AUTHOR: Twinkie
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Original movie character property of Dreamworks
WARNINGS: None
NOTES: I will be playing off the rain mentioned in the Joe post.

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She loved the sound of the falling rain. Her eyes closed, Monica Swinton remained still as she stood at the window of her bedroom. Despite the chill of the cold air on her bare shoulders, the therapeutic rhythm against the glass set her into a trance. She backed away and felt for the bed behind her and lay down, letting her legs dangling off the edge. The rain pounded harder letting a roaring sensation take over the entire room.

Her surroundings of home began to fade away and she felt herself facing a strong breeze. She could smell salty ocean air and the damp winds fringe through her loose hair. Before her was the vast depths of dark blue reaching into the unknown. Monica's mind stirred. Why was she here? What is this place? A chill went though her. Stepping backward, she felt the cold steel below her bare feet and the slick water droplets that dotted it. Cautiously she raised her eyes to her surroundings, drinking it all in. Mountains of steel, like the one she stood on, surrounded her. They were threatening shapes, tall, slender and looming like gray ghosts. She continued to go back, moving away from it all. Back and back and back until she lost footing altogether in her clumsy escape. Monica's body jolted and her eyes shot open.

Home. She was home again, it had grown dark outside back in her bedroom laying against the white linens of her bed. Carefully she sat up, finding her body still wrapped in the faded blue towel from her bath. A rush of air pushed out from her lungs as she had been holding her breath the entire time.

"It means nothing, nothing whatsoever," She had told herself half out loud as she slipped into her pajamas, "I'm fine, I'll be fine ... just keep your head on your shoulders." She chuckled at that last statement. She knew that her head had been everywhere but, for the last couple weeks. But these visions, where they coming from? Surly, she thought, she must be going crazy by now.

David was barely spoken of since she came home that next morning after the abandonment. Unable to face anyone, including her family, she had checked herself into a small motel on the edges of town. She needed be alone. Her pain was still raw, her emotional wounds still fresh and bleeding. Nothing had happened as she planned. Of course she hadn't expected to be quick and painless ... but she didn't expect the anguish she was feeling at the moment. She called home from her room to a frantic husband who had picked up the phone less then a second after it's first ring. It was forced conversation, she didn't remember much, but the words hadn't flowed from her mouth as they normally would have.

She shook it all out of her mind, not wanting to keep thinking back to that night. The more she could forget, the better. The quietness of the house was eerie. With Martin spending the weekend at a friend's home and Henry away on business she took time alone with her thoughts. Across the dim room, she took a seat at her vanity and raised the lights. Her hands reached up to release her wet hair from the damp turban but are paralyzed in front of the mirror. She stared at herself as if at an unfamiliar person. It was here David had laid his on her knee and looked up innocently at her. Something in her heart sank. She remembered that sweet face and choked down a sob. It was the same face that stared up at her again, weeks later as she shoved him to the forest floor as he tried with desperate attempts to embrace her. She was once a beautiful woman, perhaps, but now, she saw nothing but a monster. Beautiful women never hurt children, much less their own and dear God, David was her child despite what people thought otherwise.

Lost in those same troubling thoughts she made her way downstairs. There was no way she was able to sleep with that on her mind. In the kitchen she started up a kettle of water over the stove. A warm drink usually calmed her down, as it did in the long years while Martin was still in his comatose state. Monica fumbled though her cupboard for the box of herbal tea she kept on hand. Obviously, her usual comforting cup of coffee would not help if she wanted to get any sleep that night. But then again, she hardly ever slept since David's absence. Before she knew it, the kettle started to gradually let off it's high pitched whistle. Her hands clutched the sides of the hot mug tightly after she had poured it, letting it burn her palms. Somehow, it felt good. The pain felt good. The combination of both physical pain and emotional pain seemed to cancel each other out. Maybe, she thought, if she hurt enough, there would be nothing left when it was over.