A stifling sinus headache woke Sharona in the middle of the night. She sat
up, coughing a little bit. She took a drink of water and started to lie
back down when she heard a noise. It was talking. She looked at the clock,
saw it was 3:30 in the morning and headed out of her room to investigate.
What she found was the television on in the living room. It was an
infomercial about a set of kitchen knives. The lamp beside the couch and
the kitchen light were both on. She switched off the television and looked
around, confused. She walked down the hall and peeked into her son's
bedroom. The bed was still made. A twinge of worry ran through her as she
walked back out to the living room.
"Benjy," she called, her voice cracking from not being used for most of the day. She saw a bowl of spaghetti-o's on the coffee table and touched it lightly with her finger. The bowl was full and the spaghetti-o's were cold. She called out again, this time her tone more frantic. "Benjy!"
Hurriedly she moved through the apartment, checking every room and closet and cabinet. Then as she walked back into the living room she saw it. The front door was open a few inches.
"Oh my God," she said under her breath as she ran to the front door. She threw it open and looked around outside. There were no signs of anyone. No strange cars. No people moving about. She turned and ran back inside, heading straight for the telephone.
"Oh my God. Oh my God," she repeated over and over again, panicked tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Finally when the 911 operator picked up she began speaking frantically. "My son is missing. You have to get someone over here. Please."
"Ma'am, I need you to calm down," the operator said. Sharona shook her head and ran her hand through her tangled hair.
"I will not calm down. Did you hear me? My son is missing."
"A police officer is on his way to your home, ma'am," the operator said, still trying to get Sharona to calm down. "When was the last time you saw your son?"
"Um, it was . . . after school. He came home from school," she explained. "I have the flu, and so I was sleeping all night and then I woke up and the TV's on and the spaghetti-o's are on the table and he's gone. Oh my God, if anything happens to him, I don't know what I'll do."
"We're going to do everything we can to help you," the operator said. "What's your son's name?"
"Benjy," Sharona replied. Then she corrected herself. Only family and friends called him Benjy. "Benjamin Fleming."
* * *
An hour later Monk showed up with the captain. Stottlemeyer was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, having just thrown them on once he had heard about Ben being missing. Monk, however, was wearing a neat suit, as if he had known he would have to go at this time. They were allowed into Sharona's apartment once Stottlemeyer flashed his badge. They saw Sharona sitting at the dining room table. She was talking to a uniformed officer, giving her statement. The officer saw the captain and stood, telling Sharona that he would be back in a moment. She nodded her head and just sat there, sniffing because of her flu and her tears.
Stottlemeyer and Monk paused in the middle of the living room. Monk saw how sick Sharona looked and didn't want to take another step toward her. Stottlemeyer noticed this and nudged him.
"I can't go in there," he said. "She's got the flu."
"She needs help, Monk," Stottlemeyer prodded.
"The police are helping her," he replied.
"Not that kind of help," Stottlemeyer added. The officer who had been talking to Sharona stopped next to him, waiting to give him the details. "Go talk to her."
"But-"
"Go." Stottlemeyer shoved Monk forward and he slowly made his way into the room.
Sharona didn't even look up. It was like she didn't notice him. She was too busy staring at the picture of Ben she had taken out to show to the police. It was a school picture. His hair was combed in a weird direction because the school photographers always allowed the students to comb their own hair before getting their picture taken. But Sharona didn't care about Ben's hair. She just wanted her son back.
"Sharona," Monk said quietly, cringing at the sight of the crumpled up tissue in her hand.
She looked up, surprised to see him there. "Adrian, you're in the same room as me."
"Yeah, I am," he said. He moved down to the opposite end of the table and sat down. Just because he had to talk to her didn't mean he had to sit next to her. "How are you holding up?"
"How do you think?" she asked sarcastically. "The police think that Benjy ran away."
"What? Did they say that?" Monk asked, knowing that Ben would never run away. He wasn't unhappy at home. He had no reason to want to leave.
"No, but I know that's what they think," she said. "There was no forced entry. That's what they said. They said nobody broke into the apartment."
"You didn't hear anything?" Monk asked, an obvious question considering she was at home with the flu all day.
"God, I'm a horrible mother!" she exclaimed suddenly. Monk was caught off guard. Sharona had crumbled into tears.
"You're not a horrible mother," Monk said. He wanted to stand and move closer to her, but he couldn't will himself to do it. He was too close to her already. "You're the best mother I know. Benjy loves you, and you love him. And you take care of him all alone."
"I slept through my own son's kidnapping," Sharona argued. "I was right down the hall while someone walked into my apartment and took my son. Doesn't that sound like a horrible mother to you?"
Monk didn't know what to say. Obviously it wasn't a good thing that she slept through it, but it didn't make her a horrible mother. She shook her head and then rested it in the palms of her hands.
"I can't lose him, Adrian. I just can't."
"We'll get him back, Sharona," Monk said. He was already running kidnapping scenarios through his head. "I promise we'll get him back."
"Benjy," she called, her voice cracking from not being used for most of the day. She saw a bowl of spaghetti-o's on the coffee table and touched it lightly with her finger. The bowl was full and the spaghetti-o's were cold. She called out again, this time her tone more frantic. "Benjy!"
Hurriedly she moved through the apartment, checking every room and closet and cabinet. Then as she walked back into the living room she saw it. The front door was open a few inches.
"Oh my God," she said under her breath as she ran to the front door. She threw it open and looked around outside. There were no signs of anyone. No strange cars. No people moving about. She turned and ran back inside, heading straight for the telephone.
"Oh my God. Oh my God," she repeated over and over again, panicked tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Finally when the 911 operator picked up she began speaking frantically. "My son is missing. You have to get someone over here. Please."
"Ma'am, I need you to calm down," the operator said. Sharona shook her head and ran her hand through her tangled hair.
"I will not calm down. Did you hear me? My son is missing."
"A police officer is on his way to your home, ma'am," the operator said, still trying to get Sharona to calm down. "When was the last time you saw your son?"
"Um, it was . . . after school. He came home from school," she explained. "I have the flu, and so I was sleeping all night and then I woke up and the TV's on and the spaghetti-o's are on the table and he's gone. Oh my God, if anything happens to him, I don't know what I'll do."
"We're going to do everything we can to help you," the operator said. "What's your son's name?"
"Benjy," Sharona replied. Then she corrected herself. Only family and friends called him Benjy. "Benjamin Fleming."
* * *
An hour later Monk showed up with the captain. Stottlemeyer was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, having just thrown them on once he had heard about Ben being missing. Monk, however, was wearing a neat suit, as if he had known he would have to go at this time. They were allowed into Sharona's apartment once Stottlemeyer flashed his badge. They saw Sharona sitting at the dining room table. She was talking to a uniformed officer, giving her statement. The officer saw the captain and stood, telling Sharona that he would be back in a moment. She nodded her head and just sat there, sniffing because of her flu and her tears.
Stottlemeyer and Monk paused in the middle of the living room. Monk saw how sick Sharona looked and didn't want to take another step toward her. Stottlemeyer noticed this and nudged him.
"I can't go in there," he said. "She's got the flu."
"She needs help, Monk," Stottlemeyer prodded.
"The police are helping her," he replied.
"Not that kind of help," Stottlemeyer added. The officer who had been talking to Sharona stopped next to him, waiting to give him the details. "Go talk to her."
"But-"
"Go." Stottlemeyer shoved Monk forward and he slowly made his way into the room.
Sharona didn't even look up. It was like she didn't notice him. She was too busy staring at the picture of Ben she had taken out to show to the police. It was a school picture. His hair was combed in a weird direction because the school photographers always allowed the students to comb their own hair before getting their picture taken. But Sharona didn't care about Ben's hair. She just wanted her son back.
"Sharona," Monk said quietly, cringing at the sight of the crumpled up tissue in her hand.
She looked up, surprised to see him there. "Adrian, you're in the same room as me."
"Yeah, I am," he said. He moved down to the opposite end of the table and sat down. Just because he had to talk to her didn't mean he had to sit next to her. "How are you holding up?"
"How do you think?" she asked sarcastically. "The police think that Benjy ran away."
"What? Did they say that?" Monk asked, knowing that Ben would never run away. He wasn't unhappy at home. He had no reason to want to leave.
"No, but I know that's what they think," she said. "There was no forced entry. That's what they said. They said nobody broke into the apartment."
"You didn't hear anything?" Monk asked, an obvious question considering she was at home with the flu all day.
"God, I'm a horrible mother!" she exclaimed suddenly. Monk was caught off guard. Sharona had crumbled into tears.
"You're not a horrible mother," Monk said. He wanted to stand and move closer to her, but he couldn't will himself to do it. He was too close to her already. "You're the best mother I know. Benjy loves you, and you love him. And you take care of him all alone."
"I slept through my own son's kidnapping," Sharona argued. "I was right down the hall while someone walked into my apartment and took my son. Doesn't that sound like a horrible mother to you?"
Monk didn't know what to say. Obviously it wasn't a good thing that she slept through it, but it didn't make her a horrible mother. She shook her head and then rested it in the palms of her hands.
"I can't lose him, Adrian. I just can't."
"We'll get him back, Sharona," Monk said. He was already running kidnapping scenarios through his head. "I promise we'll get him back."
