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.

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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.”

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| Flash Fiction: Desperate Measures – Part 2 →