Regression

~Crumbling Walls~

He said I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down

I'm gonna put it six feet underground

He said I'm gonna buy this place and watch it fall

Stand here beside me baby in the crumbling walls

Six Hours Later

Chandler stared at the sterile tile floor, and scuffed his shoe nervously under his chair.  He'd tuned out the sounds that had surrounded him for the past several hours; the ringing telephones, the rolling gurneys and wheelchairs, the screams of agonized patients, the exhausted sighs of the doctors and hospital staff.

They'd brought Nora in, to treat her for shock.  But the wait had been long, and dull, and eventually, Ross, Rachel, Joey and Phoebe had decided to go get something to eat.  Monica stayed behind with Chandler, and was consequently the only one there when Chandler had discovered that Harold was in the hospital too.

As it turned out, Nora had not shot Harold in the head.  She'd been aiming for his head, but hit his shoulder.  No, Harold was very much alive, and was in a very bad mood.

Chandler was at a loss.  He knew that he'd have to talk to Harold sometime, but the idea of being in the same room with him…sickened him.

No.  It scared him.  It scared him to death.

"Here," Monica held out an ugly brown paper cup, filled to the brim with steaming coffee.  Chandler snapped out of his reverie, and took the cup with a grateful smile.

"Any word?" Monica asked softly, as she sat down on a ghastly green plastic chair adjacent to Chandler.

"No," Chandler shook his head, and stared at the steaming black/brown liquid.

"Harold?" Monica asked tentatively.

Chandler shook his head silently.

"How are you holding up?" Monica asked softly, as she rubbed Chandler's back.

"Okay," Chandler shrugged, and took a sip of coffee.  As the ancient bitter coffee hit his tongue, his face contorted, and he swallowed the bitter liquid down reluctantly, before setting the cup down on the adjacent table.

They sat in a comfortable, contemplative silence for several minutes, the soothing silence ending when their friends returned.

"Any word?" Ross asked, as he and the other three walked back into the waiting room.

"She's gonna be okay, but she's sleeping right now," Monica informed them, as she took one of Chandler's hands in her own.

"Are they gonna…arrest her?" Joey asked tentatively.

"Probably," Monica replied, and gave Chandler's hand a squeeze.

"I can't believe she killed him," Rachel muttered.

"She didn't," Chandler said suddenly, and stood up, releasing Monica's hand as he made his way toward the door.

"What?" Ross asked.

"She didn't kill him.  She hit his shoulder, not his head.  He's down the hall," Chandler rambled with a nervous intensity that frightened Monica.

"Chandler—" Phoebe started.

"No, it's okay, I'm okay," Chandler smiled tightly, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Chandler—" Monica stood up.

"I'm gonna go check on my Mom," Chandler said quickly, and rushed out of the room.

Monica sighed heavily, and looked at the floor.  She looked over at her friends, and shook her head.

"I can't help him if he—" Monica sunk into her chair.

"Mon, has he seen Harold yet?" Rachel asked softly.

"No…and I don't think he should," Monica said, as she wiped tears from her cheeks, "he's not ready."

"I think you might be right," Ross replied softly.

Joey stood up and left the room silently.

He walked down toward Nora's room, and poked his head through the open door slowly.  Nora was asleep in a hospital bed, and Chandler was nowhere to be found.  Joey bit his lip nervously, and turned back down the hall.  He had no idea where Harold was, but he needed to make sure Chandler wasn't with him.  Monica's words resonated in Joey's head.

He's not ready.

Joey walked up and down the hall, but couldn't find his friend.  Panic began to set in, as a hundred different images floated through his head.  Shaking off the horrifying thoughts that were beginning to run through his head, he made his way into a public restroom.

Chandler was huddled on the floor of the restroom, his arms around his knees, and his head on his arms.

"Chandler, are you okay?" Joey asked softly, but Chandler started anyway.

"J-Joey, hey," Chandler whispered, then sniffled and wiped his face with his sleeve.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were flushed.

Joey crouched down, "Are you okay?" he asked again.

"Yeah, yeah," Chandler laughed unconvincingly.

"Why are you in here?" Joey inquired.

"Why are you here," Chandler chuckled, and gestured toward the urinals.

Joey smiled sadly, and stood up, before helping Chandler to his feet.

"Thanks," Chandler smiled.

"Y'know, just because he's here, it doesn't mean you've gotta see him."

Chandler blanched, and leaned up against the wall behind him.

"I just think…maybe you need more time, ya know?" Joey continued.

"Yeah," Chandler whispered, his eyes glazing over as his mind wandered away from the moment.

The house seemed darker than normal.  The wind whipped through the trees ferociously, creating a low whistle that broke the eerie silence of the night.

Chandler opened his bedroom door slowly, and poked his head out into the long hallway.  A slice of light shone through the front window, and reflected onto a large, crystal chandelier that hung over the foyer.  Chandler slipped out of his room, and stood against the wooden railing that stood across from his bedroom door, and overlooked the foyer.  He looked up at the chandelier, his eyes following the refracting light, as it danced merrily across the darkened walls.  His eyes fell to the floor, one flight below.  The stark white tiles seemed to be glowing in the dead of night.

Chandler's hands gripped the railing firmly, his knuckles white and sharp.  Though his eyes were focused on the floor, his mind was on Harold. 

Harold's weekly visits had increased, and he was now visiting Chandler almost nightly. 

Sleep was no longer an escape from the nightmare that Chandler was living.  Harold had invaded his dreams; the pain of the night taking over his psyche more than ever.

The young boy stood stoically at the top of the stairs, his eyes brimmed with tears, his mind trying to find answers to questions he was too young to ask.

The one question that consumed him, more than all others, was the one that disturbed him most.

Why?

What had he done wrong?  Why couldn't he have been a better son?  What could he do to make it better?

As the storm brewed outside, the disturbed child stepped up onto the railing, and swung one skinny leg over the banister. 

It was the only way out; it was the only way to escape the pain.  He couldn't fix things now.  He was bad, he was corrupt, and he was horrible.  His mother hated him, Harold hated him, his father hated him…

It was the only way out.

He swung the other leg over the railing, and stood there, facing his bedroom door.  He peered over his right shoulder, and looked down at the floor again.

No one would miss him.

The white tile gleamed invitingly, the wind whistled sharply.

No one would care.

His right hand released the railing, and he teetered backward slightly, and the bottom corner of his bed came into view.

Chandler's been a bad boy.

Fat, salty tears slid down the boy's face unchecked.  He was doing them all a favor, really.

It was all his fault.

His left hand released the railing, and he remembered hearing the chandelier crystals tinkle lightly, and then…

Nothing.

"Chandler?"

Chandler snapped out of his reverie, and looked over at Joey.

"Are you okay?"

"I was thinking about…something that came to me earlier tonight, when I found out Harold was here."

"A memory?" Joey asked.

Chandler nodded silently, and looked up at the ceiling, sniffling loudly.

"What, uh, what was it about?" Joey asked tentatively.

"The night I tried to kill myself," Chandler said flatly.

"What?"

"I jumped, from our second floor stairway to the foyer.  A table broke my fall, but I ended up breaking my arm, and a couple of ribs.  My mom made me go to therapy, but I closed up.  I guess that was when…" Chandler stopped suddenly, and walked toward the restroom door.

"When what?  Chandler?" Joey followed Chandler out of the restroom, and into the hallway.

"Joey," Chandler spun around suddenly, his eyes shining wildly, "Don't tell anyone what I told you, especially not Monica.  Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Joey croaked quickly.

"Okay," Chandler repeated, and stalked down the hallway that led to his mother's room.

Joey watched Chandler's retreating figure, his mind trying to process what his best friend had just told him.  He felt a shiver go up his spine, and he shook his head slowly.

Joey walked into the waiting room stiffly, his face piqued, and his eyes glazed over.

"Joey, what's wrong?" Monica asked quietly.

"I—I promised I wouldn't tell," Joey said robotically, then jolted suddenly, and looked down at Monica, "Don't leave him alone, Monica.  Never leave him by himself."

"What?  Joey—"

"Just…" Joey looked at the floor, and sniffled loudly, "he's remembering…and it's messing with his head, I think.  We need to get him away from…him."

Chandler sat on the green vinyl chair, staring at his mother's sleeping form, trying to figure out what was happening inside his own head. 

The memories were coming at him in a jumbled rush; it was as though someone had opened the floodgates in his mind. 

The images were more complete now.  No longer flashes of images, or disjointed voices, the memories were complete, and were more disturbing than he was prepared for.  His head ached constantly, as his mind's defenses struggled to stave off hurtful thoughts unsuccessfully.

Nora stirred, and Chandler's eyes focused on her once more.

"Ch-Chandler? Where am I?" Nora whispered weakly.

Chandler swallowed down a large lump in his throat; he was unaccustomed to seeing his mother looking so frail and helpless.  He was in no condition to take on the caretaker role.

"You're in the hospital, Mom.  Y-you went into shock at Monica's."

"Harold," Nora remembered suddenly.

"H-he's here.  You hit his shoulder."

"No, I…oh," Nora mumbled.

"Chandler, I am so sorry.  I had no idea—"

"Mrs. Bing?" Nora was interrupted by a uniformed police officer.

"Yes," Nora replied calmly, and took her son's hand.

"I'm Officer Gaines.  I need to speak with you about the incident."

"Yes," Nora repeated, "This is my son Chandler."

The officer nodded at Chandler, then looked back at Nora.

"He should be here," Nora continued, "This involves him."

But Chandler didn't want to be there.  He didn't want to relive this.  He wanted to run away, he wanted to escape.

See me crumble and fall on my face

And I know the mistakes that I've made

"Alright, Mrs. Bing, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Nora nodded, and relayed the events of the past afternoon to the officer in full detail.  The officer nodded and took notes, and occasionally looked over at Chandler, who was staring at the wall in front of him.

"Mrs. Bing, we've already spoken with your ex-husband.  He is willing to drop all charges against you, on one condition."

Nora was shocked.  She looked at Chandler, trying to gauge his reaction.  He looked at her blankly, and she looked back up at the officer.

"He wants you and your son to promise not to try and pursue charges against him for child abuse and molestation.  He claims it never happened, and he wants you to take his word for it."

See it all disappear without a trace

*

Oh I'm gonna buy this place and start a fire

Stand here until I fill all your heart's desires

Because I'm gonna buy this place see it burn

And do back the things it did to you in return

He said I'm gonna buy a gun a start a war

If you can tell me something worth fighting for

Oh and I'm gonna buy this place, that's what i said

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head

Honey, all the movements you're starting to make

See me crumble and fall on my face

And I know the mistakes that I've made

See it all disappear without a trace

And they call as they beckon you on

They said start, as you need to go on

Start, as you need to go on

He said I'm gonna place and see it go

Stand here beside my baby, watch the orange glow

Some'll laugh and some just sit and cry

But you just sit down there and you wonder why

So I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war

If you can tell me something worth fighting for

And I'm gonna buy this place, that's what I said

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head

Ah to the head

Honey, all the movements you're starting to make

See me crumble and fall on my face

And I know the mistakes that I've made

See it all disappear without a trace

And they call as they beckon you on

They say start, as you need to go on

As you need to go on

As you need to go on

So meet me by the bridge

Oh meet me by the lane

When am I gonna see that pretty face again

Meet me on the road

Meet me where I said

Blame it all upon a rush of blood to the head

(A Rush of Blood to the Head, by Coldplay)