It's a Long Fall From Heaven – Part VII
A/N: Whee! You've all been so patient! Thank ya! And so it continues...
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Chandler ran up behind Monica and caught her as she fainted. He picked her up in his arms, steadied her on his shoulder, and carried her over to the sofa, laying her gently down. He kissed her on the forehead, and strode quickly to the kitchen. He put a small washcloth under the tap, and wrung it out, grabbing a towel and going back to her on the couch. Her breathing had almost normalized. He set the washcloth on her forehead, and knelt by her. While waiting for her to come around, it hit him, finally.
Jonas was gone.
He suddenly felt a wave of emotion come over him. He loved that kid. He loved Monica, and now they were both in distress. He was angry, sad, and frightened all at once. He felt his knees buckle, and his conscious leave him, causing him to fall on the floor.
--
"You passed out, too?" She whispered as he woke her much later. He nodded, and Monica remembered why she fainted in the first place. She shot up, and felt the blood rush to her head. He pushed her gently back down.
"But - but … Jonas…" she stammered, and tried to sit up. He held her firm.
"I know." She saw his eyes. They were red, and his face was wet with tears. "But doing something drastic isn't going to make this better. I'm upset, too, but let's calm down before we do anything, okay?"
"I … I …" she started to cry again, and he pulled her into his arms. He stroked her hair and rocked with her while she cried into his shoulder. Chandler looked skyward, and whispered,
"Why?"
When Monica had calmed down, the returned to the den, looking at what had happened. Monica instinctively started picking things up, sniffing occasionally. She couldn't really believe that this was actually happening. It all seemed like a blur, like it wasn't real. Chandler shut the window, looking down at the ground. It had been raining earlier in the day, and the ground was muddy. He saw a large pair of footprints leading away from the house. He sighed, and looked at the curtains, that were now ripped. He heard Monica gasp behind him. He whipped around, and saw her sitting on the bed, clutching a piece of paper, staring at it.
"What is it?" He asked. She pointed to it, not moving her eyes, and staying frozen to the spot. She couldn't speak. He came around the bed and looked at it, taking it out of her hand. His mouth dropped open as he read it.
I don't want him in your life anymore.
"But why?" Chandler asked the sky again. He wasn't respecting a response, but he had to say something. Monica sighed and closed her eyes, the tears falling again. He joined her, and let her cry.
"What am I - am I going t-to do?" She sobbed.
"I don't know, sweetie. I don't know."
"We have to go and get him!" She looked around the room, as if that would tell her the answer.
"Monica, we don't know where he is."
"Well, I'll find him!"
"Sweetie…we need to go to the police and report this before anything else."
"I know, but, I just…" her hands balled up into fists as her voice trailed off, and she sank into a stupor. Minutes later, she spoke again. "What do you think he meant by 'him'?"
"You mean…?" he gestured at the letter.
"Yeah. You or him?"
"I don't know. Probably me."
"Why? Why would he take him away from me?!"
"Because he's a soulless bastard, who knows how much we care about that kid."
"'We' care?"
"Well, yeah! I love that little boy as if he were my own son. You know that."
"Didn't until just now." He almost saw a smile flicker across her face, but it never formed on her lips. She cleared her throat. "Well, we should go to the police now, then."
"Definitely." She got up, and walked into the kitchen. Chandler followed her, because he saw her knees wobble a little, and she was taking deep breaths.
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Twenty minutes later, the police arrived. Monica opened the door, and let them in, quietly. After doing so, she crawled back into Chandler's arms as the men went to check the room. Since Monica had tidied up, there wasn't much concealed in the room, and they couldn't find clues.
"Curse me for being so neurotic." She whispered. His arms tightened around her, in reassurance.
"It's not your fault, sweetheart." He whispered back.
"It kind of is."
"Don't blame yourself. If anyone's to blame, it's Rick, for doing all of this."
"It doesn't matter. I still should have watched him."
"Monica, you couldn't have helped it. If it was going to happen, it would have happened no matter what you did."
"I still feel like I could have helped it."
"Honey, I know. So do I."
"But…he's my son, you know? I can't just sit here not knowing if he's safe. I don't want to have to live like that."
"You won't have to."
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The police found nothing of evidence as to what he did to him, how he got in, or where he was going. All they found was footprints leading away from the house, and the note he left. Those clues told them nothing. Monica and Chandler were in Chandler's car, driving around the city, looking for him. Each and every street corner, they placed posters up, and each and every time that Monica put one up, she had to close her eyes and fight back tears. She didn't know when she was going to see her son again. She tried her hardest to push back the thought of what Rick might do to him, and concentrated on doing everything in her power to ensure that he would come back safe and sound.
They had been driving for over two hours, stopping every minute or so to put up signs. Monica had devoured an entire box of tissues, and Chandler's head was pounding. It had started to rain minutes ago, and the papers Monica took out into the storm became smeared. It was then that they decided to call it a night, and wait until the storm had passed before venturing out again.
"Chandler?" Monica asked, when they had been in the car and quiet for a while.
"Yes?"
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"You'll make sure he comes home safe?"
"I promise."
"I couldn't bear to be without him. You can imagine, the pain of just thinking about losing him is too much to take."
"I feel the same way about you." He felt Monica's hand tighten around his.
"I know. Me, too."
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The night was nearly over, and Monica couldn't get to sleep. She was pacing around the room, sipping coffee, and trying to figure out where her son was. She hoped that the phone would ring, even if it scared her to death, because that meant that there was a tiny ray of hope that someone found him. She cursed Rick for doing this to them. How could he expect her to give up everything so that Rick would get a laugh?
She traveled back to the den, half expecting to see her son laying there, as if nothing was different. She knew she wouldn't, though. Everything was different. Forever. And there wasn't too much she could do about it. She sorted through everything that had been moved around in Chandler's den, and tidied up the room. Nothing was making her sleepy.
She picked up the note that Rick had written. The note that ruined everything. And she read it, over and over again. The tears kept falling. Her eyes darted to the window, hoping to see someone standing there. She walked over to it, and looked down at the footprints on the ground. She shook her head, and took the note with her back out to the kitchen.
She sat and drank the rest of her coffee, reading the note, as if re-reading it would decipher its meaning. Walking across the room, Monica shut her eyes, and thought, hard. Nothing came to mind. She read the note again, looking around the edges. Nothing. She turned it over, and her coffee mug clattered to the ground.
Come and get him. I know you will. Your street rat is waiting.
Street rat. Street rat. The name replayed in her mind. Where had she heard that? She sat, not bothering to pick up her mug, and put her hands to her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Seconds later, they snapped open.
"Of course!" She said aloud. She snapped her fingers. "But how did he know…?" She shook it off, and stood up abruptly. Picking up her mug, she put it neatly in the dishwasher before taking the few steps to the door. She stopped abruptly, and turned around, looking back at the closed door where Chandler was sleeping. She licked her lips, thinking, and decided not to bother him with it. He was her son, and she had to do this on her own, but she didn't want him worried.
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Chandler awoke the next morning, cold. The warmth of her body was gone, and he immediately rolled over to her pillow. It still smelled like her. He hummed, and got up to go and see if she if she was reading the paper.
"Good morning, sunshi - " he was cut short. The living room was empty. He glanced over to the den; empty. The whole apartment was deserted. "Mon?" he looked around again. No answer. "Monica?" He went to the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.
Don't worry. I'll be home soon. I've gone to get little Aladdin. Jonas is my son, and I can't just sit here and wait for the police to tell me that there's nothing they can do. My angel will be back, just you wait.
Yours,
Monica
He looked skyward again. "My God, Monica, where are you going?"
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