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to see what's been happening so far this season.

Previously:

Charlie and Sonya repaired their friendship. Sonya was determined to help Charlie locate Erin. Charlie became suspicious that Erin's mother, Lucy Emery, might know something about her daughter's whereabouts. He resolved to speak to her before she left town and slipped away for good.

Giselle grew closer to Father Bartlett, a Catholic priest, much to Vincent's chagrin. When Giselle received a vague threat from an unknown sender, she attributed it to a jealous Vincent as part of some pathetic scheme to win her back.

 

Sleepy Hollow Inn - Vincent's Room

After a series of harsh knocks, Vincent opened his door to an unmistakably fuming Giselle Ormand. His lips curled into a tight smile at the sight of her. She'd kicked him out of their home, started the divorce process, and, most recently, served him with a restraining order -- but that didn't stop her from barging into his room as if she owned the place. Typical.

"What brings you by, my dear?" Vincent asked, well-aware this was more than a passing visitation. Giselle hadn't spoken to him in months.

"You should know!" she snapped, pacing the room.

But Vincent had no idea what she was talking about. He returned to his coffee and newspaper, refusing to give Giselle his full attention until she cut the dramatics and got to the damned point.

"You're breaking your own restraining order, you know? Being here like this," he said idly, looking over the morning's headlines. "How am I supposed to avoid you when you come crawling back to my door?"

"Oh, please!" she blustered. But she took a seat at the table across from him anyway. "You're the one with the sick infatuation."

He ignored her insults, knowing it would drive her mad, and returned his gaze to the newspaper. "Oh, look! It's your friend, Claudia," he said, showing Giselle the cover story of the day's society section.

"That she-beast is no friend of mine," Giselle snapped. "I don't know what she's trying to pull. The new owner of Wonder magazine? What does she think she has to gain, taking the reins of that pathetic, wannabe gossip rag? At least when she invested her divorce settlement in the Highwind, her money was being put to good use!"

"And your opinion on the matter is completely unbiased, I'm sure..."

"Of course," she smiled sweetly. Vincent returned her grin. The easy way in which they'd fallen back into their familiar dynamic was not lost on him. Giselle could try and deny it all she wanted. When she recognized it for herself, only seconds later, she clamped up and narrowed her eyes at him as if he were playing some trick on her, trying to bewitch her.

"Giselle, we can work through this. You know I don't want to lose you. I've never wanted that."

She didn't hesitate. "Trust me, I know exactly what you want," she firmly stated. She removed a letter from her purse, handing it across the table to him. "If you really wanted me, you wouldn't find it necessary to play these little games, trying to scare me back into your arms."

"I don't know what you're saying." He was confused, but he looked over the letter she'd given him. You'll pay for what you've done to me. That was all that was scrawled across the page. "Another threat? You can't honestly believe I had something to do with this?"

He knew how he'd hurt her, trying to help her avoid jail by drugging her and having her placed in the Castleton mental facility. At the time, he'd thought it would be preferable to prison, but he'd only succeeding in losing her faith entirely, driving an irreparable wedge in their marriage when Giselle found out what he'd done to her. He'd do anything to take that back now, anything to make it up to her.

"I didn't send this," he said.

"I don't believe you. You're a liar. We both are. But the difference is that I don't lie to you. I'm sure this is all some plan of yours to try to scare me away from Liam and straight back into your arms, but it's not going to work like that."

Vincent shook his head sadly. "Is this why you got a restraining order against me? You think I'd do something like this? This isn't a game. You shouldn't take these threats lightly. What will you do if this person is serious? If I'm not there to protect you..."

"I've never needed your protection," she said, standing. "Your protection is what got us into this mess in the first place." She started for the door.

"Giselle, wait!"

"Just stay away from me. Two hundred feet away from me, to be exact. Stop harassing me, or I'll be forced to act."

"Giselle!" he called after her. But she was already out the door.

 

The Bistro

At the Bistro by Lake Logan, Sonya Cortes ate outdoors, enjoying the brisk fall air. She'd never appreciated being outside more than she had in the past few months. Her life felt so confined these days, trapped in the walls of her home or strapped into her wheelchair. She'd resolved to change her outlook, to get out more in spite of her handicap. It had made a big difference, so far.

She still continued on with her physical therapy. She still believed she'd walk again someday, but she was growing more capable in taking care of herself in her current state. There wasn't much she couldn't do for herself that she hadn't been able to handle before her shooting. The wheelchair seemed almost like an extension of herself now, less of an obstacle.

Across the table from her sat Jasper Kent and her sister, Marisol, who was visiting from out of town.

Sonya and Marisol were the closest of their siblings growing up, but when Sonya moved so far away, they'd lost a bit of that connection. Still, when they were together, it was as if nothing had changed between them.

"This place is nice," Marisol said. She took in the view, the breeze catching her wavy, dark hair. She was a younger, more bubbly version of her sister and always so easy to please.

"It's okay, but I still prefer a good old Texas barbecue to anything else," Sonya smiled.

"I always forget how beautiful it is here," Marisol commented.

Sonya looked to Jasper, as if sharing a private joke. The two of them often discussed how, while they'd come to love St. Laurent in time, adjusting to such a mild climate had taken some work. It was easy to appreciate the town's beauty -- until you had to survive a winter there. She knew he was thinking the same thing.

"I'm glad you came to visit," Sonya said, surprised by how much she meant the words. She often preferred being alone and doing her own thing, but she didn't see her family enough, and they never understood why she chose to move so far away from home. Their visitations were few and far between.

The last time she'd seen her mother, her father, Marisol, and the others had been after her accident. At the hospital, they'd tried forcing her into moving back home with them so they could take care of her, but that was definitely not what Sonya wanted. Though she knew they were happy for her recovery, she felt that she'd offended them a bit by not accepting their help.

Their lunch was interrupted a moment later by Jasper's ringing phone. "It's work. Excuse me," he said, leaving the table to take his call.

"Does he always run off like that?" Marisol asked, crinkling her nose after him.

"He's got an important job," Sonya said. "He takes his work very seriously. He's a great guy."

"He's always seemed like it," she agreed. In a not-at-all subtle segue, she asked, "Do you think there's ever a chance you'd get back with him? I mean, the two of you still hang out, and it's obvious you think he's wonderful."

"It is?" Sonya felt herself blush a bit, thankful Marisol hadn't decided to play matchmaker with Jasper still at the table. "We've both been through a lot. I'm not in any place to date anyone right now, and Jasper ... he's not over Misty."

"Oh yeah," Marisol said, sadly recalling the story. "Well, you never know how things will turn out. Maybe there's another man for you. You'll find someone who will make you forget this 'not ready to date' crap."

"And he'll sweep me right off my wheels," she said dryly. Marisol nearly dropped her fork. "Falling in love's not exactly at the top of my list of priorities at the moment."

Her sister smiled tentatively and poked at her food. "I just don't want you to be alone."

"I'm not alone," she said defensively. "Oh, great. My turn." Sonya was secretly relieved when her own cell phone interrupted the two of them. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Marisol. "Hello? Oh, Charlie, hi," she said, her expression brightening. "I'm at lunch with my sister. No, don't worry about it, it's fine."

Marisol made no effort to disguise the fact that she was hanging on every word of Sonya's conversation.

 

Streets of St. Laurent

"I'm at Lucy's townhouse," Charlie said, parking at the edge of the street. "Her car's here, so I'm hoping she's home." Charlie was praying that Erin's mother had heard something from her daughters. Erin had been gone for months now, taking their daughter with her, and Elisabeth had followed soon after. Wherever Charlie's wife and her sister had disappeared to, Lucy Emery was Charlie's best hope of finding the answer.

"Don't press her too hard, Charlie," Sonya advised over the phone. "If she does know something, I'm sure she won't want to betray Erin's trust."

"Then how am I supposed to convince her?"

"I don't know," Sonya said. "But be gentle. Convince her she's doing the right thing by helping you find Erin and Summer."

"It is the right thing -- for all of us."

"Let me know how it goes. Call me if you find anything out," she said before hanging up.

Charlie sighed and looked out the window wondering what to expect. This was going to be uncomfortable no matter how it panned out, but if it meant seeing Summer, seeing Erin again, he'd gladly suffer through it. He walked up the steps and rang for Lucy.

When she finally answered, she yanked the door wide, opening it too quickly. Lucy lost her balance and stumbled back, crashing against the wall, then to the floor. "Charlie!" she said in a daze. She tried to pull herself to her feet but didn't succeed until Charlie assisted her. "Why are you here?" she asked strangely.

Why do you think? he thought, but kept the bitterness to himself.

He smelled the alcohol straight away. She'd been drinking. No, that was an understatement, he decided as he continued to observe her. The woman was a mess...

She smothered him in a hug. "Come in, come in!"

He followed her lurching steps into the high-ceilinged foyer, trying to decide if fishing for answers from Lucy Emery in her current condition would be a blessing or a curse.

 

The Bistro

"So, tell me more about Charlie," Marisol teased the second Sonya's call ended.

Sonya rolled her eyes. "You know, you've gotten really nosy."

"...Says the woman who just got her P.I. License," Marisol cracked. "I can't help it if I'm interested in my sister's life. If you'd just tell me these things yourself, I wouldn't have to pry."

"You know who Charlie is. You've met him."

"Oh ... that Charlie..." she said, faltering.

"Why are you making that face?" Sonya asked.

"Hmm, maybe because his crazy wife is the reason you got hurt?"

"It's not Charlie's fault," Sonya said. "He's a good friend. I've been trying to help him find his family so we can all move on from this."

"Well, that's nice for them, but that doesn't make up for what happened to you."

Sonya frowned. "You don't know the whole situation."

"I know enough to know that you should leave these people alone. You've done enough for them -- and you've suffered enough for your efforts."

Sonya was taken aback. Her sister never had a bad word to say about anybody. "Charlie needs my help. I can't just sit back and do nothing."

"Why not?" Marisol pressed. "What has he done for you?"

Sonya just shook her head. Marisol wouldn't understand.

"I knew it. I knew the second I heard you answer that call from him. The way you lit up when you talked to him..."

Sonya realized what she was getting at and was struck by the implication. "No! No, it's not like that at all--"

"Sonya! I thought that was you," Vincent Guthrie said, carrying a bag of takeout. He approached their table before Sonya could set her sister straight. "It's good to see you."

Sonya was still flustered from her heated conversation, but she settled back and faked a smile. "Hi. Vincent, this is my sister, Marisol. She's in town for a few days."

"A pleasure to meet you. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Sonya answered fast.

"Good. I'm glad I ran into you. Something's come up, and I think you might be able to help me."

Sonya didn't like the sound of that. Vincent was her boss -- at least, he had been until her accident -- and Vincent Guthrie's employees never turned down his requests if they knew what was good for them. Even though she'd taken a leave of absence from work, she would feel guilty if she didn't hear him out.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I know you're not ready to return to work full-time and that's fine, but this is a personal matter," he said. His gaze shifted to Marisol, but then, deciding it wasn't worth the fuss to exclude her, returned to Sonya. "Apparently, Giselle has been receiving anonymous threats. I have my suspicions as to who may be responsible, and I was hoping you could check into the matter? Maybe do a bit of surveillance?"

"Really?" That wasn't what Sonya had been expecting. It almost sounded like it could be fun. Sure, his story seemed a little sparse, but she'd make him fill her in before she made him any promises. "I guess I could look into it."

"Great. We can discuss the details later. I'll be in touch."

Vincent slipped away and Marisol spoke up again. "Was it just me, or did that whole thing seem a little creepy? Anonymous threats? Really?"

"I'm guessing he might be exaggerating just the slightest bit. Vincent and his wife can be ... theatrical, to say the least. But I'm sure he'll make it worth my while, so I'll play along."

"Hey guys," Jasper said, finally returning to the table. "Was Vincent Guthrie just over here? What'd I miss?"

"Only everything! My sister's in high demand around these parts, isn't she?" Marisol answered. "I never realized how crazy you have it here, Sonya. I'm starting to see why you never find the time to call home."

 

Lucy Emery's Townhouse

"Would you like a drink?" Lucy asked. She was slightly more composed in the living room, once she'd taken to her high-backed chair across from him. The drink she held and continued to sip probably wouldn't help on that front.

"No thanks," Charlie said, cutting through the pleasantries. He was frustrated with the woman. From what Erin had told him, Lucy was an extreme alcoholic for most of Erin's childhood. She'd been sober for years now, but that didn't seem to be the case any longer. "I thought you gave up drinking?"

She glared at him. "After everything I've lost ... can't I have this one thing?" She took another drink out of spite.

As much as he wanted to, Charlie couldn't blame her. Guilting her now wouldn't help his cause. He needed her on his side.

"Have you heard anything?" Lucy asked him suddenly, wide-eyed. "Do you know anything about Erin?"

Charlie shook his head. He wasn't expecting her to ask him what he knew. Maybe Lucy really didn't know anything about Erin or Elisabeth's disappearances. "I was coming to ask you the same thing."

"I don't know where she is. I keep hoping..." she trailed off, swishing the last drops of her drink in its glass, "I keep hoping she'll just come back. That she'll show up here like nothing happened. Like it was all a bad dream. But there's no reasoning with her now, is there? That's not going to happen..."

"So, she hasn't tried to contact you?" Charlie asked.

"No."

"And what about Elisabeth? Have you heard from her?"

"No." She turned away from him, standing and making her way to the bottle of gin on the counter. "Elisabeth is in Italy with her brother," she said firmly, her back to him.

Yes, that's the cover story, Charlie thought, crossing the room. He took her by the arm, slowly removing the bottle from her hand and replacing it. "That's a lie. Elisabeth's not in Italy. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Of course she is. I don't know what you're talking about." She reached for the bottle once more, but Charlie held it back. Her expression hardened. So did Charlie's grip on her. "What do you want me to say, Charlie?"

"I want you to tell me the truth!" he said, grabbing both her wrists and forcing her to meet his eyes. So much for Sonya's advice of going easy on her. "I want my daughter back, and you want yours. We both want the same thing. Erin needs help. The only way she's going to get better, the only way we can guarantee she's safe, is if you tell me where she is."

"I don't know anything! The police have already asked me these questions. Don't you think I would help her if I could?"

"I would hope so."

"Let go of me. Please," Lucy winced, and Charlie realized he was still holding on to her. He dropped her hands, and she rubbed her wrists, then reached to the countertop to support herself. "I don't feel well."

"Are you going to be sick?" Charlie asked.

"No, I just need to lie down." She took his arm and allowed herself to be led into her bedroom. She crawled into bed fully clothed. "That's better," she whispered, looking up to him. "Thank you."

Charlie looked at her with pity, though he was still angry with her. He was certain she was holding back.

"Charlie." Her voice was barely audible. He leaned closer to listen to her, and she reached up to him, holding him close enough to whisper, "Please don't be angry with her. She loves you so much."

"If you say so," he barked. He'd had enough of this. It was pointless.

"Wait, don't go." Lucy held him fast before he could pull away. "You know ... when I closed my eyes and held you just now, I could see her. It's like Erin was here with me," she said, a dreamy smile spreading across her face as she nodded off into her sad, alcohol-induced slumber.

Her arms slipped from around his neck and he backed away from her, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't let her continue this way. He'd have to find her AA sponsor or a rehab clinic. Some way to stop her from destroying herself like this any longer.

He resigned himself to failure in his mission with Lucy, but on the way to the door, something caught his eye. On the kitchen table, he spotted Lucy's cell phone. No -- there were two cell phones. One of them seemed cheap and nondescript, and that was the one Charlie picked up.

There were no contacts listed, no outgoing calls saved in the phone's history. Only one phone number appeared on the list of incoming calls, and it appeared multiple times. Charlie dialed the number. There was no answer, but he wasn't fazed -- he hadn't expected there to be.

If what he was thinking was correct, this prepaid phone was only being used for one thing. He jotted down the anonymous phone number on a piece of paper and took off, praying his theory was right and that this would be the key to finding Erin at last.