Previously...

Jordan was arrested for Troy's murder.  Detective Callahan informed him they'd found the ax and locket hidden away in the attic, and that they knew Troy had bought the locket for Suzanne.  Callahan theorized that Jordan had killed Troy when he learned he was having an affair with Suzanne.  Jackie offered to plan Ethan's memorial service for James.  Later, Jackie revealed to David that she was going to marry James in order to take back everything the Blackthornes had taken from her. Miranda woke from her coma and became devastated when she learned of the burns on her face.  She pushed Eddie away despite her feelings for him.  Renee continued to push T.T. away, despite his obvious desire to spend time with her.  Benji became confused about his original theory that his father had killed his mother, realizing that he may have been wrong all along.  Brett searched for Heather, unaware that Dr. Anderson had her hidden away in his cabin at the Yacht Club.  After hypnotizing her and instructing her to kill Jordan, he removed his fake beard and latex mask and was revealed to be Victor Distefano.  

Episode 94

"Many Shades of Black"

Written by Tom King

Why did the sun seem so sinister to Brooke Taylor?  Had it always been this intensely bright, or had it chosen today of all days to begin conspiring against her?  She felt like it was mocking her as she stepped out of the car, intent on searing every detail of this horrible day into her mind forever, when all she wanted to do was forget.

James Blackthorne guided her away from the dark limousine.

“Is it over yet?” Brooke murmured, blindly following his lead. The funeral for Ethan Blackthorne had ended and the guests were returning to the Blackthorne mansion for his wake.

Parts of the home were still under construction following the earthquake that had changed their lives in an instant, but a house could be pieced back together over time. If only the cracks and hollows left from losing Ethan could be so easily repaired.

“How are you holding up? Can I get you anything?” David Jenner asked, placing a comforting hand on Brooke’s shoulder. 

Brooke simply shook her head.  Finding the words to speak required more energy than she could muster.  She’d drifted through this day, gone through the motions mechanically, afraid she would fall apart if she stopped to remind herself that all of this was real.  That Ethan wasn’t coming back.

She felt her chest tighten as the tears threatened to spring forth.  She tried to escape, to be on her own for a moment to regain her composure.

“Brooke, I’m so sorry,” Renee DeWitt approached her, draped in a dark Badgley Mischka dress.  Her daughter Sierra was at her side along with T.T. Levitt and his son, Malcolm. They offered Brooke their sympathies, Renee giving her a reassuring hug.

“I know Ethan and I didn’t get off to the best start, but my opinion of him changed completely once I came to know him. You two seemed so in love, and I found out what a great guy he was,” Sierra offered.

“Yes, he was. Thank you,” Brooke said, sincerely appreciating the sentiment, as painful as it was. “And thank you for the beautiful flowers.” Her aquamarine eyes traveled to the lavish arrangement of African violets, azaleas, and miniature roses that Renee and her daughter had sent to the house.

“It’s the least we could do. Hang in there, baby.” Renee brushed aside a strand of Brooke’s hair that had fallen astray. “If you need me for anything, Brooke, all you have to do is ask…”

Brooke nodded, then watched them make their way back to the throng of guests conversing and sharing their fondest memories of Ethan Blackthorne.  She turned back to the flowers and touched the delicate blooms, so soft, but resilient. So full of life, but fragile at the same time.

She knew she had to pull it together.  She needed to be strong, both for Michael and herself.  Brooke crossed the room to James, David, and Jackie Lamont.

“The service was beautiful.  Thank you for handling this all for me.  I’m not sure I could have done it on my own,” Brooke admitted.

“I know it’s been rough for you,” Jackie said, exchanging a look with David.  After everything Brooke had been through with her parents and David in the past few months, it was a little unsettling to have David still in her orbit during such a dark time, but she was surprisingly grateful for his support.

“You know we’d do anything for you and Michael,” David said earnestly.

“Thanks.” Brooke brushed away a few escaped tears. She was sure she must look an absolute wreck, the way everyone was staring at her, like they were just waiting for her to go off the rails. “Excuse me,” she said, heading off to splash some cold water on her face.

She ducked down the hall, heading to one of the bathrooms when she heard footsteps behind her. James had followed her.

“I was just going to check on Michael,” she said to him. “Have you seen Leilani?”

“They’re probably in the nursery.  You put on a brave face back there, but if you need to take a moment to yourself or escape for a while, nobody would blame you,” he said, his gentle eyes seeing right through her façade.

“That’s exactly what I was intending to do.” She gave him a sad little smile, but was grateful for a moment with James.  Sometimes, she swore he could tell exactly what she was thinking. “It’s hard.  To sit out there with all those people sharing their special moments and memories of Ethan.”

“It seems like nothing could ever be right again, like this family will never recover,” James said darkly. “It’s hard to imagine, but things will get better in time.  You have to keep believing that.”

Brooke looked away, her vision blurry with fresh tears.

“You’re stronger than even you realize,” James said. “You don’t see it, but it’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you.  You will get through this.”

The way he spoke to her with such conviction -- for a second, Brooke almost believed him.

From the corner of the room, Miranda Blackthorne stood to herself, hoping for one of the few times in her life to be as invisible as possible.  The last thing she wanted today was attention.

Since her release from the hospital, she’d hidden herself away from the world, barely coming out of her room like some sort of recluse.  Of course, everyone tried to tell her she looked fine.  That it wasn’t that bad.  But the way her family looked at her with their pitying eyes was unbearable. 

She couldn’t hide today, but she wasn’t inviting any attention, either.

Her dark hair was tucked beneath a wide-brimmed black hat. A dark, barely translucent veil shrouded her face and those hideous burns.  Just thinking about them made her feel self-conscious and nauseous.  She readjusted her veil.

“Let’s go give our condolences to Brooke and get it out of the way,” Alex Reynolds said, appearing beside her daughter in a dark Prada pantsuit. “I know you don’t want to be here, but you can’t just stand there all day by yourself.”

“Watch me,” Miranda challenged.

“Come on,” Alex said, leading her daughter by the arm.

“I already talked to Brooke before the funeral! What else can I possibly say to make her feel any better!? To make any of us feel any better about this?  Show them my barbecued face to remind them all how lucky they are in spite of everything that’s happened? So they have someone else to pity other than themselves?”

“Miranda!” Alex snapped, looking around cautiously to see if anyone noticed her outburst.  Nobody seemed to have been paying attention, and Alex’s tone softened. “You’ve got to stop lashing out like this. The best plastic surgeon in the country is flying in this week, and when he’s done with you, you’ll wake up and see this was all a bad dream.”

“How do you know that?” she spat. “What if he can’t fix me?  Even if he does, I’m never going to look the same.  This isn’t something that can be fixed with a little botox or collagen, mother.”

“He will.  I know you don’t believe me, but you’ll see.”  Alex gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze, before heading out to the courtyard for a cigarette.

Miranda knew her mother was only trying to be helpful, but thinking about the surgery only made her more upset.  What if she came out of the surgery and still looked like a monster?  What if her scars never healed?

Suddenly, a late-comer appeared at the door, distracting Miranda from her fears.

“Stormy?” Miranda asked, surprised but grateful to see her brother.  He had been in Hawaii since the earthquake searching for his runaway bride.  James tried to get him to come back for Ethan’s funeral, but when Stormy hadn’t showed up for the service, she’d given up on him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Stormy said miserably.  “I feel terrible for missing the service.  Where‘s Brooke?”

“Where were you?” Miranda demanded.  This entire thing might have been more tolerable if she’d at least had her brother there for support.

“My limo had to stop and take a different route from the airport.  The road was blocked off, because some stupid tree fell and crushed some cars.”

“A tree fell?  In Hollywood?”

“Can you believe it? On a day like this? I missed my cousin’s funeral of all things because a tree fell!

“But there was no--”

“--Stormy!” Alex Reynolds cried in amazement.  She flew into the house, cigarette still in hand to embrace her son.  “I didn’t think you were coming!”

“Traffic issues,” he explained. “I almost didn’t make it.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Save it,” Stormy said, brushing past her to greet the other guests instead.  Miranda knew he was still furious with their mother for how she’d treated Kelly.

“Stormy, wait,” Alex said, trailing after him.

Miranda sighed, grateful to finally have a minute alone.

But her relief was short-lived when she saw Sierra and Malcolm drawing near.  She hadn’t seen them since the earthquake, but she couldn’t deal with them now.  If she had to explain the burns and her situation to one more person, she was going to scream.

“Miranda, hi!” Sierra chirped with impossible sweetness.

“Sierra,” she grimaced behind her veil. “Sorry!  I’ve gotta … go … do … something,” she mumbled, rushing off before they could stop her.

“I’m glad you could make it, son,” James Blackthorne said to Stormy.  “It’s important to me that the entire family is here for Brooke and for each other today.”

Stormy nodded solemnly. “I know Ethan was like a second son to you. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I think it will take some time until it truly sinks in,” James said. “Did you find Kelly? How were things in Hawaii?”

“Frustrating,” Stormy sighed.  Attempting to track down his runaway bride hadn’t been going as smoothly as he’d hoped.  For all his time in Hawaii, he’d barely made any progress in his search.  “I had Eddie search all the flights leaving L.A., but we haven’t been able to find her.  Leilani gave me a few ideas too, but nothing’s panned out.”

“What about her friends and family there? Have they seen her?”

“If they have, they aren’t saying anything to me about her. But I don’t think she’s been home.  I talked to her friend there -- Ke Liu. He hasn’t heard from her either, and I’m pretty sure she would have said something to him if she went back to Hawaii.  I don’t know what to do anymore, but I‘m not giving up ‘til I find her.”

“She’ll come back to you.  She was probably just overwhelmed by everything that was happening, but she’ll realize what she’s done -- and what she’s missing by leaving you.”

“If she would just talk to me,” he said. “She thinks she’ll never fit into this family, and I can’t say I blame her with the way Mom treated her.”

“Speak of the devil,” James said as Alex sauntered over to the two of them.

Alex narrowed her eyes at James, but ignored him in favor of Stormy. “Stormy, I know you’re upset with me--”

“Yeah. I am,” he said wryly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t be like this,” she said, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. “I know you blame me for Kelly leaving, but this isn’t my fault.  I didn’t say or do anything to her.  Not this time…”

“You couldn’t just accept her and leave well enough alone, could you?”

“I didn’t think she was right for you.  I still don’t,” Alex admitted. “But if Kelly makes you happy, then you should be with her. I won’t stand in your way.”

Stormy huffed in response. “Sure, you say that now that she’s gone and left me. Now you want me to be happy with her?” he asked, incredulous. “If you really want to make me happy, then butt out of this, okay?“ Stormy said, shoving by his mother to escape her.

Brooke left the bathroom after adjusting her makeup.  At first, she’d ached all over, but now she was numb to the pain, for the moment at least. She felt as though she had no tears left inside her, but once this was over, once everyone was gone, she was sure they would return anew.

She bumped into Jackie Lamont in the hallway carrying a bouquet of flowers she‘d just transferred to a fresh vase.  Jackie set the flowers aside for the moment to wrap Brooke in a one-sided hug.

“Brooke, I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to get to know each other better.  I only wish the circumstances were different, of course.” Jackie took in Brooke’s tired, withered visage. “You poor thing. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

Something about Jackie’s tone was unnerving and overly dramatic.  Brooke wasn’t about to be patronized. She didn’t have time for whatever games Jackie had in mind -- not today. She tried to excuse herself, but Jackie trailed after her.

“Oh, wait. Yes, I can imagine it, because my husband died and left me all alone, too.”

Brooke gave her a sympathetic smile, but refused to indulge her by being baited into a response.

“You see, I used to be happy.  Kind of like you, the way you were with Ethan.  That’s how it was with Royce and me.  But happiness is fleeting, really. Wouldn‘t you agree?”  Jackie wore a bitter smile, and Brooke was beginning to see where this was going to end up.  She wasn’t liking it.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to take things for granted.  Not to take people for granted.  The ones who really care about me, at least,” Brooke said, narrowing her eyes at Jackie.

“If you say so.  I hope you’re enjoying your day of playing the victim, Brooke.  Once it’s over, everyone will forget about you and you’ll be just like me -- alone. And you‘ll deserve it, for all the damage you‘ve caused.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Brooke said, truly irritated now.  Who did this woman think she was? “Where is James?”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? We’re at Ethan’s funeral for God’s sake, and you’re already trying to snare your ex-husband?  Your pill-popping, social-climbing mother lured Royce away from me, and now you think you’re going to take James from me, too?”

Brooke crossed her arms over her chest. “Funny.  I didn’t realize you and James were together.  I don’t think James would agree with you.”  Jackie was perilously close to crossing the line with Brooke. “I’m not looking to get back with James. But it has nothing to do with you and this fantasy of a relationship you think you have with him.”

Just as Jackie looked ready to attack, David gratefully appeared on the scene.  “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “Your mother was just offering me some advice, but I told her I could take care of myself.” She flashed Jackie a tight smile, but David could see right through the both of them.

“Come on,” he said, leading Brooke away from his mother and out to the terrace. “I’m sorry for whatever she said to you,” David said once they were alone.

“Your mother is a real piece of work,” Brooke said, her heart rate returning to normal as the anger dissipated.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, as the two of them watched Jackie sidle her way back to James’s side and take his arm. “She really is…”

Alex was out in the porte-cochere by herself when Renee DeWitt stepped outside to meet her. Alex rolled her eyes and stubbed out her cigarette. “Hello, Renee.  Cigarette?” she offered.

“Never,” Renee answered.

“Then I’m not sure what else we might have to say to one another.”

Renee frowned at Alex’s dismissal. Once upon a time they’d been civil, back when James and Alex were married.  But that seemed like so long ago now. 

“I wanted to ask you about Jordan.  How is he holding up?”

Alex shrugged her shoulders. “How the hell should I know?  He’s in jail and I’m not speaking to him, end of story.”

“He’s your husband, Alex.  You don’t think you should give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“I’m not as generous as you.  Whatever this is about, he’s kept it a secret and lied to me all through our marriage.  Why should I start trusting him now?”

“Because he’s not a killer.  We both know Jordan couldn’t have done what he’s being accused of.  Honestly, do you really think that little of him?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Alex said quickly, fidgeting and adjusting her hair nervously.  It wasn’t often Renee heard Alex admit that she didn’t have all the answers.  It was a rare moment of seeing the real Alex and not her usual, chilly façade. “Of course I want to believe him, but there are things that don’t add up.  Even you have to admit that.”

Alex was right. There were a lot of unanswered questions and some serious allegations, but Renee just couldn’t be convinced that Jordan was capable of murder. He was a sweet, caring man.  “He’s stood by us through some dark times.  With Nathan and with Stratotech -- everything we’ve both been through these past months.  We should try to do the same for him.”

“Well, he’s being arraigned this afternoon.” She looked at her Swarovski crystal watch. “A few minutes from now, actually.  If you really care so much about him, maybe you would have known that and been there for him.”

Renee shook her head in disappointment and wandered back into the house.

Alex stared out the front gates of the mansion blankly, then looked at her watch again. She lit a fresh cigarette, but it would take more than some nicotine to calm her frayed nerves this time.

Downtown, the courthouse was surrounded by photographers and reporters, itching for the breaking news of Jordan Rydell’s arraignment. 

“A body was recovered, buried on the grounds of one of Hollywood’s top moviemakers.  What does Jordan Rydell know about the crime?” a reporter announced, focused intently on the camera in front of her. 

Brett Armstrong and Benji Rydell pushed their way through the crowd, ignoring the cameras and flashbulbs to enter the courthouse.

The arraignment began just after their arrival.  Brett exchanged greetings with Kenny DeWitt, Jordan’s lawyer.  “How does it look for him?” Brett asked.

“How do you think it looks?” Kenny said, trying to maintain his composure despite the evidence against his client. “His brother’s body was found on his property.  It’s certainly not good for him.”

Benji rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. But I thought you were supposed to defend my dad.  You might try coming up with something a little more creative to say to the judge.”

Brett twisted with concern.  He’d become close with Jordan, bonding with his father-in-law as they worked to help Heather and tried to decide what was best for both her and Violet.  Brett found it hard to believe the accusations being leveled at Jordan, who was so committed to taking care of his family.

But Brett also knew that Jordan would go to any lengths to protect his family from harm.  Maybe this was one of those times that he’d taken things too far?

The arraignment played out.  Kenny was right. Things weren’t good for Jordan.  He was formally charged for the murder of Troy Beauchamp.

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Jordan said, sounding far more confident than Brett knew he must be.

The court accepted his plea and set a date for his trial, but Brett wasn’t paying attention.  He was too preoccupied with thoughts of Jordan and Heather -- still missing -- wondering how things had gone so wrong.  He needed Jordan’s help in finding Heather.  Every second they sat here was another second he was away from his wife, and another second she was away from Violet.

“My client is not a flight risk,” Kenny was saying, hoping Jordan could be released on bail.  “Jordan Rydell is a well-known public figure whose every move will be documented in light of these allegations. His family, his friends, and his business are all based in this city.”

“Duly noted,” the judge said. “Bail will be set at one million dollars.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Benji said sardonically, looking to Brett.

“Don’t worry.  You’ll be home in no time,” Kenny said to Jordan and the others once the arraignment ended.

“The bail is nothing. These charges are ludicrous. Just get me home as soon as you can, okay? I need to find my daughter. She hasn‘t contacted either of you, has she?” he asked Brett and Benji.

They shook their heads, and Jordan sighed miserably.

Jordan Rydell’s house in Beverly Hills was all too quiet.  With Jordan and Benji at the courthouse, and the staff off for the day wondering if they would still have jobs in light of Jordan‘s arrest, there was nobody around … nobody except for Heather, that was.

She drifted from room to room, seeing but unseeing. She trailed a hand along the credenza, touching various family photos as she passed. She raised one frame from the mantle, stopped to look at it, but her eyes were glazed over and unfocused.

Since her visit with Dr. Anderson, Heather had been living in a dream world with only one thing on her clouded mind -- carrying out the instructions her psychiatrist had given her under hypnotic suggestion.

She struggled to pull herself out from under the fog of her mind, but it was no use.  The clarity she reached for kept slipping through her fingers until there was nothing left to grab on to.

And until she saw her father again, she would remain lost in her own head.

Heather wandered down the stairs heading for her father’s study, but when she reached the middle of the staircase, she stopped in place.  Something flashed in her mind -- a sliver of a memory cutting through the haze.

She flashed back to a different time, years ago.  She was standing in the same spot then as she was now, but in this memory, she was a little girl and it was no longer the middle of day. Instead, it was the blackest of nights. The night her mother left her forever…

“What did he do to you!”

Jordan Rydell’s voice rang in her head, frightening Heather in her memories.  She stood near the bottom of the staircase, frozen in silence as she listened to her parents’ argument. 

Loud music drowned out any response Heather might have overheard, the clatter and clash of the instruments ringing in her head instead.

Horns blared, a saxophone wailed -- or was it a scream?

Her heart raced. The young Heather suddenly felt sick, afraid to stay and listen, but too stricken to move from her position on the staircase.  Instead, she sank to the floor, covering her ears with tiny hands.

“Stop it! Stop it!” she whispered to herself, praying for all the noise -- those frightening sounds! -- to just go away.  “Stop!” she hissed.

And just like that, it was silence.  No music, no screams, just emptiness.

The young Heather Rydell finally forced herself to open her eyes to the empty room. She looked up the stairs, but there was nobody.

She walked down the stairs carefully, gingerly, afraid she might set off some invisible alarm or trigger that would begin the madness anew.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she dared to take a breath … and that’s when she saw it.

She stood in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs, it’s violent red hue slick and staining her bare feet.  It seeped into the hem of her floor-length nightgown.  So much blood…

This time, Heather was the one doing the screaming.

“Noooooo!” she shrieked.

Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it anymore -- the painful memories -- a rolling fog swirled in and closed up the window to the past, shrouding the younger Heather, the staircase, the blood, and swept it all away to some far corner of her mind.

She was at peace again, solemn and relaxed, just the way Dr. Anderson wanted her to be for the task at hand.

Heather lifted an arm.  It was like she was a marionette, her limbs being guided by invisible strings.  She found herself reaching into the purse slung over her shoulder. When she lifted her arm again, she was holding a small, silvery gun. 

And she knew exactly why Dr. Anderson had given it to her.

As the afternoon carried on, Malcolm Harris felt more and more out of place among the crowd of mourners.  Everyone knew everyone else, and he felt like he was an outsider, intruding on a family’s private grief.  If it weren’t for Sierra, he would have just left, but he knew Sierra and her mother were close to the Blackthornes and that she wanted to be there.

Sierra had left him alone for a moment, so he stood by himself, sipping at his drink and trying to blend in as best he could.  Across the room, he spotted his father in the same boat as he was.

“Dad, what happened to Renee?” Malcolm asked, grateful for an opening with someone he knew.

“She had to make a phone call.  Something about Jordan Rydell’s trial, or arraignment, or whatever it is he’s gotten himself into.  And where’s Miss Sierra?” T.T. Levitt asked, glancing over the crowd.

“She left me for a moment, and I didn’t want to be the awkward guy who doesn’t know anybody, standing by himself in the center of the room,” Malcolm answered with a self-deprecating smile.

“I can understand that,” T.T. said, matching his son’s toothy grin.

“So, have you made any progress with Renee?”

T.T. arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Malcolm shrugged, trying to get a read on the situation.  He wasn’t sure what his father’s intentions were as far as Renee DeWitt was concerned, but he could sense something brewing behind those dark eyes of his.  “I just wondered if you were … never mind.  Forget it,” he said.

“Renee and I are simply old friends.  It’s been a pleasure getting reacquainted with her. It was inevitable that we would run into each other, since you’ve begun dating her daughter, but that’s all there is to it.”

“If you say so,” Malcolm answered, trying to hide the smirk on his lips. “Just be careful.”

“Careful?”

“I really like Sierra, okay?  We’re starting to get serious, and I don’t want there to be any … complications that might ruin things for us.”

“You can rest assured that I won’t complicate things for you,” T.T. said with a condescending smile.

“Good.” Malcolm said, hoping his father could be trusted. “Oh, by the way, Angela called this morning.”  He leveled his gaze on his father hoping for some sort of reaction, but T.T. remained stone-faced. “She said she’s coming to L.A. soon. It was good of her to call, don‘t you think?”

Malcolm swallowed the last of his drink and handed the glass to T.T. before walking off.

T.T. looked into the empty glass, his mind swirling.  His fist was clenched around the stem of the glass, his knuckles tight.

“I’m back,” Renee announced, appearing at his side.  T.T. eased up, regaining his composure for her benefit.

“What did you find out?”

“I talked to Kenny.  Jordan’s being released on bail.  At least he’ll be out of jail.”

“For now,” T.T. said ominously, earning a glare from Renee.

“I should go find Sierra.”

“Renee, wait.” He took her hand. “What do you say to dinner later this evening? It will be something to look forward to after such a taxing day for all of us.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Renee said, gently removing her hand from his.

“We can go wherever you’d like.  We still have a lot of catching up to do.  You know you could never say no to me.”

“And you could never say no, period. That was always your problem,” she shot back. “I don’t know what you thought was going to happen when you came back into my life, but I’ve had my fill of liars and cheaters.  I’m not interested.”

“That’s too bad,” T.T. said, after she’d already left to rejoin the Blackthornes. “That’s a damn shame.”

“Miranda? Miranda, are you down here?”

Stormy walked down to the sub-level of the Blackthorne Mansion, a dark private theatre James had always used to host screenings of his latest films.

He heard a crash from the theatre, then a distinctive: “Dammit!”

“Aha! Found you,” he said, turning up the brightness of the dimmed lights.

“Don’t turn them up any higher!” Miranda warned.  Stormy obeyed her request, then took a seat next to her in front of the projector screen.

“How did you know I was down here?” she asked, her voice low.

“Lucky guess,” he answered. “You’re kinda predictable, you know?  I knew you’d be lurking down here.  It’s classic Phantom of the Opera syndrome.”

She slapped his chest hard. “I’m glad you can joke about my ghoulish disfigurement, you asshole!”

“I’m sorry!” he said. “Ow,” he rubbed his chest where she clobbered him.  “It’s really not that bad.  It looks ten times worse to you because it’s your face, but they can fix almost anything these days.  You’ll be good as new when they’re finished with you.  You’ll probably even look better than you did before!”

“Like that’s even possible,” she snapped.  “Will you leave me alone now?  I just want to be by myself until all these people go home.”

“I don’t know if Kelly’s ever coming back to me,” he said gravely, ignoring her.

“Way to change the subject.  I don’t care.  Didn’t you hear me?”

“I know you never liked her, but you’re not the only one going through a tough time. It hasn’t been easy for me either. So, can I join the pity party now?”

“Hmph,“ she pouted, plopping back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but Kelly was a scheming bitch who never deserved you to begin with. Her leaving is probably the best thing that could have come from that situation.”

“You sound more and more like Mom every day, you know that?”

“Okay, you can leave now,” she said, irritated.

“You can’t keep pushing people away, Miranda.  It’s not good for you,” he said.  “Once you get those burns fixed, you’re going to look fine again.  But if you lash out at everybody, no one’s gonna be there for you when you’re ready to show your face again.”

“I don’t care.  I don’t need anybody to ‘be there’ for me.”

“What about Eddie? He genuinely cares about you and you know it.  Dad said Eddie was by your bedside the entire time you were in the hospital.”

“Eddie’s an oaf. I don’t know what I was thinking when we had our … minor infatuation with each other, but whatever it was, it’s over now.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Stormy said, annoyed she could be so callous and selfish.

“I’m not the same person I was before the earthquake, Stormy.  It’s hard enough to get through the day. I don’t have the energy to care about anyone else or what anyone thinks anymore. I have nothing to offer now.”

Stormy looked at his sister. It pained him to see her so broken down. “That’s hardly the truth.”

“It’s the truth to me. It’s how I feel inside, and no matter what you say to try to boost me up, I can’t lie to myself to make it feel any different.”

She refused to listen to reason.  She was basically admitting as much and giving up before she even had any answers.  Until her face was fixed, if it even could be fixed to her satisfaction, there would be no getting through to Miranda.

The crowd was thinning out at the Blackthorne Mansion now and the wake was winding down.  James Blackthorne sighed.

“You look exhausted,” Jackie Lamont said, seizing the opportunity to pull him aside.

“It’s been a long day,” was all he could answer. Losing Ethan was every bit as hard as he imagined losing one of his own children would be.  He’d always looked at Ethan as a son.  He felt he owed it to his sister Georgie to take care of her baby after she’d died, but now Ethan was gone too.  If only he could have stopped Ethan from getting into that car. Forgive me, Georgie.

“Don’t worry, James.  I’ll take care of everything,” Jackie said, leaning into him.  He gave her a mechanical embrace, but he was too beaten down from the day’s events to muster any sort of enthusiasm for the woman. 

Despite all she had done for the Blackthornes and her help in arranging Ethan’s funeral, James refused to trust her and whatever designs she’d set on him.

Still, he warmed to her. And he had to admit it felt nice to hold her… to breathe in the honeyed, sweet scent of her elegantly-styled hair as she rested her head against his shoulder.  But an embrace was as far as he could ever allow himself to go with her.  Jackie Lamont was playing a dangerous game, and he wanted no part of it.

James saw Brooke eyeing him from across the room.  She waved him over, and he was all-too happy to oblige.

“Excuse me for a moment. I’ve got to go talk to Brooke,” he said, breaking free of her.

Jackie tapped her heel on the floor in irritation as James left her side to be with his ex-wife, but James didn’t care.  It was fun to watch her fume.

“What’s the matter, Brooke?” James asked once he’d joined her.  She was pale and shaking.

“I just got a phone call … from Kenny.  He said Ethan left me everything.  All that money, Will Thomerson’s fortune, for me and Michael.”

“That’s great, Brooke.  At least you’ll be taken care of.  It’s what he wanted for you and his son.”

“I know,” she said, looking to the floor. “I just … I can’t help but feel a little guilty or undeserving. I mean, after everything I put him through.”

“He loved you,” James reassured her. “He’s always loved you, he’s loved you from the day you met.  Even I could see that, as hard as I tried to ignore the signs.”

“Thanks, James.” Brooke said, grateful she’d been able to maintain such a strong  friendship with her once-husband.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about.  If anything, I’m the one who ruined his life.  I should have told him the truth about Will Thomerson being his father a long time ago.  Ethan was so angry with me when he found out.  We wasted so much time fighting with each other…”

“Maybe,” Brooke offered. “But you did it for the right reasons.  You had his best interests at heart.  We all know what kind of man Will Thomerson was.  Who knows how Ethan would have turned out if Will had been a part of his life?”

“You’re right.  He might have been a completely different person.”

“Certainly a different man than the one I fell in love with,” Brooke reasoned.

A silence settled between them, but it was a peaceful silence.  The mansion had mostly cleared out, with only a few guests left behind.

“What will you do with the money?” James asked, curious.  “You have so many options available to you now.”

“I haven’t even started to think of that,” Brooke said honestly. “I’ll start a college fund for Michael, of course.  But beyond that … who can say what the future has in store?”

“We’re here to see Dr. Madison,” Eddie Distefano said to the receptionist.  He and his brother had come to pay a visit to their father’s psychiatrist following his erratic behavior and strange schedule of comings and goings in recent days.

Eddie finally broke down and called Dr. Madison once Blake had noticed their father hadn’t been taking the medication in his daily pillbox.

“Your father has missed his last four appointments,” the psychiatrist said once Blake and Eddie had been ushered into his office. “We have a very regular appointment schedule, and, given his condition, I’ve been quite concerned.  He hasn’t been answering my calls, either.”

“He’s been acting weird lately,” Blake said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Blake said he comes home late, and that he’s heard him talking to himself.”

“This is disturbing news,” Dr. Madison said, writing something on his notepad.  He flipped back several pages and studied his files.  “And you think he’s stopped taking his medication? Is that right?”

Blake nodded.  “I started counting his pills. I was worried about him.”

“You’re very right to be concerned.”

“Well, I’m sick of it,” Eddie said. “I’m glad I moved out and don’t have to deal with this anymore.  I’m tired of taking care of him.  He’s a grown man! Why can’t he just take his medication and deal with it himself.”

Dr. Madison frowned. “Your father’s condition is very delicate, Eddie.  I’m not sure what set him off this time, but we need to get him back on his medication.”

“What can we do?” Blake asked, worried.

“When he comes home again, do whatever it takes to get him here to my office.  It’s vital that we find him as soon as possible and control his schizophrenia before he can harm himself or others.”

“Others?” Blake asked with a gulp.

“He would never do anything to hurt us,” Eddie insisted. “Right, doc?”

“Until Mr. Distefano is back to following his prescription, there’s no telling what he might do.”

Later that evening, Brett Armstrong swung by the Blackthorne Mansion, his Maserati screeching to a halt in the front drive.  At the door, he asked to see Miranda, but Leilani informed him that she wasn‘t taking visitors.  Brett wouldn’t take no for an answer.  He knew how Miranda could be, and try as she might, she couldn’t hide from him.

“She doesn’t want to see you!” Leilani bellowed, trailing after him.  But her short, thick legs were no match for his athletic stride.

“What are you doing here!” Miranda barked as Brett ducked into her room. “I told Leilani no visitors!” She scrambled to cover her face, grabbing the hat and veil she’d worn to the funeral.

“I needed to talk to you … about Heather. I wouldn‘t have come if it wasn‘t important,” he implored.  “Heather’s missing and we haven’t been able to find her.”

“Well, she hasn’t called me, if that’s what you wanted to know,” Miranda said in a clipped tone.

“This is serious. Something weird is going on, and I don’t know how to help her.”

Miranda glared at him.  “Sometimes a girl just wants to be left alone for a while. Maybe Heather needed some space?  Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a little space of my own.  Can’t you see I have my own problems to deal with?”

“You’re not as cold as you like to pretend you are. I know you, Miranda. And I know you must be worried about Heather, too.  Jordan is convinced Dr. Anderson is the one responsible for this, and I think he might be right.”

“Yeah…” she began pacing across the room as her mind worked. “Now that you mention it, that whole thing seemed kind of weird.  Finding that fake beard and glue in Dr. Anderson’s office.  And then the playbill for Don Juan.  It all seemed so random.”

Miranda continued to pace, and Brett started to rehash the evidence again for the thousandth time.  It felt like they were on the verge of something.

“You know, Eddie took me to see his father in Don Juan a few weeks ago.  I didn’t want to say anything to offend him at the time, but the whole production was pretty terrible.  Victor’s always so melodramatic in his roles,” she rattled off. “Hey! Wouldn’t it be wild if Dr. Anderson was Victor in disguise?”

She started laughing.  It was a funny conspiracy theory … until Brett stopped and thought it through.  Then it wasn’t so funny anymore. 

Brett realized she was right.  “Oh my God.”

“What?” Miranda asked, throwing her hands up in the air.  “It was a joke, you moron.”

“No! You’re one hundred percent right about the entire thing!” Brett said, his words a rush.  “Jordan had an affair with Victor’s wife, Sylvie.  It was a long time ago, but … what if Victor’s been hung up on it for all these years? It would make sense.”

“Then he would have done something a long time ago, don‘t you think?”

“Maybe he’s been biding his time. Plotting his perfect revenge. If he’s gone so far as to pose as a psychiatrist to mess with Heather’s mind, who knows how elaborate this scheme is -- or how long he’s been sabotaging Jordan, and Heather, and whoever else he’s after!”

Brett knew he was right about this.  Victor was after Jordan, and Brett had to warn him.  They had to find Heather before it was too late.

Jordan wished he could feel relieved to be returning home from his court hearing, but all he felt was drained.  The last thing he ever wanted was for his past to come back to haunt him like this, and to top it all off, it had to happen at the worst possible time -- when Heather needed him the most.

How was he supposed to help his deeply-troubled daughter from behind bars?  The only way he could face a potential prison sentence was if he knew his children were safe and taken care of in his absence.  He was more resolved than ever to bring Heather home.

Jordan unlocked the front door and headed upstairs.  He couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and change into some fresh clothes.

He entered his bedroom, and the moment he stepped into the room, he felt a crippling blow to the side of his head.

Jordan’s body fell to the floor.  If he’d remained conscious for even a second longer, he might have seen his attacker standing over him with the gold-plated award statue she’d used as her weapon.

Then he would have realized that his daughter had been right under his nose the entire time. 

Heather was home.

Across town at L.A.X., a Swiss Air International Flight had finally reached its destination.

At the front of the First Class section, a woman drummed her fingers against the armrest.  She was impatient, but more anxious than anything else.

The flight attendant announced their landing, and the passengers prepared to exit the plane.  The woman unfastened her safety belt and began to stand when she felt a hand touch her forearm.

“Excuse me,” the middle-aged woman sitting next to her said, giving her a cautious look before proceeding. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for the entire flight, but I didn’t want to seem rude…”

“What is it?”

“It’s just … did you play Faye Richards in The Young at Heart?”

The woman gave her fan a warm smile. “Yes. That was me.”

“I knew it!” the fan said, breaking into a frenzied giggle. “I knew you were her!  Can I get your autograph?”

She was quick to shove a piece of paper and a pen toward her idol, who graciously obliged.  In her trademark handwriting she signed her name:

Suzanne Rogers.

Next time....

Suzanne's homecoming enters dangerous territory, but not before she recalls the events leading up to her disappearance.

Read Episode 95

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