Previously on "The Mysteries of Our Lives": Summer of Seasonal Eruption
ø Despite his visions of a romantic future for the two of them, Shanna stressed repeatedly to Andrew Stokes that her heart does and will always belong to her late husband, Ben.  Outraged not only by her rejection, but by the belief that his brother's life and death amounted to nothing for her, Andrew trashed the art studio he spent months building for his former sister-in-law, including several painted canvases memoralizing her precious Ben.  Moments following his act of vandalism, he made a cryptic phone call to Shalia Mendez, demanding she meet him tomorrow morning at 6:00 sharp. (~)

ø Following his wife's burial and funeral reception, Brock escaped to the Hallandale Pier, where he shared an emotional good-bye with his wife's ghost.  Stricken by grief and despair over having to bid farewell to her a second time, the widower took a swim beneath the pier and nearly drowned.  His frantic sister, Dana, along with Matthew, were able to recover his body and resuscitate him back to health.  With Brock finally openly acknowledging his wife's death and finding comfort in his sister's arms, Matthew was hopeful that the Lombards were on their way to mending.  (~)

ø Left with no other recourse, Danielle sought legal action against Vanessa for her repeated acts of hostility.  Meanwhile, despite his convictions, Vanessa remained convinced that something more was going on between Lucien and Danielle.

***Shalia Mendez Guittierrez takes an exasperated sigh as she parks her car in a lot adjacent to the old Labyrinth.  Nearly four decades ago, this building was a popular recreational spot for children and teens.   Looking at the hideous piece of architecture now, it is no wonder Shalia can't fathom why it wasn't bulldozed down years ago.  All, but one of the four frontier windows had a large, gaping crack; decorative stains were scattered across the building and her walking path -- "stains" most likely created by some drunk who lost grip of his liquor bottle, or puked his guts out after chugging down one too many.  In New Orleans, she saw, lived and breathed in areas like this everyday; but not so much in murky, rural Massachussets.

Stepping over broken pieces of glass and cigarette buds, she hates herself even more for sneaking away from her husband to meet Andrew, but what choice did she have really?  He was holding all the cards, and Derek was already suspicious after spying her and Andrew together at Ben's memorial service-- she couldn't tell him she sneaking off to see this guy.  If only she knew then what she knew now...

She realizes now as she makes her way inside the Labyrinth that she should have stayed oblivious.  Inside the abandon building, she notes that most of the furnishings are gone, except for a rectangular-shaped checkout stand directly ahead.  The floor boards are somewhat squeaky beneath her feet; and she can't tell if it's the accumulation of dust scratching at her nose, or something far more foul than she cared to imagine.

"Couldn't he have picked a more hospitable location?"  She finds herself saying aloud, not sure where to position herself amongst all the dust.

Taking an anxious look at her watch - five minutes after six it says, she wonders where the hell he could possibly be.  After all, this was his idea!  The sound of a cork popping propels her eyes at roughly 0700 hours, where she spots Andrew standing in the archway of what used to be the community washroom.  In his hands are two crystal clear glasses.

"Thirsty?"  He slides into the room with that obnoxious grin on his face, oblivious to the cobb webb dangling right in front him.  Shalia grimaces, swearing she sees something fall into one of his glasses.  There was no way she was drinking from one of those glasses now, not that she particularly felt like drinking anyway.  It was six in the morning for heaven sakes.  She just needed to know what he wanted so that she could be on her merry way.

"I don't have all day, Andrew.  Can we please get to the point of this little meeting?"  She stands firm and serious, her hands locked on her hips.

"Where is your sense of adventure?"

That's just it.  It wasn't an adventure.  Aligning herself with Andrew Stokes Bryce has been a mistake since day one.  Granted, there was nothing glamorous or innocent about profiling married men and leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their back if they didn't want their wives to find out about their little indiscretion; at least she had not committed the ultimate sin and sent an innocent man to his death.

"My husband is still sleeping.  I would like to be home before he awakes."  The words curl from her lips, and Andrew finds her annoyance very detectable.  He supposed money couldn't buy him a committed partner, but she certainly had no problem using his checks.

"Alright, let's get down to the business then."

(<- Hunks & Beauty Fashions ->)

In front of the camera lens, Vanessa Manthroll never felt more at home.  It was probably the one solitary thing she felt she had any control over, especially ever since Danielle Marquez infiltrated her life with Lucien.  To the average amateur looking in, her poses might seem recycled and rehearsed, but for Vanessa, every movement and gesture told a story.

The story of a woman fueled by her passion for modeling; the story of a woman's unrequited love for her best friend, Lucien Cane-Mieraves, and in contrast, her bitter resentment of Lucien's modeling partner, Danielle.  Boy, she absolutely could not stand that woman, nor the way Danielle effortlessly had men fawning all over her.  The worse offender was regretfully Lucien; he was always there to hold that woman's hand.  While part of her seethe just thinking about it, another part couldn't restrain from giving the photographer a candid smirk.  Pretty soon, everyone would realize that Danielle may have the spark, but the heart and soul of this biz wouldn't be as easily manufactured.

"Beautiful.  That's a wrap."  The photographer announces as he lowers his camera, covering the lens with the cap previously wrapped around his neck.  Vanessa has been in this game long enough to know when one has done a good or bad job, and judging by the way the photographer eagerly skirts off to the darkroom, she clearly delivered her A-game. 

She's still salivating over her success when her boss, Michelle Dientes Alvarez, makes her way over.

"Great job."  Michelle wears a force smile, not wanting to broach the topic on the tip of her tongue.  "The photographer was very impressed with you."

"Thank you."  She smiles, feeling a sense of accomplishment as she takes a sip of her water.  This was how it was supposed to be all along.  The only thing that was missing was Luicen by her side.  "I'm just happy to be out there again," she further adds.

"I can see that you are."  There was a long pause, in which Vanessa casually dropped her drink to the side, anticipating her boss' next words.  "Which is why we should talk about what's been going on between you and Danielle."  Her tone suggesting that she may not be enjoying those privileges for much longer.

The two ladies take a seat across from one another, hoping the more intimiate setup will prove less threatening.  Not long after, Michelle points out the obvious:  "I'm just a little concern about the growing animosity between you and Danielle."  Vanessa flinches quietly in her seat, feeling no need to refute or support Michelle's claims in light of everything that's gone down.  "You are both my clients, and as per your contracts, you will be required to work with one another on occasion.  I need to trust that you both can do so professionally."

"Of course.  I mean, Danielle and I aren't going to be best buds anytime soon, but I think we can put aside our difference for the good of the craft."  Vanessa defends, trying to suppress the memory of having slapped the shit out of her her rival the last time they were alone in the studio.

"I hope so."

Vanessa picks up on the hesitation in Michelle's voice.  "Look Michelle, what happened at the fashion show--"

"I don't want to hear your reasons, Vanessa."  Truth was she knew the root cause behind it all.  Anyone with eyes could see that Vanessa was enamored with Lucien.  Michelle just didn't realize it was this impassionate.  "I do not approve of what you did, nor do I condone it.  But I really feel that you can be an asset to H&B Fashions."

"Thank you."

"Just don't let me regret keeping you on.  I would love nothing more than for you to continue your career under my leadership, but another incident like what happened at the fashion -- it will not be overlooked again."

With that comment, Vanessa knew exactly where she stood, and it wasn't comforting in the least.  Before the air could be completely sucked out of the room, the door to the studio open, and in walk Lucien in his usual cheery disposition.

"Good morning, ladies."  He greets as Michelle stands, leaving Vanessa still seated.  Vanessa smiles awkwardly at Lucien, still hearing Michelle's not so subtle threat playing in her head.

"Hi Lucien."  Michelle tosses a few strands of her dark locks from shielding her face, wrapping her arms lightly around her body.  "You're in a good mood this morning."

"Just feeling positive about life." 

Michelle smiles, thinking there was a little something more to it.  "Well, I'm going to locate that photographer of ours.  We'll reconvene in 15 minutes."  She gives Lucien a light pat on the back before wandering off in the direction of the darkroom.

"What was that all about?"  He inquires as he approaches Vanessa, who is still noticeably disturbed.

"Michelle was just complimenting me on the shoot."

"Uh-huh."  He nods.  "That's why you look so flush!"

Vanessa storms up from the seat, "It's nothing, okay."

"I'm still your friend, Van.  I hope you know that you can still trust me."

"Can I, Lucien?  Because it's really starting to feel like me against the rest of you."

He's hurt that she would even question his feelings.  "I'm not against you.  No one is, Van.  I just happen to know that you're better than drugging a woman against her will."

"Well, I did because unlike you, I wasn't about to let her come between us, irony of all ironies."  She tries not see it, but ever since the night of the fashion show, she has felt him pulling away from her slowly, and she was sure Danielle was happily waiting in the background.  "Because all our conversation lately seem to come back to Danielle."

"Danielle is a friend.  You are my friend.  Why does it have to be a competition?"

She turns back to him, her eyes begining to moisten.  "Because I want more Lucien.  I can't help it.  I want you to see me, and feel what I feel."  She places her hand over her heart.

"Van, to love you, and to be able to say those words back to you, I would love nothing more--" he pauses, looking her in the eye.  "But I can't.  It would be a lie and I care for you way too much to ever do that."

(<- Springfield Lakes Resort: Earl Pryce's Apartment ->)

It was an early morning for Earl Pryce, who had been packing and shuffling boxes all around his box-sized apartment.  He would be leaving for Springfield tomorrow evening, and he still hasn't broke the news to his brother yet.  It wasn't his intention to keep the truth from Matthew this long; he's just been busy putting all his business affairs in order.  The one opportunity he and his brother did manage to have lunch this week, Matthew confided in him that he and Dana had a falling out of sorts, and that he was very worried about her, but didn't want to crowd her.  Earl certainly couldn't lay the news on his brother then.

As he stumbles shirtless out into the hall of his complex, he carries a bag of the accumulated trash down to the drop off area.  On his way back to his apartment, he runs into Evelin outside his door. 

"Hey," he calls out to her.  Evelin turns around, to find the man that she's dreamed hundreds of time about marrying standing half-naked in front of her.

"Hi."  She smiles cordially at him, but it almost feels as if she were blushing.  "I was feeling a little restless and thought I would go for a walk when I noticed your door open."

"I just dropped off some trash."  He makes his way around her.  "Come in."

Evelin accepts his invitation, and the reality of the fact that he was moving away becomes all the more real once she's standing in the middle of his living room, surroundeed by tons of marked boxes.  It wasn't like Springfield was that far away, but she has really gotten use to him being so close.  And she just got him back into her life after he contracted that horrible virus.  She wasn't ready to say "good-bye" to him.

"So the big day is tomorrow?"  She asks with a weighted sigh.

"Yeah.  Jasons seem really thrilled.  Of course, I think he's just excited to finally show off his new girl friend to his old man."

Evelin face warms, "Like father, like son.  How is Matthew taking the news?"  There was a noted pause.  "You haven't told him yet?"  She asked, somewhat shocked.

"Preparing for the move has kept me busy, not too mention he's preoccupied and worried about Dana and her family.  I mean, that was quite the scare we had back there at the Hallandale Pier."

Evelin shutters to think about it.  "I know.  I'm just glad everyone ended up being okay." 

"I am going to tell him today.  After all--"  he takes a look around his apartment.  "I can't really hide it from any longer now, can I?"

(<- Everglades Pines Resort: Brock and Samantha's Apartment ->)

While most of Hallandale seemed to be jumpstarting their day early, Brock Lombard's eyes remained beautifully concealed from what the day had in store.  As insignificant as that moment might seem, it took weeks for Brock to even bring himself to touch or look at the silk-sheet covered mattress, let alone physically sleep on it.  It just lacked the warmth and appeal it once had.  But after his near drowning a week and half ago, not to mention the emotional overload of sharing his final good-byes with his wife's ghost, the bed seemed less intimidating.  Make no mistake: he still burned with the desire to wrap his arms around his wife, and most nights, his arms ended up snuggled around her pillow; her scent seeping freshly against his flesh.

Ralph Lombard lightly shuts the bedroom door after looking in on his brother, proceeding back into the main room of Brock and Samantha's apartment.  His sister, Dana, waits on the couch with two freshly poured cups of coffee, one that she is sipping on when her brother makes his way over.

"I thought you were still sleeping," he says, taking a seat next to her.  From the look of things, she had not even bothered going to sleep.  Her short, cropped, auburn blond hair falls neatly against the back of her neck, highlighting the black, spaghetti strap shirt she was wearing.

"I couldn't sleep.  Coffee?"  She quickly changes the direction of the topic, her eyes angling at the second mug on the table.

Ralph nods in appreciation.  An unmistakable silence passes through the room as he carefully picks up the mug she set for him.  It appears to have been sitting for a good five minutes as the temperature was just right. 

Dropping his coffee mug, Ralph speaks, "You don't have to worry about him, you know?  He's going to be fine."

"I wish I could be as sure as you are."

"Well, don't get me wrong: I think it is going to be a long time before he feels like himself again, but he's strong.  We have to keep reminding ourselves of that."  Ralph could tell by the way in which she leans over the couch that she was attempting to register his words.  He knew what his brother was going through all too well: having shouldered the grief and blame when their sister was tragically murdered over a decade ago.  The only thing that got them through each and every day were visions of seeing her killer brought to justice.  That day eventually came after five agonizing months.

Ralph takes another sip of his coffee before setting the mug down.  "So, how are things between you and Matthew?  I haven't seen him in a while."  He remarks, finding it strange considering how close the two have always been since their arrival in Hallandale.

Although they came together without question when Brock was in trouble, Dana could not forget how disillusioned Matthew was with her after she denounced her connection to the tarot.

"I think with everything that's been going on with Brock, he just feels like he would be in the way."

"I can't imagine why.  You two have always stuck by one another."  Ralph acknoweldges, mulling it over in his head.  He then adds,  "I even heard how he risked his own life to save our brother.  Something tells me you had a little to do with that."

"Yeah, Matthew was-- is great.  He truly thrives on accomplishing good in this world."  Dana adds, and rather uncomfortably from where her brother is sitting.

"But?"  Ralph fills in the momentary gap.  "Come on.  I know something is up."

Dana states with a degree of solemn in her voice.  "It's just that Matthew wants to so desperately hold on to some memory of his father, and he feels like this connection that we share is his ticket to doing so.  That our gift will enable us to weather any storm."

"And you don't."

"How can I?"  She nearly slams the question down his throat, haunted by the images of Brock's face following the news of his wife's death.  "How am I suppose to protect the world when I couldn't even protect our own brother?"

***If there was one thing Ralph Lombard knew, it was that his sister was not alone in her frustrations from not being able to prevent this tragedy.  Of course, he also knew logically there was nothing he could have done.  Turning his body parallel to the back of the couch, Ralph lifts one leg onto the cushion:  

"Look at me,"  he advises in an effort to grab her attention.  Dana, who is seated on the very edge of the cushion, arches her head slightly back in in her brother's direction.  When he is sure he has her attention, he adds, "You couldn't have prevented any of this, anymore than I could have or Brock could have.  Samantha contracted a deadly poison."

"But the cards fortold tragedy, Ralph.  The whole time I was in the hospital trying to give Matthew hope about his brother's recovery, the tarot was taunting us little by little with clues--"

Ralph is not sure what overcomes him, but he lightly snaps, "Those cards are not something to govern your life around, Dana; and Brock and I have tried to tell you that countless times.  They did not kill our brother's wife.  She died because she was infected by the roots of a poisonous plant."

"I realize that, Ralph."  She said, not use to seeing her younger brother so direct.  He never really appreciated her reliance on the tarot either, but he always kept an open mind.

"Then stop making it about you and those tarot cards because that is not going to help our brother.  He needs normalcy right now."  Even in her state of despair, Dana notes the implication from her brother that her faith in the tarot isn't normal.  "He doesn't need your guilt, and he doesn't need to know what you saw in your tarot cards about his wife's death."

"He already knows!"  Dana regretfully acknowledges, lowering her head in shame as the disbelief begins to trace its way around her brother's face.

"You told him?"

"He overheard Matthew and I talking about it at the hospital."   It was a weak excuse, she could see by the look on his face.  Ralph simply mouths Oh Dana to himself.  She must have been channeling the incident over in her head because she then adds, "He was so upset."

"I can imagine.  That really was the last thing he needed to hear Dana."

"I didn't do it on purpose, Ralph.  I was very upset and disillusioned about what happened."

"I know."

"I don't think you do," she pauses in between her sentence.  "Because nothing has been the same since Samantha's death.  And once upon a time, I could turn to the universe for guidance.  And now that connection is broken."

He grabs hold of his sister hand, tighly balling it up within his fist.  "Then you turn to me, and everyone else that cares about you because we're a family.  Together, we will get through this."   The fact that she appears to squeeze it back with a light glimmer in her eye makes him hopeful that his words won't fall on deaf ears.

(<- Springfield Lakes Resort:  Earl Pryce's Apartment ->)

After escaping into the backroom to retrieve a shirt, Earl returns into the main area of the apartment to find Evelin looking through the photo album he sat aside.

"I see you found the album." 

"Yeah.  I hope you don't mind me looking."  She said, slipping a strand of her hair behind her ear.  She just couldn't believe how much history he had managed to hold onto.

"No, not at all."  Earl joined her side and looked on with her at the array of photos: photos of him and Matthew, much younger, with their parents at Sunday School; ones of him and Royce fake arm wrestling, during and after little league practices, eating ice cream, toying around with Samantha.  There was tons of memories at their fingertips.

"Oh my god-- I can't believe you kept this."  She laughed in horror as she came across her sophomore yearbook photo, showing a geeky, freckle face girl with gawd awful ponytails hanging from each side of her head. 

"I thought it was cute.  Not to mention it was one of the few photos that I could actually get you to give to me, so of course I kept it."  The two locked eyes momentarily as he gave her that grin that turned her legs to jello.  Fortunately, she was still sitting.  "I want you to know how much I appreciate you being here for me this last year.  I know my brother and I being on the outs made things awkward between you two, and then you literally put your life on hold, sitting by my bedside day and night while I was sick."

"There was no other place I wanted or needed to be."  She answers modestly, looking at more photos of the two of them together.  She had forgotten all the adventures they had shared.  The annual city festival was such a hoot... and the pieing contest, she couldn't believe she had successfully erase that incident from her head.  It took weeks to get that smell out of her hair.  He literally had saved everything.  "This place isn't going to be the same without you."

He grabs hold of her hands, "I'll miss you, too.  But don't think I won't be back to visit.  Plus, now you have one more reason to visit Springfield more often."

"Yeah, my brother sure is going to love that."  She closes the photo album, suddenly becoming flustered.  Moving away from the couch, she casually wipes the corner of her eye as he nears his kitchen counter, where she makes an about face after composing herself.   "So what's the plan once you get settled?"

He takes a decisive pause.  "You know, I really haven't thought about it.  I just know that Springfield is where I need to be."

"Of course.  It's just hard to imagine you not doing anything.  You've always been the type that likes to keep busy."

"Yeah, that's kind of the benefit of moving somewhere I don't have a lot of business ties.  I can truly focus on my son, and being there for him."   He pauses, forcing himself to contemplate some of his past mistakes.  Evelin, meanwhile, takes a few careful paces closer to him. 

Earl continues, "You know, when Dalia and I divorced, I never intended to divorce my son as well.  I just thought it would be easier if my son wasn't being pulled like a piece of rope in some tug-of-war.  It worked for a while until my ex-wife thought it fit to go for full custody."

Evelin briefly recalls Dalia mentioning how she won custody of Jason because Earl was too busy acquiring acquistion after acquisition, and didn't want to be bothered with the job of raising a son.  She didn't believe it for a second; anyone could tell just by how protective he was with his brother that family meant everything to him.  Dalia was clearly a bitter, scorned woman and listening to Earl's story now only proved it.

"I will admit that I wasn't always the most hands on after the divorce."  He takes a reflective pause.  When he continues, his eyes may lock on Evelin for or a second or two, but he is more or less looking within himself.   "I mean, I was just getting a new business off the ground, that required a great deal of my time.  But I still managed to be apart of the things that counted - conferences, events, birthday parties.  It just wasn't enough for Dalia."

Evelin bites her tongue the best she can and simply says, "I can believe that, having met your ex- wife."

"I detect a bit of reserve in your voice," he responds with peaked curiosity.

"I don't like to speak ill of the living.  Let's leave it at that."  She clarifies with a force smile, but it's quite apparent to Earl that she is censoring herself from further incrimination.

"Hmm... okay."  He smiles and bob his head in return.

(<- Everglades Pines Resort - Samantha and Brock's Apartment ->)

Brock and Samantha's bedroom remains shield from the rays of the rising sun while Brock continues to sleep comfortably in the bed that he once shared with his deceased wife.  For weeks, sleeping was nothing more than a chore, one often riddled with painful memories of his wife's last moments on Earth.  The sound of the hospital monitor flatlining; the doctors crashing through her hospital room door and forcing him to wait tensively in the hall; voices dominating over another with incoherent medical jargon; the morose look on the chief resident's face when he comes out of Samantha's hospital room; the inaudiable shock that escapes from his brother and sister as Chief Delacroix speaks those hollow, paralyzing words-- "She's Gone!" ... It all plagued him for weeks on end.

To an extent, those memories still had the power to cripple him.  Yet judging from the glow on his face as he sleeps, there was still solitude to be found in his memories.  Having escaped a few years back, Brock remembers vividly coming across Samantha on the outskirts of town.  He had only arrived in Hallandale a few short weeks ago, determined to win her back despite his initial beliefs that she had cheated on him with another man.

Brock remembered being unable to sleep that night, anxiously awaiting Samantha's final answer to his proposal.  To his delight, the next morning she told him yes, but not without a few stipulations.  The stipulations, for him, were mere technicalities as he knew then that he would be able to correct the mistake he made in Paris and finally marry his true love.  As the widower turns over consciously in his bed, his eyes flicker a little before widening to the dimly lit room.  Instinctively, he reaches out to the right side of his bed, but it is noticeably empty.  It takes a minute, but he turns back over onto his back and takes a deep breath in and out.  Afterwards, he just sort of lies there, his eyes hitting the ceiling.  He knows he will have to get up eventually and face the day, but the motivation just doesn't hit him quite yet.

(<- The Labyrinth ->)

Shalia, still processing the details of Andrew's dastardly plan, makes a few small tracks toward the building's exit.  She was already instrumental in the death of her husband's best friend, and deals with the weighted guilt of that decision each and every day.  She is not sure she can live with yet another lie, especially one as heinous as this. 

"You can't be serious?"  She finally questions, drawing her brown eyes on him.

"Oh, I'm dead serious."  His eyes sparkle with a deadly glint.  "Do you know that I actually had to listen to that murderess woman go on and on about how much she loved Ben Hemmings?  That he was the love of her life. "  He pauses, his blood boiling as he recalls her words and studies Shalia's face for indication that she is listening.  "Nevermind the fact that she married my brother first.  Oh no, he was just an adolescent mistake-- her words."  Shalia can tell that this was a bit much for him, especially considering how close they are to anniversary of Terrell Bryce's death.  How could one possibly be thankful in November when someone they love was murdered so viciously, so heinously without any regard to thier loved ones?

"His death was just a mere catalyst for her fated romance with Ben!"  Andrew's face screams with frustration and condemnation for Shanna.  "No, she couldn't be bothered to languish, pine, and paint thousands of canvases of my brother.  She just fled the state as if his life meant nothing."

Shalia can't help but think rationally of the situation, "There is no denying that what happened to your brother was tragic, but is this really the way to honor his memory?  By killing the woman he loved?"

"Yes, it is.  In fact, it's poetic, dying the same exact way your spouse did.  Hell, maybe I'll even save myself a souvenir to send to her parents."

"That's sick,"  her voice and face intimate clear disgust.  

He angrily retorts, "Try being my parents!"

"There is no way I'm going to be apart of something like this."  She shakes her head with a rare case of moral-inspired defiance.  She further adds, "I did not sign on for murder, Andrew."  Andrew, however, is quick to remind her of her less than meritorious beginnings.

"No, you signed up because the proposal was lucrative enough.  And it doesn't look like you lost much sleep now that Ben Hemmings is six feet under."  He was tired of her trying to absolve herself of any wrongdoing.  She was as much apart of this as anyone.  "Face it, you're up to your eyeballs in this mess."

"I never asked you to kill him.  You did that to suit your own needs because you thought it would help you get closer to Shanna."  She knew she was right, and kept on driving the knife.  "You see, you can protest all you want, but a part of you wanted her, and with her husband dead, you thought it would be a whole lot easier to woo her into your bed."

He storms toward her with both barrels blazing, "No, you're the one that fell for your mark.  The only thing I feel for Shanna is a burning hatred."  Having utilized nearly every breath in his body, Andrew takes a moment to compose himself.  Shalia is relieved for the distance, watching the rage emanate from him so effortlessly.

One might think he would have actually gotten over what happened considering how long it has been, but how do you really?  Seeing your own flesh and blood severed into minced meat?  These questions remain unanswered thoughts in Shalia's head as she looks on at Andrew, who begins pouring himself a drink into one of the crystal glasses he brought in earlier.  Only once he has taken a sip of his drink does he continue.

"Make no mistake, sleeping with that woman would have been a harsh price, but to see the look on her face in the afterglow of our little tryst... Oh!!"  He salivates over the image before adding, "For her to realize who I am, it would have been worth it."

"Except you realized even in death, her love for Ben lives on."

"Do you realize what a huge slap in the face that was to my brother's memory?"  He tosses the question at her as he leans over the checkout stand, the outermost edge tightly gripped by his hands.  "That's when I realized sleeping with her would not be enough.  No, she needs to know what he felt in the end."  He lifts his weight off the stand, moseying away from the enclosed area.  There is something about the manner in which he walks away that frightens Shalia, especially when he begins reciting words with a poetic rhythm that is anything but Shakespearean.  "To know death is coming, yet feels it so far away.  I want to give her that.  More importantly, I want to feel what it feels like for her."

"And what happens afterwards?  Someone is going to realize she is missing."

"It will be too late.  Even if they do find a part of her..." he winks, "they will never be able to recognize her."  All he had to do was remind himself that her parents had no qualms when they cut his brothers to bits.  "Yeah, it should be a very thankful Thanksgiving roast indeed."

Shalia lightly gulps, knowing there is nothing she can do to stop the fate that Andrew has in store for his brother's widow.

(<- H&B Fashions ->)

Lucien walks up behind Vanessa, but she refuses to face him in her moment of exposure.  He comes close to extending a comforting set of hands around her shoudlers, but upon careful reconsideration, thought better of it.  "I think you need to accept that I'm--"  He pauses, not quite able to say the words that hide on the tip of his tongue.  Vanessa takes it in stride.

"That you're what?"  She stares back at him with far more disdain than she thought was possible.  She attempts to fill in the blank with one plausible scenario after another, but never dares to repeat what he told her years ago.  "Not interested?  Or that maybe I'm a couple years too old?  A few feet too tall?"

"You are not the problem.  I am.  I could never give you the life that you deserve."  His voice begins to break at the tail end of his sentence.

"You never tried.  You don't have to be alone, Lucien.  I can bring you happiness, certainly more than Danielle Marquez."

Lucien head was starting to spin.  It was like talking in circles and nothing he said seem to get through.  "How many times do I have to say it?  There is nothing going on between me and Danielle.  I'm gay!"

The words shot out like a ton of bricks.  They weren't foreign to her ears, but it had been so long since Lucien had been able to echo those words to her -- that suddenly hearing it again made it all real.  She couldn't even absorb it long enough as her eyes caught sight of Michelle standing dead straight ahead.  Lucien picked up on Vanessa's sudden stiff demeanor and turn to find Michelle looking at the both of them with new eyes.  He could tell by the way she looks at him, almost shamefully, that she knew everything.

***Gay?  The thought never crossed her mind, yet hearing it allowed her to inspect Lucien more closely.  Of course, she was probably staring far too long.  Conscious, she wonders if it had already been a minute since they saw her.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't realize you two were still talking."

"It's not a problem, really."  He smiled lightly, trying to suppress the feeling that he was now far more exposed than he wanted to be.  The only person who ever knew of his true sexual preference was Vanessa.  He felt it was imperative the industry not know because of the stigma it would likely bring.  "Is Stephen ready for us?"

"Yes, but why don't you two take a few more minutes?  I'll tell Stephen you're going to be a couple more minutes." 

"Umm... Okay."  He says as Michelle quickly darts off in the opposite direction.  "Sure."  He turns back to Vanessa.  "I can't believe that just happened."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think it threw Michelle as well."

"I can't think about that right now.  I need you to understand that this part of me isn't going away."

"How do you know?  You've never even been with a guy?"  She says with almost 100% certainty, but then a flicker of doubt comes forth when he doesn't respond.  "Have you?"

"No, and I don't have to.  I know what's in my heart.  Stop holding on to this fantasy."  The door to the studio suddenly opens, causing Lucien and Vanessa heads to turn in that direction.  "Can I help you?"  Lucien inquires, observing the stiff-pressed dress young man approaching them.

"I'm looking for Vanessa Manthroll."

Vanessa cuts a curious glance at Lucien before speaking to the processor.  "I'm Vanessa."

The man places his hand over his suit jacket, pulling out a neatly folded document, which he then hands over to Vanessa.  "You've been served."  He says completely monotone, no indication of customer service training whatsoever.  When he is sure the document is in her hand, he tells the two of them good-day before exiting the way he came in.

"What is it?"  Lucien inquires, turning back to Vanessa, who slowly begins to open the document.  She can not believe her eyes when she begins to read the text in legal print.  While Lucien awaits patiently for answer, he can see that it is not good news at all.

(<- Leysdale Hospital ->)

Dana Lombard pushes in the door to the hospital chapel and finds it as she expected: empty.  Minus a few lit candles at the altar, the chapel is reasonably dark, small, and well-chilled.  She remembered sitting on the pews many times with Matthew Pryce, reassuring him that faith would get them through the crisis with his brother.  It's funny how hollow those words sound when you're the one that the tragedy scars.

As she moves stealthily down the aisle of the chapel, she runs her hands along the end of the pews in several rows before settling on the second.  Taking her seat, Dana tries to blow off the ball of nerves wrestling inside her stomach.  She once again notices the lit candles on the altar, except they appear much brighter for some reason.  A reason that isn't entirely apparent to her right now.

"Well, I know you're probably surprise to see me sitting here today."  She says with a weighted sigh.  "Truth is, so am I."  She tilts her head down, and begins fidgeting with her fingers.  Snapshots of everything that has gone down in the last 3-4 months plays over in her head at an accelerated speed:  Matthew's brother contracting the blackadder36 virus; Samantha's search for the antidote; the continuous warnings from her tarot; her and Matthew being locked in a hospital room and force to acknowledge their growing feelings for one another; Brock and Samantha finally reuniting after he spent weeks searching for her; Samantha becoming fatally ill within hours of her return; watching her brother make plans for a future with his wife when she strongly suspected the end was near...

Dana could stroll further down memory lane, but reliving anything more just seems like cruel and unnecessary torture.  Instead, she attempts to hold her head up once more, but her eyes remain slightly averted. 

"I think it would be an understatement to say a lot has happened.  But then I'm sure you already know that."  She can feel her jaw line start to tighten.  "I use to feel so honored because you had given me this special gift, and now-- it just doesn't make any sense."  She takes a suggestive pause, half-expecting someone to appear with words of clarity.  However, in the absence of her voice, silence continues to permeat the chapel.

Frustrated, she declares, "I should have been able to stop all this from happening.  Instead, my sister-in-law is dead, and so many people who loved her are in pain, and I don't know what I'm suppose to do with that."  She moves her left hand over her mouth, mulling over the statement.  A minute later, her hands are now re-gripping the edge of the pew while her feet dig into the carpet below.

"Ralph says I shouldn't shoulder this alone.  That I should turn to those who care about me.  But I don't deserve their solace.  This is my fault."  The flames of the altar candles flicker as her declaration vibrates against the chapel's walls.  Her view obstructed by the mist that clouds her eyelids, she looks on at the burning flame as she pronounces once more so that the words sink in, "This is my fault."

(<- Springfield Lakes Resort - Brock and Samantha's Apartment ->)

Meanwhile, Dana's brother, Ralph, distracts himself with the monotony that is washing dishes as he cleans out the coffee grind from the two mugs that he and his sister were using.  It takes no more than a minute, after which he places the two mugs carefully in the dish rack.  As he walks back into his brother and sister-in-law's adjoining living room, he feels he should be placing all his attention and worry on the sibling that just lost his wife.  But his sister really seems to be tearing herself in half over all of this.  The fact that she ran off so soon after their conversation, only vaguely assuring him that she would be okay, has him even more worried.  He has to do something.

Glancing over at the wall clock, he notes that it is about a quarter to nine.  He wasn't even sure the man would be up yet, but he knew that he would feel a whole lot better if Dana were in his company.  He grabs his cellphone from the coffee table, and scrolls through his list of contacts for his number.  On the second ring, Matthew Pryce answers.

"Hello?"

If Ralph had just awoken his sister's boyfriend from a deep sleep, Matthew certainly hid it well.  "Hey Matt, it's Ralph!"

"Oh... Hey!"  The call clearly takes him by surprise, although he does his best to cover as he settles onto one of the stools against his granite kitchen countertop.  "What can I do for you?"

Ralph opts to get straight to the point, "I know that you have been keeping your distance from Dana during this rather tenuous time, but that's not what she needs."

"I agree, but Dana feels she has to repair this situation on her own."  Matthew counters, having been down the road of trying to appeal to Dana's logical side.  He further adds, "I know she will never come outright and say it, but I think she feels if she weren't so emotionally wrapped up in my problems and our relationship that she could have prevented Samantha's death."

Ralph finds himself stressing through the phone, "But she couldn't have.  She was miles away when Samantha came into contact with that plant."

"I know, but she won't hear it."

"Then you keep saying it, Matt.  You let her know she did all she could.  But don't keep your distance, even if she continues to tell you that's what she wants.  Stick to her like glue."

He slouches back in his stool, suddenly filled with guilt, "Is she there?"

"No.  Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure where she is."  Ralph could hear the sound of Matt's labored breaths through the receiver as the conversation just sort of hangs there, neither one able to say another word.

(<- Undisclosed Location ->)

The small hotel room that they managed to secure on such short notice, and within walking distance from the club, no less, now serves as a crime scene: scattered with articles of clothing that the two casual strangers enjoyed tearing off one another.  Taking up a large portion of the room is a king size bed, where the two lounge on their back sides on top of some crumpled, recently washed sheets.  Turning over on her side, Shalia notes how his sweaty chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath after their exhaustive workout.  She wrings her hands through the messy mop that is now her hair, enjoying the moment.  It was unfortunate that she had a strict rule about sleeping with a mark more than once because this one was quite skilled.  Then again, married men usually were.

"So did I manage to get your mind off of you know what?"

Andrew turns his head over against the pillow, "Oh, believe me, you had my undivided attention from the minute we burst through that door." 

"Good."  A  broad smile curls across her face.  "Sometimes the escape is all you need."

Andrew turns his head away, forcing his eyes back at the ceiling.  "Yeah, but eventually you have to wake up and then you realize, nothing has really changed.  The world is still as cruel and unjust as it's always been."

"You're right, there is a lot of injustice."  Her face glows with a naivete that she doesn't often show.  "But eventually, the good guys do come out on top."

He arches his head back in her direction, "It's a nice sentiment, but ask yourself how many lives are usually severed in the process?  My brother was one of the good guys.  The best, and he was betrayed by his own wife and that sadistic family of hers.  And they got away with his murder for years; his wife is still out there free to live her own life with an upgraded husband while my brother's remains continue to decay."

"Why don't we have some champagne?"  She suggests, moving from the bed with one of the hotel sheets thinly wrapped around her naked frame.  She pulls out two glasses onto the personal bar, and begins pouring a nicely chilled bottle of white wine.  Once the glasses are 3/4 full, she sashays over to his bed side, and hands him a glass:  "Here.  It will calm your nerves."

Andrew, at this point, has lifted his head from his pillow, and is now sitting upright with an arched back against the wall.  However, her attempt to change the subject is not lost on him, but he couldn't really blame her either.  He just had this beautiful woman in his bed.  The last thing he needs to do is bore her with any more details about his unpleasant history with the Mallard mob family.

"Thanks.  Should we make a toast?" 

"I don't know."  Shalia responds, securing the thin sheet around her body once more before taking a seat near the edge of the bed.  "What do you have in mind?"

"Hmm..."  He ponders for a few seconds before the idea hits him.  "How about to strangers and fine wine?"

She shoots him a suggestive wink, then extends her glass out to his and repeats, "To strangers and fine wine."  Shalia still hears the glasses clinking in her head as she shuts off her car's engine, the car now parked inside the parking garage of the resort.  She knows she has to run back up to her apartment with Derek before he notices her missing, if he hasn't already, but she's not sure what to do after that.

With Ben Hemmings' death, she could always plead ignorance, but there is no room for misinterpretation this time around.  Andrew was pretty clear about what he plans to do to Shanna Hemmings, and the role he expects her to play in the little scheme.  She really would be an accessory to murder.  To the murder of the widow of her husband's best friend.

Reclining against the seat of her car, "He has every right to hate you and your family, Shanna.  But murder?"  The question hangs there as she lets out a frustrated grunt.  In her next breath, she cries out her husband's name: "Derek!"

She continues to lay there, thinking over her options.  She could break the news to Derek: that she was hired to seduce him, but fell in love with him along the way.  Of course, she would also have to tell him who hired her and why.  He could probably get past that, but what's to stop Andrew from retaliating if she exposes him and his vendetta against Shanna?  But then, there is no evidence indicating Ben's plane crash was anything but an accident, and it would be suicidal for Andrew to confess to sabotaging that plane.  Maybe the truth is the way to go.

But what if Derek doesn't forgive her?  There isn't exactly any love loss between her and Shanna, or him and Shanna, for that matter.  But Shanna was his best friend's wife.  Shalia would have to watch Derek carry the weight of Shanna's death, on top of Ben's, for months to come.  It was hard enough wrestling with Ben's ghost.  She's not sure she can handle another one in their marriage.

"Oh God."  If she weren't so distressed right now, she, herself, would have to laugh at the irony of invoking his name.  "I don't know if I can carry out Andrew's sick plan, but am I ready to tell Derek the truth?"  She asks herself as she squeezes both hands tightly around the steering wheel of her car.  Whatever her decision, she would need to make it soon.  After all, Thanksgiving was only two weeks away.

Click here for Episode 321