Gregg grabbed the phone as she hung up, quickly calling Cheif Charleston to tell him what happened. Emily sat down, shakily

putting her head in her hands. After a few moments, Gregg sat beside her, putting an arm over her shoulder.

"We'll find him, Emily...I promise he'll be okay..." Emily looked up at him.

"How do you know that?" she asked, sniffling.

"Because if he's bright enough to call, he'll be fine..." he said, with a slightly exasperated sigh. Emily gave a soft groan, and

nodded.

"I guess you're right, Gregg...God, I hope you're right...." she mumbled, downing the rest of her wine with one gulp. Gregg

chuckled.

"Calm down, Em...You'll stress yourself into an ulcer," he said, giving her a hug. Emily rested her forehead on his shoulder, and

he held her for a few moments...before she fell asleep. Laughing softly, Gregg laid her down, covered her up, and heaed out.

Emily waited anxiously for the phone to ring again, for her little boy to call her once more and tell her he was okay. She was

curled up on the couch the following weekend, her head resting on Gregg's knee, the phone in her hands. The TV was on, and

Along Came A Spider was playing. Emily sat still for a moment, before sitting up and looking at Gregg.

"Why don't you just put a tracer on my phone? When he calls, you can find him!" she exclaimed, a glint of hope in her eyes.

Gregg shook his head.

"Can't, Em. He doesn't call often enough for us to put such a complex machine on your phone..." Emily sighed, her hopefullness

gone from her face. Gregg sighed. "Don't worry, Em...We'll find him," he said, holding her.

After that, Emily stayed locked in her bedroom, refusing to see Gregg or anyone at all. She rarely ate, and began to get frail

and weak. Gregg called her everyday, trying to get her to at least talk. Emily refused altogether. All she did was stare at her

wall, and clutch to the phone, waiting for that call from her little boy. But he never called her.

A month and a half passed, before Emily finally unlocked her bedroom door. Shakily, she moved down the hall, pushing the

bathroom door closed and flipping on the hot water, stripping down to nothing and stepping into the shower. The hot water felt

like a massager over her body, and she stood there for near an hour and a half, soaking herself to the bone. When she finally

came out, her hair was wet and stringy around her head. She was in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a college T-shirt, and

she was just headed back to her room when a knock sounded at her door. Not really wanting to answer it, but curious as to

who could be comeing to see her, she moved to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. There, standing slightly shakily

before her in tattered Bob the Builder pajamas, with dirty and unkempt blonde hair, was Matthew.