Category Archives: Flash Fiction

June 9, 2020

This entry is part 2 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: An Everlasting Love

Written in   25  minutes.. No time for edits.

Written in   25  minutes.. No time for edits.

Jason Morgan had been sworn in as sheriff of Diamond Springs, California, for all of ten minutes before he regretted the decision to come home.

He had no sooner hung up his hat in the local jail and taken a seat before one of his least favorite people sauntered through the door.

“Jason Morgan,” Richard Lansing said with a smug grin. For as long as Jason had known him, the man had tried to pretend like he wasn’t living in a frontier town that had been settled the year Ric was born. He wore slick suits and a hat that was more suited to San Francisco than Diamond Springs.

“Lansing.” Jason didn’t get to his feet to greet him. Instead, he leaned back and put his boots on the desk. He said nothing else because men like Ric Lansing always made themselves understood.

“I was surprised when the council said you’d offered to take the job,” Ric continued. He rocked back on his heels, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his fancy vest. “I thought you’d left this town behind a long time ago. And everyone in it.”

The way he’d said everyone tugged at Jason, and he frowned slightly, tipping his head. “My grandmother still lives here.”

“Of course, of course. We’re all mighty fond of Miss Lila.” Ric’s smirk deepend. “I guess I had the wrong idea when you let Bethie just…wither away, waiting for you.”

Jason’s cheek twitched, and he fought the urge to swing his boots to the ground and get to his feet. “I don’t recall much of a wait,” he said dryly. “She’s married, isn’t she?”

“Well, not at the moment. But soon.” Ric nodded. “I had to wait until Dr. Lewis was a bit colder in his grave before offering for Bethie—”

“Dr. Lewis—” Jason did get to his feet now. “She married Dr. Lewis?” He’d never—he’d never asked his grandmother the identity of the man Elizabeth had wed. Hadn’t it been enough to know that she’d married someone else after ignoring all his letters for more than a year?

But—Cameron Lewis had been old enough to be Elizabeth’s father. Why—Why had she done it?

“Out of the blue,” Ric said, and his eyes darkened with slight irritation. It vanished quickly, but Jason saw it—recognized it. Ric had tried to court Elizabeth soon after she’d turned sixteen, but she’d never been interested.

And part of Jason had always wondered if his absence had made her change her mind—if she’d been Elizabeth Lansing all these years. But—Cameron Lewis—why?

Jason exhaled slowly. It didn’t matter. She’d married someone else and had never bothered to answer any of his letters. She’d made her choice.

“I’m sorry to hear she’s been widowed.”

“Well, a woman as fine as she is won’t be alone for long. Not when she owns that pretty piece of land.” Ric pressed his lips together. “You didn’t know Lewis had died? That’s not why you’re back?”

It made sense now — Ric’s strange visit and interest in Jason’s return. He thought there was a competitor for Elizabeth’s affections.

If it had been anyone else asking, Jason might have set the man’s mind at ease. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Elizabeth since the day his grandmother’s letter had reached him.

But seeing as how it was Ric Lansing, the most irritating jackass known to man, Jason wasn’t about to give him the satisfication. “No,” Jason said finally. “But thanks for the news. I should go renew my acquaintance with the widow.”

“Now—”

Jason saunted over to the hat rack and plucked his off the peg. “If you’ll excuse me, Ric.”

“See here—”

Jason ignored the sputtering banker and went outside where his horse was still tethered to the hitching post. He swung up on its back and started out of town.

He hadn’t had any intention on seeing Elizabeth today—or seeking her out at all—but now that Ric had forced him to do so—

He found that he wanted to know what the hell had made a girl of nineteen marry a man twice her age when Jason had been off trying to make a life for them.

___________________

Elizabeth laughed as her favorite mare pressed herself over the edge of the stall, reaching for the treat in Elizabeth’s hand. “Now, now, Penny—don’t be greedy—”

She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, and swung to find a figure in the doorway of the barn. The sunlight at his back set his face in shadows—

Then he stepped forward and Elizabeth swallowed hard as Jason Morgan’s face came into focus. He’d grown in the last eight years, of course. He’d been twenty when he left, and was closer to thirty. His features had hardned somehow—

And his eyes seemed colder than they’d been once upon a time.

“Jason—” Elizabeth smoothed her hands down the skirt of her working dress. She fed Penny her treat and stepped forward. “I didn’t realize you were—I didn’t know when you were coming back.”

“I was sworn in this morning,” Jason said—his voice hadn’t changed, and there was something strange about that. Hearing her beloved’s voice and looking at a much harder man.

“Oh. Well, welcome home, I guess.” Unsure what to do with her hands, she folded them tightly across her chest. “What brings you out here? I mean, the Lazy W isn’t on your way home.”

“No, I—” Jason hesitated. He took his hat off, looked down at the brim. He was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe I had some questions I don’t know if I have the right to ask.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Questions—” She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why you’d have any questions. You never seemed to have them before.”

“Before—” Jason furrowed his brow. “Before when?”

“When you didn’t answer any of my letters.” Elizabeth arched a brow. “I thought after ignoring my letters for two years, you’d run out of things to say to me.”

“W-What letters—” Jason shook his head. “What are you talking about—”

“Don’t pretend—” Elizabeth started past him. “You ignored every single letter I ever wrote to you, and I’m sure I have nothing to say to you now—”

He grabbed her arm, whirled her around to face him. “You—What letters?” he repeated. “You never wrote me a single word. I sent you letters for over a year. And I even sent telegrams that couldn’t get lost—”

They stared at each other for a long moment as Elizabeth blinked, then closed her eyes. “Telegrams,” she repeated softly. “Damn it.”

“What—”

She looked at him, saw some of the ice had melted and he looked more like the boy she’d loved once upon a time. “My father. That son of a bitch. I hope he’s rotting in hell.”

June 6, 2020

This entry is part 1 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: Whatever It Takes

Written in 24  minutes. No time for typing or editing. Alternate Universe

“Uh, Jason?”

Jason Morgan turned away from his lawyer, Justus Ward, to frown at the guard standing in the doorway of his penthouse.

What had been his penthouse until six months earlier when he’d filed for divorce and left town. He was only here for a funeral and to make sure his nephew was okay. After that, he’d put this place out of his mind again.

“What? What do you want, Max?” Jason demanded.

“Your wife—” Max winced. “I mean, Mrs. Morgan—I mean, uh, anyway. She’s in the lobby. She wanted to come up to see her brother, but—” He gestured at Justus. “No one’s told her.”

Was she still technically his wife? He couldn’t remember now if she’d signed the papers or if either of their lawyers had filed them with the court. He hadn’t wanted to think about it.

That had been the point of the divorce.

“No one’s told her what?” Jason asked slowly when Justus closed his eyes, his expression pained. “What’s going on? What don’t I know?”

“You just got here,” Justus said after a moment. “And we’ve been—” He pressed his lips together , shook his head. “No one’s seen him since we found Carly.”

“Since before we found Carly,” Max pointed out. “He’s gone. His stuff is still there, but—”

“Damn it.” Jason rubbed his hands over his face. “Damn it. That’s—that can’t be about this? Can it?”

“That’s one of the reasons we wanted you to come back,” Justus told him. “It’s—things are a goddamn mess, and Lansing won’t tell us anything. He’s shut us out. And the last thing any of us want—”

“I don’t give a damn about any of this,” Jason growled. “I told you. I just wanted to bury Carly, make sure Michael is okay, and then go—I can’t—”

He couldn’t care about this. Couldn’t care about the chaos left in the wake of Carly Corintho’s death. This life had already stolen everything he loved. There was nothing left to take.

“She looks upset, Jase,” Max said quietly, drawing Jason’s attention again. “She said he’s not returning any of her calls. That’s not like him. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Jason exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I know. She’s his favorite sister.” He met Justus’s eyes. “How bad is it?”

“Since Carly or since you left?” Justus asked, flatly. “My answer is the same. Ric thinks he can slide into power and Sonny is weak enough to let him. Maybe he already has. I don’t know. Like I said, no one can get near him. Lansing’s orders.”

“About Mrs. Morgan?” Max prompted as if Jason had forgotten his wife being left in the lobby of Harborview Towers, hoping to be let up to her brother’s apartment, located three floors below the penthouse levels.

“Ask her to come up here,” Jason finally said. “But ask her, Max. If she doesn’t want to—” He could barely stand to be in these rooms—

Knowing what might still be upstairs—what they’d never taken down—

“Sure thing.”

When Max was gone, Justus folded his arms and arched his brows. “How long has it been since you saw her?”

Jason grimaced, looked at his lawyer—who was also his cousin and had been the best man at his wedding. “The morning I left.”

“Ah. Right. When you left in the middle of the night without a word, leaving her a set of divorce papers that you went to someone else to file.” Justus shook his head. “I thought maybe in the last six months—”

“No.” Jason hesitated. “I don’t know if—if it became final—”

“Not yet,” Justus said after another minute. “Two more weeks. She didn’t—she thought you’d come back. And when she realized you wouldn’t, she signed the papers and went back to Boston.” He tipped his head. “You know, what you two went through—that’d break most people, and I’m sorry for it, Jason. But what you did to her—”

“It was my fault,” Jason said roughly, hating his cousin for bringing any of this back. “All of it was my fault. I couldn’t stand to be here anymore and know it was my fault. That—” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

They heard the ding of the elevator, then the quiet slide of the doors opening. A moment later, Max pushed the door open and his wife—for apparently two more weeks—walked in, stopping just at the threshold.

Elizabeth Morgan, looking tired and pale, folded her arms across a faded Boston University t-shirt and arched a slim brow. “This isn’t Steven’s apartment. Where is my brother?”

Jason just stared at her for a long moment, then swallowed. “I don’t know. I just got back—”

“I didn’t ask you,” Elizabeth said coldly. She looked at Justus. “Where’s Steven? He hasn’t returned my calls in a week. Is it Sonny? Is he taking Carly’s death that badly? What’s going on? He never stays quiet this long—”

“That’s why I asked you to come up,” Justus said smoothly, rounding Jason and walking towards his cousin-in-law. “I don’t know where Steven is. No one has seen him since before we found Carly.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “That’s not good.”

“No,” Justus agreed. He looked back at Jason. “Jason, we’ll talk in a bit, okay? I want to take Elizabeth down to the apartment. Maybe she can help us figure out where he went.”

“Yeah.” Jason nodded over the lump in his throat. “That’s—”

But Justus had already closed the door.

Jason went up the stairs and went towards the end of the short hallway on the second floor. He stopped in front of the door across the hall from the master bedroom—

—so we’ll be close to her—

Then he pushed open the door.

He looked around the room, not sure if he was relieved to see that it hadn’t been touched or angry that it was still here as a reminder of why he’d left his wife in the middle of the night, or why she looked right through him.

The white furniture remained unused, the mint green carpet as plush as the day it had been laid—

And the name painted in bouncy peach letters over the crib — Lily Ann Morgan —

The little girl who had never seen this room, who hadn’t lived long to draw her first breath.

Jason quietly closed the door, pressed his fist against it, then took a deep breath. He’d find Elizabeth’s brother for her because that was the least he could do after he’d killed their daughter.

June 4, 2020

This entry is part 1 of 20 in the Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures

Written in 21 minutes. No editing. Set 2018ish. Sam left town after divorcing Drew. Franco and Elizabeth broke up after one of his many lies. Pick one. Doesn’t matter.

The sound of his cell phone jerked Jason Morgan out of sleep. Never a deep sleeper, he rolled over and reached for the phone on his nightstand, already alert and fully awake.

He saw his ten-year-old son’s face flashing on the screen before Jason pressed the accept button. “Jake?” he demanded. “What’s wrong—”

“You have to—Dad—”

There was a grunt, a crash, and then the line went dead.

Jason forced himself to take a deep breath and opened the app to locate his son’s phone even as he was pulling on his jeans and shoving his feet into boots. By the time he’d reached the street in front of his apartment building, the app had located Jake’s phone at his mother’s house.

Exactly where it should be at 1:13 AM on a Wednesday night in the middle of June. Jason hissed and called Elizabeth’s phone, putting his car into drive.

Elizabeth never answered. Neither did her older son, Cameron.

He didn’t know who else to call—there was no one else—Elizabeth had only moved to the house the month before and didn’t know her neighbors. Her grandmother had passed away, and Jason hadn’t been back in Port Charles long enough to know who else she was close to.

He’d been gone too long and too much had changed. He didn’t know her life anymore.

Still, he didn’t panic. Elizabeth’s phone might be off. Jake might be playing a prank. Cameron might have had his phone taken away for punishment. It could be anything.

And then he turned the corner onto her street.

Even before her house came into view, Jason saw the flashing blue and red lights. The black and white cop cars parked haphazardly in her driveway and lawn. The ambulance out front.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Jake had called him—had the police already been there? Already on their way?

He parked a few houses away and climbed out his car.

And then saw the stretcher leaving Elizabeth’s house, the black body bag stretched out. His heart began to pound.

“You can’t come any closer—” An officer threw up his hand as Jason started to push past the police line. Jason forced himself not to throw the man into the row of cars—that wouldn’t help anyone—

He needed to know who was in the bag. Where was his son? His brothers?

His mother?

Where was Elizabeth and her kids?

He frantically searched the scene, hoping to find her or one of them. He looked for Cameron’s and Jake’s blond heads, Aiden’s dark curls—

Elizabeth’s chestnut brown.

“My son lives there!” Jason retorted as the cop tried to push him back. “He called me in the middle of the night—”

The officer’s eyes sharpened. “What? You talked to one of the kids?” He turned and waved a hand. “Chase!”

Harrison Chase, a recent transplant to the PCPD, turned from talking to a man in a pair of pajamas. When he saw Jason, his eyes widened and he quickly moved over to them. “Jason Morgan? How did you know—”

“He said he got a call from one of the kids—”

“Jake,” Jason interrupted the officer. He focused on Chase. “Jake called me, but he just told me to come—then the line went dead.” He tugged his phone out of the pocket. “You can look for yourself—” He pulled up the recent calls.

“Came at 1:13,” Chase murmured. “Lasted 30 seconds—half of it was probably waiting for the connection—”

“What happened?” Jason demanded roughly. He grabbed Chase by the lapels of the jacket, finally out of patience. “Where is my son? Where’s Elizabeth and her kids?”

“No, no—” Chase barked at the officer who’s hand went to holster. “Relax—” He put his hand over Jason’s and met his eyes. “I don’t know where the boys are, Morgan. They’re missing.”

“No—” Jason released the cop, finally feeling the flickering edge of panic. “No, that’s not possible. Jake was here ten minutes ago—”

“We think the oldest kid took the younger ones and left,” the cop volunteered. Chase glared at him. “What?”

“What do you mean? Where’s—”

Jason looked again at the body bag as it was loaded into the ambulance. A chill spread in his chest. His muscles tightened up. “Who’s dead? Damn it! Tell me it’s not Elizabeth—”

“Tell me!” He repeated on a growl, dragging Chase back up his jacket again. “Where—”

Then he saw her. A petite brunette leaving the house, her hair disheveled, her face pale. She looked straight ahead.

“Elizabeth!” Jason released Chase immediately, almost throwing him aside as he broke past the police line and ran up the walk. “What—”

Then he saw the silver at her wrists, the hand of a cop on her arm. He stopped dead, almost not understaning what he was looking at.

She looked at him, her eyes black pools against her face, her pale skin the color of chalk lit under the harsh street lights. “Jason,” she managed.

“What the hell is going on? Where are the boys?”

“I can’t—” Her voice trembled. “I did—”

“No—” With a sudden rise of dread, Jason sliced his hand down in front of him. Because whatever she was being accusd of, he knew she hadn’t done it. Whoever was in the bag—

This couldn’t be her fault. Not Elizabeth. If the boys were missing—

“Say nothing. I’ll call Diane,” Jason ordered her. He turned back to Chase as the cop loped up to the join them. Not caring if it put him in the cell right along with Elizabeth, Jason grabbed Chase again by the jacket. “Who’s in the bag?”

Chase exhaled, but again waved off the cops who almost jumped forward to drag Jason away. “Franco Baldwin. He’s dead.” He nodded to Elizabeth who just closed her eyes. “And she killed him.”

Jason blinked at him, shaking his head, then looked back at Elizabeth, taking in everything he hadn’t seen before.

The splashes on her tank top, the torn strap—

The blood staining her hands.

She lifted her chin. “Damn right, I did.”

June 3, 2020

This entry is part 1 of 16 in the Flash Fiction: An Everlasting Love

Alternate Universe. Written in 20ih minutes (give or take a bit considering I got a tornado warning about 4 minutes in and had to pause, LOL.) No time for editing!

California, mid-1870s

Elizabeth Lewis smiled tightly as she gripped the hand of her four-year-old son and tried to move around the obstacle standing between her and the general store.

“I wish you’d reconsider, Bethie—”

That wasn’t her name, and it was incredibly rude to address her so informally, but Elizabeth had learned long ago that if you just let Richard Lansing talk, he’d eventually run out of things to say.

Trouble was that the relentless banker not only didn’t know when he wasn’t welcome, he couldn’t take no for an answer. This was the fifth time she had rejected his proposal of marriage since the death of her husband the previous winter.

“There is nothing to consider, Mr. Lansing. If you will just allow me to pass—”

“Now, Bethie—” Richard smiled at her, his brown eyes oozing warmth with that charming smile a woman who didn’t know better might melt beneath. “Just hear me out—”

“I have heard you out. On multiple occasions—”

“Mama?”

“A moment, Cameron,” she murmured to her son, glancing down at his beloved face. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the smarmy banker. “I said no when I was seventeen, Mr. Lansing, and I have continued to say no for the last eight years.”

“I won’t be asking forever—” Richard threatened as she finally managed to push past him and move towards Jones’ Emporium. “You aren’t the only woman out there.”

Elizabeth ignored them as they ducked inside the store. The fact of the matter was that women were still not thick on the ground in this part of California. They were a lifetime away from the glitz and glitter of San Francisco and Sacrementa, located near the Sierra Nevada. The only fancy thing about Diamond Springs was its name.

“Good afternoon, Elizabeth,” Barbara Jones said with a cheerful smile. “And young Master Cameron! How would you like a peppermint stick?”

“Oh—” Elizabeth pursed her lips as the redheaded prioprieter lifted the lid of a glass jar. “Just this once, Cameron. Tell Mrs. Jones thank you.”

“Thank you,” Cameron managed even as he licked the candy.

“I have your order ready. Just give me a moment.” Barbara turned to one of the shop assistants. “Kyle, go and get Mrs. Lewis’s packages.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’ll be out in just a jiffy.” Barbara’s smile faltered slightly. “We haven’t seen you in town for a few weeks. Everything all right out on the ranch?”

Ranch. What silly name for the patch of land Elizabeth struggled to maintain three miles outside city limits. She had a small herd of cattle, three horses, and a cottage whose roof might last another winter if they were lucky.

It was all she had left of her father and the only inheritance she had for Cameron, so Elizabeth was determined to hold on to it long enough for him to make something out of it. “We’re managing. Have I missed anything interesting? Anything new in town?” She knew priming Barbara to share gossip would deflect attention from her.

“Oh…” Barbara’s smile turned sly. “We have an new sheriff arriving on the train from Sacremento at the end of the week.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Elizabeth murmured. “Cameron, don’t eat all of that right now—”

“He’s a hometown boy coming home to do good by his grandmother. You should stop by before you leave town. I’m sure Lila will tell you all about it.”

Lila.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly before turning back to Barbara, forcing a smile on her face. “Lila? Lila Quartermaine? It’s her grandson? I—” She cleared her throat. “I thought that he was working on the trains.”

Or that had been the reason he’d told her before leaving Diamond Springs eight years earlier. She could still see his easy, shy smile and friendly blue eyes as he promised to write her.

As he promised to come back for her.

“We all did, but I guess he took up with the Marshalls at some point.” Barbara shrugged. “Whatever the case, it looks like Jason Morgan is coming home.”

Elizabeth managed a smile even as her stomach rolled.

She doubted he was coming back for her after all this time, and after eight years of no word—

Would he even remember?

September 28, 2019

This entry is part 7 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

Alternate Universe. Written in 25ish minutes.  It has no title because I am bereft of inspiration. Maybe one day.

From the minute Jason Morgan walked through the doors of the Queen of Angels church after a year of being away from Port Charles, he could tell that something was seriously wrong.

Even more wrong than the reason he’d ended his global travels and hurried back to his hometown after an upset phone from one of the men who had stepped up as Sonny Corinthos’ right hand man in the organization after Jason had decided he’d devoted enough of his life to violence and mayhem. He’d needed to get out. Desperately.

There had been a shooting at the penthouse where Sonny lived with his wife, Brenda, and tragically, his boss’s beloved wife had died. Sonny was inconsolable, no one could find their doctor to take care of him, and worse—no one could understand how Anthony Moreno’s men had managed to penetrate their security and made it to the top floor of the apartment building.

But when he returned to Port Charles, just in time for the memorial, he saw immediately the rot that had set in since he’d left. There was no security on the church, and the men that sat with Sonny up front weren’t looking around—weren’t aware of their surroundings.

Jason slipped into the back pew where Johnny O’Brien sat, leaning back with his arms folded. “Any word?”

Johnny shook his head, silently as the priest at the front of the church continued to drone on. Most of the congregation had tuned out of the long Latin mass that Sonny had insisted on. “Some sort of breach in the security room. The cameras were off in the entire building. And Sonny got rid of the parking garage guards, so—” He jerked a shoulder. “The doc is still missing in action, and that’s weird, Jase. He never would have taken off like this. Not with Brenda—”

Johnny exhaled slowly. “He took care of her after the miscarriage six months ago, you know? And I just can’t seem him not even—”

“Wait, he’s missing completely?” Jason hissed under his breath. “How—he works at the hospital—”

“He hasn’t shown up for a shift since the shooting. Some of the guys think maybe he did this—but nah, no way—” Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I was finishing up the Puerto Ric run when it happened. By the time I got back, no one wanted to talk about it. Sonny isn’t even demanding that many answers about the security breach.”

“He could just be…” Jason trailed off. He exchanged a look with the other man as they both remembered Sonny’s breakdowns. He’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder two years earlier, but had refused to go on any medicine. Had refused that sign of weakness. Brenda had always been good at keeping him even and balanced, but— “I shouldn’t have left,” he said roughly.

“You had your reasons,” Johnny murmured. “I know how much Michael meant to you—” He broke off, leaned past Jason as someone new lingered in the door way. “Oh. Did you know she was coming?”

Jason followed his friend’s gaze and saw the petite young brunette standing there, hesitantly, her eyes searching. When she saw them in the back pew, she bit her lip and approached them. Johnny immediately slid down, and Jason followed, keeping himself very still and maintaing at least six inches between himself and Elizabeth Webber, Steven Webber’s favorite sister and…

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said, flashing a white smile at them, her eyes darting around the church, her fingers trembling as they were clutched around the strap of her black clutch. “I, um, I haven’t heard from Steven—and the news—I just—I was worried. So I flew in from Boston—” She stopped, looking at her hand where his eyes had also gone. At the slim golden band and diamond ring on her fourth finger.

“I’m sorry—” Elizabeth started to yank it off, but Jason stopped her, covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, dully.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Jason said. “Elizabeth—” He grimaced, then turned to Johnny. “O’Brien, go find somewhere else to sit. Now.”

When Johnny had slunk away, Elizabeth drew in her bottom lip, her teeth sinking in. “You haven’t seen Steven have you? He said you were away, but you’re back now—”

“I just got in this morning. And, no, I haven’t talked to Steven in months.” And if Steven Webber wasn’t in touch with his sister, then—

“I’m scared,” Elizabeth admitted, as she stared forward, down the long aisle of the church, down the thirty or forty pews that lay between them and the altar with the white coffin decorated with flowers. “I really can’t lose someone else I love.” She glanced at him, and for a moment—they were united as the parents they’d been a year earlier when their son had died. Then she looked away, her lips pressed tightly together.

He’d woken from the accident with a blank memory and pretty woman claiming to be his wife and the mother of his child. He’d pushed her away, but Michael was different. He’d fallen in love with his son. Until the day they’d lost him, and any chance of rebuilding a life with her had slipped away.

It had been Jason’s fault their son was dead.

And, maybe, indirectly, it would be his fault Steven Webber was missing.

June 19, 2019

This entry is part 6 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

The ending is a little wonky because I ran out of time. Written in 23 minutes.

Stefanie Webber was going to see her father whether he—or her mother—liked it or not. For her entire life, they’d waited for him. Waited for him to call, waited for him to visit, waited for him to leave, to go back to the city where they were, for some reason, never allowed to visit. Oh sure, her mother had always told her that one day Stef would understand. Love was complicated.

But she was fourteen now and really tired of hearing she’d understand when she was the older. As her oldest brother had always told her, that was just some shit adults told you to get you off their back. Well, Stef was done waiting for answers from her mother, and since her father wasn’t expected to come back to San Diego until her birthday in July, showing up on his doorstep in April might shock him enough to explain why the hell he lived somewhere else if he loved her mother so damn much.

Her mother didn’t often let Stefanie out of her sight overnight—her brothers told her that was mostly their fault—Jake had apparently been kidnapped twice as a kid and Cameron had never met a curfew in high school he hadn’t broken. But every once in a while, she could convince her mom to let her sleep over Trisha’s house, and this time—she’d managed to convince Trish to cover for her at least until Saturday morning.

Because by then she’d be in Port Charles and would have confronted her father about never being around and she wouldn’t need a cover story anymore.

Of course all of that had seemed like a great idea until her layover in Chicago had screwed everything else. Her connecting flight had been cancelled and they couldn’t get her on a new one until the next morning. Which meant she’d be in the air right about the time she was supposed to be home from Trisha’s house.

It couldn’t be helped, Stef told herself, as she got into the taxi that would take her from the airport to her father’s penthouse — his address had been ridiculous easy to find. She’d found it on his driver’s license three years ago.

She turned on her phone…just to see if she’d gotten away with it so far and found that she had four missed calls and three texts—as well as a text from her oldest brother, Cameron. She wrinkled her nose, weighed her bets, and called Cameron.

“Stef, Mom is flipping out. You turned off your location on your phone—”

“Hello to you, too, Cam,” Stef said with a roll of her eyes as the taxi turned towards the downtown area with its taller buildings. “So she doesn’t know where I am yet?”

“She doesn’t, but only because I didn’t tell her you’ve been asking questions about Dad again.” Cameron waited a moment. “What the hell, Stef—are you just going to show up on his doorstep?”

“That’s the general idea. Don’t you think it’s strange we’ve never been allowed to come to see him? He has family here. I know he does. Why don’t we get to know him?”

“This isn’t the way to figure it out—”

“Sorry, Cam. The taxi is dropping me at his apartment building now. You can tell Mom all you want. It’s not going to stop me.”

Fifteen flights above, Jason Morgan was having a terrible morning. It hadn’t started that way, but the people in his life always knew how to screw things up. He leaned back against his pool table and listened to his third visitor of the day throw the second tantrum she’d had that week. His first two visitors were still there, listening and throwing in their advice. Like always.

The knock on his door made him grimace. He could only imagine who was here this time. He walked away from the trio in his living room and pulled the door open.

“Dad?” His daughter blinked up at him with her mother’s blue eyes, and shoved her dark hair out of her eyes. “Um. Hi.”

“Dad?” one of the women behind him demanded. “What the hell—”

Jason scowled and turned back. “Sam—”

“Wait, a second—” the other woman said. She strode forward to get a better look at Stefanie who shrunk back from both of them. “Who the hell—”

“Dad?” Stefanie repeated, more hesitantly now, taking a step back. “What’s going on?”

“Stefanie—” He sighed, dipped his head, then took her by the elbow and led her into the penthouse living room. “Stefanie, this is Sonny and Carly Corinthos. And that’s Sam.”

“Sam,” Stefanie repeated, flicking a glance at her father, as if questioning why Sam didn’t have a last name.

“Sam Morgan, his wife,” Sam snapped. Stefanie paled as Jason shot her a dark look.

“Ex-wife,” Jason growled. “For sixteen years. Don’t start, Sam.” He looked back at Stefanie with her wide eyes, then sighed. “This is Stefanie Webber. My daughter.”

“Webber?” Carly screeched as Sonny smirked and Sam scowled.

“You wanted to know the reason I never came to live in San Diego?” Jason asked with a sigh. “Because they would have followed me.”

June 9, 2019

This entry is part 8 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

A continuation of Part 1, a flash fiction from April. It was written in 20 minutes.  No edits for typos.

The drive between Port Charles and the Canadian border was not a long one, but tonight, it felt like the longest ride of Cameron Webber’s life. In the backseat, his younger brothers were eerily silent.

They’d been woken from their sleep by screams and thuds and then hustled out of the door in their pajamas, with no other explanation beyond “Let’s go. Now!”

Aiden had cried for the first ten minutes, wanting to see his mother, but Jake—

Jake was quiet, his eyes assessing. He’d seen more than Cameron had wanted—the blood stains he’d tried to scrub out from his nails at a gas station near Buffalo, the scratches on his arms, the bruises on his face. He hadn’t asked any questions. Had simply followed Cameron back out of the bathroom and into the car, helping Aiden get bucked up again.

Drive, his mother had said, handing him the keys to the car she’d only recently let him back out of the driveway for the first time and the emergency envelope of cash she’d hidden away. Drive into Canada and keep driving until she contacted him. Cameron had argued—he’d wanted to stay—wanted to take care of her—but she had only shaken her head.

Jake and Aiden had to be safe. Had to be kept away. What if they were wrong—what if he wasn’t dead? What if he came back?

He always came back.

Neither of them voiced the obvious wrinkle in her plan to just keep driving until she contacted him. If Drew and Franco were as dead as they looked—

She might not be able to contact him.

But Cameron couldn’t think of those things right now. He had to get the boys over the border. He could figure everything else out just as soon as they were all out of the country.

His cell phone rang, and out of habit, he looked at the screen on the dashboard—his phone had connected automatically to his mother’s bluetooth connection, like it was any other day and he was just going to drive her crazy with his music as she dragged him somewhere.

Jason Morgan.

The sight of his brother’s father’s name flashing across the screen was a strange one and yet—he felt his lungs expand slightly. He remembered Jason. Jason took care of things. Or he used to. He used to be his mother’s go-to in almost every emergency.

Had his mother reached out now?

“That’s my dad,” Jake said, leaning forward as the phone continued to ring. “Are you going to answer it?”

“Sit back,” Cameron said. He took the next exit and steered the car towards the first gas station as the phone went silently, having reached the amount of rings before voicemail switched on. “Keep your seat belt on.”

“Cameron—”

He pulled the car into a parking spot alongside the building, then reached for his phone, switching off the bluetooth. He didn’t want his brothers overhearing anything Jason might say to him.

He dialed the number, and Jason answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

Cameron swallowed. He didn’t know Jason anymore. He thought he had—he thought the man who had lived with them for almost a year and had offered to adopt him was Jason—but that wasn’t Jason, and all the other memories were faded ones of a child who loved motorcycles and any adult who would play with him.

“How did you get my number?”

“Cameron.” There was a pause. “I was just at the PCPD. I talked to your mother.”

His chest squeezed again as tears burned in his eyes. He closed his eyes. “What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. Except that it was all her fault and that I needed to find you and your brothers. I convinced her to stop talking to the police and let Diane help her. Let me keep my promise to her. Where are you?”

“I—I just took an exit off the 190. Just before the bridge to Grand Island. I don’t—I don’t remember which number.”

“Exit 15,” Jake said quietly in the back.

“We’re at a gas station,” Cameron continued. “Mom—she’s okay?”

“No,” Jason said. “But we’ll take care of that next. Stay where you are as long as you can. That’s not too far away. I’ll come to you.”

“Okay. Okay.” He closed his phone and set it in the cupholder next to the driver’s seat. He was oddly comforted by the fact that Jason hadn’t pretended everything was okay or that his mother was just fine. He hadn’t lied to Cameron.

It was a small thing, but Cameron needed it right now. It was something to cling to, something that let him believe it was safe to trust Jason Morgan.

“Is my dad coming?” Jake asked. He climbed over the seats and settled into the passenger’s seat. A moment later, Aiden followed even though it was now a tight squeeze with Aiden and Jake sharing the seat. “Are we going to wait for him?”

“Yeah. He was worried about you—” Cameron’s throat tightened. Because that’s why Jason was involved, of course. Worry over his own son. He didn’t care about Cameron or Aiden. Or his mother. But he hadn’t lied to him.

And if that was the only thing Cameron could believe in right now, he’d take it.

It was almost an hour before a dark SUV pulled int the spot next to them. Cameron waited until he saw Jason step around the front of the car and lean against the hood.

“Stay in the car,” Cameron told his brothers.

“But that’s my dad,” Jake began but he closed his mouth when Cameron glared at him. “Okay.”

Cameron pushed open the sedan’s door and closed it. “What next?”

“That depends on you,” Jason told him. His light blue eyes seemed to penetrate right into Cameron’s still sour gut. “Do I need to get you out of the country?” He tilted his head, nodding towards the injuries that were still visible. “Somewhere you can’t be extradited?”

“I think—” Cameron swallowed hard and spoke carefully. “I think it might have been self-defense. But I don’t know. I—you’d do that?”

“Yeah.” Jason stepped towards him. “I promised your mother a long time ago I would always take care of you. I didn’t—” He looked away for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “I didn’t keep that promise then. Let me keep my promise to her,” he repeated softly. “For once.”

“I had to do it,” he offered. His voice trembled slighlty, but Cameron bit down hard on his lip. “I had to do it. He was going to hurt her. And I couldn’t let her get hurt again.” He closed his eyes. “I killed Franco, and I’m not sorry.”

“I should have killed him years ago,” Jason said, bluntly. Cameron’s eyes flew open. “I thought I had. It’s my fault any of this is happening. Let’s get your brothers and head back. I brought someone to drive your mother’s car back to Port Charles.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if we can fix it, Cameron. But we’re going to try.”

May 11, 2019

This entry is part 2 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

I don’t really know what I think about this one. I had a thought a few months ago about Jake’s kidnapping and I thought maybe I’d play with it. So here’s an idea I had. It kind of cuts off abruptly because I ran out of time, so no edits for typos.  It picks up in 2019 current time but the show stops after Jake’s kidnapping.

Written in 30 minutes.

Spring 2019

Scott Baldwin strode into the offices of Spinelli & Spencer and raised an eyebrow at the clean and modern lobby, complete with a receptionist desk. Somehow, when he had learned that Luke Spencer’s daughter had ended up as a private investigator, he’d pictured a dark and drab interior but maybe he had watched one too many noir films in his life.

He stepped up to the desk where a chirpy strawberry blonde young woman sat, her bright blue eyes matching the smile on her face. “Good morning, welcome to Spinelli & Spencer. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t, but I was hoping that Spinelli or Lulu might have a few minutes. Scott Baldwin.” He hesitated, but decided against mentioning that he had once been married to Lulu’s mother. He hadn’t seen either of them since he’d left town ten years earlier, and he had no way of knowing if Laura had even told her kid anything nice about him. “I’m an old friend of the family.”

Sure. That worked.

“One minute.”

A minute later, a young woman stepped out from the back office, her brow arched and Scott’s heart skipped a beat. Lesley Lu Spencer looked just like her mother when he’d fallen in love with her more than thirty years ago. “Lulu.”

“Scott, come on back.” Lulu lead him to an office down the hall. “I haven’t seen you since you moved to…Rochester?”

“Buffalo,” he murmured as they took seats. “I came because I had a friend out in Oregon contact me about an estate he was handling. A woman, recently deceased. She left…something…to some people here in Port Charles, and he thought I might be able to help.”

“Oh?” Lulu picked up pencil. “How’s the family? Serena? Logan?”

“Good, good.” Scott scratched his temple. “Are you…I know she’s not married to your brother anymore, but I wondered if you were still friendly with Elizabeth Webber.”

“Elizabeth?” Lulu frowned. “Yeah. I mean, she and Lucky broke up ages ago, and you know my mom and Aunt Bobbie always loved her. Plus, it’s not like Lucky and I are giving Mom any grandkids. Did your client leave something to her?”

“You might say that.” He cleared his throat. “She…still with Morgan? Even after all crap with Corinthos?”

“You mean Sonny getting arrested and fleeing extradition?” Lulu said dryly. “Yeah. You probably read in the newspapers that Jason helped the FBI and WSB dismantle the waterfront and the organized crime. He got to walk away scot free. Opened another garage. He and Elizabeth got married maybe six months later, after Aiden was born.”

“Oh. So they had another kid?” Scott exhaled. Nodded. “Good, good. I always felt terrible the PCPD was never able to find Jake.”

“Yeah.” Lulu bit her lip. “Yeah. It took Liz and Jason some time, but they got past it. They had Aiden, and then just six years ago, a little girl, Juliet.” She tipped her head, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. “What’s this about, Scott? You and my ex-sister-in-law barely knew each other. And you never liked Jason Morgan.”

“Yeah, well…” Scott reached into his briefcase. “I was contacted by the estate of Maureen Harper of Portland, Oregon, who recently passed away from breast cancer, leaving custody of her thirteen-year-old son to Jason and Elizabeth Morgan.”

“Maureen Harper?” Lulu leaned froward. “What?”

Scott drew out a picture and set it in front of Lulu. “It’s the damnedest thing though, Lulu. I was around Morgan a little bit as a baby. I used to date his biological mother, Susan.”

Lulu picked up the photograph, frowning. “This…he looks…” She reached for her phone and flicked a few times before handing it to Scott. “He looks familiar.”

Scott looked at the photograph Lulu had selected for him, a trio of kids—a teenager and then two younger children. The little boy was nearly shared many of the same features as the Harper kid.

“When I heard the age, I knew it was wrong, but something told me…” Scott rubbed his chest. “It’s not that wrong. The PCPD always thought whoever kidnapped Jake must have wanted to raise him.”

“You—” Lulu swallowed hard, setting the photograph down and accepting her phone back. “You can’t just spring this on them. We need—we need to be sure—”

“I know. I already asked the guy in Portland to take some samples. They’re being sent to General Hospital, but—” He hesitated. “Either way, this woman left her kid to them. That needs to be sorted out. Whether he’s Jake or not. And the minute I start telling them about a kid matching Jake’s description and relative age—”

“They’re not stupid. They’ll figure it out.” Lulu scrubbed her hands over her face. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call my mom. She’s the hospital administrator and she can let me know if Liz is working today. We could go see her. Man, this wrecked my family back then. Mom was just recovering, Lucky ended up going back to drugs when he found out Jake wasn’t his—I can’t believe we might finally be solving it.”

——

Across town, Elizabeth Morgan was rethinking her bright idea at allowing her teenaged son to volunteer at the hospital along with his girlfriend. It was the third time she’d caught Cameron slacking off in a corner, texting and playing video games with Josselyn Jacks.

“C’mon, Mom. Don’t you remember what it’s like to be young?” Cameron rolled his eyes as he followed his mother back to the nurse’s station as a petulant Joss was led in a different direction by Epiphany Johnson. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Oh, God, it’s like looking in a mirror sometimes,” she muttered as she glanced at her watch. “Your father is picking you up in ten minutes. D oyou think it will be possible for you to stay out trouble that long—”

“Elizabeth.”

She turned at Laura Collins’ voice, with a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, Laura. I know I’m late for the meeting, but—” She frowned as she saw her husband step off the elevator with Scott Baldwin and Lulu Spencer. Why was Jason around a lawyer? A lawyer that hated him and…didn’t even live in Port Charles anymore?

She saw Laura’s concerned gaze as the trio from the elevators approached. At her side, even Cameron could read the room. He looked back and forth between his parents and frowned. “What’s going on? You guys look weird.”

“Elizabeth, Scott came to see Lulu today with some news—” Laura touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Maybe we should go into the conference room—”

“Oh, God. You found him.” Her stomach pitched and Elizabeth braced herself against the counter, her fingers digging into the hard plastic. “Where? What happened?” It was the only explanation. It would be just like that poor Wetterling mother last year who finally learned where her little boy had been buried after all these years. Oh, God, her baby. She’d always known he was alive, but maybe he wasn’t.

“Mom—” Cameron wrapped an arom around her shoulders as Jason stepped up inside the nurse’s station, looking a bit confused.

“We have a lead, maybe,” Lulu admitted. “Scott’s friend is handling an estate in Oregon, and some woman named Maureen Harper left custody her son to you—”

Elizabeth blinked. Shook her head. “What? What does that mean?” She looked at her husband, into his pained blue eyes. “Jason. Are they—” She frowned. “What’s wrong? You—you look like—”

Jason looked at Lulu and sighed. “I know who Maureen Harper is. She lost her son in a fire a few months before Jake went missing. Sam had her on her show, and she—she wrote us a few times to ask about the search.”

“Maureen—” Elizabeth pressed her hands to her mouth. “Maureen Harper came to see me after the park—Oh, God. Did she have my baby the whole time?”

March 8, 2019

This entry is part 13 of 13 in the Flash Fiction: Fool Me Twice

Written in 20 minutes. No editing for typos.

Scott swallowed hard, his hands spread at his side to block any possible view of the exhausted and traumatized teenager behind him. In front of him stood his son. The only son he had left—

The sociopath that had played them all for fools these last few years, earning their trust, earning their affection—and then using it against them—

“I’m taking Cameron back to his mother,” Scott said slowly, his heart pounding, a trickle of sweat running down his back beneath his button down shirt. “And then we’re going to the hospital. Your tumor is obviously back—

Franco laughed then, a low chuckle that sent a chill racing down his father’s spine. He’d never heard that sound before, had never seen that light in his eyes—

He hadn’t been in town during Franco’s first rampage—didn’t know exactly who he was looking at—

“There’s no tumor,” Franco said, tilting his head slightly. “Well, there might be. But the tumor doesn’t matter. It never did.”

“Franco—”

“I never lost the taste for it—that rush of taking a life—” Franco closed his eyes, shook his head slightly as if in a dream. “But I had to wait. I had to be smart. I couldn’t play my games with anyone who could be missed.”

Scott swallowed hard. Oh God. “Franco—”

“The homeless, the whores—” Franco sighed. “It’s cliche, but it works. No one even wondered why my art came back to me. Why I could create magic again—”

“Oh, God, he’s going to kill us,” Cameron moaned.

“I thought about giving it up. Elizabeth—” Franco nodded. “If there was ever anyone who might be worth it, I guess it would have been her. But it got boring. The kids were whiny—that one—” He shuddered. “That behind you was going to catch on. It was only a matter of time.”

Franco’s hands were empty, and Scott couldn’t see a weapon. If he rushed his son—maybe Cameron could escape—but what if Betsy didn’t let the boy leave? What if Franco got past Scott and caught up?

Why hadn’t he told anyone where he was going? Why he had tried to save his son?

It was obvious there was nothing left to save. Maybe there never had been.

So with great regret, Scott reached behind him and pulled the gun from the holster attached at his waistband. He pointed it at his son. “Let me take him back to his mother,” he said slowly. Franco looked merely amused at the gun, not at all worried.

“He’s a bit too old for Betsy to raise, I guess. It’s a shame Elizabeth didn’t have any more babies I could have given my mother.” Franco touched a finger to his lips. “I thought about trying to Sam or Lulu’s kid. Maybe even Danny.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I wonder if he’s my kid after all. You know you can’t trust paternity tests.”

Scott’s stomach rolled and pitched as the reality of that set in. Franco had actually raped Sam. Had obviously been lying all along. How did they miss it? How did they ignore the signs?

He took a step forward, the gun trained directly on Franco. “We’re going to go. You can run. You’ll need to if you want to stay ahead of Jason Morgan and everyone else in Port Charles.”

Franco smirked. “No, I think I’ll stay here and wait. Isn’t the cavalry coming? Shouldn’t they be right behind you?” He arched his brows. “Or did you think you could save me? Is that why you’re alone?”

Scott stepped forward again, his hands trembling slightly as he cocked the gun. “I don’t want to do this, but if you’re right, if you’re still the same sick, twisted, psycho—then I should do everyone a favor.”

“How many children have you lost, Dad? Logan? Karen? You think I believe you’ll make it three?” Franco shook his head. “You’re just not as devious as you think you are—”

Franco lunged forward suddenly, in the middle of the sentence—and Scott reacted. He pulled the trigger. Once, twice, then a third time—

The first shot slammed into Franco’s shoulder, sending him flying back—the second ripped into his gut—and the third missed, taking a chunk out of the wall.

His son slumped to the ground, his hands covering his abdomen as blood pooled beneath him. He stared up at Scott, glazed shock in his eyes. “You shot—”

With one hand, Scott dug into his suit jacket and tossed his cell phone at the stunned Cameron. He heard screaming from the first floor, then footsteps as Betsy struggled to climb to the second floor. “Call Jason.”

“Why can’t I call my mother?” Cameron demanded, his voice shaking as he took the phone, his blue eyes locked on the bleeding man on the wooden floor.

“Call Jason, then call Mac Scorpio. Just do it, Cameron. I’ll explain later.” Scott swallowed hard and watched as the life left Franco’s eyes. As his chest stopped rising.

He’d wanted to protect his son, to save him, but he had to stop Franco from hurting anyone else.

Because sometimes that was a parent’s job, too.

March 6, 2019

This entry is part 9 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

This is kind of set in contemporary GH — my idea of trying to save the goddamn show again. I don’t know if it’ll work. These characters are pretty far gone, but it’s a soap opera so nothing is ever over. It’s set a bit in the future, and all you really need to know is that this ridiculous serial killer storyline happened, Franco plead guilty, ended up stabbed. Ryan is gone, Ava is gone. (I figure she should get to kill him and then split town to deal with it, I don’t really care tho). Jason and Sam are done with the Dawn of the Dead shit because that is dumb as hell and I’m too tired to save it. Everything else should be self-explanatory.

First part is short because I’m getting a super late start and only had about 20 minutes.  No time for editing or typos, and I assure you — they’re always in there.

I ended up taking about 25 minutes altogether.

The Port Charles Police Department was not a place that Jason Morgan liked to spend a lot of time, but thanks to his career choice and the company he kept, he was here at least three times a month.

He pushed his way into the squad room, took in the the cluster of officers around the desk, and squinted down the hallway where he knew the commissioner’s office still sat empty. Jordan Ashford had died after a car accident three months earlier, and Laura Webber couldn’t find anyone willing to take the job.

But he hadn’t pulled himself out of bed at three in the morning to think about any of that. Diane Miller had sounded upset on the phone and hadn’t given him many details, only that he needed to get here as soon as possible.

His redheaded virago of lawyer was standing in front of the interrogation room, her fingers at her lips—Jason noticed with some surprise that she was actually biting on them. Diane was normally put together—her hair carefully done, her nails polished, her suits pressed—for her to be standing here without any makeup in a pair of yoga pants and a cardigan thrown over a tank top—

That was actually pretty terrifying.

“Thank God you’re here.” Diane strode towards him and wrapped her hands in the lapels of his leather jacket. “She’s insane. You’re the only person left who might be able to talk some sense into her.”

“Into who—” Jason started to ask but he stopped as he looked into the window of the interrogation room where the blinds had been left open for a chance. Sitting at the dark wooden table was one of his oldest friends and the mother of his son.

Elizabeth Webber.

Her skin was so translucent, it was nearly colorless. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were thick dark purple circles beneath them. Her chestnut hair lay limply against her shoulders.

Her hands were encased in a pair of silver handcuffs.

Across from her, Detective Harrison Chase sat, with the earnest look he knew so well. He was talking, and Elizabeth was shaking her head.

“What—” Jason turned to his lawyer. “What—”

“Scott Baldwin called me from the hospital, almost in tears,” Diane said. “Said Liz needed a lawyer and he wasn’t—he couldn’t. He said it was a matter of life and death—and I get here and she’s confessing—”

“Confessing to what—”

“It’s a lie. She would never—and even if she did, there was a damn good reason—” Diane pressed a hand to her forehead. “I feel responsible. I should have been nicer to her. More understanding. I don’t know how to do those things, but I could have figured it out.”

Diane was babbling. What could Elizabeth have done—

Jason took a deep breath. “Where’s Franco?”

—

She knew this feeling. She’d been here before. She’d lived here before. There was nothing. Nothing in her heart. Nothing in her head. Nothing in her body.

She was empty inside.

Elizabeth Webber stared down at her hands, at the handcuffs around her wrists, at the blood caked under her fingers—they had already scraped for evidence, but she hadn’t washed them. They hadn’t let her.

There could be evidence.

“I don’t know you that well, but Willow likes you. I know you’re not telling me the truth, Mrs. Baldwin—”

“I never—” Her voice didn’t feel like her own. She had to force it through her throat, past her lips. “I never changed it….”

“Miss Webber,” Chase corrected, his voice gentle. He was a nice man. He must not have been a cop long enough to see true darkness.

She knew what evil looked like. Tonight hadn’t even been the first time she’d been faced with it.

But tonight was the first time it had won.

“Where are your sons? Are they with family? They weren’t in the house—”

Elizabeth blinked. The boys. Put them first. Do it right. “Out of town. I sent them away. Earlier tonight. Before anything—they’re gone. They don’t know anything.”

“We need to talk to them—”

“No. No. You don’t.” She closed her eyes. “I did it. I did it all. I had to. Is…is Drew still alive?”

There was a sharp knock at the door and Diane threw it open. Chase sighed. “Mis Webber still doesn’t want her lawyer—”

“Can I talk to her?” came a voice Elizabeth still couldn’t get used to hearing. She opened her eyes, and there, standing behind Diane, was Jason.

She frowned. Why was he here? What was going on?

Chase hesitated. Looked at Elizabeth. “If you can talk some sense into her. She needs to tell us the truth.” He left the room, then Diane and Jason entered. Jason closed the door behind them.

He met her eyes, then took a seat as Diane paced restlessly.

“Diane told me what the charges are.” He leaned forward, those blue eyes intent on hers. Oh, God. She didn’t know if she had the energy to lie to him anymore. She didn’t want to lie to Jason.

Hadn’t she lied to Jason enough?

“It’s my fault,” she said roughly. “All of it. So I should have to pay for it.”

Diane growled. “Damn it—”

Jason shook his head. “Drew is in the hospital, with a head injury. And Diane says the boys were gone when the police got to the house.” He sighed heavily. “Did they see anything?”

“I—” She pressed her lips together. “Don’t ask me. I can’t lie to you.”

“They did, then. Where are they?”

“If you want to help me—” Elizabeth met his eyes. “If you ever loved me even a little, then you’ll do as I ask. This needs to be my fault. The boys are in a car heading towards the border. Cameron has his phone. He knows only to answer if I call him. But he might pick up if it’s you. You can get them and keep them safe.” Her voice shook. “But you can’t let Cameron talk to the cops. Okay? You need to get my boys away from here.”

“Elizabeth—”

“It’s my fault. I did this. I brought him into our homes. I let him lie to me. And I ignored all the signs that nothing that changed. It’s my fault. It doesn’t matter what happened. Please, Jason.” She spread her hands flat on the table. “The blood is on my hands. I’m asking you to let it stay that way. You did this for Michael. I’m asking you to do this for me.”

Jason leaned back, exhaled slowly, then looked at Diane for a long moment. He looked back at Elizabeth, the nodded. “Under one condition.”

“Jason—”

“Stop talking to the police. Let Diane help you. Don’t plead guilty. I don’t know what happened tonight, Elizabeth. But whatever it is, it’s not on you.” He rose to his feet. “It’s on me. For not killing Franco when I had the chance.”

“I wish I could blame you. It would be so easy.” Her voice broke, and tears started to slide down her cheeks. “But I can’t. I did this. I destroyed my life. Please don’t let the boys—”

“Will you let Diane help you?” Jason asked.

And even though she knew he would help the boys anyway, she nodded. “Okay. But—”

Jason looked at Diane. “Whatever it takes. You make this go away.” He looked to Elizabeth. “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

She closed her eyes, so she didn’t have to watch him leave. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured when the door had closed behind him.

She heard the chair scrape out again as Diane sat down. She opened her eyes to find the fierce brown eyes of her lawyer. “Tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave a single detail out.”