Previously…
– The DNA test confirmed that Gabrielle is Molly and Brent’s child. 
– Rosie and Gabrielle disappeared. Although Travis was sure they’d been kidnapped, all signs pointed to Rosie having gone on the run with the little girl — and when Samantha awoke from her coma, she relayed some comments that Rosie had made that supported that theory.
– A masked man held Rosie and Gabrielle in a nondescript room.

Faint prints in the oatmeal-colored carpet trail Paula Fisher as she paces in her living room. The ghostly steps evaporate behind her within seconds, as if being sucked up by an invisible vacuum, but the path renews itself over and over, Paula’s sock-covered feet marking the neutral carpeting with this evidence of her restlessness.

Letting out a loud sigh, she stops near the fireplace and looks toward the entryway. From this angle, her view of the front door is partially obscured, yet she stares at it, willing something to happen: a ring of the doorbell, the sound of a key in the lock. She clutches her cell phone in her hand; in spite of her fingers squeezing and tightening around the device, it does not spring to life. It has been like this for days, the nervous waiting, the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. At first, she did what she could to distract herself: binge-watching comfortable old shows, cooking meals for whichever loved ones might walk through that door, fussing with her garden for the last few times before winter hits the Pacific Northwest. By now, though — with her grandson‘s wife and their adopted daughter, a child who is actually Paula’s own granddaughter, having been missing for several days — even busying herself seems aimless. So she waits, for news, for visitors, for anything that might bring this nightmare to a close.

Her gaze sweeps softly over the mantel, where mismatched frames are clustered together, interspersed with a few candles and a wooden box that holds particular meaning. Slowly, Paula’s hand touches the top of the box, her index finger dragging over the initials carved into it: WJF.

“Oh, Bill,” she says, speaking to her late husband as she does from time to time when the house is empty. “You have no idea how much I wish you were here right now.”

Her eyes fall on the foremost picture frame, which holds a family shot from the sunny day when Sarah and Matt remarried. Paula looks at her family, all dressed up, smiling so happily. They had no idea at the time that it would be the last occasion at which all of them would be together this way. She focuses on Ryan and Bill in particular, still unable to comprehend how both her eldest son and her husband can be gone — how they were gone so soon after that happy day.

“What an amazing time,” she says as her index and middle finger trace over the surface of the photo, as if she might be able to feel that day with her touch the way she can feel it in her soul. “What a family. How did the years go by?”

She exhales and is suddenly aware of how quiet the house is. She is thankful to have Sarah, Matt, and both of their children currently living here, but with all of them out at the moment, it seems like such a large, empty space.

Now it’s only me, she thinks, but as soon as she finishes the thought, the chime of the doorbell cuts through the air. Instinctively she hurries toward it, and within seconds she is flipping the lock and pulling it open.

Her oldest daughter stands there, in a caramel-colored cable knit sweater tugged down over her hands.

“Is there news?” Paula asks breathlessly.

Molly shakes her head. “Nothing. Still nothing. Mom, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

A sob overtakes her, and she falls into her mother’s arms, crying.

—–

“Pizza sound good tonight?” Tim Fisher asks as his son walks into the living room. A postseason Mariners game plays on the TV, which Tim has been half-watching while Samantha lies on the chaise lounge side of the sectional sofa, reading on her Kindle.

“That’s fine, yeah. Thanks,” Travis replies in more of a mutter than anything. Tim can see the weight of the world pressing down on his son, who has been staying here since Rosie and Gabrielle’s disappearance. 

Samantha sets down the tablet and lifts her head. It has not been long since she awoke from her coma, and she has to be careful about her physical exertion, but it warms Tim’s heart to see her back under his roof, interacting with her family after so many months of lying still and silent in a hospital bed. 

“I keep checking my phone every five minutes for an update,” Tim says.

Travis shakes his head, and his exhaustion is apparent. “I can’t believe this is happening. Rosie wouldn’t take off like this.”

A grave expression settles over Samantha’s face. “I didn’t mean to say that I thought — I just remembered hearing what Rosie said–“

“It’s okay,” he tells his younger sister. “It’s not your fault. I just wish people like Aunt Molly didn’t actually think Rosie would take Gabrielle and go on the run.”

“Your Aunt Molly is dealing with a lot of complicated emotions,” Tim interjects. “She had a baby stolen from her two years ago and just found out that baby is alive. I’m sure she just needs to believe whatever makes it most likely that Gabrielle will be found soon.”

Travis grits his teeth in frustration.

“You really think Loretta Ragan would have kidnapped them?” Samantha asks. 

Tim and Travis exchange a knowing look.

“If Loretta was behind that doctor telling Molly and Brent that their baby died in the first place, then I don’t see why this would be beneath her,” Tim finally says. “She’s been obsessed with getting revenge on this family for a long, long time.”

“Uncle Brent said he would have her followed,” Travis says, “but they’re still acting like Rosie is some kind of criminal.”

“They’re covering their bases. That’s all,” Tim says, but his resistance is weak, almost perfunctory. 

Samantha pulls herself into more of a sitting position. “No one has seen Rosie, either. If she had taken Gabrielle somewhere…”

“That’s what I keep thinking,” Travis responds. “I just want to find them. Even thinking that someone could’ve done something to them…”

He trails off, overcome by emotion, as the color commentary from the TV continues in the background.

—–

The grey cinder block walls in the small room where Rosie Jimenez and her daughter are being held feel more oppressive with every hour that passes. The air in the room feels stale and heavy; she can hardly even look at the steel chamber pot that she has had to use as a toilet for days now. Even though the masked man who brings them food twice a day takes it to the outer room and empties it, the stench remains, and the cheap diapers that she has been provided to use for Gabrielle only add to the awfulness. 

“Can we have story?” Gabrielle asks in her sweet, tiny voice. The little girl has had several tantrums while they’ve been in here — not that Rosie can blame her — but she does not seem to grasp the severity of their situation, other than to cry for her daddy and asks relentless questions about whether they can go outside to play and if she can have a French fry and if they can get a dog, all questions that Rosie has had to stumble through answering in an effort to minimize her daughter’s suffering. 

“Let me see what I’ve got,” Rosie says, tapping one finger against her temple. She is so thankful that Gabrielle can be entertained with long, fictional tales, but Rosie herself is running on fumes, her brain so taxed that she has been finding it difficult even to come up with details and twists. But she knows that she has to do this for her child, and thankfully, Gabrielle is a rather forgiving audience. 

The now-familiar rattle of the padlock and chains on the exterior of the door interrupts Rosie before she can devise a starting place for this latest tale. She pulls Gabrielle toward her, as she has been doing every time the mysterious man visits them. Although the man has not attempted to harm her or Gabrielle physically, Rosie has decided not to take any chances; she is not going to let anyone lay a hand on her daughter now.

The man in the black ski mask steps into the room and closes the door. As with every time he enters, Rosie’s heartbeat picks up in pace a little as she weighs her chances of knocking him out and escaping. She knows that that door is never locked while he is in here. But there must be someone else waiting at the outer door who only lets the masked man out once he has secured the padlock and chains on the door to this room.

“No food?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “It’s early.”

“Then what do you want?”

His dark eyes glower at her through the slits in the mask. 

“Your PIN,” he says at last.

“What? For my debit card?”

The man nods slowly. Rosie swears that she can see the tension in his jaw through the mask, as if he is going out of his way to be as unexpressive and still as possible. Yet she does not have even the faintest zing of recognition, and has not had one in the days and days since he has been checking on them.

“So you can rob me?” she asks. “Haven’t you done enough? It isn’t even like I have…”

But a thought hits her, and she lets her statement fade off into the foul air.

“Just give me the PIN,” he says flatly.

“What if I don’t?” She knows that her tone has a note of taunting to it, and as foolish as she would consider such a move otherwise, she knows that she has to portray the attitude fully right now. 

“Then we take the baby and put her in another room. Is that what you want?”

“No. You wouldn’t–” A shudder goes through her body. She might be putting on a bit of an act for him, but she even the thought of being separated from Gabrielle right now, of not knowing what was happening to her child, is horrific. 

“Give me the PIN,” he states.

She swallows hard and then tells him, “It’s 6248. For the blue card in my wallet. 6-2-4-8.”

“6-2-4-8,” he repeats. Then he takes out an iPhone — without a case or anything identifying about it, she notes — and enters the digits into it.

“Please, tell us why you’re doing this,” she pleads, but he quickly exits the room, and then she hears the lock and chains being set in place once more.

He didn’t even question why I specified the blue card, Rosie thinks, not quite feeling relief. But a small, throbbing particle of hope dances inside her chest at the prospect of this working.

“Story!” Gabrielle shouts, having observed the entire bizarre exchange in silence.

Rosie folds her legs in front of her and places the girl on her lap. “Let’s see…”

—–

“I don’t understand how this is happening,” Molly says as she uses a paper napkin to dab at her eyes. She and Paula now sit at the long dining room table, the place where their family has shared so many joyful, heartwarming meals. Today, however, there is nothing but sorrow and pain.

“If Rosie and Gabrielle are out there, someone is bound to see them,” Paula says in as reassuring a tone as she can muster. “Everyone within a few hundred miles saw that Amber Alert.”

“And yet we haven’t gotten a single tip.” Molly crumples up the napkin and clutches it in her palm. “I can’t believe Rosie would do something so reckless. So cruel.”

“We don’t know for certain that she left of her own accord–“

“Samantha practically heard her admit that she was going to run!” Molly says. 

Paula tilts her head compassionately. “That doesn’t mean that it’s what happened.”

“Maybe not.” Molly’s shoulders sag with worry. “But if she did — if she took my daughter and went on the lam — I’m going to make sure she pays. And she and Travis will never, ever see Gabrielle again. I’ll make sure of that.”

—–

She listens as the padlock and chains are affixed outside the second door. Moments later, a sharp knocking comes from the inside of the small holding area. She takes out the key, unlocks the outer door, and lets the masked man out.

“Did she give it to you?” Loretta Ragan asks.

The masked man’s head bobs up and down in a nod. “I’ve got her PIN, yes.”

“Good. Then do as we discussed and go use the card. Everyone will think she went into hiding, then finally had to emerge for cash and supplies.”

“Why do I have to do it?” he asks. “What if someone sees me–?”

“Because you, my friend, are the one desperate enough for money to do this. Do you want your next payment or not?”

“All right, all right,” he grumbles.

“And take off that ridiculous mask when you’re speaking to me,” Loretta commands him.

“Jesus,” he says, partially under his breath, as he reaches up and yanks the heavy black mask from his head. His skin welcomes the rush of cool air once it is freed.

“Now get to work,” Loretta says. “We don’t have time to waste, Mr. Westin.”

END OF EPISODE 1148

Did the identify of the kidnapper shock you?
What could Eric be doing with Loretta?
And what trick does Rosie have up her sleeve?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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