Previously…
– Natalie tailed Loretta and Eric to the old Moriani house and was still outside when Travis and Molly arrived.
– Travis called Tim to tell him that he was sure Rosie and Gabrielle were in the Moriani house.
– Brent found Eric Westin in the basement of the house. Westin fired his gun, and the bullet hit a gas line, causing the house to explode.
“Jimenez! Jimenez, are you in there?”
Brent Taylor screams over the increasingly loud crackling of flames all around him. The basement of the former Moriani home is filling with thick, dark smoke at an alarming rate, and Eric Westin — a man he has not seen, or even thought about, in years — is slumped on the floor of the grey-walled space. Although it is hard to tell, Brent thinks that the bullet he fired at Westin must have felled him, but he is not sure if the other man is unconscious because of the bullet or the explosion or the smoke. Brent himself feels lightheaded as his panicked fingers spin the wheel on the padlock that holds chains across a mysterious door, one that he desperately hopes is concealing Rosie Jimenez and baby Gabrielle.
The smoke stings his eyes, so as soon as he has finished inputting what he prays is the actual combination, he clenches his eyelids shut. He tugs at the lock and holds his breath. But it works. The lock pops open.
“Jimenez! It’s me! I’ve almost got you!”
Hoping with every fiber of his being that this is actually where Rosie and the little girl have been held, Brent starts tearing at the chains. Within seconds, he is pulling them down in a tangle and undoing the exterior locks on the door. He can feel something pounding on the door from inside, but he cannot quite hear it, confirming that the cell must be soundproofed.
He lets out a rumbling cough as he yanks the door open.
“Help us!” Rosie’s voice cuts through the air, even as the building sizzles around them.
“It’s me,” Brent says, trying to project his voice, but the hot, dry curls of smoke coming at him from every direction dive into his mouth and down his throat, stifling his words.
With the door fully open now, he can see them: Rosie is on her feet, with Gabrielle right beside her, burying her face against Rosie’s leg.
“Cover your faces!” Brent manages to yell.
Rosie is already picking up Gabrielle and placing the child’s face against her body.
“Close your eyes, baby,” Rosie says. “Keep them covered for me.”
Gabrielle lets out an inconsolable wail.
“Is the whole place on fire?” Rosie yells.
Brent nods as he holds an arm over his nose and mouth. He can see that the small room — four grey cinder block walls and not much else — has, until now, been protected from the blaze. His head feels heavy, thick like the smoke that he has been breathing in despite his best efforts. With his throat burning, he lets out a cough, feeling it rattle deep into his chest. But he hardly notices the discomfort, because his gaze is fixed upon Gabrielle. She is sobbing, face pressed against Rosie’s shoulder, with Rosie holding the back of her head. Her dark hair is now so identifiable as belonging to the same family as Brent, Molly, Christian, and Caleb that it seems crazy to him that it wasn’t blindingly obvious before that she is the child they thought they’d lost.
“It’s gonna be okay, Gabrielle,” he says, almost embarrassed at this limp offering, the first thing he’s said to her since finding out she is really his daughter. So he turns around and takes stock of the dancing flames blocking the path to the stairs. He thinks that he sees a way out — unless the fire suddenly spreads in an unexpected direction, which is almost inevitable.
“Follow me!” he hollers, but Rosie is already moving out of the room, surveying the space like a lion hunting prey. Suddenly she stops moving.
“Is he dead?” she asks, pointing to the floor, where Eric Westin is surrounded by dense puffs of almost-black smoke.
Brent looks over at her. “He wasn’t a minute ago. I don’t know.” The smoke again bites at his eyes, making it almost painful to keep them open.
Rosie continues stomping through the space, finding open patches of concrete floor where she can. But she turns to Brent and yells, “I hadn’t seen him without the mask. I have no idea who he is—”
“I do,” Brent says, but his head feels so cloudy, and he lifts his arm again to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. As he does, though, a sense of blackness overwhelms him.
He could swear that he is answering Rosie, but he cannot hear what he is saying, and he feels himself being pulled downward as the flames rise around him.
The scene outside the Moriani home is just as tense as the one inside. Roaring flames bite at the sky, already black at this hour thanks to it being autumn in the Pacific Northwest. Lights from emergency vehicles flash all around, as if determined to notify the rest of the world that something Not Okay is going on here. By the side of the street, Travis Fisher, Molly Taylor, and Natalie Bishop all wait as they observe the scene with shock and worry. Although they speak occasionally, all too aware of the crowd of onlookers gathering around them, the three cannot seem to find any conversational momentum, so they just emit thoughts as they come and then let them drift off into the air with the tendrils of smoke.
“It hasn’t been that long,” Travis says at one point.
“It’s been way too long,” Molly says at another.
“I hope everyone comes out safe… besides Loretta,” Natalie comments as the fire rages.
The constant spray of water seems to dull the blaze somewhat, and after several minutes that feel like several hours, they see firefighters drag two bodies out of the house. Paramedics with stretchers rush toward them.
“It’s them.” Travis says, and he bolts toward the burning house. Molly follows him, but Natalie remains by her car, knowing that it isn’t her place and not sure that she wants to be any more involved in this than she already is. But she can already tell that neither of the bodies appears to be Loretta; they both look to be men. Not knowing what else to do, she gets back into her car.
Near the lawn of the house, a firefighter holds his arms out wide to keep Molly and Travis from getting any closer and proclaims, “Stay back!”
“My daughter and husband are in there,” Molly says desperately. Some voice in her mind reminds her that Brent is her ex-husband, has been for a long time, but it doesn’t matter now. “Commander Taylor,” she adds.
That piece of information appears to make some difference to the firefighter, whose heavy helmet and suit seem to be swallowing him despite his large stature.
“Taylor hasn’t come out yet,” he tells them, a little somberly.
Molly and Travis watch as the two men, neither of whom they recognize now, are loaded into ambulances. The vehicles speed away, sirens blaring.
“There are more!” another firefighter calls out from near the house, which is still engulfed in flames.
Molly grasps Travis’s sleeve with fear. They watch the fire-riddled house for more seconds that feel endless, but then they hear it: the terrified crying of a child.
“Gabrielle!” Travis shouts, and both he and Molly look to see Rosie, with the little girl in her arms, being led outside by a firefighter doing his best to shield them from the smoke and fire. Rosie sucks in a gasp of cold air as she spots Travis.
He doesn’t wait to be held back by any firefighters. He bursts forward, and within an instant, he has his arms wrapped around his wife and daughter.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he says, suddenly unable to control his overwhelmed sobs. The reassurances are as much for him as they are for them.
“Over here! Come on,” the firefighter who has been helping Rosie and Gabrielle says, and he practically pulls them further from the house.
“I was so worried I would never see you again,” Travis says, overcome with emotion. All Rosie can do is nod, her lip trembling as she holds the back of Gabrielle’s head. Travis reaches up and pats the child’s heaving back.
“You’re okay. I’m here. We’re all okay,” he tells her.
Several feet away, Molly stands, watching the small family reunite. Travis cannot help but note the way that his aunt is eyeing Gabrielle.
A pair of medics hurry over.
“Come with us,” one of them says, placing a hand on Rosie’s back. “We need to check you both out.”
With Gabrielle still pressed against her, Rosie shuffles along. Travis lingers a moment, watching Molly.
“I’m sure he’ll be out in a second,” Travis says, but he can hear the lack of certainty in his voice — a match for the absolute fear on Molly’s face. He tilts his head to indicate the space where, several yards away, Rosie and Gabrielle are now seated on the sidewalk as an EMT looks them over. “I’m gonna…”
“Go,” Molly says, sounding nearly catatonic as she stares at the house, flashes of orange and yellow bouncing off her face.
“How did they wind up at Ryan’s old house?” Diane Bishop asks as she shakes her head in confusion.
She and Tim Fisher are perched on the large sectional sofa in his living room, their attention fixed upon the TV. A local news broadcast shows images of the fire-ravaged Moriani home, shot from a helicopter. After receiving Travis’s call about the explosion, all Tim wanted to do was jump in his car and help his son, but Diane convinced him that he should wait for actual news before race to a burning house, so they turned on the news instead in hopes of receiving updates.
“I don’t know,” Tim says. “But it has to have something to do with Loretta. She and Nick were thick as thieves. She’s the one who helped him keep me in that clinic in Vermont, and she’s the one who helped him stage that hostage situation at my dad’s old restaurant.”
“It appears that survivors are being led outside,” an offscreen reporter says, as sounds of the chopper rumble behind him. The camera zooms clumsily in on the scene.
“That’s them,” Tim exclaims. “It’s Rosie and Gabrielle.”
Diane leans forward, squinting at the image on the TV. “Then those two have to be Travis and Molly. Right?”
“I think so. Yeah.”
They watch in nervous silence for a few more moments before Tim springs to his feet.
“Go,” Diane tells him.
“What?”
“Go to the hospital. They’re loading into an ambulance. Meet them there.” She sees him begin to respond and says, “I’ll stay with Samantha. Just go.”
He gives her a grateful nod. “Thank you,” he says, already grabbing a pair of shoes.
Natalie’s pulse is still pounding as she turns the key in the front door of her home. Everything seems so normal here, a world away from the explosion she just watched happen before that house burst into flames and emergency crews converged upon it. She wishes that Molly and Travis hadn’t seen her there, but she knows that she can explain that away. When Loretta is found inside the rubble of that place — dead at last, if there is any justice in the world — Natalie could even come off like a hero of sorts.
Finding some solace in that thought, and in the simple fact that she is at home and her son is here, she steps inside. Her husband is in the foyer and sees her before she has even made it through the doorway.
“Where the hell have you been?” Spencer Ragan asks. “Peter’s been asking for you—“
“Today has been insane,” she says with widened eyes. “I can explain.”
He folds his arms and waits.
“I think I found Rosie and the baby,” Natalie blurts out.
“You what? How?”
“I didn’t actually see them. But there was this house, and it exploded, and—“ Her thoughts are moving faster than her mouth can get them out. “I have to tell you something crazy, Spencer.”
“Natalie,” a sharp voice trills from up above. Both Natalie and Spencer look up to see Loretta at the railing at the top of the staircase.
Natalie’s heart drops into her stomach. It doesn’t make sense. She saw the car that Loretta was in pull into that garage. She saw the house explode. She saw the firefighters swarming the burning house. How can the old bat possibly be standing here, looking like she just spent a day out shopping?
“Loretta?” she says in disbelief.
“Don’t act so shocked, darling,” the older woman, clad in an emerald green silk blouse that is definitely not what Natalie saw her in earlier today, says as she descends the stairs.
Natalie grabs the bottom of the bannister. “What are you doing here?”
“This is where I live. Have you forgotten that you asked me to move in?” Loretta cuts a sideways glance at Spencer. “I told you she wasn’t the brightest—“
“Enough!” Natalie declares. “This is finally over, Loretta.”
Loretta stops midway down the stairs and cocks her head. “What are you on about now? Did you have a few too many glasses of rosé wherever you’ve been for all these hours?”
Spencer’s head swivels back and forth between his wife and mother like he is an official at a tennis match.
“I know what you did,” Natalie says. “I saw you.”
Loretta lets out a caustic laugh. “Saw me? Did you sneak into my charity luncheon? If so, you’ll know that it ran long — and then I had a few errands—“
“You never went to any luncheon! Stop lying!”
With a gasp, Loretta touches a hand to her chest. “What has gotten into you?”
Spencer turns toward his wife, too. “That’s what I want to know. What are you talking about, Natalie?”
The wait feels endless to Molly. News vans join the chaos at the scene of the fire, and she sees Travis climb into an ambulance with Rosie and Gabrielle. It takes off into the night, sirens heralding its urgent journey. She wants so badly to be with Gabrielle, but she doesn’t have it in her to fight with Travis and Rosie now — and Brent still hasn’t come out of the house. At some point, she starts to wonder if Brent never went inside at all. She can’t remember where she heard what, and what is fact and what is her imagination. She can taste the smoke, thick and dirty in her mouth and throat, and every second that passes causes her to wonder what is real and what is some bizarre nightmare.
Then, at long last, he comes out. Just like the two other officers, he is being dragged, and there is another figure with him, although Molly doesn’t immediately recognize the person. EMTs place them both on stretchers.
“Ma’am,” a firefighter warns when she tries to rush toward them.
“That’s my husband!” she yells, not regretting the white lie even a little.
The firefighter, a burly man whom Molly can’t even tell if she has interacted with before this moment — there are so many of them, barking orders and moving around — looks at her, and his expression softens just enough.
“Go get in the ambulance with him,” he says. “They’re taking everyone to Memorial.”
“Brent!” she cries out as she runs over to the stretcher, watching as it is loaded into the back of the ambulance.
“I’m his wife,” she tells the EMTs. “I’m going to ride along.”
None of them object, simply make her wait as they load Brent into the back of the vehicle. Only once the doors have closed does Molly really get to see him, his clothes streaked with soot and singed by flames. He lies flat on his back on the stretcher, motionless, with his arms by his side and an oxygen mask fixed over his face.
“I’m here with you,” she says as she grips his hand, not even caring that there are paramedics watching her emotions spill over. “I’m here, and I won’t leave your side, Brent. You have to be okay — for me and for our kids. All three of them.”
With its siren screeching into the night, the ambulance lurches into motion. Molly squeezes Brent’s hand as tears fall from her eyes.
END OF EPISODE 1155
Will Natalie reveal the truth about Loretta?
Is Brent going to survive the explosion?
Talk about it all in the comments below!
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