March 8, 2019

Don’t get used to this 😉 It’s my last night in Maryland, and I had some free time before I had to go bed.  It’s not Desperate Measures — I want to spend some time on the second part with that and what I want to do might take longer than 20 minutes.

So I dug out Fool Me Twice, and decided to see if I could get closer to wrapping up the flash fiction series so I could put it back into novel development (I am going to rewrite Jason’s return and the Twinning at some point, we all know this)

Fool Me Twice, Part Thirteen

This entry is part 13 of 13 in the series Flash Fiction: Fool Me Twice

Written in 20 minutes. No editing for typos.


Scott swallowed hard, his hands spread at his side to block any possible view of the exhausted and traumatized teenager behind him. In front of him stood his son. The only son he had left—

The sociopath that had played them all for fools these last few years, earning their trust, earning their affection—and then using it against them—

“I’m taking Cameron back to his mother,” Scott said slowly, his heart pounding, a trickle of sweat running down his back beneath his button down shirt. “And then we’re going to the hospital. Your tumor is obviously back—

Franco laughed then, a low chuckle that sent a chill racing down his father’s spine. He’d never heard that sound before, had never seen that light in his eyes—

He hadn’t been in town during Franco’s first rampage—didn’t know exactly who he was looking at—

“There’s no tumor,” Franco said, tilting his head slightly. “Well, there might be. But the tumor doesn’t matter. It never did.”

“Franco—”

“I never lost the taste for it—that rush of taking a life—” Franco closed his eyes, shook his head slightly as if in a dream. “But I had to wait. I had to be smart. I couldn’t play my games with anyone who could be missed.”

Scott swallowed hard. Oh God. “Franco—”

“The homeless, the whores—” Franco sighed. “It’s cliche, but it works. No one even wondered why my art came back to me. Why I could create magic again—”

“Oh, God, he’s going to kill us,” Cameron moaned.

“I thought about giving it up. Elizabeth—” Franco nodded. “If there was ever anyone who might be worth it, I guess it would have been her. But it got boring. The kids were whiny—that one—” He shuddered. “That behind you was going to catch on. It was only a matter of time.”

Franco’s hands were empty, and Scott couldn’t see a weapon. If he rushed his son—maybe Cameron could escape—but what if Betsy didn’t let the boy leave? What if Franco got past Scott and caught up?

Why hadn’t he told anyone where he was going? Why he had tried to save his son?

It was obvious there was nothing left to save. Maybe there never had been.

So with great regret, Scott reached behind him and pulled the gun from the holster attached at his waistband. He pointed it at his son. “Let me take him back to his mother,” he said slowly. Franco looked merely amused at the gun, not at all worried.

“He’s a bit too old for Betsy to raise, I guess. It’s a shame Elizabeth didn’t have any more babies I could have given my mother.” Franco touched a finger to his lips. “I thought about trying to Sam or Lulu’s kid. Maybe even Danny.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I wonder if he’s my kid after all. You know you can’t trust paternity tests.”

Scott’s stomach rolled and pitched as the reality of that set in. Franco had actually raped Sam. Had obviously been lying all along. How did they miss it? How did they ignore the signs?

He took a step forward, the gun trained directly on Franco. “We’re going to go. You can run. You’ll need to if you want to stay ahead of Jason Morgan and everyone else in Port Charles.”

Franco smirked. “No, I think I’ll stay here and wait. Isn’t the cavalry coming? Shouldn’t they be right behind you?” He arched his brows. “Or did you think you could save me? Is that why you’re alone?”

Scott stepped forward again, his hands trembling slightly as he cocked the gun. “I don’t want to do this, but if you’re right, if you’re still the same sick, twisted, psycho—then I should do everyone a favor.”

“How many children have you lost, Dad? Logan? Karen? You think I believe you’ll make it three?” Franco shook his head. “You’re just not as devious as you think you are—”

Franco lunged forward suddenly, in the middle of the sentence—and Scott reacted. He pulled the trigger. Once, twice, then a third time—

The first shot slammed into Franco’s shoulder, sending him flying back—the second ripped into his gut—and the third missed, taking a chunk out of the wall.

His son slumped to the ground, his hands covering his abdomen as blood pooled beneath him. He stared up at Scott, glazed shock in his eyes. “You shot—”

With one hand, Scott dug into his suit jacket and tossed his cell phone at the stunned Cameron. He heard screaming from the first floor, then footsteps as Betsy struggled to climb to the second floor. “Call Jason.”

“Why can’t I call my mother?” Cameron demanded, his voice shaking as he took the phone, his blue eyes locked on the bleeding man on the wooden floor.

“Call Jason, then call Mac Scorpio. Just do it, Cameron. I’ll explain later.” Scott swallowed hard and watched as the life left Franco’s eyes. As his chest stopped rising.

He’d wanted to protect his son, to save him, but he had to stop Franco from hurting anyone else.

Because sometimes that was a parent’s job, too.

March 6, 2019

Hey! Checking in from my research trip in Maryland. I’m halfway through the week and exhausted from spending five hours every day in the National Archives, reading typewritten pages from the 1970s. It’s a step up from the 19th c. handwriting I had to read for the last project. So ready to graduate.

I have a flash fiction for you guys — I’ve set it up as part of a series, but we’ll see if I add to it. It seems like it would be an easy solution to my lack of time — to just toss up some flash fic, but it’s still creative energy. Honestly, I’d prefer to spend whatever writing time I can manage on Mad World, but if you guys want fiction updates, I’ll try to do some flash fiction.

This is kind of set in contemporary GH — my idea of trying to save the goddamn show again. I don’t know if it’ll work. These characters are pretty far gone, but it’s a soap opera so nothing is ever over. It’s set a bit in the future, and all you really need to know is that this ridiculous serial killer storyline happened, Franco plead guilty, ended up stabbed. Ryan is gone, Ava is gone. (I figure she should get to kill him and then split town to deal with it, I don’t really care tho). Jason and Sam are done with the Dawn of the Dead shit because that is dumb as hell and I’m too tired to save it. Everything else should be self-explanatory.

First part is short because I’m getting a super late start and only had about 25 minutes to put into it. I set the timer 20, but went over about 5.

Desperate Measures – Part 1

This entry is part 1 of 1 in the series Flash Fiction - Desperate Measures

This is kind of set in contemporary GH — my idea of trying to save the goddamn show again. I don’t know if it’ll work. These characters are pretty far gone, but it’s a soap opera so nothing is ever over. It’s set a bit in the future, and all you really need to know is that this ridiculous serial killer storyline happened, Franco plead guilty, ended up stabbed. Ryan is gone, Ava is gone. (I figure she should get to kill him and then split town to deal with it, I don’t really care tho). Jason and Sam are done with the Dawn of the Dead shit because that is dumb as hell and I’m too tired to save it. Everything else should be self-explanatory.

First part is short because I’m getting a super late start and only had about 20 minutes.  No time for editing or typos, and I assure you — they’re always in there.

I ended up taking about 25 minutes altogether.


The Port Charles Police Department was not a place that Jason Morgan liked to spend a lot of time, but thanks to his career choice and the company he kept, he was here at least three times a month.

He pushed his way into the squad room, took in the the cluster of officers around the desk, and squinted down the hallway where he knew the commissioner’s office still sat empty. Jordan Ashford had died after a car accident three months earlier, and Laura Webber couldn’t find anyone willing to take the job.

But he hadn’t pulled himself out of bed at three in the morning to think about any of that. Diane Miller had sounded upset on the phone and hadn’t given him many details, only that he needed to get here as soon as possible.

His redheaded virago of lawyer was standing in front of the interrogation room, her fingers at her lips—Jason noticed with some surprise that she was actually biting on them. Diane was normally put together—her hair carefully done, her nails polished, her suits pressed—for her to be standing here without any makeup in a pair of yoga pants and a cardigan thrown over a tank top—

That was actually pretty terrifying.

“Thank God you’re here.” Diane strode towards him and wrapped her hands in the lapels of his leather jacket. “She’s insane. You’re the only person left who might be able to talk some sense into her.”

“Into who—” Jason started to ask but he stopped as he looked into the window of the interrogation room where the blinds had been left open for a chance. Sitting at the dark wooden table was one of his oldest friends and the mother of his son.

Elizabeth Webber.

Her skin was so translucent, it was nearly colorless. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were thick dark purple circles beneath them. Her chestnut hair lay limply against her shoulders.

Her hands were encased in a pair of silver handcuffs.

Across from her, Detective Harrison Chase sat, with the earnest look he knew so well. He was talking, and Elizabeth was shaking her head.

“What—” Jason turned to his lawyer. “What—”

“Scott Baldwin called me from the hospital, almost in tears,” Diane said. “Said Liz needed a lawyer and he wasn’t—he couldn’t. He said it was a matter of life and death—and I get here and she’s confessing—”

“Confessing to what—”

“It’s a lie. She would never—and even if she did, there was a damn good reason—” Diane pressed a hand to her forehead. “I feel responsible. I should have been nicer to her. More understanding. I don’t know how to do those things, but I could have figured it out.”

Diane was babbling. What could Elizabeth have done—

Jason took a deep breath. “Where’s Franco?”

She knew this feeling. She’d been here before. She’d lived here before. There was nothing. Nothing in her heart. Nothing in her head. Nothing in her body.

She was empty inside.

Elizabeth Webber stared down at her hands, at the handcuffs around her wrists, at the blood caked under her fingers—they had already scraped for evidence, but she hadn’t washed them. They hadn’t let her.

There could be evidence.

“I don’t know you that well, but Willow likes you. I know you’re not telling me the truth, Mrs. Baldwin—”

“I never—” Her voice didn’t feel like her own. She had to force it through her throat, past her lips. “I never changed it….”

“Miss Webber,” Chase corrected, his voice gentle. He was a nice man. He must not have been a cop long enough to see true darkness.

She knew what evil looked like. Tonight hadn’t even been the first time she’d been faced with it.

But tonight was the first time it had won.

“Where are your sons? Are they with family? They weren’t in the house—”

Elizabeth blinked. The boys. Put them first. Do it right. “Out of town. I sent them away. Earlier tonight. Before anything—they’re gone. They don’t know anything.”

“We need to talk to them—”

“No. No. You don’t.” She closed her eyes. “I did it. I did it all. I had to. Is…is Drew still alive?”

There was a sharp knock at the door and Diane threw it open. Chase sighed. “Mis Webber still doesn’t want her lawyer—”

“Can I talk to her?” came a voice Elizabeth still couldn’t get used to hearing. She opened her eyes, and there, standing behind Diane, was Jason.

She frowned. Why was he here? What was going on?

Chase hesitated. Looked at Elizabeth. “If you can talk some sense into her. She needs to tell us the truth.” He left the room, then Diane and Jason entered. Jason closed the door behind them.

He met her eyes, then took a seat as Diane paced restlessly.

“Diane told me what the charges are.” He leaned forward, those blue eyes intent on hers. Oh, God. She didn’t know if she had the energy to lie to him anymore. She didn’t want to lie to Jason.

Hadn’t she lied to Jason enough?

“It’s my fault,” she said roughly. “All of it. So I should have to pay for it.”

Diane growled. “Damn it—”

Jason shook his head. “Drew is in the hospital, with a head injury. And Diane says the boys were gone when the police got to the house.” He sighed heavily. “Did they see anything?”

“I—” She pressed her lips together. “Don’t ask me. I can’t lie to you.”

“They did, then. Where are they?”

“If you want to help me—” Elizabeth met his eyes. “If you ever loved me even a little, then you’ll do as I ask. This needs to be my fault. The boys are in a car heading towards the border. Cameron has his phone. He knows only to answer if I call him. But he might pick up if it’s you. You can get them and keep them safe.” Her voice shook. “But you can’t let Cameron talk to the cops. Okay? You need to get my boys away from here.”

“Elizabeth—”

“It’s my fault. I did this. I brought him into our homes. I let him lie to me. And I ignored all the signs that nothing that changed. It’s my fault. It doesn’t matter what happened. Please, Jason.” She spread her hands flat on the table. “The blood is on my hands. I’m asking you to let it stay that way. You did this for Michael. I’m asking you to do this for me.”

Jason leaned back, exhaled slowly, then looked at Diane for a long moment. He looked back at Elizabeth, the nodded. “Under one condition.”

“Jason—”

“Stop talking to the police. Let Diane help you. Don’t plead guilty. I don’t know what happened tonight, Elizabeth. But whatever it is, it’s not on you.” He rose to his feet. “It’s on me. For not killing Franco when I had the chance.”

“I wish I could blame you. It would be so easy.” Her voice broke, and tears started to slide down her cheeks. “But I can’t. I did this. I destroyed my life. Please don’t let the boys—”

“Will you let Diane help you?” Jason asked.

And even though she knew he would help the boys anyway, she nodded. “Okay. But—”

Jason looked at Diane. “Whatever it takes. You make this go away.” He looked to Elizabeth. “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

She closed her eyes, so she didn’t have to watch him leave. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured when the door had closed behind him.

She heard the chair scrape out again as Diane sat down. She opened her eyes to find the fierce brown eyes of her lawyer. “Tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave a single detail out.”