Gone

"Quickly," the thought runs through my head with no hesitation. My eyes scramble through the corruption that is the mall the day before Christmas. There's no escape, not in the mess of bodies presenting themselves before me. I jump down from the bench I stood on just seconds before, looking for what I lost, the only thing in life that means more than a grain of rice to me.

She doesn't have a phone, she doesn't have anything besides the small rag doll her father gave her and a lollipop she so happily received from the vending machine. A thousand situations burst through my mind, each one worse than the last. She was by my side just seconds ago, her small fingers intertwined with mine. How can someone become so lost so quickly?

I call out her name one last time before I start to run frantically, trying to find an answer. I get no reply, no pipsqueak voice laughing saying "I'm right here mommy." You would think on Christmas Eve that more people would have the mind to help. To search for my lost child. The season of giving, they call it, but yet seem to ignore it at the same time.

My heart races, faster and faster until I think I might burst, the blood pumping through my veins with a force so powerful that my veins bulge beyond belief. Then suddenly, my heart just shatters. I raise my eyes from the floor, broken in pieces, and finally I spot the bundle of joy I had brought into the mall with me.

My young daughter waddles through the shadows and I sense a feeling of relief knowing she is only a second from my reach, but instead of treading alongside the shadows produced by the fluorescent lights, she held the hand of a tall, dark one.

The scene around me quickly grows silent, a loud, sharp ringing taking it's place. My body goes cold, filling with anticipation and the danger of the situation. It's almost Christmas, who in their right mind would kidnap my daughter?

"Caroline! Sweetie!" I shout, barely able to bring enough air into my lungs to pass the words through my mouth. The blood rushes through my head, almost blinding me from the horror unfolding in front of me. Jumping through the crowd, muttering the occasional apology, I head in her direction, calling her name, but getting no response, shouting for help, but getting no attention. No one is going to care about a woman yelling in a crowded mall, no one is going to believe her none the less.

With no one to help, no one to grab the man that was taking my joy away from me, I run. Full speed, no questions, no tripping, just the motion of my feet trying to follow the two as they round the corner. I yell one last time and as I do, the man turns to look at me, for just one moment.

His dark, piercing eyes stare directly into the purest form of my soul. I take in everything I can about who he might be when I realize that under his black trench coat resides a long white beard, red rosy cheeks, and a bright red Santa suit. His crooked nose lines his red lips and the white space between them, to a parent, he was creepy. To a child, maybe not. He mouths two words that I never thought would hold such power or fear.

"Merry Christmas," and he smiles, exposing the rotting yellow shapes in his mouth that some would call teeth. He looks down at my daughter, and snatches her up, her blonde hair disappearing around the corner with the white beard she trusts so much. Of course. That's why she went.

What he doesn't realize is the day I give up on my daughter will be the day I die. My pace quickens as I attempt to chase after them, slipping my phone out of my pocket, readying the 911 call I knew I was about to make. My glance captures the scene around the corner, and the more I look the more I know. She's gone.

I spot the gleaming badge of a mall security officer and know that now is my chance. "Security! Please! Help!" I scream with all my might. The small, pudgy man looks towards me and I approach him faster than my mind can process, and my guts start to spill.

"Please you have to help me, he took my daughter. She was right by my side and I turned around and she's gone, he just came through here please tell me you saw him, he was dressed in a Santa suit but was wearing a black trench coat thing," I squandered, trying to get everything out all at once.

His dead eyes just look at me, "Call 911 then," he shrugs and glances at my phone. "I didn't see him, but it's Christmas time, I doubt we are going to find him in a sea of Santas. Your best bet is to just call the police and file a statement." The man just shrugs at me as he lets the dull, lifeless words out of his foul mouth. I already knew there was no hope as soon as he spoke the statement. He stares at me for a few more moments, but when I don't reply, he decides I'm not worth the effort and goes about his day.

I sit and rethink the choices I made for just a second. Not many parents think they're messing up when they teach their children about the tradition of Santa bringing them presents on Christmas. In fact, most of us basically force them to take Santa pictures every year, telling them it's okay to trust this man. So obviously, that's why she left. That's why she took his hand and disappeared from my side. After everything I've done to protect her, why wouldn't she trust Santa?

I stop, slowly turning my head down to look onto the glare of my phone screen. I punch in the three numbers that can define the rest of her life. These next moments define whether she lives. I pull the phone to my ear, listening to the dial tone, waiting. "911, what's your emergency?" the operator on the line answers, wondering what her next mission will be.

"Hi, yes...Santa took my daughter."