Previously:

After being attacked by Erin Emery, Sonya Cortes regained consciousness at the hospital. When Jasper and Charlie questioned her about what happened, she delivered the shocking truth to Charlie: his wife was the one who'd assaulted her.

Josie remained doubtful that her immature boyfriend would ever truly reform, but she grew closer to Roddy in the months since her closest friends (and anti-Roddy contingent), BJ and Eden, left for college. Josie tried her best to be there for him when he opened up to her about the difficulties between him and his parents.

 

The Guthrie Home

Charlie Guthrie sat at the kitchen table in a daze. The morning sun streamed in through the wide picture windows, but Charlie hadn't slept since his return from the hospital. He was dead in the eyes, unblinking and unfocused to anything but the thoughts racing through his mind.

"Charlie, have half of my omelette. I know you said you didn't want one, but I made too much anyway." Martine Guthrie, appeared at his side, setting a plate on the table in front of him. It took a moment before he responded, appraising her for the first time as if she hadn't been in the room with him until just now.

Martine was heavily pregnant, her belly straining against the lilac-colored fabric of her sleeveless maternity top. In her condition, the last thing Charlie needed was to have her fussing over him -- especially when there were more important things for him to be concerned about than his next meal.

"Why would she say something like that?" Charlie muttered to himself, thinking back to Sonya and her revelation that Erin had been the one who attacked her. "She's wrong. I know she is..."

Martine had heard the entire story from him -- Charlie's side of the story at least -- and was doing her best to help him sort out the conflicting thoughts and disbelief running through his brain. "We don't know what happened that night. Maybe Sonya's got things mixed up in her mind somehow. After what she's been through, it wouldn't be that surprising. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. I'm sure Erin couldn't have meant for any of this--"

"--She didn't do it!" Charlie interrupted. "I know my wife, and there's no way she could have done anything like this!"

"She couldn't have done this. No way," Charlie said, shaking his head after Sonya repeated her assertion several times.

"I wish you were right. I wish to God you were right, Charlie, but I know what happened to me. I know who attacked me. I'll never forget the look on her face..."

"It's just not possible. Erin isn't capable!"

"Not capable? Are you forgetting this is the same woman who shot and killed Hal Roman when we were in Rio? She shot an unconscious man on an operating table! Don't tell me you've forgotten."

Charlie stalked the room, his temper at its boiling point. "I can't believe you're going to use that against her! That was a completely different situation. You know what she went through with him."

"Fine! But what about Monique Champlain, then?"

Charlie looked at her like she was crazy now. "What about her?"

"Charlie, please," Jasper said, defending Sonya. "Let her say what she needs to say."

"Erin told me she killed Monique. I don't know why, but she's snapped, Charlie. She's not the same Erin. She needs help."

Charlie froze in step, floored by the news. His face twisted into a dark and hateful expression foreign to Sonya and Jasper. "No, you're the one who needs help, Sonya. I don't know why you're saying these things, but you're wrong! You're the one who's deranged if you believe even half of these lies you're telling."

"Stop! Stop upsetting her and listen," Jasper said. His attempts to mediate were too little, too late. Sonya was in tears now, and Charlie'd had enough of it altogether. He bolted from the room and from the hospital entirely, refusing to believe a word of Sonya's accusations.

"She couldn't have done it," Charlie reaffirmed, snapping back to the present to judge Martine's expression. She'd lived with Erin the past few months the same as he had. Was she convinced of Erin's guilt without any evidence to back up the ridiculous claims against her? "You don't believe any of this is true, do you?"

She labored over her response, knowing what Charlie wanted -- what he needed to hear. Considering his current frame of mind, she couldn't say what she really thought.

Living with Erin, Martine knew what a caring wife and mother she strove to be, what an all-around good person she was ... but she'd also seen an ever-anxious, almost frantic woman tested to her very limits, a fragile woman forced to deal with more than anyone could be expected to take. Was it really so hard to believe she could have just ... snapped?

"I just want her back with me," Charlie said, thinking about the situation too intensely to notice that Martine hadn't responded to his question.

"Someone will find her." Martine took his hand, an assuring gesture. "I'm sure we'll hear from her soon, and we'll get the whole story." Whatever that story turns out to be, she thought to herself, pitying him but unable to tear herself away from his haunted eyes.

 

Channel 4 News Station

The Channel 4 newsroom was a whirlwind. Every spare employee at the station was glued to a separate computer or telephone line searching for information -- for confirmation of the reports that were slowly filtering in. Apparently, there had been another violent crime committed in St. Laurent.

St. Laurent wasn't normally forced to deal with these sorts of traumas. They were barely equipped to handle the petty crimes they were accustomed to, but in the past few years things seemed to be ramping up.

Vincent Guthrie stalked out from his office and cornered a long-standing employee of his. "What the hell is going on with the police department? Have you spoken to Wilkins?"

"He says he can't release details..."

"Then get down there and get the details yourself," Vincent said, rushing him to the door. "Penelope, do we have anyone at the hospital?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Send someone! Jesus, you people!" he barked, storming back into his office and slamming the door as an exclamation. Once he was safely holed up within, he massaged his throbbing temples with his fingertips. Vincent was still in recovery; maybe he'd had a few too many drinks at the fundraiser the night before. But he'd be damned if he'd let a hangover or his idiot employees ruin being on top of this story.

Vincent poured himself a steaming cup of coffee from the pot in his office, and snatched up the telephone on his desk, punching in a familiar number.

He knew he was getting nothing accomplished with the bunch of yokels he had running around the office at the moment. He wanted someone he could trust. Someone who, if the rumors flying around the office were to be believed, might even know a thing or two about what was going down...

The phone rang and rang before Charlie Guthrie finally took his father's call. "Hello?"

"Charlie. I need to see you straight away."

 

The Guthrie Home

Upstairs in her room, Josie Singer stood in the doorway to the adjoining bathroom and tossed a pair of jeans at her sleeping boyfriend's head. "Get up!"

She placed her hands on her narrow hips and cocked her head in impatience, as Roderick Wallace stirred from his slumber. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and threw his jeans aside. "What was that for?"

He opened his eyes wider to see Josie standing over him in a tiny white tank top and panties. She searched her room for a pair of shorts and quickly dressed, seeming to expect him to do the same. "You've got to get out of here."

"What are you talking about?" He scratched his head, but began to pull up his pants as she explained.

"You fell asleep, you idiot! You stayed the entire night! We're usually more careful than this."

"What? Like your mom really thinks you've never had a boy stay over before?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just imply that I'm a whore," she said. "But only because you need to get the hell out of here before she hears me shouting at you!"

"You're what? Nineteen years old? I don't think you need to worry so much about Mommy anymore. You're a woman now," he said, giving her a stupid sneer.

"I'm still living at home, in case you haven't noticed. And I'm dating someone with the emotional maturity of a ten year old. Maybe if you'd followed a few of Mommy's rules yourself growing up, you wouldn't be such a jackass."

Roddy shook his head at her, and Josie immediately regretted the comment. She knew it was a sore subject, his parents -- the worst subject, actually -- but it just slipped out before she could stop it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," he said, throwing his t-shirt over his head and looking out the window to the empty street below. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. You're right. I don't want to ruin the way things are with us."

"Roddy..." she walked over to his side, offering a kiss for his forgiveness. "I shouldn't have said that."

Since his father's arrest, Josie knew Roddy's mother had been slowly falling apart. Rhonda Wallace was barely cognizant of her son's presence anymore. It was like he'd lost both his parents suddenly and unexpectedly at the same time. In the past month or so, Josie and Roddy had been spending nearly all of their free time together, with Roddy finding one excuse after another to avoid his mother and his home.

"You can stay here for a while, if you can, like, hide from my mother or something? I don't know ... maybe I should just talk to her about it. About the whole situation?"

Several months ago, Josie considered moving into her own place, but Martine wanted her daughter to stay close to home, especially with the new baby on the way. Josie couldn't really afford to move into an apartment of her own at the moment, anyway.

"No, don't worry about it," he said, shrugging off the offer. "I was going to go golfing this morning with Adam, then I can meet up with you later for lunch?"

"Sounds good," she said, kissing him again. "You can take a shower here before you go, as long as you make it quick."

He looked down at his clothes. "I smell, don't I?"

"Just a little." Josie's nose crinkled at him, and they laughed as she playfully forced him into the bathroom.

 

Channel 4 News Station

Before he even called his son, Vincent Guthrie knew what Charlie's response would be. If the rumors were to be believed, there was no way Charlie would be thinking about work at a time like this. "Can you come down to the office this morning? I'm sure you must know what's going on down here," Vincent said. "The office is utter chaos."

Multiple sources had called into the station with varying and skewed perspectives on the big news of the morning. The only thing Vincent knew for sure was that an ambulance run was made to Sonya Cortes's house early that morning. Rumors were swirling about a violent crime having taken place, and more than one witness reported multiple victims being removed from the home.

"If you know about the situation, you'd know how fucking ridiculous it is of you to even be asking this of me," Charlie said, as furious as his father had ever heard him.

Another less substantiated report currently circulating its way about town was that the police were searching for his son's wife, Erin Emery, in connection to the alleged attacks. Whether Erin was regarded as a suspect, victim, or merely a witness, Vincent had yet to determine.

"Of course this isn't about business, Charlie. I'm only trying to help."

"I think I'll manage without. Thanks," he said.

"Wait!" Vincent said, eager to keep his son talking. His true intent was to help his son, but that didn't mean he couldn't have ulterior motives. If he could wrest the story from Charlie firsthand and stand by Charlie's side in the process, things were win-win. "I only asked you to come down here so I could help. If any new information comes in -- an arrest, an eyewitness -- you know we'll hear it first."

He was answered by silence.

Vincent continued, "Look, I don't know what the story is, only that something dreadful has happened to people I care about. The two of us have had our issues, but I'm always here for you. I'd hope you know that much."

There was another lengthy pause. When Charlie finally answered him, he was no longer combative. His tone now reminded Vincent of the boy who used to come running into his father's bedroom to hide from imagined ghosts and monsters. "Please, don't do this to me right now. I can't talk. I can't do any of this right now," Charlie said sadly.

Vincent felt a stab of remorse. The gravity of the situation was settling over him. For Charlie to be falling apart like this ... Vincent needed to know what was happening, needed to help his son.

"I'll let you know if I hear anything," he promised before Charlie ended the call.

No sooner had he replaced the receiver than Penelope peeked into his office, much to his annoyance. "Mr. Guthrie, Don called from the hospital with a message..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"He says Sonya's definitely been admitted to the hospital. Room 167. She's sleeping."

Vincent was already heading for the door, closing it on her as he left his office.

Penelope hopped after him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"To get her a fruit basket," Vincent said, rolling his eyes.

 

The Guthrie Home

After enjoying a steamy shower with Roddy, Josie managed to covertly rush him out the back door that morning. She soon realized there was no need for her to have been so worried. Martine was busy talking to Charlie in the living room. When Josie peeked in on the two of them, her pregnant mother was lounging on the sofa, in no hurry, it seemed, to be up on her feet anytime in the near future.

With the potential Roddy crisis averted, Josie returned to her room, then tried to decide what to do with her day while she got dressed. She was supposed to meet Roddy for lunch that afternoon and had to work at the Bel Ami Club later that evening, but other than that, her day was shaping up to be the same as usual ... painfully boring.

As she pulled on an emerald green top, a horrible thought flashed through her mind. Was she stuck in a rut? It couldn't be... she couldn't actually be missing the days of high school, could she?

Josie'd always hated school, but lately, with all her friends heading off to college while she worked a monotonous, low-wage job, she began to reconsider. She thought life would be so much easier and fun once she graduated, but it was hardly all it was cracked up to be, and she had nobody to blame but herself.

She sighed and tried to forget her doubts. There was always time to change things ... if she ever figured out what it was that she was missing. She put on her jewelry and clasped on some bracelets and her watch. She studied it. Roddy probably wouldn't be finished with his golf game for a few hours.

Frustrated, she marched her way downstairs again, her high ponytail bounding after her with each step. Josie barged into the living room where her mother and Charlie were sitting in an odd silence. "Mom, I have no life," Josie muttered only half-jokingly as she threw herself onto a loveseat in the living room. She stretched her legs over the side, kicking them fitfully.

Martine gave her daughter an curious little frown, and Josie wondered if she was interrupting something. She gave them both a closer look. Martine seemed to be trying to bring herself to say something, and Charlie was morose and slouchy. He looked like he could use an espresso or two.

"What's the deal? You two look more miserable than I do." When they didn't laugh or, in the case of Charlie, even acknowledge her, Josie became concerned. Serious now, she asked, "Is everything all right?"

Martine cast a furtive glance at an oblivious Charlie, then shook her head.

Josie perked up in her seat, scared now. "What? What is it?"

Martine made herself stand, then led her daughter into the kitchen. "There's something I have to tell you, but I don't know how ... I mean, nobody knows yet exactly how or why it happened..." Martine considered how to continue, how to explain to her daughter what was going on before Josie could hear it from somewhere else. "Your friend, Misty, died last night."

Josie heard every word, but wasn't sure what her mother was trying to say. She struggled to process it. "What?" she stammered.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Martine reached out to her and Josie crumbled into her arms, her earlier self-pity all but forgotten now as she ached for her friend.