Previously...

The police found an ax and locket hidden beneath the floorboards in Jordan's attic.  Heather remembered being in the car with her mother when they crashed over a cliff, then later recalled the brain surgery that had cut out many of her memories and her ability to retain information during times of stress.  Dr. Anderson removed his wig and glasses and was revealed to be Victor Distefano.  Victor kidnapped Heather and put his plan into motion, hypnotizing her into killing Jordan.  After being released on bail for Troy's murder, Jordan returned home and was knocked unconscious by Heather.  Brett put two and two together and realized that Dr. Anderson and Victor were one in the same, and that Victor was trying to get revenge on Jordan for sleeping with his wife.  Eddie and Blake spoke to Victor's psychiatrist who cautioned them that he could be dangerous if he didn't resume taking his medication.  

Episode 95

"A Nightingale Sings"

When she got off the plane, she went straight for the baggage claim.  She’d only packed one small suitcase in her haste to leave.  Standing by the conveyor belt, she glanced around the crowded terminal.  It felt strange being back after more than twelve years away.  She didn’t think she would remember much, but soon the memories began flooding back to her as if it had just happened yesterday. 

Plucking a folded newspaper from her purse, Suzanne Rogers stared again at the front page headline.   Jordan Rydell Arrested for Brother’s Murder.  She read it over and over again before closing her eyes in despair.  If only they knew the real story. 

. . . . . . . . March, 1996 . . . . . . . .

“Your guilt over your daughter’s accident is a powerful thing,” Dr. Julian Wainwright said to her in his office in Beverly Hills.  “It’s my job to help you cope with that guilt.”

“I’m just tired of feeling this way,” Suzanne cried on the leather sofa in the small office.  “I hate what Jordan’s affair has done to my family.  If only he had never slept with Sylvie Distefano, I wouldn’t have been driving that night, Heather wouldn’t have been in the car with me, and she wouldn’t have almost died on that cliff.”

“Has he seen her again?” Wainwright asked.  “Sylvie, I mean.”

She shook her head.  “No.  She moved to Fresno shortly after.  She left her husband and their two boys.  God, they ruined so many lives with their selfishness.”

“And yet you stay with him.  Why?”

Suzanne broke down in tears, wiping her eyes and trying to regain her composure.  “For Heather.  She’s recovering but she’s different.  She hasn’t remembered the accident or what led up to it.  They don’t know that she ever will.  I just can’t take away the only thing that she knows...her family.”

“You mentioned a man,” Wainwright went on.  “Jordan’s brother.  Where does he fit in?”

She shook her head dismissively.  “He doesn’t.  Troy is sweet and attentive and he’s helped me through all of this.  I can talk to him about things that I can’t with Jordan.”

Wainwright fidgeted with his beard and glasses, rising from his chair.  “You’re very upset,” he began.  “I’d like to try something to help you relax and to help you deal with some of this guilt.  I have some experience in hypnotherapy.”

“Hypnosis?” Suzanne asked.  “Do you think that would help?”

He walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “It’s worth a try.”

. . . . . . . .

For two weeks, Suzanne made regular appointments with Dr. Wainwright.  Each session he would put her under.  She would wake up feeling refreshed and energized.  When she would ask him particulars about the therapy, he was astonishingly vague.  Meanwhile, her marriage to Jordan meandered along.  Troy continued hanging on as tight as he could.  She knew he was in love with her, but selfishly she used him as a sounding board, careful to never give him false hope. 

When James Blackthorne offered her a role in his film, Monaco, Troy helped her run lines.  Frank Dunning was set to direct, and he made himself available to her night and day in response to her weariness over returning to work.

The day before filming was to begin on Monaco, something happened to make her realize her marriage was over.  It happened before she even left the house.

“I don’t understand why you insist on going back to work,” Jordan bellowed from the dressing mirror in their bedroom.  “For James Blackthorne of all people.  If you wanted to work again you should have told me.  I’m every bit the producer he is, you know.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Suzanne replied, clipping on a pair of earrings.  “I think Frank Dunning put in a good word for me because we’ve worked together before.  That’s the only reason James offered me the role.”

“Why are you changing the game on me?”

“I’m not changing the game,” she replied with irritation. 

“When you had Benji you said you were quitting work so you could concentrate on our children.”

“I did quit work, but Benji is five years old now.  He’s starting kindergarten in the fall.  I don’t see the harm in me taking a few roles.  I need something to do.”

“Something other than hanging around with my brother all day, you mean?” Jordan asked bitterly.

“We’ve been over this,” Suzanne said with exhaustion.  She busied herself by piling things into her purse.  “Troy is a friend.  There’s nothing going on between us.”

Jordan looked at her through the reflection in the mirror.  “I see the way he looks at you.  Hell, Lola even mentioned it to me the other night at dinner.”

“Lola likes to cause trouble.”

“He’s in love with you.”  Finally, he turned to face her.

Suzanne folded her arms belligerently.  “Why don’t you just admit what’s really on your mind?  You’re afraid that I’m going to cheat on you the same way you cheated on me.  You think I’m trying to get back at you.”

“Are you?”

“No!” Suzanne screamed.  “God, I am so tired of having this conversation!”

“He called here three times yesterday!  He won’t leave you alone!  I know my brother!  He’s been in love with you since the day you met him!”

“Well I’m not in love with him.  Besides, look what happened the last time one of us had an affair.  Our daughter wound up getting her head sliced open on the operating table.”

Low blow, Jordan thought angrily.   “I wasn’t the one who drove over there during a thunderstorm with our daughter in the car.  Your emotions were out of control.  You should never have been behind the wheel of that car.”

“So it’s my fault?” Suzanne raged, charging toward him.  “How dare you!  How dare you, you bastard!”

He immediately regretted the remark.  Suzanne had fought for months to control her guilt over the car accident.  She was in therapy three times a week just to find a way to cope.  His rubbing her nose in it wasn’t helping.

“I’m sorry.“

“You’re the one who had the affair.  You’re the reason I was in the car that night.   It’s because of you that Heather isn’t the same girl she was six months ago.”

“Oh, and who’s telling you that?  Your shrink?  Just what the hell goes on in those sessions, anyway?  And why have I never been asked to sit in?  How do I know this Dr. Wainwright isn’t some kind of quack?”

“Because it isn’t about you!” Suzanne yelled, grabbed her purse, and flew down the stairs.  She saw Heather and Benji standing in the doorway of the game room, eyes wide.  Her heart told her to stop and explain that none of this was their fault, but she had to get out of there before she did something she would regret. 

Jordan instructed the children to go back inside the room.  He followed fast on her heels, grabbing her arm and pulling her back before she got to the bottom landing.

“Don’t walk away from me!” he screamed. 

“Let go of me!”  She pushed him away so hard that he lost his balance and fell.   By the time he regained his footing, she was out the door. 

Heather stood at the top of the stairs, watching blankly as her parents continued with their argument.

“Suzanne!”  Jordan charged after her, running through the front lawn and nearly tripping over something lying in the grass.  “God damn that gardener!  How many times have I told him not to leave things lying around like this?  What if one of the kids found this?”

He bent down and picked up the ax, charging into the garage and placing it on a shelf where it was out of harms way. 

By the time he got back to the driveway, Suzanne was in the car.  “We have to talk about this.  Are you coming to the party tonight?”

She shook her head.  “No, I’m not coming to the party.  I’m surprised you are.  Why in the hell would you want to go to Victor Distefano’s house after you slept with his wife?”

“Benji wants to go to Blake’s party.  If you aren’t going then I’ll have to take him myself.”

“I’m meeting Frank for drinks tonight.  I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Suzanne!”  He ran his fingers through his hair and watched as she backed out of the driveway and drove off at breakneck speed.

. . . . . . . .

She spent the morning having a last minute costume fitting at Sunset Studios, met Renee DeWitt for lunch, then went to see Dr. Wainwright.  As usual, the hypnotherapy worked.  She felt much calmer afterwards.  She’d even made a decision.  A decision she couldn’t wait to share with someone. 

. . . . . . . .

That night, she met Frank for drinks at the Polo Lounge.  After they settled down into a booth, they were startled by a small earthquake that shook the building and cut the power off to the entire hotel for a few nerve-racking minutes.  

“That was scary,” said Suzanne once the screams and the chatter had halted.  “I wonder if the lights are out all over town.”

Frank Dunning peered across the room to the window.  “Looks like they’re back on now.  Probably just a temporary interruption.  It was only a small tremor.  Doesn’t look like there was much damage.”

“Tell that to my martini,” she replied with a grin and motioned to her drink that had toppled to the floor during the violent shake.

He laughed.  “Nervous about tomorrow?” he asked, flagging the waitress for another martini.

“Somewhat,” she replied.  “It’s been a while since I’ve worked.”

“You’ll be fine.  Is that all that’s bothering you?  You seem distant.  Are you still seeing Dr. Wainwright?”

“Yes.  I’m fine, really.  I appreciate the opportunity.   You and James have been very kind.  This film is exactly what I need right now.”

Frank smiled and offered a toast.  “I’m glad, Suzanne.  Monaco is going to be the biggest blockbuster of 1996.  Mark my words.” 

“That is the one bright spot in all of this,” Suzanne remarked.  “Now that my marriage is falling apart.  Even Dr. Wainwright can’t stop that.  All the therapy in the world couldn’t stop that.”

“What does he say about the affair?” Frank inquired.

“What can he say?  What’s done is done.  And now my marriage is paying for it.”

“I can’t imagine Jordan taking this out on you,” Frank said.

Suzanne looked down and closed her eyes while stirring her drink with the tip of her finger.  “We had such a huge fight this morning,” she said.  “About Dr. Wainwright, about Troy, about Jordan’s affair.  Heather and Benji heard everything.  Heather was so upset.  She’s twelve years old.  She’s so impressionable.”

“What are you going to do?”

She looked at him and took a deep breath.  “I think I’m going to leave him.”

. . . . . . . .

It was getting late, and Suzanne had an unsettling feeling of uneasiness after the earthquake, so following her meeting with Frank, she headed home.  She pulled her Range Rover up to the mailbox by the curb and removed a stack of envelopes.

Once inside their palatial Beverly Hills mansion, she found herself alone, Jordan and their children nowhere to be found.   She remembered they were at Blake Distefano’s birthday party.

Aside from a few nick-knacks that had fallen, it didn’t look like there had been much damage from the tremor.  She wondered if it was a warning for something bigger coming.

She finished opening the mail and found a CD in a padded envelope addressed to her from Dr. Wainwright.  Curious, she walked to the stereo.  Her hand trembled as she ejected the tray and placed the disc into the CD player.  She watched the digital display load, and then flash for a second or two before the pounding piano chords of Jackson Brown’s “Running on Empty” filled the room.  She was suddenly at ease, soothed by the feelings of nostalgia the song provided her.  She set the jewel case onto the desk next to the envelope.  She closed her eyes, standing perfectly still while letting every note soak into her senses.  Everything else faded to black.  In her mind, she heard the faint sounds of Dr. Wainwright’s voice. 

“When you awaken, you will be alert and have no memory of what we’ve discussed,” he’d said.  “When you hear the song, you will do as I’ve instructed.  You will remain under my control until you have completed your mission.  You must kill Jordan.”

The words echoed in her mind as she walked into the garage and returned gripping the ax tightly in her hands.  She saw headlights shine through the living room windows.  Cloaked in the dark shadows of the room, she raised the ax high above her head.

You must kill Jordan.

When the door opened, the children ran upstairs followed by a trail of streamers and balloons.  She heard them giggling and their feet stomping on the steps.  Jordan instructed them to take their baths and he would be up to tuck them in. 

“Suzanne?” he called from the entryway.  “Are you home?”

She tightened her grip on the wooden handle of the ax. 

You must kill Jordan.

“Suzanne?” Jordan continued, walking through the doorway to the living room. “Music’s kind of loud.  You having a party?”

He walked to the stereo and pressed the stop button.  An eerie silence filled the room.  He heard a sound from behind and moved to the side just as the ax crashed down at blinding speed, narrowly missing his head and instead embedding itself in the stereo.  Sparks flew through the air and the lights in the living room flickered for a second or two.

“Suzanne!” Jordan screamed, backing up and trying to regain his footing after the close call.  He looked into his wife’s eyes and saw something that he’d never seen before.  She was like a different person.  “Suzanne, what are you doing?”

“You must kill Jordan,” she said aloud, pulling the ax from the stereo and raising it above her head again.  “You must kill Jordan.”

Confusion set in.  Jordan didn’t know whether she was joking or rehearsing a scene from her film.  Either way, she was very convincing.

“This isn’t funny,” he said, backing away from her.  “Suzanne, stop it.  The kids are just upstairs.  You'll scare them.”

For a second it looked like she was going to retreat.  Jordan let out a deep breath and went to take the ax from her.   Without warning, she raised the handle again and sent the blade crashing toward him.  Again, he managed to dart out of the way just in the nick of time. 

“Suzanne, stop it!” he yelled.  He slowly began to realize that she wasn’t joking or rehearsing a scene.  She was actually trying to kill him. 

Again, she swung the ax at him, this time harder and with more concentration.  He listened for Benji and Heather, praying that they wouldn’t come downstairs and see their mother acting this way.

“Please, listen to me.  I don’t know what’s happened to you but I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

Suzanne lifted the ax high above her head, not a trace of expression on her pale face.  Jordan decided it was like she was in some kind of trance.  He darted forward and tried to wrestle the weapon from her hands.  She struggled, using every ounce of strength in her body to complete her mission. 

Finally, Jordan got the ax free from her hands.  He threw it aside and tackled her to the floor.  She struggled for a few seconds, twisting and turning in his grasp but he overpowered her.

“Stop it!” he screamed, physically restraining her.

Eventually she gave up and fell limp, hunched against the wall in the corner of the room.  It seemed to Jordan like she had broken out of whatever mindset she was in. 

From upstairs, he could hear Benji calling for him. 

He couldn’t let his children see their mother like this.  Doing his best to sooth her, he stroked her hair and cradled her tightly. 

“It’s okay now,” he said softly.  “Just calm down.  Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Dad!” Benji called again. 

“Be right there!” he yelled to the second floor.

Once he was sure that Suzanne was sufficiently calmed, he stood up and went to the staircase.  “I’ll be right back,” he said before darting up the steps to Benji’s bedroom. 

Suzanne remained in the fetal position on the floor.  She heard noises from the hall and then a voice call out to her.  Slowly, she climbed to her feet, walked a few steps and picked up the ax. 

Kill Jordan. 

The instructions sounded over and over in her mind.  She lifted the blade high in the air.  She saw a shadow looming above, a figure approaching from the door.

“Suzanne?” he asked.  “Suzanne, what are you doing?”

She lowered the ax quickly, the blade embedding deep into his chest amidst a gush of warm blood.  She watched, unaffected, as Troy Beauchamp gasped for breath, blood spurting from his mouth and gurgling inside his throat.  Eyes wide, he slowly sunk to the floor and died on the rug next to the sofa.

Once he had taken his last breath, Suzanne looked up and saw Heather on the landing.  Jordan came down the stairs and quickly went to Heather’s side.

“I told you to stay in your room,” he said, bending down and pushing her hair from her face.  “Mommy and Daddy have to talk and I don’t want-“

When his eyes moved down to the first floor, he recoiled in horror at the sight of his brother lying in a pool of blood at Suzanne’s feet.  His heart stopped for a second or two while he comprehended what had happened.  The realization that Heather must have seen everything sent him into a panic.

“Princess, go up to your room and stay there.”

Her eyes were fixated on the bloody scene.  She didn’t move.

“Heather, go!” 

When she still didn’t move, Jordan picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her silently up to her room.  He threw her on the bed, locked the door from the inside, and returned to the living room where Suzanne simply stood in the same trance-like state.

“What have you done?” he murmured as he surveyed the horrific sight at his feet.  Blood was still oozing from the wound in Troy’s chest, seeping onto the floor and staining the rug beneath his body.

 . . . . . . . . Present Day . . . . . . . .

The cab ride to Beverly Hills took forever.  Suzanne forgot how bad traffic in L.A. was at dusk.  She glanced out the window and then back at the front where she noticed the driver eyeing her peculiarly. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“That’s okay,” she said with a faint smile.

“You that actress?” he asked.  “The one who was in that movie with that child molester?”

She didn’t respond.

“Yeah, that one movie from the ‘80’s.  Horny Neighbors or something like that.”

“Happy Neighbors,” she corrected him under her breath.

“Yeah, didn’t you like, disappear or something?  Something about you having a nervous breakdown?  I only know cuz my wife reads all those trash magazines.  She knows all the gossip.  Wants to break into the business.  Hey, you think you could get her an audition?  Your ex is that producer, right?  Oh wait, he’s in jail I think.  Killed his brother and buried him or something.”  He snorted and shoved half a falafel into his mouth.  “They should make a reality show about your family.  I’d watch that.  Better than most of the junk they put on TV nowadays.  People eating weird stuff just for a few thousand bucks.  Speaking of weird food, you ever try that sushi stuff?  I bought some the other day. I took it home and I cooked it. It was good.  It tasted like fish."  

Suzanne didn't respond because she’d already tuned him out.

The shiny black Maserati roared away from the porte-cochere at the Blackthorne mansion.  Brett Armstrong gunned the engine and turned out from the driveway in a desperate attempt at getting to Beverly Hills before it was too late.

After talking to Miranda and putting two and two together, he was convinced that Victor Distefano was after Jordan, and probably had taken Heather as well.  It all made sense to him now.  Victor had masqueraded as Dr. Wainwright years ago and got Suzanne to try to kill Jordan because of his affair with his wife.  He’s now been systematically doing the same to Heather, this time masquerading as the helpful Dr. Anderson.  When he thought of all the times he brought her there hoping that he would help her, it made him sick to his stomach.  All he’d succeeded in doing was putting his wife in danger with a man like Victor.

A traffic jam on Santa Monica Boulevard brought him to a dead stop.  He stood up, gazing out the sunroof to determine if an accident was the holdup, or if it was the usual rubbernecking nonsense that caused most L.A. traffic.  A dense fog had rolled in from the ocean, which he decided was probably the real culprit.

Running a hand through his blond hair, he sat back down and tried to call over to Jordan’s house again.  The phone rang a few times before voicemail picked up.  Brett hastily hung up and began honking his horn. 

Blurry shapes and hazy colors slowly came into focus as Jordan regained consciousness.  His wrists hurt and his head was throbbing in pain.  He could feel blood trickle down the back of his neck, probably from where he’d been clobbered.  He slowly became aware of his surroundings.  He was at home, tied to a chair in his drawing room.  As his eyes narrowed in on a figure approaching him, he was suddenly faced with a startling reality. 

“Heather,” he said, struggling to free his hands from their constraints.  He pulled with all his strength, wincing from the pain as the ropes burned his skin. 

Heather approached steadfastly, a black revolver gripped in her right hand.  She heard nothing but the sound of Dr. Anderson’s voice repeating over and over in her head.  The voice commanded her to kill her father.  She was powerless to disobey his orders. 

“Heather, stop!”  Jordan bellowed frantically.  He struggled in the chair, toppling it over and landing on his side, his hands and feet still bound with rope.

He looked up at his daughter, eyes wild, and immediately knew where he’d seen that look before.  It was the same look Suzanne had the night she tried killing him.  The same look that remained for years afterwards while she was tucked away in a clinic in Switzerland. 

He closed his eyes, still fighting to free himself.   He felt her hover above him and aim the gun at his head.  It was then that he began to relive the horrible events of that night twelve years ago.

. . . . . . . . March, 1996 . . . . . . . .

“What have you done?” Jordan murmured as he surveyed the horrific sight at his feet.  Blood was still oozing from the wound in Troy’s chest, seeping onto the floor and staining the rug beneath his body.

He found the envelope from Wainwright and the CD in the stereo, and tried to wrap his head around what was going on. 

“What did he do to you!?” he screamed. 

The music, the blank stare in her eyes, the trance-like state.  Maybe Wainwright had hypnotized her into trying to kill him.  But why?  What did he have against him?  A business acquaintance he’d double-crossed?  A film critic he’d waged war against?  Maybe someone Troy had hired to get him out of the way? 

The possibilities were endless, but the answers would have to wait.  No one would understand or believe him, and he wasn’t about to let his wife go to jail.  He led a catatonic Suzanne into the drawing room and locked the door.  Quickly, he went to work at getting rid of the evidence.  With a grimace, he plucked the ax from Troy’s chest, growing nauseous at the flow of blood that followed and the sickening sound it made when it pulled away from skin and bone.

He searched for car keys in Troy’s pockets, finding not only the keys but also a small velvet box.  Inside was a gold locket with the engraving My Darling Suzanne – All my Love.  He clutched it tightly in his hand.  Despite their differences, he couldn’t fault his half-brother for falling for Suzanne.  The irony that he died as a result did not escape him.  It was truly a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He buried him in the far side of the yard amidst a grove of trees, marking the spot with a few stones.  He cleaned the ax and stashed it and the locket under a floorboard in the attic.  If the body was ever found, it would be doubtful that they’d also find the weapon.

Benji was standing in the living room when he returned from the attic.  Blood covered the young boy’s hands as he looked curiously at his father.

“Where’s mommy?” he asked, and continued asking until Jordan had no choice but to take drastic action.

. . . . . . . .

The next day he drove Troy’s car to the airport and flew to Switzerland where he left Benji at a private boarding school.  He couldn’t risk allowing his son to ask questions of the wrong people.  Questions that would only arouse suspicion.

Suzanne, who still hadn’t spoken a word since that night, showed no sign of lucidity.  After three doctors all claimed that she was in an irreversible hypnotic state, Jordan returned to Switzerland, this time to leave his wife in a private clinic.  By that time, word had already spread of her disappearance.  Jordan claimed she’d left in the middle of the night.  Everyone bought it.  Everyone but Frank Dunning.  According to the esteemed director, he’d seen everything.  Or thought he had.  A simple threat from Jordan was all it took to silence the man of what he’d seen that night. 

The only thing left to do was find Julian Wainwright.  Unfortunately, he had seemingly disappeared as if he’d never existed.

 . . . . . . . . Present Day . . . . . . . .

Jordan winced in terror, helpless to do anything to stop his daughter from killing him in cold blood.  She was under a madman’s control.  She wasn’t herself.  Because of that, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.  No matter what, she was his little girl.

The sound of splintering wood startled him and his eyes flew open wide.    It sounded as though someone was at the door trying to break it down.  Quickly, he continued his struggle to free his hands of the ropes.

After a few solid kicks, the front door caved inward and Brett burst into the entryway.  He glanced toward the drawing room and saw his wife standing over Jordan’s body. 

“Heather!  No!” he shouted.  “Don’t do it!”

She stopped only momentarily.  Turning to her husband, she thought of what Dr. Anderson had told her. 

Shoot anyone who gets in the way.

She raised the gun and pulled the trigger, unresponsive as the bullet penetrated Brett’s shoulder and shattered into the wall behind him.  He howled in excruciating pain, his hand instinctively going to his shoulder where blood was dripping down his arm.  It felt like his shoulder was on fire. 

Without missing a beat, Heather turned back to Jordan and placed her finger on the trigger.  As she was about to squeeze, Jordan finally got free.  He scrambled to his feet and wrestled the gun from her hands.  She cried out and bit him on the hand so hard that it drew blood. 

Growling in pain, Jordan managed to restrain her, his arm pulled tightly around her neck.  “Hand me that rope,” he said to Brett while motioning to the floor.

Brett reacted quickly yet tentatively.  He aided Jordan in restraining Heather long enough to bind her hands behind her back and then anchor her to the railing on the staircase. 

“Are you okay?” Jordan asked his son-in-law.  He examined the gunshot wound on his shoulder and winced uneasily.  “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine,” Brett replied dismissively.  “What are we going to do about Heather?  How do we snap her out of this?”

Jordan watched her sit calmly on the floor with her hands bound to the railing.  It broke his heart seeing her like this.  He didn’t understand why it was happening or who was doing this to them.

“I called Eddie.  He and Blake knew he was troubled, but this hit them completely out of left field.”

Jordan looked at him crossly while wrapping a cloth tightly around his gunshot wound.  “What are you talking about?  You called Eddie about what?”

Brett regarded him carefully.  He sighed and shook his head in disbelief.  “You mean you don’t know?” he asked.  “Victor Distefano is the one doing this to you.”

“Victor?” Jordan asked in amazement.

“He was Anderson.  And Wainwright.”

Realization finally dawning, Jordan stumbled back a step while he tried to register the news.  Finally it began to add up.  

“Because of my affair with his wife?” he asked.  “I don’t believe that.  A man doesn’t go through this much trouble just to get revenge for his wife cheating on him.”

“There’s more to it,” Brett explained.  “Victor is Schizophrenic.  He has hallucinations.  He actually believes he is these other people.  The wigs and the beards and the glasses aren’t just costumes to him.”

“Multiple personalities?” Jordan asked.

Brett shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“But between the time he was pretending to be Wainwright and the time he pretended to be Anderson, he was normal.”

“He was on medication,” Brett explained.  “He isn’t anymore.”

Jordan turned, ran his fingers through his hair, and let the information process for a second or two.  The thought that this man had tried to kill him not once, but twice, twelve years apart, was positively chilling.

“Eddie said it started when Sylvie left.  He lost it.”

Pacing the floor, Jordan looked down at his hand and wiped away a trickle of blood from where Heather had bit him. 

“Jordan?” a voice called from a few feet away. 

He looked up and peered to the doorway where a woman stood.  Swallowing hard, he took a step closer until her face was lit with moonlight.  Brett looked at him and then at the woman.  Judging from Jordan’s reaction, he knew immediately who it was.

“Suzanne?” Jordan said in disbelief and bound toward her.  “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come,” she said, holding up the newspaper.  “Jordan, what is going on?”

Everything suddenly seemed a million times worse.  The room began spinning and Jordan felt sick.  He looked down at Heather who sat silently against the stair railing.  When Suzanne’s eyes followed his, she gasped and flew over to her daughter.

“Heather?” she asked, pushing her hair from her eyes.  “Heather, what’s happened?”  She turned to Jordan and stood up again.  “What have you done to her?”

He shook his head, overwhelmed by the circumstances.  “How did you get out of the hospital?  How did you get back to the states?”

“That new intern at the center...she got me a passport and arranged for me to fly here.  I told her I had to come.  I couldn’t let you be accused of Troy’s murder.  I couldn’t let you go to jail for something I did.”

“So you thought you’d come here and confess?” he asked in amazement.  “Suzanne, you have to go back.  You cannot be here.  It’ll raise too many questions.”

“You don’t know that,” Suzanne insisted, her long chestnut hair moving briskly when she shook her head.  “Jordan, what has happened to our daughter?  Why is she like this?  She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Jordan closed his eyes in despair. He looked at Brett and suddenly remembered that they had to get him to the hospital.  He was losing blood fast. 

“I’ll tell you everything.  But I can’t right now.  Just please trust me, Suzanne.  Can you do that?”

She looked at him and then down at Heather.  What choice did she have?  Finally, she nodded in agreement.

Hastily, Jordan bent down and picked up the gun.  The first thing he had to do was get rid of it.  He went to Brett and examined his gunshot wound.

“You’ll be okay for a minute?” he asked.

Brett nodded, dizzy from the speed at which he was losing blood.

Jordan darted out of the room and through the back door.  He assumed the gun was Victor’s, which could be used to their benefit, but he didn’t want to take chances.  If there was no gun then they’d be better off in the long run.  All of this was going to be hard enough to explain. 

Digging a crude hole in the ground, he hastily buried the weapon and went back to the house through the kitchen door.  He stopped at the sink and wrapped his bleeding hand in a dishcloth.  By the time he returned to the drawing room, he realized things had gotten much worse. 

Brett was unconscious on the floor and Suzanne and Heather were nowhere in sight.  Quickly, he raced over to him and shook him awake.

“Brett?” he said, helping him sit up.  “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his head groggily.  “It happened so fast.  One minute I was standing here and the next someone was knocking me over the head.”

“It must have been Heather,” Jordan said, examining the discarded ropes that had previously bound her to the staircase. 

Brett shook his head and struggled to his feet.  “No, it wasn’t Heather.  Someone else was here.”

Jordan was frantic.  “Victor,” he said.  “He decided to do his own dirty work.”

“And took Suzanne and Heather?” Brett asked, woozy from being knocked out cold.   “Where would he have taken them?”

Jordan looked around the room, pausing when he saw a telltale sign discarded on the floor.  He bent down to investigate. 

“What is it?” Brett asked, rubbing his head. 

“Mud,” Jordan replied, rubbing the substance between his thumb and forefinger.  “Smells briny. “

Brett shrugged in confusion.  “So?”

“He took them to the marina,” Jordan surmised.  “My guess is his slip at the yacht club.”

“Let’s go,” Brett said and headed for the door.  When he realized Jordan was hesitating, he turned with a frown.  “Jordan?  Come on!”

“Brett, I don’t think you should come.  You’ve got to get that shoulder looked at.”

He shook his head adamantly.  “Come on!”

Against his better judgment, Jordan followed him outside to the car.

Area on Cienega and Melrose was packed well over its max capacity.  The last time that happened the fire department came and made half of the patrons leave, a fact that several Hollywood A-listers were none to pleased about.  This time Benji Rydell was determined not to be one of the casualties. 

He’d cemented himself on a banquette just inside the patio, bookended on one side by Van Edgewater and on the other by Summer Solomon.  On his forth vodka and soda, Benji found himself with his hand up Summer’s skirt and his tongue in her ear.  She was a distraction.  A distraction from his father’s legal troubles and from Sierra’s constant ping-ponging on her feelings for him.  He could honestly say he had no idea what was going on with either situation.  Getting drunk and laid was the best solution he could come up with. 

“Why don’t we slip into the bathroom?” he whispered into Summer’s ear.  She was irritatingly sober.  Getting her to finish a drink was like getting secrets from a secret agent.  Getting her to let him in her pants was next to impossible.  But once he took her hand and placed it on the stiffening area below his belt, her eyes rolled back into her head and she offered a surprised grin.

All of this proved futile because the moment she started to get wet, Blake weaved his way through the crowd toward him, sheer panic on his face.

“Dude, something’s up with our dads,” he said, leaning down and whispering into Benji’s ear.

“What?” Benji shouted over the roar of the crowd.

“Our dads!” Blake repeated, louder this time.  “Eddie just called me!  Something is seriously wrong!”

Irritated by the interruption, Benji pulled his hand from his resting place and followed Blake to the outside patio where it was quieter.  He didn’t bother to try to hide his obvious state of arousal. 

“Okay, so what is this?  Something about Eddie having a serious bong?  Let’s go cuz I could totally get high right now.”

Blake rolled his eyes.  “No, I said Eddie called me and something is seriously wrong.  My dad’s gone off the deep end.  Come on, we’ve got to get to the marina.”

“Get serious,” Benji harrumphed and folded his arms antagonistically.

“Benji,” Blake warned him ominously.  “It’s about your mom.”

The mention of Suzanne was enough to sober Benji up at once.  He followed Blake off the terrace and through the crowd to the parking lot without so much as uttering another word.

Eddie met Jordan and Brett at the marina.  There was a thick blanket of fog hovering overhead, making it nearly impossible to see more than a foot in front of him.   He parked his car beside Brett’s and walked around to the side and met up with him and Jordan. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Eddie asked, rolling up the sleeves on his blue oxford.  “What’s with all the questions about my dad’s condition?  And why are we here anyway?”

“Does your dad still have his yacht slip?” Jordan demanded hurriedly.

“Yeah, he replaced The Emperor after you and Nathan blew it up.” 

“Where is it?” Brett asked. 

Frowning, Eddie pointed down the dock.  “It’s about a hundred yards or so that way.  Slip 81.  Why?  Would one of you tell me what’s happening?”

“Come on,” Jordan said and darted off on foot.  Brett and Eddie exchanged glances and ran after him before they lost him in the thick fog. 

When the reached the slip, they were out of breath.  Brett looked with wide eyes at the empty space where the yacht should have been.  He turned to Jordan and Eddie and threw his hands up helplessly. 

“Now what?” he asked in bated breath. 

Jordan shook his head with defeat. 

“Would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?” Eddie demanded, his hands on his hips.   He turned to Brett.  “You said something about Heather and her mother.  What about them?”

“Your father took them,” Brett explained.  “After he tried to get them to kill Jordan.”

Eddie shook his head in disbelief.  “That’s crazy,” he said, pointing a long, slender finger at him. 

“It’s true, Eddie,” Jordan said awkwardly.  “Victor’s apparently had it out for me for years.”

“Why?”

Jordan rubbed his temples with his fingertips.  He knew the young man had a right to know the truth not matter how hard it was to hear.  “Because your mother and I had an affair.”

Eddie looked at him and then at Brett as if hoping one of them was going to tell him it was all a big joke.  “You had an affair with my mother?”

Jordan nodded. 

A muffled laugh escaped Eddie’s throat, followed by a groan through severely gritted teeth.  He wiped his hand over his clammy face, drew his fist back, and punched Jordan square in the jaw. 

“Eddie!” Brett exclaimed and leapt to restrain him.

“You had an affair with my mother?” he yelled angrily.  “That’s why she left us?  That’s why my dad had a breakdown and turned into a lunatic?  Are you telling me this is all because of you?”

“Eddie, I’m sorry, I-“

 “No,” Eddie said, shaking his head.  “Sorry doesn’t cut it.  Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me and my brother since she left?”

“Look, you can hate me all you want later.  But right now your father needs to get help.  He tried to get Heather to kill me tonight.  When that didn’t work he took her and Suzanne.  I’m afraid that he’ll turn the tables and do something to them to get back at me.”

Eddie folded his arms and looked away indifferently. 

“Come on, this is Heather we’re talking about,” Jordan insisted.  “I know you don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Before Eddie could respond, Brett chimed in with his own observation.

“Guys, look,” he said, pointing out to the water.  “Eddie, what did you say the name of your father’s yacht was?”

“Emporer II.” 

“I think that’s it,” Brett said, motioning to a yacht that bobbed on the surface a hundred yards out. 

They peered through the fog into the darkening night sky.  A single light in the interior cabin of the yacht flickered, and they each wondered how far Victor would go in his quest for revenge

****Continue to Part 2****