Previously:

After breaking out of the psychiatric hospital with Pete Sorenson, Giselle went on the lam, hiding out in an old Catholic church to avoid being apprehended.

Misty Bradley was murdered by a delusional Erin Emery, who was also responsible for killing Monique Champlain and attacking Sonya Cortes. Worried that she would be caught for her crimes and separated from her daughter, Erin fled town with Summer, leaving Charlie and their life in St. Laurent behind. When Sonya told Charlie what happened, he refused to believe her.

Kerri was kidnapped from the casino fundraiser by Ava D'Amato. When Ava left her brother, Dominick, to watch over Kerrigan, his guilty conscience got the best of him and he released her. With a little financial help from Beau, Miles Burke finally paid off his debt to the D'Amatos, and they sailed off into the night...

 

St. Magdalene's Catholic Church

As Giselle Ormand Guthrie sat on the hard wooden bench of the Catholic church's confessional booth, she realized she'd been holding her breath from the moment she'd stepped inside. She hadn't confessed in years. Too many years to keep track of now. She was sure she had plenty to atone for, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she had no idea where to begin.

"You could begin by telling me what brought you to St. Magdalene's in the first place," the priest said, once Giselle vocalized her indecision. "What compelled you to show up here in the dead of night -- and to sleep in my vestry?"

Giselle could have lied, of course. She knew she probably should have if she didn't want to blow her cover, but for as many lies as she had told in her lifetime, it wasn't a task she typically enjoyed. She liked to think of the lies she chose to tell as necessary evils. Lying to a priest in a Catholic church? She didn't need to invite that particular brand of sin into her life. So she wouldn't lie here, not to him.

She pondered his question. Recalling the events that brought her to this point, it seemed like it had all happened so long ago. Monique's murder, her arrest, her transfer to that godawful fortress for the criminally insane, and finally, her eventual escape with Pete Sorenson...

"I had nowhere else to go," she said softly, sadly.

When Father Bartlett had discovered her asleep in his church that morning -- her second night of secreting herself within its walls, her initial reaction was to run and never look back. He'd startled her awake, and she immediately thought for certain he must know her identity. By now, surely everyone must be searching for Giselle Guthrie, escaped mental patient.

But Father Bartlett was either so sheltered he didn't pay attention to news outside the church, or he didn't care to acknowledge what he knew about her. Giselle wished she could read his mind to know for sure.

"You know you are welcome to stay at St. Magdalene's as long as you wish, but there must be something else I can do for you. Some way I can be of help?"

Giselle bowed her head. If there was ever a time to come clean...

"Please. Hear my confession."

 

The Highwind Resort

In an expansive conference room that was temporarily designated the office of the Highwind X-Limit project, some early sunlight streamed its way through the ornamented windows.

Sitting at a desk in one corner, Miles Burke was hard at work. He was the first to arrive that morning, a bit on edge from the enormous, fresh-roasted coffee he was drinking and from his own nervous energy. Still, he was happy to be there. A part of him was eager to get back to the normalcy of it all, the routine of his workday, after the tailspin disaster of the past week.

But now it was Monday morning, and he was hopeful to start anew, to get things back on track. He would make up for the trouble he'd caused. He'd come in early, stay late, and work harder than he ever had before if that would compensate in even the smallest way for his failures.

Currently, he was on the phone with an investor eager to get in on the project before its grand opening. Thinking back to the fundraiser, a night of living hell for him, it was hard to remember that it had actually been quite enjoyable up to a certain point. At least for the guests. For the most part, they were thoroughly entertained with the affair. Miles realized that they'd actually run a pretty successful event -- it wasn't until after the party that all hell broke loose, and only those working behind the scenes knew the true extent of the chaos.

He'd given his vague statement to the police the morning after it happened. The cops were on the lookout for Ava and Dominick, who Kerri had laid the blame on in her own testimony of the crime, but those two were probably long gone by now. Kerri still didn't know anywhere close to the entire story, and that was one of the reasons Miles secretly hoped the police failed to track down Dominick or Ava.

Miles tried to concentrate on his phone call, taking notes for Beau and Kerrigan while the older man on the phone rambled on and on. When he finally ended the call, he looked up from the desk just in time to see his sister coming in.

She caught his eye, noticed him behind the desk, and stopped in her tracks. A few papers flitted away from the folders she carried, and she stopped to retrieve them, then continued into the room.

"Kerri!" Miles said, grateful to see her.

Miles hadn't seen nor spoken to Kerri or Beau since they were all at the police station together. They hadn't tried to get in touch with him, and he thought it was best that he give them time to relax, time to reconnect, time to forgive him, maybe?

He came up and wrapped her in a tight hug. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Kerri stood stiff, unresponsive as her brother held her. She gave him a grudging squeeze, then pulled away.

"I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry you ever had to meet those people. I'm--"

"Stop." Kerrigan held up a hand, cutting off his rambling apologies. "Let's not talk about it. Not now, okay?"

Miles's smile faltered. "...Okay." He watched her cross to the desk, looking over the messages he'd taken while she was out. "Oh! Just before you got here, I got a call from Mr. Cassini," Miles said, darting around the desk to look over her shoulder. "I think he's really hyped on us."

"Miles, please!" she snapped. "Please." She walked away from him, her eyes staring blankly at the memo in her hands. "I thought I could do this, but I can't..." she shook her head, talking to herself. She looked up at him. "This isn't working. I can't do this."

 

The Guthrie Home

Charlie Guthrie could barely breathe. It was a struggle even before he put the shirt on, but now, as he buttoned the top button tight against his neck, the strangling sensation was unbearable. And he hadn't even gotten to the tie yet...

With a sputter and a choke, he ripped the shirt open, buttons scattering across the carpet as he cast it aside. It was just too tight, too restricting. That was better. Right?

Charlie looked down at the rumpled shirt, the escaped buttons, at his own half-dressed form in the long mirror. With a deep sigh, he sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

"Charlie? Oh!" Elisabeth Emery stopped in the doorway. "Martine let me in. I didn't know you were..."

"It's okay," Charlie said, standing from the bed. "I was just ... I don't know."

"Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she took in his dress pants and the discarded shirt. "Have you heard something new about Erin?"

He shook his head.

"Then what are you doing?" she pressed, an icy tone to her voice. Elisabeth had called him as soon as she heard the news about Erin's disappearance and possible involvement in the seemingly random attacks on Sonya and Misty. She was furious with him for not immediately filling her in, but the truth was, Charlie wasn't sure what he believed. He wasn't sure there was anything he could tell Elisabeth to help her make sense of any of this.

Everyone expected him to have all the answers, but he certainly didn't know any more than anyone else did, and that was the most frustrating thing of all.

"I'm going to a funeral."

Elisabeth looked momentarily taken aback. Not the answer she was expecting. "But, we've got to find Erin."

Charlie ignored her, walking to his closet to retrieve a different shirt. He buttoned it up and selected a matching tie.

"Isn't there something we can do?" Elisabeth said. "I've been watching the news. Everyone's going to think my sister's some kind of monster, the way they're talking. Why are they saying these things?"

"I don't know, Elisabeth!" Charlie snapped, rounding on her with a look of warning. He had little patience for her overdramatics today. "I don't know where Erin is, what's happened to her, or why she left. I can't give you any answers!"

Elisabeth started to cry, which only annoyed Charlie further.

"I tried to call her. After the cruise," Elisabeth said softly through her tears. "When I got home from the party, I went to put my earrings and necklace in my jewelry box, but everything was gone. Everything that was worth anything," she sniffed, "which wasn't much to begin with. Can you believe it? Then I hear all this stuff about Erin ... these horrible things."

Charlie eased up a bit, handed her some tissues from the night stand. "You went to the police?"

She nodded. "I don't think there's anything they can do, even though I think I know who it was. My date for the party -- Dominick D'Amato. I left him alone in my apartment while I was getting ready to go out, then we barely spoke all night on the yacht. I haven't heard from him since. I'm such an idiot."

She cried into Charlie's shoulder, and he felt worse than he did before. He shouldn't have been so hard on her. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

"Known what?" she asked, pulling away. "That every decent guy I fall for turns out to be the worst possible choice? No, I'm beginning to realize that now." She wiped her tears away, trying to pretend it was just a momentary crisis. "I should get going. I don't even know why I'm crying. I don't care about Dominick and what happened. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here, I just ... I miss Erin. I need her to tell me everything's going to be all right. I need her to be all right."

Embarrassed, she looked away from him. "Just promise you'll let me know the moment you hear anything."

"Of course," he said, nodding solemnly. She left the room. He returned to the mirror to straighten his tie, staring into his own dark reflection. He was suffocating again, but loosening his collar wasn't going to help that.

 

The Highwind Resort

Kerrigan was tired. She knew she shouldn't have come in today. She knew she wouldn't be able to focus on work. There was only one thing on her mind, the same thing that'd been there since that night. And now Miles was here. Miles was here pretending everything was just fine, like they could just go back to the way it was and forget any of it had ever happened...

"I can't do this."

He looked confused, but tried to understand what his sister was saying. "Kerri, it's okay," he said, his tone soft and soothing. "I know you're still shaken up from what happened. You can take a day off, you know? You don't have to be here. You can take as much time as you need to recuperate. I can handle things here."

"No, that's exactly what I'm trying to say. I can't do this with you. I don't want you 'handling things.' You're just glossing over this all like it never happened, but I want answers! I want to know why this happened to me, but you haven't told me anything."

"I made a mistake, Kerri. I got involved with the wrong people, but that's over now," he said, the same vague explanation he'd given to her the night of her kidnapping.

"That's not enough for me," she said, her features flushed with anger. "These people hurt me because of you. I could have died without ever knowing the reason! Why didn't you tell me about them sooner? Why didn't you try to warn me something like this could happen!"

"Because! I never thought it would! I never could have known they'd go after you to get to me!"

He looked to the floor, avoiding her accusing stare. Was it guilt, or was he lying? Kerri didn't care. Maybe he thought this was a problem he could deal with on his own, but it wasn't. He'd put her at risk. Even worse, he'd put Beau, the Highwind, and an entire group of their guests in danger. "Look at the damage you've caused with your secrecy and idiotic judgment! And now all you can say is, 'I got involved with the wrong people?' What kind of excuse is that?"

Miles didn't look up. "There is no excuse. I know I messed up bad. All I can say is I'm sorry, Kerri."

Kerrigan boiled inside. She knew he wasn't being honest with her. She knew there was so much more for him to tell. What made her so angry was that he didn't feel she was owed the truth.

"Then all I can say in return is that you're fired. I can't work with you anymore. I can't work with someone so reckless, someone I can't trust. As horrible as I know it is to say this, I don't trust you, Miles. Not anymore."

He looked at her like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but if he was going to hold back on her, she would tell the truth for the both of them.

"I don't know what I can say or do to make this right, but I love you and I was only trying to do what was best for you."

He walked away like a dog with his tail between his legs, and as much as Kerri wished she could, she couldn't will herself to forgive him.

 

St. Magdalene's

"I've committed a terrible crime," Giselle began, her voice hushed, but clear. "There was a murder. I'm sure you've heard of it. It's been inescapable."

She paused, waiting for some sort of response from the priest. Surely, this was no ordinary, everyday session for him? But he simply urged her to continue her story.

"I was involved in a murder. A girl named Monique Champlain was beaten and stabbed in her apartment. I own a business, and she worked for me. I never really liked her, but I suppose you could say I tolerated her. Until she started dating my son."

"And what was the matter with that?"

"She was a filthy drug addict! He was too different from her, too good for her. I couldn't stand back and watch her drag him down with her..."

"You killed her?" he asked, his question gentle.

"No!" Her voice tore through the vacuum of the confessional. "No," she repeated, quieter, "but I was there when it happened. She got my son hooked on her and her nasty habit -- he started taking drugs and he became some hostile creature I barely recognized at times. So, I went to her apartment to talk to her--"

"Just to talk?" Father Bartlett interrupted.

"You're starting to sound like a police officer, Father. Aren't you supposed to just sit there and listen?" Giselle snapped. She cleared her throat and continued, "I went to her apartment to warn her to stay away from my son, is that better? But when I got there, the door was open and I saw Rem -- my son, I mean -- inside the place, standing over her dead body."

"Wait one minute," Father Bartlett said with curiosity. Giselle's eyes widened as he turned to face her through the screened partition separating the two of them. She turned her face sharply away from him.

"Can I please continue?" Giselle asked, shielding her face from his view.

"You're Giselle Ormand," he said, leering into her side of the confessional. Her heart stopped. "Oh, this is good! You're not an easy woman to track down. This is quite the turn of events, isn't it?"

 

The Highwind

As Miles slinked away from the conference room, he found Beau Ormand in the hall. Beau grabbed his arm and yanked him into an empty room. "What? Are you going to tear into me, too?" he asked, petulant.

"I think I already did when you first told me about the D'Amatos," Beau said, closing the door. "Besides, I think Kerri did a good enough job of that for the both of us."

"I'm glad you're finding this so amusing," Miles said, pacing the room. "Oh, it's just my entire life coming apart at the seams, nothing to worry about."

"She's not going to just forgive you overnight. It's going to take some time to rebuild your trust with her."

"But you think it can happen?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

Beau shrugged his shoulders.

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better about myself?"

"Do you deserve to be feeling good about yourself right now?" Beau narrowed his eyes. "I know you like to think you're the victim in all this. In your mind, it's the big bad D'Amatos picking on poor, penniless Miles, right?"

Miles rolled his eyes. "You don't know what I'm thinking." But inside, he squirmed at Beau's spot-on assessment.

"You brought this on yourself," Beau said icily. "But you made a mistake. There's nothing you can do to change that now, so forget about it. The past is the past. Be grateful that they're paid off and out of your life, and pull yourself together."

"Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil," Miles grumbled. "It's going to be kind of hard to get back to normal without my sister. It's not like I have any other family or friends. Or a job anymore, for that matter..."

"What?"

"Kerri fired me from the X-Limit. Not that it wasn't deserved, I guess, seeing as I almost stole all the money we raised to save my own ass."

"Not exactly the best business move," Beau agreed. "But how are you going to pay back all the money I spotted you from the Highwind without a job?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right? Beau, come on. You know how grateful I am for your help. I'll pay you back when I can, but--"

Beau stopped him. "You're going to start paying me back immediately. I'll find you a job. There's got to be something around here you can do to make some money. Meanwhile, I'd suggest you work on developing a twelve-step program for getting your life back on the rails."

"Step one: No more financial transactions of questionable integrity."

"How about no more financial transactions, period. Unless, of course, they're approved by me."

"I forgot. You own me now."

"I like to consider myself ... your current benefactor. Does that sound better?"

"Or what about: Beau Ormand, Life Coach?"

Beau cracked a smile. "I'm already regretting this."

 

St. Magdalene's

Giselle had to get out of this place. Father Bartlett knew who she was, which meant he must know what she'd done. The confessional was suddenly a prison cell.

"Giselle Ormand..." the priest repeated to himself, his voice low. "My Lord, thank you," he said in praise.

"Thanks for what? Don't you dare think about turning me in for reward money or anything of that nature! Not that your rinky-dink, pathetic little parish couldn't use it..."

"Nonsense. The Seal of the Confessional demands utter confidentiality, no matter the circumstances. I was simply thankful for the chance to cross paths with such an inspiring woman. I've read of your achievements. You've lived a remarkable life."

Giselle felt her cheeks grow hot. Her heart was racing now for another reason entirely.

"I'm sorry. It's unprofessional and embarrassing for me to admit to my admiration for you, but I never thought ... please, if you would continue your story," Father Bartlett said, flustered.

"Oh, nothing to be sorry for." Giselle tried to sneak a peek at the man through the divider, but strained to properly evaluate him. "As I was saying, I discovered my son at Monique Champlain's apartment, and, knowing what he must have done to her, I concealed the truth. I erased every trace of our presence to the best of my abilities, then took him home with me. He was either too distraught or too ... medicated to remember any of this."

"And yet you ended up accused of the crime."

"They found some piece of evidence I must have overlooked, and I was arrested -- set to stand trial. I was perfectly content with the outcome -- there are ways around jail time -- but I wouldn't let my son risk his future over an unfortunate mistake, so I took the fall. Everything was fine, until my husband had me transferred to Castleton."

"A way around jail time..."

"Not my preferred method," Giselle said bitterly.

"He must have been concerned for your sanity then?" Father Bartlett led.

"He claimed it would be easier, more comfortable there, but it was pure hell. Every day was one nightmare after another, until I couldn't take it anymore. My safety, my very life was threatened from the moment I entered that unspeakable hospital. So I got away. I made my escape."

"And you ended up here. Simply amazing..."

Giselle knew her tale was interesting, to say the least ... but amazing? She wasn't exactly proud of the things she'd done that led her to this point, but the priest seemed in awe of her every word. She was beginning to wonder if Father Bartlett might be a worthy candidate for Castleton, himself.

"Giselle, as far as I'm concerned, you have nothing to repent for."

"Excuse me?" she asked. Had he even listened to her confession? "I'm not sure that's how this works, buddy..."

"Okay, fine. Maybe you should say a few Hail Marys for the murder coverup, but that should do it. You're not to blame for what happened."

He opened the door to the confessional, and stepped outside. Thoroughly confused and agitated that he didn't seem to be taking her crimes seriously, Giselle charged out after him. He was standing there, smiling.

"What the hell kind of priest are you!" she demanded, grateful to find that the two of them were alone in the church.

"Giselle, I have some very happy news for you," he said, his piercing eyes twinkling in a way Giselle could now fully notice and appreciate. "Your son was not responsible for the murder of that tragic young woman."

Giselle's mouth dropped open. She'd always been so certain. It simply hadn't seemed possible, hadn't even occurred to her that someone else could have committed the crime. Everything she did to protect Remy ... everything she'd gone through at Castleton ... with Pete Sorenson...

"Then who...?"

"From what I've read of your family, I'm afraid you're quite familiar with her. The police believe it was Erin Emery."

 

Mountainview Church - Courtyard

In the somber gardens of St. Laurent's Mountainview Church, a small congregation was gathered for Misty Bradley's funeral service. Charlie Guthrie stood in the shadowed doorway.

He felt like an unwelcome observer, frozen in place, unable to descend the stone steps, unsure what to believe anymore.

Were these people really gathered here today because of his wife? Were they here because Erin had actually killed someone? It seemed so wrong, not even a possibility. That Erin could have done what they all thought, what they all were saying about her... it was incomprehensible. But nobody else could see that. They all chose to believe the worst about her, and it enraged him. Why were they all so quick to turn? Why so quick to believe these stupid lies?

If Erin was innocent, why did she run? Why did she take Summer with her? The traitorous thought tore through Charlie like a knife, but he couldn't stop himself. Why wasn't Erin there to defend herself?

Great. Now his his own psyche was taunting him, poisoning him against his own wife. He swallowed his doubts about her, refused to acknowledge them. He took a vow to be loyal to her, to have faith in her. What would Erin think of him if she knew he'd even considered the thought that they could be right about her?

"Charlie." Tisha Bradley noticed him standing by himself and approached him. She looked terrible, like she hadn't slept in days. Most likely, she hadn't. She wore a black dress, a black hat, and had dark circles under her eyes. "Charlie, thank you." Tisha gave him a feeble hug. He wasn't sure she had the strength for much more.

Over her shoulder, Charlie saw Benton talking to BJ. "I'm so sorry, Tisha. I can't even begin to imagine what this must be doing to you."

Benton Bradley searched the crowd for his wife, saw her with Charlie.

"I don't know if I can do this," she said, her voice a whisper. She pursed her lips and looked down the steps at the rows of chairs, the guests, the flowers. "How do I do this?"

Benton walked up the stairs. "Charlie..."

"Benton," he said, unsure how to approach his friend. He extended a hand.

But Benton took Tisha's hand instead. He pulled his wife aside, lowered his voice. "Tisha, I asked you not to..."

"Please Benton, don't do this." Tisha looked away from her husband. "Charlie, I'm so sorry."

"Do you really think you should be here?" BJ Bradley sniped as he joined them, his expression pure venom. "Did you think we'd want you here?"

"BJ!" Tisha exclaimed, aghast at her son's behavior. "I asked him to be here, as my friend. As a friend of our family."

"Some friend," BJ spat. "To just stand back and let his psycho of a wife--"

"Enough!" Tisha cried shrilly. She glanced around quickly. Everyone had turned to stare. Clearly mortified by her outburst, she turned to her son, "I--I'm sorry, but I won't have you cause a scene. Not today..."

"Too late. You just did," BJ said, stalking away from the group.

"I shouldn't have come," Charlie said, apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"No, you didn't do anything," Tisha started.

"Maybe it's better that you go," Benton said, soft but stern. "This day is hard enough for BJ, for all of us without..."

Without me here to remind them, Charlie finished his thought for him. "I understand."

He walked away from the steps, back toward the church. "Charlie, wait!" Tisha ran over to him, her voice hushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know things would be like that."

"You have more important things to worry about than my feelings, Tisha. I can handle it." Charlie mustered a look of sympathy, but decided it was best that he leave. He gave her a hug. "Stay strong. Talk to me soon, okay?"

She nodded, tears forming in the corners of her eyes once more, then headed back to the funeral congregation.