Fallen
Seven: Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word
He followed the officer down the darkened corridor, his heart racing wildly. He squinted, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness that seemed to grow around him with each step. His hands were clammy and shaking, and as he stopped at the large metal door before him, he took in a deep, sharp breath. He turned the cool, steel doorknob slowly, and pulled the door open.
Light flooded the hallway, and he shielded his eyes with his free hand. Unable to let go of the door just yet, he hovered in the doorway, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room's light.
Erica lay on a cold metal table, her eyes closed to the world, her lips pursed into a small, angelic smile. Her hands were folded neatly on her stomach, and her blonde hair fanned around her, in perfect, tiny ringlets.
He walked toward her, but as he did, it seemed that Erica moved farther away. He began to run, but it only pushed her farther. He tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Suddenly, the door he had opened slammed shut, and he found himself back in the darkened corridor.
He screamed again, and this time, his cry echoed around him.
….
"Chandler? Chandler, wake up."
Chandler's eyes shot open, and he sat up suddenly, and tried to catch his breath.
"You were…screaming."
He looked over at Monica, who was looking back at him with a mixture of concern, and an emotion he couldn't quite recognize.
"S-sorry, I…what time is it?"
"8:30. You fell asleep on the sofa last night…I didn't want to disturb you, so I just—" Monica explained hurriedly, as Chandler took in his surroundings.
"'S okay," Chandler yawned, "Is Jack still asleep?"
"Yes, but he should be getting up soon," Monica sighed, "What were you dreaming about?"
"It was…about Erica," Chandler said softly.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you yesterday," Monica replied, as she sat down next to him.
"I'm glad you weren't," Chandler shook his head, "It was horrible."
"Still—I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."
"We shouldn't be going through this at all—none of this," Chandler sighed.
"But we are. And there's nothing we can do about that now," Monica replied flatly.
"I don't know—" Chandler started, then shook his head.
"What?"
"I don't know how to make it better. How to make up for what happened."
After all that they had been through, Chandler had hoped that, on some level, Monica had been able to forgive him for what he had done, and that she would be able to tell him so. He gazed at her as she stared straight ahead, considering her reply. He held his breath, and waited, his eyes filled with as much hope as he could muster.
She said nothing in reply. She simply stood and crossed the room, her eyes never leaving the front window. And for Chandler, her silence was as condemning as any word she could have uttered.
"Someone's here," she said quietly, though Chandler hardly heard her at all.
….
To his utter dismay, the press and paparazzi had followed him from the airport to Chandler and Monica's. How they had heard about his arrival still escaped him, but he had his suspicions, and made a mental note to fire his new assistant when he got back to LA.
As the Town Car pulled up to the Bing home, Joey found himself filled with nostalgia for years past. Though he hadn't spent a lot of time in this house before moving to California, it still felt like home to him, and he knew that it had more to do with the people inside of it than anything else. Chandler and Monica were like family to him, and the idea that they were going through this hell haunted him.
He remembered the last time he was here, almost one year ago. Erica had followed him around the entire time he was here, and he remembered reveling in the fact that Erica had preferred him to any of her other aunts and uncles. Ross had jealously pointed out that it was because he was always on TV, and besides, she saw the rest of them almost every week; but regardless of the reason, he always felt like he and Erica had a special bond.
The driver opened his door, pulling him from his reverie. He hopped out of the car, and raced for the front door, hoping to get inside before anyone could stop him and ask him about Erica or her parents. He sighed in relief when Monica opened the door, and ushered him into the house hastily.
"Thanks, Mon. And—sorry about them," Joey motioned toward the front lawn, where several reporters had planted themselves already. Monica turned, and walked toward the window, silently scanning the situation, before abruptly shutting the drapes. She turned to look at Joey, a sad smile on her face.
"It's good to see you, Joey," she said softly, and walked back toward him. Joey pulled her into a hug.
"Where are Jack and Chandler?"
"Upstairs. Jack just woke up," Monica pulled away from Joey, "You want some coffee?"
"Sure. Um, have you heard anything?" Joey knitted his brow in concern, as he followed Monica into the kitchen.
"No," Monica shook her head, "nothing."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"We don't even know what to do anymore," Monica laughed bitterly, "My parents want to form some kind of committee to go out and look for her—but it's New York City! I mean, where do we begin?"
"Yeah," Joey sighed.
"Who are all those people?" Chandler walked into the kitchen, carrying Jack, who was looking bleary-eyed and grouchy.
"Sorry, they're with me—apparently," Joey stood as Chandler put Jack down in a kitchen chair, "Hey, man."
"Joey," Chandler smiled sadly, and the two friends hugged.
"I'm so sorry, man," Joey whispered, and the two pulled apart. Chandler nodded, and glanced at Monica, who was fussing over Jack.
"You know, maybe we can use those people," Joey looked toward the front of the house, "maybe we can use them to help get the word out about Erica."
"Maybe," Chandler nodded slowly.
"It's worth a shot," Monica added.
"I'll have my publicist come up with a press release. It'll be national news by the end of the day," Joey pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Wait—I mean, do we want it to be national news? Do we want people camped out on our lawn all night?" Chandler asked tentatively.
"We don't have any other choice, do we?" Monica snapped, "we have to do something."
Chandler retreated with a nod, and Joey glanced back and forth at the couple, his eyes revealing his concern.
"She's right Joe. Make the call," Chandler said softly, then left the room. Monica followed him, as Joey dialed his publicist.
…
"Chandler," Monica called, and he paused, but didn't turn to look at her, "I'm sorry, for snapping like that. I don't want people on our front lawn either, but—"
Chandler turned to look at her, looking defeated and exhausted.
"It's okay. You're right, we should do everything we can."
"Still—" Monica started, as she closed the gap between them, "I'm sorry."
Chandler nodded, and looked at his shoes, before sighing deeply.
"And about earlier—I didn't mean to…not reply…I just…I'm as lost as you are."
Chandler looked up, his eyes glassy and wide.
"We will get through this," Monica continued.
"Will we?" Chandler asked, his voice raspy and unsure.
"We have to," Monica replied, her own tears spilling from her eyes.
Chandler nodded, and pulled Monica to him, and let her cry.
But despite her words of comfort, something told him that nothing would ever be the same again.
