Category Archives: Flash Fiction

June 24, 2020

This entry is part 5 of 20 in the Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures

Written in  20  minutes. No time for edits.

Cameron stared at Jason’s profile, then swallowed hard. “W-hat? No. That’s not—”

“Damn it,” Jason muttered. He flicked his eyes at the teen, then back at the road. “How—this doesn’t makes sense.”

He thought back to his conversation with Elizabeth, with the wildness in her eyes, the desperation—

Had she stabbed Franco? Then why had she sent the boys away? For their safety? Why hadn’t she just told him she’d done it—

“It doesn’t make sense,” he repeated. “Your mother wanted me get you out of the country. She said it was her fault. She wasn’t lying then. It was just us and Diane.” He shook his head. “She couldn’t have killed him.”

He frowned. “You said Jake and Aiden were tied up. That Aiden had gotten free and called 911. When did Jake call me? The timeline doesn’t make sense—”

“I don’t—” Cameron exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know they were tied up at first. They were already free when we were getting in the car. Jake was trying to call you when Mom was putting us in the car.” He furrowed his brow. “His phone slipped when he was getting in the car. It broke.”

“When did you found out the boys had seen Franco? That he’d tied them up?”

“After you’d called. When we were waiting for you to show up.” Cameron scrubbed his heads over his face. “Jake told me. Aiden learned how to tie knots in Boy Scouts—”

“If Jake called me as you were leaving—the police were already on their way. And Franco wasn’t in the kitchen then. You’re sure he was upstairs in the bedroom?”

“Mom must have—he must have been downstairs when she—” Cameron squeezed his eyes shut. “I wanted her to come with me. I was scared he wasn’t dead, but she told me to go. And I had to protect them.”

“Cameron, I’m not blaming you—but if you didn’t stab him—and I don’t think your mother did—” Jason grimaced. “Who could have done it?”

“It had to be Mom. He probably tried to attack her again. Maybe she just blocked it out. After everything she’s been through. You know, with that guy, Baker?” Cameron cracked his knuckles, then rubbed them, restlessly. “It probably brought it all back. I mean, he stalked her just like, two years ago—”

“What?” Jason snapped. “Tom Baker’s out of prison?” He swore. “Damn it. 2016,” he muttered. “Ten years. She told me it would be another ten years—”

“He’s dead. His brother killed him, but it was rough on Mom for a while. That’s when she told me who he was.” Cameron looked out the passenger window. “Wish you’d been here. Drew was crap. But he was pretty terrible after he found out he was supposed to be you. I liked Jake Doe better.”

“Cameron—”

“It must have been Mom,” Cameron repeated. “She was probably just worried that PCPD would try to go after me, too. For, like, running or something.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out when we get back into town.”

“It’s Franco,” Cameron muttered. “Everyone wanted him dead at some point. Wouldn’t it be harder to figure out who didn’t have a motive?”

“Yeah.” Jason flicked the turn signal for the ramp up to the highway. “I’ll take care of it, Cameron.”

“If Mom killed him, he deserved it. And you better get her out of the country if they try to put her in jail,” Cameron said fiercely.

“It won’t come to that—”

“Jason—”

“But yeah, I’m not letting her go to jail for it. Not when I should have done it six years ago,” he muttered.

——

Framing Elizabeth for Franco’s murder hadn’t been the plan, but once in a while, an opportunity dropped into a person’s lap and it would be silly not to take advantage of it.

In a room somewhere in Port Charles, a woman carefully washed the blood from her hands and looked at her face in the mirror, at the tired eyes and scratch on her cheek.

She’d left town to find herself, and decided that she’d spent a lot of time letting people get away with hurting her. She’d forgotten who she used to be—

She’d left town when her supposedly beloved husband had begun to warm up to Franco, when he’d seen some good in him—

Well, fuck that.

She’d spent too many years letting that man breathe the air.

Sam Cain raised her eyes to the mirror again and let her lips curve into a smile. It had been a bonus to finally get her revenge on Elizabeth for stealing Jason away from her all those years ago, for lying about Danny and lying about Jake Doe. Elizabeth deserved whatever happened to her.

And it went without saying it was about time that Franco paid for his sins.

June 23, 2020

This entry is part 5 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: An Everlasting Love

Written in 22 minutes. No time for edits.

It was nearly sunset when Jason was able to take the letters out to the Lazy W. He’d packed them carefully into his saddlebags, wishing he’d found a way to handle all of this without bringing Elizabeth more pain.

It was an unsettling sensation to switch off the last five years of resentment he’d felt towards Elizabeth. He’d stopped writing her after his telegrams had gone unanswered, but the letter from his grandmother a year later with its single off hand mention of the Webber girl marrying into the Lewis family had changed things. He’d wondered at first if maybe she’d just lost interest or if he’d imagined how they felt about each other—

But to know that Elizabeth had married into the Lewis family, one of the most respectiable—and wealthiest in Diamond Springs—he’d started to think that maybe she’d wanted something better than a guy who’d needed to leave town to make his money.

He’d never dreamed she’d married the head of the family—the much older Cameron Lewis. He’d expected Alexander or Peter, Cameron’s sons. He’d known them growing up, and Elizabeth had always been the prettiest girl in town. He wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them had used Jason’s absence to court her.

He wondered where those sons were now, and why they weren’t helping her with their youngest brother. Why Elizabeth appeared to be struggling to make ends meet on her family’s ranch when the Lewises had once had more wealth.

Jason suspected the answer to all these mysteries were hidden somewhere in her letters—and now the resentment he’d once felt had been replaced by concern. Worry.

Something had happened to drive Elizabeth away five years ago-to make her stop writing him. Something had destroyed the Lewis family’s wealth.

He just didn’t know how to find any of that out without hurting Elizabeth.

As Jason rode up the drive towards the ranch home, he furrowed his brow at the gray horse hitched up out front of the house. He’d seen Elizabeth’s small collection of horse on his He previous visit—this wasn’t one of hers.

Jason had no sooner tied up his own horse than the door opened and the owner of mystery house revealed himself as Ric Lansing stalked out of the front door, the porch door slapping against the wall of the house.

“I am out of patience, Elizabeth,” Ric snapped, all the charm and swagger Jason expected from the older man, absent. “You either agree now or—” He sputtered to a stop as Jason stepped out from behind his horse and tipped the hat back on his head.

“Is there a problem here?” Jason asked, flatly.

Still inside the house, Elizabeth stood at the threshold of the door. He couldn’t quite see her face clearly behind the mesh screen. She didn’t move. Didn’t open the door.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Ric snarled. He threw another glare at Elizabeth before stalking down the steps and roughly untying his horse. He mounted and took off down the drive at a gallop.

When Ric had passed under the arch entrace of the ranch, Elizabeth finally pushed open the door and stepped outside, her face pale but her expression carefully blank. “Did you bring them?”

“Yeah. Elizabeth—”

“Leave them on the porch.” Then she went back inside, the door slapping shut.

Jason ignored that direction. He grabbed his saddlebags and, cautiously, pulled the door open to step inside her foyer.

The house looked the same as it had when he’d last been in it—the week before her elder brother, Steven, had died from an infection. The wallpaper was a bit thinner, some of the furniture in the parlor had faded, but it looked familiar.

Elizabeth was standing in front of the mantel, holding herself tightly. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to look at him. “I didn’t ask you in.”

“No, you didn’t. But I was worried some of the letters might get taken by the wind.” Jason flipped open the saddle back and started to take out the letters. There were a few stacks of them, bundled together with twine.

Her lips were thin, nearly white as she watched him. “I’d forgotten how many…” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “She never mailed a single one.”

She stepped closer to him—just a few feet—so that she could pick up one of the bundles. “She didn’t even bother with postage.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if it does either of us any better to have these,” Jason admitted. He took out the final stack and held it out.

Elizabeth frowned as she took them. “These are—” She met his eyes briefly, then they darted away. “These are addressed to me—” She ran her fingers over her name. “These are yours.”

“Yeah. All twenty-four. Twice a month for a year.” The corner of Jason’s mouth quirked up. “Felicia Jones even packaged the telegrams with them.”

She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. Just one. Elizabeth pressed the bundle to her chest as she took a deep breath. “You—” She looked at him. “You didn’t forget me.”

“No.”

Her breath was shaky as she exhaled. “I didn’t forget you.”

“I know.” He looked at the letters. “And you had more faith in me than I did you. I should have—I should have asked my grandmother about you.”

“I should have asked her about you,” Elizabeth repeated. “She might not have answered me, but maybe she would have told you.”

After a long moment, Elizabeth met his eyes again. “Thank you for bringing them in. I am relieved to have them back. But I should be getting supper together for Cameron—”

“I’ll go,” Jason told her. “Before I do, there are just—there’s just—Lansing looked angry when he left. Is he bothering you?”

“He’s always bothered me,” she murmured. “Since I turned seventeen. It’s nothing new, and I can handle it.”

Jason wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t want to press it. He’d keep an eye on Ric Lansing in town and find out for himself. “Where are Alexander and Peter?”

Elizabeth blinked at him, then frowned. “What?”

“Cameron’s other sons. Why aren’t they here? Why—” He swallowed his question about why she’d married the father, not the sons.

“They’re—they passed away.” Elizabeth held his letters out. “You should take these.”

“I wrote them to you. They’re yours.” Jason tipped his head. “How long ago? When did they die? My grandmother never wrote about it.”

She stared at him for a long time—so long he didn’t know if she’d answer. Then finally, Elizabeth sighed. “Five years ago. And because I know you’ll only ask someone else—Alexander killed his brother, then himself.”

June 20, 2020

This entry is part 4 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: Whatever It Takes

Written in 25  minutes. No time for typos.

Elizabeth stared at her estranged husband for a long moment, then shook her head. “No-no, that’s not—”

She swallowed hard, looked at Justus who was blinking at Jason — but didn’t look shocked. “I thought you said—”

“I didn’t know,” Justus murmured, watching his cousin’s ashen, ashamed face carefully. “But I can also say I’m not surprised.”

“You—” Elizabeth couldn’t quite gather her thoughts. It felt like her brain had just sputtered to a stop. “You—Carly?”

Jason exhaled slowly, looked away. “After—when we were in the hospital, she came to see me. She was surprised you—” He met her eyes. “She was surprised you’d made it. She thought you were dead.”

“Because I should have been.” Her eyes burned. “You knew—all this time—”

“I didn’t have any proof. I didn’t—” Jason’s voice faltered. “I couldn’t prove it. And Sonny would never listen to me. And I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I was just—I thought I was imagining it. I told myself Carly had a reason to be surprised — no one survives car bombs.”

“I only did because you—because you stopped me before I got in the car—” Tears slid down her cheeks, and Elizabeth turned away from him.

They’d never talked about that day—she’d never asked, and he’d never brought it up. She simply couldn’t.

“I heard the click,” Jason murmured. “When Cody started to turn on the engine. I was close enough—”

He looked at Justus. “I didn’t know before. I don’t even—I was so sure—”

“What made you decide it was Carly?” Justus asked. “You’re right—she might have—she might have just been surprised anyone survived. I was, too. That bomb—” He looked at Elizabeth. “You almost died. Jason nearly died. Cody did.”

She couldn’t correct him, couldn’t tell him that of course she’d died. That she might as well as have. She’d gone into labor, and her beautiful baby—

She’d been killed by shock wave of the explosion, too fragile to survive it. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “How did you know—” She stopped. “Did Steven know? Could he have—”

Oh, God, had her beloved brother realized he’d been working for the woman who’d done this to his sister? Had—

Had Steven done something to give Elizabeth justice?

“I knew for sure the day I—” Jason shook his head. “I knew for sure six months ago.”

The day before he left.

She strode forward, stalking towards the man who had hidden this from her, grabbed his shirt and tried to shake him. “How did you know? And why did you leave me alone with her?”

“Tommy Graviano,” Jason said. He looked at Justus. “He came to me—he’d been blaming himself for months—and he wanted to get it off his chest—he told me that Sonny had—Sonny had asked him to put together a device for Moreno’s car.”

“But—”

“And Carly picked it up. The day before the bomb.”

“Tommy didn’t think anything of the boss’s wife picking up a bomb?” Justus bit out. “Why the hell—” He exhaled. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t plan it together,” Elizabeth said. She released Jason and stepped back. “Otherwise how did Carly know Sonny’d ordered it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t—”

“You were supposed to be in the car, too,” Justus offered. Elizabeth turned around as she and Jason looked at him. “You were both going to the hospital, remember? Whichever one of them did it—it was both of you—”

“And you left me alone in this penthouse with them across the hall after they murdered our daughter—” Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face, looking at him, feeling so betrayed— “How—”

“I thought maybe I was the target,” Jason said. “And if I wasn’t here—if I—I thought if I left, they’d come after me. And I didn’t think—” He looked at her with anguish. “It was my fault. They came after you because of me—”

“You should have told me,” Elizabeth snarled. She stalked away from him, dragging her hands through her hair. “You should have—”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking.”

“Did anyone come after you?” Justus asked blandly. “Did it work?”

When Jason didn’t answer, Elizabeth looked back at him, her heart pounding. “Did someone come after you, Jason?”

“A few months ago. Someone caught up to me in Cairo,” Jason admitted. “I tried to stay on the move, but they—” He grimaced. “I was in the hospital for a few weeks. But you were safe.”

“Safe.” She hated that fucking word. “Oh, well, I’m glad I was safe, living across the hall from the people who murdered my daughter while my husband abandoned me so he could nearly die halfway across the world—”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I can’t—I can’t—” She curled her hands into fists. “It can’t be a coincidence that my brother is missing in action while Carly is dead and Sonny is inaccessible. Someone found out the truth.”

“If it was your brother, then maybe—” Justus offered her a faint smile. “Maybe he’s hiding out—”

“Or maybe Sonny found out what Carly did, and killed her. Maybe Steven saw him do it.” Elizabeth shook her head, looked over at the desk and her daughter’s memory box. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I knew what happened. I thought I knew why—but—”

“I didn’t handle this right,” Jason said from across the room. “I’m sorry—”

“Sorry isn’t going to make any of this right.”

“I know.”

Elizabeth opened the box and drew out the photograph of their daughter again. She reached for a frame on the desk that held a photo of Jason and his sister when Emily had graduated medical school. She replaced it with the one of Lily and shoved it on the desk.

“She deserves better from both of us,” Elizabeth said looking back at Jason who’d come closer to look at the photo. “I want justice for her. Carly’s already dead. If Sonny was involved in any way, if he covered it up or did something to my brother, I’m going to destroy him.”

She lifted her chin and looked at Jason. “Are you going to help? Or are you going to run away again?”

“Running didn’t solve anything,” Jason admitted. “I should have stayed. I should have fought—” He hesitated. “I didn’t have proof. I still don’t.”

“What about that guy—Tommy?” Elizabeth looked at him, then looked at Justus. “What happened to Tommy? Where is he?”

“He was pulled out of the river the night I left town,” Jason admitted. “He’d been grabbed after he met me, so I knew someone was watching me.” He looked at Justus. “His neck had been broken.”

“Just like Carly’s,” Justus offered grimly.

June 19, 2020

This entry is part 4 of 20 in the Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures

Written in 20  minutes. No time for reread or typos.

Jason was relieved when Jake and Aiden agreed to drive back to Port Charles with Max in the SUV while he took Cameron in Elizabeth’s car. He wanted some time with Elizabeth’s oldest son away from the younger boys.

If Elizabeth wouldn’t tell him what had happened that night, Jason was going to get the bottom of no matter what. He had a terrible feeling that they had begun to repeat the same mistakes Jason and Sonny had made nearly ten years ago with Michael.

He hugged Jake one more time before closing the door. “I’ll see you guys at my place,” he told Jake through the window.

“You’ll make sure Mom and Cam are okay?” Jake asked. He swiped at his nose. “I don’t know what happened, but they got in a fight with someone, and my phone broke—”

“They will be okay,” Jason told him. “Take care of your brother. Thanks again, Max.”

“Anytime. Come on guys,” Max said, as he put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Jason turned back to the other car and the sullen teenager sitting in the passenger seat.

Jason got into the driver’s side and started the car, but didn’t put it into reverse. He looked over at Cameron’s hands. The knuckles were bruised and scratched. He could see a black eye blooming on the teen’s face.

“Do you remember Claudia Zacchara?” Jason asked.

Cameron blinked at him, turning his head. He wrinkled his face in confusion. “What? Uh. Yeah. Yeah. She—” He scrubbed his hands over her face. “Yeah. I remember her. She kidnapped Carly. And Michael—”

His voice faltered. “Michael killed her to protect Carly.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “And it was self-defense, but I made the mistake of thinking I could protect Michael from all of it. We covered it up. Sonny and I tried to make it go away. And it made Michael look more guilty.”

“He went to prison.” Cameron looked at him “So did you. I remember Mom crying about it.”

Jason exhaled slowly. He’d made Elizabeth cry a few times over the years. “Whatever happened—”

“I killed him,” Cameron said flatly. “Is it normal not to care? Because I don’t. I’m glad. I’d do it again.” His eyes were fierce now, flashing with that same light he recognized from his mother—and maybe some of the recklessness of his father. “You should have done it a long time ago.”

“Yeah. I thought I had,” Jason muttered. He finally put the car into park and pulled out of the spot. “How did it start?” he asked.

Cameron was quiet for a long time—Jason wasn’t sure he’d say anything, but once they’d pulled onto the highway and were headed back towards Port Charles, he finally spoke. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t there when it started. I was—”

He grimaced. “I was sneaking back in. I was out with Joss. And Oscar and Trina.” He stared at his hands. “That feels like a thousand years ago,” Cameron murmured.

“Has Franco been coming around a lot since your mother moved?”

“I don’t know that either,” Cameron admitted. “Mom—you know, she takes forever sometimes to see how terrible people are, but usually once she makes up her mind, she cuts them off. You know, like Lucky. And Nikolas.” He waited. “After she found out Franco was lying about who you were—how long he’d known—he moved out. And I didn’t really see him around.”

“Okay. Then why was he there last night?” Jason asked. On the left side of the car, the sun started to peek out over the horizon.

“I don’t know,” Cameron repeated. “I was just—I was trying not to make any news, and I went past my mother’s room—” He swallowed. “And I heard—I heard a weird muffled something—then I knew—I heard crying—so I went to the door and started to push it open—”

Jason’s knuckles clenched on the steering wheel. “What happened then?”

“Mom was on the bed and she—her mouth was gagged—Franco slapped her and was on top of her trying—” Cameron swallowed hard. “She was struggling, trying to get him off her—”

Jason pressed the pedal down harder and the car lurched forward. “Did he—”

“No, I don’t think so. She, ah—” The teenager’s voice roughened. “She was still dressed. “But I don’t know. I just—I saw red. I reacted. I shoved him off her, shoved him into the wall and started punching him. And he was—we were just fighting, and I guess Mom tried to stop him from—”

Cameron touched his throat. “His hands—” He exhaled slowly. “Mom—she’s tiny. I mean she’s strong and all, you know, but it doesn’t mean—he just picked her up like a doll and threw her into the wall. She didn’t get up right away, so I went after him again. I grabbed something—I don’t know—a baseball bat, I think. Mom always keeps it upstairs.”

He exhaled slowly. “I hit him and he fell back. He hit his head on the corner of the dresser and laid there. Mom got up and took the bat from me, then she—she was scared he wasn’t dead. So she told me to get my brothers out of there.

“He’d tied them up in their rooms,” Cameron continued. “Aiden untied himself first, I think, and called 911. It must have been Aiden, because Jake would have called you sooner.”

“You just—you hit him with the bat once?” Jason repeated, frowning.

“Yeah, and then he hit his head. But it was my fault—”

“That’s not how he died.”

Cameron stared at him. “But—”

Jason stared at the road ahead of him. “He was stabbed repeatedly with a butcher knife in the kitchen. They found him in the kitchen. Not the bedroom.”

June 18, 2020

This entry is part 4 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: An Everlasting Love

Written in 22 minutes. No time for edits.

Several days after her encounter with Jason out at the ranch, Elizabeth ventured back into Diamond Springs to pick up her mail and complete a few other errands. She drew up her cart in front of the Western Union and turned to her son with a smile. “Would you like to get some peppermints from the general store when we finish here?”

“Yes, Mama,” Cameron said, with a teethy grin. “I like peppermints.”

“Let me help you there, Mrs. Lewis,” Lucas Jones said, striding forward with a quick grin. He held her hand as Elizabeth navigated her skirts of the wheel and settled herself on the ground.

“Thank you, Lucas,” Elizabeth said, tying the horse to the hitching post while Lucas hauled Cameron out of the cart. “How are you? How is the family?”

“You know my mother,” Lucas said with a roll of his eyes. “Looking for gossip and drama.” Barbara Jones, his mother and owner of the local general store, had a reputation for enjoying the peccadillos of Diamond Springs residents—

Which was why Elizabeth never lingered.

“I’m sure. Well, thank you again,” she said, reaching for Cameron’s hand. “Have a nice day.”

She left the blinding sunshine behind, walking through the doorway of the telegraph office. Felicia Jones was busy behind the counter, looking through some paperwork when. When the blonde looked up—her face drained of her color.

“Mrs. Lewis. I wasn’t….I didn’t—” She swallowed hard. “I was wondering when you might come in.”

Elizabeth frowned, walking up to the counter. “Don’t wander too far,” she murmured to her son as she released his hand. “And be careful.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Jones? I’m here to for my mail. I’m expecting—” She tilted her head to the side as Felicia sucked in a deep breath.

“You just want your mail.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I would have thought—” Felicia began to wave a fan back and forth, the tendrils of her blonde hair stirring with the light breeze. “I thought the sheriff—but if he didn’t tell you—”

At the mention of Jason’s name, Elizabeth’s chest seized. “What about the sheriff?”

Oh, God. Had Jason come here searching for the truth about their missing letters? Elizabeth hadn’t let herself think about where exactly her mail had gone missing—but of course—she’d given her letters directly to Felicia Jones twice a week.

“Mrs. Jones,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “If you would please, explain to me exactly what did Jason Morgan have to say to you? And how did you respond?”

Felicia swallowed hard. “Well…”

——————

Jason shook his head as he walked away from the holding cell and hung up the keys. “You’re not gettin’ out of there, Coleman, until I’m satisfied you’re stone cold sober,” he called to the slurring and angry man behind him. “And until you swear on the Bible you won’t be visitng Mrs. McCall’s or any of her girls.”

“Aww, come on…” Coleman rolled over the cot, his bleary eyes red and bloodshot. “It was just a tickle—”

“I guess you’ll be in there for a long time,” Jason muttered as he closed the door to the back room and went back out front where his deputy—and cousin—Dillon Quartermaine was lounging with the newest book from the circulating library.

He shook his head and knocked Dillon’s legs off his desk. “No wonder they needed someone to come in and take over for the last sheriff. Go in the back and sit with Coleman if you’re gonna read.”

Dillon muttered but got to his feet. “I was just getting to the good part,” he complained, but he obeyed.

No sooner had Dillon disappeared back to the holding cells than the front door was shoved open and a very angry woman strode in, a small boy attached to her side.

Jason blinked. “Elizabeth, I didn’t—”

“Where are they?” Elizabeth demanded as she came into the light. Her eyes were sparking with fury, and some of her brown hair had come loose from its topknot. “You had no right—”

“I—”

“Mama, is he the law?” the little boy asked, ducking behind his mother’s dark blue skirts. He peeked out, the sunny blonde hair a stark contrast against the fabric.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, seemed to gather herself. “Yes, Cameron, apparently, he is.” She lifted her chin. “This is my son, Cameron Lewis.”

“I’m named after my papa,” Cameron said, feeling a bit better obviously with his mother’s tone having shifted. “He smelled like butterscotch.”

Jason didn’t know what to do with Elizabeth’s presence so he concentrated on the boy. He crouched down and offered what he hoped was a friendly smile. “I knew your father. Dr. Lewis was a nice man.”

“He went to heaven,” Cameron said with a sigh. “Mama said he was gonna take care of me there.”

“I’m sure he loved you very much.” Jason’s throat tightened at the sight of the little boy with the blonde hair and blue eyes. He could have been Jason’s son from the coloring, but he knew he’d just likely inherited the streak of blonde from Elizabeth’s sister, Sarah, who’d died when they were children.

He got to his feet and focused on the mother again. “Elizabeth—”

“I just spoke to Mrs. Jones at the telegraph office,” she said tightly. “Imagine my surprise when she seemed terrified to see me, sure I was going to make a scene about some letters she’d hidden from me. Or letters she’d never mailed.” Her lips trembled slightly. “Where are they?”

“I didn’t—”

“I don’t care if they were addressed to you, that doesn’t make them yours now!” Elizabeth retorted. “I want them back. They’re not for you. Not anymore.”

“I understand—” His chest ached, and he wondered again at what she’d written that she was so desperate to get back. “I’d like to give them back, but—”

“But what?” Elizabeth cut in, her voice like ice.

“They’re not here. They’re in my rooms at the boarding house.” Jason exhaled slowly. “I’ll bring them to you. After I’m finished here for the day. I have them—”

“Did you read them?” Her breath was shaky now. “How many? Which ones?”

“None of them,” Jason told her gently. “You’re right. They were written to a boy who didn’t deserve them. They’re not mine. I’ll bring them out to the ranch.”

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “I just—I just want them back. I never—” Elizabeth looked at him again, then nodded. “All right. I’ll be expecting you before dark. Good day.”

He watched her sweep out with her son in tow, wondering what the hell was going on and why whatever had happened five years ago was still haunting her now.

June 17, 2020

This entry is part 3 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: Whatever It Takes

Written 20  minutes. No time for typos.

Jason scowled at the cell phone in his hand, irritated that he wasn’t getting any answers but not surprised either. You didn’t get to walk out on this business and expect to come back six months later with no issues.

Sonny’s brother still wasn’t letting anyone in to see him, and Jason wasn’t in the mood for a pissing content with Ric Lansing. He just wanted to find out what had happened to Steven Webber, make sure Michael was safe, and then get out.

He glanced over when the door opened again, then his focus simply vanished because it was Justus, as he’d expected, but Elizabeth was behind him, a box clutched in her arms.

Lily’s memory box.

“It’s perfect.” Elizabeth beamed at him as she slid the box out of the white tissue wrapping paper. She turned the porcelain container in her hands, sliding her fingers over the delicately painted enamel. “It matches her room.”

“You said you wanted one of these,” Jason said, brushing his lips against her temple as he rested a hand over Elizabeth’s belly, grinning when the baby kicked fiercely. “For the ultrasound photos and—”

“And for the photos I want to take. One a week for the first year so we can put it into a scrap book.” Elizabeth slid the box open and set the ultrasound from their first visit. “The first time we felt her heartbeat.”

He picked up the second one. “When we found out she’d be a girl.”

“And the last one before we meet her.” Elizabeth set the third and final photo on top of the others. “Just another month until she’s here.”

He stared at the box. It had vanished after Lily’s stillbirth, after they’d buried her in the cemetery next to his grandmother. He’d put Lily’s photograph from the hospital inside—Elizabeth hadn’t been able to look at her, but Jason thought she might want to someday.

So he’d asked Steven to take a picture of their daughter, looking so peaceful, as if she were sleeping.

So still.

“We came back up because there wasn’t anything in Steven’s apartment,” Justus said, his words breaking into Jason’s thoughts. Jason blinked, focused on his cousin.

“No sign he’s been there in the last week?”

“The last newspaper was the day Carly died,” Elizabeth said, her voice so empty, so flat. He’d never heard it that way, not even in the months after…

Jason hesitated. He didn’t know where to start, where to look. Not if he couldn’t see Sonny, find out what was going on. He squinted at Justus. “Can you get me in to see Bernie? Would he talk to me?”

“Yeah.” Justus pressed his lips together as if thinking over his next words carefully. “Look, the thing is—Sonny hasn’t really been running things since you left. That’s been on Ric. Sonny’s been mostly—” He traded a look with Elizabeth he didn’t quite understand. “He’s been MIA. Going back and forth to the island, staying in his room for long periods of time. It’s been bad. Even before Carly.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, I heard that from Johnny.” He looked at Elizabeth again, looked at the box. “Maybe you should go back to Boston.”

She set the box on the desk by the door and lifted her chin to look at him. “Why? So I’ll be safe?”

“I—” He nodded. “Yeah,” Jason said, his voice rough. “I don’t know what’s going on—”

“There’s nothing left they can take from me,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere until my brother is found.” She looked at Justus. “Can you find me somewhere to stay? The hotel?”

“If you’re going to stay,” Justus said, gently, “then we should stick together. You should stay with one of us.” He flicked his eyes to Jason. “Here. Or you’re welcome to come with me.”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly and looked at the floor. “With you, Tamika, and…Kimi,” she added, naming Justus’s daughter who had been born the month before Lily’s death.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly.

“I’ll—”

“I’ll stay here,” Elizabeth said. She met Jason’s eyes. “On one condition.”

“What?” Jason asked.

“Tell me the truth.” She folded her arms. “The bomb in the parking garage—you know who set it.”

His heart seized. “Elizabeth—”

“You knew almost from the moment it happened,” she continued.

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes searing into him. “You never lied to me. Not one. So tell me who killed our daughter, who tried to kill me—”

“It wasn’t—” Jason shook his head. “It wasn’t—you weren’t—” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know who it was.”

Justus blinked at him, startled. “You never—”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jason demanded harshly. “I didn’t have any proof. Who would have believed me? Sonny? He wouldn’t—”

“Wait—” Elizabeth held up a hand, then curled into a fist. “Wait. It wasn’t Sonny?”

“Sonny?” Jason frowned. “No. No. Why would he? It was—” He exhaled slowly. “It was Carly.”

June 16, 2020

This entry is part 3 of 20 in the Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures

Written   29  minutes. No time for edits.

Cameron Webber was not a rule-follower. It was impossible to be the son of Elizabeth Webber, to be raised by her, and not decide that most of the time, rules were made by idiots and they should be broken.

She’d always taught him to follow his gut, to follow his heart, and to trust himself because the world would let him down a lot but it would be okay as long as he knew what he was doing was right.

And Cameron had let that direction guide him his whole life—all sixteen short years of it. Which was, somehow, he found himself barreling down a highway with his brothers in the backseat and him with nothing more than a learner’s permit.

Aiden had been crying when they first left the house, and Jake had been mad because his phone had fallen in the scramble to get to the car, and it had broken. His mother hadn’t let him go back to it, promising Jake they’d call for help as soon as they got where they were going.

Jake and Aiden didn’t even really know what had happened — they’d been sleeping, and then when the screaming and crying and yelling had started, they’d huddled in their shared room, ending up hiding in closet.

Cameron and their frantic mother had hustled them past her bedroom, down the stairs, and out the door before Jake and Aiden could even really understand what was wrong. Cameron had hoped there wouldn’t be any questions until they got where they were going —

But then Aiden had remembered his mother’s tears, and the headlights of truck in the oncoming lane next to them had flashed on Cameron’s knuckles—scratched and bleeding. He’d started crying again.

Jake, the resolute kid who’d already seen too much in his short life, had unhooked his seatbelt and hugged his younger brother, protecting him the way Cameron had failed to protect him.

Never again. His mother had told him to take his brothers and run, and he hadn’t thought twice.

His cell phone rang, and the screen lit up on his mother’s dashboard, the Bluetooth connection proclaiming that Jason Morgan was calling.

Cameron exhaled slowly, and Jake leaned forward, frowning at the screen. “That’s my dad! Answer it! I was calling him and he must have seen it!”

Jason was the only person his mother told him they would be able to trust, but sometimes her judgment on trusting men was shit, so Cameron ignored the phone call.

“We’re not where we’re supposed to be yet,” Cameron told him. “We’ll call him when we get over the border—”

“But—”

“Sit back, Jake, and put your seatbelt back on.” Cameron pressed on the pedal of the car, ignoring as the phone kept ringing. Then it went silent for a minute before lighting up again. He grimaced. Jason was just going to keep calling.

“Cam—”

“Okay, okay—” But Cameron couldn’t peel a hand off the wheel—couldn’t make himself look away from the highway for even a section and they were in a stretch with no exits.

Jake climbed over the seat and settled into the passenger seat, pressing the answer button on the dash. “Dad!”

“Jake? Are you with your brothers?” Jason Morgan’s voice didn’t sound panicked, didn’t sound nervous. Maybe he didn’t know—

“Yeah, yeah, where’s Mom? Did you see her? Is she okay? I’m okay. We’re okay,” Jake said, touching the dash like it was his father—as if he was just comforted by the sound of his voice.

“Your mother is okay. She’s worried about you. Cameron? Are you there?”

Cameron swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“Your mother wants me to bring you back to Port Charles.”

“No, she said—”

“She was upset, and she just wanted you safe.” Jason paused for a moment. “Find the next exit, Cameron, and I’ll come to you.”

“I—” His hands trembled even as he clenched the wheel more tightly. “I can’t. I can’t until they’re safe. I can’t stop. I don’t know—”

“They’re safe, Cameron. I promise you. It’s okay to come back.”

Cameron badly wanted to listen to him, wanted to believe him. But he knew that nothing was okay. “Jason—”

“Cameron, I need to you to find an exit and pull over. I need to talk to you.”

He swallowed. “Is it about Mom?”

“Dad?” Jake leaned forward again. “You said Mom is okay—”

“She’s okay—”

“I want Mommy!”

“Cameron,” Jason said again, his tone implaccable, unmoveable. Unshakeable. Maybe he was someone he could trust. His mother had always said that, and the only time Jason had ever let them down was when he’d gone away.

“Okay. I’ll find an exit and call you back.”

“Okay. Stay on the line with me,” Jason told him. “I’m on the highway now, I’m probably about a half hour behind you.”

So Cameron didn’t hang up, even though they didn’t say anything else for the ten minutes it took Cameron to find an exit ramp. He pulled into a resting spot, picked up his phone, and switched the connection to a private call.

“Stay inside the car,” Cameron told his brothers. He stepped out of the car and turned his back on the gas station, not wanting any cameras to catch him. “Jason?”

“I’m twenty minutes behind you, Cameron. Can your brothers hear me?”

“No.”

“Okay. Your mother is at the PCPD. She confessed to murdering Franco.”

Cameron’s stomach dropped, rolled. “What? Why? She didn’t—”

“I know. But you know your mother. No one comes before you and your brothers.”

“You can’t let her—you can’t let her do it—”

“I’m working on that, but she won’t do anything until you boys are safe.”

“Safe,” Cameron repeated. He dragged his free hand over his face and through his hair. “Sure. Just—I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just make sure my mom is okay. My brothers and my mom. That’s all I care about.”

“I promise you, I will find a way to make this okay for all you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Cameron said and hung up.

June 15, 2020

This entry is part 3 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: An Everlasting Love

Written in  25 minutes. No time for typos.

Jason stared at Elizabeth for a long moment, still not sure what was going on. “Your father?” he repeated. “Why would he—”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, but her face had changed — the brief flare of anger, of fury had vanished and her eyes were blank, her facial expression devoid of emotion.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth said finally. “It’s…it’s good to know you didn’t forget me, and I’m sure it must make you feel better to know that I did not forget you—”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of this. For a year, he’d sent her letters that had gone unanswered. He’d sent telegrams that had been ignored — and Elizabeth’s father had done something to make that happened — to force a severance of their relationship — and she…wanted to let it go?

“Why?” Jason asked said as Elizabeth turned away, started to walk rapidly away, towards the entrance of the barn. “Why would he—”

“He’s dead, so it does us no good to wonder what his reasons were.” This, she threw over her shoulder in an unbothered manner. “Life went on. I married, and I have my son now. And I’m sure you haven’t been pining for me all these years.”

In the bright sunshine of the yard, Jason lost her for a moment. He shaded his eyes and found her climbing the steps to the one story ranch home her grandfather had built when he’d come West from New York.

“Elizabeth—” He followed her and stopped her on the porch. “That’s not—”

“Because if you’d really wanted to know what happened, you had a choice I did not.” She focused on him, her eyes cold. “You had the benefit of knowing where I was. You could have come home any time. You could have asked your grandmother. You didn’t.”

“You could have asked her—” Jason bit out but then stopped. Because of course she couldn’t. Lila Quartermaine had been born into proper London society. Even half a century after leaving London for New York City, Lila would have been scandalized by a single woman asking after her grandson. Even a woman she liked.

“I could hardly get on a train to find you, and why would I?” Elizabeth shrugged off his hand. “You wrote a few letters, sent a few telegrams, then washed your hands of it, then you have the absolute nerve to come out here and demand to know why I married a man old enough to be my father nstead of waiting for a man who was never coming back.”

She lifted her chin. “You lost the right to ask me that question long ago.”

She stalked inside the house, letting the door slam shut behind her. Jason stared at it, then turned around to return to his horse.

He had other ways to discover what had happened.

______

When Jason arrived back in town, he went straight to the Diamond Springs Western Union office where stagecoaches and trains delivered also delivered the mail.

Behind the counter, he found the same woman manning the counter that had held the position when he’d left town seven years ago. Felicia Jones smiled brightly at him. “Good afternoon, Sheriff Morgan. It’s so lovely to see you back!”

“Mrs. Jones.” Jason hesitated, because now that she was standing in front of him, he wasn’t sure how to accuse her of stealing his mail or diverting Elizabeth’s letters. “I was wondering about some telegrams I sent here a few years ago.”

Her smile dimmed slightly, and he sighed. Because there it was — the glint of recoginition in her eyes. Felicia looked away, took a deep breath, and the smile returned in full force. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Jones. I sent two telegrams to Elizabeth Webber in the summer and fall of 1869,” he said carefully. “She never received them. She also never received any of my letters.”

“Well, mail goes missing from time to time,” Felicia began, but Jason shook his head.

“All twenty-four letters I wrote? Every single one? What about the letters she wrote me? She said she wrote two years worth of letters. I never received one of them.” He kept his tone even. “I’m just—I’m just looking for answers, Mrs. Jones.”

“I—”

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I don’t even plan to tell anyone else.” He stepped closer to her. “I’m not here as an officer of the law, Mrs. Jones. I’m here as a man who wrote the woman he loves and never heard from her again.”

Felicia took a deep breath. “I was very fortunate to be given this position,” she said softly. “After my husband died, I had two little girls to care for. They had to come first. You must understand that.”

“I do.”

“I always felt terribly about the whole thing, especially when Elizabeth married Dr. Lewis. He was a nice man, but she was so young. I thought about telling her—but I would have lost my job. I have no other family. My daughters—”

“Mrs. Jones.”

“Jeff Webber is—was—on the town council. The city owns this business, and he—he threatened to fire me if I didn’t—” Felicia pressed her lips together. “But he’s dead now, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“I saved them all,” she told him. “Even the telegrams. I thought—one day, one day, I’ll make it right.” She went into the back office, and then a few minutes later returned with a crate.

She set the wooden crate on top of the counter and took out a packet. “Here are your letters—” It was a thick packet—nearly all of his letters seemed to have reached Diamond Springs. Pinned to the top of the letters were his telegrams.

He stared at the rest of the crate, filled to the brim with letters. “Are all of those—”

“She wrote twice a week for two years,” Felicia murmured. “I thought about mailing them a few times, you know. Just letting one or two slip past, but Mr. Webber came in once and while to check, and I was just—” She looked at him. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to protect my family.”

“Twice a week—” Jason exhaled slowly. She’d written him longer and more often—and for all these years, he’d thought she’d forgotten him.

She was right. He’d abandoned her first.

June 13, 2020

This entry is part 2 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: Whatever It Takes

Written in 21 minutes. No time for typos.

Elizabeth Morgan walked into her brother’s apartment and just stared at the living room, at the jacket thrown carelessly over the back of the sofa.

She walked forward and picked it up, smoothing her hand over the denim. “I always made fun of him,” she murmured. “Because he still wore jean jackets.”

“We’ll find him,” Justus said. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding—”

Elizabeth looked at her cousin-in-law, her favorite of Jason’s family, and smiled thinly. “You know what next week is, don’t you?”

Justus hesitated, looked away. “Yeah, I do. I’m not likely to forget.”

“Do you think my brother would go missing right now? With my divorce about to be finalized, with the one year—” Elizabeth closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “It would be Lily’s birthday, if she’d lived. She should have—”

With a deep exhale, she set the jacket down. “You know, I didn’t think he’d come back for this. For Carly.”

“Elizabeth—”

“Maybe because he wouldn’t come back for me, I thought he’d—” She rubbed her hands together, then frowned at her left hand, at the set of rings she couldn’t take off.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say you to you, Elizabeth.” Justus spread his hands out at his sides.

“Yeah, that’s common in your family. For six months—” She rubbed her chest. “Never mind. We’re not here to litigate any of this again. Steven didn’t disappear on his own. He’s gone, and it’s around the same time Carly died. So I guess I want to know if there’s a connection.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I was out of town, too,” Justus told her. “Tamika’s sister had us down to Philly for her grandfather’s birthday. That’s where I was when I got the call. The only thing Bernie told me was that Moreno’s men had broken into the Towers and they found Carly in the master bedroom.” He pressed his lips together. “Her neck was broken.”

Elizabeth pressed a fist to her abdomen. “Here? In the Towers? I didn’t realize—”

“That’s why I tracked Jason down. With Michael — I was worried. I thought—with Michael possibly in danger—”

“He’d come back for that,” Elizabeth finished. She wandered over to the fireplace and picked up a picture on the mantel. A photograph of Steven and Elizabeth on her wedding day. She traced her fingers over the smile.

She’d forgotten what it was like to smile.

“They never found out how the bomb got in my car, did they?” Elizabeth murmured. “In the parking garage. The Towers was supposed to be safe.” She looked at Justus. “Sonny would never tell me — you know the rules. And Jason couldn’t—” Her throat was thick as she tried to continue speaking. “We couldn’t talk about it.”

“No. Moreno claimed he didn’t know anything, and we—I believed him. So did Jason. Sonny always think it’s Moreno, but we’ve learned to ignore him.” Justus hesitated. “We thought a guard had turned, was going for Jason.”

“So it wouldn’t be the same thing now. Jason’s gone. Carly must have been personal.” Elizabeth set the photo back on the mantel. “When did you realize Steven was gone?”

“The day after Carly. The day I came back, I called him and he didn’t return the calls. We needed him to sedate Sonny, but he—he wasn’t there.”

“Steven and I talk once a day most of the time,” Elizabeth said after a long moment. “Since I moved to Boston, he was worried about me being alone. Sometimes we skipped a day, but he always texted. When he didn’t call last week—I let it go. Her murder—I knew about it. I thought—I thought he was busy.”

She went down the hallway to his bedroom and pushed open the slightly ajar door. The bed was neatly made, the closet door closed. “But by Wednesday, I knew something was wrong. I kept trying—I kept pretending—but I knew. Seven days.”

She opened the closet and found what she was looking for — a box at the bottom of the closet — a peach memory box, decorated with green and white swirls. She picked it up and set it on Steven’s dresser.

“We had plans for next week,” Elizabeth murmured. “For Lily’s birthday. I was going to open this and finally look at her—”

Justus touched her shoulder. “You didn’t—”

“They told me she was stillborn, and I don’t—” Elizabeth traced the embossed edges. “I couldn’t. Jason did. Maybe that was the problem. I don’t know. I wished I was dead, too. I should have been.”

“Elizabeth—”

She opened the box and just stared at the photograph laying on top. The baby looked like she was sleeping — a sweet little face with a lock of light brown hair dusting her forehead.

Elizabeth picked it up, took a deep breath. “She looks like Jason,” she murmured. She looked at Justus whose eyes were red. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. She does. Elizabeth, he’s always blamed himself. He thinks he killed her.”

“He didn’t,” Elizabeth said. She set the photo back in the box and closed the top. “Sonny did. You know that, don’t you?”

“Elizabeth—”

“He never liked me, never liked Jason having his own family. That’s why you never found out who it was. That’s why he didn’t come to the funeral. That’s why Jason can’t look at me. Because he knows it, too.”

June 11, 2020

This entry is part 2 of 20 in the Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures

Written in 20  minutes. No time for edits.

Jason scowled and paced in front of the interview room of the PCPD, stopping every few seconds to glare into the window as if he could force Chase to let him into his mind.

“Any words on the kids yet?” Dante Falconieri asked quietly. Jason turned, fowning at his business partner’s son. “We’ve got an APB on Elizabeth’s car but it hasn’t hit yet.”

Jason shook his head and looked back at the window as a pale, exhausted Elizabeth put her face in her hands. Diane Miller, his attorney, put a hand on her shoulder, and said something Jason couldn’t hear to Chase and Jordan Ashford sitting across the table.

“You think she did it?”

Jason met Dante’s eyes. “I don’t care if you’re Sonny’s son. I’m not going to say anything to you without a lawyer.”

Dante shrugged. “Okay. Your kid is out there, missing, but I’m the bad guy—”

Jason ignored him and stared through the window again, his muscles tensing as Elizabeth started to cry. Jordan got to her feet and faced him into the window, raising her brows.

Then the door opened and the commissioner stepped out, a scowl on her face. “She says she won’t answer any questions until she can talk to you,” Jordan told Jason.

Without another word, the woman stalked off towards her office. Jason went into the room where Chase was gathering up his papers.

“Before you go, Detective Chase, I need you to uncuff my client,” Diane demanded. “Now—”

Chase grimaced but leaneed over to unhook Elizabeth’s cuffs from the table. He still left the silver bracelets on her wrists. “That’s as much as you get—”

“I don’t care, Diane—” Elizabeth began.

“Uncuff her now,” Jason said flatly. “She’s not going anywhere—”

“I need some questions answered,” Chase cut in. “Where are the kids? Why was Franco at your house tonight? Until I get some answers, she stays in the cuffs. You have five minutes to talk to Jason,” he told Elizabeth. “Then you’re going to be booked. So I’d think carefully about what happens next.”

“You know, I thought I was going to like him,” Diane muttered when the cop had left, slamming the door behind him. “I take it back.” She twisted in her seat. “Talk now—”

“It’s not important,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. “I don’t care what happens to me—” She turned her attention to Jason. “Cameron’s in my car with the boys. I told them to head for Canada. He has my old flip phone for emergencies. I told the cops he doesn’t have a phone—”

“I’m not hearing this,” Diane muttered as she pushed away from the table.

“Elizabeth—”

“I need you to call Cameron,” Elizabeth told him. “He knows not to answer the phone for anyone except for me or you. I—” Her eyes darted away, nervous for a second, then looked back. “You’ll help him, won’t you? I mean, with the boys—all of them—”

“Yes,” Jason took her trembling hands in his. “Elizabeth—”

“Call him. Find them, and then I need you—” She licked her lips, looked at Diane, then dropped her voice. “And then I need you to get him out of the country. Somewhere no one can touch him. Until this is over, okay? Until I’m sentenced—”

“Wait—” Jason shook his head. “No—”

“You have to—” She squeezed her eyes. “This is my fault. All my fault. I have to protect my boys. So until this is over, I just—I need you to help me. I don’t—” Her voice faltered. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to them—I need them to be okay. I need them to stay together. You—you’ll keep them together, won’t you?—”

“Hey—”

“Jason, we don’t have a lot of time,” Diane said, tapping her watch. “I’m still not listening, but whatever we do, we have to do it quickly. They’re claiming she confessed.” She glared at Elizabeth. “You know for someone who’s been hanging around Jason Morgan since she was a teenager, you sure don’t act like it—”

“Shut up, Diane—” Jason dismissed his irritable attorney, and focused on Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, I’ll get you out of this—”

“No, I don’t care about me, I just care about the boys—”

“I care about you, and so do they.” Jason looked at her for a long moment, then looked down at her hands. Her hands were stained with blood, and the rips he’d noticed earlier were evident. But now he saw the torn fingernails, and the scratches on her cheek. He exhaled slowly.

And her instructions echoed in her mind. Get Cameron out of the country. Somewhere with no extradition.

Cameron. Not Jake or Aiden, but Cameron.

“Whatever happens,” he told her, “I’m not letting you or Cameron—or any of the boys—pay for this—”

“I let him into our lives,” Elizabeth choked out. “I did this—”

“And I should have ended it a long time ago,” he said quietly. “I thought I had. So I’m going to fix it. Promise me you’ll cooperate with Diane.”

“I—” Elizabeth looked over at Diane. “You said that they had my confession—”

“I can work around that, but Elizabeth, it will be much easier to deal with this if the boys were here in Port Charles,” Diane told her. “So let’s get you out on bail and Jason can bring them home.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Okay. Okay. Call Cameron. Bring them back. I’m sorry, I panicked—I just wanted them safe—”

“They will be.” He kissed her forehead, looked at Diane. “I’ll call you when we find them.”