Previously…
– Tori gave an emotional testimony at Zane’s sentencing hearing. 
– Loved ones waited anxiously as Samantha lingered in a coma.
– Molly and Brent submitted DNA samples to be tested against Gabrielle, in hopes of learning whether they are her parents.
– Travis was alarmed when he returned home and found both Rosie and Gabrielle gone. He called Brent, whose initial read of the scene was that Rosie had taken off with the child.

With every second that ticks by on the old clock hung upon the wall, Molly Taylor grows more and more impatient. She tries sitting in one of the chairs in the hospital’s waiting area, but her anxious energy propels her back onto her feet. She is pacing over the scuffed linoleum flooring when her ex-husband finally steps off the elevator. 

“There you are,” she says as she hurries toward him. 

“Mol,” Brent responds, his tone serious. 

“They have the DNA results ready. And if Travis and Rosie don’t get here soon–“

“I don’t think they’re coming.”

Her face twists up with bewilderment. “What?”

“The work thing I got held up with,” he explains. “It was a call from Travis.”

“Did something happen? Is Gabrielle okay?”

Instead of nodding or shaking his head, Brent pulls his lips into a thin, flat line. She recognizes the movement all too well: he is winding up to deliver bad news.

“Brent,” she presses. “What’s going on?”

“Travis called me because he had to go down to the restaurant,” he says, “and when he got back… Rosie and the baby were gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Not in the apartment. Nowhere to be found. He thinks something happened to them–“

“Happened? Like, they were kidnapped?” Molly asks with horror.

“Maybe. We’re not ruling that out just yet. But there were some things…”

She waits. Over the speakers, a garbled, tinny voice pages a doctor. 

“Brent,” she finally prompts him. “What things? What is going on?”

“Rosie’s purse, keys, and phone are all missing,” he says, “and the front door had been locked.”

“And you think–” She gasps and brings a hand to her mouth. “You think Rosie took Gabrielle and ran?”

This time, he does nod, as every neuron in Molly’s brain fires frantically.

—–

“We would have come to you,” Tim Fisher says as he holds open the front door to let his son into his house.

“We can’t be at the apartment,” Travis says. “Uncle Brent has a bunch of officers there now. He says it’s a crime scene.”

“My god.” Claire Fisher, who still has her purse hung over her shoulder, moves from behind Tim to wrap Travis in an embrace. “I’m so sorry. This is crazy.”

“You’re telling me.” Travis shakes his head ruefully. “I’m glad they’re treating it like a crime scene, because something is not adding up.”

Tim closes the door and flips the lock. “You said there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle or anything?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t make sense.”

He watches as Claire and Tim exchange a tentative look.

“And no, I don’t believe Rosie went on the run,” Travis interjects. “She’s a cop. She knows the consequences of that. And she wouldn’t do that to Gabrielle.”

“Travis,” Claire says softly, “I know it doesn’t sound like a logical choice Rosie would make, but situations like this — they can make people act wildly out-of-character.”

Without even leaving space for a breath, Travis replies, “She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t leave like that.”

“We’ll get this figured out,” Tim says as he claps a supportive hand on his son’s shoulder. 

“There’s something else,” Travis says. “Something weird.”

Tim and Claire wait uneasily for him to continue.

“The only reason I wasn’t home was because I got this weird phone call,” Travis tells them. “Something about a burst pipe down at the restaurant. But when I got down there, there was nothing going on. Everything was fine, and the woman who called me wasn’t there, and when I tried to call her back, the number was disconnected.”

Claire finishes the thought for him: “Someone made that call to get you away from home.”

“That’s the only explanation,” Travis says. “That must’ve been when they took Rosie and Gabrielle. I just…”  Overcome with worry, he drops his head into his hands. His parents huddle around him.

“We’re going to find them,” Tim says, but their silent, unspoken fears all seem to drown out his reassurances.

—–

Back at the hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit, Isaac Banks walks down a corridor until he reaches Samantha Fisher‘s room. He turns into the open doorway and sees Diane Bishop slumped in a chair by her daughter’s bedside. A home renovation show plays on the TV mounted in the corner.

He steps into the room and sees that Diane appears to be sleeping. Not wanting to disturb her, he turns to exit — and smacks his foot against a rolling cart that has been left by the wall. At the sound, Diane stirs.

Isaac holds up both his palms. “Sorry. Just came in to check on both of you.”

“I must’ve fallen asleep,” Diane says as she gazes groggily around the room. 

“You need it. You’re up before the crack of dawn doing your show, then you’re here all day,” Isaac responds. “Hey, why don’t head home and get some real sleep?”

Diane stiffens and then pulls herself up straighter in the chair.

“I’ll let you know if anything happens,” he adds.

“I’m not leaving,” she says, rubbing her eyes. 

Isaac places his hands in the pockets of his white doctor’s coat. “I know you wanna sit with Sam… but you need your rest, too.”

“I’m fine. And you said yourself there have been all these signs she might wake up.”

“I did! And she might. I hope she does, soon. But you’re gonna be no use to her if you’re exhausted, Diane.”

Diane pushes back the chair and stands. Then she grabs her purse from the floor.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To get a coffee,” she snipes, “so I can stay awake and spend time with my daughter. Tim is busy with Travis today — so it’s all on me. And I’m not leaving her alone for long, do you hear me?”

Without awaiting his response, she storms out of the room. As she does, she nearly bumps into Tempest Banks. 

“Hey,” Tempest says, immediately noticing Diane’s crazed energy.

“Hi, Tempest,” Diane huffs before marching down the corridor toward the elevators.

Tempest steps into the room and looks at Isaac with confusion.

“Gonna tell me what that was about, bro?” she asks, as Isaac’s head lolls forward in defeat.

—–

Paula Fisher stands at the front door of her home, shielded from the unseasonably hot sun, as she watches her daughter’s family step out of their Jeep SUV.

“Be careful. That porch rail is loose,” she tells Sarah, Matt, and Tori as they climb the front steps. “I’ll have to call Ray to fix it.”

As soon as Tori reaches the top of the stairs, Paula pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so relieved that things went well today,” she tells her granddaughter. “How do you feel?”

Tori takes a deep breath. “Tired. But good. I got up on the stand and just… let it all out, I guess.”

“She did great,” Matt says from behind his daughter. 

“And Zane is going away for a long time,” Sarah adds. 

“Twenty years, you said?” Paula asks as she ushers them inside the house.

“Yeah, but they said he could get parole,” Tori says, a little glumly.

“Not for ten years,” Sarah clarifies.

Matt closes the door behind all of them as the air conditioning envelops them. 

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that this nightmare is over,” Paula says. “And I wish it were the right time to celebrate.”

Sarah notices the troubled expression on her mother’s face. “Why isn’t it? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, dear. It’s…” Paula shakes her head sadly. “You know how the results of the DNA test on Gabrielle were supposed to be revealed today?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, folding his arms. “They’re not done?”

“Rosie is missing,” Paula tells them. “And so is Gabrielle.”

Sarah takes an authoritative step forward. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I don’t know, really. Travis came home and they were gone, and so were Rosie’s things. Brent thinks she went on the run with Gabrielle.”

“What?!” Tori asks, shocked.

“I’m calling Travis,” Sarah says as she scrambles to pull out her phone. “There are too many weird pieces to this already, with that doctor dying and sending that letter… If someone was behind all that, then someone is probably behind whatever’s going on now, too.”

—–

“All I was trying to do was get her to rest a little,” Isaac says. He has just finished explaining his unexpected blow-up with Diane to his sister, who nods along as she listens. 

“She’s stressed out,” Tempest tells him. “She’s been sitting here for months, hoping and praying Sam’s gonna wake up.” She casts a mournful glance toward the bed, where her ex-girlfriend lies so still, the same way she has for so long. 

“That’s why I want her to get some rest! She’s wearing herself down. She can’t do this forever.”

“If there’s one thing I know about that lady, it’s that you can’t tell her what to do.”

“Guess not. I was just trying to help…”

“I get it,” Tempest says. “But I dunno if telling a lady whose daughter is in a coma that she needs to go touch grass is the move.”

In spite of the heavy situation, Isaac snickers. “I didn’t tell her to go touch grass.”

“That’s probably how it sounded to her.”

“I can only imagine how hard this is for her,” he says. “And you. How are you holding up?”

Tempest shrugs. “I keep coming to see her and hoping things’ll be different, but they never are. She just… lies there.”

“There’s still hope.”

“That’s what everyone says. But we wasted all this time — we barely talked for, like, over a year.” She drops her head, staring down at the linoleum floor. “I miss her so much.”

“I know, sis. You, uh, you still love her, huh?”

Now Tempest forces a brave smile. “Never stopped. I just wish I could tell Sam.”

“Tell me… what…?” a voice croaks.

Both Tempest and Isaac turn in shock. Samantha lies in the bed, as she has for weeks and weeks and weeks, but her eyes are open a fraction of the way, a portion of each pupil showing.

“Sam,” Tempest says as she rushes to her bedside.

“I’m gonna get her doctor,” Isaac says, already bolting from the room. 

“What… where am I?” Samantha asks, sounding so weak, so unlike herself. 

But Tempest focuses on the fact that her eyes are open, she is speaking words, and she seems to know who she is.

“You’re okay,” Tempest says, taking Samantha’s hand. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital. Your mom is getting a coffee. And — and I’m here.”

“Good,” Samantha says, and her fingers graze Tempest’s palm.

—–

“Dammit,” Brent says into his phone. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be in touch.”

He hangs up and rejoins Molly in the waiting area.

“Any updates?” she asks anxiously.

“No. Turns out there aren’t any security cameras around Travis and Rosie’s complex, just at the main entrance.”

“There might be something there,” Molly says.

“I’m having my officers pull the footage,” Brent replies. “But it’s not exactly a guarantee we’ll see anything. But if Rosie’s car did leave through that entrance…”

“Her car isn’t there? Brent, she definitely ran.”

“That’s how it looks. We have an alert out for her car, so with any luck…”

Molly’s head bobs hopefully at this. Before she can say anything further, though, a doctor with short, sensible red hair and blue-framed glasses emerges through a set of swinging doors. Recognizing her, Molly moves toward her with haste.

“Dr. Blumenthal,” she says breathlessly. “You have the results, yes?”

The doctor holds up a folded sheet of paper. “I do. But I thought we were waiting for the rest of your party. Is the child here?”

“She isn’t,” Brent says, unable to keep his worry out of his voice.

“But we want to hear the results,” Molly adds. “We need to know the truth.”

“Of course.” The doctor unfolds the paper, a process that feels to Molly as if it takes fifteen minutes even though it is only a few seconds. “The lab ran both your DNA samples against the child, Gabrielle Fisher…”

Brent audibly sucks in a breath.

“And there’s no question,” Dr. Blumenthal says. “She is biologically your daughter.”

“Oh my god.” Molly gasps. “She’s really ours?”

“Yes,” the doctor confirms.

Unsure what to do, Molly grasps Brent’s arm and sinks into him. 

“Our daughter is alive,” Brent says in disbelief. “We have to find her.”

—–

The cries jolt her from her slumber.

I must’ve dozed off, she thinks immediately, as consciousness rushes at her. And the cries are so familiar, so ingrained in her psyche, that she is pulling herself up before she even knows what is going on.

It is only once Rosie Jimenez is getting up that she takes note of her surroundings. First she realizes that the surface beneath her is hard and cold, despite the air around her being stuffy and warm. Then she sees the walls. The gray cinder blocks make it clear that she is not at home —

“Gabrielle,” she says frantically, and the cries intensify. Rosie whips around and sees her daughter sitting up in the corner of the small, barren room. She races to scoop her up.

“Where are we?” Rosie asks, hoisting Gabrielle into her arms. As she stands again, she becomes aware of a pulsating pain inside her skull, accompanied by a sudden rush of wooziness. 

Then she remembers: the two men at the apartment door. Some kind of scuffle. She remembers trying to scream for help, only to have her shouts muffled by a rag.

“Holy crap,” she says as she pats Gabrielle’s back. The child’s crying dissipates into heavy breaths as Rosie holds her.

“It’s okay, baby,” Rosie tells the child. “We’re gonna be okay. I’ll figure where we are, and who did this, and we’ll be okay.”

The last remnants of Gabrielle’s soft, wet sobs echo off the stark walls as Rosie tries to ignore the pounding in her head so that she can assess their situation.

END OF EPISODE 1145

Will Rosie be able to escape captivity?
What lies ahead now that the DNA results are out?
Is Samantha out of the woods now?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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