Until the snows turn to fire : A Santa Barbara story
By Kevin Hardy						Accueil   Home

Puebla, Mexico

September 26, 2021

Soy un hombre tan afortunado, thought Cruz Castillo, as he tightened the Windsor knot on his bone-white tie. While not the type of man to fret over his appearance, he took a second to examine himself in the gilded, full-length mirror. He tried to tap down a strand of his still mostly jet-black hair, but this proved to be a fruitless exercise. He had once joked to his best man, Nick Hartley, on a wedding day long ago turned to dust, that he was an ugly man, but this 66-year-old still cut an impressive figure. Having only recently said goodbye to a career that had started on the beat, and ended on one as well, he had taken great care to maintain his physicality, while never obsessing over it. He smiled briefly at his reflection, as his mind raced over years past. He was not the type of man to live backwards, but this being Adriana’s wedding day, he found himself considering all of the people he had been privileged to know during his days on this Earth, in this preamble to his life thus far. There had been so many events in so many churches; all celebrations, even in the tragic moments. He, along with his brother and sister, was raised in the Roman Catholic Church and his faith was eminently important to him. He always felt blessed when joyous occasions like these came together in the house of his Dios. He recalled the first time being in a church with Adriana on the day of her baptism, a day of great contrasts. He had felt so much relief and joy at the return of his daughter, yet also the pain of festering emotional wounds with his brother, wounds that had finally been healed in recent years.

Cruz exited the small dressing room and strolled reverently through the striking Spanish Baroque influenced Templo de Santo Domingo. He had come hours in advance of the ceremony, welcoming the opportunity to reflect silently in this magnificent place of worship. There was nowhere on Earth he felt more comfortable than in the church's Capilla del Rosario, the spiritual centerpiece of the city of Puebla, where he had settled so many years before. His penitent gaze locked upon the crowned statue of the Virgin Mary, with a red-clad baby Jesus at her left hand, and he considered the blessings that were his own children. To his shame, he had not always been there for them. He still recalled the crazy blur of those fruitless months spent tracking Eden, months where he had become as lost to himself as she to him. At first the search, the memories, had nourished him, but it was not long before they began to suffocate him. As inconceivable as it was to think this, he had not consciously thought of Eden in many years. He could not allow himself to, and still be the parent Chip and Adriana both so richly deserved. They were everything to him, those inspiring children, they were his touchstones. He thought back to that other-worldly period when Eden had been lost in Utah, how he had been stuck in that stifling cycle of grief. The difference then was there had been no one counting on him. But when Eden left him years later, really left him, he came to realize there were two very important people looking to him, and he could not let them down, not like his own father had let him down in his youth.

The heavy doors to the sacred sanctuary opened suddenly, spilling golden sunshine onto the meticulously crafted tiled floor, and Adriana Castillo entered the holy space. The 32-year-old woman, still dressed in her street clothes, looked incredibly happy. She was glowing as only a bride could, much like her mother had on her own precious day at Pebble Creek.

"You are so beautiful," a beaming Cruz declared as he walked towards his grown daughter and embraced her. "Truly radiant."

"Thanks, Daddy," the young lady replied. "It’s pretty early, but I thought you’d be here."

"Well, I just wanted a little bit of time," he spoke wistfully. "Everything good on your end?"

Adriana nodded, understanding her father’s unconscious reactions when it came to wedding days. "Complete chaos," she responded, "but yeah, it’s all good. Tia Carmen and Tia Julia are just finishing up with the Lazo and then we're going to get our hair done; Chip and Tio Ricardo are putting the final touches on the courtyard."

Cruz smiled warmly. "Good stuff," he commented.

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nerve wracking," Adriana confessed. "Should it be? When it’s right, I mean? Were you nervous?"

"Petrified," Cruz laughed, "but I played it pretty close to the vest."

"Can you tell me about it?" Adriana probed, looking upon her father with genuine interest.

"About our wedding?" Cruz queried, amazed at how much his daughter had grown, at how eerily similar she was to Eden. "I'm sure we've talked about it before."

"No, not really," Adriana remarked thoughtfully. "Whether you wanted to keep it private, or I was too busy to listen, I can’t remember now."

Adriana held her delicate hands out to her father and they sat down in a pew, each corner of which held a clay pot of Yucca plants, these having recently bloomed with white, bell- shaped flowers.

"Tell me," Adriana pressed gently, "we have a few minutes."

Cruz smiled and took a deep breath, the subtle fragrance of the flowers filling his nostrils. He tilted his head to the left and looked upon the daughter he and his beloved Eden had once cradled in their arms, that first physical embodiment of their love and devotion.

"We tried a few times," he started. "That first one was such a competition, we were too young and full of ourselves; we were so not ready."

"When did it feel right?"

Cruz stared pensively ahead at the gilded plaster and gold leaf, remembering with such painful vividness standing on a mountainside with Eden and his Uncle Guillermo. He fell silent for a few minutes before speaking once again. "I think I’ll hang out here a bit longer, but I’ll be home with plenty of time for the procession."

Adriana stared at her father, sensing the pain within him, and realized this was not the time. "You’ll be okay?" she sought.

"Absolutely," the man confirmed. "I’ll see you soon, sweetie."

Cruz and Adriana joined both hands and Cruz kissed her right cheek tenderly. Adriana then rose and left the church. Not much more than five minutes later, a fresh set of footsteps sounded in the nave and a voice called out. The echoing tone was a familiar one, one that had deepened ever-so-slightly over the years.

"Cruz?"

That voice so long ago heard, but still so hauntingly beautiful, still so achingly real to him, hung sweetly in the air. Cruz looked up slowly, thunderstruck by the silhouette in the arched doorway. Could it be?

"Eden?" he questioned, his quivering inflection barely audible.

The slender woman, outfitted in pale purple, nodded, her short blonde hair falling into her face. The years had been kind to her physically, yet there was such a profound sadness etched into her porcelain features. Cruz stood and walked slowly towards her, his feet moving clumsily. Their arms rose up in imperfect unison, and their hands touched tentatively, but there seemed like miles of space wedged between their bodies. That awkward hug was so at odds with those they had frequently shared in their distant pasts.

Eden sensed Cruz’s hesitation, a hesitation that was impossible not to understand. "Do I have the right to be here?" she asked quietly.

Cruz pulled away and stared at his long-lost love, considering his words very carefully, although his response would not be laced with the romanticism it once would have been. "You gave up that right," he murmured guiltily.

Eden looked down and nodded.

Cruz seemed uncommonly fragile, dumbfounded by Eden's presence and his own curiously muted reaction. "I realize now what I was asking Mamá to accept when we brought Papá back to Santa Barbara," he eventually revealed, hating to dwell on emotions long since passed.

"I remember how much I hated Momma at first," Eden answered, "and how much I hated her when I left. How could she do that to us? How could I do that…"

Eden’s voice trailed off, her mind searching for the words that were so close, but endlessly out of reach.

"I looked for you, Eden," Cruz stated tiredly, as he fell into a pew, the emotion in his hoarse throat growing stronger. "I looked everywhere."

Eden sat down in the intricately carved wooden pew directly behind Cruz. "I didn’t want to be found," she choked, her right hand hovering over his left shoulder. "I didn’t deserve to be found."

"Why today, why now?" Cruz examined. "How could you pick today?"

"I just want to see them, Cruz," Eden cried, her body trembling. "I know I can’t come back, and I know I don’t have the right to be here, but I’m asking anyway. Will you let me try?"

Cruz’s left hand ran down the side of his freshly shaven face. Inexplicably, the joy he had felt with Adriana just a few minutes prior was fading, this being replaced by anger and confusion, emotions he had long ago put to rest. He stood up and walked towards the altar, before turning to face Eden, who was close behind. "I’m not used to feeling this way, Eden," he stammered, her name sounding almost alien on his lips. "At first the memory of you kept me afloat, but those memories became an anchor."

Eden nodded. "I understand," she softly accepted.

"And you think that’s enough?" Cruz questioned roughly, his voice lightly tinged with anger.

"It’s all I have to give," Eden said meekly, as she wiped her tears away and looked down to her feet. "I still remember coming here to see your Uncle Guillermo-"

"Eden, please don’t," Cruz interjected.

Eden looked away. "Did you remarry?" she soon explored.

Cruz studiously shook his head, as his brown eyes locked onto her light greens. "There was never anything like we were," he contended, "there never could be. But I could never make sense of how it ended, so I just had to let the idea of marriage go."

Cruz' s eyes clenched briefly shut, as he pressed his right fist into his chin. "It was all right though," he then continued delicately, "I had the children, and my brothers and sister…my parents for a time."

"Will you give me a chance to try and explain?" Eden inquired, her voice cracking.

Cruz’s smile was one of such deep sadness but filled with the most profound love as well. "I can’t promise anything, darlin’. You were everything to me, and I will never feel for anyone the way I felt for you, but…"

Eden pulled Cruz towards her as his spoken words fell. This time, their embrace seemed more natural, more right. "Baby," he breathed, this almost silent.

Eden kissed Cruz’s tears away, her expression becoming almost serene. "I know this isn’t the time, and it isn’t the place," she acknowledged, "I see that now. Just say you’ll meet with me tomorrow, because tomorrow is all we really have. It doesn’t have to be for more than a walk, or a cup of coffee, or a collection of inadequate words…"

Eden's tremulous notes fell silent, but the emotion did not.

Cruz gazed upon his lost love, deep pain hewn into the crinkles of his moistened face. He took Eden’s left hand and smiled just the tiniest bit wider, as the man who had died 30 years before began to emerge from his emotional cocoon. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he promised.

Eden’s smile, too, broadened. She thought back to their beautiful puppy, that sweet girl named Hope. It was the first time in so many years that she had truly felt this long-forgotten emotion. She understood there were no guarantees, that everyone made choices, for good or ill, for which they had to accept the consequences. But just that small glimmer of hope meant the world; Cruz and her children meant the world. If given the opportunity, she would not walk away on that ever again.

Eden grinned as Cruz leaned in towards her and whispered into her ear. "Tomorrow."

Tomorrow

Cruz awoke from his uneasy slumber. He was laid down flat on his bed, his body half-covered by a single sheet and his head resting directly on the mattress. Although he had not finished even a single margarita the previous evening, his head was pounding. Eden's shocking reappearance had awakened feelings that were long dormant, dangerously damaging his emotional equilibrium. But despite everything, what a miraculous day yesterday had been. He had been granted the singular privilege of giving away his remarkable daughter to share in the life of a good man, a man whose life was not consumed by wealth or by drama. They were just two pure souls living beautifully ordinary lives. After so much time spent chasing assassins, putting out oil rig fires and being caught in the middle of the most implausible of events, Cruz had come to appreciate the wondrous simplicity life could still provide. While it had been a great joy to spend the evening with the Capwells, many of whom he had not seen in over a decade, he realized how complicated their lives were, and his life once was. They were still an incredibly guarded family, with so much bottled-up emotion. Even before Eden had left, he had fallen prey to this also, and was dismayed to be swept up in a cycle of petty jealousies. And then there was Kelly. She had been like a sister to him, Joe a brother, Eden a...no, he had been right to leave Kelly behind, it was the only thing he could have done. And as much as it pained him, he had also been right to allow BJ her own life, although his eldest daughter was never far from his thoughts.

Cruz rose and pulled on a tattered housecoat, this patterned in the design of a colourful Mexican blanket. A gift from Mason Capwell, Cruz understood it was meant to be ironic, but it had become like a second skin during his morning sunrise viewings, which he never missed. In the kitchen, he filled a hand blown glass with orange juice and stepped into the courtyard of his modest hacienda, if it was indeed even large enough to be called that. The courtyard was a quiet refuge of stone archways and interlocked terracotta tile, not dissimilar from the original Capwell atrium. It even boasted a small swimming pool and a lovely fountain, which was

"always off now," he murmured to himself, becoming briefly lost in a long-ago memory.

The outdoor space was still decorated from the night before, this epitomizing a traditional Mexican fiesta scene. It was filled with a rainbow of hand-made serapes and mini maracas, which the guests were instructed to shake should they want the bride and groom to kiss. Next to the makeshift stage, the band had used, there was an ivy green hedge. On the hedge, in gold lettering, it read: JACKSON & ADRIANA 2021. FELICIDADES A LOS NOVIOS! On every table there were clay pots, these sprinkled between now wilted bouquets of flowers. Inside the pots were mini flags embroidered with colourful armadillos and the names of the bride & groom, in the Otomi tradition.

Cruz sat down in a blue Equipale chair and surveyed the wreckage, which was slowly lighting up in bright patches of orange, yellow and purple. He soon heard footsteps behind him and the voice of a 35-year-old man that belonged to, in an unusual twist of fate, his second born. "Crazy night, huh?" the junior Castillo posed.

"Hey, Chipper," Cruz greeted, as he sat up straight and held his right hand out to his son, who was wearing just a pair of flannel pyjama shorts.

Chip took his father's hand and squeezed lightly. The young man, who while he had his mother's pale complexion, had grown into a mirror image of his father in both looks and mannerisms. He turned over a discarded seat, not bothering to pick up the fallen cushion, and sat next to his father. "How are you this morning?" he inquired thoughtfully. "You seemed a little bit off yesterday."

Cruz nodded reflectively. "Not easy giving away a child," he shared, this being just half of the truth.

Chip laughed, revealing his full set of white teeth, complete with the same small gap his father had. "You didn't seem that concerned when I tied the old knot," he remarked.

Cruz chuckled and tousled his adult son's hair. "Well, you've had a lot of practice," he joked, alluding to the man's three marriages.

Chip feigned a look of outrage. "Ha ha," he responded flatly. "Jokes were never your strong suit, Dad."

"Well, I'm no Malcolm," Cruz observed cryptically.

Chip looked puzzled by this observation. "Malcolm?" he questioned.

Cruz smiled, the memories of a Christmas long ago washing over him, a memory he could only describe as authentically unreal. "Private joke," he commented. "But in all seriousness, Stella is great, son, you did real well with her."

Chip's head bobbed subtly. "Thanks, Pop. Adriana and Jackson will be great too. Speaking of them, they should be halfway to California by now. Pebble Creek was a surprise, huh?"

Cruz nodded. "It is a magical place, no doubt about that," he plaintively agreed. "So, how's Stella feeling? I was really sorry to hear she wasn't up to coming."

Chip stared straight ahead and clasped his hands together on his lap. "The pregnancy's been tough on her," he reflected, "but she's being well taken care of. Mom's been really good with her."

"Well, I know your sister appreciated you being able to come out. Hell, I really appreciate all of you being able to come out - long way, and trying times."

"I wouldn't have missed it," Chip propounded. "It may have been fleeting, but it was pretty cool to see the legend back out on the dance floor. And I'll bet it was a nice change from those marathon Longmire sessions you have on that couch in there," Chip added wryly, pointing inside.

Cruz cocked his head, as he looked sideways at his son. "Hey, that's not all I do," he protested.

Chip looked at Cruz incredulously. "Dad, c'mon, I've seen your PVR. In the last month you’ve binged six seasons of Longmire and two different Mexican soap operas."

"Telenovelas, thank you very much," Cruz corrected his impudent son.

Chip sighed. "Well, at least it's a nice break from all of those Jake and the Fatman reruns we watched when we first moved out here, back in the '90s."

Cruz raised the forefinger of his left hand in mock threat. "Never talk trash about the Fatman," he jovially cautioned Chip.

Cruz gazed happily upon his only son, so thrilled to have this opportunity to banter with him; these were moments he had not been able to experience with Rafael in his younger years, and they were sadly becoming fewer and farther between as the young man made his own way. He could not wait to see his new grandchild and to witness the birth of a new cycle of life.

“You know, I have been off that couch,” Cruz thoughtfully continued, “I’ve done the superhero schtick, and it’s highly overrated. I’m no action figure, Son, just a man. Maybe a little broken, but I’m real happy with my life.”

Chip smiled and squeezed his father’s right hand briefly.

"Are you still good for your flight?" Cruz asked him. "You have a screenshot of your antigen test?"

"Yeah," Chip confirmed. "Aunt Julia, Uncle Mason, and I are grabbing a cab later this afternoon."

"I'm sorry I can't drive you," Cruz apologized.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Chip said with some concern. "What meeting do you have? Seems like it came up awfully suddenly."

"I'm just seeing an old friend," Cruz answered. "Hey, at least it's getting me off that couch and away from Abismo de pasión."

Chip nodded, choosing not to press any further. He could always tell when his dad wanted to keep something private. Cruz Castillo was a man of great honour, a man who could not easily lie, and Chip never wanted to put him in a position where he felt he had to.

"In fact, I should start getting ready, " Cruz spoke. "I probably won't see you before you leave, so best of luck on the play."

Chip was an aspiring producer and in the process of preparing his first off-Broadway play, which was opening the following month, one of New York's first post-COVID productions. This had been a relatively late career change, he having played Double-A ball in Pensacola for a few years. He had first caught the baseball bug after Cruz took him to see an Angels game, at what was then the Anaheim Stadium, when he was just four-years-old. He could still smell the shelled peanuts, jumbo hot dogs, and freshly cut grass. And he could still feel the passion his dad had for Mr. Fernando Valenzuela, despite the loss the pitcher suffered that day. Alas, that career was not meant to be, but Chip couldn’t have been happier with where his life had taken him.

"You did well by your Momma," Cruz stressed warmly, "giving her this opportunity."

Victoria Lane's life had spiralled down since leaving Chip and Santa Barbara. It had been a life-long struggle with drugs following the brief run of her comeback TV series, but she had been clean for a few years now and working hard.

"So did you," Chip recognized with great gravity. "Even when you had every reason not to."

As part of Victoria's recovery program, she had talked to each of her family members, and loved ones, about how she had wronged them. Those conversations with Chip and Cruz had been easily the most difficult.

Cruz smiled and embraced his son. "I love you, Chipper."

"Love you too, Dad."

Both Castillo men rose fluidly, Chip edging Cruz out by a few centimetres in height. They embraced briefly, Cruz also giving him a light pat on the cheek. The elder Castillo then walked back into the kitchen and set down his still full glass of orange juice next to the sink. There was no consideration given to eating breakfast, as his stomach was tied up in knots with thoughts of Eden's return. He went upstairs, where he shaved and showered. He then dressed simply in jeans and a red & black checkered shirt, the wrist long sleeves rolled up to the tanned skin of his elbows. On his feet, which ached slightly from dancing the night before, were brown leather cowboy boots.

Once downstairs, Cruz picked up his car keys, and mask, from a multi-hued pottery bowl and walked out the front door. His rusted VW Jetta was parked at the end of a winding tiled driveway, which had been neatly manicured for the wedding reception and lined with fragrant white and red dahlias. Not being a wasteful man, this was the same vehicle he had purchased when first settling in Puebla back in 1993, and one of the first driven off the Puebla assembly line.

"Now how can you possibly still fit in those jeans?" a female voice called out from behind him. It was a voice that could easily have belonged to a woman 30 years younger.

Cruz stopped and turned to face Julia Capwell, her angular face opened in faux scorn. She was clearly about to scold him, something not altogether unusual for her considering the man she had twice wed.

"Busted," Cruz voiced as he and Julia bridged the short distance between them.

Julia wagged a finger at Cruz in an exaggerated manner. "Shouldn't you know, by now, you cannot sneak out on me."

"I’m sorry," Cruz apologized somewhat sheepishly, "I hope I didn't wake you. I have an appointment in town."

Cruz contemplated his one-time sister-in-law, basking in her elemental tranquility. He then squeezed her shoulders and smiled. "You know, there should be laws against there being so many beautiful women in one family."

"It is a curse we all must bear," Julia retorted, raising her left hand to her forehead, while flinging back her shoulder-length light brown hair, which was laced with ribbons of fine silver. "How long are you going to be?"

Cruz pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not too sure," he answered honestly.

"Mason and I do need to leave for New York this afternoon, we're due in court first thing tomorrow morning." A couple of years after her retirement from the bench, Julia had decided to practice law as an attorney again and found a return to the other side of the courtroom intoxicating.

Cruz laughed. "Opposite sides I'll bet."

"Well, you can take the Capwells out of Santa Barbara, but you can't take Santa Barbara out of the Capwells," Julia quipped.

Cruz reviewed Julia with great tenderness. "I don't know that I've ever told you this, but I can't tell you how proud I am of how hard you've worked, Julia. Mason was not an easy man, but you both seem so happy now."

Julia smirked. "A wedding without a drunken confrontation in sight, novel concept, huh?"

Julia tilted her head up, her forefinger and thumb pushing briefly into her left temple. "It's no secret we had a lot of struggles,” she reflected, “most of them public, but he really is a great man and a great partner. You know, I didn't realize how far he had come until seeing him interact with C.C. last night. It was such a warm display."

"Truly remarkable," Cruz agreed.

"You deserve that too, honey."

Cruz glanced down at his scuffed boots. "Yeah, well..."

Julia studied her friend, trying to understand what he was feeling. "Anyway," she started, "you should at least come visit. I mean really, Cruz, what the hell is keeping you here? The Frank Goodman case was closed so long ago, there is no need for you to be exiled."

Cruz’s expression tightened slightly, but not out of anger. "This is not exile, Julia," he maintained, "I really am very happy here."

Julia smiled. "I'm glad," she acknowledged, putting her hand over his heart.

"Listen, I'd better make tracks."

Julia nodded and gripped Cruz's arms above his elbows. "You have always been my best friend, Cruz, you have been there for everything."

Cruz pulled Julia closer to him. "I love you, sweetie," he affirmed.

Back in the house, Julia scaled the curved hardwood stairs, these inlaid with vibrant ceramic tiles, and ambled into one of the spacious guest bedrooms that overlooked the courtyard. The still dapper Mason Capwell stood stiffly in the room, his arms crossed. He had a disapproving look on his darkly bearded face, this peppered with flecks of grey.

"Out for a morning tryst with the gardener?" he chided his wife, in an irritatingly erudite tone, one eyebrow raised.

"Mason, you know I tuckered him out last night," Julia countered in pseudo consternation. "No, today it was the ice cream man. You know what that paper hat and red bow tie do to me."

Mason bowed to his long-suffering wife. "I do indeed," he confirmed, "I always look forward to Sundae nights."

"Touch choice though," Julia continued, ignoring the pun. "The mailman was pretty cute too."

Mason nodded. "Well, you rarely have time for everything you want in this life," he stated, "so you need to make choices."

Julia faced Mason, her bent arms flaring out. "Quoting Mr. Rogers, Mason?" she needled, "what has happened to you? Where is that biting wit, that sophisticated turn of phrase your multitude of fans have so come to love?"

"Hey, you spend nearly seven decades coming up with the appropriate famous quote, and we'll see how you do," Mason protested, as he sat down on the corner of the unmade bed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm telling you, Julia, it's exhausting. Sometimes I just want to say don't ever try to judge me dude, you don't know what I've been through."

Julia looked at her husband in faint confusion and concern.

"Good God," Mason lamented, "I've been reduced to paraphrasing Eminem."

Julia pushed two fingers into Mason's struggling lips. "Maybe best to save it for court, sweetheart," she advocated. "Now, c'mon," she directed, as she pulled Mason to his feet. "The ice cream man left me feeling a little bit sticky, and I need some help getting cleaned up."

Julia dropped her robe and moved, matter-of-factly, into the bathroom.

Mason nodded in conciliation, as he cocked his head. His feet spread apart, he lifted both hands and stared off into the distance. "Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows," he began in exaggerated grandeur.

"Mason," Julia called out from the running shower, "we've been through this before, there is no fourth wall to break, honey."

Ten kilometres away, Cruz was sitting stiffly behind the wheel of his Jetta; his mind was racing. For so much of his life everything had seemed so simple. Find Eden, lose Eden, marry Eden, lose Eden, wash, rinse, repeat. Flip words perhaps, but the feelings were anything but. And now when he had learned to live without that exquisite common denominator, she was back and from minute-to-minute his feelings about her were shifting wildly. What would he be walking into? What did she expect of him? What did he expect of her? Could they have a future together again? There were still just so many questions, with one nagging at him the most. How could a woman abandon her family?

Cruz gazed upon the Pico de Orizaba, the highest mountain peak in Mexico, this on the boundary between the states of Puebla and Veracruz. Stratovolcanoes were the most dangerous in the world, they could erupt with such little warning and release such copious amounts of harmful material. It was ironic, really, his life feeling much like that at this moment.

By the time Cruz parked his vehicle, it was an unusually hot 31 degrees Celsius under the September noonday sun. His gait somewhat shaky, the man strolled through an outdoor market to the café where he was to meet Eden in 30 minutes from then. It was a colourful yellow and red-walled backdrop, with a dozen outdoor tables, these interspersed with potted cacti. The café was sparsely filled, as was to be expected with the current variant wave of COVID-19 still a concern. After surveying the distanced crowd, Cruz had no problem finding a seat. He was grateful for the brown canvas umbrella overhead, which blocked out a surprising amount of heat.

Time passed incredibly slowly, as vintage '80s music blared from the outdoor speakers. While not a fan of technology, Cruz activated his cell phone every few seconds to keep track of the time. He could not help but wonder if Eden would show up at all. While he once would have considered her standing him up to be unthinkable, that had all changed when the divorce papers, and that letter, had arrived back in 1992. That insulting letter. Objectively he supposed he knew she hadn't meant it that way, but any letter from the woman you loved telling you to move on with your life, and with another person, was terribly disrespectful.

Que desperdicio, Cruz thought, as he reached down to check his phone again. Before he could press his thumb to the sensor, a voice sounded from behind him.

"Hello, Inspector."

That voice was so familiar, and one out of his deep past, but whose? Was it a German accent? Dutch? Did he sense some vestiges of Italian? Cruz turned warily, his mouth opening in shock and confusion as he rose. Standing in front of him, so casually with an iced Mexican Coffee in hand, was one Hans Ryker, better known as Dr. Marcello Armonti.

A speechless Cruz stood toe-to-toe with Marcello, his mind still trying to process the unnatural presence of this man. Although 36 years had passed, the disgraced psychiatrist, dressed in a retro grey tweed suit, looked strangely the same. The only visible change, aside from the odd crease, was his once blonde hair had turned pure white.

"You have many questions," Marcello acknowledged, in that calm, infuriatingly superior tone of voice.

Without conscious thought, Cruz’s hands suddenly shot up and grabbed Marcello at the neck, his coarse fingertips pushing into the older man’s squishy flesh. Heads turned as Marcello’s beverage smashed to the ground, spraying the square with cold coffee and shards of glass. Regaining partial control of himself, Cruz lowered his hands to Marcello’s oversized lapels. "Where is Eden?" he hissed through closed teeth.

"Perhaps this is not the best place to talk," Marcello advised, his smooth voice now hoarse and his breathing laboured. "I have rented some office space a few blocks from here," he added, while waving at the other patrons to show them everything was fine.

Cruz’s feet planted firmly on the ground, he leaned into Marcello, their noses practically touching. Marcello being six centimetres taller, Cruz’s intense gaze was directed upwards. "Not until I know Eden is okay," he insisted.

"Inspector, Ms. Capwell is not in any physical danger," Marcello explained. "Come, I will take you to her."

Cruz looked Marcello up and down, his face still betraying his heightened rage. "Uh huh," he spoke softly, his head slowly bobbing. "All right then," he agreed, "vamonos."

Marcello’s offices were within walking distance, just a few blocks east of the café, a district Cruz knew well from professional experience. The two men walked in silence, Marcello perceiving every bit of Cruz’s simmering hostility. They presently arrived at a run-down building in the centre of the city. Half of the windows were boarded up and the once vibrant greens and yellows were now pale and washed out. Marcello led Cruz into the dilapidated four-storey structure, of which he had leased the top floor, although he was the only tenant. The complex, while not officially condemned, was due to be demolished in a month’s time, hence his had been a short-term lease, and one paid in cash.

The two aged men strolled, with purpose, across the crumbling tiled floor of the foyer to the curved stairwell.

"My apologies for the elevator being out of order," Marcello tendered, as they began their brief ascent. Cruz’s only response was a sideways glance, as he scanned the area around him for any potential threats. He had never felt the absence of his weapon more keenly.

At the top of the stairs were two doors, one that led into a foul-smelling unisex washroom, and one that housed a small suite of offices. They turned right and entered the graffiti covered outer office, inside of which was placed a single desk and a pair of imitation leather chairs. The walls were blank, the aged wallpaper peeling off in clumps.

"Forgive the state of the offices," Marcello apologized, his voice now beginning to return to its silky normal, "my standards are unfortunately not what they once were."

"Standards," Cruz remarked with a cynical laugh, "that’s rich." He pushed Marcello violently up against the wall, the man’s head leaving an indentation in the crumbling plaster. "I think I’ve indulged you for long enough Mr. Armonti. Now where the hell is Eden?"

Cruz quickly surveyed the remainder of the neglected room and spotted a door with an electronic keypad. "In there?" the agitated man challenged.

"All in good time, Inspector, please oblige me."

Cruz threw Marcello aside and bounded for the heavy door, which was locked up tight. This did not stop him from pounding on it until his fists were reddish and raw. "Eden!" he called out.

A faint Marcello rushed to Cruz’s side, his lightly accented voice growing more excitable. "Despite what you are thinking, Cruz, I am on Eden’s side, and I have been for a long time. She is a very sick woman and all I want to do, all I have ever done, is to try and help her."

Cruz spun around, his chest heaving. "Please don’t tell me you’re treating her," he said incredulously.

Marcello nodded in deadly earnest. "I am."

Cruz could not believe his ears. "Well, aside from the illegality, there is certainly an issue of competence."

"Inspector, whatever else you may think of me, I was an eminently skilled psychiatrist. I will be the first to admit I went down the wrong path, a dark path, but I never once compromised any of my patients’ care."

Cruz could see Marcello's obvious passion, but the man still had such an innate sense of smugness about him, which was entirely off-putting. "Okay, we’ll play it your way for now," Cruz acquiesced as he once more advanced on the man. "But I promise you - I promise you, my patience is razor thin."

"Please, sit," Marcello directed, pointing to one of the chairs.

Marcello crossed to the other side of the desk and took a seat, while Cruz followed suit on his side. "How, in Heaven, did you get involved with Eden’s care?" Cruz spat.

Marcello cocked his head slightly and looked at Cruz, his eyes burrowing deeply into the other man’s, as only those of a psychiatrist could do. "When I was released from prison, I realized I had lost everything, professionally and personally," Marcello began, as he held up one finger. "Abandoned by all but one person," he continued with great intensity and theatricality. "Do you know that Sophia stood by me through it all? When everyone else left me to languish, only Sophia talked to me, only Sophia understood me, only Sophia loved me." Marcello’s breathing was quickening, his pulse beginning to race. "She visited me once a week, every week, for 15 years."

"I didn’t know that," Cruz articulated solemnly.

"Of course you did not, why would anyone stop to worry about me?" Marcello asked angrily, his cheeks reddening. "Her love helped to heal me, and when she requested a favour, I could not say no. I loved that woman and yes, I wanted a chance to use my gifts again."

"Gifts, that’s rich," Cruz snickered, "you gave so many gifts. Tell me, did Hank Judson appreciate his gift? How about C.C.?"

Marcello was clearly becoming more emotional and Cruz began to wonder if the former doctor was just a little bit insane himself, or a whole lot. Sensing this, Marcello raised his hands to his forehead and slowly lowered them, inhaling, and exhaling deeply in the process. "Yes, I became obsessed with revenge," he calmly admitted, "and for a brief time I was out of my mind, but I moved past that, I wanted to make amends."

"Your motivations aside, how about we speak to your competency as a psychiatrist?" Cruz grilled. "What about the 15 odd years you kept Sophia away from her family?"

This question seemed to agitate Marcello further, although he made a great effort to maintain his composure. "I make no apologies for wanting to care for Sophia,” he proclaimed, "I always had her best interests at heart. And say what you will, her therapy did ultimately work, as did Kelly’s."

Cruz considered the man and his words, many of which he could not deny. "And what about Eden?" he compelled.

Marcello folded his hands and rested them on the rickety desk, his shoulders pressed firmly against the back of his worn chair. "Sophia contacted me two years ago. Eden had reached out to her; it was the first time Sophia had heard from her daughter in over 25 years."

Cruz gestured across the office space. "You know, I find it incredibly hard to believe Sophia set you up in this dump."

"Sophia does not know we are here," Marcello relayed. "As we have no papers, and are here illegally, I desired to keep a low profile."

"So where was she," Cruz beseeched, "where had Eden been?"

Marcello shook his head, as if Cruz were missing the point. "It was not where she had been, but how she lived. Eden had clearly been surviving on the streets for some time. She was severely malnourished and dehydrated, her arms and legs covered in needle marks and bruises. Sophia endeavoured to clean her up prior to my seeing her, but she could not hide her physical condition from me."

Cruz leaned forward in his seat, his eyes clenched shut. If Marcello was telling the truth, was it Eden who had done him wrong, or was it Cruz who had done her wrong? He who had so casually gone on with his life, while she was in such desperate need of help. My God, what kind of man was he? These revelations were shaking him to his very foundations.

"It was my fault," Cruz stammered.

Marcello rose and walked around the desk. He sat carefully on the edge facing Cruz and placed his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. His cadence was incredibly warm and sincere, which began to give Cruz an inkling of how he had once been able to build up such an impressive reputation. "It was not your fault, Cruz," he reassured him in soothing tones, "you could not have known the extent of her condition. But then neither was it Eden’s. Perhaps at first, she was purposely avoiding the world around her, but soon the psychosis took over. By the time I saw her, she was drifting through personalities at a rate I had never before witnessed."

Marcello removed his hands from Cruz’s shoulders and stood again; he began to pace the room in circles.

"She was not communicative in any traditional sense," the one-time doctor explained, "and would not be for some time. When she was not in a manic state, she approached levels of near catatonia, the latter taking a greater hold each day. It was clear to me, then, that standard therapy would not be a sufficient aid, there would need to be extensive drug intervention."

"What kind of drugs?" Cruz inquired tiredly.

"Have you heard of the work of Dr. Oliver Sacks?"

"All I could tell you is what I’ve seen in the movies," Cruz confessed.

Marcello sighed. "Yes, the work was loosely dramatized in the film Awakenings, I believe it was called. In real life, Dr. Sacks was a renowned British neurologist, a man who I have had the honour of crossing professional paths with. But, to the point, his patients were locked into a waking sleep state. They were experiencing encephalitis lethargica, more commonly known as sleeping sickness, which Eden shared some symptoms of. In order to work with her, I needed her in a conscious, lucid state. Building on Dr. Sacks’ research, I was able to develop a medical cocktail, which helped to bring Eden back to an alert condition, albeit a temporary one. Experiencing some success, we spent many months refining the dosage, as well as engaging in intense psychotherapy. Once I was able to start talking with her, and smoothed out her anxieties, I charted over 18 distinctly different personalities."

Cruz was shocked. "My God," he exclaimed. "And Eden herself?"

"Yes, I was able to contact Eden as well, and her personality eventually grew to be the dominant one. After much hard work on her part, we came to a point when we decided it was time to come see you. It seemed the next logical phase in her treatment."

"When was that?" Cruz explored.

"Only last week. We had agreed to bring you here for a meeting, but then, unbeknownst to me, she found out about your daughter’s wedding. So, one day when I was out- "

"You left her alone?" Cruz questioned forcefully.

"Inspector, you must be aware Eden was making great progress and slowly regaining her independence. You see, building up that independence was, and is, an integral part of her treatment."

"She seemed to be in perfect health when I saw her," Cruz recalled. Although if truth be told, was there not something just a little bit off about her? In her speech, her movements…God, why had he been so wrapped up in himself?

"Even though she was showing great improvement, there were still memory lapses and she was often consumed by uncontrollable tics and emotional outbursts," Marcello clarified. "In moments of stress, it was not unusual for other personalities to emerge, particularly that of her late brother Channing. From what I can gather she decided she could not see you that way, so she broke the lock on my medicine case and injected herself with a dangerously high dose of the drug. It created the illusion of short-term normalcy, but bore the regrettable side effect of reverting her to a precarious emotional state. Luckily, I found a copy of the newspaper she had been reading, which detailed where and when the wedding of your daughter was to take place."

"What happened when she left the church?" Cruz queried.

"I came upon her in the park behind the sanctuary. She was in an uncontrollable state, pacing, yelling out unspeakable profanities. It was the worst I had seen her since she first came into my care."

Cruz’s right hand covered his mouth, as he pondered the question of whether he had caused her break by denying her a place at their daughter’s wedding. "I want to see her," the rattled man stressed.

"And so, you will. I just want you to be aware, she is not going to resemble the woman you saw yesterday."

"Take me to her!" Cruz insisted roughly, what was left of his composure falling away.

Marcello half-bowed and held up his right hand, palm facing up. He led Cruz to the doorway across the room and entered a code into the digital keypad; the light flashed green and the lock whirred open. Cruz pushed past Marcello and burst into the surprisingly large space. In the corner at the far end of the room, in front of a small, streaky window, was a wheelchair. In it, Cruz could see the back of a woman’s head, her short blonde hair straggly, with a few patches of bare scalp showing; there were strands of hair spread over the floor. Cruz rushed to the hunched figure, spun the wheelchair around and pulled her face up, which hung rigidly in place. How could this be the same woman from the previous morning? he wondered. Her face had been rubbed free of all makeup, exposing the deepest shade of black around those deadened green eyes. She was gazing off into space, drool dripping from the left corner of her mouth. Her hands were tied down to the armrests of the chair.

"What the hell," Cruz murmured as he undid the leather straps. "Baby," he said with great anxiety, while waving his hands slowly in front of her vacant eyes. He turned to Marcello. "Is there anything you can give her?" he asked.

Marcello shook his head. "When I brought her back here, I was forced to sedate her for her own safety, and she slipped back into a catatonic state. To give her anything more than a light sedative would be too dangerous at this point. Now please listen to me, the medication is working its way through her system. We must adhere to a very precise schedule to stabilize her, to bring her back to an adequate level of consciousness. We need to find some fragment of a personality that I can work with to help rebuild her psyche."

Cruz had never felt this helpless. Not when Eden died, not when he was imprisoned for first degree murder, not even when Eden had left him. Perhaps when she had suffered through the horror of her rape, but even then, she had still been Eden.

"She may never be the Eden you once knew," Marcello continued, "but whatever she is to become, it will be a process. There are no shortcuts here, Inspector, not ones that have a lasting impact, as you can now understand."

Before Cruz could respond, Eden screamed out suddenly, that blood-curdling screech chilling both men to their cores. Her rag doll-like body flew up from the chair and she began racing from one end of the room to the other. Her head was pivoting in all manner of unnatural directions, her eyes darting back and forth, as if she was having an upright seizure.

"Because of your insistence on moral duty, my mother is going to jail!" the demented lady wailed, "not for a crime, but for an accident, something she didn’t mean to do!"

Eden did a 180-degree turn, her squeals suddenly ceasing. "You’re pretty good at this," she called out seductively, "are you sure we’re pressurized?"

Eden began to wag her finger back and forth at Cruz, although her glazed eyes did not appear to focus on him. "You may know a lot about horses," she commented, "but you know nothing about civility."

She turned next to Marcello, her voice rising again, the veins in her forehead pulsating like they were going to burst out from behind her chapped skin. "Be careful someone around here doesn’t carve you up. And you’d better not try and get into my good graces, because you’re a slut and a liar!"

Cruz looked on in utter helplessness, his skin exploding in goose pimples. "My God," he cried out to Marcello, "what have you done to her?!"

Eden’s hands crossed to her chest and her voice lowered by at least an octave. "When we are blessed with children, I will love them as much as you, but never more."

Eden’s sincerity gave way to laughter. "You didn’t look like a Pepé," she chuckled.

In Eden’s head, there was no semblance of rational thought. She was mesmerized by a kaleidoscope of blinding colours, sharp waves of light and distorted, bloodied faces; demonic faces. She slapped her hands over her ears to block out the overlapping voices, these mixed in with deafening bursts of white noise.

"But I love him, Daddy," she moaned, "Daddy, you’re not going to die!"

Eden began to spin in circles. "How can it be?" she bellowed. "Oh, dear God, can I touch you…why did you make us think you were dead?! Home is where you live, where you stay!"

Eden stopped spinning and pressed both hands to her left breast. "I still remember how soft your cheek felt; I promise it won’t hurt, and then I can let Eden go free….I married Kirk, because he is what I deserved…I will always remember this place, that mixture of beauty and danger."

Eden stopped talking and lurched to the window, through which the soft colours of twilight were flowing in. She placed her hands on the painted shut window frame and peered through the smeared glass. "Oh, thank you, God, for my family," she whispered so sweetly.

Seeing she was calmer, Cruz and Marcello both began to approach. But before they could get within two metres, Eden turned. Her face opened up into a snarl, specks of spittle flying out in front of her, beads of foam forming at the corners of her mouth. "Because I don’t care if I kill you," she shrieked, holding her right hand out in front of her, as if it held a gun, "don’t you understand that? I don’t even care!!"

Cruz once again tried to approach his beloved, but he could not get close enough as she began to twirl wildly, her arms flailing out. Eden howled and ran to the wall. She began to claw at it so viciously, her nails started to tear off. Cruz raced for her and held onto her tightly. With adrenaline coursing through her shaking body, the slight woman threw Cruz onto the floor. Without conscious thought, he rose quickly and grabbed for her again.

"It’s me, baby, it’s Cruz," he pleaded, "please stop."

As they struggled, Marcello snuck up and injected Eden with a hypodermic needle. Her body went limp almost instantly, and Cruz lowered Eden’s dead weight onto a small, clean cot in the corner of the room. "I thought you said medication was dangerous?" he barked.

"This was just a light sedative, Inspector," Marcello elucidated.

"What did you do to her?" Cruz demanded, tears stinging his cheeks, "how can she, how can I, how…"

"Inspector," Marcello interjected, "I explained to you what happened. This is an unfortunate side effect due to her overdose. As much as you may hate to hear it, this is not the first such occurrence, although it is to a degree I have not witnessed in some time."

Marcello slowly removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves to show Cruz the numerous healed-over lacerations that Eden had inflicted on him over the years. "Eden requires a careful balance of drugs & psychotherapy and most likely always will," he continued. "Please, if you don’t believe me, talk to Sophia. I keep her closely apprised of my treatment plans."

Cruz shook his head. "I will not leave you alone with her."

"Inspector, I have been alone with her for just over two years now."

"My case proven," Cruz persisted.

Cruz leaned up against the wall and held his shaking hands to his face. After a few moments, he took out his cell phone and jabbed some numbers on the screen, this proving to be far more difficult for his trembling fingers than anticipated. After his third try, he held the phone to his left ear.

"CW, It's Cruz...I need you to do me a huge favour. Hector is currently in Ixtapaluca, correct? I need him here…Yeah, tonight."

Slightly over an hour later, the sound of a car screeching to a halt echoed through the window, which Cruz had forced open earlier, he needing to get some air. Soon, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and Hector García entered the room. Cruz walked up to him and gave the concerned man a quick embrace.

"It’s good to see you, brother," Cruz spoke.

Marcello returned to the outer office at Cruz’s behest. A few minutes later, Cruz opened the door and motioned for Marcello to return. "I will be back later tonight, " he informed the ill-at-ease man, "count on that. You will not be left alone with Eden at any time. If you make any wrong moves, Hector will…well, just don’t make any wrong moves."

Marcello looked to the substantial Hector, who winked at him, while patting the handgun holstered inside his left armpit.

Cruz walked to the other side of the room, to where Eden appeared to be sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a character in a fairy tale. He caressed what was left of her beautiful blonde hair and gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead.

"I’ll be back, baby," he whispered. "And after that I promise I will never let you out of my sight ever again."

Cruz then pivoted and, after giving Hector a fist bump, and Marcello a steely glare, he walked out into the warm evening air that chilled him to the bone.

Cruz’s cheeks, wet with tears, shone in the ethereal glow of the moonlight. He found himself choking for breath as he moved into his vehicle, which he had left parked at the café. His mind was racing, his thoughts random and dark. It felt like an eternity had passed, reminding him of a dream he once had in which he committed suicide and spent the next 3000 years burning in Hell before being reunited with his beloved in Heaven. He sometimes wondered if this indeed was a dream, the two having been touched by the magical and mystical so many times during their lives together.

Cruz put the Jetta into gear and pulled out of the parking lot that was now virtually empty, the tourists having gone to bed and the locals having moved elsewhere. He proceeded to drive to the Cartesiano Puebla, which was located nearby in the centre of the city. If memory served, Sophia and C.C. were not leaving for Santa Barbara until the next morning.

Cruz was jerked out of a hundred inner monologues by the ringtone of his phone, which was emanating from the car speakers. Still not adept at this new technology, he jabbed at various buttons on a Bluetooth adapter, which was plugged into his cigarette lighter. This had been a gift from Adriana the previous Christmas, a not-so-subtle attempt to drag her dead old dad into the modern world.

"Hello?" he answered impatiently.

"Cruz, where are you," sounded the distorted voice of his baby sister, Carmen. Cruz’s radio had been on the fritz for some time now and Carmen’s voice, like Cruz’s favourite '80s power ballads, was crackly and tinny.

"Hey, baby sister," Cruz greeted absently.

On the other end of the line, in Cruz’s living room, Carmen appeared concerned. The petite 51-year-old lady had sensed her big brother’s anxiety the previous evening and was worried about him. "Is everything okay?" she asked. "Chip said you left first thing this morning."

"I’m sorry, Carmen," Cruz apologized, "we were supposed to have dinner, weren’t we?"

Carmen’s voice grew more anxious. "Cruz, what is going on?" she pressed.

"It’s just been a bit of a rough day," Cruz noted. "I wish I could talk about it now, but I’ve still got some stuff on my plate."

"That’s too bad, I was hoping to see you before I left for the dig site tomorrow."

In addition to her being a devoted mother of three, Carmen had been working as an archaeologist for close to two decades now. She was currently staying with Cruz, while leading the excavation team at Cantona, a Mesoamerican archaeological site about an hour Northwest of the Castillo hacienda.

"I can wait up," Carmen suggested.

"Nah, better not, sweetie," Cruz advised, "I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Let’s plan for breakfast, though, I can tell you about all of this then."

"Okay, big bro," Carmen submitted, ironically realizing that she was now the one acting as the parent in the relationship. "It sure got lonely around here fast," she established, while surveying the empty house.

"Last man standing, hey?" Cruz joked. "Well, it’s not too late, you should go out."

"Wow, is my big brother telling me to go find a party? Where was this Cruz when I was 17?"

"C’mon, I was not that strict," Cruz protested.

Carmen laughed. "Be safe, Hermano, okay?" she cautioned.

"Back at yuh, sweetie."

Cruz poked at several buttons, some not even connected to his phone, until the call was disconnected on his end. If there was any shred of peace left in him at this moment, he owed it to Carmen, he realized. She had made such a fabulous success of her life. It was an important reminder to him to know happy endings were possible. Hell, everyone in his family seemed to be falling into their happy endings. Everyone except for he and Eden, that was. He knew he needed to be the man of action he once was, but he was struggling to find that man within him.

"C'mon, Cruz, snap out of it," he muttered, as he wiped his breath's condensation from the Jetta's cracked windshield.

Once at the terraced red adobe hotel, this emblazoned, appropriately enough, with a large golden C, Cruz raced up the marble steps to the front lobby. He walked immediately to the room corridor leading towards the owner’s suite, the occupancy of which was a perk of being a Capwell. He pounded on the colourful grilled door, until he heard some grumbling emanating from within. The door soon opened to reveal Sophia Capwell, who was clad in a pink dressing gown. Her still wet face had been washed free of makeup, as she had just been preparing to go to bed.

"Cruz?" the elegant, elderly lady questioned with concern, "honey, what is it?"

Cruz must have looked half-crazed to Sophia. He was panting heavily, his hair sticking to the sides of his face and his shirt tails hanging out. "Tell me about Eden, Sophia," he demanded breathlessly, "tell me about Marcello."

Sophia’s face blanched. Her mouth thinned and she held up a finger. Silently, she pulled her robe tighter, pushed Cruz out the door and followed him into the hall. "Please, Cruz," she pleaded in an emotionally heightened timbre, "keep your voice down, C.C. doesn’t know."

Cruz appeared stunned. It was shocking to think that a man like C.C. Capwell had been kept in the dark, but then Sophia was no stranger to secrets. "So, it is true," he pounced, "you’ve known."

"Yes, it’s true," Sophia confessed without guilt. "Here, come with me."

Sophia led Cruz to a two-level brick courtyard in the centre of the hotel. They walked along the dimly lit tree-lined path to a wall of colourful mosaic tiles, where Sophia prompted Cruz to take a seat on one of the white cushioned benches. She then took a few moments to steady herself, before sitting opposite him. Although the night air was mild and unusually pure this evening, she was finding it difficult to breathe.

"Eden called me in 2019," she began shakily, "it was her birthday, actually. It was the first time I had heard from her in almost 28 years."

Sophia’s head fell to her bosom, as her eyes welled with tears. "My baby called me," she sobbed.

Cruz placed his hand briefly on the back of Sophia’s neck. "What happened next, Sophia?" he asked quietly.

Sophia looked up and to Cruz, her delicate features etched in anguish. "She was so panicked, Cruz. She said André was after her, that he wanted his money from the heist. And then she just started to whimper. I’m sorry, Momma, she said over and over again, I’m sorry, Momma."

Sophia thought back to that recent moment, when she had been standing in the Capwell study, the phone glued to her ear. She had remained frozen in place for hours, even after the connection went dead, until the maid had come in the next morning.

"Did she tell you where she was?" Cruz questioned.

"No," Sophia responded. "She hung up and I didn’t know what to do."

"Why didn’t you call me?" Cruz queried.

Sophia tried to smile, but could only stare at Cruz in agony, her head pivoting slowly from side to side. "You had moved on, Cruz," she justified, "you were happy, I couldn’t bring you back into that."

Cruz shook his head, the knuckles of his thumbs pressed so deeply into his forehead, the mark would not go away for hours; the feelings of guilt were incredibly strong. "So, what did you do?" he further inquired.

"I contacted Cain," Sophia disclosed. "He and Pearl had started up a small agency in Salt Lake, and he helped me trace the call to Paris."

Cain & Pearl, Cruz mouthed, saddened that his best friends, too, had kept him out of the loop.

"I told C.C. I had a business trip," Sophia recalled, "then Cain and I flew to Paris where we tracked down the phone she used, it must have been one of the last phone booths in the city. It took days, but we eventually found her."

Sophia closed her eyes. In her mind, she could still see her trembling daughter, one who could not have weighed more than 80 pounds, her ribs sticking out painfully through her torn blouse. Her face had appeared skeletal and drained of all colour. It looked like she had not seen the sun in weeks, if not years.

"Then what?" Cruz prompted tiredly.

"You don’t want to hear this, Cruz," Sophia advised, as she squeezed his hands.

"Then what?" Cruz pressed.

Sophia looked down, her voice growing smaller. Cruz was not sure he had seen her this way since that day, so long ago, when she remembered killing her own son. "We found her in an alleyway," Sophia soon continued. "A needle was sticking out of her arm and-"

Sophia burst into tears and Cruz laid his right hand on the woman's quivering shoulder.

"There was saw some loser standing over her," Sophia cried. "He was zipping up his pants and dropping some bills at her feet. Is that really what you wanted to hear, Cruz?! "

"My God," Cruz uttered, his mind failing to fully process the horrors Sophia was laying out, although their full weight would hit him later.

Sophia was shaking all over, the memories slamming into her like a sledgehammer. "Cain beat the bastard half to death, " she remembered, the images of Cain's fists smashing into the man's bloodied flesh still so vivid. "I could taste his blood," she moaned.

Cruz embraced Sophia, giving her a few moments to compose herself.

"Then you took her to Marcello," he presumed quietly.

Sophia pulled away from Cruz, her gaze locked onto his. "How do you know this?" she asked.

"Because they’re here, Sophia," Cruz imparted, "they’re here in Puebla."

Sophia covered her mouth. "My God, you’ve seen her?"

At Cruz's affirmation, Sophia smiled and pressed her hands to her heart. "How is she?" she beseeched. "How is my baby?"

"She came to see me before the wedding," Cruz shared. "She seemed shaky, but strong."

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "Now who is keeping secrets?" she challenged.

Cruz's smile was so subtle as to be almost non-existent. "I think being a hypocrite is the least of my sins today," he acknowledged.

"What do you mean?"

Cruz ran his clammy hands down the side of his face, their settling briefly on his neck. "I don’t know, Sophia," he responded sluggishly. "After what I witnessed today?"

"What is that?" Sophia probed.

Cruz's eyes squeezed nearly shut, his opened lips trembling. "She had some kind of relapse," he related, as he fought to hold onto his composure. "I can’t even explain it. My God, why wasn't I with her through all this?"

"I’ve wanted to be with her too, Cruz," Sophia asserted, "but Marcello thought it best-"

"Marcello thought it best," Cruz snidely parroted. "Why did you leave her with him, Sophia?"

"Because he was one of the best in his field, Cruz," Sophia explained forcefully. "Because he is my son and Eden is my daughter."

"Stepson," Cruz clarified.

"You can bring semantics into it all you want, but the point is Marcello helped me to regain my sanity. And he kept Kelly well after losing Joe, whatever may have come afterwards. All the while he was helping us, I let him down by not seeing the signs, and because of that I almost lost C.C. and my sweet Kelly. But he served his time, Cruz, he fought his way back."

"He’s a killer, Sophia," Cruz stated plainly.

"It’s not like you not to forgive, Cruz," Sophia contended, her voice diminishing. "You have become so hard."

"Life has a way of doing that," Cruz testified.

"He can help her, Cruz," Sophia declared passionately, "I’ve seen it. I’ve had moments with her where she was just like the old Eden. And do you know what she talks about, all she talks about?" Sophia asked, pointing her forefinger lightly into Cruz's chest. "She talks about getting well enough to come back to you, and to Chip, and to Adriana."

Cruz struggled to process this, to reconcile all the day's crazy revelations. "Why did you never say anything?" he gently questioned. "If not to me, to the family?"

"If you had seen how she lived, and trust me, I know a thing or two about that, Cruz, you wouldn’t need to ask. She couldn’t come back before she was ready."

Cruz placed his left palm lovingly on Sophia’s right cheek. "You know, Sophia, maybe you do think that worked for you. I tend not to think so based on what happened to your son and how your family reacted to your eventual return."

Sophia recoiled from Cruz’s touch. "Cruz, that is so cold," she judged.

Cruz nodded. "Maybe so," he conceded, "but I believe she would have been better off with her family. With treatment yes, but with her family at her side; with love at her side. I have no doubt Marcello cares for her on some level, but he doesn’t love Eden like we do."

Sophia looked down, Cruz's words hitting violently home. "Perhaps I was wrong," she reflected, "I don’t know anymore."

Cruz cradled Sophia in his unsteady arms, the lady feeling like such a shell of herself on this bizarre evening, this evening that seemed like it was existing outside of time. "How did it all get so fucked up, Sophia?" he cursed softly, his voice sounding so feeble. "I’ve been sleepwalking through life and didn’t even know it. Dressing up my inertia as something noble..."

Sophia smiled sweetly at her one-time son-in-law, this oh-so-special man. "You have led an exemplary life, Cruz," she proclaimed, "you did so well with your children, there is such great love there. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Well, agree to disagree," Cruz mumbled, now disgusted by his own inaction.

Cruz placed his hands on the bench at his hips and pushed himself up. "Thanks, Sophia," he flatly expressed. "Can you promise not to leave until you hear from me?"

"Why, Cruz?"

"I think there needs to be a change, but I don't know what it's going to look like yet. Please, just wait."

"What do I tell C.C.?" Sophia queried. "It's his birthday tomorrow, and he's looking forward to getting home. He feels so much stronger there."

Cruz's lips curled up mildly. "You’ll think of something."

A shaken Sophia nodded and returned to her hotel room. A slightly hunched-over C.C. Capwell walked across the bleached hardwood into the living space, tightly drawing the belt on his waffle-weaved robe as he did so. He appeared frail, but was still so strong of will and mind, still such an imposing man.

"Was someone at the door, Sophia?" he asked, in his deep baritone.

Sophia forced a light grin. "It was Cruz," she stated, "he just wanted to wish us a good flight tomorrow."

"Why didn’t he come in?" C.C. questioned.

"You know these young kids," Sophia tittered naturally, her acting skills shining through, "always on the move."

C.C. chuckled and took his beautiful wife into his arms, holding her tightly at the hips. "You know what else those young kids like to do…"

Cruz returned to Marcello’s clinic, a strange feeling coming over him, one that twigged his very soul. Something was different, something was happening. For one, Hector’s car was nowhere to be seen. "Son of a bitch," he grunted.

Cruz entered the derelict building and moved slowly up the staircase, his senses on full alert. As he scaled the final step, he turned smoothly, pivoting on the black rubber heels of his worn-down boots.

Cruz was shocked by what he saw. Crumpled in the doorway, to the outer office, was Hector Garcia. Cruz glided towards him and placed two fingers on his friend’s thick neck. There was a pulse, and a strong one at that. "Gracias, Jesús," Cruz whispered. His instincts in play, Cruz then reached under Hector’s left arm. To his dismay, the man’s firearm was missing.

His face stiffened and his brow furrowed, Cruz's first thought was that Marcello had taken off with Eden. He furtively inched towards the inner room, the door of which was closed over. Remembering the code, he punched it in as delicately as he could. He then gently pushed the door open, this making the loudest creak imaginable.

The room was dark, drenched in shadows. His eyes adjusting, Cruz stayed close to the walls. He was soon able to make out a human shape crumpled on the floor at the end of the bed, its short hair partially lit in the moonlight. All his training forgotten, Cruz sprinted to the bedside and ripped off the sheet that half-covered the body. He sighed in relief as he discovered it was not Eden. After checking for a pulse, he began to slap Marcello on the face, soon rousing him to consciousness.

Marcello’s eyes opened suddenly, his pupils dilating. "Inspector," he murmured groggily.

"Where is Eden?" Cruz barked. "What happened?"

Cruz helped Marcello to sit up. "I cannot understand how she awoke so soon," Marcello started. "She was calm but being controlled by a personality I had never before seen. There was such strength in her physically. She knocked out your associate and took his gun, which she then trained on me. I was sure she was going to shoot, but instead, she gave me this."

Marcello handed Cruz a piece of ragged paper torn from a spiral notebook. It was so neatly written in red ink, the penmanship perfectly reminiscent of Eden's. It read:

What kind of sick game was this, Cruz contemplated? It was a twisted Black Mirror version of previous clues Eden left for him during their courtship, and he for her. Notes that had been filled with light and love were now filled with darkness and hatred.

"What does it mean?" Cruz asked angrily, while shoving the note into Marcello’s face.

Marcello took the note, seeing the words through a plethora of stars, this courtesy of Hector’s gun slamming into his now bloodied temple. "I do not know," the shaken man asserted, "it makes no sense to me."

"Where would she have gone?" Cruz explored. "Have you two been keeping tabs on me?"

"We are not stalkers, Inspector. The only information we had was your address, where I was going to first reach out to you."

Cruz smacked his head with the palm of his hand. "My hacienda, that has to be it," Cruz disclosed breathlessly. "Did you ever take Eden there?"

Marcello nodded. "Once, the day after we arrived. You were not home, but we did see decorations going up in your courtyard. Eden sneaked in with the crew to examine the space. She wanted to stay and find out what the decorations were for, but I did not wish to risk us being discovered. Later, when she saw the newspaper, what they were intended for became obvious."

"My God," Cruz lamented fearfully, "Carmen is at my house! Get Hector medical attention and then wait for me outside of the Cartesiano Puebla," he instructed.

Without waiting for a response from Marcello, Cruz raced off into the blackness. He slapped a police siren, a memento of times past, onto the roof of his car and drove like a madman back to his hacienda. He prayed Carmen had taken his suggestion and gone out for the evening. When he arrived, he found the sugar pine door had been kicked open, this now hanging off its iron hinges.

"Carmen!" he shouted, this so loud it made his lungs hurt. "Eden!"

Cruz raced through the various rooms, shoving objects out of his way as he did so. He soon concluded there was no one in the house. "Think, Cruz, think," he pushed himself.

He reread the second half of Eden's clue.

It is a safe bet it is no longer wet.

"C'mon, Cruz," the frazzled man spoke aloud, his thumbnail digging into his front teeth, "when she wrote the note, she had never been inside. Outside in the courtyard, the courtyard…the fountain!"

Cruz raced to the long ago dried-out fountain, which was still decorated with shrivelled flowers from the wedding fiesta. In the stone basin he found a second note, this written as cleanly as the first.

"The third," Cruz repeated a few times. It had to mean Carmen, the third born to his Mamá! He then speedily read the remainder of the note.

"Old place, old place," Cruz whispered to himself, as he unconsciously moved back into the house via the kitchen entrance. There, his eyes fell to Carmen's work bag, which was spilled out, the floor littered in tissues, lotions, various sizes of brushes, sunglasses, and a Swiss Army knife. "Cantona!"

Without a single thought, being driven by pure adrenaline, Cruz raced out the door and back to his vehicle. Although it was a drive that should have taken an hour, Cruz pulled up outside of Cantona within 30 minutes, his headlights dark for the final few kilometres. Sure enough, there was Hector’s car. And close by was a security guard, who had been rendered unconscious.

Cruz exited his transport and entered what had possibly been the largest urban centre in Mesoamerica, a once walled city abandoned over 1000 years before. With only 10% of it excavated thus far, the site stretched over 12 square kilometres, with the natural dome of the Cerro Pizarro as a backdrop. Cruz moved stealthily through the cacti and yucca to the beginning of the intricate network of cobblestone roads that would once have connected some 3000 residences. He had been here several times, this being a passion project of his sister’s. He moved past the remains of several ballgame courts, while visually scanning the various platforms in this deserted settlement. When he came to the base of what had once housed a ceremonial altar, on which the losers of the games were said to be slaughtered, he spotted some faint movement. At the top of the platform were two figures, both marginally swaying in the mild breeze. Cruz slowly scaled the dozens of steep, crumbling steps. When he reached the top, he saw the silhouettes of two persons, their bodies swathed in darkness. Hearing Cruz's footsteps, they both turned.

"Cruz!" a frightened Carmen called out.

In response to this, Eden raised the butt of Hector's gun and smashed it into the base of Carmen’s skull, sending the instantly unconscious woman crashing to the ground.

Cruz’s eyes were wide open, his jaw tensed, as he watched Eden step out of the shadows. In contrast to the last time, he had seen her, she cut a figure filled with confidence and menace.

"My God," Cruz choked, seeing Eden walking towards him with such dark purpose. "Baby, why are you doing this?" he appealed, blindly looking for some reason in the chaos.

"How touching, the man is so concerned for his baby sister," Eden snarled. "Where is the concern for me?!"

"Baby, all I want is for you to be okay," Cruz claimed, his words achingly heartfelt. "I care about you so much."

"Oh, so now you care about me, huh, Cruz?" Eden spat, while taking a step backwards. "What about your precious Eden?!" she cried out as she raised Hector's pistol and pointed it at Cruz.

Cruz looked puzzled, his facial muscles hardening. "What's going on, darlin'?" he asked tenderly, his voice tinged with dread. "Please put down the gun."

Eden's face was now consumed by a large sneer. "Why, so you can put me away?!" she shouted. "You thought you had gotten rid of me, didn't you, Cruz?" she taunted. "What use did the mighty Cruz Castillo have for the bastard child of C.C. Capwell?"

"Jesús, give me strength," Cruz murmured, this unreality now crystallizing in his crippled mind. As Marcello established, Eden had taken on another personality since he last saw her, this one far more dangerous than either of them could have ever imagined.

"Elena Nikolas," he growled.

Elena smirked at the stunned man standing before her, voraciously drinking in his fear. "Oh, you remember me," she responded callously, "how gallant."

"How could I forget you, Elena?" Cruz asked, as he searched his beloved’s face for some sign of Eden’s inner light, a light that no matter what circumstances life threw at her could never be extinguished. He had stood by her side through some of the worst times imaginable, and the essence of what made Eden strong had always been there, always shining through the darkness. "Let Eden go," he demanded. "Haven't you put her through enough?!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Elena flared. "I don't have Eden, but I will find her. And when I do, she'll be dead, just like her Latin lover!" Like the real Elena, Eden screamed these words with an extreme intensity, and then lapsed into a series of maniacal giggles.

Cruz inched closer to his one true love, his feet unsteady on this ancient rostrum. "You’re sick, darlin’," he exclaimed, "please let me help. I know I wasn’t there when you really needed me, but I am here now…all the way."

Elena chortled malevolently. "You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like that prissy Dr. Armonti, he would not shut up. At least Shotz came up for air every now and then."

A distraught Cruz searched through his mind for some solution. But this was new, an unknown. He decided to try a different tack, one that would prove to be more difficult than he could possibly imagine. "Give it up lady," he insisted, his voice suddenly ice cold, "you're nothin’. Eden and I beat your rap once before, and we'll do it again."

Cruz listed slowly from side to side, Elena's head moving with him, her eyes a strange mixture of malice and mirth. Cruz stared deeply into those darkened eyes, eyes that had become eerily like the real Elena's, never once breaking visual contact. "Can't you get it through that dense skull of yours, that you won't ever come between us?" he went on, his voice laced with frosted passion. "You disgusted me even when I thought Eden was dead, and you still disgust me, lady."

Inside, Cruz was dying. These words were extremely difficult to say to Eden's face, but he could think of no other way to reach her.

Elena smiled wickedly. "It’s not exactly Romeo and Juliet, lover," she quipped.

Cruz stood before Elena, tremulous hands held out, his body language conveying both great strength and great helplessness. "What do you want from me?" he hollered, "what can I give that will satisfy you? You want me to apologize for your miserable life, Elena, because I am sorry for that. You got a raw deal, but how in your sick mind can you justify what you’ve done?"

Elena was growing confused, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Eden's face, like the true Elena's, appeared so child-like, so needy, but also so villainous at the same time. "I just wanted to be loved," she screamed, "why can no one understand that?!"

Elena’s next spoken words, in her twisted diatribe, puzzled Cruz at first, until he thought back to when he and Eden had learned of the time Elena spent with that psychopathic son a bitch, Kirk Cranston. She was speaking in Japanese.

"私はちょうどあなたが私のパパを愛して欲しかった!"

As Elena continued to chatter in rapid Japanese, phrases that in truth made no sense, Cruz took it as a sign that he was breaking the Elena personality down. Perhaps the next phase of his hastily conceived plan was not psychologically sound, but it felt right to him. His head down, and eyes looking up to Eden, Cruz gingerly laid his hand on her shoulder. "I love you, Eden," he swore, the words sounding so right on his lips. "You hear that, darlin'?"

In response, Elena pushed the gun sharply into Cruz’s chest, her hand shaking wildly. She was still spewing words in Japanese, but her voice was beginning to falter.

"I love you so much, Eden Tyler Castillo," Cruz persisted, his eyes welling with salty tears, "you are my world, the missing half of my soul. I once said I wasn’t going to chase you anymore, that it made you want to run away. Well, if there’s one thing age has taught me is that is a load of bullshit. I will chase you, Eden. I’ll chase you to every remote corner of this planet, to the end of this universe, to Hell and to Heaven and back again, because I adore you, baby."

Eden’s finger stiffened, her grip on the handgun loosening. The Elena personality was incredibly muddled, not unlike the real Elena. Her hatred seemed to be slipping away, and her power to act was fading. Cruz's words and love had penetrated the deepest recesses of Eden's mind and soul. The befuddled woman’s head began to ache and throb, as her inherent goodness fought against the murderous impulses. And then, suddenly, it was over. With neither personality realizing it, Eden's had regained dominance. As if in slow motion, the Glock 19 fell from her teetering hand onto the weathered stone. "Cruz?" she whispered weakly, looking up at the man she loved her vision slightly milky. Her head was pounding, and she did not know where she was, or even when she was. But the two things she did know were that she was herself again, and that Cruz was with her.

"I'm here darlin'," her past and future husband promised, as he pulled her into the safety of his still muscular arms. "I'm here, and I love you to death, baby."

His face quivering, Cruz palmed both sides of Eden’s tear-painted face, a huge smile forming. "It’s so good to have you back, Eden," he uttered, the words and feelings painfully romantic. "I promise you that we will grow old gracefully; we will share a lot of laughs and a lot of love."

Eden buried her face in Cruz’s chest, her tears soaking his checkered shirt. Cruz lightly stroked his beloved’s hair, his breath warming her chilled neck.

The next hours seemed so surreal, although for Cruz it was in a good way. He was under no illusions that this would be an easy path, but at least it would be a path worth living, a path with purpose. After seeing the Cantona guard was safely taken care of, Cruz drove Carmen and Eden back to his casa. Both his sister and Eden were extremely quiet during the drive, each trying to process the events of the early morning. Once at the hacienda, Carmen helped Eden get cleaned up and provided her with some fresh clothes to wear, while Cruz called Sophia to tell her of their imminent arrival.

Approximately an hour later, Cruz began leading Eden back to his car. While she carried herself with fragility, she looked much stronger, and was so much more lucid. She was clad neatly in a floral dress and was wearing a small straw hat over her partially shorn hair. Carmen had helped her apply a light coat of makeup and the lady was looking like herself again. "Where are we going?" she asked Cruz, her voice still unsure, as he buckled her into the front passenger seat of his car.

Cruz knelt on the driveway next to the opened door, his hands resting in Eden’s lap. "Baby, I’m taking you home, " he pledged lovingly, "I'm taking you back to Santa Barbara."

Eden’s eyes swelled, and she began to shiver. "I don’t think I can," she stated feebly, her voice spiked with panic. "I’m not ready."

"Baby, you can handle this," Cruz reassured her. "The strength you showed tonight floors me."

"I don't know if I can do it on my own," Eden confessed.

"Eden, if there is one thing you will never be again, it’s alone," Cruz bolstered. "You're stuck with me for the duration, pal."

"What about Marcello?" Eden enquired.

Cruz nodded contemplatively, having anticipated this question. "Tell me, Eden, did Marcello help you? Do you feel safe with him?"

Eden pumped her head vigorously. "Oh, Cruz, he helped me so much," she shared, as she lapsed back into tears. "I’m so sorry I betrayed you both and took that medication, I just wanted to be me again for you. All the way me."

Cruz delicately kissed Eden’s forehead, her taste bringing back such vivid memories. "You never have to apologize to me, darlin’," he assured her, "not ever. You should keep seeing him, but I truly believe you’ll flourish with your family around you."

Cruz smiled broadly and clutched Eden's upper arms. "Don’t you see," he sustained, "that was the missing piece. You’ve been away from us for far too long."

Eden nodded bravely, as an angelic serenity spread over her still exquisite features. "Take me home," she implored.

Cruz was filled with incredible ardour upon hearing these words, those three simple words that transcended all manner of beauty. As he had done so many times over the course of the last few hours, he prayed to his glorious Lord, offering his woefully insufficient gratitude. "Gracias por Dios por este regalo perfecto," he whispered with sweetly painful penitence.

Cruz then rose, and briefly stretched his legs, which had grown stiff from the night's exertion. "I’m just going to say goodbye to Carmen," he related, "I'll be right back."

Eden smiled whimsically, her fatigue overtaking her almost as soon as Cruz had risen. Her sleep would prove to be so perfectly dreamless.

Cruz walked back into the house and entered the spacious chef's kitchen, which had been wasted on a man who cooked every meal in a microwave. Carmen, outfitted in her well-worn microfibre housecoat, was sprinkling freshly ground cinnamon on top of the foam of her homemade hot chocolate. Cruz walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He grimaced at the sight of the lightly bloodied gauze he had applied to the back of her neck.

"How are you feeling, baby sister?" he asked gingerly.

Carmen rested her right hand on top of Cruz’s left. "I’m good, Cruz," she answered truthfully. "A bit sore, but good."

Cruz cocked his head and spoke softly into her left ear. "I wish you’d reconsider and come with us."

Carmen turned. "You’re a sweet brother, Cruz," she acknowledged, "but I really am all right and I have so much to do at the site today."

"At least let me call Ric…"

Carmen looked upon Cruz with such a worldly quality, a maturity that seemed to be older than time. "Cruz, stop it," she counselled.

Cruz held up his hands in surrender. "It’s hard not to see you as a little girl," he admitted.

"Do you know how happy I am for you?" a beaming Carmen inquired, effectively changing the subject.

Cruz returned his sister’s smile. "I’m pretty happy for me too," he responded.

In that kitchen, in that house, in that way station, Cruz and Carmen traded pecks on the cheeks, after which they squeezed hands in a silent goodbye.

Cruz was gratified to see Eden sleeping soundly when he returned to the car. If anyone deserved the rest, it was this amazing lady. He was feeling bleary-eyed himself, but there would be plenty of time for sleep later. It was time to take Eden home.

Cruz soon pulled into the parking lot of the Cartesiano Puebla. Sitting on a bench outside, waiting patiently for them, was Marcello. The perfectly composed man was relieved to see Eden sitting safely inside the vehicle.

Cruz exited the Jetta, into the warm air that now tasted so delicious to him, and walked over to Marcello. "How is she, Inspector?" Marcello solicited in tentative greeting.

"Better," Cruz claimed, "she’s shaky, but seems to be herself again. Any spoilers on what we can expect?"

Marcello took a moment to consider his words. "There may be some personality drifts," he speculated, "but the bulk of the medication should be out of her system by now; it takes an extraordinary person to survive that high a dose. We can soon start her back on a carefully monitored schedule."

Cruz meditated on Marcello’s words as he stared through the well-lit square, which was framed in colourful terraced hotels, similar in design to the Cartesiano.

"Inspector, it may not seem like it to you, but I do care for Eden," Marcello swore, "and I know how to help her. We came to see you precisely because we had made such great strides. But there is perhaps one part of the equation I did not consider, as unscientific as it may be, and that is love."

"That I can provide in spades, Doctor," Cruz reassured him, affording Marcello the respect he had so long craved, "whatever it takes."

Cruz put his hand on Marcello's shoulder, there being one question that had been weighing the most heavily on him. "Tell me, is she going to remember everything she’s done?"

"She already has remembered much of it," Marcello professed, "which as strange as it seems is the healthiest thing for her."

This reply was both comforting and frightening to Cruz as he opened the car door and leaned over Eden, who he shook gently into wakefulness. "Eden, baby," he said softly, "let’s go see your momma and daddy."

Eden’s eyes opened slowly, these glistening in fear, but also in anticipation. "Will you stay with me?" she petitioned.

Cruz laughed ardently. "Try to keep me away," he playfully challenged.

A comforted Eden turned from Cruz and looked to Marcello, her expression one of profound shame and regret. "I am so sorry I let you down, Marcello," she wailed, "you have been such a godsend."

Marcello smiled charmingly and held Eden’s hand as Cruz helped her out of the car. Together, the three walked to the owner’s suite, Eden’s confidence growing with every step. Cruz knocked on the door, while Eden and Marcello stood off to one side. In response to Cruz's light raps, the heavy door was immediately thrust open, this almost flying off its hinges. An exasperated C.C. Capwell towered over the younger Cruz, with a nervous Sophia alongside him.

"Cruz, what the hell is going on?" the powerful man bellowed. "A 4 am wakeup call is a helluva way to begin a birthday."

Cruz stepped smartly out of the way and motioned for Eden to enter the room. C.C.’s face immediately dropped, his jaw hanging open. He attempted to speak, but no words would come out, just some faint gurgles. All he could do was grab Eden and pull her into his familiar arms. Sophia too approached, joining this long overdue family clutch. It was a hug that in sheer emotionality lasted a thousand lifetimes. So much was communicated through that effortlessly sweet non-verbal gesture. When C.C. finally pulled away, he cupped Eden’s quivering visage, his smile unnaturally wide. He looked to Cruz and motioned for him to come over.

"Thank you for bringing my baby back to me," the still robust man said, his words strangled, as he gripped Cruz's hand. "You once vowed never to give up on my daughter, Cruz, and you have truly made good on that."

Cruz shook his head. "Mr. C., Eden was the one who never gave up on me," the humbled man declared.

The surprises were not yet over for C.C. The elderly man, who had seemed to grow 20 years younger in just a heartbeat, looked up in shock as he witnessed Marcello enter the room. His body tensed and his hands clenched into fists. Seeing this, Sophia immediately grabbed C.C.’s sinewy arms. "C.C., it’s okay," she cautioned, "Marcello is the one who has been caring for Eden."

"But how?" C.C. pursued in bewilderment.

"I will explain that all to you, I promise," Sophia insisted. "Just know that Eden has been very sick, and he has been treating her."

C.C. stared intensely at his cherished wife. "You knew?" he accused.

Sophia nodded guiltily. "Eden called me not too long ago," she began, in a faint effort to rationalize the timing, "and I was able to get her to Marcello."

"But I don’t understand, she should have been with us, with the family," C.C. admonished. "Why didn’t you bring her home?"

"I realize that now," Sophia acknowledged with great gravity, "and I am so sorry."

Eden stepped confidently in between her long-suffering, and long-loved, parents. She looked up at her father, one of the two most important men in her life.

"Please don’t be mad at Momma," she pleaded, "I asked her not to say anything."

C.C. smiled earnestly at his and Sophia's eldest daughter, his eyes glistening. "I’m just happy you’re home, Princess," he spoke. "This is no time for anger or recrimination, this is a time for celebration."

Cruz marvelled at the maturity C.C. had earned. This was not the same man he had known for so many years, this was an even greater man.

"Does that sentiment extend to me, Lieutenant Capwell?" Marcello probed.

C.C. approached Marcello slowly and briefly caressed his face. "Thank you for giving me my daughter back," he expressed, his gratitude achingly genuine, "and I am so sorry I let you and your parents down."

Marcello shook his head. "You did not," the man disputed, his composure slowly being chipped away. "I once said that I believed you meant to keep your promise to me and that perhaps in time I would be able to forgive you. I am now ready to answer you, Lieutenant. Like I should have said 36 years ago, knowing that does change my mind about you."

A tearful C.C. embraced Marcello. "There may not be blood shared between us, but you are my first son," he proclaimed, "and you are as important to me as any one of my beautiful children."

The two aged men clung to each other, almost in desperation. While they would never again discuss this shared emotional catharsis, neither would they ever forget it. After a few moments, Cruz put his hand on C.C.’s upper back. "How about a plane ride, Mr. C.," he suggested.

C.C. nodded, as he moved for his phone.

"There may be a problem with some papers and testing," Cruz pronounced, "or a lack thereof."

C.C. looked at Cruz incredulously. "Cruz, really," this eminently confident man spoke in disbelief. His younger counterpart immediately recognized his folly for implying that this would be a problem for a man the likes of C.C. Capwell.

Three hours later, Cruz, Eden, C.C., Sophia and Marcello were all lounging comfortably in the Capwell Jet, this a brand-new Citation Excel. The plane cut gracefully through the fluffy white clouds that speckled the dawn sky. Cruz and Eden were in the front row on the left side of the plane, their excitement palpable. They were holding onto each other so tightly the blood had drained from their fingertips. They both looked out the window, spiritually warmed by the presence of each other and the morning's perfect sunrise. This was one sunrise they would not have missed, their first together in what seemed like a hundred years, and one they would always remember.

"Princess," C.C. called out, from across the carpeted aisle, "do you remember the last time you flew into Santa Barbara for my birthday?"

Eden smiled lightly. Her memories, while still spotty, had begun to return to her in small waves. "I think I do, Daddy," she too reminisced, her voice still so small and tentative. "I was such a different person then; I don’t think I know that Eden anymore. Is it okay if I don’t parachute in this time?" she joked.

C.C. laughed warmly. "We’ll save that for another day, sweetheart," he agreed.

The next eight hours passed so slowly, but also so quickly. "There it is," Cruz soon piped in, gesturing to the Santa Barbara city skyline, he himself having not seen it in so many years. "Amazing," he added, his eyes drifting over the county courthouse.

"It is such a beautiful town," Sophia concurred.

"Not a town my dear, the town," Eden murmured, her words echoing across time.

"What’s that, darlin’?" Cruz asked.

Eden was radiating, as if she had been sprinkled with fairy dust, which in a sense she supposed she had. "I’m just so happy to be home, to get a chance to start my life with you again," she asserted, her voice growing larger in her anticipation. "I can’t remember everything, but I do know how much I hurt you, and how much I have to make up to you."

"Shhh," Cruz sounded, pressing his finger briefly to her supple lips.

"I just want you to know that I’ll never hurt you again," Eden promised, "I love you too much."

Cruz grinned gratefully and cradled Eden’s head on his shoulder. "Until the snows turn to fire, baby," he whispered, his lips pressed against Eden’s left ear.

Eden squeezed Cruz’s right hand with both of hers. "And the rains to sand," she whispered back.

The Capwell jet flew over the coastal city of Santa Barbara, this sparkling in the late afternoon sun. It was a city that had always been filled with mystery, with outlandish intrigue, with emotional angst, and with laughter. But most importantly, it was a city that had always been, and would always be, filled with love.

Seven Months Later: April 22, 2022

Paris, France

The bright full moon atop the Paris sky was reflected into the rippling dark green waters of the Seine. Clear-domed ferries, illuminated by artificial lights, cruised slowly along the calm waters, their blue, white and red flags fluttering lazily. Cruz and Eden strolled hand in hand along the cement path that banked the famous river. They walked far, passing Pont Mirabeau, through to Pont d'léna. They stopped across from Notre-Dame, still the most beloved cathedral in Paris, its storied history spanning over 800 years. Despite all odds, the magnificent Gothic edifice still stood, following a devastating fire. The past three years were spent stabilizing the structure, with crews working feverishly to return it to its former glory in time for the 2024 Olympic Games. The parallel was not lost on Cruz and Eden, as they themselves had been working so hard to rebuild their relationship. The couple looked like they could have been at the beginning of their courtship, the stress now so far removed, and in a sense they were.

"It took a lot of guts to come back, Eden," Cruz observed softly, while waving his calloused hands across the horizon.

Eden nodded gravely. "A lot of bad things happened to me here," she admitted with difficulty, "but Marcello reminded me not to be a victim to those memories."

Eden had continued to see Marcello over the past few months and, with his and the family’s support, she was mostly herself again, a person who had eluded her for three decades. It had been an incredibly difficult fight thus far, but she had proven herself more than up to the challenge, which surprised no one.

"How would you feel about a slight change of plans?" Cruz asked playfully, as he clutched both of Eden’s hands.

"Depends on what you mean by slight," Eden answered hesitantly, as she casually flipped her shoulder length hair.

"Well, you know me, darlin’," Cruz spoke in a faint drawl, "I’m usually a simple man who likes to chow down on a bowl of nuts for dinner, but I’m in the mood for a little something special. Now, I normally don't like to take advantage of the Capwell wealth, but your dad arranged for us to use Chambord, this really cool château in the Loire Valley; it's super peaceful. No one around for miles."

"Well, aren’t you the sneaky one," Eden suggested gaily, pulling Cruz into an embrace. "It sounds amazing, when do we leave?"

Cruz bowed in grandiose fashion, as would an 16th century royal. "The 10:00 train awaits us, milady," he announced. "We’d better make tracks if we want to-"

"If we want to catch that train," Eden continued, as she rolled her sparkling green eyes. "Still pulling out the classics, huh?"

Cruz shrugged. "Well, these are the-"

"The jokes," Eden finished, "got it, honey."

The train, leaving from Gare d’Austerlitz, arrived in the town of Blois two hours and 12 minutes after its departure, meeting its scheduled time to the minute. Blois was a modest city, albeit a beautiful one. The buildings, with their white facades, red-brick chimneys and blue-slate roofs, melded together into a post-card picture of beauty. The town was located on a steep hillside which overlooked the Loire, France's largest river, along which lay many of the valley's most picturesque châteaux.

Upon deboarding the train, Cruz and Eden were met by one of C.C.'s staff, who was standing alongside a vintage black Rolls-Royce. He placed their bags in the trunk and then held open the rear right passenger door for them.

"Is it just me or does that dude look a lot like Jeffrey Conrad?" Cruz whispered to Eden as he stared at the back of the chauffeur’s head, the man's ears sticking out prominently from underneath his cap.

The journey to Chambord was a short one. It lay at the end of a winding road, gradually revealing its full glory. While no strangers to château visits, the castle’s immensity amazed the two lovers. The extravagant edifice was 128-meters long and contained over 400 rooms. The grounds consisted of 5,440 hectares, enclosed by a 32-kilometre-long stone wall, which was equivalent to the size of Paris itself. Deer could be seen frolicking through the lush green grass, the occasional one being chased by wild Boar.

On either end of the château were two large circular towers, topped by bell turrets. In between were a myriad of chimneys, lanterns and capitals, all richly sculpted. Hundreds of Dormer windows were outlined onto the central keep and white-stone bastion towers.

"This is absolutely incredible," Eden proclaimed, as the car pulled into one of the six avenues that permitted access to the Renaissance era palace, which was a top tourist destination in France. "I knew Daddy was friendly with Macron, but closing this place down for us, it’s unfathomable. "

Two footmen were waiting by the front entrance when the Rolls-Royce glided to a stop. While they took in the luggage, Cruz and Eden stood alongside a row of neatly manicured shrubs, staring at the castle in awe.

"Many people prefer Chenonceau, but I dig this one the most," Cruz opined. "I've always wanted to see it."

Eden jabbed Cruz on his right arm. "Listen to you, how cultured you’ve become," she badgered.

"C'mon," Cruz said excitedly, pulling Eden along the cobbled path, "let's go inside."

The two walked through the open front entrance and again their senses were assaulted by the château's majesty. Crystal chandeliers lined the high ceiling while beautiful tapestries and paintings by Gérard and Da Vinci adorned the chiselled stone walls. But the most impressive spectacle was the enormous spiral staircase, built in the shape of a double helix, which wound its way to the ceiling.

"Astonishing," remarked a breathless Eden.

"Yeah," Cruz agreed, "it is amazing. No one builds joints like these anymore," he added with regret.

"You could give it a go," Eden proposed facetiously, "you did help to rebuild Johnny’s."

"It is a logical progression," Cruz frivolously acknowledged. "Call me Leonardo Da Castillo."

"So can a simple cop give a small-town girl a history lesson?" Eden asked merrily.

"Well, you know, Eden, I actually can," Cruz stated jocularly, "and it’s a real interesting story. Let's go into La Salle des Soleils, and I'll tell it to you," he added, proudly showing off his recently acquired knowledge.

Eden followed Cruz into the Sun Room, another impressive space. Bright orange sunbursts decorated the shutters and a painting, depicting the ascension of the Duke of Anjou as the King of Spain, was the room's prominent feature. Cruz and Eden sat down on the armoire directly beneath a tapestry of Brussels.

"Now don’t laugh," he warned Eden nervously, "I’ve been practicing the spiel, and I think I’ve got it down. Back in 1519, the King of France, François I, destroyed the castle on this site, and started to build the Chambord we are chilling in now. Despite the fact he couldn't afford to pay the ransoms of his two sons being held by Spain, the construction continued. The dude was trying to show up his rival, Charles V."

"Priorities," Eden granted, "I get it."

"He even raided church treasuries to fund it," Cruz persisted. "But as you can see, it was completed. When he was able to move in, it took 12,000 horses to transport all of his luggage and servants."

"All us thrifty folk need is a $400,000 Rolls-Royce," Eden quipped.

"Thriftiness is next to Godliness so they say, or something like that. Anyways, all the succeeding kings stayed here as did many famous personalities. Moliére even wrote some plays here."

Cruz took a breath and pulled a face, before advancing his history lesson. "After François's death, the castle was pretty much neglected by the French monarchy, and during the Revolution most of its original furnishings were destroyed. It wasn't until 1930, when the French government took it over, that a restoration took place, although a very small-scale one. Since then it has become a showpiece for tourists. Benefactors, like your father, have helped to support continuing restorations, trying to stay true to François's original style."

"Wow," Eden expressed, putting her hands to her hips, "I’m impressed, Castillo. I mean really impressed."

Cruz smirked with exaggerated ego, as he looked down at his watch. "Well, it's getting late, little girl,” he chastised. “C'mon, I'll show you to your chambers, Mademoiselle."

"Merci Beaucoup, mon amour," Eden responded, while accepting Cruz's offered arm. He led her to the François I Tower on the first floor, and into the master bedroom.

"Voila," he said, "François I's bedchamber."

"My God," Eden murmured, scanning the room, this boasting Regency panelling. It showcased intricately carved statues of famous kings and richly woven tapestries depicting various events in French history. But the room's centrepiece was the red and gold velvet bedspread, which lay on the king-sized canopied bed. Eden ran her hands across the soft fabric, amazed to see all the ropes, that generally held the tourists back, had been temporarily removed.

"16th century," Cruz pointed out, while looking to see that their luggage had been placed in the adjacent sitting room.

"So where are you sleeping?" Eden asked, an impish smile on her radiant face.

"Well," Cruz began wickedly, "I thought you'd be so taken aback by this place that you'd succumb to my every desire."

"Ahh, so that's your plan is it?” Eden slyly reasoned. “Well, I’ve just got two words for you, buster, it worked."

"C'mon," Cruz prompted, "there's something else."

Eden followed Cruz out onto the Italian-influenced terrace, which overlooked the Chambord forest. The terrace was crowned with a spire, which was wound within a 32-metre lantern. Wild rabbits pranced through the bushes, dodging what was usually a diurnal, red-breasted bird.

"Wow," Eden exclaimed once again, watching the moonlight dance across the slight crests of the Cosson River and onto the surrounding countryside. "This is so great," she added, while wrapping her arm around Cruz's waist. "Thank you for this." Her dulcet tones could not have been more genuine.

"Thank you for being here to share it with me," Cruz warmly indicated.

The two halves pulled towards each other, their eager lips pressing firmly together. They joined physically for the first time in 30 years, losing themselves completely in their mutual passion.

At 8:00 the next morning, a tiny fiftyish woman entered the bedchamber carrying two trays, each loaded down with eggs benedict, croissants, jam, orange juice, and coffee. She set them at the foot of the bed and opened the curtains, washing the room in bright morning light. She wore a stern expression on her round face. "Vos petite déjeuner," she presented.

"Merci," Cruz thanked, as the lady exited the room. “Well, she certainly adds to the old-world flavour," he stated.

"That she does," Eden acceded. "So, I guess we should get up," she unconvincingly promoted, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," Cruz half-heartedly endorsed. "You hungry?"

"Yes and no," Eden remarked naughtily.

Cruz sighed, as he leaned into her and wagged a finger. “Okay, but Eden, please take it easy on me. For God’s sake, we’re about to become grandparents.”

The two did not rise from the bed until noon. The day had turned out to be a glorious one. Not a single cloud marred the pale blue sky overhead. Cruz and Eden strolled the grounds, revelling in their mutual joy. "It is so beautiful," Eden declared, surveying the freshly cut hedges and colourful rows of flowers.

"In absolute terms, yes," Cruz decreed. "In relative ones, no."

"And what exactly is it inferior to?" Eden inquired hopefully.

Cruz pointed meekly towards her, as his love’s face was enveloped by a sweet smile. "C'mon," he enticed her, as he began to excitedly jog ahead, "there's a surprise waiting for us over the hill."

"You're spoiling me, Castillo," Eden warned.

"Don't get used to it, pal," Cruz called back. "This is the last time I intend to indulge in such a disgusting display of privilege."

"Right, I remember," Eden recalled blithely, as she hurried after her future husband, "you're a simple man, with simple tastes."

Cruz led Eden to the base of the hill, where laid in front of a stone fountain, was a white and red-checked picnic blanket. In its centre was a brown wicker basket, which a dormouse was sniffing hesitantly at. "Uh oh," Cruz sounded, "I better get out the shotgun."

"You wouldn't dare," Eden snapped lightly.

"Nah," Cruz settled, while wrapping his arm around Eden's slim waist, "you know what a marshmallow I am. Power to the dormouse!" he shouted, as he raised his fist in the air.

The dormouse turned nervously and scampered into some nearby bushes. Eden smiled, happy to see Cruz so at ease. Certainly, the last few months had not been easy on him through her recovery process.

As the two knelt on the soft fabric of the blanket, Cruz uncorked the bottle of Cheverny Chardonnay, which had been nestled inside the basket. He poured some of the rich golden liquid into a pair of crystal flutes, this glistening in the bright sunlight.

The two sat for hours, luxuriating in a love that seemed as brand new as it did ageless. This afternoon would prove to be one of the happiest of their lives. Throughout all the hardships they would still face, both alone and together, this was the one memory they would most take comfort in. It would be remembered in perfect clarity and with great joy.

Once the food had been consumed, Eden led Cruz to a small clearing where an elaborate red and black carriage stood. Hitched to it were two large chestnut horses, who were busy chomping the cool green grass. The coachman sat on the box seat atop of them, ruffling their thick, coarse manes.

"What's this?" Cruz questioned in surprise.

"You'll see," was all Eden would say, as she stepped into the buggy, aided by the silent coachman. Cruz followed, politely refusing the man's offer of similar help.

The journey took just over 30 minutes. The horses led the carriage through the stunning countryside onto a cobbled street on which a sign was placed. It read: Vous entrez dans le ville de Huisseau-sur-Cosson.

Dusk was approaching by the time the horses stopped in the town square, which was adjacent to its main street. The pale blue skies had become tinged with a dull orange, as the sun's embers appeared to crackle out.

Cruz and Eden stepped out of the brougham and sat down on the grass amongst a group of townspeople and tourists. They were all patiently waiting for the son-et-lumiére to begin.

A hush fell over the crowd as the streetlamps faded out, and bright bursts of red, green, and white exploded across the darkened horizon. This was followed by the flash of white beams from two large flood lamps. Actors, dressed in period costumes, circa 1793, filed across the lawn. The crowd cheered as they recreated the birth of the town of Huisseau-sur-Cosson, this shown solely through the art of pantomime.

The production was a brief one, lasting only 20 minutes, but throughout its duration, smiles lined the faces of all those present. Upon its conclusion, the actors joined hands and bowed in unison before a puff of grey smoke consumed them and the power to the streetlights was restored. Thunderous applause filled the square.

"That was great," Cruz commented, placing his hand on Eden's covered shoulders. “I still have no idea when you managed to plan all this.”

"Ahh," Eden said mysteriously, "but the best is yet to come."

I've always been an optimistic one, Cruz thought to himself, unconsciously channelling his inner Luba.

The two returned to their transport, which was parked on a small sea of green felt grass. The untethered horses were munching lightly, their hunger still not sated. Upon seeing Eden and Cruz, the coachman quickly thrust a silver-plated flask into a small alcove near the front of the carriage. He then harnessed the horses and once again moved to help Eden into her seat.

Hands held tight, Cruz and Eden silently breathed in the warm evening air as the French Trotters loped along the side of the gravel road. While it hadn’t always been this way in their relationship, silence between them was now so comfortable. It was the greatest gift a person could have, to just be oneself without the pretense of words.

Upon re-entering the château, a valet handed Cruz a garment bag, inside of which was a white tuxedo. "What's this?" he asked Eden, who only smiled puckishly.

"Par ici, Monsieur," the valet beckoned.

Although confused, Cruz followed the stout gentleman into a small dressing chamber. As Cruz hung the garment bag on a golden hook, his eyes came to rest on a scented pink envelope. His name was written on it in a calligraphic style. He sliced it open and unfolded the slip of paper inside. It read:

"Spiral to Heaven, spiral to Heaven, spiral to..." Cruz repeated aloud, thrilled the stain of that fateful night in Puebla was being eradicated from his mind. "Of course." A smile washed over his face like the wake caused by a speedboat. The action now seemed to be second nature again. Muscles moved freely and the result was genuine, not a cosmetic nicety.

After changing, a dapper Cruz anxiously bound up Da Vinci's spiralling staircase to the destination that would vastly exceed his sweetest expectations. There, on the roof, amidst the scores of towers, gables, and chimneys, stood a table decorated with fresh flowers, burning candles, and fine china. Two men, wearing black suits and white gloves, were removing simmering containers of food from a steaming silver chafing dish. A violinist stood two metres away, the sounds of the strings coalescing into a lovely rendition of James Patrick Dunne's The Change In Me Is You. But the showpiece of this display was sitting in one of the two chairs facing either end of the small table. Eden wore a green strapless sequined gown, slit open from her thighs to her feet. The moonlight danced across the sequins, reflecting onto her rosy cheeks. Her still golden blonde hair hung loosely across her lily-white shoulders.

Cruz was speechless, and unable to give voice to his thoughts. He took Eden’s outstretched hand and pulled her in close. They danced fluidly across the roof, in perfect unison, their bodies remembering every subtle nuance. "I love you," Cruz whispered into Eden’s ear, his lips brushing against her left lobe, "for all time, baby."

Eden’s response came in tears.

The next morning, after a second night of passionate love making, Cruz and Eden lay contently in bed.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Eden said again, "it meant so much."

"You mean so much," was Cruz’s reply. "You know, before that disapproving chambermaid comes back in, I think it may be about time I make an honest woman out of you.”

"Again?" Eden questioned with a stylized sigh.

"Again," Cruz laughed.

"Time and place, babe," Eden pressured, "just give me the time and place."

"Is five minutes from now too soon?" Cruz queried anxiously.

"You know, if we didn’t need to make it to New York for Chip’s play, I would totally take you up on that," Eden confirmed regretfully. "Big night for him hitting Broadway."

"Ugh, reality," Cruz griped. "Let’s just not wait too long, darlin', okay?"

The two kissed softly, as the breeze from the opened window caressed their naked flesh. "We’d better make tracks if we want to get to that play," Eden advised absently, her body not taking the time to listen.

Two Days Later

Manhattan, New York

Chip Castillo, dressed smartly in a cobalt Brioni suit, paced nervously in the wings of the Lyceum, one of the oldest operating theatres in New York City. Although a smaller venue on Broadway, the energy of the tri-level space was intoxicating. He marvelled at the fact that he was inhabiting this magnificent Beaux-Arts building, the name of which could be traced back to ancient Greece, standing on the very boards where Ethel Barrymore and Walter Huston had once awaited their cues.

Following the cancellation of Sing Street, which was unfortunately been pulled during the COVID-19 outbreak, the team at the Lyceum approached Chip, whose own off-Broadway play had been incredibly well received. The novice playwright had been elated and, with the cast and crew’s blessing, he happily took on the challenge of moving the production to the more robust locale. While the stress was often overwhelming, the rewards were proving to be infinitely greater.

A lone tear rested on Chip’s bottom eyelid as a sustained burst of applause erupted with his mother's return to the stage. Victoria's performance had been a triumph, her strongest yet, and perhaps even Tony-worthy. The lady looked luminous, as she drank in the goodwill that was pouring out from the crowd, the sound of 307 socially distanced pairs of hands echoing throughout the acoustically perfect theatre. Chip was so proud of what she had accomplished, so in awe of how she had clawed her way back from her own personal abyss. It was no secret Chip had grown up without a mother to speak of. Although never lacking for love from his core family, he would have been lying if he said there hadn't been something missing. But now with Victoria's comeback, and Eden's return, his heart swelled and he was able to let go of those incredibly destructive petty hurts and jealousies. And to top it all off, there was a baby on the way, a precious little life to share in. Stella’s pregnancy had been rough on her, most of it spent confined to their bed, but her strength elevated him.

Once the applause had died down, and the final bows were taken, the theatre patrons slowly shuffled out of the richly sculpted building, while the actors retreated into the wings, all energized by the evening’s performance. The scene backstage could be considered chaotic, but this in the best way possible. Nothing in Chip's life could have prepared him for the sheer manic energy that followed the opening of a successful Broadway production. Champagne corks were flying, elbows were bumping and cameras were flashing, all to the accompaniment of dozens of disconnected voices. In the corner of the spacious green room, a beaming Victoria, clutching a large bouquet of roses, was breathlessly answering the questions of an eager press, as were several other members of the little-known cast. Chip had felt it important to retain every member from his original production at the Cherry Lane Theatre, as the show would never have found its success without their incredibly hard work.

Chip nursed a Diet Coke, while happily surveying the scene. Being a part of the behind the curtain talent, his role was not quite as sexy as those held by the ones who trod the boards and there was no one clamouring to interview him. Except for perhaps the two familiar people now approaching him.

"Amazing work, son," an effulgent Cruz Castillo commented, as he patted his son's back. "I'm way proud of you."

Chip faced his dad, who looked stylish in a navy sports jacket and beige chinos. "A little autobiographical for my tastes," Cruz continued, "but solid work."

Chip grinned, energized by his father's support, tempered though as it may be. "Bless, Dad," he spoke, struggling to find the words, as he was hit by a random wave of emotion. "Words...," he fumbled, "you know, words."

Cruz laughed lightly, as he tousled his son's hair, this not lacking in product and perspiration. "I get it," he stated.

Eden, outfitted in a shimmery black evening dress, and her hair elegantly done up in a French braid, placed her hand around Chip's shoulder. "Congratulations, Chip, " she saluted, "it was wonderful."

"Thanks, Eden," Chip recognized with a smile.

Only a trained eye could see the subtle change in Eden's mood. She could not help but feel slightly saddened by Chip's use of her first name. She still remembered that achingly sweet little boy who had been so quick to accept her when Victoria left, who had come to recognize her as his mother, but she understood. Ultimately, it was Victoria who had been there for Chip and Eden who had disappeared so completely from his life. That was one thing Marcello had cautioned her about, even before their arrival in Santa Barbara all those months ago. Chip and Adriana could not possibly be expected to feel any significant emotional bond with Eden at first, they having been so young when she left. That would have to come later, as she rebuilt every relationship in her life. This was both good and bad when it came to her children. While perhaps the resentment would not be as strong, neither then would be the bond. It was so different than what Eden went through with Sophia, her already being eight-years-old when the accident happened.

"I'm so looking forward to seeing it again," Eden declared, barely missing a beat.

"It's a cool thing we snapped us up some tickets for the entire opening week," Cruz piped in, "because there won't be a free seat in this joint for months following that performance."

The next hours seemed to pass by in a blur. Chip was thrilled to see so many of his family and friends here, it was truly overwhelming. One notable absence was C.C., the patriarch having recently taken ill. The disappointed elder statesman had remained back in Santa Barbara with a stalwart Ted watching after him. He and Chip had shared a wonderful conversation early that morning, and C.C. promised he would make it out the second he was feeling better.

The backstage party soon relocated to the nearby Pig 'n' Whistle, this situated in the heart of Times Square. Chip's production team had rented out a sizable private room in the popular Irish pub. The crowd, from the theatre, had thinned out considerably, this event limited to family and close friends of the cast and crew.

Cruz approached Jackson, who stood alone against the walnut wainscoting in one corner of the richly appointed room. The unassuming, if a little bland, man was sipping from a glass of Guinness and tapping his toes to the musical strains of U2.

"Mr. Jackson Leeds, Jr.," Cruz greeted enthusiastically, "how are you, brother?"

"I'm good, sir," Jackson granted, while pivoting to face his still new father-in-law.

"Hey, you're part of the family now," Cruz graciously extended, "call me Cruz."

Jackson tensed up slightly, as nervous in-laws often did with the father of the bride. "How about Mr. C.?" he proposed.

Cruz laughed heartily. "I could work with that," he conceded. "So, how's the competition stacking up?" he inquired, as he waved his hand around the space.

Back in Santa Barbara, Jackson was in the process of renovating and rebranding the once popular La Mesa restaurant. "I think there's enough room for both of us," he allowed.

"You found another investor yet?"

"I did, yes. It seems I inherited some of my father's propensity for high finance after all."

"Excellent," Cruz proclaimed. "I wish I could have met your dad; he sounds like a great dude."

Jackson smiled. "He sure was, sir, I mean, Mr. C. He could get a little weird at times, but he was always there for me."

Cruz took a small breath and prepared to broach a touchy subject. "You mind if I ask you something on the personal side?" he cautiously queried.

Jackson nodded and looked at Cruz thoughtfully. "What's up?"

Cruz motioned to Adriana, who was standing at the Irish-inspired buffet with Chip; she was ladling some lamb stew into a bowl. "How's my little girl feeling about her mom these days?"

"It's been rough on her," Jackson held, "and to be honest it is not a side of her I’m used to seeing. "

Cruz nodded introspectively. "The moodiness is unusual for her. If there is anything I can do to help bridge the gap, I am here."

Jackson smiled. "Let me see what I can do," he submitted, as he gently squeezed Cruz’s arm. "Wow, you're keeping in pretty good shape," he added.

"It's a temple, dude, " Cruz reasoned, "the only one we've got."

Jackson walked purposefully towards his young bride, while Cruz approached a pensive Eden. "What's the matter, darlin'?" he asked gently, as he handed his beloved a ginger ale.

Eden was staring at Adriana, her expression one of only partially disguised anguish. “Adriana is still so cold to me,” she yielded. "I tried talking to her tonight, but-"

“It’s a big adjustment,” Cruz reassured her, ‘trust me, I know. And remember how you were when your momma came back.”

Eden crossed her arms to her chest and turned away from her daughter. "Well," she rationalized with a very faint chuckle, "at least she's not screaming for me to get out of town. There’s that, right?”

Cruz nuzzled his nose into Eden’s cheek. “There’s that,” he murmured softly.

From across the room, Jackson was looking at Eden and Cruz. "They're talking about you," he said to a seated Adriana, as he lightly squeezed her right knee. "I really think she's trying, babe."

Adriana nodded, this motion born a little out of guilt, and a little bit out of anger. "I know," she said feebly, as she slowly spun her bowl, "it's just...hey, stop trying to be the older, wiser one there, Junior. I've got a couple years on you, you know."

Adriana took Jackson's smooth hands and stared into the greyish-blue eyes that were set deeply into her husband’s rugged face. "I just need some time, okay?"

"Don't take too much," sounded a lilting elderly voice from behind the young newlyweds, “you never know how much more is left."

Adriana swivelled to face her grandmother, who while as pretty as a picture in a peach pantsuit, wore a stern look on her symmetrical face. "What your mom went through," Sophia continued genially, "I have some understanding of it you know."

Sophia put her arms around her beautiful granddaughter. "We are so lucky to have her back and to have her so well," she pronounced with great passion.

"I'm scared Grams," Adriana whispered weakly.

"Of what, honey?" Sophia delicately challenged.

"Of so many things. That she'll go away again, that it will happen to me, that I really don't know how to love her."

Sophia smiled lightly and held Adriana firmly. "My sweet girl, the answer to those first two questions is no. And none of us can answer the last question, it’s just something we do."

Seeing Mason and Julia enter the room, Eden excused herself from Cruz and walked over to the impressively elegant couple, both dressed in Eden's matching black. "Looking ridiculously classy again, I see," Eden commented.

"You're no slouch either," Julia offered, while putting her arm around her old friend. "You're looking so well."

"Not bad for two old broads, hey Mas?" Eden hinted.

"I welcome the beauty in every fair face," Mason eloquently intoned, "in every fair sky, in every flower, and in every Capwell."

"My God," Eden snickered, "how do you live with that?"

"What can I say, he has the ass of a 20-year-old," Julia bragged.

"Julia!" a mildly embarrassed Eden called out.

"It's true, I never leave home without a roll of quarters," Julia indicated, as she spotted Victoria out of the corner of her eye. "Excuse me for a minute, I should go talk with Victoria."

"You are both so crazy," Eden said to her big brother, while brushing a piece of lint from his left lapel. "Thanks for helping me out in France, by the way, it was amazing. I apologize for the short notice, but Cruz sprung the trip on me."

Mason slowly swatted down the air with his right hand. "It was just one call, baby sister," he explained, playing down his contribution.

"Only you could pull something like that off with one phone call," Eden proclaimed, echoing words another lady had once said to Mason a long time ago, a lady who had meant the world to him.

Mason smiled wistfully. Although Julia was everything to him, he always kept a small part of his heart reserved for his beloved Mary. While it was not a place he visited often, he took great comfort in knowing it was there when he needed it.

Julia took a seat next to Victoria, who stood isolated, slowly sipping her drink. "I'm very proud of you, Victoria," Julia relayed to the woman she had once called her best friend, and whom she had not seen in nearly 34 years. "It was beautiful work. How are you?"

Victoria smiled politely. She had noticed Mason and Julia as soon as they came in. No matter how much she had loved and chased Cruz upon first returning to Santa Barbara, and no matter how many years had passed, it was still Mason who held her heart.

"Good, I've been good, Julia," Victoria responded, her voice betraying the slightest hint of belligerence.

"Are you okay, Victoria?" Julia prompted, this not for the first time in the brief, but tumultuous, history they shared.

"Oh, it's just the post-show blues,” Victoria purported. “I really appreciate you coming."

The stilted conversation, which would continue over the course of the next few minutes, was nothing if not awkward. Despite all the time that had passed, Julia could not help but feel guilty for the actions of her past, and she finally recognized the futility of trying to fashion a relationship with Victoria.

Once Julia had left her, Victoria sat alone, shaking the red liquid in her glass gently back and forth. She was lost in thought, trapped in her solitude. The press had not been given access to the after-party, and she was beginning to come down a little from her high, which was not unlike how it felt when the effects of cocaine wore off. Sure, the Capwells had each approached her in turn to offer their felicitations, but it all seemed a little forced and impersonal. They were clearly there to support Chip, not her, and for that she could not blame them.

Sensing his mother's discomfort, Chip approached her. "How are you doing, Mom?" he asked. "The high starting to wear off a little?"

Victoria smiled, surprised at how well Chip had gotten to know her through this process. "That's show business for you," she declared, "but there is always the next performance."

"Plenty of those to come, that’s for sure," Chip promised. "We’re gonna give Phantom a run for its money. We only have, what, 13,369 shows to go?"

Victoria afforded her son a broad grin, warmed by his enthusiasm. "Chip, honey, I’m just going to go back to the theatre to pick up a couple of things and make a few phone calls."

"Sure, Mom," Chip agreed. "You'll make it quick?"

"I will," Victoria assured him.

"Sounds good, I'll drive you home as soon as you're back. I don't want to stay out late, I hate leaving Stella alone this far into the pregnancy."

"I won't be long," Victoria decreed, as she squeezed Chip's beautiful face. "I am so proud of you, my darling son. You deserve such great things."

Chip clutched Victoria's hands. "You were amazing tonight," he spoke softly.

"She's right, you know," sounded a voice from behind Chip as Victoria moved to the exit, "you do deserve great things."

The voice had a lyrical quality to it, and one Chip knew very well. Standing behind him was a striking young woman. She looked to be in her early thirties, the same age as Chip. Her fair complexion, free of makeup and tinged with a light burn, caused her full red lips to stand out markedly. She had hazel eyes and long auburn hair that cascaded gently over the sloping curve of her shoulders, to the middle of her back. The fashion train had departed the station without her this evening, she being outfitted in a short-sleeved red and white-striped shirt and a pair of blue shorts, which ran down to her knees. On her feet were a duo of plain, white tennis shoes.

"Sammi, I can always count on you to dress for the occasion," Chip sniped.

Samantha Capwell smiled crookedly and embraced Chip.

"A bit of a scandal, my first wife showing up, don't you think?" Chip cracked.

Theirs had been a winding road, sometimes awkward, but always exciting. When Chip had been playing ball in Pensacola, Samantha was attending school at Troy University, much to her father's chagrin. Following a breakup with the jerk Samantha had followed to the academic institution, she and Chip struck up a friendship. Living in different countries while growing up, they had not known each other well, but they soon found they had much in common and their friendship quickly turned to romance. This had not gone over well with their family at first, particularly with Mason who at one point had briefly played the father role to Chip. Yet this would ultimately prove to be a non-issue, as their relationship, while intense, would be short-lived. They both realized they were not soulmates, just good friends. The friendship had endured over the years and Stella & Sammi had become like sisters.

"I thought it was important for one of your wives to show up," Samantha taunted joyfully.

"Unfair," Chip cautioned playfully, "Stella's a week past her due date."

Chip pulled out a chair for Samantha, and they both took a seat at one of the glass topped cocktail tables. "So how is my kidnap partner?" he asked, alluding to the time he and Samantha had been taken, as babies, by the villainous Paul Marshall. Marshall was currently languishing in San Quentin, having violated California's three strike law.

"I've been really good," Samantha expressed, "doing a lot of pro bono stuff. Just scraping by, but the work's rewarding."

Samantha had followed in the legal footsteps of her parents but had also inherited her mother's bleeding heart. While Mason Capwell would never think of his daughter as anything less than the archangel Gabriel, he had hoped for her to take a more financially viable path.

"Daddy tries to talk sense into me at least twice a day," Samantha continued. "So, how’s Stell?"

"Waiting at home impatiently, " Chip explained, "Aunt Kelly and the mid wife are with her. We're doing the whole at home water birth thing,” he sighed. "There's a big inflatable pool in my family room."

"Oh, fuck," Samantha swore.

Chip appeared confused by Samantha’s sudden curse. "Okay, so a pool in the family room is a little bit unusual, but that is a pretty strong reaction, Sam."

Samantha shook her head dismissively and nearly crushed Chip’s elbow between her surprisingly strong fingertips. "Not that, Uncle Greg showed up."

"So?" Chip questioned, as he scanned the room, while rubbing his sore elbow.

"Dad is pretty pissed about the horrendous TV show that was made based on his novel."

In the tradition of his late mother, the still buff, and newly single, 50-year-old Greg Hughes had written a biography of the Capwell family, finally completing the work Megan Richardson had started so long ago. He had wanted to honour his mother by turning what was once a ruse into a legitimate project. But it had become so much more than that. It had been an especially rewarding time for him personally, allowing him a chance to bond with his father in a very special way.

"Yeah, I never got around to reading that," Chip commented.

"Me either, " Samantha stated. “We're a supportive family, ain't we?"

"Have you seen the show?" Chip asked.

"Nope, but I found a video on YouTube. If you can believe it, the shit’s called Sun, Sand and Hot & Sweaty Passion."

Chip's expression was incredulous. "You're kidding me,” he blurted out, "that is hilarious. Let's see it."

After finding the link, Samantha propped up her iPhone 11 on the table for them to both see. Wiping it off with a cocktail napkin, she then stuck one of her AirPods into Chip’s left ear. On the 6.1" screen, they saw three actors standing rigidly in a room, this faintly resembling the living room in the old Lockridge Estate. The two females were poor representations of who were then Julia Wainwright and Gina Timmons. The third, and most egregious, character was a man with two heads. One head was that of a bearded Sonny Sprocket, complete with cowboy hat, and the other was of a clean-shaven Mason Capwell, his hair perfectly coiffed. The Mason/Sonny creature was standing in between Julia and Gina.

"Don't touch me, Gina," the Mason side said with great theatricality when her hand brushed against his left thigh. "I detest you."

"Go to hell, Mason," Gina spat, while kissing the eager lips of Sonny Sprocket.

"Hooee, I heard that," Sonny drawled.

"So how are we going to divvy up the important stuff?" Julia purred, as she caressed Mason's leg.

"You little ladies are more than welcome to share the old Lizard," Sonny submitted. He flashed a smile for the camera as if he were a sitcom character. Chip could almost hear the canned laughter in his mind.

In response, Julia slapped Sonny in the face, sending his head knocking into Mason's. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey," she apologized with great exaggeration, while gingerly rubbing Mason's rapidly swelling bruise.

"I knew I should have popped him when I thought he was a pimple," Mason stated dryly, staring at Sonny with a sneer.

"You've got a real bad attitude problem there, Capwell," Sonny remarked, before turning his head to face Julia. "Why dontcha dump this panty-waste and stroll on over to old Sonny here, sweetheart."

"Hey!" Gina yelled, the line delivery three levels beyond overwrought.

"Oh, enough is enough," Julia howled in hammy exasperation, while reaching for the axe that was conveniently lying on the floor next to her. She raised it high and, without hesitation, chopped Sonny's head clean off. As Gina screamed, the wound quickly, and miraculously, healed over.

"Thanks, Julia," Mason said, as he rubbed his shoulders, "my neck was killing me."

Gina raced to Sonny's still animated head, which was lying on its side, on the tiled floor, and placed it right side up on the room’s writing table. "I love you, Sonny," she cried. "How do you feel, sweetheart?"

"I've been better, girl," Sonny stated dubiously.

Gina ran her hand through Sonny's hair, stopping suddenly as she felt the stickiness from his wound. "Dammit, Sonny, you got blood on my dress!" she whined. In frustration, Gina drop kicked the head across the room and ran for the lavatory.

"I love you too, sugar britches," Sonny called out, as his head struck the floor and rolled towards the wall like a bowling ball.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Samantha barked at Chip back in their shared reality, her voice a mixture of rage and amusement. "My dad had a serious mental disorder at one time!"

"Your dad too?" Chip questioned in shock, "I had no idea." What, does it run in the family? he pondered, vainly trying to calculate the impossible odds.

Samantha was about to respond when she saw her father walking towards the man who, thanks to insane scheming on the real Gina’s part, was no longer his youngest brother. "Uh oh," she intonated nervously, "Dad found Uncle Greg. I'd better get over there."

"Always the great mediator," Chip identified. "Good luck, my dear."

Nearly 5000 kilometres away, a small wild-eyed man was sitting rigidly in a seedy motel in Los Angeles. The room was painted in a drab white; a few pictures of flowers and farms hung crookedly on the peeling walls. A brown desk, missing a leg, lined the wall of one side of the room. Across from it was a small chair, the cushion of which was split open, revealing the mildewed beige stuffing. The weasel-like man’s eyebrows rose to satanic points and his hair was absurdly messy; there was some spittle settling on the corner of his prickly mouth. "Laertes!" he screamed out suddenly, "c'mere boy!"

Hearing this, a woman of similar age hobbled into the room. "Keith," she said with ire, "the cat's been dead for over 30 years."

Keith stared back at Gina Blake DeMott Capwell Timmons Capwell Lockridge Timmons, a puzzled look on his face. "Oh," he said, "well, you know how I lose track of time, darling."

"God, how I miss Lionel,” Gina groused, reflecting on her late husband.

“What’s that, honey hips?”

“Never mind that now," the woman dictated excitedly, "I've figured out a way to get Brandon back!"

Keith sat upright, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open. "The kid's 42-years-old, you bimbo!" he shouted, shaking his head back and forth.

"Will you stop nit-picking and listen to me. Oh, and by the way, you don't have to yell, I've got my hearing aid on."

"Well, that's a switch," Keith carped, “God, I miss Lionel."

“What’s that?” Gina asked.

“Oh, nothing."

Gina took a seat in the mismatched chair next to Keith. "Whatever happened to the good times? " she wondered aloud. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah," a smiling Keith responded. "When you could prosecute innocents, blackmail them, and then spend the night in a tub full of JELL-O."

"It's a young person's world, Keith," Gina bemoaned, as she clasped her lover’s liver-spotted hand.

"Can you hold that thought, darling?” Keith petitioned. "Sun, Sand and Hot & Sweaty Passion is on. You know how I like my stories.”

Gina grinned. "Let’s go over to the bed to watch it,” she seductively suggested. “Will you help me up?”

"Gee darlin', I was kind of hoping you'd help me."

Back in Manhattan, Mason approached the still raven-haired Greg, who was deep in conversation with his nephew of sorts, Brandon Capwell. Mason tapped Brandon on the shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in?" the senior Capwell proposed.

Brandon examined Mason, worried there would be trouble. "We're going to keep it civilized, right?" Brandon asked his ne're-do-well uncle.

"Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure," Mason quoted to a confused Brandon.

"Hello, Mason," Greg bravely interjected, holding his hand out to the eldest brother on his crazy family tree, one that had grown only more unreal since his original departure from Santa Barbara.

"Long time, Greg," Mason assessed. "How are you, you look well, how's the family, what the hell is up with that travesty of a TV show?"

Greg clearly looked embarrassed, not being surprised by Mason’s emotional reaction. "Mason, I'm sorry," he apologized, "it was not what I expected. I promise you my lawyers are on it."

"A little late now, " Mason judged. “You know Dad was furious."

Greg nodded sheepishly, this opinion hurting the most. "I know," he weakly agreed.

"Easy does it," called out an approaching Samantha, who stepped between the two men, more worried for her father’s physical safety than anything else. "Are we keeping it friendly over here?"

At Chip's table, Cruz approached his son, who appeared to be a little bit on the tense side. "Everything okay, pal?" he inquired.

Chip looked briefly at his father, before turning his eyes back to the front door. "Yeah, Mom was supposed to come right back, have you seen her?"

Cruz shook his head. "Not in a while."

Chip tapped his watch. "I really need to get home to Stella."

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Cruz understood, remembering Chip’s delivery so vividly. He felt an instant bond to the child, which at the time had puzzled him. “Why don’t you hit it, I can check on Tori."

Chip smiled and placed his hand over Cruz’s. "No, thanks. She's pretty close by, I got it."

Chip returned to the Lyceum theatre through the stage entrance. He walked onto the darkened apron first, as this was where Victoria sometimes liked to sit and reflect on the evening’s performance once everyone had departed. When he could not find her there, he strode to her dressing room, where he was immediately hit by a wave of steam.

"Mom?" Chip called out.

There being no answer, Chip pushed his way into the bathroom, as he futilely tried to wave the steam from his face. While reaching for the fan switch, he noticed his A. Testoni shoes were soaked through. He looked further into the bathroom; the curtain was partially drawn, and water was dribbling out and over the tub. Chip fell silently to his knees as he stared sickeningly at the rose-hued water. Still on his knees, he raced frantically to the edge of the tub and yanked the blue shower curtain off its rings, these clanking down on the wet porcelain. His next sight was of his mother. Victoria Lane lay motionless, her purplish tongue hanging stiffly from her contorted mouth. One arm rested on top of the tub, turned over at the wrist. The shine of the metal razor blade, which was still stuck in a fold of skin, blinded her only child.

Chip’s trembling face fell to his knees, his mouth opened in a silent scream. The sudden ring tone of his phone, which was the melody from Frank Sinatra’s My Way, seemed to be emanating from his distorted mouth. Snapped to semi-alertness, Chip looked down at the text, which was displayed on the large Android screen. It was a message from Stella; she was in active labour.

Chip's lower body was submerged in bloodied water. Mini waves crashed into him, as Stella pushed with all her might. The two were in a rented birthing pool at their apartment, both gripped by pain, be it physical or psychological. Kelly and the midwife were in the room, alternatively coaching and supporting them, yet their words were only half remembered and half understood in the frenzy of activity and emotion. Stella had decided to go drug free, relying on the natural endorphins generated by the warm water to soothe the pain. Chip had been skeptical of this, but an upright Stella was handling the delivery like a champ.

A combination of tears and perspiration rolled down Chip’s cheeks, as he tried to block the images of his mother’s perverted face, not being able to erase her silent death scream. There was little coherent thought in his battered mind. He had some vague recollection of calling his dad to go to Victoria and to call the police, but this was fragmented and surreal. He had said nothing to his wife and family as he burst through the door, instead just automatically stripping down, as they had practiced so many times, and getting in the tub with her. His hands unconsciously assumed their pre-programmed massage positions, these intended to reduce her pain.

Soon a scream was heard as a brand-new baby was scooped out of the water. If the pool had been meant to simulate the amniotic sac, the effect was short-lived, as the little girl’s face reddened and her cries rang out into her new world. Stella leaned back, in relief, against Chip’s head, as a beaming Kelly placed a cool, damp cloth on her forehead and the midwife expertly cut the umbilical cord. Stella squeezed Chip’s hand in the most peaceful joy, as he was overtaken by a silent sob.

Two Weeks Later

Santa Barbara, California

Chip sat zombie-like on the corner of the guest bed in his father’s house, which overlooked the ocean, on Paseo del Mar. Cruz had not been able to bring himself to sell the dwelling when he left Santa Barbara, this having been a dream home for him from since he was a boy. He had tried on a few different occasions, but there it had sat for nearly 30 years, collecting dust, much like Cruz’s heart had. But over the last eight months, the space, which had been frozen in time, had come alive again. For Cruz and Eden, it was once more overflowing with love and with life. For this occupant, however, it was filled with neither. Chip had been struggling over the last couple of weeks as he sleep-walked through his life. There was real happiness there at times, like when he was holding his perfect baby girl, Vicky. But too often the trauma of that horribly beautiful day of her birth seized him, shaking him to his crumbling foundation. Stella was trying so hard to be patient, but it had not been easy. She did not understand how to break through the impenetrable wall he was building, being powerless to find any points of weakness in that meticulously laid stonework. It was a side she had never seen of him, a side she could not possibly understand. He was turning away all those around him and would not even entertain the thought of seeking professional help.

Stella, feeling infinitely small, entered the doorway of the bedroom. The young Asian woman, a woman so gorgeous it sometimes hurt to look at her, gazed upon Chip with such concern, and with such love.

"Chip," sounded Stella’s tentative voice, this somehow both melodic and harmonic at the same time, “your family’s downstairs.”

Due to the production of Chip’s play, which had gone permanently dark, and subsequently Victoria’s funeral, the baby shower had been delayed to today.

"We should have combined the shower and the funeral," Chip commented darkly. "Seems appropriate, Mom did die in a bathtub."

Stella shook her head, appalled by Chip’s obscene remarks. Putting this aside, she sat on the bed next to her husband and placed her hand on his trembling knee.

"What can I do, honey, because you have me feeling pretty lost here," she revealed.

Chip studied his wife and caressed her smooth, golden cheek, before burying his face deeply into her chest, this in the most innocent of ways. It was as if he was trying to inhabit her and, in the process, shed his own skin. "That makes two of us," he whimpered.

In the living room, there was a large collection of people gathered, mostly Capwells. Cruz and Eden were talking to Carmen and Ric by the bookshelf staircase that rose to nowhere, while Sophia was chatting with Kelly, Ted and Adriana on the oversized couch next to the fireplace. Samantha was leaning up against the breakfast bar, surrounded by her parents and her 28-year-old brother Roger. While the latter man shared his maternal grandfather’s first name, he was outwardly a Capwell through and through. Julia sometimes had to remind herself that she was not talking with the Mason Capwell she first met back in 1985, their being so physically alike, and possessing such a similar, biting wit. The key difference, beyond a centimetre in height, was Roger had never had a problem expressing himself and everyday demonstrated his love and commitment to his family. Surprisingly enough, these were traits he had learned largely from his father, the latter having matured into the man Julia always knew he could be.

"You think I should go talk to him," Samantha asked of her mother, as she looked to the spiral staircase that wound up to the second and third floors.

"Let Stella handle it, sweetie," Julia counselled.

"Or as a Wainwright would say, butt the hell out, right?" Samantha inferred.

"Judge Wainwright had to soften her image," Julia laughed.

"How’s the case going, Sam?" Roger queried, deciding to change the subject. Samantha was working feverishly to clear a man on death row. Besides today, and the night of Chip’s premiere, she had seemingly not surfaced in months.

"Fighting for the downtrodden, yet again," Mason commented cynically, a flash of his former self making an appearance.

"He’s innocent, Dad," Samantha championed, bracing for a battle of wits with the old man.

Mason shook his head and laughed. "DNA evidence, a witness to the crime, no alibi, c’mon?"

Samantha stood toe-to-toe with her debonair father, it not being in her DNA to back down from a challenge, a lesson she had learned from both of her parents. "The crime scene was contaminated, and the witness had a hell of an axe to grind," she declared passionately. "Heaven forbid," she added frustratingly, while waving her hands in front of Mason’s face, "someone decides to spend a night at home alone. Even you have been known to spend the occasional night at home alone eating nothing but toast and ice cream."

Julia smirked, as she placed her hand on her daughter’s elbow, flashing back over her own legal arguments with her long-suffering husband, who face was now reddening ever-so-slightly. "Well, I, for one, am proud of you, Samantha. As much as I loved being a judge, when the opportunity came to retire and practice law again, I just couldn’t pass it up. Being on that bench, wonderful as it was, and as important as it was, I missed fighting for the little guy."

"Why is there never a violin around when you need it," Mason complained audaciously. "Cruz," he called out, "where do you keep the string section?"

"And as obstinate as your father is being right now," Julia continued over Mason’s theatrics, "he knows how to fight for the little guy too. You should have seen how brilliant he was when your Uncle Cruz was on trial."

"Didn’t you guys lose that case?" Roger baited.

Mason subdued Roger in a head lock and mussed up his perfectly styled dark brown hair. "Even the most brilliant attorneys fumble the ball every now and then, Son."

"Sports metaphor, Dad?" Roger gasped, his neck being lightly squeezed under Mason’s left arm, "you must be slipping."

Mason let go of Roger’s neck, as both men smoothed out their navy suit jackets. "I’ll have you know I still run into the end zone every night, ask your mother."

Samantha and Roger both clamped their hands over their ears in perfect unison. "Dad, don’t be gross!" Samantha groaned.

"Yes, Mason," Julia said calmly, while planting a kiss on Mason’s lips, "don’t be gross."

On the patterned sofa, the purple accents matching the room’s lampshades, Sophia was seated with Adriana to her left and Kelly & Ted on her right. "Where’s Jackson, today, darling?" Sophia asked Adriana.

"At La Mesa, where else?" Adriana answered, this without a trace of bitterness. "The grand opening is next month."

"Did I ever tell you I used to waitress there?" Kelly divulged, as she sat forward and faced her niece.

"I don’t think you ever did," Adriana responded. "Very intriguing."

Kelly smiled wistfully. "Those seem like such simple times now, although they were anything but," Kelly stated, thinking back to all of those she had lost from that time in her life. Barbara, her good friend Sally, her great friend Toni, her best friend, Joe.

Oh, Joe.

Kelly had been blessed to find love many times in her life, but no one had ever been able to capture her heart in the way that Joe Perkins had. No one had ever fought for her as hard or given up as much. Sure, you could argue that Joe had been obsessed, and Kelly had surely known her share of obsessive men, but Joe’s love and pursuit had been so perfectly pure. This was one relationship that had never tarnished, nor had it ever faded in the 37 years, two months, and ten days since his passing. There were few days she remembered from midnight to midnight, and in perfect clarity, but March 1, 1985 was one of them. Perhaps this was why every other relationship failed, and why her divorce to Connor was in its final stages.

"Well, maybe we can dig up the old uniform," Adriana jested, snapping Kelly back into the moment.

Kelly laughed at the thought of donning that ruffled off-the-shoulder dress, this action taking years off her face. The 60-year-old lady still retained the youthful quality and figure from those days long since passed, but also had a maturity about her now that was well-earned. "Coral is my colour. I tell you what, you provide the support hose, and I’m there," she agreed, before turning her head and jabbing Ted on the thigh. "How’s Lily doing, Theodore?"

"Ouch!" a grey-haired Ted exclaimed, as he swatted playfully at his sister. His mood had lightened over the years, and he seemed to have rediscovered his past devil-may-care self. "She’s good. She wanted to be here, but she’s off chasing after Gina again. Apparently, she and Keith escaped from the nursing home. Who knows where they’ve holed up this time."

"My goodness, that woman," Sophia remarked in exasperation, "she rises and falls more often than the sun. But, and Ted I mean this with the greatest possible offence to your mother-in-law, let’s put bitches aside and tell me about my baby girl."

Sophia lit up at the thought of her youngest granddaughter, Summer, who had been a late surprise for Ted and Lily. She was just finishing her sophomore year at Lyman Prep, in the tradition of so many of the other Capwell children that came before her.

"Hopefully, she’s not causing too much drama at the old alma mater," Kelly ribbed. "Do you know that your uncle once smuggled a camel into class," she mentioned to Adriana.

Adriana sat up straight and smiled broadly, while placing her palms flat on her knees. "No way! Uncle Ted," she addressed the blushing man, "that is awesome!"

"He was quite the rebel in his day," Kelly exposed, "a true rebel without a cause if lacking in that smouldering quality; it was more of a goofy quality."

"I share that one with Danny," Ted reflected, while flicking a finger at Kelly’s temple. He thought back fondly on some of his early escapades alongside his best friend, with Laken and Jade no small part of his reminiscences. "Wow, does that feel like forever ago," he added. It was strange how sometimes it seemed like one hundred years had passed, yet at other times only a microsecond.

Sophia squeezed a hand each of her two youngest children. "I’m certainly very proud of you both," she avowed warmly, "of your dad too."

"How is Daddy today?" Kelly asked with concern, as Sophia let go of their hands and leaned back into the soft cushion. The illness, that had started just prior to Chip’s play premiere, was not easing.

"Pretty weak today," Sophia confessed vulnerably, "but oh so strong of spirit."

"I wouldn’t expect anything less from Gramps," Adriana commented. "Is it okay if I go visit him today?"

"Absolutely," Sophia spoke gratefully, "he would love that. Just do me a favour and don’t call him Gramps."

"How are you feeling, Eden?" Carmen inquired of her one-time and future sister-in-law, the two of them seated side by side on the faux staircase.

Eden smiled awkwardly, bracing herself for what she anticipated would be a difficult conversation. It was the first time they had seen each other since Eden’s return. "Really good," she answered. "Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls."

"That’s okay," Carmen voiced delicately, knowing Eden was thinking back to Cantona, "I get it. It was a peculiar reunion to say the least."

Eden’s eyes were opened wide, as she stared into Carmen’s. "I am so sorry for everything I put you through," she added, this trailing into a light sob.

"It wasn’t your fault," Carmen assured her.

"No, Carmen, it was entirely my fault," Eden insisted. "Marcello has helped me to understand that even though I was sick, I need to take responsibility for my actions, that on some level the other personalities were being guided by me. I can’t turn a blind eye to what I’ve done, I’m just so grateful no one was hurt."

Carmen grinned ardently. "That is because the real Eden, the Eden inside, does not have the capacity to really hurt the ones she loves. As scared as I was, I always felt safe if that makes sense."

Eden laughed in relief, while clasping Carmen’s calloused hands, these no strangers to hard labour. "No, not really, but thanks for saying it. Some part of me was always present, even when I was holding the gun on Cruz, and that part of me felt anything but safe."

"Well, you came out of it spectacularly," Carmen declared, as she re-crossed her ankles. "You know, Eden, you have your guilt, I have mine. I remember back to the time you were lost in Utah, presumed dead, and how I was working so hard to push Eleanor, or Elena, into my brother’s arms."

Eden shook her head vigorously. "You were just trying to help him, Carmen," she maintained. "I wasn’t there to see his pain, but if it was half of what I felt at the time, I’m so glad he had you to share your love with him. I had Cain, and as much as he changed and became a beautiful friend, the love he thought he felt for me, well it wasn’t always real, and it was often sick. Your love for Cruz was, and is, beautiful and don’t you ever feel guilty about it."

Carmen smiled as she and Eden shared a loving embrace.

"I’m so proud of how you pulled yourself together, little brother," Cruz said to Ric, his tone painfully authentic. The two were standing just outside the front door, the air filled with the scent of jasmine.

A well-aged, bespectacled Ric nodded, Cruz’s words soothing him. The two brothers had spent so many years at odds, their lives so defined by anger, that Ric in particular, had bottomed out. He once thought the lowest point in his life was sitting alone in his Paris apartment, his wife dead, his child taken and his oh-so-noble brother riding out of town on his white horse. But then he went to Santa Barbara, and things had gotten exponentially worse. The revelation about his parentage, his relationship with Tawny, how did a man come back from that? But he did, somehow; he was no longer obsessed with schemes or with revenge. He lived a simple life, not unlike that of Cruz, truly the man who had raised him. It was a life he lived largely on his own, but one filled with a lot of love.

"Thanks, Cruz," Ric acknowledged, his sardonic tone having softened with time and experience. "You know, this is the first time I’ve been back to Santa Barbara since…well, since."

Cruz nodded. "It took a lot of guts, and I appreciate it, Hermano."

Ric had settled in New Mexico, where he worked as a guidance counsellor at a local high school, a profession he adored, this in addition to his part time music career. And whenever possible, he had made the trek out to Puebla to visit with his big brother, who had become his best friend in life.

"I guess I’ll be spending some more time here now," he lamented, while glancing awkwardly at Kelly. "Do you plan to stay out here for the long haul?"

"Undecided," Cruz mused, "but for the time being Eden needs to be with her family."

Back in the house, Eden approached Adriana, the woman standing loosely in the front foyer. "Hi, Adriana," Eden greeted, as she moved next to her daughter.

Adriana, who was cradling her brand-new niece, turned and faced her mother, her body stiffening. "Hi, Eden," she said.

"She’s beautiful," Eden gushed, as she cooed to the angelic Vicky. "I see a little bit of you as a baby in her," she pointed out.

"Makes sense," Adriana responded coldly, "that is the only way you knew me." The girl immediately regretted her words.

"You know, I really do understand your pain," Eden professed achingly. "I-"

Eden stopped herself, there being no words. "Did I overhear that you’re going to visit Daddy today?"

"Yeah, I thought I should," Adriana confirmed, "it’s been a few days, and Grams says he’s not doing too well."

Eden looked to Adriana, her whole being crying out for her daughter’s affection. "I’d love to go with you, if that’s okay," she suggested hopefully.

Adriana afforded her mother a small nod and a slightly larger smile. "Sure," she acceded.

Stella descended the stairs slowly, almost as if she were in shock. Cruz worriedly met her at the baluster, his hands held tenuously out. He fearfully recalled the shocking edge in Chip’s tone, as his boy had raced through the rain-soaked streets in New York just two weeks ago. And he remembered, in horribly vivid detail, Tori’s grotesque face hanging over the bathtub’s edge. "Is everything okay?" he asked his daughter-in-law nervously.

"I just can’t get through to him, Dad," Stella sobbed, as she burrowed into Cruz’s arms. "He is so lost."

Before Cruz could respond, Chip darted down the stairs, taking two steps at a time and nearly falling to the floor in the process. The young man looked almost other-worldly, his pain evident to all.

"Son, what’s going on?" Cruz challenged quietly, as he walked towards Chip, towards someone who was so familiar, yet so unrecognizable.

Chip violently shoved his father aside. "I just can’t do this," he wailed, as he looked out at the coffee table, which was littered with colourful stuffed animals, baby blankets, and diaper genies. "How can any of you do this?!" he screamed cryptically, "you’re poison! You just take, and you take, and you take, but you never give!"

Chip picked up a car seat and threw it behind the breakfast bar, smashing the mirror to bits. "Sure, you give each other stuff," he shouted while waving around a green duck, "but do you ever give anything of yourselves?! My mother was destroyed, everything was taken from her!"

Chip collapsed to the floor, bundling his knees to his chest. "I tried to help her," he mumbled, "I tried to give something back, but I couldn’t, she was dead inside, I just couldn’t reach her!"

Chip stood up again and bound across the room to Mason. He grabbed the stunned man by the lapels and peered crazily into his eyes. "I bathed in my mother’s blood, and my wife’s blood, all in the same day!"

Chip let go of Mason and stared up to the ceiling. "WHY GOD!!!!" he screamed, his hands clenched into fists.

The family watched this frightening display in stunned silence and stood practically immobile as Chip turned and burst out the door. Cruz was the first to react. He moved to chase down his son, but Kelly held him back.

"Kell, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Give him some time, Cruz," she cautioned.

"She’s right, bro," Ric agreed, uncomfortably standing between Cruz and Kelly. "Trust me, I know what’s it’s like to feel that lost. But he will come around, he’s got a lot to live for."

Cruz nodded and relaxed his muscles, fighting every paternal instinct in the process.

Thanks, Pablo, Kelly silently mouthed to Ric.

"It’s nice to not be the one to break up the party for a change," Mason quipped to Julia as everyone slowly started to file out of the house. Soon, it was just Cruz, Eden, Stella, Adriana and the baby who remained.

"I’m going to call Jackson," Adriana informed Eden, "then we can go."

Cruz smiled sadly as Adriana moved outside onto the deck. "Well, at least there’s that," Cruz said to Eden. "Despite everything else that’s going on, I’m really happy for you, baby."

Eden, too, smiled. "Thanks, Cruz," she spoke, as she wrapped her arms around Cruz’s, which were crossing her chest from behind. "And Chip will be okay. I haven’t really known him for very long, not really, but he has your strength. And your love, Stella," she added, removing one of her hands to rest it on the shorter lady’s shoulder.

Stella was reflective, her vision unfocused, as she lightly patted a dozing Vicky’s back. "I just haven’t ever seen this side of him before," she fretted, "it’s like something snapped."

Eden nodded and pulled Stella down to the sofa. "The parent/child relationship can be such an odd one," she put forth, "so beautiful and loving, but also so raw. It goes through a lot of different phases and takes so many unexpected turns."

Eden put her hands out to take Vicky, as she continued. "But the great thing about human beings is our capacity to build bridges. When we can just let go of the trivials, we can create something magical. You, Chip and Vicky have a strong foundation. Trust me that it can withstand this."

Adriana shut the back door behind her and took a seat at the hot tub. She removed her sandals and dipped her aching feet into the water, which was still warm from an earlier soak. She then took out her phone and dialled Jackson.

Jackson was standing in the middle of the dining area at La Mesa. He was surrounded by tradesmen, who were in-the-midst of plastering and wiring. If all went according to plan, he would have the painters in by the end of the week to complete the final phase of the construction process, before the furnishings went in. "Hey, babe," he greeted, "how’s the party going?"

"It was a complete train wreck," Adriana reported.

"What happened?" Jackson asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Can we talk about it later, when I get home tonight?" Adriana requested. "Will you be able to get free?"

"Absolutely," Jackson guaranteed. "Is everything okay, though?"

"It is," she professed. "I’m just so looking forward to getting some time away after the restaurant opens. Maybe we can take a weekend and head back out to Pebble Creek?"

"Sure thing," Jackson consented, "that sounds wonderful. They’re re-opening at the end of June, so that should work out great." The two had lucked out in procuring one of the final reservations for their honeymoon, as the seaside resort was slated to begin a massive renovation in October of the previous year.

"What time are you going to be home, I can get dinner ready for you."

Adriana smiled. "That would be great. How about 7? I’m just going to go see Grandpa first."

"Sounds good, that’ll give me time to tie up some loose ends here. Give C.C. my best."

"One more thing, Jacks."

"Yeah, what’s up?" Jackson quizzed his mate, as he took a seat in the corner of the dining room.

"I’m going with my mom, it’s just going to be me and her."

"Wow, that is so great," Jackson spoke in genuine surprise.

"Don’t get too excited," Adriana pleaded unconvincingly, "it’s nothing huge."

"Trust me, it’s gigantic," Jackson asserted, "and I’m super proud of you."

"Thanks, Jacks. I love you."

"Back at you, sweetness. I’ll see you soon."

A suddenly perspiring Jackson terminated the connection and walked outside into the alleyway, this littered with construction material. He dialled a number and waited briefly for the call to be picked up.

"Yes?" sounded a gravelly voice on the other end of the transmission, the tone boasting a significant degree of impatience.

"It’s time to move," Jackson said ominously.

After Eden and Adriana had departed for the Capwell Estate, Cruz exited his domicile and walked down to the beach. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, not a trace of cloud in the sky. Seeing the surfers cresting the crystal blue waves, Cruz thought back to those distant high school days when he and Joe Perkins had hung ten without a care in the world. It was that sweet spot in his life when he had finally moved beyond the bitterness left in the wake of his father’s desertion. Nor had he yet reconnected up with Tori and fallen into the nasty chain of events that were to haunt him for years to come. But despite everything, he would never choose to be anywhere other than where he was right now. If his father hadn't left, if he hadn't joined the INID, if it hadn’t been for that tragic post-high school drama, if it hadn't been for a thousand intertwined variables, he would have never crossed paths with his beloved Eden. The Lord worked in mysterious ways. Those ways were often exquisitely painful and sometimes impossible to understand, but they were ultimately never wrong.

Having seen that Chip’s new SUV lease was still parked outside the house, Cruz was hoping the young man would be nearby. While Puebla was not close to a coast, Chip had always loved the ocean as a boy and treasured any opportunity to visit his reunited grandparents in Acapulco. Whenever he felt stressed, it was the sound of the ocean that invariably calmed him.

Cruz walked for kilometres down the pristine beachfront, his boots in hand, constantly stepping around the numerous bodies tanning in the California sun. He occasionally tried dialling Chip’s number on his phone, but this went to voice mail every time.

The retired detective eventually found himself ambling along the wooden planks of Stearns Wharf, this at the cross section of State Street and Cabrillo. The 150-year-old sandy-shore pier was sparsely populated, it really coming alive with the last bells of the school year still to come. Today’s occupants were primarily amateur fishermen, there not being a license required. Fishing was a dying art on the pier due to the rubber having been wrapped around the old pilings, these not attractive ocean organisms, but still they persisted.

Cruz shuffled down the familiar platform and entered what had once been Johnny’s Place, and before that, the infamous Buzz’s. The eatery, which Cruz had once helped his good friend Brick Wallace rebuild, had not really changed over the years as it passed through the hands of various owners. Now called Char West, with a neon cartoon image of a fish swimming towards a hook positioned on the front entrance wall, it was still dressed up in a slightly dingy, nautical theme. The brass rails needed a polish and the crooked pictures of sailboats and lighthouses a good dusting. There were a lot of ghosts in this place, many friends that had passed through these doors, some still on this mortal coil, some not. But there was one person in the establishment who was not a ghost, although he could certainly have passed for one, judging by his impossibly pale complexion, on this day.

"Give me a beer," Cruz said to the slightly bored looking bartender, who was standing in front of the dented, gold plated cash register. He then walked over to the table where Chip was sitting, the man’s back facing a hazy porthole. Cruz turned his chair backwards and sat facing his son, pushing the tiny vase of cut flowers from his line of sight.

"Dad," Chip addressed without looking up. "I guess you’re not my biggest fan right now."

"Chipper, I will always be your biggest fan," Cruz promised, these words dripping in sincerity, "although your behaviour today was appalling."

"I’ll replace the mirror," Chip stated blandly.

"To hell with the mirror," Cruz barked, the older man surprised by his own reaction. "You’ve got two fine ladies back at the house who love you to death, in spite of that hissy fit you threw."

"I wouldn’t call it a hissy fit," Chip protested weakly.

"That’s exactly what it was, Son," Cruz emphasized. "Now I’m not saying you don’t have legitimate reasons to feel the way you do, but as a husband and father, you do not have the luxury to play into it. You need to get it together, Mijo, whether you go to counselling or join a support group."

Chip looked up at his father, the dried stream of tears stiffening his facial muscles.

"Now I don’t want you for a second to think I’m some kind of perfect creature," Cruz related, "because when Eden disappeared in Utah, I was a disaster, a complete basket case. I had no regard for myself or for others, and I took crazy chances like you wouldn’t believe."

Chip considered his father’s words, really taking them in. "How did you get past it?" he then questioned.

Cruz smiled. "I had a lot of help from family and friends," he remembered gratefully. "They never gave up on me, and it eventually got through my thick skull that it just wasn’t working. Once, after a day of heavy drinking…"

"I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you finish a beer," Chip interrupted, as he gestured towards the frosty mug, which had been placed in front of Cruz just seconds earlier.

"At that time, I’m ashamed to say I had been drinking myself almost to death," Cruz revealed, as his jaw line tightened, he finding this next memory to be amongst his most painful. "One day after I’d been drinking," he continued, his voice low, "a little girl selling cookies came to the door at my old beach house. Not thinking straight, I ended up touching her hair and telling her she could be Eden’s little girl. Well, needless to say, I scared her real bad. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for frightening her like I did."

Chip was always floored by the strength that radiated from his father; the man had an uncanny empathic ability. "Thanks, Dad," Chip appreciated, as he placed his hand on the back of Cruz’s neck.

Cruz nodded and pushed away his glass, no longer interested in the amber beverage it contained. As he did so, his phone rang, the ring tone being David Shephard’s percussive theme from Longmire.

"Hey, Sophia," he greeted immediately, having seen her name spelled out on his screen. As he stubbornly refused to wear glasses, the font size was comically large.

"How did you know it was me, Cruz?" the lady challenged. She stood alone in the Mediterranean influenced atrium of 300 Park Lane in Montecito. She had just finished talking to her son, Brick, who had called her from Nevada, where he still resided with his wife Jane.

"Caller ID," Cruz explained playfully, "it’s a pretty common thing these days. What’s up?"

"Did you find Chip?" Sophia questioned. Although it was anything but cold, Sophia found herself shivering, despite the heavy sweater she had donned.

"I did," Cruz answered in relief, "everything’s cool now."

"I’m so glad, Cruz. That’s not the only reason I called though. When I left your house today, Eden and Adriana were right behind me, no?"

"Yes, they were," Cruz verified.

Sophia’s face fell, her eyes turning slightly vacant. "They never made it, and I was hoping you had heard from them."

Cruz sat up, his face hardening. "Sophia, that was over three hours ago!"

"Should I be worried?" Sophia examined fearfully.

"No, probably not," Cruz countered unconvincingly. "I’ll go back to the house and try giving them a call. You let me know if they show up, okay?"

"I will, Cruz," Sophia agreed. "It is a shame, C.C. was so looking forward to seeing them today."

"How is Mr. C?" Cruz enquired in concern.

This question brought Sophia almost to tears, the phone loose in her shaking hands. "I think he’s slipping, Cruz, the doctors are just trying to make him comfortable now. He is grateful to be at home."

Cruz sighed deeply as he gently rolled his fingertips, the motion mimicking that of handling the beads from a rosary. "I’ll be praying, Sophia," he assured her, "keep the faith."

"Thanks, Cruz."

"What is it, Dad?" Chip asked, as Cruz holstered his phone.

"Eden and Adriana never made it to the estate," Cruz disclosed. "Give your sister a call, will you, I’m going to try Eden."

Both men made outgoing calls and, almost in unison, both went to voice mail.

Neither person needing to say a word, Chip dropped a $20 on the table and they both raced out of the restaurant. When they got back to Cruz’s house, they saw only Chip’s and Cruz’s cars in the driveway. The two conducted a cursory search of the house, discovering only a sleeping Stella, with a dozing Vicky nestled at her breast.

"Should we be worried?" Chip quietly queried.

"In my car," Cruz commanded.

Cruz expertly guided his Prius over the city streets, as if he were a Formula 1 driver in a souped-up sports car, few traffic laws being spared. In the lobby of Oak Hill Apartments, where Santana Andrade had once resided, they bypassed the elevator, Cruz taking three steps at a time to Adriana’s second floor suite. Using the key Adriana had given him, Cruz and Chip entered the tiny, one-bedroom space. The residence, while spartan, was impeccably kept, nothing out of place. As Cruz searched the dwelling, Chip again tried calling Jackson, but there was no response. Cruz next dialled the Santa Barbara police department.

"Get me Connor McCabe," he said to the officer manning the switchboard, "it’s Cruz Castillo."

The seconds passed by in agonizing slowness, as Cruz was patched into the police inspector’s extension. "Cruz, long time," Connor spoke groggily, he having been taking a power nap on the couch in his office. "What can I do for you?"

"I need some help, man," Cruz appealed. "Eden and Adriana are missing."

Connor sat up straighter, his concern for his soon-to-be ex-wife’s family immediately apparent. "For how long?" he asked, as he ran his hand through his dark brown hair, this recently cut into a tapered fade.

"Going on five hours now," Cruz communicated.

"You know 24 hours is the guideline, Cruz," Connor pointed out.

"McCabe, please," Cruz pleaded, "it’s my family."

"Alright," Connor acquiesced. "I’ll put out an APB. Where were they seen last?"

"My house, 711 Paseo del Mar," Cruz answered with just the slightest hint of panic. "They left in my daughter’s car, license plate TS7392."

"Got it. Okay, I’ll get back to you ASAP."

"What now?" Chip pressed, as the phone dropped from Cruz’s ear, this landing roughly on the engineered hardwood floor.

"Let’s hit La Mesa," Cruz proposed, as he picked up his phone, this sporting a new dent.

Fifteen minutes later, Cruz’s vehicle screeched to a halt in the La Mesa parking lot, taking up two spots, and still almost scraping a floral delivery truck. The Montecito Florists driver was pushing 12 dozen white carnations into the restaurant on a squeaky cart.

Well, that’s in poor taste, Cruz thought absently, as he burst into the restaurant through the oversized loading bay door, Chip two steps behind.

In a darkened room, an inscrutable Jackson roughly pushed a disoriented Eden to the ground. She landed at the feet of another more sinister man, his face obscured by shadows.

"It’s about time," the man’s raspy voice softly boomed, as its owner studied Eden. "You know, I’ve always been partial to blondes," he added, with no shortage of craziness in his voice. He raised his hands out to Eden and placed a white carnation behind her ear. "Hey, beautiful," he whispered.

Eden screamed chillingly at the scent, the sense memories hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Cruz and Chip entered the main dining room of La Mesa, which was a hub of disorganized activity. The restaurant looked nothing like its former, more festive incarnation, with various walls removed and others incongruously added. To Chip, the design was dark and claustrophobic, this hardly conducive to a family eating environment.

Cruz cornered the first person he saw, a frazzled looking man who was cutting a baseboard on a table saw. "Where is Jackson Leeds?" Cruz demanded.

The heavyset labourer shrugged. "That’s what I’d like to know. I’ve got 12 dozen carnations here that need to go in the fridge, which hasn’t even been wired up yet. Truth be told, next month’s opening date is pie in the sky."

"His office, is it behind the kitchen, there?" Cruz pressed.

"Yeah," the man confirmed, his shirt advertising that he worked with Shirk Bros. Construction, "but you can’t go in there."

The beefy male put up his thick hands to stop Cruz, but Cruz effortlessly slammed them down on the table, the man’s fingers spilling over into the cutting surface. He then displayed his old badge in a highly illegal manoeuvre.

"Hey, help yourself," the worker immediately caved, "he loves a good ransacking."

As Cruz and Chip entered the office, this breached by a simple paper clip, thanks to Jackson’s cheap building materials, Cruz’s phone rang. "Yeah, McCabe," he snapped, "what have you got?"

"Nothing on Eden or Adriana yet, Cruz," Connor announced, "but we found Adriana’s car five blocks from your house. No traces of either of them."

"My God," Cruz exclaimed.

"I’ve got a half-dozen men on it, Cruz," Connor extended.

"Keep me posted."

Cruz hung up and began to pace frantically. "Dad, calm down," Chip counselled. "You need to be a cop now and follow the leads."

The word leads twigged something in Cruz’s mind. "Leads," he repeated, "Leeds."

Cruz paled. He was starting to see something that was so illogical, so completely off-the-wall. "Father in finance, father sometimes acted weird," he spoke aloud, this sounding like babbling to Chip.

"Chip, what does it mean when I say Jack’s son to you?" Cruz quizzed his son.

"You think Jackson is involved with this," Chip returned, not understanding Cruz’s question, "but why?"

"No," Cruz said while shaking his head, this an almost violent motion. "Listen. Not Jackson, Jack’s - son."

"Who is Jack?" Chip questioned cluelessly.

"No one that matters," Cruz answered impatiently. "Now let’s take it a step further. What would Jack’s son. Jr. mean to you?"

A confused Chip shrugged. "I don’t know. I guess it would be this Jack’s grandson?"

"Exactly!" Cruz cried, as he slammed his hands down on Jackson’s wobbly desk. "Jackson Leeds, Jr. is Jack Lee’s grandson."

Chip threw up his own more delicate hands into the air. "Complete loss here, Dad," he responded. "I still don’t know who Jack Lee is."

Cruz looked through and beyond his son, his eyes blazing. "It doesn’t matter, you just need to know who Jack Lee’s son is, and if my theory is correct, who Jackson’s father is."

The sickly-sweet stench of white carnations assaulted Eden’s nose. "Who are you?" she cried, her brain not being able to process the impossibility of who she thought this could be. "Where is my daughter?!"

"Not to worry, my dear, she is in the capable hands of her loving husband."

Eden shifted herself onto her knees. "If she has been hurt, I will kill you, you insane fuck!"

"Ahh, milady, you’ve set a precedent yourself in the insanity department, methinks."

"How could you be alive?" Eden wailed. "Come out of the shadows, Flint!"

The man laughed gleefully. "Calm down," he advised Eden, while flicking a partially plucked carnation into her face, "I’m just messing with you. You’ve got the wrong serial killer!"

The kidnapper stepped into the dim light, this emanating from the lone lit bulb in the room. He was certainly much older, but there was no mistaking the face of…

"Kirk Cranston," Cruz hissed. "He’s a psychopath who I thought drowned 32 years ago. Somehow he has a son, or whoever the hell that bastard Jackson is, and he is looking for revenge."

"I’m feeling pretty lost here," Chip admitted, "what now?"

Cruz took a seat at Jackson’s desk and made another call, this one to Salt Lake City. On the other end of the line, Pearl Bradford sat casually, his feet propped up on the desk of the outer office of his and Cain’s detective agency. He was twirling a freshly sharpened pencil between his fingers, as he attempted to complete the weekly Soap Opera Digest Crossword Puzzle, the subscription a Christmas present from Carmen. "Five letter name for a character with wasted potential," he spoke out loud to himself, "starts with a P."

Pearl’s concentration was broken by his ringing landline. He kicked the handset with the heel of his boot, this flying backwards into his expert hand.

"Last Resort," he answered, Cruz having been kind enough to give his blessing for the continued use of the name.

"Hey, Pearl," Cruz greeted.

"Cruzie!" Pearl shouted, as his feet dropped to the carpeted floor and his face opened in an expansive grin. "What’s up, my man?"

"I don’t really have the time to talk now, Pearl," Cruz snapped, albeit unintentionally, "can you get Cain for me?"

"If it is a friend you want to talk to or detective work you seek, look no further, amigo. Mr. Pearl is open for service."

"I hear you brother and no doubt," Cruz answered, "but I really need to speak with Cain this time around."

"Always the bridesmaid," Pearl muttered, as he rose and pushed open the door to Cain’s office with his left foot. He dangled the phone in front of his slightly annoyed looking partner. "It’s Cruzie."

Cain’s bushy eyebrow rose, as he leaned back in his patent leather chair. The clean-shaven detective set down a paper coffee cup on his well-worn, self-assembled desk, next to a 5x7 picture of his beloved Andrea Bedford, and picked up the phone. "Cruz," he vocalized affectionately, as his eyes locked briefly on Andrea’s, "it’s good to hear from you."

"Same here, pal," Cruz replied. "I wish it were a social call, but it ain’t. I need you to check into a guy for me, and I need it done fast."

Cain uncapped a ballpoint pen and, in his old school way, flipped to a fresh page of lined paper in his crisp notepad. "What’s the name?" he asked.

"Jackson Leeds, Jr."

"How do you spell that?"

"L-E-E-D-S."

"Okay, got it," Cain confirmed, in slight confusion. "Wait a minute, isn’t he Adriana’s husband?"

"Yeah, she’s gone missing and I need to find the dude ASAP. I want the full run down on him, man. He came to Santa Barbara two years ago and is currently renovating the La Mesa restaurant."

"I’m on it."

Hundreds of kilometres away, Adriana rose shakily to her feet, struggling to hold onto some semblance of sanity. Her jubilant captor stood over her, scrutinizing her with undisguised verve. As she looked up at that unnatural smile, a wave of hatred passed through her like she had never felt possible.

"Who are you?" Adriana attacked, her thinned voice barely recognizable.

The man cocked his head and waved his hand in chastisement. "Where are your manners, young lady?" he scolded, mimicking the speech pattern of an elderly lady. "Anyways, c'mon," he added in his not dissimilar regular voice, "you know who I am."

"No, I don't," Adriana spat, finding the face completely unfamiliar and thoroughly unappealing.

“I’m Kirk Cranston,” he trumpeted, his black metal cane cutting through the musty air. He appeared to Adriana to be the world’s oldest, most beaten-down preppie. “All the time I spent wreaking havoc on your family, and no one ever even mentioned me?!" He was now speaking in anger, although Adriana could not tell if it was mock anger or genuine. "I took time out of my life to make theirs more interesting, and this is the thanks I get?"

"Look," Adriana said, realizing the man was sporting more than a few burnt-out circuits, "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." Inching backwards to the door, she added, "now if you'll excuse me."

"I don't think so," Kirk warned in a honeyed falsetto, while raising his Beretta Cougar to Adriana's quivering head. "What's the rush? You and I are going to have a little party. You see, I lured you here because I was feeling a bit depressed on my birthday. Now your mom and I have already dined on some fine red herring, but why don't you sit down over there, while I go get the cake and my Pin the Tail on the Donkey game."

"My God, you’re a cartoon character."

Kirk's features froze over and his head began to twitch. "A cartoon character with a gun, sweetheart. Sit down!" he screamed gutturally, as he wildly waved the weapon in front of Adriana's face.

Adriana scanned the room, her eyes falling on the single wooden seat. She had never been more scared and was embarrassed by the sudden wetness creeping down her legs, and to her toes. She was facing evil in its purest form, and it terrified her.

Adriana stumbled to the seat and fell awkwardly into it, after which Kirk tied her up tightly. She was too frightened to even look for a way out while the man was doing this.

"There, is that comfy?" Kirk cooed, he now attempting to sound maternal. His eyes said something entirely different, however. There was no humanity in those eyes, particularly the right one, this seeming slightly off. There was no shred of kindness, only hate.

"What are you going to do to me?" Adriana asked between sobs, as she strived to focus her scattered thoughts.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe play some gin rummy, go fishing, murder your friends and family, there are just so many quality options out there for a young man on the rise. You know," Kirk went on, as he circled Adriana's chair like a vulture in heat, "your dad and I were pretty good buddies once. Yeah, we had some grand old times, like when I threw him into a shark tank, let him languish in prison, kidnapped him and his precious Eden, stole their baby! Hey, " he chuckled shrilly, "I guess that would be you! Ahh, the good old days. Sorta gets you all misty-eyed, don't it?"

Kirk was about to continue, but then shut his mouth. The amazingly lithe man hobbled to the room’s entrance. The soft click of footsteps could be heard, these echoing lightly up the musty hallway. Seconds later, Jackson pushed Eden into the room. "Company's coming, dear," Kirk proclaimed cheerfully.

Kirk grabbed Eden from behind, preventing her fall. "Well, hello there, luv," he plummily welcomed his ex-wife. While holding Eden firmly with one hand, Kirk's free one groped for the light switch and flicked on the two additional low-wattage bulbs which were fastened to the peaked ceiling. One cast off a pale red glow, while the other threw green light into the room's shadows.

"How's that for atmosphere?" Kirk boasted as he dragged Eden closer to Adriana. "You've got a nice-looking daughter here," he commended Eden, while running his oily hands up her arms and down her thighs. It took every ounce of willpower to stifle her screams.

Deep in the recesses of Eden's mind, the mental connections cleared, raising her from the depths of the insanity she still so feared. Adriana being in danger refocused her energy and her thoughts, and she felt emotionally stronger than she had in years.

Kirk continued to pull Eden towards a quaking Adriana. As he did so, Eden began to examine her new environment and her captor. The room looked to be a loft of some kind. The windows were boarded over and construction equipment was pushed up against the walls, these having been partially stripped. There was a faint agricultural smell, and straw had been tracked over the floor, some of it weaved haphazardly into her own hair. The room's one lockable door was the only means of exit and escape. Cranston, himself, seemed strangely alert and quick, despite his age and multiple handicaps.

Pointing his gun at Eden, Kirk limped to the far corner of the sparse room and dragged over another chair that was in slight disrepair. He directed Jackson to place the chair back-to-back with the one Adriana was tied into. Jackson eagerly complied, after which he shoved Eden into its vacancy and bound her as well. He then wrapped two more thick burlap ropes around them both, knotting the coarse fabric tightly.

"Never say the things you learn in the Boy Scouts don't come in handy," Kirk laughed in an aside. "Now, the two of you are going to help me recreate a beautiful memory, so stay tuned!"

Kirk exited the room with Jackson, the latter man closing the door behind him. Kirk’s wooden leg, this his left, could be heard clunking down the hall.

"I'm sorry, Adriana," Eden apologized, craning her neck towards her daughter. "For dragging you into this."

"I'm sorry too, Mom," Adriana replied. "I’ve reacted very badly, I know that, but I was frightened. I got so caught up with my own feelings, that I never stopped to consider yours."

Eden began to respond but was interrupted by the squeak of groaning door hinges. Kirk re-entered the room. He was holding onto a small electronic box bearing a red button. He placed this box onto the right arm of Adriana’s chair. He then roughly set her palm on the device and triple duct taped her chafed wrist over it. Jackson, meanwhile, attached another small mechanism to Eden’s back, which he expertly wired to the button taped to Adriana’s hand.

"Can you believe," Kirk initiated, " it was about 35 years ago that I had Eden and the Latin lover over for a friendly bonfire? Of course, I was inexcusably rude. I decided to skip the hors d’oeuvres and move right into the activities."

Cranston reminded Adriana of Cesar Romero's Joker from the old Batman television series. He had the same sort of manic, evil glee, yet none of the charm.

"Now, A-dri-an-a," he said, rolling his tongue sleazily over every syllable, "let’s see how much you love your momma there."

Kirk pushed Adriana’s forefinger onto the button, this action audibly arming the device. "Now, you let that button go and a small explosive will detonate," Kirk directed. "At best it will kill you both, at worst it will maim you horribly. Really, there is no downside."

"Why are you doing this?!" Eden screamed.

"Oh, why do I do anything, my dear?" Kirk retorted.

"Please," Adriana pleaded, "we don’t even know you."

"You really don't know me huh?" Kirk asked incredulously. "I was once part of the family, sweetness," he reminisced while lightly patting Adriana's cheek. "I was Mr. Eden Capwell. Oh yeah, at one point I was even being groomed to take the fabled Channing Jr.'s place at Capwell Enterprises. I mean, Mason was despised by daddy dearest, and Ted, what a joke he was. All the other sons, well, who knew about them yet?!"

"You are completely deranged!" Adriana snapped as she rubbed her wrists against her bindings, while taking great care not to move her finger. "Why would she marry someone like you? Momma?"

This statement triggered a violent chord in Kirk. "You Capwells and Castillos think you're so much better than everyone else!" he screamed, his head jerking wildly and his hands fumbling over his hips. His remaining light blue eye was glazed over and his nose was twitching like a rabbit's, as he wove the Beretta in between his captives. "You think you can just walk all over the Kirk Cranstons of the world! I loved you Eden!" he called out stridently, staring upwards to the ceiling, while falling to his knees and raising his arms over his head. "I would have done anything for you; I put my freedom on the line for you, but you never gave me a chance! I gave you so many!"

Kirk stood as he continued his tirade, his voice hardening and softening with striking rapidity. "You sent me to jail but I still offered to spare you when I came back. But no, you betrayed me again you bitch, and always for that self-righteous Mexican! I even gave you a baby, and you murdered it! "

"I'm going to kill you, too, you bastard!" Eden sneered, straining at the ropes which tightly bound her. This action jostled Adriana, who had to shift her movement to compensate.

Kirk began to laugh heartily. "You've gotten so dull since you regained your sanity, Eden," he scoffed.

Just then, a large rat scurried in front of Kirk. The man brought his heel crashing down onto the rodent's head, spraying Adriana with its dark blood. Kirk bent forward and picked up the dead animal, now little more than a clump of matted fur. Holding it by the tail, he withdrew a knife from his pocket and cut the rat at its hindquarters. He then sucked the tail into his mouth like a piece of spaghetti as a sickened Eden and Adriana winced. "Um, um," Kirk voiced throatily, "finger lickin' good. I'm telling you, the Colonel is in the wrong line of business."

Kirk ran his gore-soaked hand through Adriana’s sweaty long hair. “Oh Adriana, your stylist is going to be so pissed at me," he added, as he put a lit cigarette to his lips. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" he solicited. "It's a nasty habit, I know, but it’s a prerequisite in Psychos for Dummies."

"Why are you doing this to us?" Adriana cried, her vestige of self-control weakening dangerously.

"You know, when I first did this, I was a psycho with a purpose, now I'm just a psycho." It was obvious that Kirk was enjoying himself a great deal, as he uttered a series of loud guffaws. "You know, I've been watching you for years, Adriana, waiting just for this moment. But the problem was I had lost track of your mother, and I so wanted her to be present. I was once this close, in that clinic in Rome, it must have been in February of 1992."

Eden was trying to process this. "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

"You had just given birth to another half-breed. When I got there, you were gone, but not the baby. Aren’t you proud of your son, Eden?" Kirk searched, while pointing to an impassive Jackson. "I wanted to make sure the time was right to send out the baby announcements."

Adriana was outraged and stunned, her mind not being able to comprehend the improbability that Jackson was her brother.

"Granted, it should have been my baby, like the one you murdered. Then we could have given Adriana a real family."

"You're not half the man my father is," Adriana spat.

Kirk's face clouded over, his anger coming to a strong boil. He lunged at Adriana and jabbed his finger sharply into the young woman's cheek, this action drawing blood and nearly pushing her finger off the now slick surface of the button. "Castillo is a spineless insect!" he screamed, "just like his daughter." Then, after a short giggle, Kirk stepped backwards. "How those Canadian wolves didn’t finish you off, I’ll never know. Pacifists, like the human population, I suppose."

Adriana's dazed mind reeled. How much more could these maniacs take from her? Feeling Eden’s subtly writhing back against hers, she knew. This Cranston would not stop until he had taken her whole life. "I'll kill you!" Adriana screeched, her reddened eyes flooding with tears. "And I’ll be first in line for your funeral, I promise you there won’t be a wet eye in the house."

"Hey," Kirk said smiling, while licking some of the residual rat blood from his fingertips, "speaking of eyes, care to see my new one?" Wanting to look away, but feeling compelled not to, the two women watched Kirk dig his index finger and thumb into his right eye socket. He wrapped these digits around his eye and pulled out the marble-like sphere. "Like it?" he asked, holding the piece of coloured glass in front of Adriana, "made in Taiwan." As a sickened Adriana watched, a giggling Kirk replaced the sphere into its vacant cavity.

"I am going to kill you, you fucker," Eden calmly threatened, as if stating only a simple fact, "and you will suffer. I’m going to rip open your skull and tear that diseased brain to shreds."

"My, my, such a potty mouth you’ve developed, my demure bride."

Kirk looked at his watch and, impersonating the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland fame, said: "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date! Sun, Sand and Hot & Sweaty Passion is starting! No sleepy sleepy now, kids," he warned, as he dance-hobbled to the door. "And don't forget to check out my latest TikTok. My handle be @twerkkirk."

"Jackson, please, tell me it’s not true," Adriana pleaded as her silent husband followed Kirk out of the room.

"Don’t bother," Eden muttered, "his mind was poisoned by Kirk a long time ago. Can you imagine growing up with that monster?"

"Is it true?" Adriana asked desperately, as she rubbed the tip of her forefinger with her middle finger, trying to regain some circulation. "Is Jackson my brother?"

"I don’t know, honey," Eden confessed faintly, "I still have no memory of that time. But what I can guarantee, is that Kirk Cranston is psychotic and he’s a liar. He will say anything to elicit the response he wants."

"Even if he is lying, and I pray to God he is, do you think Jackson knows the truth? Could a man really be capable of that level of perversion?"

"What I do know, and this is for 100%, we would know if it was true," Eden guaranteed. "Even if Jackson didn’t, we would always know."

"I'm not sure I can fight this," Adriana yelped, "I can’t even feel my finger anymore, I’m so tired.”

"We will fight him together, Adriana," Eden asserted strongly, "and we will take the son of a bitch down."

Back at La Mesa, resting uncomfortably in Jackson’s chair, Cruz answered his phone. The office had been torn apart and resembled a war zone. The bookcase had been pulled to the ground and every desk drawer ripped out, their contents strewn across the room.

"Cruz, it’s Cain. Now unless this man is a 60-year-old ex-gymnast or a 14-year-old high school student, he only came into being about three years ago."

"Dios mío," Cruz exclaimed, "how could I have been so blind? Cain run his credit cards, I want to know exactly where he’s been. Let’s start with the last two weeks."

"Got it," Cain demurred.

"Chip," Cruz called out, as he dropped the phone to the desk, "there has got to be a clue around here somewhere."

"We’ve been through every inch, Dad," Chip spoke, his protest faint at best.

"Then we go through every inch again," Cruz directed.

While Chip began to search through Jackson’s journal, Cruz turned on his computer monitor. As he waited for the computer to boot up, he looked at the two pictures that had escaped the carnage, these hanging crookedly on the load-bearing wall. One was of Jackson’s and Adriana’s wedding in Puebla, and one was of their honeymoon at Pebble Creek. "Wait a minute," Cruz advised, his eye catching the glint of cold metal. Wedged in the frame of the Pebble Creek picture was a simple gold band. With small effort, he pulled the jewellery free. "Jackson’s wedding ring," he indicated, holding it up for Chip to see.

"How in the hell did that get in there?" Chip speculated, his brain sifting through possible explanations.

"They’re at Pebble Creek," Cruz revealed with complete certainty.

"How do you know that?"

"Call it a policeman’s hunch," Cruz relayed, as he dialled Cain’s number, "most likely a clue the bastard left behind for us to find."

"Cruz, I just started into it," Cain communicated in clipped greeting.

"I need to know if there are charges at any hotels, restaurants or rest stops on the 101," Cruz barked. "Check out anything along the 1 as well."

"Give me a second," Cain requested, as he punched the keys of his keyboard rapidly. "Actually, yeah," he soon discovered, "a Chevron in Templeton."

Cruz pounded his fist on Jackson’s desk, this hard enough to knock the wedding picture off the wall, the glass shattering on impact. "That’s it. Cain, thank you."

Cruz hung up before Cain could respond and quickly called Sophia.

"Cruz, have you heard anything?" the Capwell matriarch prodded anxiously. She was sitting with a visiting Samantha in the living room trying to watch television, but her concentration was failing her.

"I have a lead, Sophia," Cruz confirmed. "I need the jet fuelled up and waiting."

"What’s going on, Cruz?" she grilled the man.

"I think Jackson took them," Cruz divulged.

Sophia could not believe her ears, this news a significant shock to her. "Okay, I’m on it," she acknowledged with frightened purpose, "it will be ready for you."

Even before Sophia hung up, Chip and Cruz were in the car, racing for the private Capwell airstrip at the Santa Barbara municipal airport. As an intensely focused Cruz drove, Chip called Stella, who had been pacing the house for the last hour and had left no shortage of messages on Chip’s phone.

"My God, Chip, where have you been?" she interrogated him. "I’ve been going out of my mind."

"Adriana and Eden are missing," Chip explained. "My dad and I are on our way to the airport now, he’s working on a lead."

"What can I do?" Stella asked worriedly, her hand covering her face.

"Nothing now, except stay safe," Chip implored. "Just know that I love you and what happened today will never happen again. You and Vicky mean the world to me. Without you, it’s just filler."

Despite the fear welling up inside of her, Stella smiled. "I love you," she pledged.

The airport coming into view, Cruz turned onto James Fowler Road, and followed this to the airstrip, where C.C.’s freshly washed white Citation Excel was gleaming in the day’s waning sunlight. Cruz pulled his gun from the glove compartment and slotted it into the leather holster he had quickly donned. Together, he and Chip walked to the plane, the airstair already lowered. The two men were surprised to see Samantha Capwell standing rigidly on the airstair’s bottom step.

"Sammi, what’s going on?" Chip poked curiously.

“I thought you’d need a pilot," Samantha inferred.

"Samantha, this is not the time," Cruz spoke in deadly earnest.

"Uncle Cruz, you need a pilot, so I say it’s the perfect time," Samantha defended, hands on her hips. "Grandma taught me how to fly years ago. When she told me what was going on, I came right out."

Not having the time, nor the inclination, to fight with his niece, Cruz held up his hands and scaled the stairs to the plane cabin.

Once Samantha had received the coordinates, and the plane was in mid-air, a call from Cain came through. "Okay, Cruz," he began, "I have some more information for you, which was not easy to get, but luckily our friend Jackson was a blood donor."

"Adriana’s influence," Cruz stated dryly, Jackson’s faults so evident to him now. "I remember her saying how resistant to it he was; he called it nerves."

"Now, he has a pretty rare blood type," Cain continued. "Turns out this Jackson Leeds was born Graziano Vitali in a private clinic in Rome, circa 1992; his parents were Giuseppe and Marguerite Vitali. A day after his birth, he was reported missing from the facility. Turns out Giuseppe had some pretty major connections and they were able to run a full genetic map from the baby’s blood sample, which was sent out to hospitals and clinics all over the world."

"In case the boy came in, the system would flag it," Cruz supposed.

"Correct," Cain confirmed. "It seems Jackson covered his tracks well until that blood donation back in 2020."

"But it wasn’t flagged at the time?"

"No, both parents died long before 2020, and it had been 28 years."

"I wish I could say that made things clearer for me, Cain."

"Well, I wish I could tell you what I’m about to say would clear things up, but I’m afraid it will have the opposite effect."

"Tell me," Cruz pressed.

"When I was looking through the records I came across the picture I just sent you."

Cruz looked down at his phone and downloaded the image Cain had texted. It was of Eden from around the time she had left Santa Barbara.

"Apparently she had been creating a public disturbance and was taken to this same clinic," Cain clarified.

"Kirk must have found her there and kidnapped the baby," Cruz reasoned, "God knows why."

"Kirk?" Cain spoke in surprise, "Kirk Cranston?"

"I hope it’s a story I can kick back and share with you over a beer another time, brother."

"I don’t think so, Cruz," Cain doubted, "because there is more. Eden was pregnant and about to deliver when she was brought in. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your baby died at birth. After that, Eden disappeared."

"My God," Cruz murmured, as his head began to twitch. It took him a minute before he was able to speak again. "And Kirk in all his craziness must have thought the Vitali baby was Eden’s, maybe he was even deluded enough to think it was his."

"Cruz, what can we do?" Cain inquired. "You know Pearl and I are on this for you 24/7."

"Nothing more right now, man. But Cain, I owe you huge."

"No, Cruz, I owe you," Cain insisted. "I haven’t slept too well since Sophia and I first found Eden. I hated not being able to tell you."

"You helped to keep Eden safe, and for now that’s enough," Cruz emphasized. "The rest we can hash out later."

Cruz hung up and looked sadly at his son, who was sitting in the very seat where he and Eden had been when they returned to Santa Barbara the year prior. He had not known what he would be facing then, but it was certainly not anything remotely like this.

"Dad, shouldn’t we be calling the police?" Chip asked.

"I’ll be taking care of this my way," Cruz stated frighteningly.

Samantha landed the Citation at the Monterey airport, like a pro. There, a car was waiting. Cruz left Samantha and Chip at the tarmac, instructing them to stay with the plane. He then drove along the darkened highway, dangerously hugging the curves of the Big Sur coastline. With reckless precision, Cruz made the 25-minute drive in 10 minutes. Once at Pebble Creek, he stepped out of the car, at the edge of the 133-hectare resort, this framed by magnificent Italian stone pines. The property was barricaded to the general public, the renovation in full swing. Cruz easily scaled the gate and moved through the English garden towards the main house. He passed by several guest residences as he walked, there being no trace of movement to catch his eye. As beautiful as the property was, it seemed creepy in the moonlight, there not being a soul around.

It was Cruz’s sense of smell that first alerted the aged detective to the hidden carnage. Even before he stumbled over the bodies, he was overcome by the sweetly metallic stench of blood. Spilling out of the arched entrance, onto the driveway of the main house, were numerous bodies, these a mixture of security guards and construction workers. The butchery pained him, both on a human level and a personal one. This place was an emotional shrine to him, the setting to the most important moments in his life, and it was being defamed. But as horrific a sight this was, he was clearly on the right track. Eden and Adriana were here somewhere, he knew this as much as he knew he was breathing.

Cruz was a little bit lost, both in a geographical and metaphysical sense. He was on a vast property with equestrian farms, polo fields, golf courses, and kilometres of rolling hills and hiking trails. Where would he begin to look? This was one of the reasons why he had resisted a call to local authorities. There being so much space to cover, he did not want to risk alerting his family’s captors, thus jeopardizing their safety. Some would call it rash, irresponsible, a maverick move, but it was what felt right in his heart.

Having a sudden thought, Cruz pulled out his phone. He logged onto his Facebook page and scrolled through the various posts, soon finding one from Adriana, which included the photographs from her tainted honeymoon with Jackson. The one constant in the pictures was Adriana’s happiness, she never without a cheery smile. Jackson, on the other hand, was curiously muted. It was so obvious to Cruz now, and he felt so much guilt for not seeing the signs.

There were dozens of pictures featuring sublimely familiar sites; on the cliffsides, pool deck, wine cellar, and picnic trails. But the bulk of the images highlighted Adriana on horseback, her as natural in the saddle as anyone he had ever met. Many were taken outside of the Equestrian Centre, with Adriana beaming and Jackson looking slightly pained. This would be his next stop, Cruz decided, after a cursory search of the main residence proved fruitless.

Cruz began to walk the opposite way down the path he had once ridden, following a fateful encounter with Captain Anderson from so long ago. It soon took him to the one-time breeding farm, a massive green sided facility, that was enveloped by scaffolding. The horses were silent in their stalls, those that were awake measuring him. Cruz knew he was on the right track, as he came up to another body in gruesome repose. As he crept through the bushes, a silent shot rang out from above him, this pulverizing his shoulder. Cruz collapsed to the ground, his body crushing his phone, its red power light fading out like the eye of a Terminator. Stars in his eyes, he soon saw a grinning Jackson standing over him.

"Hey, Mr. C," the man icily welcomed his father-in-law.

"Don’t call me Mr. C.," Cruz panted, as he gripped his left shoulder.

Thirty minutes later, Eden and Adriana heard noises coming from outside the room. Assuming Kirk had returned, they snapped back to full alertness. Adriana’s finger was pushing as hard on the button as it could, although there was little feeling remaining in the quivering digit.

Out in the hallway of the Equestrian Centre loft, Chip cautiously turned the corner, avoiding sections of drywall and tubs of spackling paste. He had ignored Cruz’s order and immediately followed his equally stubborn father. Knowing his protective and technologically illiterate dad would keep him away, Chip had installed a tracking app on his phone during the flight and tethered the phone to his. He had followed the signal diligently, being very careful not to get too close, but had lost it 15 minutes before. The Equestrian Centre being just over the hillside, Chip continued to follow the path. He was gripped by fear at the sight of the fresh pool of blood in the soil outside the main entrance, this a glossy black in the full moonlight. There was no trace of his father or the source of the blood.

In between twisting the doorknobs of locked doors, Chip advanced towards the room where unbeknownst to him Eden and Adriana were living out their worst nightmares. He soon came to the final door, which Kirk had left unlocked. The Browning pistol Samantha had lent him squeezed deeply into his trembling hands, Chip nudged the door open with his foot and entered. "Eden," he called out, "Adriana?"

"Oh, thank God," Adriana exclaimed loudly, upon hearing Chip's voice.

Through the dim-coloured lights, Chip stared dumbfoundedly at the bound Eden and Adriana. His instincts on fire, he slowly began to advance towards them, constantly re-checking all angles around him as he did so. These moves were unconsciously retained from having spent so much time watching Joe Penny on TV, while comfortably nestled at his father’s side. Suddenly, a knife was sent whizzing through the air. It flew into Chip's right hand, attaching it to the wall behind him. The most ungodly of screams erupted from the young man’s mouth.

"Well, if it isn't the bastard half-breed," Kirk commented, while gazing euphorically upon Chip's pained face. "Actually, we have that bastard bit in common," he added.

Chip's eyes were beginning to glass over, and his head was swimming from the swift loss of blood, which was flowing freely and heavily onto the oak floor.

Chip's free hand, which still held his .22, moved upwards in agonizing slowness. Spotting this easily, Kirk fired at Chip's leg, sending him sprawling to the ground, pulling his wounded hand down with him. The thin Obsidian blade cut through the soft skin and dense bone easily, tearing his hand into two. Chip screamed out in agony, dropping his gun to the ground, where his shoulder jabbed it seconds later. Kirk reached down and picked up Chip’s pistol, placing it in his pocket.

"You asshole!" Adriana screamed, her body tensing, and her twitchy finger pulsing.

This reaction brought yet another smile to Kirk's face. "From yuppie business executive to psychotic murderer," he boasted in chilling glee, "my life would make a great miniseries. I can see it now. Matt Damon is Kirk Cranston in I Gotta Be Me. I feel musical, what do you think, Chippie?"

"You're a sick bugger," Eden remarked flatly, her voice impossibly measured. "You deserve to die."

"Maybe I do," Kirk bristled, while thrusting his face into Eden's. His grin was fast dissolving, this being replaced by a look of rage. "But if so, it's because of you and Castillo." He began to circle the two women, his cane loudly smacking against the barrier timber floor. "You made me what I am, Eden! You know," he said looping back to Adriana, "I had it all at one time. A fast-track career, a large salary, membership in a prominent family, a beautiful wife. There was even a baby on the way before she murdered it! She used me and then threw me away, even after I kept her out of jail when everyone believed her to be guilty of trying to murder her precious daddy. I didn't deserve that pain!" Kirk cried, on the verge of tears. "You took my life, so I’m taking yours!"

"Old news Kirk!" Eden spoke tiredly. "Don't look to me for sympathy. No wonder Jack Lee wanted to keep you his dirty little secret."

Kirk appeared to be furious, as he mentally processed Eden’s words. "All the great Jack Lee ever cared about was his money and his women," he snarled. "His death was a celebration."

Adriana was surprised to see Kirk so close to tears, his faint human side briefly surfacing. "Maybe you're right," she said surprisingly, "maybe we would all be better off if my parents weren’t around any longer."

A perplexed Eden began to speak, but Adriana nudged her, keeping her silent. "You, me, and Jackson, maybe we can help each other," she continued.

For a moment, it seemed as if Kirk was losing his guard, but then his face stiffened and his blood-shot eye clouded over. "Don't psycho-analyse me, Castillo!" he shrieked, Adriana’s face shifting to that of Cruz’s. "You stole Eden, and now I'm supposed to believe that you want to help me?!"

Adriana smiled, realizing Kirk was having great difficulty holding it together. It gave her an idea. It would likely make no difference at this point, but she was as sure as hell going to try. "But Eden doesn’t love me anymore, Kirk," she claimed in the best guise of her father, "she wants you back."

Kirk looked to Eden, who nodded. "It’s true, " she confirmed painfully, "it’s been over between us for ages. Why do you think I was gone for so long?"

"You're lying!" Kirk screamed. Realization suddenly joined the ire on his face. "I know what you're doing," he said, "you can't trick me. I kill psychiatrists, I don't consult them. Elena thought that blithering Shotz could help her but look where she ended up."

Eden mentally chastised herself; they had gone too far by telling Kirk that Eden still wanted him. It was too out of whack with their shared history.

"Let Chip and Adriana go," Eden pleaded, seeing no way for all of them to survive now, as she gazed nervously upon Chip, who was bleeding out on the cold wood surface. "They have nothing to do with this, they’re innocent."

"They’ll be better off dead," Kirk assessed. "I'm doing them a favour by freeing them. Jackson already took care of big daddy."

This frightening proclamation elicited strong emotional reactions from both Adriana and Eden. "What do you mean?" Adriana cried.

"You don’t think your dim-witted brother made it here by himself, do you?" Kirk probed.

This statement brought on a new wave of anger in Adriana, as she thrust her chest against the ropes. Her cramped finger slipped slightly from the edge of the button, but she caught herself. "Tell me, Kirk," she said, the name feeling dirty on her lips, "where are you going to run to after you kill us?"

"The Priesthood is always looking for a few good men," Kirk answered jovially. "Point guard for the Lakers, perhaps?"

There would be no response to this arguable witticism as a shot rang out and Kirk’s Beretta went flying from his hand. "Think again," came Cruz’s hoarse voice as the exhausted man entered the dark space, while pushing a bound, and limping, Jackson ahead of him.

"Castillo," Kirk hissed.

Cruz’s eyes fell to Chip who was shivering in the corner of the room, blood pooling around his fluttering body. He looked back to Kirk, his eyes blazing. "How much more can you take from us you diseased motherfucker?" he spat.

"That’s diseased wifefucker, to be accurate," Kirk corrected his nemesis.

Cruz stood sneering before Kirk, his left hand clenching the back of Jackson’s neck, both men’s veins bulging. "I’m going to tear your face off, man, do you get that?" he asked with crazed calm. "I am going to rip out your heart and feed it to you."

"A little dramatic, don’t you think?" Kirk challenged.

Cruz pressed the muzzle of his gun tightly up against Jackson’s sweaty forehead, this so deeply it drew blood. "How dramatic would it be if I killed your son?" Cruz queried, his voice rock steady and ice-cold.

"Cruz, no!" Eden cried out frantically, "Jackson could be our son!" As much as this seemed unnatural to her, could she really take the chance that it was true?

Cruz looked incredulous. He was not able to stifle an involuntary laugh, this devoid of any humour. "Is that what this insect told you, Eden?" he questioned. "Point of fact, Father of the Year here followed you to a clinic in Rome. Our beautiful son died at delivery, so this waste of skin decided to make off with someone else’s baby."

"Well, no one’s perfect," Kirk shrugged, so casually admitting his subterfuge.

Jackson looked stupefied. "Dad?" he prompted, his voice smaller than Adriana had ever heard it.

With lightning speed, Kirk pulled Chip’s imitation pearl-gripped pistol from the folds of his robe and shot a single bullet into Jackson’s nose. Jackson's body convulsed once and then went limp. A faint trickle of blood oozed from the right-hand corner of his mouth. "Well, I'm no William Tell," Kirk joked.

Seeing Cruz’s aghast face, Kirk’s turned deadly serious. "Never underestimate the power of my hatred," he seethed.

Cruz froze, his mind straining to decode what had just happened. Fury taking over, he rushed towards Kirk and grabbed him by his slimy neck. He then pressed the muzzle of his gun tightly against Kirk's left cheek. Cruz looked like a man possessed, the scorn running incredibly deep.

"Cruz, no," Eden advised in anguish. "As much as I want him dead, not this way. Please don’t become a murderer."

Kirk emitted a nervous giggle. "You may have won this time," he acquiesced, "but I'll be back, I always come back. I won’t be the iron or the thimble forever!"

In confused disgust, Cruz threw Kirk roughly to the ground. After untying Eden and Adriana, taking care to snip the simple guide wire, he rushed to Chip’s side. His son’s pulse was slow, due to loss of blood, but Chip had managed to tie a fragment of his shirt around the wound, the pressure of the makeshift bandage having saved his life.

The sound of a gunshot captured everyone’s attention. A freed Adriana had squeezed off a round from Jackson’s weapon, she having removed this discreetly from the butt of Cruz’s pants. Before anyone could stop her, she pulled back the trigger once again, launching a bullet into Kirk's open mouth. It tore through the soft flesh of his tongue and cut its way through the back of his throat, lodging itself into the wall behind him.

Eden and Cruz looked on in stunned silence, as a blood splattered Adriana unloaded four more shots into Kirk, the man’s eye opened wide, its pupil fully dilated. She then took Cruz’s gun and fired eight more bullets into Kirk. "Let's see you come back to life this time, asshole," she jeered.

Cruz and Eden watched sorrowfully as their beautiful baby girl dropped to her knees and began to laugh heartily. She felt no remorse for killing this thing, this blight on humankind. In her rare future moments of complete honesty with herself, she realized she had found the act to be sickeningly pleasant.

As Chip was being medivacked to the hospital, Cruz, Eden and Adriana were sitting stiffly in C.C.’s plane, Samantha seated at the controls. After receiving their statements, and a phone call from Connor McCabe, the Monterey authorities had allowed the traumatized family to return to Santa Barbara pending further investigation.

From the comfort of the plane, Eden called Sophia. "Momma?" she began hesitantly, once her mother had answered the phone.

Sophia nearly fell to her knees in relief as she heard Eden’s voice. "Hi, baby," she gratefully addressed her daughter, "are you okay?"

"We’re all okay," Eden answered, this only partially true. "Chip was pretty badly hurt, but he’ll be alright."

"Thank God for that, Eden, I was praying so hard. What happened to you, honey?"

"Can we talk about it later?" Eden appealed.

"Sure, but Eden, you need to come home right away, there’s no more time."

Eden dropped the phone, knowing exactly the meaning behind Sophia’s words. As alien a concept as it was, C.C. Capwell was dying.

A haunted Eden walked with purpose to the storage closet in the main cabin of the plane. She pulled out two parachutes and held them in front of her child. Adriana nodded, knowing precisely what Eden intended.

Fifteen minutes later, Samantha alerted her passengers that they were over their drop zone, this having been hastily cleared with the FAA. Cruz opened the door for his wife and daughter.

"Have a good flight, ladies," he shouted out over the roar of the twin Pratt & Whitney engines. "Give my best to your daddy, Eden, I’ll be there real soon."

Cruz and Eden shared a deep kiss. It was an epic kiss, one that existed usually only in fairy tales. It was filled with hope, love, regret, magic, wisdom and passion all in one simple joining of the lips.

Eden and Adriana then smiled at each other and squeezed hands before Eden stepped out into weightlessness. Adriana immediately followed.

The sense of free fall was exhilarating, as the women flew through the atmosphere, no force acting on their tingling bodies. They revelled in the sensation of being supported by a cushion of air, as adrenaline coursed through them. The horrific emotions they experienced during their captivity were swiftly replaced by a sense of pure freedom and unmitigated joy.

A few minutes later, Eden and Adriana were standing in the driveway of the Capwell Estate, their colourful parachutes trailing behind them.

"My aim was a lot better this time," Eden quipped.

The ladies removed their jumpsuits and raced through the carved front doors of the ochre colonial mansion. Sophia, Marcello, Greg, Mason, Julia, Roger, Ted, Brandon, and Channing III were standing in the foyer, all lost in their own various states of grief. Without a word spoken, Sophia grabbed Eden’s hand and led her upstairs, Adriana following close behind.

The three entered C.C.’s room, this practically unchanged since the renovation in 1990, save for the repositioning of the furniture. C.C. was resting in the same position he had lay in for so many months following his stroke, the last 37 years since being such an unexpected gift. His head, still topped with a thick mane of curly hair, was propped up against two down pillows, which were pressed into the figures engraved on the headboard. A tense Kelly was sitting by her father’s bedside, her heart full. "I love you, Kitten," the still formidable man was saying, as he gasped for breath. Kelly achingly helped him return the oxygen mask to his face and then rose from his bedside, tears flowing.

After sharing a small embrace with Kelly, Eden and Adriana took her position at the foot of the bed. Despite the fogged mask resting on his face, C.C.’s breathing continued to be laboured. But seeing his daughter and granddaughter, C.C.’s left hand, with great struggle, lifted off his mask once again. A smile lit up his freshly shaven face, Sophia having so lovingly groomed him earlier that morning. "Hi, Princess," he spoke, his voice so raspy, yet never lacking in spirit.

"Hi, Daddy," Eden greeted, her tone overflowing with love and with worship.

C.C. held onto both Eden’s and Adriana’s hands, his fists still so powerful. The expression on his face was one of great wisdom and serenity. "I am so glad to have you both here, my beautiful girls," he welcomed them. "Can I request a favour of you both?" he asked with great humility and great longing.

"Anything, Daddy," Eden choked, while a silent Adriana nodded in deep earnest.

"I need you to forgive each other," C.C. stated simply. "That is a lesson I learned much too late in life, but one that has served me well in my final years."

Both mother and daughter grinned lovingly. "Oh, Daddy," Eden cried, "we already have."

C.C.’s face brightened, as tears rimmed his eyelids. Sophia dabbed at her husband’s burning forehead with a cool cloth. Her smile appeared to be one of such sadness, but also one of such bliss. C.C. tilted his head upwards and looked to his favourite love, his heart and mind filled with so many memories. "Sophia," he gasped.

And with that, as Sophia tenderly gripped his hands, C.C. Capwell took his final breath.

One Week Later

C.C. Capwell’s elaborate funeral had been attended by just about everyone, a ceremony on par with the mightiest kings from throughout history. In the steady stream of eulogies, Channing Sr. had been remembered as a statesman, a fine businessman, a great friend, and an amazing father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Politicians, celebrities, business tycoons, and royals, from all over the world, came to honour the highly respected industrialist. Even those C.C. may have considered enemies, in his world, had come to pay their business rival tribute.

Following the church service, only family remained behind at the Santa Barbara Cemetery in Montecito, where so many Capwells had been interred, dating back to Nathaniel Capwell himself. The non-sectarian cemetery was built onto a cliffside, its stunning natural backdrop provided by the Pacific Ocean.

It had been an unusually busy week, even for a Capwell. Chip had returned home just two days before. Despite his recent trauma, he looked strong. He once again felt like the Chip who had stood in the wings of the Lyceum theatre, when his heart had been bursting with such positive pride. While he would never regain full mobility, his hand had been successfully re-attached. His greatest regret was that he would never be able to play ball with Vicky, at least not the way he wanted to, but in the grand scheme of life he supposed that was not the worst thing.

Perhaps the greatest highlight for Chip, in this period of blackness, was Victoria being posthumously awarded a special Tony for that single, brave performance. While it was a shame she was not present to receive this great honour, it gave Chip such a sense of peace to know she had briefly fulfilled greatness, and perhaps even redemption, in the epitaph to her legacy.

Mason and Julia were representing Adriana and expected her to be acquitted by the following week. She had spent many an hour being interrogated by the police, lawyers, and a battery of psychiatrists, but had navigated this aftermath with such great grace and poise. And her mother never strayed far from her side during these difficult moments.

Mason Capwell walked over to his father’s headstone, which had been florally decorated by Greg’s and Emily’s youngest daughter in collaboration with Brandon’s eldest son. Mason was impeccably dressed in a navy twill weaved suit and his hair perfectly coiffed, but he looked lost. His complexion was gaunt, and the folds of crinkled skin around his eyes were exceptionally dark. There was a dullness in those brown eyes, as the man struggled to reconcile the conflicted feelings he had felt throughout his entire life. So much wasted time, as C.C. once told him. Mason was sickened by memories of himself as a younger man. He had worked so hard to hurt his father and sometimes had felt such glee as he did so. That enmity was such a foreign concept to him now. Yet, he knew he had to let it go, like C.C. himself had said last September in Cruz’s hacienda courtyard in Puebla.

The two imposing men were standing in the corner of the courtyard, resting loosely against an ivy wrapped trellis. C.C. had his hand pressed up against Mason’s left cheek, his thumb making small semicircles. "You have to let it go, Mason," he pleaded in that rich voice, one that was bursting with restrained emotion. "We both did horrible things to each other, and that can’t be changed."

"Forgive me, Dad," Mason begged.

"There is nothing to forgive, Son. For every hundred apologies you give me, I would need to give a hundred more, and what is the point of that? We are not young men, sonny boy, and I for one am not going to waste the time we have left by apologizing. All that really needs to be said is I love you. You were my first-born; you have an intelligence, and most importantly an empathy, that humbles me. My greatest regret is I did not support you more, after all those years of you doing everything I asked without question."

Mason smiled. "No matter what I said or did, I always respected you, Dad, and I learned so much. When we acted as a team, we were unbeatable. Even when we weren’t fighting for the right things, I was never as happy as when we were fighting together."

C.C. and Mason joined hands and they pulled each other into a tight embrace. And then the two men did something no one would have expected from either one of them. They both wept. Openly, freely, and unashamedly.

Back in his reality, Mason held one hand to his heart and placed the other on C.C.’s headstone. He thought back to a conversation he once had with someone in another time and space, a creature made of fire and ice. I finally did it, Mary, Mason thought proudly, he and I both finally did it.

As he always knew he would, Mason Capwell shed tears for his father.

A few metres away, Samantha stood with Chip and their cousin Brandon. Brandon was smartly outfitted in a dark blue jacket emblazoned with the Capwell seal, this having belonged to his grandfather. Like C.C., he stood just shy of 2 metres in height and the jacket fit him perfectly.

Brandon pointed over to another cousin, the 30-year-old Channing Capwell III, the youngest of C.C.’s children. "It’s pretty funny," he observed.

"What’s that?" Chip questioned, looking to his cousin.

"Two Channing Creighton Capwell IIIs in the same place."

"That is one name I haven’t gone by in a long, long time," Chip reflected, Cruz having legally changed it to Chip Castillo many years prior.

"Sorry, bad jokes," Brandon apologized. "Excuse me."

As Brandon stepped away, Samantha took Chip's good hand and offered him a small smile. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Oh, I don’t know, Sam," Chip answered, "it’s all so surreal to me now. Just a month ago I’m the toast of Broadway, and now…"

"You will be okay, you know that right?" she cut in, as Stella approached with a contented Vicky in her arms.

"Yeah," Chip smiled, as he locked eyes with his beautiful wife, "I’m gonna be great."

Eden stood with Adriana, their hands held tightly. "It was Jackson’s funeral today too," Adriana said to her mother, "or whatever his name really was."

"How are you coping with that?" Eden inquired in concern.

"Well, my entire relationship was a lie and I was sleeping with a man sick enough to be doing it even though he thought he was my brother," she remarked. "I suppose fairy tales do come true," she added sarcastically.

"I’m so sorry I brought this on you," Eden apologized.

"It’s not your fault, Mom," Adriana protested, "it was Cranston’s. You don’t have to take responsibility for the actions of a crazy man. But despite it all, that lunatic brought us back together, and for that I’m grateful."

Eden shook her head gently. "We would have come back together regardless, don’t give that bastard any credit."

Adriana smiled and nodded, before joining in one of their now frequent embraces. Seeing this, Cruz approached the two ladies and wrapped his good arm around them, his other in a sling. "You know, in this family there is a tradition called a family hug," he declared.

Down the path, Kelly stood with Ted, her subtly greying hair brushed back. She wore a simple dark blouse and skirt, while her brother was outfitted in a black suit.

"We'll survive," Ted was saying quietly, as he took his sister’s hand in his, "and we'll be stronger for it." The man looked older on this day, but strangely enough he did not feel sad. He felt joy, the joy of having his family around him again. "I mean, hey, look around," he continued. "We’re all together again, just like we were in the old days. We have another chance now."

As Ted and Kelly united in an embrace, they were joined by Mason, Julia, Eden, Cruz, Lily, Connor, Greg, Brick, Jane, Sophia, and Marcello. "We'll make it together," Mason pronounced strongly, sounding like a proud patriarch, "we'll make it together."

Across the lawn, looking at the elder generation of the Capwell family, stood Chip, Stella, Adriana, Brandon, Samantha, Roger, Summer and Channing III.

"We have to be there for them," Chip insisted, "they need us now. They have a lot of pain to work through.”

Adriana bobbed her head in silent agreement. "Well, no one ever said being a Capwell was easy," she concluded.

Until the Snows turn to Fire and the Rains to Sand, this Love will last.

Based on characters created by Bridget and Jerome Dobson in association with New World Television and the National Broadcasting Company.