Copyright issues: I don't own this article. I wish I did :) Enjoy and please comment!
The bitter winter wind bit his face, as he wrestled his way through the large holiday crowd. He'd always hated shopping—especially at this time of year. In fact, he really wanted to curse out loud, at the shoppers, at the weather…and at Monica for having to work later than normal, because 'it's the holidays'.
"Daddy, I have to go to the potty," Erica pulled on Chandler's right arm, and yanked him from his thoughts. He looked down at his daughter, who was clearly not having a good time, and smiled softly.
This was why he couldn't curse. He was fighting through the crowds with his children—and for children, this was supposed to be a happy time of year! They didn't care about the crowds or the cold or the grouchy shoppers—all they knew was that this was the best time of year.
"Okay, let's go find you a bathroom, and then maybe the three of us can get some hot chocolate—what do you say?" Chandler grinned.
"Yay!" Erica and Jack cried simultaneously, as Chandler took a tiny hand in each of his, and led them toward the nearest department store.
Unfortunately, the nearest department store was Bloomingdale's, and was crawling with wall-to-wall shoppers.
Chandler sighed, and let go of Erica's hand just long enough to open the door and usher his six-year-old twins inside, before grasping their hands once more, and working his way through the crowd.
Because it was frigid outside, the heat was on high inside, and Chandler found himself sweating moments after entering the store. He made his way to the first counter he saw, and waved down a grumpy-looking sales clerk.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry but…where is the bathroom?"
The woman, pale and drawn, was wearing a thick layer of makeup, making her appear much older than she most likely was. Wordlessly, she lifted a thin, red-clawed finger, and pointed it toward the back of the store. Chandler nodded gratefully, as the woman floated silently toward the next customer.
As they made their way to the back of the store, Chandler picked up a familiar holiday tune, and instinctively cringed. Jingle Bell Rock was one of his mother's favorite songs, and she had insisted on exposing his children to it last Christmas. And, since Nora can't sing to save her life, she ended up making Erica cry while Jack simply stared at her in wonder for the rest of the night.
Making his way past a bank of brass elevators, Chandler finally managed to find a small hallway, with a door on either side. One door was marked Men's, the other, Women's, and only one had a line snaking out of the bathroom and out toward the elevators.
He looked down at Erica, who was now dancing back and forth from one foot to the other, and then down at Jack, who was wearing the same shell-shocked look he'd worn when his Grandmother had attempted to sing to him.
"Well, there are two of us, and one of you, Jellybean," Chandler smiled, and pointed to the Men's room, "I say we take the road less traveled."
Erica looked up at her father with a mixture of panic (she really had to pee!) and confusion (what road was he talking about?). He simply chuckled, and pulled the twins toward the Men's room.
Ten minutes later, Chandler found himself back out in the throng, trying to survive the Bloomingdale's crowd long enough to get out and to the sidewalk. It seemed like the crowd had thickened, he noted, and the thought made him even more determined to get the hell out of there. He knew Monica would be annoyed that he hadn't picked up Rachel's gift—but he just couldn't take it anymore—he had to get out of there.
"Daddy, I dwopped my glove," Jack yelled, and the threesome came to a sudden stop right next to the jewelry counter where the scary, thin woman had given them silent directions.
"Jack!" Chandler scolded, as he scoured the floor for the glove. Never mind the gift, Monica would never forgive him if she knew one of their children was walking around New York in December wearing only one glove.
"Where did you drop it?" Chandler asked, as he and the children backtracked slightly.
"Over thewe, somewhewe," Jack waved his gloveless hand in the general direction of the center of the store.
"Ugh," Chandler groaned, and began walking back the way they'd come.
For fifteen minutes, they scoured the floor, looking under racks, and people's feet. And finally, Chandler was able to make out what appeared to be Jack's glove (thank goodness it was red!) kicked into the corner near the elevators.
Relieved, Chandler grabbed the glove, and turned to find Jack, smiling proudly, with his little gloveless hand extended. Chandler pulled the glove onto Jack's hand, and sighed in relief.
"Okay, let's go," Chandler said, "keep hold of your glove this time!"
"I will," Jack reassured his father with a sharp nod.
"Where's your sister?" Chandler looked around, noting that Erica was not standing where he'd left her.
"She was there," Jack said shakily.
A rush of panic swept through Chandler, and instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his son, and picked him up, holding him close as he ran up and down the bank of elevators.
"Erica! Erica!" Chandler cried, his voice raspy and desperate.
An elevator opened, and several people walked out, all ignoring the father's frantic calls.
"Excuse me, have you seen a little girl? She's six and has blonde hair and a purple jacket…"
A kindly elderly woman finally turned, and looked up at Chandler.
"No, I'm sorry…I haven't seen any little girl."
Feeling nauseous and unsteady, Chandler rushed through the store, his son in his arms, dark dread filling him with each passing moment.
Erica was nowhere to be found.
-------------------------------------
Her cell phone had been ringing incessantly for the past half an hour, but the restaurant, and thus the kitchen, had refused to die down long enough for her to check it. She knew that it was most likely Chandler, who was supposed to be picking up Rachel's gift, and he was probably either lost or bored or both. Shaking her head, she concentrated on cooking the Sea Bass that was splattering in her pan, and decided that Chandler would just have to wait.
"Monica? Your husband's on the line," Laura, her new sous chef called, from across the room.
Monica sighed. "Can you tell him I'll call him back?"
"He says it's an emergency."
Monica felt her heart jump. Emergency. Immediately, she thought of the children, and raced across the kitchen, her mind racing.
It's fine, she told herself as she took the phone from Laura's extended hand, everything is fine.
"Chandler?" she said, as soon as the phone receiver touched her ear.
There was silence, and for a moment, Monica thought that they had been disconnected. Then she heard her husband take a breath of air, and immediately, she knew.
"What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm and steady as she could.
"It's Erica," Chandler finally rasped, and Monica could barely hear him over the clanging in the kitchen behind her, "we-we can't find Erica."
Monica felt her body begin to tremble, and she leaned against the wall for support. The kitchen around her disappeared, and her head was spinning so fast, it was all she could do to keep from passing out.
"Where are you?" she finally managed, though she wasn't even certain she'd said the words out loud. Her ears were ringing, and her head was swimming with worst-case scenarios.
"Bloomingdale's. Mon, I'm so sorry, I just turned around and she was…I didn't—" Chandler stuttered. Monica, unaware that he was even talking, dropped the phone and turned to Laura.
"I have to go," she said shakily, and rushed out of the kitchen before Laura could respond.
The taxi ride across town was excruciating, and all Monica could do was stare out frosted window listlessly, her mind and heart racing.
The taxi made its way downtown, and Monica's eyes fell on every tiny blonde head they passed, and every family that rushed through the streets, laughing merrily.
Her heart was heavy with concern. Somewhere, out there, her daughter could be wandering in the cold, lost and crying, with no one there to keep her warm.
Without her mother.
Monica closed her eyes, and rested her forehead on the window lightly.
It could be something worse. It could be something much, much worse.
She sat up and shook her head. No. She refused to believe that. Erica was always a bit mischievous, and chances are she was simply hiding under a rack of clothing, waiting for her frantic father to find her.
She sighed. Something in Chandler's voice told her that this wasn't the case.
Guilt coursed through her. She shouldn't have made Chandler take the children with him into the crowded city. She should have taken her mother up on her offer to watch the children. She'd refused, because she'd had planned on meeting up with Chandler after work, and taking the kids to Rockefeller Center and teaching them how to skate. But the restaurant would not die down, and besides, Chandler had taken care of both children alone before.
Her guilt melted away slightly, as she reasoned that this was no one's fault. Children wander off all the time. Everything would be fine.
The taxi pulled to a rough stop just in front of Bloomingdale's, and Monica paid the driver, before stepping out of the cab. She wrapped her arms around her, as a chill ran through her, and it was only then that she realized that she had forgotten her coat.
She walked up to the large brass and glass doors, and peered through them.
Inside, several police officers were wandering through the store, along with what appeared to be store management.
Far in the corner, she spotted Chandler, seated on a small step leading up to the elevators, Jack wrapped securely in his arms.
Erica was nowhere to be seen, and Monica felt panic rise through her again.
She opened the door, and was met with a rush of warm air. A young police officer stopped her as she tried to walk in.
"I'm sorry, Miss. The store is closed."
"I—I'm Mrs. Bing—E-erica's mother," Monica whispered.
The officer's eyes softened, and he nodded and waved her inside.
She walked across the store, fully aware that the manager and police officers were watching her. She walked toward Chandler, stopping several feet away from him.
He looked up at her, but couldn't meet her eyes. He looked pale and weary, and Jack was sleeping soundly in his trembling arms.
"Mon, I—"
"What did the police say?" Monica asked, her words much harsher than she had intended.
"They—they're searching the area," Chandler replied, and looked at the ground.
"She's probably in here somewhere—" Monica looked around the store desperately.
"She's not—they looked. We all looked. She isn't here, Mon."
"Did you look inside those round racks? You know how she likes to hide—" Monica's voice raised, as her desperation increased.
"She isn't here!" Chandler raised his voice slightly, and Jack fussed and then drifted off again, "It's been two hours."
"Two hours? Why didn't you—why didn't you call me earlier?" Monica asked.
"I tried! You didn't pick up—and—and no one at the restaurant picked up—not for a while—"
"I can't believe this," Monica said breathlessly, as she placed her hand over her forehead.
"Mon, I'm so sorry. I…I turned and she was just…she was just gone!"
Monica found herself wanting to turn and scream at her husband that he should have never turned away from her—that he should never have let go of her hand. But she could hear the overwhelming sadness in his voice, and she knew that that was not what he needed now. That's not what either of them needed.
She swallowed down her rage and told herself that this was not Chandler's fault.
They would find her.
Turning slowly, she saw Chandler rocking Jack in his arms, as quiet sobs shook his tired shoulders. Sighing heavily, she sat down next to her husband, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and laid her head on his left shoulder.
"We'll find her. I'm sure she just got lost. It's gonna be okay," she whispered.
"I'm so sorry," Chandler whispered again.
"Its—" she wanted to say it wasn't his fault, and that she forgave him. She looked down at Jack, sleeping soundly, and felt her throat, and heart clench.
"It's gonna be okay," she repeated.
Not wanting to disturb the family, the officer and store security guard approached slowly and quietly. When a hush fell over the couple, the police officer cleared his throat.
"Um, I'm sorry to disturb you, but…we have something that you should maybe see."
Chandler and Monica looked up at the officer, their eyes filled with hope.
The short, stocky security guard stepped up next to the officer, wearing a grim look on his face.
"We have reason to believe that your daughter did not just wander off," the guard said, with little regard for Monica and Chandler's feelings.
"Bob," the officer hissed, and shoved him back, "Sir, M'am, if you could come with us…we have something to show you."
Chandler and Monica stood, and looked briefly at each other, before following the officer and security guard toward the elevators. They were then led through an unmarked door, and down a long, dimly lit corridor that let to yet another unmarked door. The security guard pulled out a ring of several keys, and used one to open the large metal door.
Inside, several security monitors panned the store, looking out for shoplifters. They were all connected to a large panel housing several buttons and two red telephones. The security guard switched on a separate television, and cued up a video.
"We found a video that may help us," the officer said calmly, as 'Bob' hit 'play'.
A black and white, grainy image filled the screen, and immediately, Chandler saw himself, in the upper right hand corner of the screen, searching for Jack's wayward glove. His heart leapt as he saw Erica, standing just behind him, waiting patiently. Moments later, he watched himself discover the glove, just as two elevator doors slid open behind him. A crowd of shoppers exited the elevator, one or two walking between Chandler and Erica. The crowd dispersed just as Chandler slipped on Jack's glove, and just like that, Erica was gone.
Nausea hit Chandler, as the officer rewound the tape to show him and Monica the two people he believed to be suspects. He looked over at Monica cautiously, and noted that she was looking at her hands, trembling as tears slid freely down her face. He wrapped his free arm around her, and pulled her toward him.
"Someone took her, Chandler," Monica sobbed, "someone took our little girl."
Chandler closed his eyes, and swallowed hard, unsure how to reply to Monica.
He looked over at the television monitor, in time to see his own image, turning away from his daughter to find the glove.
His heart sunk, and he closed his eyes, and let his own tears fall silently.
--------------------------------------
The car ride home was painfully quiet—the only sound beyond the humming of the car engine was that of Jack's soft snoring—a subtle reminder that Monica and Chandler were going home with only one of their children.
Chandler knew this route by heart—after all, he'd made the trek in and out of the city nearly every day for over six years. Instinctively, he changed lanes half a mile from their exit, his eyes focused vaguely on the road before him.
The police had told them that there was nothing more that they could do tonight. They had told the worn couple to go home, and that they would call when they had news. Monica had reluctantly agreed to go home, after Chandler softly reminded her that they should put Jack to bed.
Chandler stole a short glance at his wife, his heart aching at the sight before him. Monica was curled in the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny legs, her forehead resting on the passenger side window. She was staring straight ahead, but her vacant expression told Chandler that she wasn't really looking at anything. He sighed softly, and forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead, lest he become the cause of yet another disaster tonight.
Several minutes later, he pulled their 4-Runner into the driveway, and turned off the engine. When Monica made no move to get out of the car, he opened the front door, got out, and opened the back door to gather Jack.
Jack sighed restlessly when Chandler picked him up, but immediately settled into his father's arms. Chandler carried the sleeping boy carefully into the house, flipping on lights only when necessary, and pausing for a short moment, before reluctantly settling Jack into his bed.
A chill ran through him, as he watched his son sleeping soundly before him. Fighting back tears, Chandler kissed Jack on the forehead, pulled off his shoes, and pulled the blankets over his son's slumbering form. He rose, and closed Jack's door only slightly, before making his way down the hall.
On his way to the staircase, he passed Erica's bedroom. A sharp pain coursed through him, and he paused in front of her door. Slowly, he reached out, and turned the doorknob, before pushing the door ajar.
Her room was exactly how they had left it this morning—an outfit she'd discarded had been carelessly tossed onto the foot of the bed—her favorite teddy bear—a gift from her Uncle Joey—was sitting prominently on her pillow, it's amber eyes shining merrily.
Chandler walked hesitantly into the room, and picked up the bear slowly. He straightened the bear's tiny t-shirt—a bright pink shirt with the word Hollywood! emblazoned across it in bright yellow letters. Monica thought the shirt was horribly tacky, but Erica adored it, and for months after Joey had given it to her, she'd taken it everywhere with her.
Smiling sadly, Chandler knelt beside his daughter's bed, and hugged the bear to his chest…
FLASHBACK..
"Daddy, you forgot to kiss Bear," Erica smiled, and held out the lifeless toy.
"Oh, I'm sorry Bear!" Chandler laughed, and kissed the stuffed animal quickly, "Good night!"
"Wait!" Erica cried, in a desperate attempt to extend her bedtime.
Chandler sighed and turned toward Erica, "Honey, it's time to go to sleep."
"Can you just sing one song? Pleeeease!"
Shaking his head in defeat, Chandler kneeled next to Erica's bed, and ruffled her hair playfully.
"One song, then you are going to sleep!"
"Okay!"
"Okay…let's see. What do little girls that refuse to go to sleep usually listen to?"
"Daddy!"
Chandler laughed, and pulled Erica into his arms.
"Would you like to swing on a star," he sang softly, "Carry moonbeams home in a jar…and be better off than you are…you could be swinging on a star…"
.
Monica watched as Chandler carried Jack into the house. Her mind was racing. How could this have happened to them? After all that they had been through just to get their children, how could someone just take that away? Tears filled her eyes, and as they slid down her cheeks, she dropped her head into her hands.
It was the worst thing that could have happened to them. Her shoulders trembled, as her silent tears became sobs. Her body began to tremble violently, and she suddenly felt like she was suffocating. She looked up at the house that stood in front of her—now staring back at her ominously, as if judging her, telling her that everything about this was wrong.
She let out a pain filled sob, before hiccupping through several breaths.
Her mind continued to race through any and every worst-case scenario, and she began to feel uncontrollable panic set in.
As her sobs became more pronounced, she let out a pained, primal scream, and buried her face in her hands.
The car door swung open, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was heavy and hazy, and she was hardly aware that her seatbelt had been unfastened, and that she had been lifted from her seat.
She shivered, as the night air hit her, and she buried her face in the crook of a neck she knew well.
She had buried her face in his neck many times—and he had always been there to help her through the worst moments of her life.
But tonight, she knew that he could not make things better—he could not take away the pain she was feeling.
This time, he was the cause.
Or was he? She was so confused…so lost. She clung to him as he moved to set her on the sofa, needing him to be there, with her, his presence reassuring, somehow.
Yet it was still there…that nagging need to blame him for something…would this had happened if she'd been there? Perhaps it was her fault? What had gone wrong tonight?
Too exhausted to think about it any more, she buried her face in Chandler's chest, and struggled to find comfort in his embrace.
.
"She's asleep now. I don't know, she hasn't said much."
Monica opened her eyes, and strained to listen to her husband's hushed voice in the next room. Who was he talking to this time of night? She sat up, and noted that the sun was beginning to ascend in the horizon.
"Okay, see you soon. Bye." She heard Chandler hang up the phone, and she looked up at him as he entered the living room.
"Hey," he whispered, slightly surprised that she was awake.
"Who was on the phone?" Monica asked sharply.
"Ross," Chandler replied, then circled the sofa to sit next to her. She stood up as he sat down, and crossed the room.
"You told him? Don't you think you should have at least talked to me about it first?"
"He already knew. The police called him, and freaked him out! They're gonna call everyone, eventually. We need to tell people what's going on," Chandler explained gently.
"I…I don't want people to know! Do you have any idea what my mother will do when she finds out?"
Chandler furrowed his brow, "Monica, she'll be concerned, just like Ross and Rachel are. They're on their way over, they want to help."
"She's gonna think I'm a bad mother," Monica continued, "That I can't handle taking care of two kids! That's what they'll think!"
"Monica, you need to calm down! No one is gonna think that! It was an accident—and it wasn't your fault!"
Monica stared at Chandler silently for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"No…I should have been there," she muttered quietly.
"What do you mean by that, exactly?" Chandler asked cautiously.
The phone rang, and both Chandler and Monica jumped. Monica rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" she said loudly, anxiously, "Oh, hi Phoebe. No, I—I thought you were someone else. No, we don't know anything…no, it's okay, we'll call you when we hear something. I will. Thanks, Phoebs. Okay. Bye."
"Monica—" Chandler started.
"I'm gonna go check on Jack," Monica said quietly, as she swallowed down the lump that was forming in her throat again. She brushed past Chandler wordlessly, and ascended the stairs as quickly as she could.
Chandler collapsed onto the sofa in defeat.
.
"Do they have any idea who took her?" Ross queried, an hour later. He and Chandler were seated in the living room, sipping coffee.
"They have a video…and they are gonna try to go from that, I guess," Chandler shrugged.
"How's Monica holding up?" Ross asked quietly. His sister had been unusually quiet since he and Rachel had arrived.
"Not well. She slept for an hour or two, but was crying most of the night. But she'll barely look at me much less talk to me," Chandler sighed.
"Well, my parents said they'd watch Emma and Sam as long as we need them too. I'm sure if you need them to watch Jack they will."
"No, I think we'd rather have him here with us," Chandler replied quietly.
"What about you? How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. I just…I can't believe this is happening, ya know? I can't believe I turned away—"
"Chandler, this isn't your fault. It could have happened to any of us. You can't let this eat at you, man. You'll go mad."
Chandler nodded, and looked at his hands.
"The thing is, I keep seeing the image from that videotape in my head. I can't get it out, it's like it's on a continuous loop. And all I keep thinking is—I should have never turned away. She would be here right now if I hadn't turned away."
"Chandler—"
"And I know that's what Monica is thinking. I know she blames me, Ross. I can see it in her eyes."
"She loves you. And you two are going to get through this."
"I don't want to get through it!" Chandler snapped, "I want to find my daughter."
"I know, okay? I know," Ross held up his hands defensively, "That's not what I meant."
"I'm sorry," Chandler shook his head, "I know what you meant. I'm just…I just don't—"
"It's okay," Ross pulled his friend and brother into a hug, "We're gonna help you, I promise, we'll find her."
.
"What did my mom say when you told them?" Monica asked quietly, as she set a cup of coffee in front of Rachel and took a seat at the kitchen table.
"We didn't tell them anything. Ross told them that you were going to call them today."
"I don't want to tell her," Monica shook her head.
"Mon, they're going to need to know. They're going to want to help."
"I know…I guess I just…talking about it is just…I can't," Monica sighed.
"Ross and I can talk to them, if you want. We're gonna call to check on the kids later anyway."
"No…I should tell them…I guess I just…I guess I was hoping that they would have found her by now."
"They'll find her," Rachel placed a supportive hand on Monica's arm, "you said they have a video, right?"
"Yeah," Monica said darkly, images from the video haunting her.
"They must have something then," Rachel nodded.
"I hope so," Monica whispered.
"How's Jack?" Rachel asked tentatively.
"He's okay. We told him that she was okay, and that she would be back soon. But I think he knows that something's wrong."
Rachel noted Monica's refusal to say her daughter's name. She had noticed it earlier, when she and Ross had first come over. Since their arrival, Rachel had yet to hear Monica or Chandler utter Erica's name out loud.
"Maybe you should talk to him about it," Rachel suggested, "Ask him what he remembers."
"No," Monica shook her head, "I don't want him to feel like he did something wrong."
"No one did anything wrong, Monica. It wasn't anyone's fault, except the person that took Erica."
Monica nodded, but Rachel could see that she disagreed with her.
"Maybe we should go into the living room," Rachel suggested.
"You go," Monica smiled tightly, "I'm gonna go check on Jack."
Rachel nodded, and watched as Monica walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Jack's bedroom. She walked into the living room and sat down next to her husband.
"How is she?" Ross asked quietly.
"Okay. But I think she's blaming herself a lot," Rachel sighed.
Chandler winced, and looked up at the staircase longingly.
Though she was under the same roof, Chandler was beginning to miss his wife terribly.
The fear of losing all that he had was overwhelming, and unsure how to handle it, he stood up, quietly excused himself, and walked out the front door.
------------------------------------
He walked out the front door quickly—but didn't go far. Instead, he reached behind a large hedge that sat up against the house, fumbled around through some stones, and found what he was looking for.
He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the Ziploc bag, and stuffed the plastic into his pants pocket. Sighing heavily, he sat down on the porch step, and pulled a cigarette and his lighter out of the wrinkled red package.
He was pretty sure that Monica was well aware that the cigarettes were there—it seemed they had formed an unspoken agreement about his habit—he would smoke in secret, and she would pretend she didn't know about it.
He hadn't smoked in a while, though, so when he lit the stick and inhaled deeply, he felt a warmth rush through him that he'd nearly forgotten.
It was a warmth that he cherished.
The front door opened, but Chandler made no move to extinguish his cigarette. Somehow he knew that the person standing behind him was not Monica.
And he was right.
Rachel sat down next to him slowly, never taking her eyes off of him as he inhaled again.
"I thought you quit…again?" Rachel sighed with a slight sad smile.
"I don't think we ever quit…not really," Chandler said after he blew out a plume a smoke.
"She doesn't really blame you…she just…needs to put her emotions somewhere…I think," Rachel said softly.
"I know," Chandler whispered, and tapped the end of his cigarette slowly, "I just wish…she would let me in."
"She needs time. She doesn't know what to do, ya know?"
"And I do?" Chandler laughed bitterly.
"That's not what I meant. Look, Chandler, it could have happened to any of us—any one of us," Rachel echoed darkly.
"But it didn't, Rach, it happened to me—to my daughter. It's not like anyone had a lot of confidence in my parenting skills beforehand, ya know?"
"Chandler, this has nothing to do with that—and you are a wonderful father—"
"Right," Chandler shook his head, "tell that to my wife."
"Chandler, come on. This isn't going to help Erica. You and Monica need each other, because you are the only person in the world right now who understands her pain, and she yours. Despite what she may say, Chandler, she needs you. And you need her, and you both need to focus on finding Erica now. What's done is done." Rachel took a breath, and placed a supportive hand on Chandler's forearm, "This is not your fault."
Chandler looked at Rachel, tears lining his eyes.
"I know this may sound selfish Rach—but I really need to hear that from Monica. I need her to tell me that she doesn't blame me—she hasn't done that." He whispered.
"She will…I'm sure she will," Rachel smiled.
.
"Hey, big guy!" Ross smiled widely, as Monica carried her bleary-eyed son down the stairs and into the living room. Jack didn't reply—he simply rubbed his eyes and plopped his head onto Monica's shoulder.
"He's still sleepy," Monica said, exhaustion lining her own voice.
"Maybe you should try to get some rest, Mon," Ross suggested, "I can keep an eye on Jack."
"I'm okay," Monica replied shortly, as she settled onto the sofa and settled Jack into her arms.
"Mon—you guys should—should maybe talk," Ross said tentatively.
"What?" Monica arched her eyebrow, confused.
"You and Chandler."
"Oh," Monica nodded slowly, then scanned the room, "where'd he go?"
"Outside, I think—he kind of stormed out. Rachel went after him."
Monica swallowed hard, and closed her eyes.
"You two need each other, ya know?" Ross said quietly.
Monica opened her eyes, and looked up at Ross. Tears formed under her eyes, but as she moved to speak, the front door opened, and Chandler and Rachel walked in, followed by several uniformed officers.
"What's going on?" Ross asked, as Rachel approached.
"Mon, why don't we take Jack into the kitchen," Rachel suggested, and Monica nodded. Ross picked Jack up off of Monica's lap, and Rachel smiled at him.
"Hey Jack, are you hungry? Let's go get a snack."
Jack's eyes landed on the police officers that had gathered in his home, and his eyes widened with a mixture of curiosity and terror. He clung to Ross' shirt collar as Ross and Rachel walked into the kitchen, his eyes never leaving the officers.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, my name is Officer Lewis. I'm sorry to come unannounced, but—"
"No, it's fine," Chandler said hastily, and Monica circled to sofa to stand next to her husband.
"We'd like to set up some equipment here, to monitor any calls that may come into the house," Officer Lewis explained.
"Wh-why?" Monica asked quietly.
"There is a possibility that the kidnappers may want to contact you—to demand ransom. We'd like to be able to trace the call."
"S-so, you haven't found anything?" Monica asked, her heart clenching at the very thought of hearing the voice of the person who took her daughter.
"No, I'm sorry, we don't have much," Officer Lewis smiled sympathetically, "but we're doing everything we can."
"Oh," Monica's shoulders dropped, and her mind drifted, as the officer began explaining the process to her and Chandler.
She looked up at her husband, who was nodding attentively, though his eyes revealed his true feelings. She could see that he was just as disappointed as she was, that the officer had no news to report. In that moment she felt a wave of love and affection rush through her, and her brother's earlier advice echoed in her mind.
They only had each other.
As the officer continued talking, Monica took Chandler's hand in his, and squeezed it gently. He stole a short glance toward her, smiling reassuringly, then squeezed her hand in return.
It was a small gesture, but one that he needed more than he could begin to explain. It took all that he had not to sweep her into his arms, and hold her close, and whisper a thousand 'I love you's' and apologies. It took all of his strength not to collapse into sobs each time Officer Lewis mentioned his daughter's name. He stood strong, he stood firm—because he knew that he needed to be the one to get them through this.
Because in spite of everything that anyone had said—Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Officer Lewis—he still blamed himself—and deep down, he knew that Monica still did too.
He would fix this. He had to.
.
Erica looked up at her captor with wide eyes, her lips pursed tightly, refusing to open.
"Come on little one," the woman cooed softly, "you have to eat sometime."
A spoon was lifted to her lips, and she turned her head stubbornly, her eyes closed tight, shutting away the world around her.
"You will eat, my dear. Eventually, you'll have no other choice."
.
"Come on, I know you love this stuff!" Rachel smiled, stirring the pudding slowly, "Why won't you eat, sweetie?"
"I don't wanna," Jack pouted, shaking his head.
"Aren't you hungry?" Ross asked softly.
"I won't eat!" Jack said angrily.
"Okay, okay. You don't have to—but your mom thought you might be hungry…" Ross replied in a sing-song tone, trying to persuade him.
"Erica won't eat," Jack said quietly.
Ross and Rachel looked at each other, both feeling shivers run down their spines.
"Wh-what did you say?" Rachel whispered.
"I said I don't want to eat," Jack said, and pushed the bowl of pudding away.
Ross looked at Rachel, who had gone pale.
"That's not what I heard," he whispered softly.
-------------------------------------
The house had settled into such a deep silence, he could hear the rhythmic tick-tock of his wristwatch, tossed carelessly onto his nightstand hours earlier.
This kind of complete silence was rare, and it reminded Chandler of his first few restless nights in this house.
So accustomed was he to the constant buzz of the City, that he'd had trouble adjusting to the complete silence of suburbia.
At first, he'd found the saccharine environment and total silence disturbing, but over the years, he'd grown accustomed to the comfortable lifestyle, and now he found that a lone car traveling down their street in the middle of the night was enough to rouse him.
On this night, the silence disturbed him once more, but for entirely different reasons. Worse, he couldn't rely on Monica's deep breathing to calm him--she had gotten out of bed an hour ago, convinced that he had dozed off. He'd lain awake for several minutes, waiting for her to come back, but she never did. And when he'd finally got up to search for her, he'd found her, snuggled in bed with Jack, fast asleep.
So now he lay in bed alone, feeling cold, a bit nauseous, and wide-awake.
Ross and Rachel had gone home soon after the police left, both looking a bit shaken, but neither saying much, other than that they would be back in the morning. Phoebe had called as well, wanting an update, and Chandler had finally gathered the strength to phone Joey in Los Angeles a few hours later.
"Hey, Chandler, long time no talk!"
"Yeah…I had to talk to two or three of your assistants to get through to you…you must be doing well," Chandler chuckled softly.
"Well, the show is going into syndication, which means I never have to work again," Joey said excitedly, "and I just got a script today from Gus Van Sant—"
"Sounds like it's going well Joe—listen, the reason I'm calling—I kinda have news, and—"
"News? You don't sound very excited—must not be good," Joey joked.
"It's not," Chandler sat back in his office chair heavily, and let out a deep breath, "Erica's missing."
"What? What do you mean, missing?"
"Someone took her," tears welled up in Chandler's eyes, and he rubbed them with the heel of his hand quickly, "the police are looking into it, but—"
"God, Chandler, this is—how's Monica taking it?"
"Not well. She's trying to stay strong for Jack—but it's killing her."
"How's Jack? Was he there when she…?"
"Yeah, he was there—he seems okay—I don't know," Chandler shook his head slowly.
"How about you, man? How are you holding up?" Joey's voice was solid yet soft, and Chandler knew that he wouldn't be able to keep it together if Joey started crying too.
"I'm…getting by. Listen, I'd better go. I just…I didn't want you to read about it in the paper or something…"
"What can I do, Chandler? You tell me, and I'm there, okay? Look, the show wraps on Friday, so I'm gonna fly out—"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. I'll do anything I can."
"Thanks, Joe."
"Take care of yourself, and Mon and Jack. I swear I'll be there as soon as I can."
.
Chandler peered at the clock, and noted that it was close to four in the morning. He hadn't slept a wink, and was certain that he wouldn't. Sighing heavily, he pulled himself out of bed, and pulled on his robe, before padding down the hall. He peered into Jack's room, and saw that he and Monica were still sound asleep. Quietly, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen.
The kitchen was relatively dark, save for the moonlight that shone through the window over the sink and sliding glass door that lead to the backyard. Chandler opened the fridge, and a flood of artificial light filled the room. He rooted around in the fridge for a minute, not really knowing what he was looking for. After a moment, he pulled out an apple, and shut the door.
He sat down at the kitchen table, and twisted the stem of the apple listlessly, as he stared blankly at the empty chair across from him.
In his mind's eye, he could see his daughter, sitting in that chair, smiling back at him, or talking animatedly about her day. Sometimes she would get so excited, she'd toss her spoon halfway across the room, sending whatever-was-on-the-spoon flying in every direction. Monica would scold her, and he would laugh, and Monica would glare at him for laughing. In the end, she would laugh too.
The stem of the apple snapped off, bringing Chandler back to reality. He set down the apple, and wiped more tears from his eyes.
"Do you want me to cook you something?" Monica said softly, though her sudden presence made Chandler jump visibly.
"Jesus, Mon," he said breathlessly.
"Sorry," she shrugged and sat down in the chair he had been staring at moments earlier.
"I didn't mean to wake you, I—"
"You didn't," Monica interrupted.
"I couldn't sleep," Chandler finished, and picked up the apple once more.
Monica looked down at the apple, and sighed. She wondered what he must have thought, seeing her sleeping soundly in Jack's room.
It wasn't that she didn't want to sleep with him; it was that she couldn't.
She had an urgent need to be near Jack, as if somehow, that would bring her closer to Erica.
She knew it would sound silly out loud, so instead of explaining, she just sighed again.
"I could make you some breakfast. You must be hungry, you haven't eaten at all since—"
"I'm not really hungry," Chandler set down the apple, and put his head in his hands.
He looked so utterly helpless, in that moment in the moonlight. Monica felt her throat clench, and she moved to stand.
Chandler looked up suddenly, startling her.
"Don't leave, Mon. Please," he whispered pleadingly.
She circled the table, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"I'm not leaving,"
He pulled her onto his lap, and buried his face in her shoulder. He began to tremble, and she let out a sob, and in that moment, they were one again.
.
Two Days Later
"Rachel's right, you should get out of the house for a while," Chandler said softly, as he watched Jack play with his oatmeal blankly, "Jack needs some fresh air too."
"What about you? You should come with us," Monica argued, as she set a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Chandler.
"Someone should stay here in case…" Chandler drifted off.
Monica looked at Chandler for a moment, then nodded slowly and sank into the chair next to him.
"Alright. But you'll call if you hear—"
"Of course I will," Chandler placed his hand on hers, and smiled reassuringly.
.
He watched as Monica packed up a bag of things—toys, snacks, and anything else she thought she and Jack may need while on a day trip into the city. Chandler marveled at her organizational skills sometimes—she always had exactly what she needed when she needed it. If one of the kids took a spill in the playground, she was ready with antiseptic wipes and Band-Aids. If they somehow ended up stuck on a subway in Manhattan, she was prepared with travel games and snacks to keep the kids calm. She was the picture of perfection, a stellar mother, and the most organized person he'd ever known.
He'd often relied on her organization, on her super-mom abilities, to get by. He himself was not quite as put together, and over the years he had become increasingly reliant on her to make him look good.
He was a better father, husband, person—because of her.
His slight smile faded, as he came to realize that magnitude of his mistake—he had failed her, in the worst kind of way. The question of whether he'd ever be able to forgive himself was dwarfed by the question of whether she would ever forgive him—whether they would ever be able to move past this.
In the end, he realized, none of that mattered. Erica was the only thing that mattered now—and he would focus all of his energy on ensuring her safe return—regardless of the effect it would have on his marriage.
On his own soul.
"Chandler?" Monica's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked and looked down at her confused face.
"Huh?"
"You okay? You looked…lost."
"Yeah…just thinking," Chandler smiled slightly.
"Oh," Monica nodded. Normally she would dig further, ask him what he was thinking about, but she couldn't bring herself to inquire any more—she didn't want in on his dark thoughts.
She had too many of her own to deal with.
"We're gonna go. We won't be long," Monica pulled her bag onto her shoulder, then crouched down to pick up Jack. Chandler leaned down to kiss his son goodbye.
"See you soon, son," he whispered softly.
"Are you going to see Erica?" Jack replied.
The question took Chandler off guard. He stepped back slightly, and just managed to shake his head.
"No, honey, daddy is gonna stay here. We are going to see Uncle Ross and Aunt Rachel and your cousins, okay?" Monica stepped in, after shooting Chandler a dark look.
"You guys have fun," Chandler managed a smile, and watched as Monica carried Jack out the front door. Jack looked back at him, a look of concern on his face.
Chandler waited for the door to close before collapsing to his knees.
The sound of someone pounding on the front door roused Chandler, and he jumped from the sofa to answer it. He looked at his watch, and realized that Monica and Jack had been gone for nearly two hours. He hardly remembered drifting off.
He opened the door, and was only mildly surprised to see Officer Lewis and another uniformed officer on the other side.
"Mr. Bing, I'm glad you're here," Officer Lewis said grimly.
"What's going on? Did you find her?"
"Is your wife here, Mr. Bing?"
"N-no," Chandler shook his head. His body began trembling visibly.
"Sir, perhaps we should discuss this inside," the other officer offered.
"What's going on?" Chandler demanded.
"Sir, please," Officer Lewis stepped forward, and the three men made their way into the house. Chandler led the officers to the living room, and sat on the edge of one of the reading chairs slowly. The officers both sat on the sofa, neither making eye contact.
"Did you find her?" Chandler asked again, his voice raspy.
Officer Lewis looked up, his expression unreadable. In the seconds in took the officer to reply, Chandler was certain he was going to explode.
"We got a call from our colleagues in New Jersey."
"N-new Jersey?" Chandler echoed.
"Mr. Bing, there really is no easy way to say this—we need you to come with us."
"W-why?" Chandler managed, though he dreaded the answer.
"They found a little girl—in a ravine off of the highway. They are working on identifying her, but it would be faster if you could—"
"She—the girl—she'd dead?"
"I'm afraid so. Sir, we'd like you to come with us—to identify the—to make an identification."
-------------------------------
Part 2: Coming soon....very soon!
The bitter winter wind bit his face, as he wrestled his way through the large holiday crowd. He'd always hated shopping—especially at this time of year. In fact, he really wanted to curse out loud, at the shoppers, at the weather…and at Monica for having to work later than normal, because 'it's the holidays'.
"Daddy, I have to go to the potty," Erica pulled on Chandler's right arm, and yanked him from his thoughts. He looked down at his daughter, who was clearly not having a good time, and smiled softly.
This was why he couldn't curse. He was fighting through the crowds with his children—and for children, this was supposed to be a happy time of year! They didn't care about the crowds or the cold or the grouchy shoppers—all they knew was that this was the best time of year.
"Okay, let's go find you a bathroom, and then maybe the three of us can get some hot chocolate—what do you say?" Chandler grinned.
"Yay!" Erica and Jack cried simultaneously, as Chandler took a tiny hand in each of his, and led them toward the nearest department store.
Unfortunately, the nearest department store was Bloomingdale's, and was crawling with wall-to-wall shoppers.
Chandler sighed, and let go of Erica's hand just long enough to open the door and usher his six-year-old twins inside, before grasping their hands once more, and working his way through the crowd.
Because it was frigid outside, the heat was on high inside, and Chandler found himself sweating moments after entering the store. He made his way to the first counter he saw, and waved down a grumpy-looking sales clerk.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry but…where is the bathroom?"
The woman, pale and drawn, was wearing a thick layer of makeup, making her appear much older than she most likely was. Wordlessly, she lifted a thin, red-clawed finger, and pointed it toward the back of the store. Chandler nodded gratefully, as the woman floated silently toward the next customer.
As they made their way to the back of the store, Chandler picked up a familiar holiday tune, and instinctively cringed. Jingle Bell Rock was one of his mother's favorite songs, and she had insisted on exposing his children to it last Christmas. And, since Nora can't sing to save her life, she ended up making Erica cry while Jack simply stared at her in wonder for the rest of the night.
Making his way past a bank of brass elevators, Chandler finally managed to find a small hallway, with a door on either side. One door was marked Men's, the other, Women's, and only one had a line snaking out of the bathroom and out toward the elevators.
He looked down at Erica, who was now dancing back and forth from one foot to the other, and then down at Jack, who was wearing the same shell-shocked look he'd worn when his Grandmother had attempted to sing to him.
"Well, there are two of us, and one of you, Jellybean," Chandler smiled, and pointed to the Men's room, "I say we take the road less traveled."
Erica looked up at her father with a mixture of panic (she really had to pee!) and confusion (what road was he talking about?). He simply chuckled, and pulled the twins toward the Men's room.
Ten minutes later, Chandler found himself back out in the throng, trying to survive the Bloomingdale's crowd long enough to get out and to the sidewalk. It seemed like the crowd had thickened, he noted, and the thought made him even more determined to get the hell out of there. He knew Monica would be annoyed that he hadn't picked up Rachel's gift—but he just couldn't take it anymore—he had to get out of there.
"Daddy, I dwopped my glove," Jack yelled, and the threesome came to a sudden stop right next to the jewelry counter where the scary, thin woman had given them silent directions.
"Jack!" Chandler scolded, as he scoured the floor for the glove. Never mind the gift, Monica would never forgive him if she knew one of their children was walking around New York in December wearing only one glove.
"Where did you drop it?" Chandler asked, as he and the children backtracked slightly.
"Over thewe, somewhewe," Jack waved his gloveless hand in the general direction of the center of the store.
"Ugh," Chandler groaned, and began walking back the way they'd come.
For fifteen minutes, they scoured the floor, looking under racks, and people's feet. And finally, Chandler was able to make out what appeared to be Jack's glove (thank goodness it was red!) kicked into the corner near the elevators.
Relieved, Chandler grabbed the glove, and turned to find Jack, smiling proudly, with his little gloveless hand extended. Chandler pulled the glove onto Jack's hand, and sighed in relief.
"Okay, let's go," Chandler said, "keep hold of your glove this time!"
"I will," Jack reassured his father with a sharp nod.
"Where's your sister?" Chandler looked around, noting that Erica was not standing where he'd left her.
"She was there," Jack said shakily.
A rush of panic swept through Chandler, and instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his son, and picked him up, holding him close as he ran up and down the bank of elevators.
"Erica! Erica!" Chandler cried, his voice raspy and desperate.
An elevator opened, and several people walked out, all ignoring the father's frantic calls.
"Excuse me, have you seen a little girl? She's six and has blonde hair and a purple jacket…"
A kindly elderly woman finally turned, and looked up at Chandler.
"No, I'm sorry…I haven't seen any little girl."
Feeling nauseous and unsteady, Chandler rushed through the store, his son in his arms, dark dread filling him with each passing moment.
Erica was nowhere to be found.
-------------------------------------
Her cell phone had been ringing incessantly for the past half an hour, but the restaurant, and thus the kitchen, had refused to die down long enough for her to check it. She knew that it was most likely Chandler, who was supposed to be picking up Rachel's gift, and he was probably either lost or bored or both. Shaking her head, she concentrated on cooking the Sea Bass that was splattering in her pan, and decided that Chandler would just have to wait.
"Monica? Your husband's on the line," Laura, her new sous chef called, from across the room.
Monica sighed. "Can you tell him I'll call him back?"
"He says it's an emergency."
Monica felt her heart jump. Emergency. Immediately, she thought of the children, and raced across the kitchen, her mind racing.
It's fine, she told herself as she took the phone from Laura's extended hand, everything is fine.
"Chandler?" she said, as soon as the phone receiver touched her ear.
There was silence, and for a moment, Monica thought that they had been disconnected. Then she heard her husband take a breath of air, and immediately, she knew.
"What happened?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm and steady as she could.
"It's Erica," Chandler finally rasped, and Monica could barely hear him over the clanging in the kitchen behind her, "we-we can't find Erica."
Monica felt her body begin to tremble, and she leaned against the wall for support. The kitchen around her disappeared, and her head was spinning so fast, it was all she could do to keep from passing out.
"Where are you?" she finally managed, though she wasn't even certain she'd said the words out loud. Her ears were ringing, and her head was swimming with worst-case scenarios.
"Bloomingdale's. Mon, I'm so sorry, I just turned around and she was…I didn't—" Chandler stuttered. Monica, unaware that he was even talking, dropped the phone and turned to Laura.
"I have to go," she said shakily, and rushed out of the kitchen before Laura could respond.
The taxi ride across town was excruciating, and all Monica could do was stare out frosted window listlessly, her mind and heart racing.
The taxi made its way downtown, and Monica's eyes fell on every tiny blonde head they passed, and every family that rushed through the streets, laughing merrily.
Her heart was heavy with concern. Somewhere, out there, her daughter could be wandering in the cold, lost and crying, with no one there to keep her warm.
Without her mother.
Monica closed her eyes, and rested her forehead on the window lightly.
It could be something worse. It could be something much, much worse.
She sat up and shook her head. No. She refused to believe that. Erica was always a bit mischievous, and chances are she was simply hiding under a rack of clothing, waiting for her frantic father to find her.
She sighed. Something in Chandler's voice told her that this wasn't the case.
Guilt coursed through her. She shouldn't have made Chandler take the children with him into the crowded city. She should have taken her mother up on her offer to watch the children. She'd refused, because she'd had planned on meeting up with Chandler after work, and taking the kids to Rockefeller Center and teaching them how to skate. But the restaurant would not die down, and besides, Chandler had taken care of both children alone before.
Her guilt melted away slightly, as she reasoned that this was no one's fault. Children wander off all the time. Everything would be fine.
The taxi pulled to a rough stop just in front of Bloomingdale's, and Monica paid the driver, before stepping out of the cab. She wrapped her arms around her, as a chill ran through her, and it was only then that she realized that she had forgotten her coat.
She walked up to the large brass and glass doors, and peered through them.
Inside, several police officers were wandering through the store, along with what appeared to be store management.
Far in the corner, she spotted Chandler, seated on a small step leading up to the elevators, Jack wrapped securely in his arms.
Erica was nowhere to be seen, and Monica felt panic rise through her again.
She opened the door, and was met with a rush of warm air. A young police officer stopped her as she tried to walk in.
"I'm sorry, Miss. The store is closed."
"I—I'm Mrs. Bing—E-erica's mother," Monica whispered.
The officer's eyes softened, and he nodded and waved her inside.
She walked across the store, fully aware that the manager and police officers were watching her. She walked toward Chandler, stopping several feet away from him.
He looked up at her, but couldn't meet her eyes. He looked pale and weary, and Jack was sleeping soundly in his trembling arms.
"Mon, I—"
"What did the police say?" Monica asked, her words much harsher than she had intended.
"They—they're searching the area," Chandler replied, and looked at the ground.
"She's probably in here somewhere—" Monica looked around the store desperately.
"She's not—they looked. We all looked. She isn't here, Mon."
"Did you look inside those round racks? You know how she likes to hide—" Monica's voice raised, as her desperation increased.
"She isn't here!" Chandler raised his voice slightly, and Jack fussed and then drifted off again, "It's been two hours."
"Two hours? Why didn't you—why didn't you call me earlier?" Monica asked.
"I tried! You didn't pick up—and—and no one at the restaurant picked up—not for a while—"
"I can't believe this," Monica said breathlessly, as she placed her hand over her forehead.
"Mon, I'm so sorry. I…I turned and she was just…she was just gone!"
Monica found herself wanting to turn and scream at her husband that he should have never turned away from her—that he should never have let go of her hand. But she could hear the overwhelming sadness in his voice, and she knew that that was not what he needed now. That's not what either of them needed.
She swallowed down her rage and told herself that this was not Chandler's fault.
They would find her.
Turning slowly, she saw Chandler rocking Jack in his arms, as quiet sobs shook his tired shoulders. Sighing heavily, she sat down next to her husband, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and laid her head on his left shoulder.
"We'll find her. I'm sure she just got lost. It's gonna be okay," she whispered.
"I'm so sorry," Chandler whispered again.
"Its—" she wanted to say it wasn't his fault, and that she forgave him. She looked down at Jack, sleeping soundly, and felt her throat, and heart clench.
"It's gonna be okay," she repeated.
Not wanting to disturb the family, the officer and store security guard approached slowly and quietly. When a hush fell over the couple, the police officer cleared his throat.
"Um, I'm sorry to disturb you, but…we have something that you should maybe see."
Chandler and Monica looked up at the officer, their eyes filled with hope.
The short, stocky security guard stepped up next to the officer, wearing a grim look on his face.
"We have reason to believe that your daughter did not just wander off," the guard said, with little regard for Monica and Chandler's feelings.
"Bob," the officer hissed, and shoved him back, "Sir, M'am, if you could come with us…we have something to show you."
Chandler and Monica stood, and looked briefly at each other, before following the officer and security guard toward the elevators. They were then led through an unmarked door, and down a long, dimly lit corridor that let to yet another unmarked door. The security guard pulled out a ring of several keys, and used one to open the large metal door.
Inside, several security monitors panned the store, looking out for shoplifters. They were all connected to a large panel housing several buttons and two red telephones. The security guard switched on a separate television, and cued up a video.
"We found a video that may help us," the officer said calmly, as 'Bob' hit 'play'.
A black and white, grainy image filled the screen, and immediately, Chandler saw himself, in the upper right hand corner of the screen, searching for Jack's wayward glove. His heart leapt as he saw Erica, standing just behind him, waiting patiently. Moments later, he watched himself discover the glove, just as two elevator doors slid open behind him. A crowd of shoppers exited the elevator, one or two walking between Chandler and Erica. The crowd dispersed just as Chandler slipped on Jack's glove, and just like that, Erica was gone.
Nausea hit Chandler, as the officer rewound the tape to show him and Monica the two people he believed to be suspects. He looked over at Monica cautiously, and noted that she was looking at her hands, trembling as tears slid freely down her face. He wrapped his free arm around her, and pulled her toward him.
"Someone took her, Chandler," Monica sobbed, "someone took our little girl."
Chandler closed his eyes, and swallowed hard, unsure how to reply to Monica.
He looked over at the television monitor, in time to see his own image, turning away from his daughter to find the glove.
His heart sunk, and he closed his eyes, and let his own tears fall silently.
--------------------------------------
The car ride home was painfully quiet—the only sound beyond the humming of the car engine was that of Jack's soft snoring—a subtle reminder that Monica and Chandler were going home with only one of their children.
Chandler knew this route by heart—after all, he'd made the trek in and out of the city nearly every day for over six years. Instinctively, he changed lanes half a mile from their exit, his eyes focused vaguely on the road before him.
The police had told them that there was nothing more that they could do tonight. They had told the worn couple to go home, and that they would call when they had news. Monica had reluctantly agreed to go home, after Chandler softly reminded her that they should put Jack to bed.
Chandler stole a short glance at his wife, his heart aching at the sight before him. Monica was curled in the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny legs, her forehead resting on the passenger side window. She was staring straight ahead, but her vacant expression told Chandler that she wasn't really looking at anything. He sighed softly, and forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead, lest he become the cause of yet another disaster tonight.
Several minutes later, he pulled their 4-Runner into the driveway, and turned off the engine. When Monica made no move to get out of the car, he opened the front door, got out, and opened the back door to gather Jack.
Jack sighed restlessly when Chandler picked him up, but immediately settled into his father's arms. Chandler carried the sleeping boy carefully into the house, flipping on lights only when necessary, and pausing for a short moment, before reluctantly settling Jack into his bed.
A chill ran through him, as he watched his son sleeping soundly before him. Fighting back tears, Chandler kissed Jack on the forehead, pulled off his shoes, and pulled the blankets over his son's slumbering form. He rose, and closed Jack's door only slightly, before making his way down the hall.
On his way to the staircase, he passed Erica's bedroom. A sharp pain coursed through him, and he paused in front of her door. Slowly, he reached out, and turned the doorknob, before pushing the door ajar.
Her room was exactly how they had left it this morning—an outfit she'd discarded had been carelessly tossed onto the foot of the bed—her favorite teddy bear—a gift from her Uncle Joey—was sitting prominently on her pillow, it's amber eyes shining merrily.
Chandler walked hesitantly into the room, and picked up the bear slowly. He straightened the bear's tiny t-shirt—a bright pink shirt with the word Hollywood! emblazoned across it in bright yellow letters. Monica thought the shirt was horribly tacky, but Erica adored it, and for months after Joey had given it to her, she'd taken it everywhere with her.
Smiling sadly, Chandler knelt beside his daughter's bed, and hugged the bear to his chest…
FLASHBACK..
"Daddy, you forgot to kiss Bear," Erica smiled, and held out the lifeless toy.
"Oh, I'm sorry Bear!" Chandler laughed, and kissed the stuffed animal quickly, "Good night!"
"Wait!" Erica cried, in a desperate attempt to extend her bedtime.
Chandler sighed and turned toward Erica, "Honey, it's time to go to sleep."
"Can you just sing one song? Pleeeease!"
Shaking his head in defeat, Chandler kneeled next to Erica's bed, and ruffled her hair playfully.
"One song, then you are going to sleep!"
"Okay!"
"Okay…let's see. What do little girls that refuse to go to sleep usually listen to?"
"Daddy!"
Chandler laughed, and pulled Erica into his arms.
"Would you like to swing on a star," he sang softly, "Carry moonbeams home in a jar…and be better off than you are…you could be swinging on a star…"
.
Monica watched as Chandler carried Jack into the house. Her mind was racing. How could this have happened to them? After all that they had been through just to get their children, how could someone just take that away? Tears filled her eyes, and as they slid down her cheeks, she dropped her head into her hands.
It was the worst thing that could have happened to them. Her shoulders trembled, as her silent tears became sobs. Her body began to tremble violently, and she suddenly felt like she was suffocating. She looked up at the house that stood in front of her—now staring back at her ominously, as if judging her, telling her that everything about this was wrong.
She let out a pain filled sob, before hiccupping through several breaths.
Her mind continued to race through any and every worst-case scenario, and she began to feel uncontrollable panic set in.
As her sobs became more pronounced, she let out a pained, primal scream, and buried her face in her hands.
The car door swung open, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was heavy and hazy, and she was hardly aware that her seatbelt had been unfastened, and that she had been lifted from her seat.
She shivered, as the night air hit her, and she buried her face in the crook of a neck she knew well.
She had buried her face in his neck many times—and he had always been there to help her through the worst moments of her life.
But tonight, she knew that he could not make things better—he could not take away the pain she was feeling.
This time, he was the cause.
Or was he? She was so confused…so lost. She clung to him as he moved to set her on the sofa, needing him to be there, with her, his presence reassuring, somehow.
Yet it was still there…that nagging need to blame him for something…would this had happened if she'd been there? Perhaps it was her fault? What had gone wrong tonight?
Too exhausted to think about it any more, she buried her face in Chandler's chest, and struggled to find comfort in his embrace.
.
"She's asleep now. I don't know, she hasn't said much."
Monica opened her eyes, and strained to listen to her husband's hushed voice in the next room. Who was he talking to this time of night? She sat up, and noted that the sun was beginning to ascend in the horizon.
"Okay, see you soon. Bye." She heard Chandler hang up the phone, and she looked up at him as he entered the living room.
"Hey," he whispered, slightly surprised that she was awake.
"Who was on the phone?" Monica asked sharply.
"Ross," Chandler replied, then circled the sofa to sit next to her. She stood up as he sat down, and crossed the room.
"You told him? Don't you think you should have at least talked to me about it first?"
"He already knew. The police called him, and freaked him out! They're gonna call everyone, eventually. We need to tell people what's going on," Chandler explained gently.
"I…I don't want people to know! Do you have any idea what my mother will do when she finds out?"
Chandler furrowed his brow, "Monica, she'll be concerned, just like Ross and Rachel are. They're on their way over, they want to help."
"She's gonna think I'm a bad mother," Monica continued, "That I can't handle taking care of two kids! That's what they'll think!"
"Monica, you need to calm down! No one is gonna think that! It was an accident—and it wasn't your fault!"
Monica stared at Chandler silently for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"No…I should have been there," she muttered quietly.
"What do you mean by that, exactly?" Chandler asked cautiously.
The phone rang, and both Chandler and Monica jumped. Monica rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" she said loudly, anxiously, "Oh, hi Phoebe. No, I—I thought you were someone else. No, we don't know anything…no, it's okay, we'll call you when we hear something. I will. Thanks, Phoebs. Okay. Bye."
"Monica—" Chandler started.
"I'm gonna go check on Jack," Monica said quietly, as she swallowed down the lump that was forming in her throat again. She brushed past Chandler wordlessly, and ascended the stairs as quickly as she could.
Chandler collapsed onto the sofa in defeat.
.
"Do they have any idea who took her?" Ross queried, an hour later. He and Chandler were seated in the living room, sipping coffee.
"They have a video…and they are gonna try to go from that, I guess," Chandler shrugged.
"How's Monica holding up?" Ross asked quietly. His sister had been unusually quiet since he and Rachel had arrived.
"Not well. She slept for an hour or two, but was crying most of the night. But she'll barely look at me much less talk to me," Chandler sighed.
"Well, my parents said they'd watch Emma and Sam as long as we need them too. I'm sure if you need them to watch Jack they will."
"No, I think we'd rather have him here with us," Chandler replied quietly.
"What about you? How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. I just…I can't believe this is happening, ya know? I can't believe I turned away—"
"Chandler, this isn't your fault. It could have happened to any of us. You can't let this eat at you, man. You'll go mad."
Chandler nodded, and looked at his hands.
"The thing is, I keep seeing the image from that videotape in my head. I can't get it out, it's like it's on a continuous loop. And all I keep thinking is—I should have never turned away. She would be here right now if I hadn't turned away."
"Chandler—"
"And I know that's what Monica is thinking. I know she blames me, Ross. I can see it in her eyes."
"She loves you. And you two are going to get through this."
"I don't want to get through it!" Chandler snapped, "I want to find my daughter."
"I know, okay? I know," Ross held up his hands defensively, "That's not what I meant."
"I'm sorry," Chandler shook his head, "I know what you meant. I'm just…I just don't—"
"It's okay," Ross pulled his friend and brother into a hug, "We're gonna help you, I promise, we'll find her."
.
"What did my mom say when you told them?" Monica asked quietly, as she set a cup of coffee in front of Rachel and took a seat at the kitchen table.
"We didn't tell them anything. Ross told them that you were going to call them today."
"I don't want to tell her," Monica shook her head.
"Mon, they're going to need to know. They're going to want to help."
"I know…I guess I just…talking about it is just…I can't," Monica sighed.
"Ross and I can talk to them, if you want. We're gonna call to check on the kids later anyway."
"No…I should tell them…I guess I just…I guess I was hoping that they would have found her by now."
"They'll find her," Rachel placed a supportive hand on Monica's arm, "you said they have a video, right?"
"Yeah," Monica said darkly, images from the video haunting her.
"They must have something then," Rachel nodded.
"I hope so," Monica whispered.
"How's Jack?" Rachel asked tentatively.
"He's okay. We told him that she was okay, and that she would be back soon. But I think he knows that something's wrong."
Rachel noted Monica's refusal to say her daughter's name. She had noticed it earlier, when she and Ross had first come over. Since their arrival, Rachel had yet to hear Monica or Chandler utter Erica's name out loud.
"Maybe you should talk to him about it," Rachel suggested, "Ask him what he remembers."
"No," Monica shook her head, "I don't want him to feel like he did something wrong."
"No one did anything wrong, Monica. It wasn't anyone's fault, except the person that took Erica."
Monica nodded, but Rachel could see that she disagreed with her.
"Maybe we should go into the living room," Rachel suggested.
"You go," Monica smiled tightly, "I'm gonna go check on Jack."
Rachel nodded, and watched as Monica walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Jack's bedroom. She walked into the living room and sat down next to her husband.
"How is she?" Ross asked quietly.
"Okay. But I think she's blaming herself a lot," Rachel sighed.
Chandler winced, and looked up at the staircase longingly.
Though she was under the same roof, Chandler was beginning to miss his wife terribly.
The fear of losing all that he had was overwhelming, and unsure how to handle it, he stood up, quietly excused himself, and walked out the front door.
------------------------------------
He walked out the front door quickly—but didn't go far. Instead, he reached behind a large hedge that sat up against the house, fumbled around through some stones, and found what he was looking for.
He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the Ziploc bag, and stuffed the plastic into his pants pocket. Sighing heavily, he sat down on the porch step, and pulled a cigarette and his lighter out of the wrinkled red package.
He was pretty sure that Monica was well aware that the cigarettes were there—it seemed they had formed an unspoken agreement about his habit—he would smoke in secret, and she would pretend she didn't know about it.
He hadn't smoked in a while, though, so when he lit the stick and inhaled deeply, he felt a warmth rush through him that he'd nearly forgotten.
It was a warmth that he cherished.
The front door opened, but Chandler made no move to extinguish his cigarette. Somehow he knew that the person standing behind him was not Monica.
And he was right.
Rachel sat down next to him slowly, never taking her eyes off of him as he inhaled again.
"I thought you quit…again?" Rachel sighed with a slight sad smile.
"I don't think we ever quit…not really," Chandler said after he blew out a plume a smoke.
"She doesn't really blame you…she just…needs to put her emotions somewhere…I think," Rachel said softly.
"I know," Chandler whispered, and tapped the end of his cigarette slowly, "I just wish…she would let me in."
"She needs time. She doesn't know what to do, ya know?"
"And I do?" Chandler laughed bitterly.
"That's not what I meant. Look, Chandler, it could have happened to any of us—any one of us," Rachel echoed darkly.
"But it didn't, Rach, it happened to me—to my daughter. It's not like anyone had a lot of confidence in my parenting skills beforehand, ya know?"
"Chandler, this has nothing to do with that—and you are a wonderful father—"
"Right," Chandler shook his head, "tell that to my wife."
"Chandler, come on. This isn't going to help Erica. You and Monica need each other, because you are the only person in the world right now who understands her pain, and she yours. Despite what she may say, Chandler, she needs you. And you need her, and you both need to focus on finding Erica now. What's done is done." Rachel took a breath, and placed a supportive hand on Chandler's forearm, "This is not your fault."
Chandler looked at Rachel, tears lining his eyes.
"I know this may sound selfish Rach—but I really need to hear that from Monica. I need her to tell me that she doesn't blame me—she hasn't done that." He whispered.
"She will…I'm sure she will," Rachel smiled.
.
"Hey, big guy!" Ross smiled widely, as Monica carried her bleary-eyed son down the stairs and into the living room. Jack didn't reply—he simply rubbed his eyes and plopped his head onto Monica's shoulder.
"He's still sleepy," Monica said, exhaustion lining her own voice.
"Maybe you should try to get some rest, Mon," Ross suggested, "I can keep an eye on Jack."
"I'm okay," Monica replied shortly, as she settled onto the sofa and settled Jack into her arms.
"Mon—you guys should—should maybe talk," Ross said tentatively.
"What?" Monica arched her eyebrow, confused.
"You and Chandler."
"Oh," Monica nodded slowly, then scanned the room, "where'd he go?"
"Outside, I think—he kind of stormed out. Rachel went after him."
Monica swallowed hard, and closed her eyes.
"You two need each other, ya know?" Ross said quietly.
Monica opened her eyes, and looked up at Ross. Tears formed under her eyes, but as she moved to speak, the front door opened, and Chandler and Rachel walked in, followed by several uniformed officers.
"What's going on?" Ross asked, as Rachel approached.
"Mon, why don't we take Jack into the kitchen," Rachel suggested, and Monica nodded. Ross picked Jack up off of Monica's lap, and Rachel smiled at him.
"Hey Jack, are you hungry? Let's go get a snack."
Jack's eyes landed on the police officers that had gathered in his home, and his eyes widened with a mixture of curiosity and terror. He clung to Ross' shirt collar as Ross and Rachel walked into the kitchen, his eyes never leaving the officers.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, my name is Officer Lewis. I'm sorry to come unannounced, but—"
"No, it's fine," Chandler said hastily, and Monica circled to sofa to stand next to her husband.
"We'd like to set up some equipment here, to monitor any calls that may come into the house," Officer Lewis explained.
"Wh-why?" Monica asked quietly.
"There is a possibility that the kidnappers may want to contact you—to demand ransom. We'd like to be able to trace the call."
"S-so, you haven't found anything?" Monica asked, her heart clenching at the very thought of hearing the voice of the person who took her daughter.
"No, I'm sorry, we don't have much," Officer Lewis smiled sympathetically, "but we're doing everything we can."
"Oh," Monica's shoulders dropped, and her mind drifted, as the officer began explaining the process to her and Chandler.
She looked up at her husband, who was nodding attentively, though his eyes revealed his true feelings. She could see that he was just as disappointed as she was, that the officer had no news to report. In that moment she felt a wave of love and affection rush through her, and her brother's earlier advice echoed in her mind.
They only had each other.
As the officer continued talking, Monica took Chandler's hand in his, and squeezed it gently. He stole a short glance toward her, smiling reassuringly, then squeezed her hand in return.
It was a small gesture, but one that he needed more than he could begin to explain. It took all that he had not to sweep her into his arms, and hold her close, and whisper a thousand 'I love you's' and apologies. It took all of his strength not to collapse into sobs each time Officer Lewis mentioned his daughter's name. He stood strong, he stood firm—because he knew that he needed to be the one to get them through this.
Because in spite of everything that anyone had said—Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Officer Lewis—he still blamed himself—and deep down, he knew that Monica still did too.
He would fix this. He had to.
.
Erica looked up at her captor with wide eyes, her lips pursed tightly, refusing to open.
"Come on little one," the woman cooed softly, "you have to eat sometime."
A spoon was lifted to her lips, and she turned her head stubbornly, her eyes closed tight, shutting away the world around her.
"You will eat, my dear. Eventually, you'll have no other choice."
.
"Come on, I know you love this stuff!" Rachel smiled, stirring the pudding slowly, "Why won't you eat, sweetie?"
"I don't wanna," Jack pouted, shaking his head.
"Aren't you hungry?" Ross asked softly.
"I won't eat!" Jack said angrily.
"Okay, okay. You don't have to—but your mom thought you might be hungry…" Ross replied in a sing-song tone, trying to persuade him.
"Erica won't eat," Jack said quietly.
Ross and Rachel looked at each other, both feeling shivers run down their spines.
"Wh-what did you say?" Rachel whispered.
"I said I don't want to eat," Jack said, and pushed the bowl of pudding away.
Ross looked at Rachel, who had gone pale.
"That's not what I heard," he whispered softly.
-------------------------------------
The house had settled into such a deep silence, he could hear the rhythmic tick-tock of his wristwatch, tossed carelessly onto his nightstand hours earlier.
This kind of complete silence was rare, and it reminded Chandler of his first few restless nights in this house.
So accustomed was he to the constant buzz of the City, that he'd had trouble adjusting to the complete silence of suburbia.
At first, he'd found the saccharine environment and total silence disturbing, but over the years, he'd grown accustomed to the comfortable lifestyle, and now he found that a lone car traveling down their street in the middle of the night was enough to rouse him.
On this night, the silence disturbed him once more, but for entirely different reasons. Worse, he couldn't rely on Monica's deep breathing to calm him--she had gotten out of bed an hour ago, convinced that he had dozed off. He'd lain awake for several minutes, waiting for her to come back, but she never did. And when he'd finally got up to search for her, he'd found her, snuggled in bed with Jack, fast asleep.
So now he lay in bed alone, feeling cold, a bit nauseous, and wide-awake.
Ross and Rachel had gone home soon after the police left, both looking a bit shaken, but neither saying much, other than that they would be back in the morning. Phoebe had called as well, wanting an update, and Chandler had finally gathered the strength to phone Joey in Los Angeles a few hours later.
"Hey, Chandler, long time no talk!"
"Yeah…I had to talk to two or three of your assistants to get through to you…you must be doing well," Chandler chuckled softly.
"Well, the show is going into syndication, which means I never have to work again," Joey said excitedly, "and I just got a script today from Gus Van Sant—"
"Sounds like it's going well Joe—listen, the reason I'm calling—I kinda have news, and—"
"News? You don't sound very excited—must not be good," Joey joked.
"It's not," Chandler sat back in his office chair heavily, and let out a deep breath, "Erica's missing."
"What? What do you mean, missing?"
"Someone took her," tears welled up in Chandler's eyes, and he rubbed them with the heel of his hand quickly, "the police are looking into it, but—"
"God, Chandler, this is—how's Monica taking it?"
"Not well. She's trying to stay strong for Jack—but it's killing her."
"How's Jack? Was he there when she…?"
"Yeah, he was there—he seems okay—I don't know," Chandler shook his head slowly.
"How about you, man? How are you holding up?" Joey's voice was solid yet soft, and Chandler knew that he wouldn't be able to keep it together if Joey started crying too.
"I'm…getting by. Listen, I'd better go. I just…I didn't want you to read about it in the paper or something…"
"What can I do, Chandler? You tell me, and I'm there, okay? Look, the show wraps on Friday, so I'm gonna fly out—"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. I'll do anything I can."
"Thanks, Joe."
"Take care of yourself, and Mon and Jack. I swear I'll be there as soon as I can."
.
Chandler peered at the clock, and noted that it was close to four in the morning. He hadn't slept a wink, and was certain that he wouldn't. Sighing heavily, he pulled himself out of bed, and pulled on his robe, before padding down the hall. He peered into Jack's room, and saw that he and Monica were still sound asleep. Quietly, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen.
The kitchen was relatively dark, save for the moonlight that shone through the window over the sink and sliding glass door that lead to the backyard. Chandler opened the fridge, and a flood of artificial light filled the room. He rooted around in the fridge for a minute, not really knowing what he was looking for. After a moment, he pulled out an apple, and shut the door.
He sat down at the kitchen table, and twisted the stem of the apple listlessly, as he stared blankly at the empty chair across from him.
In his mind's eye, he could see his daughter, sitting in that chair, smiling back at him, or talking animatedly about her day. Sometimes she would get so excited, she'd toss her spoon halfway across the room, sending whatever-was-on-the-spoon flying in every direction. Monica would scold her, and he would laugh, and Monica would glare at him for laughing. In the end, she would laugh too.
The stem of the apple snapped off, bringing Chandler back to reality. He set down the apple, and wiped more tears from his eyes.
"Do you want me to cook you something?" Monica said softly, though her sudden presence made Chandler jump visibly.
"Jesus, Mon," he said breathlessly.
"Sorry," she shrugged and sat down in the chair he had been staring at moments earlier.
"I didn't mean to wake you, I—"
"You didn't," Monica interrupted.
"I couldn't sleep," Chandler finished, and picked up the apple once more.
Monica looked down at the apple, and sighed. She wondered what he must have thought, seeing her sleeping soundly in Jack's room.
It wasn't that she didn't want to sleep with him; it was that she couldn't.
She had an urgent need to be near Jack, as if somehow, that would bring her closer to Erica.
She knew it would sound silly out loud, so instead of explaining, she just sighed again.
"I could make you some breakfast. You must be hungry, you haven't eaten at all since—"
"I'm not really hungry," Chandler set down the apple, and put his head in his hands.
He looked so utterly helpless, in that moment in the moonlight. Monica felt her throat clench, and she moved to stand.
Chandler looked up suddenly, startling her.
"Don't leave, Mon. Please," he whispered pleadingly.
She circled the table, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"I'm not leaving,"
He pulled her onto his lap, and buried his face in her shoulder. He began to tremble, and she let out a sob, and in that moment, they were one again.
.
Two Days Later
"Rachel's right, you should get out of the house for a while," Chandler said softly, as he watched Jack play with his oatmeal blankly, "Jack needs some fresh air too."
"What about you? You should come with us," Monica argued, as she set a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Chandler.
"Someone should stay here in case…" Chandler drifted off.
Monica looked at Chandler for a moment, then nodded slowly and sank into the chair next to him.
"Alright. But you'll call if you hear—"
"Of course I will," Chandler placed his hand on hers, and smiled reassuringly.
.
He watched as Monica packed up a bag of things—toys, snacks, and anything else she thought she and Jack may need while on a day trip into the city. Chandler marveled at her organizational skills sometimes—she always had exactly what she needed when she needed it. If one of the kids took a spill in the playground, she was ready with antiseptic wipes and Band-Aids. If they somehow ended up stuck on a subway in Manhattan, she was prepared with travel games and snacks to keep the kids calm. She was the picture of perfection, a stellar mother, and the most organized person he'd ever known.
He'd often relied on her organization, on her super-mom abilities, to get by. He himself was not quite as put together, and over the years he had become increasingly reliant on her to make him look good.
He was a better father, husband, person—because of her.
His slight smile faded, as he came to realize that magnitude of his mistake—he had failed her, in the worst kind of way. The question of whether he'd ever be able to forgive himself was dwarfed by the question of whether she would ever forgive him—whether they would ever be able to move past this.
In the end, he realized, none of that mattered. Erica was the only thing that mattered now—and he would focus all of his energy on ensuring her safe return—regardless of the effect it would have on his marriage.
On his own soul.
"Chandler?" Monica's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked and looked down at her confused face.
"Huh?"
"You okay? You looked…lost."
"Yeah…just thinking," Chandler smiled slightly.
"Oh," Monica nodded. Normally she would dig further, ask him what he was thinking about, but she couldn't bring herself to inquire any more—she didn't want in on his dark thoughts.
She had too many of her own to deal with.
"We're gonna go. We won't be long," Monica pulled her bag onto her shoulder, then crouched down to pick up Jack. Chandler leaned down to kiss his son goodbye.
"See you soon, son," he whispered softly.
"Are you going to see Erica?" Jack replied.
The question took Chandler off guard. He stepped back slightly, and just managed to shake his head.
"No, honey, daddy is gonna stay here. We are going to see Uncle Ross and Aunt Rachel and your cousins, okay?" Monica stepped in, after shooting Chandler a dark look.
"You guys have fun," Chandler managed a smile, and watched as Monica carried Jack out the front door. Jack looked back at him, a look of concern on his face.
Chandler waited for the door to close before collapsing to his knees.
The sound of someone pounding on the front door roused Chandler, and he jumped from the sofa to answer it. He looked at his watch, and realized that Monica and Jack had been gone for nearly two hours. He hardly remembered drifting off.
He opened the door, and was only mildly surprised to see Officer Lewis and another uniformed officer on the other side.
"Mr. Bing, I'm glad you're here," Officer Lewis said grimly.
"What's going on? Did you find her?"
"Is your wife here, Mr. Bing?"
"N-no," Chandler shook his head. His body began trembling visibly.
"Sir, perhaps we should discuss this inside," the other officer offered.
"What's going on?" Chandler demanded.
"Sir, please," Officer Lewis stepped forward, and the three men made their way into the house. Chandler led the officers to the living room, and sat on the edge of one of the reading chairs slowly. The officers both sat on the sofa, neither making eye contact.
"Did you find her?" Chandler asked again, his voice raspy.
Officer Lewis looked up, his expression unreadable. In the seconds in took the officer to reply, Chandler was certain he was going to explode.
"We got a call from our colleagues in New Jersey."
"N-new Jersey?" Chandler echoed.
"Mr. Bing, there really is no easy way to say this—we need you to come with us."
"W-why?" Chandler managed, though he dreaded the answer.
"They found a little girl—in a ravine off of the highway. They are working on identifying her, but it would be faster if you could—"
"She—the girl—she'd dead?"
"I'm afraid so. Sir, we'd like you to come with us—to identify the—to make an identification."
-------------------------------
Part 2: Coming soon....very soon!