Previously…
– Conrad suggested to Travis that Rosie might have lied about going to Seattle on the night that Loretta was murdered.
– Jason discovered a red pen in one of Sabrina’s bathroom drawers, and it made him wonder if she could be behind the recent threats.
– In private, Sophie disposed of the red pen’s packaging and referred to herself as “Shannon.”

It has been several days since Halloween, but Jason Fisher still can’t shake the unease that’s taken root in his chest. He is stationed behind the desk in his home office, a neat, functional space that he somehow has never gotten around to decorating in a style beyond “gets the job done.” A spreadsheet sits open on the flatscreen computer monitor, but he is hardly paying it any attention; he is too busy thinking about the red pen he found upstairs in a bathroom drawer, which now rests inside a Ziplock bag in the top drawer of the desk. He was careful to take it in a way that wouldn’t get his fingerprints all over it, and he put it in the bag intending to give it to Brent — but thus far, he has not been able to bring himself to do so.

Right now, the pen serves as a constant, troubling reminder that something doesn’t add up. Every time he looks at it, his stomach twists tighter.

“Is everything okay?” a soft female voice asks, and Jason looks up with a start to see Sabrina Gage standing at the entry to the office, camera strap slung over her shoulder.

He quickly closes the desk drawer. If there is any actual significance to the pen — if she did stash it in the bathroom — she has not mentioned its absence. Jason feels a weird tension buzzing between them, the same thick static of unvoiced concerns and questions that has persisted ever since he found the pen. But the thought of going to the police behind her back, essentially accusing her without even speaking to her, has not felt right.

He draws a deep breath. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

Sabrina’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

He opens the drawer and retrieves the bag. “I found this in one of the bathroom drawers. Do you know anything about it?”

“A pen?” she asks. “I don’t know…”

“It’s the same kind that was used on that photo of us. The one someone defaced.”

She stares at him, confused. Then realization dawns. Her dark eyes grow wide with horror. “Jason, are you asking if I did that?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “I’m just trying to make sense of everything.”

Her mouth falls open, disbelief hardening into hurt. “You think I’m behind this? That I’m, what, threatening myself? Stalking myself?”

“I don’t want to think that,” he says quietly. “But something’s been off. The headaches you’re having–“

“That’s why I went to the doctor! And he said the scans were fine. I’m fine. It’s residual trauma from the car accident–“

“And trauma can have weird effects on us. Maybe you don’t even realize what’s happening.”

Sabrina’s face goes pale. She winces, clutching the doorframe.

Jason stands and moves toward her instinctively. “Is it another headache?”

She looks at him defiantly, and he can tell that she is pushing down her pain, attempting to deny it. “I’m fine,” she repeats. “And I need to go. I have a headshot client.”

“Sabrina, wait–“

“We’ll talk later,” she says, voice trembling slightly, as she moves to the foyer. Jason watches from the doorway to his office as she pulls on her red winter coat.

“I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything,” he says.

She turns back, pain evident in her eyes. “But you did.” Pulling her camera over her shoulder again, she hurries out of the house. The sound of the door closing echoes all around Jason, his body flooded with the sting of regret.

At the top of the stairs, Sophie Fisher listens to the silence, the confrontation between her father and Sabrina ringing in her ears like a favorite song. A slow, knowing smile creeps across her face.

—–

In the bedroom that he and his wife share on the second story of the Jimenez family home, Travis Fisher listens as his attorney’s voice crackles through his phone.

“I got the cell records,” Conrad Halston reports. “Rosie’s phone made it to Seattle that night, just like she said, and it never left Seattle that night or the next day.”

Travis feels relief within his grasp, but as he reaches for it, another thought pops up, blocking him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Landon thinks that could’ve been deliberate. He said a cop like Rosie would know to leave her phone behind as a decoy.”

“I can’t rule that out,” Conrad admits. “I’ll have an analyst look for background activity — calls, pings, anything that proves it wasn’t completely idle. But Travis, you need to be prepared for whatever this shows.”

“I don’t want to believe my own wife had anything to do with Loretta’s murder,” Travis says. “I can’t. Especially since I was arrested and charged.”

An uneasy silence hangs over the line for several seconds.

Finally Conrad says, “I’ll keep you updated. We’ll talk soon.” Then he ends the call.

As Travis is lowering the phone, still clutched in his hand, he turns — and sees Rosie standing in the doorway, arms folded, her gaze blazing.

“Please tell me I didn’t hear you trying to pin Loretta’s murder on me,” she says.

—–

Outside, Sabrina’s car pulls out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Upstairs inside the home, Sophie lingers by the banister, still savoring the confrontation she overheard. When she hears Jason’s footsteps coming into the foyer, she descends halfway, feigning innocence.

“Dad?” she says softly. “Were you and Sabrina fighting?”

He sighs. “It wasn’t a fight. Just… she has a lot going on. The pressure is getting to all of us.”

“She has been acting weird,” Sophie says, tilting her head. “Like she’s hiding something.”

Jason glances up, startled by the suggestion. “You think so?”

“I mean, she’s always having these headaches and needing to go to sleep at weird times.” She shrugs as she comes the rest of the way down the stairs. “All those threats must be getting to her.”

“Right.” Jason rubs the back of his neck. “I think so, too.”

He steps back into his office, Sophie following several steps behind.

“What’s that?” she asks. Jason looks back to see her pointing at the desk — where the red pen in the plastic bag still rests.

He quickly picks it up and puts it back in the drawer. “It’s nothing.” But again he feels that crackling static, the buzz of things going unspoken.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sophie asks.

“Sure.”

“Do you think… Sabrina could be doing this herself?”

Jason stiffens. “Why would you ask that?”

“I heard you guys fighting– I mean, talking. And you have that pen packed up like police evidence.”

“I don’t know what to think,” he admits. “I don’t want you worrying about this, either.”

“I’m not five years old anymore, Dad,” she counters.

“I know you’re not. As much as I sometimes wish you were.” He pushes a strained smile across his face. “But the police had us all do that handwriting test, and the results showed that none of us could’ve written the note that was left with that skating dress.”

“That’s true,” Sophie says quietly. “But– maybe Sabrina was trying to get attention. Sometimes people do crazy things when they’re scared. Or they don’t even know that they’re doing it.”

Jason studies her before dropping his head guiltily. “I don’t want to believe that.”

“Of course not,” she says, coming forward to wrap an arm around him. “You love her. You’re worried about her.”

He nods, distracted, as she steps back. What he doesn’t see is the fiery flicker of satisfaction behind her eyes.

—–

In the Jimenez home, Rosie’s fury burns through her exhaustion.

“You think I killed Loretta,” she says, voice sharp as a butcher knife. “And you’re checking my phone records?”

Travis’s throat tightens. “It was Conrad’s idea. He has to explore every lead. That’s his job. I didn’t–”

“You didn’t stop him!” she snaps. “And you talked about it with Landon?”

His stomach sinks as he realizes how much of his conversation she must overheard.

“I told you, I was in Seattle with Sebastian that whole weekend,” Rosie continues. “You want me to prove it? Fine. I’ll get my brother on the phone right now.”

“Rosie, I’m not accusing you.”

Suddenly her face twists in pain. She grips the edge of the tall wooden dresser, her knuckles white.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stepping toward her.

 “I’m fine,” she insists, in a tone that might as well be a pair of hands shoving him backward. “Maybe it’s just stress.”

“Why don’t you sit down? We can talk more calmly later.”

“I’m not gonna talk about this calmly now, later, or ever,” she says, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “You’re accusing me of committing a murder and, what? Framing you for it? Is that what you think of me?”

“Conrad is trying to create reasonable doubt–“

“Then you two should find another scapegoat. I’m your wife, Travis.” She shakes her head, her face noticeably paler than it was minutes ago. “Maybe you should stay somewhere else for a while. Until this is over.”

“I don’t want to–“

“Well, I want you to.”

He stares at her, helpless. “I’m sorry, Rosie.”

“So am I,” she says quietly.

He gives her a final glance as he steps out of the room, his heart racing.

—–

The evening settles heavy and quiet, as the sun has dipped below the horizon and the sky has filled with an inky blackness. Jason sits alone in the living room, the TV running football highlights in the background, as he stares at the pen in its plastic bag. Sophie appears in the doorway, holding a mug of tea.

“Thought you could use this,” she says, offering it to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, looking up. “That’s sweet of you.”

She lingers a moment, watching him. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” she says gently.

“You’ll figure it out.”

He nods absently, lost in his thoughts. “Thanks, Soph. I’m proud of what a thoughtful young woman you’re turning into.”

She simply shrugs and then retreats upstairs and into her room. As she closes the door behind herself, Sophie’s smile resurfaces, wicked and alive. She plops down on the edge of the bed.

No one will ever know, she thinks. Not about the photo. Not about the car. Not about the fire.

Her pulse quickens as she remembers each act — each little victory. The flick of the lighter, the smear of the red lipstick, the satisfying rip of fabric beneath the knife’s blade, the red pen scratching through Sabrina’s printed face. She remembers how shaky she felt when she learned about the handwriting test, until she realized that Jason had submitted a piece of homework that Sophie did while she was in control. But when she wrote that note to leave alongside the slashed dress, she was Shannon.

“Thank god I’m left-handed,” she says, holding up her left hand and marveling at it. “We’re so different, aren’t we, Sophie?”

She catches her reflection in the black-rimmed mirror above the dresser.

“No need to answer,” she tells the image. Her grin widens. “Shannon’s the one in control now. And it needs to stay that way.”

END OF EPISODE 1279

Will Jason figure out what’s going on with Sophie?
Was Rosie’s reaction to Travis appropriate?
What do you think really happened to Loretta?
Discuss all this and more in the comments below!

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