TEA WITH THE MIDNIGHT MONSTERS

EDGE OF TROUBLE

If you're ten or eight or twelve -- no matter how old or young you are -- I'm sure you understand Caroline's panic.

I'm sure you've lost something you loved. Perhaps a toy, a teddy, or a blanket? A soft blanket you napped and cuddled with when you were younger than you are now?

Sometimes those blankets are edged in silk or soft polyester, and if you rubbed them between your fingers -- or right above your mouth in that tiny ravine that catches the run from your nose when it's running, that blanket made you feel calm and safe.

But maybe, one day, it disappeared like Millie and Pim. It wasn't in the hamper or under the bed or tangled up inside your sheets. No one had borrowed it. No one had hidden it. Someone had placed it, by mistake, in a bag with dirty shirts, and off it flew, your beloved blanket -- kidnapped, stolen -- to the Laundromat.

But in that week -- that five or six days -- seven even -- when your blankie was gone -- you felt the same despair Caroline did.

She loved her children more than the world.

So what did she do?

Well, first, she broke down. She cried and howled, and yelled the word, "No!" a hundred times to no one in particular. She looked as if she'd lost her mind and grabbed Ella's phone and called the police:

"They were parked out back... in the alley. A white van, waffles and something."

"Dinges," said Ella. "It's toppings for waffles."

"A waffle truck. It went west on 73rd. Then up Riverside. Five minutes -- no, now nine! Please hurry!"

In New York at this time, if a child went missing, a parent was not to wait a second. When a child went missing, the police wanted to know right then. Pronto. ASAP. They wanted to know in a New York minute, which is around about twenty seconds.

Four minutes after Caroline called, five officers -- three men, two women -- bright and determined, uniformed and armed -- met Caroline in the tearoom:

New York's Missing Persons Squad.

Six minutes later, they called Gus at Caroline's building, and Gus escorted Ella to the sixteenth floor to fetch photos of Millie and Pim from box number five, Caroline said, or maybe three, or maybe eight. She wasn't sure where she had packed the family photos.

Why, oh, why, had she not unpacked?

As you recall, she did not have her phone. So she did not have the photos on her phone. Millie had dropped it, and Caroline had fetched it from the neighbors, and Ella had brought it to a store for repair. So Ella fetched photos from the moving boxes and brought them right back to the police.

Ten minutes later, an Officer Ellis issued what's called an AMBER alert -- a signal by phone and text and street sign, TV and radio -- to notify the police and fire departments, tollbooth operators, teachers and principals, hotdog sellers, waiters, mailmen, cabbies, actors, bus drivers -- and every other kind of New York civilian -- to keep their eyes open and ears alerted for the bright white truck and Millie and Pim.

Twelve minutes later, Officer Sanchez sent the photos to ten million social media users, all living in the tri-state area. That's New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.

Ten million!

Twenty minutes later, helicopter pilots took to the air to search for the truck. The Mayor closed down the bridges and tunnels, and said, "Those monsters!" on the six o'clock news. "They won't get off this island tonight!"

And FBI Agent Victor Cruz left his apartment in East Harlem, crossed Central Park, and arrived at the tearoom 30 minutes later.

Caroline watched as Cruz, the police, and the FBI wiped down the tearoom and the back alley -- looking for hairs, fingerprints, and footprints. They hauled in supplies, boxes, telephones, and digital recorders. They built a Command Center.

Then Cruz called a press conference.

At seven that evening, Caroline stood outside on the sidewalk, surrounded by reporters and her new loving staff, holding up photos of Millie and Pim.

"My son, he had the start of cold. He was wearing an argyle sweater. My daughter was wearing play clothes, too. A jumper and tights. They were both under the weather..." Then Caroline remembered:

"In fact, my daughter... had a dream... She said that monsters came to her window and told her -- she would be kidnapped..." The reporters gasped. "Oh my goodness..." Caroline had forgotten this. "She knew... She had dreamed... it was going to happen!"

They erupted with questions. "What kind of monsters? Is the girl psychic? How old is Millie?"

"Mrs. Cumberbatch," Agent Cruz said, and place his hand over the microphone. "Let's discuss Millie's dream in private."

"Yes," said Caroline breathlessly, not believing the string of events. "She knew -- she knew this was going to happen... I didn't believe her..."

"Describe the perp!" shouted a reporter.

But Caroline by then was too lost in thought; too stunned, remembering Millie's dream.

"He was big," Ella said, on her behalf, trying to describe Jake Cakemaker. "He was enormous. All around."

"His coat was camel," added Polly. "Cashmere. Maybe a wool blend."

"His wig was black," a waiter added.

"He wore a wig?" Caroline said, snapping to. She hadn't noticed. Paul and Polly and Ella agreed.

"And whether or not he was truly a baker," Caroline added, "we don't know. Please," she begged, turning and looking straight at the cameras, "please help me find my Millie and Pim."