Previously…
– After Travis caught her secretly talking with Jesse the busboy, Rosie admitted that Jesse was part of her past — but assured Travis that none of it should concern him and asked that he respect her privacy.
– Jesse misinterpreted a conversation with Travis and placed a secretive phone call to warn someone that Rosie might be using Travis to dig for information.
– A masked man with a gun followed Rosie to Paula’s home, where she and Travis were meeting to have dinner with Paula, and demanded to speak with Rosie. As he attempted to make Rosie tell Travis the full truth about her past, Paula escaped through the house’s back door, hoping to set off her house arrest monitor to summon the police for help.

Paula Fisher’s legs feel heavy as lead as she clumsily rushes down her driveway and into the street. The moment she crosses the unmarked property line, the monitor on her ankle emits a series of warning beeps. But she keeps moving, fueled in equal parts by determination and fear, into the street.

Until she hears the gunshot go off.

She stops and turns in terror. She would know that sound anywhere. It has haunted her nights ever since she remembered shooting Philip Ragan. Sometimes it appears out of nowhere, in bold color and terrifying detail, to pull her from a perfectly peaceful moment.

“Travis!” she shouts, though it comes out more as a gasp than anything. She has no idea what is going on in that house: who the masked man is, why he has a gun, why he wanted to see Rosie. But she sees no sign of the man now, no evidence of him or his gun or the bullet he fired. She can only think the worst as she stands in the street, nervous fingers stabbing at her grandson’s iPhone.

This time she sees it: the “Emergency” button in the corner of the passcode screen. She hits it and manages to place a call to 911.

“My name is Paula Fisher,” she asks as soon as she hears a dispatcher’s muffled voice. “Someone broke into my house. My grandson and his girlfriend are still inside — I worry someone’s been shot.”

Her ankle monitor ends its series of warning beeps and lets out a longer, sustained noise, shrill and scolding. Normally it would scare her, but now it sounds like relief. It is one more assurance that help might be on the way.

“Please come soon,” she says into the phone as the dispatcher calmly recites her address. But then she sees him: the masked man, gun still in hand, rounding the backyard fence and coming down the driveway toward her.

—–

Back inside Paula’s kitchen, Travis kneels on the floor beside the fallen Rosie. He saw it all happen in horrifying slow motion: the masked man lifting his hand, the butt of the gun slamming into the back of her head, and Rosie tumbling to the tile floor. Travis’s heart skipped when he heard the gun fire, its noise ripping through the air so clearly that it seemed as if time had stopped for a split-second. But the man kept running, right out of the yard, apparently dissatisfied with his aim. Travis can only pray that his grandmother is safe. As for Rosie…

“Can you hear me?” he asks, grasping her head, only to find that it is slack, dead weight atop her neck. “Rosie!”

She does not stir. Logically, he knows that she has not been shot, but he lowers her head carefully onto the floor and then scans her body for signs of a bullet wound. There are none.

Instead he sees the imprint of her iPhone in her jeans pocket. He fumbles with frightened hands to pull it out and swipes in order to call 911.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her unmoving body, and before the call’s first ring is even completed, he races out the back door to do whatever he can for his grandma.

—–

“Stop! I have the police on the phone!” Paula screams as the masked figure runs into the street. She has no idea what goes on in the mind of someone like this, but it might deter a normal person, and it is the only thing she can fathom right now.

The man does stop, right there beside the sidewalk. Each of his limbs appears to be moving in a different direction, a physical manifestation of his confusion, as if he cannot decide what to do or where to go.

“He’s outside!” Paula says into the phone, as soon as the dispatcher finishes saying whatever it was that she did not hear. “He has a gun!”

Through the holes in his mask, the man stares her down cruelly.

“The police are coming!” she shouts at him.

“What in the world–?” a voice asks loudly from somewhere to her left, and when her head instinctively turns, she sees her neighbor, a man named Ray, standing on his porch.

“This man broke into my house!” she yells desperately.

Her ankle monitor continues to bleat its admonition.

“I’m calling 911!” Ray says.

Behind the masked man, Paula sees Travis tear out of the backyard, a phone held to his own ear. She opens her mouth to scream at him to stop but thinks better of it. Yet before he even makes it down the driveway, the masked man breaks into a sprint, racing up the block.

Paula’s ears fill with the sounds of her ankle monitor’s beeping and Ray’s voice on the phone and Travis rushing toward her. She struggles to catch her breath as the 911 dispatcher asks her another question that sounds like nothing more than a muddle of sounds.

At a table for two inside Bill’s on the Pier, Brent Taylor sticks his credit card back into his wallet and places the pen over his signed receipt.

“Thank you,” Claire Fisher says from across the table. “Next one is on me.”

Brent grins at her. “Thank god that means there’s gonna be a next one.”

“But don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She reaches across the table, a battlefield of emptied dishes and glasses, to take his hand. “Have I told you lately how happy you make me?”

“I mean, I’ll listen to it again…”

Her gaze instinctively flickers past him, over his right shoulder, to where Molly Taylor and Conrad Halston are enjoying their own date night. She hates the bitter seed of jealousy — or, at the very least, self-consciousness — sprouting in her stomach, but after the way Brent reacted to seeing his ex-wife and Conrad kissing, it would be difficult not to feel that way, she reasons.

“Well,” she says, emitting a fake sigh, “I guess I can run through the list…”

Before she can go any further, however, Brent pauses, and she realizes that his phone must be ringing inside his jacket. He reaches in to take it out.

“Sorry, it’s work,” he says as he answers the call. She holds up a hand as if to tell him to go ahead, though they have an unspoken agreement that, given their careers, no one need be offended about a job-related interruption.

“Wait, what?” he asks as his face creases, and Claire leans in. She watches Brent’s fingers curl tighter around his phone, and after a handful of one-sided exchanges that give her precious little to go on, he hangs up.

“What happened?” she asks. “Do you need to go?”

“I should get to the station,” he says as he scrambles up from the table. “You’ll want to come with me.”

She is already pushing out her chair to stand. “What? Why?”

“Paula was brought in for violating her house arrest.”

“Why would she do that? It’s almost over–”

“Apparently someone broke into the house. Travis and–”

“He and Rosie were going there for dinner tonight,” Claire says, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Are they okay?”

“Rosie was taken to the hospital. I don’t know where Travis wasn’t, except that he wasn’t transported as a patient.”

“I need to call him.”

“Go ahead. I feel like I should…” He nods his head sideways, and Claire already knows what he means.

“Tell Molly,” she says as she pulls her phone from her purse. “I’m going to go outside and call Travis. I’ll wait.”

Claire hurries out of the restaurant, already dialing Travis’s phone as she goes.

Meanwhile, Brent makes his way over to Molly and Conrad’s table. They pause, mid-meal, when they see him coming.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he tells them, “but you guys might want to ask for your check ASAP.”

—–

Inside the old brick building that houses the King’s Bay Police Department, Travis Fisher paces over the lobby’s aged linoleum floor. He has no idea what he is supposed to think right now. Part of him desperately wants to be at the hospital with Rosie, making sure that she is all right, even though the EMTs who took her away in the ambulance assured him that it appeared to be nothing more than a concussion. He might feel better about it if she’d been awake, but the entire incident was so terrifying. Still, he is furious with her even without an explanation for why that man came to the house, and his priority had to be accompanying his terrified grandmother after the police hauled her away.

He stops moving when he sees his mother outside the doors, followed closely by Brent, his Aunt Molly, and Conrad.

“You guys got here fast,” Travis says as Claire throws her arms around him.

“We were all having dinner at Bill’s on the Pier,” Brent says. “Not together, I mean–”

“Have they booked Paula yet?” Conrad asks in a businesslike tone.

Travis shakes his head. “Don’t think so. She’s being questioned, or held, or whatever.”

“Thanks.” Conrad turns to Molly. “I’m going to find out what’s going on and help her.”

“Thank you,” Molly says. Conrad plants a kiss upon her cheek and then darts toward the front desk.

“What in the world happened?” Claire asks, her hand still gripped to her son’s arm as if afraid he might be snatched away.

“I don’t know, really,” Travis says. “We were– we were making dinner, and someone came to the door, and it was this guy in a ski mask. He had a gun, and he said he wanted to talk to Rosie.”

“Where is Jimenez?” Brent cuts in.

“He hit her in the head with the gun,” Travis tells them. “She was unconscious, or– I don’t know. She was breathing. The EMTs took her to the hospital.”

“Do you want to go?” Claire asks.

Travis hesitates. “I should stay for Grandma.”

“So she ran outside because there was a robber in the house?” Molly asks before looking to Brent. “That sounds like a pretty excusable violation of the house arrest, doesn’t it?”

“I would think so,” he answers, “if the story checks out.”

“I can testify to it,” Travis says, “and so can Rosie. The neighbor saw him, too. He had a gun. He fired it.”

Claire quietly gasps.

“I think it was just a warning shot,” he adds. “It didn’t hit anyone or anything that I saw. But Grandma ran out into the street — I think she was trying to make the ankle thing go off…”

“That was smart of her,” Molly says.

“The guy ran away because we all had the police on the line,” Travis finishes. “They said they had to bring her down here. I called Dad, Aunt Sarah, and Uncle Jason. They’re on their way, or– I don’t even know.”

“There isn’t much anyone can do, but I’m sure Paula will appreciate it,” Brent says. “Travis, why don’t I take your statement so it’s on-record? It will help your grandmother?”

Travis nods. “Yeah. For sure.”

“She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” Molly asks, touching a hand to Brent’s shoulder. “You’ll make sure the D.A. understands what happened?”

He looks at her gravely. “I’ll do my absolute best.”

“Thank you, Brent.”

None of them notice Claire watching the two exes, her attention rapt upon their eye contact.

—–

An off-center fluorescent bar on the ceiling lights up the interrogation room much too brightly. It isn’t exactly the single dangling bulb that Paula has seen in the movies, but it is about as disconcerting.

“You’re certain that your neighbor saw the man in the mask,” Conrad says from across the table.

“Yes. He called 911. Travis, Ray, and I all did.”

“That’s good. That’s a great, impartial witness to have on your side.”

Paula feels as distraught and breathless as she has ever since she attempted to run from the house. Feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs on her wrists… being tossed into the back of the squad car like a common criminal… all of it seems so surreal, even more so than this past year of house arrest.

“Isn’t there someone you can talk to tonight?” she asks. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out.”

“I made some calls. Your judge isn’t available until morning, and we haven’t heard back from the D.A.” His speech slows as he prepares the next thought. “I would prepare yourself…”

“I’m going to have to stay in jail overnight? I can’t…”

“If that’s the case,” Conrad tells her, “I will make sure you have your own cell. It’ll only be a holding cell. And we’ll get something on the books for as early in the morning as possible.”

She shakes her head as fear fills her. This was supposed to be a quiet night, spending time with her family. She has no idea who that man was or what he wanted, but it was apparent to her that he intended harm. Surely the court will understand that.

“All I wanted to do was save my grandson and Rosie,” she says with desperation. “They have to believe me.”

“I’m going to do everything I can. The fact that you’ve made it nearly your entire sentence without any sort of violation or infraction is a big plus. And you did stop and wait in the street. It isn’t as if you tried to flee.”

“I would never!”

“I know that. We just have to convince the judge and the D.A. of the same thing.”

“And what if they don’t believe us?” she asks with alarm.

Conrad’s face tightens, and he folds his hands atop the table. Paula doesn’t like how long it takes him to produce an answer.

“They could extend your sentence,” he says, “or opt for an alternative sentence.”

She feels her stomach bounce nervously. “Alternative sentence? Do you mean…?”

“I’m not going to let you go to prison. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that it’s a possibility. Your house arrest was a deal we made to keep you out of prison in the first place.”

“That man was going to hurt Travis and Rosie!”

“We’re going to convince the court of that. Okay?” He forces her to make eye contact and offers his steadiest, most confident gaze. “I promise that I’m going to do everything I can.”

—–

In the lobby, Travis passes his aunt a paper cup of weak, scalding hot coffee.

“Thanks,” Molly says as she seats herself on one of the folding chairs lined up against the wall. “How are you holding up?”

Travis lifts his left shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m fine. I don’t know. This whole thing seems a little… unreal.”

“It sounds like it. You really don’t have any idea who that man was? Or what he wanted?”

“He was trying to make Rosie tell me something. I couldn’t tell if she knew him — it didn’t seem like it, but maybe. But he knew something that she doesn’t want me to know. Something she’s been hiding for a long time.”

“Rosie’s awake,” Claire reports as she strides toward them, still holding her own phone. “One of my friends is taking care of her. They’re still treating her, but she’s awake and stable.”

“That’s good,” Molly says.

“Yeah,” Travis agrees with a limp nod. He has no idea how he is supposed to feel right now; he is equal parts concerned about his girlfriend and furious at her for bringing this upon them.

“You should go be with her,” Claire says. “We have everything covered here.”

“No, I’m okay.” Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he would say to Rosie if they were face-to-face right now. He doesn’t want to pile on right after she suffered an attack, but he also doesn’t know that he could simply be sweet or supportive. Not when he needs answers — deserves them.

Just then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out and sees a text notification from Rosie on the screen. Wordlessly, he unlocks the phone and checks the message. It reads:

Are you at the station? What’s going on down there? I can come down and help

“Rosie?” Claire asks, eyeing her son.

He grunts in the affirmative and taps out a response:

My grandma’s with her lawyer now. I just gave a statement. How are you? What did the dr say?

The answer comes almost immediately:

Just a concussion. I’m sorry. I want to talk. I’ll come down there.

Travis mulls it over for a moment and then writes back:

Don’t. Please.

He sees the telltale bubbles, indicating that Rosie is texting back, appear and disappear several times before another text comes in:

We should talk. I’m really sorry. Never thought this would happen

The fire in his belly compiles him to respond quickly:

Not now. Not tonight. Hope you feel better.

He stuffs the phone back in his pocket and ignores the next several buzzes, no doubt further messages from her.

“How is she?” Molly asks carefully.

“She has a concussion. She’s fine,” Travis says. “I told her not to bother coming down here.”

“She’ll have to give a statement,” Claire says.

“Then she can give a statement. I don’t want to see her right now. I don’t want to listen to her apologize or whatever — not after she acted like this was just some private thing and got all pissed that I wanted to know about her life. Not when it was really something that put all of us in danger.”

Claire offers a sympathetic expression even as she says, “You don’t know the whole story.”

“No, but I know that I can’t trust her now,” he says. “And I don’t know that I ever will be able to.”

END OF EPISODE 918

Is Rosie finally ready to come clean with Travis?
Can their relationship be repaired after all this?
Will Paula have to do time for her violation?
Discuss it all in the comments below!

 

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