Previously…

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet you stay with him.  Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you changing the game on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lola likes to cause trouble.”

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

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

“Are you?”

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

“He called here three times yesterday!  He won’t leave you alone!  I know my brother!  We’ve been competing for the same girls since we were kids!  He always wants what I have.  Did I tell you about Alicia Langdon?”

“No,” Suzanne said. 

“Well, believe me, you don’t want to hear about what he did to her.  Look, he’s been in love with you since the day you met him!”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . . . . . .

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

. . . . . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you going to do?”

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

. . . . . . . .

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

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

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

She finished opening the mail and found a CD in a padded envelope addressed to her from Dr. Wainwright.  Curious, she walked to the stereo.  Her hand trembled as she ejected the tray and placed the disc into the CD player.  She watched the digital display load, and then flash for a second or two before the tinny, high-pitched notes of a nursery rhyme filled the room.

London Bridge Is Falling Down

Falling Down, Falling Down

London Bridge Is Falling Down

My Fair Lady

Build It Up with Iron Bars

Iron Bars, Iron Bars

Build It Up With Iron Bars

My Fair Lady

Iron Bars Will Bend and Break

Bend and Break, Bend and Break

Iron Bars Will Bend and Break

My Fair Lady

She was suddenly at ease, soothed by the feelings of nostalgia the song provided her.  She set the jewel case onto the desk next to the envelope.  She closed her eyes, standing perfectly still while letting every note soak into her senses.  Everything else faded to black.  In her mind, she heard the faint sounds of Dr. Wainwright’s voice.

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

The words echoed in her mind as she walked into the garage and returned gripping a tire iron in her hands. 

Iron Bars Will Bend and Break.

She saw headlights shine through the living room windows.  Cloaked in the dark shadows of the room, she raised the iron rod above her head.

You must kill Jordan.

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

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

She tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon.

You must kill Jordan.

“Suzanne?” Jordan continued, walking through the doorway to the living room.

He heard a sound from behind and moved to the side just as the tire iron crashed down at blinding speed, narrowly missing his head and instead smashing into the stereo.  Sparks flew through the air and the lights in the living room flickered for a second or two.

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

“You must kill Jordan,” she said aloud, raising the tire iron above her head again.  “You must kill Jordan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From upstairs, he could hear Benji calling for him.

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

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

“Dad!” Benji called again. 

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

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

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

Kill Jordan. 

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

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

She hit him hard, the object smashing into his skill amidst a gush of warm blood and a spray of bone fragments. She watched, unaffected, as Troy Beauchamp gasped for breath, blood spurting from his mouth and gurgling inside his throat.  Eyes wide, he slowly sunk to the floor and died on the rug next to the sofa.

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

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

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

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

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

“Heather, go!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The possibilities were endless, but the answers would have to wait.  No one would understand or believe him, and he wasn’t about to let his wife go to jail.  He led a catatonic Suzanne into the drawing room and locked the door.  Quickly, he went to work at getting rid of the evidence. 

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

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

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

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

. . . . . . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shoot anyone who gets in the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victor?” Jordan asked in amazement.

“He was Anderson.  And Wainwright.”

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

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

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

“Multiple personalities?” Jordan asked.

Brett shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brett shrugged in confusion.  “So?”

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

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

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

He shook his head adamantly.  “Come on!”

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Where is it?” Brett asked.

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

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

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

“Now what?” he asked in bated breath. 

Jordan shook his head with defeat.

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

Jordan nodded. 

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

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

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

“Eddie, I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

Eddie folded his arms and looked away indifferently.

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

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

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

“Emperor II.” 

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

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

---

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

On the day that his wife left him, Victor Distefano sent his boys off to school, phoned his best friend Nathan in Paris, fixed himself a bourbon and soda, watched a recording of his performance in King Lear, and then decided he was going to kill himself.

It came to him when he realized he couldn’t imagine going on without her.  They had shared many years together, had two sons, were popular among their peers, and had amassed a great fortune due to his popularity as a leading movie star.  His entire life had been devoted to Sylvie and their marriage.  Now, after a brief affair with Jordan Rydell, she decided that she was no longer in love with him.  She packed her things and she moved to Fresno to be with her family.

After he finished his drink, he calmly wrote a three page suicide note.  He was quite pleased with the result.  It was an epic masterpiece, mixing drama with humorous anecdotes and a few Shakespearean quotations.  In it he listed his top ten performances, boasting of the wide range of genres they had encompassed.   He decided he should have taken up writing in addition to his tenure as a stage and screen actor.   He was quite sure his final words would be studied in theatre groups, borrowed for monologues and quoted in journals.  It was the literary work of the nineties.

He sealed the pages in an envelope, addressed it to his fans, and then walked to the garage and got a rope.  He fashioned a crude noose and threw it over one of the wooden beams that crisscrossed the living room ceiling.  He pulled a chair from the dining room and climbed up, positioned the noose around his neck, and prepared to take his last breath.

“Goodbye world,” he said, then summoned the first line he could think of that would describe his life and death, citing appropriately enough from King Lear. “I am a man; more sinned against than sinning.”

When his cell phone rang, he sighed with irritation before plucking it from his interior chest pocket.  He looked at the display and saw that it was Alex Reynolds calling.

“Alex, so good to hear from you,” he said after answering, standing on the chair, the noose circling his neck.

“Thank you.  I’m sorry about the short notice, but James and I are having a dinner party tonight at the mansion.  He wanted me to invite you and Sylvie.  There’s a role he wants to discuss with you. “

Victor rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger.  “What kind of role?” he inquired with a certain amount of curiosity in his voice.

“Well, not so much a role as a voiceover for his Chinese documentary.”

The prospect was intriguing to Victor.  Documentary voiceover?  This was new territory.  An untapped resource to his talents.  How could he think of killing himself before he mastered every aspect of acting?

“Victor?” Alex asked.  “Are you there?”

He nodded.  “Yes.  Sylvie won’t be able to make it, but tell James I will be there.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I really should save my voice.”

After he hung up, Victor pulled the rope from around his neck, got off the chair and went to the mirror to practice his vocal exercises. 

“Today is not a good day to die,” he said, stretching his mouth and jaw while admiring his technique.   For a brief moment he wondered if he would be able to hold it together in the face of so many onlookers who would be attending the dinner party.  Would they know his wife left him?  Would they gossip and sneer? 

The thoughts boiled over until he’d come to a solution.  Was he not a classically trained actor?  Hadn’t he worn many faces over the years?  Adopted personas and characters?  He would simply create a new one.  One whose wife had not fallen in love with another man and left him. 

 . . . . . . . .

That evening he proceeded to the dinner party and talked in length to James about the voiceover.  His new character was convincing.  No one regarded him as a lonely man whose wife had abandoned him.  It was an acting triumph.  On the way home it began raining heavily.  He went inside and moments later there was a visitor at the front gate.   He could hear her screams through the driving rain.

“Damn you Sylvie!” Suzanne screamed, her tears washing away in the rain as she grabbed the cold bars and shook the gate surrounding the house.   “You get out here right now!  I want you to tell me to my face what you did to my family!”

“Mommy, stop!” Heather cried from the car.  She honked the horn in hopes of garnering her attention.

“Is that you, Suzanne?” Victor called through the wind and the rain.  He approached from the house dressed in an orange rain slicker and carrying a black umbrella.  “What are you doing out here?”

“I want to talk to you wife!” Suzanne screamed.

“Sylvie’s gone,” he replied over the howl of the wind.  He continued using his adopted persona.  It wouldn’t do for Rydell’s wife to see him a broken man.  “She left for Fresno this morning.  I know what she and Jordan did, Suzanne.  It doesn’t matter now.  Just go home.”

“You tell her to come back here and tell me that to my face!” Suzanne screamed amidst a flood of tears and rain.

“Go home!” he yelled.  His character didn’t care that Sylvie had left him.  “I’ve moved on and you need to move on too!  This isn’t helping you or your children!’

Suzanne shook the bars and wiped her eyes.  “Damn you, Victor Distefano!” she screamed through the driving rain.  “I’m not going to let her get away with this!  I’m not going to let either one of them get away with this!”

“Mommy, don’t!” Heather cried, running out of the car and pulling Suzanne back.  “Let’s go home!  Please!”

Suzanne finally started back to the car, pushing her sopping wet hair from her face.  “It isn’t fair,” she cried somberly.  “But they’re going to pay for this!  I swear they’ll pay for this!’

They drove off and Victor went back inside, pleased with himself for downplaying the situation.  It wasn’t until the next day that he learned of their accident on the cliff.  Heather’s medical crisis was only minor compensation for what Jordan had done to him.  A better scenario would have been Jordan himself perishing in the crash.

 . . . . . . . .

Weeks later, he attended another party at the Blackthornes.  His new persona accompanied him.  It was getting harder to differentiate it from his real self.   The party was for the premiere of Beijing Dance.  He enjoyed a brief conversation with Renee and Kenny DeWitt about Jordan and his family.

“It’s so tragic,” Renee said, her arm latched through Kenny’s.  “That poor girl.”

“Jordan says she’s going to recover,” Kenny said.

“Thank god,” Victor said with as much sincerity as he could muster.  His character was very compassionate, he decided.  Someone that a person could confide in.

“Yes, but she can’t remember anything about the accident.  Poor Suzanne blames herself.  She was upset and shouldn’t have been driving.  Especially in the rain.”

“It could happen to anyone,” Victor agreed.

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Renee sighed.  “I mean this is really tearing her apart.  I’m afraid she’s going to lose it.”

“I’m sure she’s not going to lose it, Renee,” Kenny argued.

“You don’t know that.  I think she needs to see a psychiatrist.  She and Jordan barely communicate.  I can only do so much.  She needs a professional.  Someone who can really listen and offer some guidance.”

“That’s exactly what she needs,” Victor said with a reassuring smile.

 . . . . . . . .

The next day he paid Lenny Korvanski a visit in the makeup building at Sunset Studios.  Lenny had worked there for years, was a long-time friend of Nathan’s, and owed him a favor or two.  He collected what he needed, modeled for a latex mask, and went off to set up his new office space.

It wasn’t hard to start a chain of communication that eventually led to Renee recommending a newly arrived psychiatrist to Suzanne.  By the time she wound up on the couch in his office, he had everything in place.  It was easy enough to fool her.   The mask, the beard, the glasses, different mannerisms, not to mention his knack for summoning various dialects.  The new character he’d adopted finally had a name.  Dr. Julian Wainwright.

“Your guilt over your daughter’s accident is a powerful thing,” he said to her.  “It’s my job to help you cope with that guilt.”

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

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

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

“And yet you stay with him.  Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the next few weeks he’d succeeded in planting a powerful hypnotic suggestion.  One that would lead to her murdering her husband.

 . . . . . . . .

The night it was set to happen he threw a party for Blake’s fifth birthday just in case he needed an alibi.  Jordan came.  He didn’t argue or throw a tantrum or kick him out.  He didn’t think it was something Dr. Wainwright would do.  Dr. Wainwright was compassionate.  Besides, it was probably the last time he’d see Jordan alive.

He’d already mailed the CD to Suzanne.  Once she heard the song, it would activate the suggestion and the rest would take care of itself.  Finally, he would have his revenge.

The next day there was nothing in the newspapers that detailed the brutal murder of the acclaimed film producer.  Victor began to feel anxious.  He drove by the house a few times but saw nothing, not even a car in the driveway.

The suspense killing him, Victor went to Sunset Studios to see Suzanne.  She was to start work today on Monaco.   He was waived on through the gate and proceeded up to the sound stages.  Upon entering, he found James and Frank frantically storming about the set. 

“Well somebody’s got to know where the hell she is!” James was shouting into the phone.  “I don’t care if Jordan isn’t available.  Get me her goddamn agent!”

The film’s co-star, Jack Childers, passed by Victor who stopped him with a tug of his sleeve.

“Jack, what’s going on?” he asked.

The man shrugged and screwed up his face.  “Suzanne didn’t show up for her call this morning.”

“Where is she?”

“Beats me.  But James and Frank are pissed.  They’re talking about replacing her with Catherin Montana.”

Victor frowned and listened intently as James continued his frantic phone call.  He began to wonder if something had gone amiss during the night.  Did Suzanne finish the job or not?

He decided to wait it out.  Two days passed and he kept checking the newspapers.  On the second day he positioned himself a block away from Jordan’s house, watching for any movement.  That night at ten-thirty the car pulled into the driveway and Jordan stepped out onto the pavement.  Victor’s jaw dropped. How was he still alive?

 . . . . . . . .

He spent the next week locked away in his bedroom, refusing to leave or to answer to anyone, including his children.  Eddie called Stormy who told his mother who came by to check out the situation.

“Victor!” Alex called from the bottom of the stairs.  “Victor, it’s Alex!  Please come downstairs!”

When he didn’t answer, she tentatively walked up and positioned herself outside the door.  She knocked firmly and waited for a response. 

“Go away!” he screamed. 

“Victor, I won’t leave until you open the door.  Now I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you have to talk to me.”

“It’s over,” he said.  “My wife is gone and my life is over.  Nothing I’ve done can stop that.”

“What have you done?” Alex demanded and tried the lock again.  “Victor, answer me.”

“I only wanted to make him pay.”

“Who?” Alex asked.  “Make who pay?”

Silence followed, prompting Alex to try the door again.  She twisted the doorknob over and over, hoping to jar it loose.  A moment later, the door opened and Victor stood before her.

“Hello Syl,” he said.  “I knew you would come back.”

Alex regarded him carefully.  “Victor, it’s me, Alex.  Alex Reynolds.  Is everything okay?”

He looked at her with confusion evident in his watery eyes.  “Alex, I’m sorry,” he said with a nervous laugh.  “Of course.  Of course you’re not Sylvie.  I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

“Victor—” She was alarmed by the nonsensical things he was saying to her.  He looked positively lost.

Victor walked into the bedroom and sat down.  Holding his head in his hands, he tried to sort things out in his head.  Dr. Wainwright was slipping away.  The confident, caring, compassionate man was out of his grasp.  All he felt now was the same sense of despair the day Sylvie left and he tried to kill himself

“I’m calling Dr. Madison,” Alex said, pulling her cell phone from her purse and dialing the number for her psychiatrist.  She knew he made house calls, and if there was ever a time this was it. 

Dr. Madison prescribed a psychotropic drug that Victor took for the next twelve years.  Dr. Wainwright had vanished.  He no longer needed him to cope.  In his mind, he’d killed him.  He acted it out with the utmost care and detail. 

Then one day he found the three page suicide note that he’d written the day Sylvie left tucked away in a bureau.  Every emotion, every feeling of betrayal, and every ounce of resentment toward Jordan Rydell came flooding back to him.   He stopped taking his pills.

 . . . . . . . .

When Heather Rydell was revealed to be Will Thomerson’s killer, he knew what he had to do.  Dr. Wainwright was dead, so a new persona was created in his place.  Dr. Erich Anderson became his next character project.  He paid Lenny another visit at Sunset Studios.  The hypnotherapy took much longer this time.  Heather was resistant to the treatment.  She couldn’t remember much of what happened so the challenge was greater.  But once he had put her in his control, he was sure that his plan would work.

He called her last night at her condo, certain that it was time to put the plan into motion.  He had no other alternative.  Her overbearing husband, Brett Armstrong, had discovered his disguise.  It was only a matter of time before he put two and two together.   Then they would call Dr. Madison and learn of his troubles.

“Are you alone?” he asked when Heather picked up the phone. 

“Yes.”  She peered out into the living room where Brett and Jordan were talking.

“It’s time,” he told her.  “Hear my voice, Heather.  You must come to the Yacht Club.  Meet me at cabin 13.”

She hung up, walked to the window in a trance, and climbed down the fire escape.

---

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

The fog grew thicker as night rolled into the marina.  The Emporer II bobbed up and down on the water, a single light emanating from its interior cabin.  On the deck, a deadly scene was unfolding. 

Victor stood on the deck of the yacht, restraining Suzanne with an arm around her neck and a gun pointed at her head.  She twisted in his grasp, whimpering and crying in horror at the sight of her daughter standing in a trance on the outside of the deck railing.  Her eyes were open, staring out into the blanket of fog.  Her feet were dangerously close to the edge.  Another few inches and she would plummet down into the choppy ocean water.  In her hazy state, she would never survive. 

“Let us go, please!” Suzanne cried, struggling in Victor’s clutches.   “Why are you doing this to us?  Victor, please!”

“Why?” he asked, a chilling smile spread across his face.  “Why, you ask?  Ask your loving husband why.  Ask him what his actions have done to my family.  Ask him if sleeping with my wife was worth all the pain and the misery.  Ask him if he was prepared to lose everything like I have.  ASK JORDAN WHY!”

She winced as his voice boomed in her ears, cringing away from him, but he tightened his arm around her neck. She’d never been more terrified in her life, both for herself and for her daughter.

“This has nothing to do with Heather!” she pleaded, gasping for air, choking on her own tears.  “Let her go!  Please, Victor!  Tell her to step down from the rail!”

“And ruin my only chance of retribution?” he cackled.  “No, I’m afraid not.  Jordan has foiled every other attempt I’ve made to pay him back for what he did.”

“What?” Suzanne asked, confusion setting in.

---

Back on the docks, Benji and Blake arrived and raced toward Eddie who stood peering out into the fog.  The yacht had all but disappeared into the gossamer.  He turned and shook his head as if to warn them of the perilous circumstances. 

“Eddie, what’s going on?” Benji demanded.  “What’s this about my mother?”

“She’s with my father and Heather,” he explained.

The information processed slowly and with great difficulty.  Any mention of his mother in the present tense was something he was unfamiliar with. 

“Where?” he simply asked. 

“Out there,” Eddie told him and motioned toward the water.  “On my father’s yacht.  He took them.  Like, against their will.”

“What the—” Blake uttered, turning around and pacing in a small circle.  “What are you even talking about, dude?  This is our dad.  You’re saying he kidnapped them?”

“That’s just it.  He isn’t out dad,” Eddie corrected him.  “Not when he’s off those pills.  Dr. Madison said he’s someone else.  He pretends to be other people and then he starts to believe it.  The pills were the only thing keeping him sane.”

“Jesus!” Blake shouted.  He stopped and turned to Benji.  “This is because of your family, isn’t it?  Your freaky family turned my dad into a psycho!”

Benji blinked, looking at his best friend and feeling for once in his life at a loss for words.  “I don’t know, I—”

“Your dad had an affair with my mom and that’s why she left us!” Blake shouted, grabbing Benji by the shirt and pushing him down onto the dock.  “She left us because your father was nailing her!”

“Blake, stop it!”  Eddie leapt forward and pulled his brother off of him.  Once he’d successfully gotten them separated, he eyed him with contempt.  “You knew?”

“Yes, I knew!” Blake yelled with irritation, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

Benji remained on his back, watching them with wide eyes.

“But how?  You were only five when she left.”

“I heard them arguing once.”  He gritted his teeth and turned toward Benji again.  “About how our mother didn’t love our father anymore.  Jordan Rydell took her from him!  He screwed her and then he brainwashed her against my father!”

“Sounds like your mom was a slut,” Benji said and jumped to his feet.

“You ass,” Blake spat, roaring toward him with his fists clenched.

“Knock it off!” Eddie ordered and shoved his brother away.  “Focus on what’s important.  Our father is out there somewhere with Heather and her mom, and he’s probably going to kill them.”

Benji looked out into the water.  “Where’s my dad?”

---

The speedboat slowed when it got near the yacht.  Jordan cut the engine and silenced Brett with a finger over his lips.  They could hear Suzanne’s cries coming from the top deck.

Jordan maneuvered the small boat over to the ladder and pointed upward.  Brett nodded and followed him, his shoulder aching each time he pulled himself up on the rungs.  Once on the deck, they crouched down, making sure they were hidden from view.  They could see Heather standing perfectly still against the rail as if ready to jump. 

“It was supposed to be him in the car that night!” Victor was saying, still restraining Suzanne.  “Jordan was supposed to die on that cliff.  I fixed the brakes but I didn’t know it would be you driving.  When you left my house that night with Heather and it was raining I had no idea what was going to happen.  It didn’t even occur to me that you had taken his car.”

“You’re responsible for the crash?” Suzanne wept in disbelief.  The guilt she’d carried around for so long was useless.  Victor had been the one to cause the accident that wiped out Heather’s memories and that set into motion so much heartache.

“Yes, but a lot of good it did me,” Victor said, jamming the barrel of the gun into her temple.   “Jordan ruined everything.  He stopped you from killing him.  I gave you one simple instruction, and that idiot Troy Beauchamp came in and messed everything up.  You killed him by mistake and then you got yourself thrown into a mental institution!”

“Oh my god,” Suzanne sobbed, realization finally dawning.  Victor and Dr. Wainwright were the same person.  He used their sessions to get her to do his bidding. 

Jordan watched helplessly.  Victor had a gun and Heather was perched to take a nose dive into the choppy ocean waves.  He had to approach him with care.

He searched the deck for a weapon he could use.  Inside an emergency kit he found a flare gun.  Motioning to Brett, he handed it over to him and whispered a quickly hastened plan.  Brett nodded, taking the flare gun from him and darting across the deck where he hid behind a sail post.

“And if that wasn’t enough,” Victor went on.  “He ruined everything yet again.  Tonight he was finally going to meet his maker.  Heather was poised to end his miserable selfish life.  Even that didn’t work.”

“I won’t let you hurt my daughter!” Suzanne screamed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Victor said wickedly.  “Didn’t I tell you?  You’ll be dead too.  If I can’t have Jordan’s blood on my hands, then I’ll have his precious wife and daughter’s.  At least then he’ll know what it feels like to lose the most important person in his life.”

“No!” Suzanne cried, struggling with all her might.   “Heather!  Heather please wake up!  Wake up and snap out of it!”

“It won’t help!” Victor said.  “Mine is the only voice she hears.”  He turned to Heather and spoke loudly.  “Heather, I want you to take a step forward.”

“God, no!” Suzanne protested, sobbing uncontrollably.  “Heather, no!  Don’t, baby, please!”

As instructed, Heather took a step forward.  Her feet were half over the edge of the deck.  She didn’t see the ten foot waves rolling against the hull of the vessel, tearing apart driftwood that bobbed along the surface.

“She’s going to die!” Victor shouted.  “And you’re going to watch her die!  Then I’m going to kill you and deliver your bloody heart to Jordan’s doorstep so he can see that his actions have consequences!”

“Please…” Suzanne whimpered. 

“Heather…” Victor continued.  “I want you to take another step forward.”

Suddenly, Jordan realized he had no time to waste.  He darted from his hiding spot and raced to the deck railing.  He could see Heather positioning one foot in front of the other, stepping into mid-air.   She started her descent.  Jordan leapt forward, arms outstretched.  Suzanne’s screams pierced the night.

With less than a second to spare, Jordan managed to grab hold of Heather’s right hand, stopping her from falling to the choppy ocean waves.  He saw her look down and then up again.  For a split second it seemed that she had come out of the spell.  He recognized his daughter somewhere behind her frightened eyes.

“Not this time!” Victor shouted when he realized what was happening.  “You won’t ruin it this time, Jordan.  I won’t let you!”

He fired the gun into the air, then hit Suzanne with the ball of his hand.  She tumbled back and slammed against the deck.  Before she knew it, Victor was standing over her with the gun aimed at her head. 

“Time to say goodbye again, Suzanne,” he said, moving his finger onto the trigger.  “Sorry your big return was so short lived.”

“Victor!” Brett yelled to get his attention.

When Victor looked up from his task, Brett pointed the flare gun at him and fired two shots into his chest.

Fire spread quickly, first igniting his arms and then making its way to his chest.  He howled in pain, swatting at the flames and dropping the gun in sheer panic.

Brett took the opportunity to aid Jordan in pulling Heather to safety.  He dashed to the edge of the deck and grabbed Heather’s other hand.  Together they hoisted her up until she was safely back on the yacht.

“Are you okay?” Brett asked, looking into her eyes.

She looked around their surroundings, first at Jordan and then back at Brett again.  Slowly she nodded her head in reply. 

“I think so,” she said.

Brett and Jordan looked at each other, relieved that she seemed to have snapped out of the hypnotic state Victor had put her in.  Jordan’s worst fears were that she would remain in her altered state indefinitely the way Suzanne had.   Maybe his daughter was stronger than he’d realized.

He turned just in time to see Victor engulfed in flames from head to toe.  He darted over to Suzanne and pulled her out of harm’s way.  Together they watched as Victor ran about the deck, arms flailing, his entire body a massive ball of fire.  He screamed and howled in pain, rolling on the ground in a desperate attempt to smother the flames.

Finally, he raced to the edge of the railing.  The last thing they heard before he jumped was a chilling final warning.

“We’ll be back!” he cackled.  “We’ll be back and then you’ll be sorry!”

Moments later, they heard the splash as his body hit the water.  Jordan raced to the edge of the yacht and peered down.  Through the blackness of night and the thick layers of fog it was impossible to see anything.  Ominous silence followed.  There were no sounds of struggling in the water or of splashing as he tried to swim to safety.

“He’s dead,” Brett said when he appeared behind him.

Jordan shook his head.  “I don’t think so.”

“Come on.  He won’t be able to make it back to shore.  And even if he did, do you think it’ll take any time for someone to spot him?  He’s probably burned beyond recognition.  That’s gonna be impossible to overlook.”

Jordan sighed, hoping that Brett was right.  Victor had caused too much pain for his family as it was.  The last thing he wanted to do was sit around waiting for the day when he might come back.

They both turned, confronted with the unexpected sight of Heather and Suzanne embracing one another amidst a flood of tears and joy.  Jordan ran a hand over his face, uncertain of what the next step was in this whole mess.  Victor may be out of the way, but Suzanne’s reappearance was only bound to complicate matters with Heather and Benji.

---

Jordan steered the yacht back to the dock through the dense fog.  Brett sat holding Heather while Suzanne stared off in deep concentration.

By the time they reached the shore, the lights from an approaching police car became visible through the haze.  Once Jordan stepped down onto the damp wooden planks, he saw that Benji was waiting.  They stopped and looked at each other for a moment before Suzanne came down after him.

Jordan looked at his son and then back at Suzanne, waiting in anticipation for some kind of explosive reaction from either one.  Instead, Benji regarded his mother carefully for a moment or two.  He didn’t move or react, instead simply stared at her as if gauging whether she were real or not. 

Finally, “Benji,” Suzanne uttered, her hands nervously finding a place to rest.

No reaction.  Benji, desperate to piece together the confusing course of events, labored over what to say or do.  All he could see when he looked at her was the woman who abandoned him when he was five years old.  He thought his father had killed her in cold blood.  He’d thought so for his entire life.  Not that that was her fault, but if she was alive then she did nothing to prove it to him. 

“Benji, I’ve missed you so much,” Suzanne said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Irrevocably, he made his decision.  Without leaving time for protest, he turned and darted away, disappearing into the night. 

“Benji!” Jordan called after his son.  “Benji, wait!”

Suzanne looked at him and shook her head.  She knew it would be impossible for him to forgive her yet, if ever.

Jordan had barely enough time for concern before Eddie and Blake approached, demanding answers.

“Where is he?” Eddie asked.  “Where’s my dad?”

Jordan took a deep breath, trying desperately to find an easy way to break the news to the two young men.  “I’m sorry, Eddie.  We tried to reason with your father but he was…”  He took a breath and before continuing, “he was insane.”

“Duh,” Eddie lamented and offered a scrunched up face.  “I know he’s insane.  So where is he?”  He turned to the yacht and raised his voice.  “Dad!  Hey, Dad, get out here and take your goddamn medication already!”

Jordan shook his head and placed a hand on Eddie’s arm.  “No, son, he’s not in there.”

“So where is he?” Eddie demanded.  “Don’t tell me he got away.  We need to get him in to his shrink before he really goes off the deep end.”

“He tried to kill them,” Jordan said.  “Several times.  Your father was not thinking clearly.  He went overboard, Eddie.  I don’t know if he survived.”

“You don’t know?” Blake asked, his voice filled with hostility.  He looked out at the water.  “What do you mean you freaking don’t know?”

“The water’s pretty choppy, and with the fog…”  Jordan decided they didn’t need to know that they set their father on fire.  The whole ordeal was hard enough as it was.  “He jumped.”

“You Rydell’s ruin everything,” Blake said through gritted teeth. “Every last one of you!”

“Blake, lay off,” Eddie said in hopes of calming down his little brother. 

“You came back,” Blake went on, pointing to Suzanne, “but my mom is still gone and never calls us.  We haven’t even seen her in I don’t know how long.  Now my dad may be dead and we’re supposed to just take it?  Whatfuckingever.  I am so done with this.”

With that, he turned and raced to his car.  Eddie turned to Jordan and thanked him for telling them before running after Blake.

With the latest series of outbursts behind them, Jordan geared up for the next set of problems.  Detective Callahan approached from the police car.  A uniformed officer hovered behind.   She looked at Jordan and smiled as if to say how did I know you would be here?

“Mr. Rydell, were you aware that there was a fog warning issued at the marina tonight?” Stephanie said, resting her hands on her hips.  “Yet you were out on the water in this….thing.  Need I remind you that you are out on bail and anything you do can be subject to re-incarceration?  That means you can spit on the sidewalk and I can haul your ass back to jail.”

“He didn’t take the yacht,” Suzanne spoke out timidly.  Behind her, Brett and Heather stepped down from the top deck of the yacht.  

Stephanie frowned, knowing she recognized Suzanne from somewhere but unable to place it.   “And you would be?”

“His wife,” she said, then immediately corrected herself.  “Ex-wife.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow and surveyed the group again.  “Suzanne Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”  Her eyes settled back on Jordan.  “Looks like we have a lot to talk about.”

---

Benji gulped from a flask of vodka while he careened through traffic in West Hollywood, leaving the blanket of fog behind him, as well as the screwed up dysfunction that was his family.  Blake had been right.  They were all freaks.  He didn’t know where his mother had been for nearly thirteen years and right now he couldn’t care less.  If his father had screwed around with Blake’s mom and that’s what sent his dad insane, then maybe they deserved whatever he’d tried to do to them.  All he knew was that someone had died because of his parent’s screwed up lives, a death that had screwed him up for as long as he could remember. 

He went back to Area and found Summer Solomon before she left with Van, who was so wasted that he didn’t notice when she slipped away with Benji instead.  By the time he realized she’d disappeared, they were making out in the alley behind the club. 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Summer asked and looked around the dark alley.  “What if someone sees?”

“They won’t,” Benji told her, his tongue finding its way around the inside her mouth.  He lifted her onto the hood of his car and spread her legs, his fingers returning to their original spot where they’d been so warm and welcomed before being pulled away a few hours earlier. 

“I haven’t done this before,” Summer said, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as Benji ran his tongue down the nape of her neck.   “Maybe we should go somewhere else so we can—”

“We’ll be fine here.”  He took charge, pushing up her skirt and unbuttoning his jeans all at the same time.  Inside, he groaned with irritation at her faux innocent disposition.  She was no un-plucked flower.  He had four fingers in her before she even flinched. 

He opened her shirt and admired her small breasts.  She wasn’t wearing a bra but she really didn’t need one.  He had a bigger chest than she did.  Either way, it wasn’t her breasts that he was interested in.  

“Do you like them?” she asked with an unconvincing attempt at being coy.

“Yeah,” Benji replied and pushed her head down between his legs.  He closed his eyes and groaned while she worked on him.  He pulled his shirt off and pushed her down onto the hood of the car.  Finally, he entered her and began thrusting back and forth with great intensity.  He appreciated the look on her face, which he decided was halfway between a smile and that of excruciating pain.  Maybe she was a virgin after all. 

Ten minutes later he was zipping up his jeans and reaching for his shirt while heading for the car door.

“Can you take me home?” she asked, fastening her bra and inching her skirt back down her legs. 

“Sure,” he said while being alerted to a text message on his phone.  He flipped it open and started to read.  “Where?”

“Palos Verdes,” she responded.

Benji looked up with a frown.  “Huh?  I’m not driving to freakin’ Palos Verdes.  I’ll call you a cab.”

“Hey!” Summer shouted and watched as he got into the car and took off through the alley. 

Once he’d pulled out onto Cienega, Benji glanced back at his text.  It was from Scott Kelly and it offered a simple cryptic warning.

Pool boy gave me the clap. U better get tested asap

---

Cedars-Sinai was busy with emergencies due to car accidents caused by the fog.  The emergency room buzzed with activity.  Inside a private room, Heather sat next to Brett while the nurse finished stitching his shoulder.  He held her hand and repeatedly kissed the top of her head.  He’d never been more scared in his life as when they got on that yacht and saw her about to fall overboard.  In her state of mind she would never have been able to keep afloat.  The fact that he almost lost her didn’t escape him for a second. 

“How is Violet?” Heather asked.  “Is she safe?  Does she miss me?”

“Yes, she’s safe,” he said.  “She’s with Rachel, Brooke’s nanny.  She misses her mom a lot, you can count on that.”

A smile formed on Heather’s lips as she thought about their beautiful daughter.

“Do you remember much?” Brett asked her after a long period of silence. 

She shook her head.  “No.”

The news was unsettling.  He’d hoped that something would have triggered her to remember.  It seemed pointless.  Everything was out in the open but she was still missing so many pieces.  Maybe they would come back in time, he decided.  No more secrets.  He’d make sure Jordan followed through.  Heather would have to deal with everything if she was going to get better.  The accident, the night Suzanne murdered Troy, the sessions with Victor.  There could be no more secrets. 

---

“No more secrets,” Jordan said in the interrogation room at the police station.  “That is the whole story.  You can corroborate it with anyone.  My son-in-law or my daughter.  Victor Distefano kidnapped her.  She’ll testify to that.  He hypnotized her and tried to get her to kill me tonight.”

“But your daughter was the one who shot your son-in-law,” Stephanie said for clarification.  “Isn’t that what you told me?”

Jordan closed his eyes with regret.  “Yes, but she was under his control.  You have to understand that.  She didn’t know what she was doing.  Just like Suzanne didn’t know what she was doing when she killed Troy Beauchamp.”

Stephanie clasped her hands under her chin and pondered the complicated story.  “So your ex-wife murdered your brother, and your daughter shot her own husband.  What exactly has Victor Distefano done?  His hands are clean from where I stand.”

“He orchestrated the whole thing!” Jordan insisted, frustrated beyond belief that he had to go over it again.  “He was after me.  He tried to kill me three times.  And tonight he kidnapped my daughter and her mother.  He would have killed them both but—”

“But you set him on fire and killed him,” Stephanie finished for him.  She shook her head and walked across the room.  “I’m sorry but forgive me if I don’t see your side of this.  A man is dead and the only people who can corroborate your story are your wife who is a confirmed mental patient; your daughter who doesn’t remember anything; and your son-in-law, a self-proclaimed former con man.”

Jordan ran his fingers through his hair.  “Just look into it.  You’ll see that I’m right.  There’s got to be something.  Victor had to have slipped up somewhere.”

“Oh, we’re checking on it,” Stephanie said with certainty, then looked directly at Suzanne.  “But in the meantime, I’m going to have to place you under arrest, Miss Rogers.”

“What?” Jordan bellowed.  “You can’t be serious!”

“She did just confess to the murder of Troy Beauchamp,” Stephanie said and motioned to the uniformed officer behind her.

Suzanne opened her mouth to respond but no words would come.  She looked nervously at Jordan and then back at the officer as he placed a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. 

“Jordan,” she began, terrified.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll call Kenny.  He’ll find something to incriminate Victor.  There’s got to be a way we can prove our story.”

“And what if we can’t?” Suzanne asked in tears.  She broke down as the officer led her off to the processing area.

---

Scott Kelly lived in a one-story mid-century glass house on Mulholland Drive.  Since his split with his wife, Shailene, he’d began renting it month to month.  Benji had only met him there once during one of their later hookups.

He stopped his car in the gravel driveway and got out.  Opening the trunk, he rifled through a pile of sports equipment until he came across an aluminum baseball bat.  Gripping it tightly in his hand, he started up to the front door and rang the bell.  Moments later, Scott appeared in the doorway dressed in a velour track suit.

“Hey, Benji,” he said and glanced around to see if anyone saw him drive up.  “What are you doing here?  It’s not safe.  If a reporter showed up, we’d be—”

“What do you mean you got Chlamydia?” Benji shouted.  “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Keep your voice down,” Scott said and gestured into the house.  “Come inside. I don’t need the whole neighborhood hearing about my personal life.”

Benji gritted his teeth, lifting the bat and slamming it into Scott’s ribcage.  He watched him collapse to his knees, groaning with pain as he hit the pavement.

“Wha—” Scott groaned breathlessly.  The wind had gotten knocked out of him and he struggled to catch his breath. 

Benji raised the bat again and swung it down onto his back.  This time Scott fell flat against the cold cement.

“I….didn’t….know….” Scott murmured, eyes squeezed shut in excruciating pain.

“Bullshit.”  Benji slammed the bat into his head.  “You make a habit of spreading that shit around?”

He choked on his own vomit, coughing and wheezing as blood sprayed from his nose and mouth.  Benji threw the bat aside and kicked him in the ribs with one shattering blow after another. 

Scott remained motionless in a pool of blood.  His face was black and blue and his eyes were swollen shut.  Benji kicked him one final time in the head, turned and went back to his car.  When he got there, he remembered the bat so he turned back, snatched it up from the yard and glared at Scott one final time.

Turning, he dumped the bat into his back seat and started the engine.  He peeled away and proceeded down the winding road.  By the time he got to the bottom of the hill, he was trembling uncontrollably.  He pulled over and slammed his hands against the steering wheel in anger.  He knew none of it had anything to do with Scott.

He felt claustrophobic inside the car so he pushed the door open and got out.  He grabbed the bat from the back seat and smashed it against his car repeatedly; breaking glass and denting metal until he was physically out of energy and could no longer move his arms.

He walked to the side of the road and threw the bat as far as he could down the hill.  Burying his face in his hands, he screamed at the top of his lungs.  His voice and all of its agony echoed through the canyon.

---

Next time….

Miranda nervously prepares for her plastic surgery while getting encouragement from a surprising source.  James levels an attack on Alex.  Jordan is questioned by the police about another crime.  Renee’s defenses are weakened.