I'm back again, and some rather ill-intentioned former PV denizens hitched a ride. Scoundrels, they are….

####

The trek was akin to her campaign trail from a few years back, except this trail provided no pot of gold at the end.

Liza had been in more of Pine Valley's finest establishments in the past hour than she had in the past year. The Valley Inn boasted a new corridor design. The yacht club was teeming with a fresh batch of seasonal employees. And the park - the park no longer contained the beautiful foliage that promised new beginnings. So much had changed.

And so much had stayed the same.

Krystal dropped the phone, and the woman herself may have met the same fate if not for Brooke.

"Was it Adam?"

Krystal nodded numbly.

"Did he find AJ?" Brooke gently prodded.

Considering their own search had yielded nothing, they could only hope that somehow, some way a rare piece of good fortune had been delivered. Krystal's shaky sniff confirmed what Liza already knew. Hope was as much a fleeting figment as any fairy tale.

She shared so much in common with the two women before her. All three had transformed themselves into respectable career women, all three had survived marriage to Adam Chandler, and each of them would have made any bargain with the devil not to share the burden of having outlived their children.

"Adam wants me to meet him at the mansion," Krystal said. "He thinks that AJ's been kidnapped." A vehement blink and an even more vehement exhale preceded the next proclamation. "And he says there are others, too."

"What do you mean 'others'?"

Opal quieted Erica as Brooke moved closer to Krystal, almost protectively. She squeezed the woman's hand and when Krystal looked up at her, something seemed to calm.

"That's what we're going to find out," Brooke affirmed. Her hand still secure in its place, she helped lift Krystal from the edge of the stone fountain.

Liza lingered behind as the other women left. She reached into her purse and pulled out a fading but still vibrant photo. The unfamiliar tug at her lips won its battle. She lowered her head, and her lips lingered on a cheek forever frozen with color, with life.

By tomorrow, she would be in DC with Jack, fighting for the only legacy she could leave now.

"We can do this," she whispered. "We can make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, you can."

She gasped slightly at the ghostly touch. In one stupid, impulsive moment, Liza was completely stripped and naked, every childish hope sparking every nerve ending in her body. "Col –" She turned to a ghost, but not the one she so desperately needed to see in that moment.

Then she retreated, forcing the picture back in its cherished place…back into its quiet, safe corner. Her hands stayed in the darkness, pretending to search, pretending to be busy. Yet still betraying every chaotic, half-formed feeling of their owner.

"I'm sorry," Jenny said. An agonizing, damnable beat before she added: "I didn't mean to startle you. I -"

"I'm fine," Liza lied. "I knew you were there the whole time." With force, she closed the purse. Closed it all. She turned back to Jenny, hands clasped. Perfectly steady. "I was just going to rejoin the others. What did you want?" The simmering anger she could not hold back, even if a part of her realized it was irrational. Why her? Why perfect Jenny and not – "What is it?" she snapped.

"I need your help."

The words were quick, sudden, and their complete conviction caught her off-guard.

Liza recovered long enough to offer a knitted brow and a smirk. "Really?"

"Tad told me that you're a lawyer now."

"I'm sure Tad's just filled you right in. Tell me, have you had the privilege yet of meeting the so-called love of his life? I've got a feeling the two of you are thick as thieves."

"Liza, please –"

"Oh, I get a please now? I suppose that at least merits you a listen. Go ahead and enlighten me as to what type of trouble little Jenny's gotten herself into now. Did you steal some milk and cookies?"

Jenny pulled a letter that looked like it had seen better days from her own purse. Skeptically, Liza accepted the offering. "I want you to make sure this reaches someone, in the event of my death."

Liza covered her surprise with an admittedly poor joke. "What, you just got back and you're already planning a return trip to those harp-players in the sky?" Her smirk dropped when she met the other woman's eyes. "Who?" she asked.

"I think you can probably guess."

Of course. Long-suffering martyr Jenny wanted to leave a final love note for her perennial prince on the white horse.

With an exaggerated groan, Liza held out her hand.

"What?' the other woman asked, which earned an eye roll.

"Give me a dollar."

One minute later, Liza slipped one tattered note and one crisp George Washington into her purse. "OK, I'm officially your lawyer now., so confidentiality, blah, blah, blah,,,I'll send you my papers…." Looking her long-time enemy directly in the eye, she deadpanned. "Now, tell me what the hell is going on."

Jenny approached a cheap knock-off of an oddly appropriate painting: an insane asylum version of a star-filled night. She took in the image for a moment before facing Liza. "I believe I know who has AJ. And there's a fairly good chance that if I'm right, if I can find them - either I won't be going home tonight...or you'll be defending me for murder."

Liza strode to the doors. Turning back to the still-standing woman, she had one question: "Are you coming?" By the time she reached the parking lot, the soft patter of footsteps echoed behind her.

####

Well, that had to hurt.

David massaged his now-swelling cheek before gifting them all with one of his trademark smirks. He shrugged. "As long as it wasn't the hands."

Jesse turned rather unapologetically to his wife. "Had to do it just once."

"It's okay, I gave him one."

When the police chief stood face to face with the doctor, David simply said, "Are we ready to do this now?"

Jesse's response: draw his gun and take the lead through the doors.

Greenlee raised her eyebrows at Leo, who only shook his head and followed Brot and Natalia inside. She shot one glance to the heavens before going in last.

With every passing minute, the spikes of adrenaline coursing through her limbs hardened into a lead ball in her stomach. This shack with its Star Trek add-ons was, for all intents and purposes, deserted.

The kids weren't here.

Jesse shone his flashlight on the group, and his attempt to keep the official 'head honcho in charge' tone almost worked. Almost. "I think we should split up, find any clues, any idea –" his voice gave, just the slightest bit, on that word – "of where they might have gone. Groups of two, and keep together."

While Brot and Natalia and Jesse and Frankie paired off, Greenlee assessed the dynamics – and the potential explosives – before stepping beside Angie. She silenced Leo with one hand on the hip: secret weapon. "What? You don't think us girls could totally kick some ass?"

Leo scratched his head. "It's just that –"

"Go with David, Leo. It'll be okay."

I'll be okay, her eyes tried to say.

With a nod and his own version of the Hayward smirk, he headed in the opposite direction with his brother, leaving only her and a half-amused, half-frantic Angie.

As they took the left corridor, the doctor observed, "It's good to have someone so devoted to you…and someone you can wrap around your finger when necessary."

Greenlee smiled, but the gesture must have lasted a little too long, judging by the small smile on Angie's face. "It's not….like that," she said weakly, with an equally weak head shake.

Angie's wise response was an mm-hmm. After a beat, she asked, "What was the real reason you decided to play tag-along with me?"

This time, it was Greenlee's turn to offer a wise observation: "I kinda thought that unless we wanted a jacked-up replay of the earlier scene between your husband and the not-so-good doctor, you'd better not be in the same vicinity as David." The additional beat of silence told her she'd probably made the right call.

A few more minutes of fruitless searching yielded no results, and Angie was becoming visibly more agitated. They reached the end of the corridor, which was flanked by two doors that each branched off into another network of rooms. "God, this place is a freaking maze," Greenlee breathed.

"You take the left, and I the right?"

She didn't really want to leave the older woman alone. Angie had once saved her life, and they were both proud members of the David Hayward Lazarus Society, so she felt more than obligation. She felt a weird kind of kinship.

Angie, maybe sensing her hesitation, turned to her and flashed dimples that Greenlee had wished for a thousand times: the kind that could persuade their way out of any situation. "Girl power, remember?"

Against her better judgment, Greenlee offered a small salute. "Girl power."

With all the 'girl power' she could muster, she entered her side of the labrynth, still remembering all too well the one story her mother had told her as a kid: the one that ended with the prince being gobbled up by the serpent in the maze. "No princes and princesses and unicorns for our dear Greenlee," she muttered.

Except this little fairy tale did have a serpent, oh yes it did – one with a lilting voice and a familiar, lethal bite.

"But dear Greenlee, I think we can arrange a proper fairy tale ending, Grimm's style, of course."

The other familiar - the cold, sharp blade nipping at her throat - should've probably constricted her vocal cords. Should've weakened her.

If that's what the bitch holding the blade was expecting, she had another thing coming.

####

The first thing she'd noticed about the doors was their paradox. The ornate carvings imprinted on the rich oak pronounced the opulence and heritage of the towering house. It was a masterpiece that would command a high price at any gallery opening. But like most great masterpieces, it harbored its hidden messages, for those observant - or susceptible - enough. Those seemingly meaningless postmodern shapes took on definition, meaning, under appraising eyes. Those ovals and squares transformed into faces…faces that reflected the dual nature of the mansion's inhabitants.

When Cara had first walked through those doors over a year ago, she was captivated - seduced by beauty and majesty she had never witnessed before. When she had next stepped outside, she was no longer seduced, but forever haunted by the grotesque reality underneath the dazzling masks. Glancing down at one of her companions, she knew that she would at least not face the ghosts alone.

That door, that portal, was already ajar: an invitation.

Cara and Bianca were the first to accept the invite, stepping into the Chandler mansion once again – and coming face to face with its most lingering spirit.

####

"You left me! That - that's what you left me with - ashes and cinders of the son I worshipped, the son I rewarded with my name! You were my hope!...I prayed, I begged God didn't let you suffer. Well, he must have listened. I would've sold my soul to the devil to get you back…"

The long-ago words echoed, as if it had been mere minutes.

Five years – five years since he had allowed himself to believe that maybe it had all ended: the memories, the curse…the hatred. Now, gazing once again into hell itself, Zach knew that the deceptive ending had only been a beginning.

Today, he would end it on his own terms.

"Why don't you let Tad and Dixie here take the kids for a little walk? Give us a chance to catch up."

Miranda and Gabby were huddled beside the plane, but his boy –

The only thing keeping Zach from tearing off the head of the monster was the knowledge that Ian was sleeping in that devil incarnate's arms, absent of the fear and revulsion that Zach had felt every time his fatherr touched him.

Alexander cocked his head and paced, his gait barely hindered: a living, breathing reminder that even the miracle yang of Orpheus had its debt-laden yin.

"I see that my son still hasn't learned his proper manners. A hello would be nice."

Zach kept a watchful eye on the syringe between Alexander's fingers as Tad supplied a proper greeting for them all. "Hello, you sick freak."

"Ah, Mr. Martin and his lovely bride," Alexander chuckled. "I do hope that you two have set a wedding date. I am afraid, however, that I will be unable to attend."

"Where is Kathy?"

Zach admired Dixie's restraint, as she managed to temper the force in her first step and prevent herself from doing what every sane adult in this room wanted to do.

"One matter at a time, dear." Alexander said. "Not to demean you with trite cliches, but I must say that death quite becomes you. You look stunning."

"Mimo, Gabs, are you okay?"

Alexander stepped in front of the girls, stopping Kendall's intent.

"My young ladies are fine. In fact, I believe they would love to take a stroll with Mr. and Mrs. Martin." Alexander glanced casually at the approaching couple. "Do keep in mind that we have a plane to catch. Don't go too far." The pleasant uptick in his voice did nothing to hide the venomous threat underneath.

Dixie scooped up Gabby with a smile, and Miranda looked to Kendall – who nodded and supplied her own faltering smile– before reluctantly taking Tad's hand.

"What about Ian?" Zack asked, already knowing the answer.

"I think young Ian is comfortable where he is. I would truly hate to disturb his rest." Alexander shifted the slumbering form in his arms. "We do have so much to catch up on, Son."

####

"You think you know a place and then, bam!" Her two ride-alongs jumped only a little bit at her forceful hand clap. "You mosey right on up to that slithery, slip-sliding underbelly."

Jenny was too caught up in fixing an evil eye on the banged-up building to scold her mother once again for playing a little game of hidden 'I spy.'

What did the girl expect, though? Once Opal had caught sight of her baby high-tailing it out of the parking lot with Liza Colby of all people in tow, what was a good mama to do? After Jenny had gotten over her mad spell, she'd naturally made a spot for her mother in the back seat. They'd spent the better part of two hours quietly – well, mostly – hunting down the building that Jenny remembered from her –

Her time. Opal still couldn't bring herself to think, let alone say, the real word for what her baby had gone through.

Apparently, they'd found their destination in this run-down old condemner's paradise that looked like more like it had housed a few brothels than a high-tech medical center.

Opal had been knocked over by a lot of visions in her time, but this place just gave her the old-fashioned heebie-jeebies. The effect on her daughter, however, was almost too much to take. A mama didn't need second sight to know that her daughter's slowing footsteps and tensing face muscles meant that bad memories were brewing.

As if she had her own bout of psychic senses, Jenny turned to her mother and smiled. "It's okay, Mama."

Opal's own beam fell away at her daughter's next words: "Stay here."

Watching her daughter walk through a hallway to Hades with the she-devil herself, Opal huffed and waited a safe few minutes before following her daughter through the open hellmouth.

####

Leaning into the blade, Greenlee greeted her former tormentor in a breezy tone. "Hello again, mommy-in-law from hell."

The knife dug deeper, and Greenlee bit down on the pained hiss, funneling it instead toward her suddenly numb arms. "Still a little angry, I see. I guess David's back-from-the-dead special didn't hit the right spot, huh?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of this?" Vanessa's grip on her shoulders tightened.

Greenlee forced a smirk. "What, spooning me? Must say I'm touched, if not a little weirded out." She focused on the row of computer screens, the only thing she could see. Apparently, she'd been the lucky duck to stumble into Grand Psycho Central. "Why don't you let me turn around, then you can have the pleasure of looking into my big, beautiful eyes while you do….whatever."

"I rather prefer it this way."

Each whisper sent another wave of nausea, which dissolved the lead in her stomach.

"Ew." She forced the disinterested evenness in her voice. "Maybe you just can't get the job done, is that it?"

"Or maybe….." The blade retreated, and Greenlee allowed herself a breath….a breath that caught as an even colder – an absolutely freezing – circle pressed against her temple. "…I've just learned to be more efficient in my manner of disposal."

The gun cocked.

Greenlee quietly counted down the last few seconds of her life, filling each second with images – with faces – that Vanessa could never steal from her.

When the count got to one, her mind and heart summoned a cocky smile, messy hair, and brown eyes that melted the most stubborn ice.

The image had, against odds, materialized in the doorway. But its mouth had twisted into a horrified oval that issued only one primal, familiar word: "No!"

This echo of the past surged adrenaline through her legs, breaking Greenlee's paralysis. Raising her foot, she brought it down with everything she had. The crunch and the yelp behind her was equal parts satisfying and motivating. Lifting a rejuvenated arm, she bent it at the elbow and sent the makeshift weapon backwards with the efficiency of an axe slicing through wood. When she wheeled around, Vanessa was almost doubled over, but not quite. The woman raised pained and hate-filled eyes to her.

Perfect.

Taking one breath to savor the moment a decade-plus in the making, Greenlee allowed the surge to overtake every finger, every fiber of her being. When that surge became one hell of an electrical storm, she found that she only had to lean back slightly. The force of her fist against Vanessa's face did the rest.

Rubbing her hands together, Greenlee huffed and turned back to the two awe-struck arrivals.

"Nice punch," David observed.

"Thanks." Greenlee's smirk softened into a smile when she saw that face again: the figment, the dream turned full-technicolor reality.

That face, however, and those telling eyes were not connecting with her, but looking past her.

Even past the groaning woman on the ground.

Frowning, Greenlee turned again and got her first look at the hidden occupant of the room: the little boy now holding Vanessa's gun.