Category Archives: Flash Fiction

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.”

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.”