horn.”

“What happened then, Heather?” Dr. Anderson asked.  “What happened after you left the house?"

“They don’t know how much it hurts,” Suzanne cried, her hair soaked from the rain as she steered the silver Mercedes along the road.  She struggled to see through the driving rain, turning the windshield wipers on as high as they would go.  “But I’ll show them.  I’ll go away.  I’ll take you and Benji and we’ll disappear forever.”

“Mommy, no!” Heather cried from the passengers seat.  “I don’t want to leave Daddy!  I want to stay here!  Please!”

Suzanne shook her head with despair, maneuvering the car around a sharp bend as they approached Pacific Coast Highway.  “Your father doesn’t care about us,” she cried, her eyes clouded from salty tears.  “All he cares about is himself!  I won’t let him do that to us!  I won’t let him treat us this way!”

“Mommy, the road!”  Heather cried, pointing out the windshield when the car crossed into the next lane and came dangerously close to the guardrail. 

Responding quickly, Suzanne turned the wheel as hard as she could, successfully steering them back onto the road.  She hit the brakes, unaware that the wheels had locked and the car was fishtailing back and forth on the wet, slippery road. 

“Oh my God,” Suzanne gasped, struggling to maintain control of the car.  Suddenly, she was blinded by oncoming headlights.  A semi truck honked its horn repeatedly, switching lanes in a desperate attempt at avoiding a collision.  But Suzanne still had no control over her speeding car. 

All in one instant, the front of the Mercedes slammed into the semi, sending the crippled truck crashing toward the guardrail. 

“Mommy!” Heather cried.

Suzanne realized the front of her car was hooked to the semi, and was being pulled to the edge of the cliff under its massive weight.  She screamed, bracing her daughter against the seat as they were pulled behind the wrecked semi. 

Inside the truck, the driver scrambled to set its brakes into motion.  Cold steel scraped against the road, sending sparks flying high into the rainy night.  The front tires of the cab broke through the guardrail and slid a few feet down the cliff.  The car was pulled down with it, the hood resting on the side window of the semi.

Suddenly the truck stopped, seemingly braced atop the cliff when its front tires became wedged against the rocks.  Suzanne and Heather sat motionless in the car, the rigid sound of metal scraping against metal coming to a deafening halt.  For a few moments the only sounds came from the rain pelting the windows.

“Mommy, I’m scared!” Heather cried, petrified by the horrifying accident.  Their car teetered on the side of the semi, coils busting and a noxious creaking sound alerting them to the instability of their position. 

Suzanne looked out the window, her eyes wide with terror.  She could see the rocky shore of the ocean a hundred feet below.  There was nothing stopping them from falling to their deaths but the wreckage of the semi.  One wrong move and it could continue its fall from the edge, pulling them along with it.

“You have to climb out the window,” Suzanne said, her breath coming in quick, shallow spurts.

“No,” she whimpered. 

“You have to get out, Heather!” Suzanne cried.   “Roll down the window and climb out.  We’re still close enough to the edge that you can climb out and jump down.”

“Mommy, I can’t!” Heather cried, frozen in her seat. 

“Do it, Heather!”  She was determined to get her daughter to safety, even if it meant that she would die.

Sobbing, Heather reached for the handle to roll the window down.  She struggled to turn it while in the awkward position.  She was terrified that one wrong move could send them crashing down the cliff.

“It won’t open,” she cried and turned to her mother.

“Try again,” Suzanne ordered.

“I can’t!” Heather replied, struggling with the handle.

Suzanne reached for the handle on her side of the car.  She got the window rolled down and then turned back to her daughter.  “Now climb over me,” she said.   “You can get out my window.”

“I don’t know if I can,” the twelve-year old Heather said through a haze of tears.

“You have to!” Suzanne screamed.  “Just do it, Heather!”

Reluctantly, she unfastened her seatbelt and started to climb out of her seat.  As soon as she did, the car shifted, sliding another foot off the cliff when the rocks bracing the semi’s tires crumbled beneath its weight. 

A scream tore loose from Heather’s throat and she froze.

Suzanne waited until she felt the car stabilize again.  She could hear the sound of sirens in the distance but knew they didn’t have time to wait.  The semi could give way at any second, and take them with it. 

“Come on, try again,” she said in a panic.

Heather grudgingly began climbing over her, reaching the window and starting to climb through. 

Suddenly, the semi began a freefall, crashing down the jagged cliff until it exploded into flames on the rocks below.  The car broke loose from where they’d joined, but it was too late.  The weight had pulled them off of the cliff and the car fell through the air and landed in the choppy waves below.

Heather’s unconscious body floated to the surface, blood seeping from her head and clouding the water…

“God no!” Heather screamed, holding her head and jumping off the couch when the trance had been broken.  “Please no!”

“Heather, calm down,” Dr. Anderson said and physically restrained her from behind.  “What did you remember?”

“There was an accident!” she screamed.  “I remembered the car accident!  My mother and I were driving and she was upset.  We crashed over the cliff.  I had a head injury and they had to operate.”

“They saved your life,” Dr. Anderson explained.  “But in order to do so, they knew the operation could affect your memory.  That’s what’s caused your blackouts.”

She looked at him with wide eyes.  “You knew about the accident?  And about the operation?” she asked in a whisper. 

Silent at first, he slowly nodded his head.  “Yes.”

“And you’ve been keeping it from me all this time?” Heather asked in disbelief as she charged across the room and grabbed her purse.  “You knew why I was having blackouts and you never said anything?”

“It was important for you to remember on your own,” Dr. Anderson replied.  “It would be unethical for me to have told you about the accident.”

“I killed somebody,” Heather lamented, holding her head in her hands as she grew into a panic.  Thoughts of that night in Will Thomerson’s study flashed over and over in her mind.  “I came here!  God, I thought you’d help me!”

“I’m trying to help you!” Dr. Anderson yelled sternly.

She whimpered softly, cringing at the thought of her head being sliced into.  “So what else haven’t you told me?  What about my mother?”

“I can’t-“

“Tell me!”

“She blamed herself,” Anderson explained.  “She blamed herself for the accident and for almost killing you.  She started seeing a colleague of mine.  Dr. Julian Wainwright.  He was helping her deal with the guilt.”

“So did he?” Heather asked and moved toward him.  “Tell me, Dr. Anderson.  Tell me what happened to my mother.  Does the accident have anything to do with why she left?”

He removed his glasses briefly so he could rub his eyes.  “She didn’t leave, Heather,” he said.  “She was murdered.”

His words confused her even more.  “What?” she asked.  “What do you mean she was murdered?  Who would have done that?”

His lack of response send chills down her spine.  She placed her hands on her head and turned away in horror.  Was he trying to tell her something?  Had she killed her own mother and blocked it out just as she’d done with Will Thomerson?

“Oh my God,” she cried and sunk to the floor.  “Help me.  Please, you have to help me.”

Slowly, he approached and knelt down beside her.  “I will help you,” he said slowly.  “I will.  But you have to help me too."

She looked at him in agony, unsure of what she could do to help the doctor.  What did he want from her?

Next time....

Jackie and Brooke have a confrontation.  Benji tells a well-thought out lie.  Angel Assassin 2 wraps.  Frank has a warning for Alex.

 Read Episode 89

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