Previously...

Trapped inside the hotel, Alex blackmailed Kelly into leaving Stormy.  Kelly agreed, but when Alex was knocked unconscious amidst the burning hotel, she took off and left her to die.  Later, Stormy returned home to find his new bride gone, and a note telling him not to look for her.  Benji risked his life to get Sierra to safety, then was taken to the hospital with a broken arm and smoke inhalation.  Malcolm grew jealous by Sierra's sudden change in attitude over her hero.  David rescued Brooke, only to have to tell her later that Ethan's car was found and that he'd been bured to death inside.  Brett became alarmed when Heather blocked the earthquake out of her memory just moments after it happened.  Later, Jordan came by and watched in horror at his daughter's eerie behavior.  Jordan refused to allow Brett to take Heather to see Dr. Anderson for fear that she would remember what happened the night Suzanne disappeared.  Eddie and Miranda were rescued from the hotel at the last minute.  Miranda, who lay in a coma, was revealed to have suffered first degree burns on her face and neck.  Alex apologized to Jordan for doubting him.  The police informed Jordan that they found a body that had been buried on his property.  Alex quickly assumed it was Suzanne, and immediately resumed her suspicions about her husband.

Episode 92

"This Must Be the Place I Waited Years to Leave"

“Forty-eight hours after the mega-quake that devastated western Los Angeles, community leaders and volunteers are already making progress in a cleanup that some say could cost upwards of fifteen billion dollars,” said Veronica Chen, the reporter positioned beside the four-way interchange that had collapsed during the earthquake.  “While scientists are still trying to locate the epicenter of the 6.7 magnitude earthquake, some are already calling it the ‘Hollywood Earthquake’, believing it to be unrelated to the San Fernando Fault, instead quite possibly a previously undiscovered blind thrust fault.  In related news, moments ago the movie industry announced that the 38^th annual Filmmaker Awards scheduled to take place tonight at the Los Angeles Theatre, has been postponed indefinitely in light of these events.  The official confirmed death toll so far is sixty-seven, with nearly seven thousand more injured, many of whom are hospitalized as we speak.”

The smell of burned rubber and gasoline filled the waiting room at the impound garage downtown at the police station.  James and David stood at the window that separated them from the garage, watching as a hydraulic lift was lowered to eye level.  Once the charred, mangled remnants of the car came into view, James had to brace himself in his upward position.

“How do we even know that’s Ethan’s car?” he asked, recovering from the shock of the visual.  “There’s nothing recognizable about it.”

“The VIN plate,” replied an officer standing by in oil stained coveralls.   “We were able to match it with your nephew’s DMV records.”

James ran a hand over his face and tapped his foot repeatedly on the floor.  “Even if it is his car, that doesn’t mean he was in there.  It’s just a pile of black metal and ash.  He could have gotten out.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blackthorne,” said the garage attendant.  “The doors were locked and the windows were up when we pulled it out.”

David put a comforting hand on James’s shoulder.  “If this is too hard, I can sign the paperwork, James.”

He shook his head.  “Nobody’s signing anything.  They want me to sign a release form saying I identified my nephew’s body.  Well there isn’t a body to identify.  There’s nothing but a burned up car.”

The officer dug his hands in his pockets.   “When a fire reaches a certain temperature, the human body typically will incinera-“

David held up his hand in an effort to cut him off.  “I think we get the point.  Were there any human remains found in the car?”

“It’s difficult to tell.   The fire melted everything.”

The words were difficult to hear.  James felt nausea setting in in the pit of his stomach, the same nagging feeling he’d had since they learned the fateful news a day earlier. 

He glanced at the clipboard in the officer’s hand, fighting the urge to tear the document into tiny pieces.  They were asking him to accept that Ethan, the man he’d raised like his own son, was dead, and without any tangible proof that it was true.  It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

Yet standing there looking at the twisted tangle of glass and metal, his head told him that it was true.  Everything felt different.  Cold, detached and lonely.  He saw it in the faces of his family and in the wondering eyes of Michael who was too young to understand, but still knew that something was wrong.

Finally, he reached out and took the pen from the officer, scribbled his signature on the bottom of the form, and hurried off to the door.  David gave the man a brief nod of his head before following him out into the parking lot. 

“You did the right thing, James,” he called after him.

“Did I?” James asked and threw his hands up in resignation.  “I have to go back to the hospital and tell Brooke that the man she loved more than anything in the world next to her son is dead and that I signed the death certificate.”

“You had no choice.”

“No choice?” James demanded.  “I could go out and keep looking for him.”

“Where?” David asked with a shrug.  “Where are you going to look?  The earthquake was two days ago.  If Ethan is alive, why hasn’t he turned up?  We’ve checked every hospital in the area, we’ve driven the route he took that night at least ten times.  He’s gone, James.  The sooner you face it the better off everyone will be.”

Realizing he was right, James turned to his car and kicked it with the toe of his shoe.  He slammed his hands against the hood and gritted his teeth angrily.  Tears formed in his eyes and he turned to the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Alex paced around her hospital room, nervously wringing her hands together and compulsively arranging a bouquet of flowers.   When the door opened and Jordan entered, she tensed up and glared heatedly at him. 

"What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on Benji and the nurse told me you were being released,” he replied.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s a small detail that I overlooked,” she replied briefly, trying anything to avoid eye contact with him. 

“Well I’ll take you home,” Jordan said and lifted her bag from the bed.  “Just give me a few minutes to-“

“I’m not going home with you, Jordan,” Alex cut him off.

He looked at her crossly.  “What do you mean?  Where are you going?”

She took her bag from him and pursed her lips.  “I’m checking into a suite at Moonshadows until I decide on a more permanent arrangement.  Remember I sold my house in Malibu so I don’t exactly have a home anymore.”

“Your home is with me and Benji in Beverly Hills,” Jordan said, his forehead creased to oblivion.  “Why are you acting this way?”  His question was answered by the fearful look he saw in her eyes.   “This is because of that body they found on my property, isn’t it?  You still think I killed Suzanne.”

“Frank Dunning said he saw you bury her,” Alex insisted.  “Now the police find a body and I’m supposed to think it’s just coincidence?”

Jordan ran his fingers through his hair.   “I told you that I didn’t kill her, but you’d rather take the word of a nutcase like Dunning than your own husband’s.  Do you know how that makes me feel, Alex?”

“What about how I feel?  I don’t even know my own husband.”

“I’m the same man you married.  I can’t believe that you would believe I could do something so awful.  Then again it wasn’t that long ago that you accused me of kidnapping Michael Blackthorne, then later of killing Will Thomerson.  This is getting to be old hat for you, Alex.  Wherever there’s a felony you have no problem pointing the finger in my direction.”

“This is different,” Alex said, her arms folded.  “I thought I knew you before.  Now I realize I don’t at all.”

He chuckled in spite of himself.  “So that’s it?  You’re leaving me without any discussion?  Our marriage is over just like that?”

She shook her head dismissively and started to the door.  “All I know is I can’t go back to that house with you.”

Jordan reached out and stopped her from leaving.  “Don’t do this, Alex,” he said.  “I need you.”

Her eyes flickered past his before pulling away and darting out of the hospital room.  Jordan stood behind, frustrated by the position he was in.

When Alex left her room, she stopped by to check on Miranda.  She placed her coat and bag on the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“I just don’t know what to do about Jordan,” she said, pushing her daughter’s hair from her eyes.  “He’s keeping things from me.  Just like when we were married the first time.  Poor Benji is terrified of him.  Heather is becoming more detached by the day.  It just seems like this earthquake brought out the worst in everyone.”

Sighing, Alex tenderly placed her fingertips on the bandages covering the left side of Miranda’s face and neck.  She squinted hard, trying to keep from crying.  She didn’t want her daughter to wake up and see her crying.  It would only make things worse.

“Please wake up, Miranda,” she said.  “I need you right now.  I need you to wake up and talk me through this mess with Jordan.  Not to mention what’s going on with your brother.  I doubt he’ll ever talk to me again.”

“Why?” asked a voice from behind.   “What did you do?”

She turned just as Stormy entered the hospital room, dressed in torn up jeans, a black sweater, and his face unshaven. 

“Darling, I was just-“ Alex began.

“What did you do, Mother?” Stormy repeated, his brow furrowed. 

Standing up from the edge of the bed, Alex stepped toward him timidly.  “I thought Kelly would have told you by now.  But please don’t judge me until you hear my side of the story.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded angrily.  “Kelly’s gone.”

Alex’s eyes opened wide with alarm.  “Gone?  Where did she go?”

He handed her the note and folded his arms belligerently.

“Stormy, I’m sorry,” Alex read aloud.  “I know you’ll hate me for what I did, but please know that I love you more than anything in the world.  What I’ve done is unforgivable.  I only hope that one day you’ll stop hating me.  Don’t try to find me.  It’s better this way.”

She looked up from the note and saw the torturous look in her son’s eyes. 

“What is she talking about?” Stormy asked. 

Alex realized that Kelly had kept her end of the bargain.  She quickly came up with a plausible cover for what happened.

“We were trapped together in the coat room after the earthquake,” she began.  “We argued and she pushed me.  I lost consciousness and instead of saving me she took off and left me to die in the fire.”

“What?” he asked in bewilderment.  “You’re lying.”

“It’s the truth,” Alex replied sorrowfully.  “Luckily Jordan found me and got me to safety.  I can only imagine that Kelly’s conscience must have gotten the best of her and that’s why she left.”

Running his fingers through his tousled hair, Stormy turned and began pacing the room.  “I don’t believe she would have done something like that.  She probably went to get help and Jordan made it there before she could return.”

“But she never came back,” Alex reminded him.  “She went home and she packed her things and she left.  I know it’s hard to fathom.  She hated me that much.  She left me to die in that fire.”

The prospect made him sick to his stomach.  How was he supposed to accept that his wife could be so cold and unfeeling? 

“Stormy, I’m sorry,” Alex said and motioned toward him. 

He quickly backed away, holding his hand up in protest.  “I don’t believe it,” he said.  “And I’m going to find Kelly and get the truth about what happened.” 

“But she said not to try to find her,” Alex protested.  “If you-“

“I’m going to find her!” Stormy shouted, pulling away and darting out of the room.  In the hall, he ran directly into James but didn’t stop his manic pace.

“Stormy!” James called after him. 

Once his son had disappeared from view, James turned and walked into Miranda’s room where Alex was trembling uncontrollably.

“What was that all about?” he demanded. 

Alex leveled a look of surprise at him. “You didn’t tell me that Kelly left,” she said. 

James sighed with exasperation and walked to his daughter’s bed.  “Forgive me, Alex, but I have had other things on my mind.  Like our daughter lying in a coma, and the fact that I just had to sign my nephew’s death certificate.”

Alex’s jaw dropped and she felt a tear run down her cheek.  “James, I’m so sorry,” she said.  “I was sure it was a mistake.  Ethan can’t be dead.”

“He is,” James said, mustering all the strength he could manage. 

“But you were so sure they were wrong.  What happened?”

He shook his head with despair.  “I saw all the proof I needed.”

Alex knew he was trying to put on a brave front.  She pulled him into an embrace and held him tightly.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just pray that our daughter makes it through this,” he said.  “If she doesn’t wake up-“

“She will,” Alex said quickly.  “We just have to keep praying.”

When they broke from the embrace, James went to the bed and placed a hand on Miranda’s.  “And what about when she does wake up?” he asked.  “She’s going to see her face and wish she were dead.”

“We’ll get the best plastic surgeons in the world,” Alex announced, her wavering voice full of hope.   “In a few weeks the fire will be a distant memory.  It'll be like it never happened.”

James forced himself into optimism.  After Ethan’s death, it was the only thing holding him together.

“What about you?” he asked and turned to her.  “You must be feeling better.  It looks like you’re going home.”

She nodded.  “Sort of.  I’m checking into Moonshadows.”

“Why aren’t you going home with Jordan?”

Alex turned away.  “I need some time,” she said. 

“What’s going on with you two?”

Finally she turned and looked him in the eyes.  “I can’t live with a man that I don’t trust,” she said.

“Well, I’ve always thought Jordan Rydell was a bit untrustworthy, but something must have happened to make you feel this way.  Tell me.”

Alex took a deep breath, calming her trembling hands.  “Jordan is a murderer,” she said, her voice void of her usual dramatic flair.  “He killed Suzanne.  She didn’t leave him all those years ago.  He killed her and buried her.  The police found a body on his property after the earthquake.  It’s only a matter of time before they find out whose body it was.”

Sitting in the lobby with Violet fussing in his arms, Brett couldn’t help but think about how much Jordan had opposed Heather’s visits to Dr. Anderson.  He got that he didn’t want her to remember certain things that she’d blocked out.  He had to agree it was in her best interests if she never learned the truth about that night.  However, the catch-22 was cemented in the reality that if she didn’t see a therapist, she would slip further away from him.  Each day she remembered more.  First the accident that proved to be the root cause of her blackouts, then bits and pieces of the night Suzanne disappeared.  Maybe it was best if she did remember after all. 

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Jordan might have a point.  Maybe Dr. Anderson was doing more harm than good.  Something was off about him.  He never had the same receptionist twice.  Whenever he called to schedule an appointment or to talk to him, he got voicemail.  The office was lacking anything the typical psychiatrist would keep around; patient files, psychology books, self-help pamphlets, anything.  It was almost as if Heather was his only patient.

Then there was the theatrical glue that he and Miranda had found a couple of weeks earlier.  While at the time he shrugged it off, he began to wonder if maybe Miranda was right to be suspicious.  He decided to check into the good doctor for the sake of argument.  It was his wife’s mental health they were dealing with, after all.

He waited for the receptionist to get up for a drink of water, then approached the door and listened.  Moments later, the door opened and Dr. Anderson led a groggy Heather into the lobby.

“Are you okay?” Brett asked, balancing Violet in one arm while kissing Heather on the cheek.  “How did it go?”

“Fine,” she replied quietly.

“It went better than fine,” added Dr. Anderson with a smile.  “We made some real progress.  But I’d like to see Heather again this week.  I think at this point we need to step up our sessions.”

“Oh, sure,” Brett said with uncertainty.  He bounced a fussy Violet in his arm and contemplated the doctor’s suggestion, eyeing Heather out of the corner of his eye as she went across the room to get her coat.  “Uh, so what kind of progress did you make?  I mean, enough to warrant more sessions?”

“Now that Heather has remembered the accident, we’re getting down to the root cause of her blackouts.  The incident during the earthquake was typical for her condition.”

“Her condition?” Brett asked squarely.  “What condition is that?”

Dr. Anderson shrugged.  “Her brain was damaged during the car accident, and the resulting operation.  Blocking it from her memory, as well other traumatic events, has been ongoing.  I think we’re getting down to unlocking those memories.”

Brett checked to make sure Heather was still distracted before stepping forward and whispering to Dr. Anderson.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he said. 

“You don’t want your wife to get better, Mr. Armstrong?” Anderson asked, fidgeting with his beard and blotting his forehead with a tissue he plucked from his pocket.  “She’s crying out for help.  These blackouts are becoming more frequent and there’s a reason for that.”

“You don’t understand, I-“

“Are you ready to go?” Heather asked as she approached. 

Brett managed a smile and nodded in reply.  “Sure, let’s go.”

“Same time tomorrow, Heather?” Dr. Anderson asked as he watched them head to the door.

“Yeah,” she said and started into the hall.

They made their way down the elevator to the first floor where the mail carrier was dropping letters into the mail slots.  Brett paused and glanced at the names of the offices in the building.

“Excuse me,” he said to the man.  “Is this your normal route?”

“Sure is.”

“I was wondering if you could tell me about Dr. Anderson.  Has he been in this building long?  Does he get a lot of mail?”

The man looked at the mailboxes and scratched his head.  “Anderson?” he asked.  “Don’t know any Anderson.  What suite?”

“504,” Brett replied.  “Psychiatrist.”

The mail carrier shook his head.  “Don’t recall ever having anything for 504.”

“Ever?” Brett asked.

He shook his head.  “I didn’t even know 504 was occupied.”

Brett nodded and offered a faint smile.  “Thanks.”  He left the building and followed Heather out to the car where he strapped Violet in the car seat.  Glancing up through the windshield, he spotted Dr. Anderson leaving the building and walking to his car.

“Brett?” Heather asked and looked up from her seat. 

“Uh, I’ll be right back, Babe,” he said and closed the car door.  “Just hang tight for a second."

Jogging through the parking lot, he approached Dr. Anderson before he could climb into his Mercedes.

“Oh, Mr. Armstrong,” he said, his arm resting on the open car door.  “Was there something else?  I was just on my way out to lunch.”

“Who are you?” Brett demanded, his hands on his hips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just have a strange feeling that you’re hiding something.”

“What?” Dr. Anderson asked with a hearty laugh.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You just don’t seem like the typical psychiatrist to me.  That, or just not a very good one.  I mean, I have never seen anyone else in you office.  You don’t have mail sent here.  The phone doesn’t ring for the entire hour my wife is in session with you.  What exactly is going on?”

“Just trying to get a practice established in a new city.  It’s not easy.”

“My wife’s been coming here to see you off and on for over a year.  You’re telling me you haven’t gotten any other patients in all that time?”

“I like to schedule my patients in a manner that protects their privacy,” Dr. Anderson said, visibly agitated as he touched his beard and ran his fingers along his hairline.  “Patients don’t overlap because I schedule them that way.  If you have a problem-“

“What do you talk about with my wife during your sessions?” Brett demanded.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.  If Heather wants to tell you, then I’m sure she will.”

“Then why has she started having these visions and flashbacks just in the last few months?” a volatile Brett asked, taking on an offensive pose.

“The birth of your daughter brought upon many unresolved-“

“Speak English,” Brett cut him off abruptly.

Sighing, the doctor turned and dropped his briefcase inside his car.  “I’m afraid I don’t have time to continue this discussion, Mr. Armstrong.  If you would like to address your wife’s treatment, then call my receptionist and make an appointment.”

“Your receptionist is only here when you are,” Brett replied. 

“Then leave a message.”

Finally having had enough, Brett reached forward and pinched the man’s beard between his thumb and index finger, giving it a slight tug. 

“What the-“ Dr. Anderson exclaimed as the beard peeled off of his face and hung half-way from his chin.  He quickly went to reattached it, pressing hard to ensure it was adhered property.

“What’s with the fake beard?” Brett demanded.  “What are you hiding?”

Suddenly, the man’s demeanor changed.  He grabbed Brett by the arm and shook him forcefully.  “You shouldn’t have done that, you stupid, stupid-“  Pausing, he looked around, eyes wide with paranoia, then retreated to his car. 

Brett stood back, unnerved by the circumstances and by the doctor’s strange reaction.  He watched as the man started his car and sped off frantically.   He glanced back at his car where Heather was absently playing with Violet in her car seat. 

James went to Brooke’s hospital room and found her asleep.  He entered slowly, bracing the door so that it didn’t wake her.  Standing over her bed, he closed his eyes and tried to think of the words to tell her the truth.  It had been hard enough on her when the initial news came out, but now that there was confirmation…

Suddenly she stirred awake and opened her sleepy eyes.  “James…”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said solemnly.  “Go back to sleep.”

She shook her head.  “Have you found Ethan?”

He didn’t answer, instead simply glancing down in deep concentration.  How was he going to tell her?

“James, what about Ethan?” she repeated.  “Tell me you found him.”

Closing his eyes, he gave a tell-tale shake of his head. 

Tears clouded Brooke’s tired eyes.   “Oh God,” she cried. 

“I saw Ethan’s car.  There was nothing left.” 

“No,” she whimpered.

“Brooke, I’m sorry.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed and held her hand tightly in his.  “I wish there was something I could tell you that would make it easier.”

“He can’t be dead,” she sobbed.  “We were going to get married.  We were going to start over, just me and him and Michael.”

“I know how hard this is,” James said quietly, tears staining his cheeks.  “If I could change things, I would.  If I could go back to the night of the earthquake and stop him from leaving the reception, I would.”

“I should have went home to check on Michael instead of him,” Brooke cried hysterically.   “Or I should have gone with him.”

“You know that’s not the answer,” James insisted.  “If you’d gone with him then Michael would be missing two parents instead of just one.  Your son needs you, Brooke.  You’ve got to hold it together for him.”

Brooke covered her eyes with her hands.  “How am I going to tell my son that his father is dead?” she whispered.  “How do I make him understand?”

“We’ll tell him together,” James said.

She looked at him, her eyes suddenly filled with hope.  “James, what if he isn’t dead?”

He offered a sympathetic sigh.  “Brooke, I told you-“

“We thought he was dead once before remember?” she insisted.  “They told me he died in that jeep explosion in the Dominican Republic, but he came back.  They found him and nursed him back to health and he came back.  What if this is the same thing?”

“It’s not.  I saw the car.  Brooke, it was awful.  I don’t know how to convince you.”

She leaned back against her pillow and swallowed hard.  Maybe James was right.  Maybe it was too much to ask for that he’d come back from the dead again.  But if there was no body then it was always possible.

“I want to see it,” she said. 

“What?”

“The car.  Ethan’s car.  I want to see it.  I want to see for myself.”

James shook his head adamantly.  “No, absolutely not.  You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Take me to see it!” Brooke yelled.  “As soon as I get out of here I want to go see it.  I won’t believe he’s dead until I do.”

Blake Distefano knocked on his father's bedroom door at their house in Belair. He waited a beat, looked at his watch, and knocked again.

"Dad, we have to go pick Eddie up from the hospital," he called through the door.  "I thought you'd want to go with me."

When there was still no answer, he quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open.  There, he saw his father sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the floor, a blank expression on his face.   Next to him, a small padlocked box.  

"Dad?" Blake asked.  "You okay?"

Victor sat on the bed, murmuring quietly to himself words that Blake could barely make out.  

"I don't know....I can't tell.....It's probably five or ten minutes....."

"Dad, we have to pick Eddie up."

"ask your mother...ask your mother....ask your mother...I don't know....I can't tell....."

Blake took a few tentative steps into the room.  He soon realized what was happening.  It wasn't new, but it was something he hadn't witnessed in quite a while.  

"Dad, have you been taking your pills?" he asked, going to the bathroom and opening the medicine cabinet.  He pushed aside a few clear bottles of something and picked up an orange bottle of black pills.  Carefully reading the contents on the label, he turned and went back into the bedroom with a glass of water.

"Do you hear the song?" Victor continued in a daze.  "What does it tell you to do?  Remember my voice...."

"Take this," Blake said and popped one of the pills in Victor's mouth.  He held the glass of water to his lips and made sure that he swallowed.

"Hear the song," Victor continued.  

Blake swallowed hard, standing back and watching his father.  He had often grew tired of caring for him when he became like this.  Eddie had moved out specifically to avoid it.  With their mother gone, it was his sole duty to ensure that he took his medication and didn't get like this.  

The earthquake had caused such a stir that he'd forgotten.  He only hoped it wasn't too late.

After leaving a delusional Brooke at the hospital, James went home to the mansion to meet with the contractor.  The east wing had been severely damaged during the earthquake but a building inspector had found the rest of the house to be structural safe.  Temporary walls had been erected to separate the damage while they rebuilt. 

“How long do you think the construction will take?” James shouted over the noise as they stood amidst a slew of construction workers and drywall dust. 

“A few months,” replied the contractor.  “Four at the most.  We’ll try to contain the construction debris as much as possible.”

“Yeah, and what about this noise?” James yelled, plugging his ears with irritation.  “People still live in this house, you know.  How are we supposed to live like this?”

The contractor flagged the crew who cut their power tools off with a groan.

“Mr. Blackthorne, we have a lot of work to do,” said the foreman.  “I realize it’s an inconvenience, but the longer we wait the longer it will take to finish the job.”

James shook his head.  “I realize that,” he began, still crushed by the events that had transpired with Brooke.   “Just try to keep it down, will you?”

Just then, Stormy darted down the stairs and headed for the door.  James saw him pass through the foyer in a blur.

“Stormy, wait up,” he called after him.  “I want to talk to you.”

He sighed and turned to his father.  “What?” he asked belligerently. 

“I wanted to talk to you at the hospital earlier but you took off in such a hurry,” James began.  “Has there been any word from Kelly?”

“No, she’s vanished,” Stormy replied angrily.  “Isn’t that something?  Married for two hours and she took off.  At this rate if I get married a third time it should last, oh, about five minutes.”  

“Now listen, son, your mother told me what happened with her and Kelly at the reception.  She left her there to die in that fire.  Now I don’t know about you, but it sounds like she did you a favor by leaving.”

“Don’t tell me you believe that crap Mom was shoveling,” Stormy said with a frown.  “She’d say anything to make Kelly look bad.  You know how much she hated her.  I think she finally paid her off and got her to leave town.”

“I don’t know, Stormy.  I think you’re way off on this.”

“Well we’ll find out soon enough.” Stormy said admanantly

“What do you mean?”

“I hired a private investigator to find her.  As soon as I find out where she went, I’m going to go confront her.”

James ran his fingers through his hair.  “Stormy, wait.  If Kelly wanted you to find her, she’d contact you.”

“I could turn into an old man waiting for that to happen,“ Stormy insisted.  “I’m going to find my wife and bring her back here.”

With that, he turned and raced out the front door, the door swinging open in his trail.  James turned and ran his fingers through his hair.  He didn’t know how much more he could take today.  His family was falling apart, and it all started with that damn earthquake. 

Just then, Renee appeared in the doorway, draped in a long brown fur and a limo driver standing behind with several shopping bags in his hands.  She studied the look on James’s face and took a few steps forward.

“James?  Are you okay?”

He turned and managed a faint smile.  “Renee, yes, I’m fine.”  He went in and kissed her on the cheek.  “I was just lost in thought for a minute.”

“Did I come at a bad time?” she asked.  “If this is an inconvenience for you…”

“Don’t be silly.  I’ve been expecting you.  Leilani has made up a suite for you.”

She smiled graciously.  “I don’t know how to thank you for opening up your home to me.  With Hotel Terranova burnt to a crisp, I can’t imagine anywhere else I’d feel as at home as I do here.”

“You lost everything in that fire, Renee,” James said with as much compassion as he could muster.  “Whatever you need, you can count on me.”

She motioned to the driver to set her bags down and followed James across the foyer.  “Forgive me for being insensitive,” she began.  “Of course you’ve lost much more than I have.  Clothes and jewelry and possessions can be replaced.  Lives cannot.  I’m so sorry about Ethan.”

He turned and smiled politely.  “Thank you, Renee.” 

“Have you thought about the funeral arrangements?” she asked.  “Can I help?”

He closed his eyes and tried to contain his emotions.  “God, I haven’t even given it a thought.  It isn’t as if we have a body to bury.”

“We can still have a service,” she said.  “Please let me take care of the arrangements.  It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you,” James said, holding her hand in his.  “Tell me, how is Sierra?”

“She’s fine.  She’s been at the hospital night and day with Benji Rydell.  She feels so guilty about him being hurt while saving her life.”

“Is that all there is to it?” James asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she seems pretty smitten with him.  I imagine Malcolm Harris isn’t taking too kindly to their sudden friendship.”

“Malcolm is good for her.  Benji is no match for someone as worldly and intelligent as Malcolm.”

“Even though Malcolm is T.T. Levitt’s son?” James asked.  “I know how angry you were with him once upon a time.  Are you saying those old feelings of hostility are over?”

She took a deep breath.  “Sierra and Malcolm have nothing to do with my past with T.T.  It’s just that.  The past.”

At the hospital, Sierra poured a glass of water and handed it to Benji.  He used his good arm and picked it up carefully, all the while smiling gleefully at her. 

“I’m glad you came by today,” he said.  “But I hope you aren’t changing all your plans on account of me.  I know you only came to visit your mother and spend the holidays with her.  You’ve barely seen her since the wedding.”

“I do what I want,” she said with a smile and picked up a stack of envelopes and packages from a table across the room.  “Oh, your dad dropped off some mail for you.  He said there might be some magazines to occupy your time.”

“Thanks,” Benji said and sat the stack on his lap.  “So when do you have to go back to school?  Surely the semester has already started.”

“I got permission to start the semester late,” Sierra claimed.  “I can’t very well leave my mother right now.  With the hotel burning down, she’s practically homeless.  She moved into the Blackthorne mansion but she’s so shaken up.  I just feel like she needs me right now.”

“What about you?” Benji asked.  “Where are you staying?”

She compulsively arranged a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table.  “Malcolm and I have a room next to his father’s at Moonshadows.  We’re staying there until we go back to New York.”

Benji flipped through his stack of mail.  “So you and Malcolm?  You’re serious?”

She shrugged indifferently.   “I told you we were.  Malcolm has a lot going for him.  He has a future.”

“And I don’t, right?” Benji asked wryly. 

“Benji, you’re very sweet.  I misjudged you on some levels.  You’re not the selfish, spoiled trust fund baby that I thought you were.”

“But I still don’t measure up to the perfect Malcolm Harris, is that it?” he asked, growing defensive.  “I thought we were getting along.  I thought things were different between us since the fire.”

“They are,” Sierra said, distracting herself by arranging the stack of magazines beside his bed.  “I told you I saw you for who you really are.  A nice, compassionate-“

“Nice?” he asked with a scoff.  “Great.  I’ve been reduced to the nice guy.  Oh, but not quite nice enough to win the girl over.  Maybe I should use my Daddy’s influence to start my own record company like Malcolm?  Maybe I should prey on unsuspecting young co-eds at the local university like Malcolm?  Tell me Sierra, what line did he use to lure you into his bed?  Was it something like ‘hi, let me make you a star’ or maybe it was more like-“

“Stop it,” Sierra demanded, her eyes stinging with tears.  “Why are you acting this way?  I thought we were friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” Benji said under his breath.  “Great.  Just what I need.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Sierra asked in a shrill voice.  “That because you saved my life I was going to fall into your arms and beg you to take me?”

He laughed and shook his head with amusement. 

“You may have proven yourself to be half-way human, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the trouble you seem to stir up everywhere you go.”

“Don’t tell me you’re listening to more of your mother’s tacky gossip,” Benji said.

“It’s a little hard not to,” Sierra insisted.  “Your track record since you arrived in town hasn’t exactly been squeaky clean.”

“So we’re back to that again,” Benji said, throwing his hands up in resignation.

“I’m sorry, but it’s a little hard to overlook some of the things you’ve done.”

“Then why are you even here?” Benji demanded angily.  “If I’m such a troublemaker than why don’t you go find your boyfriend and leave me the hell alone?”

Eyes stinging, Sierra backed up to the door and raced outside into the hall.  She bumped directly into Malcolm who appeared from around the corner.

“Hey, where are you off to?” he asked, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eyes.

She sucked in a few stray tears and looked at him with a forced smile.  “I…I was just going to find you,” she said. 

“Well here I am,” Malcolm said with a grin and kissed her warmly.  “Are you ready to go?  Do you need more time with your friend?”

Sierra glanced back at Benji’s room and paused before shaking her head.  “No, I’m done,” she said and started down the hall to the elevator.

Malcolm glanced back at the door, wondering what had transpired between Sierra and Benji.  Whatever it was, he was glad that it had happened.  It was obviously enough to put an end to whatever hold he temporarily had on her.

The next morning, James and David drove Brooke home to her empty townhouse in Glendale.  As much as they tried to convince her otherwise, she wanted to go home despite the memories it would bring. 

When they walked inside and Brooke looked around the empty living room, tears welled up in her eyes.  The boxes piled up by the door and the bare walls served as a bitter reminder of the plans that she and Ethan had made to start their life together in Costa Rica.  Now she had to face reality that she was going to start over, only without the love of her life. 

“You don’t have to do this,” James said when he saw her hands trembling at her sides.  “You can come back to the mansion.  Let David and I worry about your townhouse.”

She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.  “No, I have to do this.  I have to deal with it eventually.”

“You don’t have to deal with anything,” David said.  “This is just torturing yourself, Brooke.  Wasn’t it enough that you had to see Ethan’s car?”

“I had to see it with my own eyes,” Brooke said, staring at the empty room.

“And now do you believe it?” James asked.  “Now do you understand that there’s no way that Ethan could have survived?”

She blinked away a few tears and took a deep breath.  Yes, she was convinced that he was gone.  After the investigators explained the implausibility that Ethan could have gotten out of the car, she was forced into believing that he was gone.  It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but she did it nonetheless. 

“Brooke, come back to the mansion.  Michael is there with his nanny.  He misses you.  He needs his mother.  He needs to know that one of his parents is still there for him.”

“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head.  “First I have to get my townhouse back in order.  Then I’ll come get Michael."

“You can’t think of staying here by yourself,” David said, his hands dug deeply in his pockets.  “This is no time for you to be alone.”

Wiping her eyes, she looked at him and took a deep breath.  “I have to do this on my own,” she said.  “Without help from either of you.”

“Brooke, what are you trying to prove?” James asked and watched her begin to unpack one of the boxes.

“That I can finally stand on my own two feet,” she said, pausing and looking back at him  “I’m through being a victim.  I’m going to do it and I’m going to do it for Ethan.”

“I knew there was something off about that doctor,” Jordan said to Brett as he paced around the living room of the condo at the marina.  “I knew there was a reason she was starting to remember things.  The accident, the night Suzanne left, all of it.”

“He’s obviously pretending to be something he’s not.  I called the California Board of Psychiatry and he isn’t even registered with the state.”

“You mean to tell me some lunatic has been treating my daughter all this time?” Jordan demanded angrily.  “He wasn’t even a certified psychiatrist?”

“Apparently not,” Brett said grimly.  “Jordan, I’m sorry.  I had no idea.”

He shook his head.  “It’s not your fault, Brett.  Heather started seeing Anderson before you and she began seeing each other.  If anyone’s to blame it’s that sonofabitch Stormy Blackthorne.  It was because of the way her left he that she had her breakdown to begin with.” 

Brett knew he was more responsible than Jordan would admit.  He used Heather in his quest to oust Stormy from James’s good graces.   It was because of him that she got involved with Will Thomerson in the first place. 

“So what does this Erich Anderson have to gain?” he asked, deciding it was useless to cast blame on himself.  The important thing was trying to undo whatever damage the faux-doctor had done.  “What was he trying to accomplish with Heather all this time?”

Jordan shook his head in frustration.  “I wish I knew.”

“Maybe someone who has a vendetta against you?” Brett suggested.

“You mean using my daughter to get to me?” Jordan asked.  He shrugged indifferently.  “I won’t say I don’t have enemies, but come on.  Anderson, or whatever his name was, got Heather to remember things about her mother that were long since buried in her mind.  The only person I can think of who would have had something to gain by that was Frank Dunning, and he’s dead.”

“Let’s just say that it was Frank Dunning,” Brett said.  “Maybe he hired this guy to treat Heather to get her to remember what happened with Suzanne?  What better way than to stick it to you and to avenge her memory.”

Jordan considered his suggestion for a moment.  “No, Dunning wasn’t smart enough to pull off something like that,” he said.  “He was a lowly stalker, but not a mastermind in something like this.”

Brett ran his fingers through his hair and paced the living room.  “No offense, Jordan, but you don’t have much luck with psychiatrists, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you say that Suzanne had been seeing a psychiatrist?  Wainwright or something like that?  You said he ruined your marriage.”

Jordan nodded, running a hand over his face and considering the possibility. 

“What did he do, anyway?” Brett asked.

“It was because of Julian Wainwright that my wife isn’t here today,” Jordan said ominously.

“So where is he now?”

“Vanished,” Jordan replied.  “Left town right after that night.”

Brett racked his brain.  The phone rang and he went to answer it but it stopped after one ring.  Maybe Heather answered it in the bedroom, he decided.

“How old was Wainwright?” he asked.

“Mid forties, I’d say,” Jordan replied.  “Why?"

Brett shrugged.  “Just thinking is all.  What do you remember about him?  Any unusual characteristics?”

Jordan tried to remember, despite the fact that it was a period in his life that he hated to think about.  “I don’t know.  He was eccentric.  Always very dramatic.  I think he had a hobby in performing at local theatres.  An aspiring actor, I guess you could say.”

Brett looked at him quickly, his head snapping around at breakneck speed.  “He was an actor?” he asked.

“Well, I remember Suzanne went to see him at a few local performances.  I mean, actor is a bit of a stretch.  I think it was more of an extra-curricular activity.”

“I think Anderson was an actor,” Brett exclaimed.  “Miranda and I found a playbill in his office.”

Jordan snapped his fingers, suddenly realizing beginning to dawn.  “The day I went to his office a man ran past me and dropped something in the stairwell.  It was a playbill from the Black Dahlia Theatre.  A performance of Don Juan.”

“Did Wainwright have a beard and glasses?” Brett asked.

Jordan nodded slowly.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Wainwright and Anderson are the same person.”

Jordan placed a hand on his head, trying to get a handle on what they were talking about.  Could it be possible that the same man who had treated Suzanne over twelve years ago was now taking aim at his daughter?  If so, he had a horrible feeling he knew what he was up to. 

“We have to find out what’s been going on at those therapy sessions,” he said and headed for the bedroom door.  He pushed it open and walked inside, Brett following fast on his heels.

“She’s gone,” Brett said, looking around the empty room.  He went to the open window, the drapes billowing inward from the breeze off of the ocean.  Glancing down, he realized she must have climbed out the fire escape.

“Someone must have called her,” Jordan said, approaching the bedside table where the phone receiver was laying off the hook.

Brett checked the caller I.D. display and cursed when he realized the last number was blocked.

“She’s with Anderson,” Jordan said.  “I’m sure of it.”

Leilani opened the door at the Blackthorne mansion and stood clear as T.T. Levitt entered into the foyer.  As he did, Renee came down the staircase eyeing him peculiarly.

“This is quite a surprise,” she said, her flowing gown billowing behind.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You look ravishing,” he said, and when she approached took her hand and kissed it gently.  “Leave it to the beautiful Renee Merteuil to defeat something as puny as an earthquake.”

“I assume you didn’t come here just to compliment me on my appearance,” Renee said and walked into the parlor room.  She poured herself a brandy and turned to him suspiciously.   “So what are you doing here, T.T.?”

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said.  He was dressed in a dapper overcoat with fur collar, an expensive Armani suit hidden beneath.

“I can’t imagine what,” Renee said and sat down on the cognac leather sofa next to the blazing fire.

“Our past, for one.  I haven’t seen you in over twenty years.  Not since that voyage on the Mediterranean."

Renee traced her finger along the rim of her glass.  “You mean the cruise where we had an affair.”

“Affair is such an ugly word.  I prefer to remember it as a romantic rendezvous.”

“You were engaged to be married to Julia Harris,” Renee spat angrily.  “A fact that you conveniently forgot to tell me for those two weeks that we spent together on the high seas.”

“I wasn’t married yet,” T.T. said slyly and poured himself a drink.  “Julia was back in New York and I was entertaining clients on the ship.  Can you blame me for falling for the most beautiful woman on board?”

She stood up and approached him hastily.  “You’re a pig,” she said.  “If that’s the kind of respect you have for the women in your life then it’s no wonder Julia divorced you.”

“I divorced Julia,” T.T. corrected her.

“Then you did her a favor.  Meanwhile, you made me into the other woman.  Tell me, T.T., did you tell Julia about us, or did you walk down the aisle and take your vows without her knowing what a cad you really are?”

T.T. paused for a moment before setting his glass down on the bar.  “You’re right, Renee, I was a louse.  I was unfaithful to my fiancée and I married her anyway.  But I wouldn’t trade those two weeks we spent for anything in the world.  The minute I walked into that dining room on board and saw you standing there, I fell in love.  It was selfish of me to keep my engagement from you, but I knew you wouldn't see me otherewise.  At the time it wasn't a big deal."

She cut him off with a slap across the face.   “How dare you treat this so casually,” she hissed.  “You lied to me and you used me.  To me that’s a very big deal.”

“Look, Renee, I didn’t mean it like that.  I-“

“T.T., I’d like you to leave,” she said, looking away from him.

Sighing, he backed up to the door and left with reluctance.   Standing behind, Renee wrapped her arms around herself and tried her hardest to pretend he hadn’t gotten to her.  But as much as she tried, she couldn’t forget about the passion they’d shared so many years ago.  To her it seemed just like yesterday.

Brett left Violet with a sitter, and minutes later he and Jordan arrived at Dr. Anderson’s office building in Hollywood.  They climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and approached the outer office.  Brett went to try the door and found it unlocked.

Exchanging glances, they entered and glanced around with surprise.  The room, once filled with a reception desk and waiting room furniture, was completely bare.  Brett continued onward into the private office and opened the door.

“I don’t believe it,” he said and looked around the empty room.  “Everything’s gone.”

“How can that be?” Jordan asked.

Brett shook his head and looked back out into the waiting room.  “We were just here yesterday.  Now the place looks like it’s never been occupied.”

“Can I help you?” asked a voice from the outer office.

They both turned and walked toward a cleaning lady dressed in an apron with a bucket of water in her hand.

“We were just looking for Dr. Anderson,” Jordan said.  “Do you work for him?”

She shook her head.  “I work for the building landlord.  Just getting this place ready for the new occupants.”

“New occupants?” Brett repeated.  “What happened to Dr. Anderson?”

She shrugged.  “Don’t know about any Dr. Anderson.  A CPA is moving in here tomorrow.”

Brett and Jordan looked at each other in bewilderment.  “Do you know who leased this place before?  Was he a psychiatrist?”

“Don’t think so,” she replied and wiped her nose with her sleeve.  “Just some guy renting this place.  Wasn’t here much.  It was strange that he would spend all that money every month to never use it.  Places around here don’t come cheap.”

“Do you know his name? Or where we can find him?”

“Paid for the year in advance,” said the cleaning lady.

“And you don’t know where to find him?” Jordan demanded.

She shook her head.  “Sorry.”

Frustrated, they left the office and went back out to the parking lot.

“I don’t like this,” Brett said, pausing next to the hood of Jordan’s Mercedes.  “Heather is with this guy and we don’t even know who or what he is.  He could be doing anything to her.”

“I’m calling the police,” Jordan said, reaching for his cell phone.

At that precise moment, an unmarked police car approached, sirens wailing as it drew toward them.  They both looked at each other blankly.

“Did you already call them?” Jordan asked his son-in-law.

He shook his head in confusion, watching as Detective Callahan stepped out of the car and approached with another plain-clothed police officer just behind.

“Detective Callahan,” Jordan said and pocketed his phone.  “I was just getting ready to call you.  My daughter has disappeared.  I have reason to believe she’s been kidnapped.”

“Mr. Rydell, I need to ask you a few questions,” she said, dressed in a smart brown suit and her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.  She flashed him a picture that she withdrew from her jacket pocket.   “Do you recognize this man?”

Jordan closed his eyes for a brief second before nodding solemnly.  “That’s Troy Beauchamp.  He’s my half-brother.” 

“And when was the last time you saw Mr. Beauchamp?” she asked.

He shrugged.  “It’s been a long time.  Over twelve years ago.  He moved away and we lost touch after our mother went to a retirement home."

“What was your relationship with Mr. Beauchamp?” Detective Callahan asked.

“We weren’t that close,” he said.

Brett frowned, confused by the odd line of questioning.  “Listen, why are you wasting time?  My wife is missing and could very well be in the hands of a madman.  You have to find her.”

Detective Callahan motioned to her partner who approached Jordan with a pair of handcuffs. 

“Mr. Rydell, I’m placing you under arrest,” she said.

“What for?” Jordan demanded, struggling as the handcuffs were placed on his wrists.

“Suspicion in the murder of Troy Beauchamp.  It was his body that we found on your property.”

Jordan closed his eyes with regret, suddenly realizing that the ugly truth was about to get out.  How was he going to protect his daughter this time?

Next time....

Brett tries to find Heather.  Jordan is released from custody and finds an unwelcome visitor waiting for him.  Renee finds herself drawn to T.T.  Brooke gets startling news from Kenny regarding Ethan's estate.

Read Episode 93

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