CHAPTER#1
A/N: Hey all? What's doin'? I have had this idea for a while and decided to finally write it. I hope you like it.
It was cold. And damp. And uncomfortable. There was a constant stench of wet metal, mold and unwashed humans. The air seemed thick and dark. The small windowless cell consisting of three thick stonewalls, the fourth side being iron bars. There was a small, hinged door, heavily padlocked, in which she had been roughly forced through only days earlier. The cell was located in a dark room, with one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling and another, heavily locked door. The door was opened only a few times a day; to bring in small portions of bread and water (with occasional dry meat and overcooked vegetables), to take away their 'bathroom bucket' and one other reason. Two or three times a day they would come in, yelling in a language she couldn't understand, beating them, as if for information. She could feel dried blood on the side of her face from the latest interrogation. She would gladly tell them anything to get away, to get her friend away, but she could not understand their questions. She didn't know what they were asking.
She sighed and moved even closer. She could hear her friend shivering in her sleep, as the two were huddles together on the cold, hard, cement floor, in an attempt to keep warm. They had been given one small, moth- eaten blanket by a guard who had taken pity on them. Although they were grateful for it, it was not even large enough to fit around the two of them.
She began to cry softly. It was all so overwhelming; they didn't know where they were, or who their captures were, or even why they were here. She didn't know why they were beaten on a daily basis, why they were barely fed, or why they couldn't leave. Would they ever be able to go home? Would they be killed eventually? And if so, how long did they have? She sighed sadly. She was cold and tired and her whole body hurt. She glanced to her side and knew her best friend was feeling the same way. The worst of it was that she felt responsible for all of this. The whole trip had been her idea. Leaving the hotel that night had been her idea. It was her fault they had been attacked, that they had been brought here, that they were being kept in such poor conditions. And it was her fault that their best friend had been killed.
"Oh, Phoebe," Rachel whispered silently as she felt a tear run down her cheek. "I'm so sorry."
* * * * *
Chandler paced nervously around his and Monica's apartment. He couldn't keep calm, not when he didn't know where Monica was, or if she was okay.
She had been on a trip with Rachel and Phoebe. Rachel had decided they would go on a trip, so the three girls had left to tour Europe for a couple weeks. Rachel, although she loved her daughter, had not been ready for the responsibility. She decided a trip would be good for her, a last chance at freedom. She had also decided that Monica and Phoebe were going with her. Phoebe had agreed easily. She and Mike were getting serious and were beginning to talk about moving in together. Phoebe was till apprehensive about relationships, and thought a break would do her good, give her time to think.
Monica, however, hadn't been so easy to convince. She hadn't wanted to go. She and Chandler had been married for about a year and they had recently started trying to have children. Monica didn't need a vacation, she loved her life with Chandler, to her it felt like a vacation all in itself. As much as Monica didn't want to go, Rachel was persistent. She would not take no for an answer and, eventually, Monica had given in. She knew it was important to Rachel.
Chandler finally stopped pacing and sat down nervously on the couch, but he soon jumped up and began pacing again. He couldn't even sit still, not when he didn't know where Monica was, or if she was okay, or if she was even. No, he couldn't let himself think it. She couldn't be .
Chandler allowed his thoughts to drift back to the event that had occurred five days earlier. Chandler had been watching the game with Ross, Joey and Mike (who had grown very close to the gang in the past few months) when the phone rang.
5 Days Earlier.
Chandler pulled his attention away from the game when he heard the shrill ringing of the phone. After a moment he reached over and picked it up.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hi Sweetie," he heard Monica's voice filter through.
"Hey, Mon." Chandler said happily. "I really miss you." Chandler saw the guys all roll their eyes at him. He gave them a look and got up, moving towards the kitched for privacy.
"I miss you, to." Monica replied, softly. "I love you."
"I love you, to," Chandler said smiling. He couldn't wait for her to come home. In all the time they had been a couple, they had never been apart for this long. "So, where are you guys today?"
"Uh, we're in-" she was cut off by a scream.
"Mon," Chandler said quickly, fear etching into his voice. "What was that?"
"Oh my God," he heard her whisper, and then there were more screams and sound of destruction. Chandler thought he heard a gunshot.
"Monica!" Chandler yelled, now absolutely terrified. He had never heard that tone in Monica's voice before. She seemed absolutely terrified. The guys all looked up at him, giving him concerned looks, but he ignored them.
"Mon, talk to me, please," he begged. "What's going on?"
"I-I," she stammered. "There are people. They have guns. Chandler, I'm scared."
Chandler felt fear completely take him over. He had never been so terrified in his whole life. He didn't know what to do. He had no way of helping her, of protecting her. "Mon, listen to me, you have to get out of there."
But it was to late. There was a sound of a gun going off, and what sound like Rachel scream 'NO!' He heard Monica cry out and the sound of a struggle. The last thing he heard before the phone went dead was Monica scream out 'I love you.' And then nothing.
Chandler had promptly dropped the phone in shock, causing the guys to rush over to him. They swarmed around him, asking what was wrong. Joey picked up the phone, only to find it beeping. He hung it up. Chandler collapsed onto the floor, not able to think straight. He had no idea what to do, or say. He couldn't help her because she was so far away, and he couldn't get to her, because he didn't know where she was. He looked up to see three worried faces looking down at him. He quickly told them what had happened and they had immediately called the police.
The police had told them they would look into it. They said to sit tight until they got back to them.
Chandler hated waiting, not being able to do anything. He had been to the police station so many times in the last few days, that they had practically ordered him to wait for news at home. Chandler had barely slept in the past five days, he would be out there looking for information himself if he had any idea where to look.
The police, also, it seemed didn't know where to look. They came up with nothing. And for months there was no news, that is until one day.
Chandler was at the kitchen table, working. He had thrown himself into his work in the past few months, keeping his mind occupied so he wouldn't be able to think about Monica. He hadn't heard from her since that fateful day, and he feared he would never hear from her again.
He looked up when he heard a slight nock at the door. He sighed and pulled himself up. He walked over to the door, and pulled it open. To his shock, Chandler saw someone he hadn't seen since that day. He didn't know what to say, so he stood there his mouth gaping, not knowing what to say.
A/N: So? What did you think of it so far? Who do you think is at the door? I hope you all enjoyed, please let me know what you think. Anyway, I hope to have chapter 2 up ASAP.
A/N: Hey all? What's doin'? I have had this idea for a while and decided to finally write it. I hope you like it.
It was cold. And damp. And uncomfortable. There was a constant stench of wet metal, mold and unwashed humans. The air seemed thick and dark. The small windowless cell consisting of three thick stonewalls, the fourth side being iron bars. There was a small, hinged door, heavily padlocked, in which she had been roughly forced through only days earlier. The cell was located in a dark room, with one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling and another, heavily locked door. The door was opened only a few times a day; to bring in small portions of bread and water (with occasional dry meat and overcooked vegetables), to take away their 'bathroom bucket' and one other reason. Two or three times a day they would come in, yelling in a language she couldn't understand, beating them, as if for information. She could feel dried blood on the side of her face from the latest interrogation. She would gladly tell them anything to get away, to get her friend away, but she could not understand their questions. She didn't know what they were asking.
She sighed and moved even closer. She could hear her friend shivering in her sleep, as the two were huddles together on the cold, hard, cement floor, in an attempt to keep warm. They had been given one small, moth- eaten blanket by a guard who had taken pity on them. Although they were grateful for it, it was not even large enough to fit around the two of them.
She began to cry softly. It was all so overwhelming; they didn't know where they were, or who their captures were, or even why they were here. She didn't know why they were beaten on a daily basis, why they were barely fed, or why they couldn't leave. Would they ever be able to go home? Would they be killed eventually? And if so, how long did they have? She sighed sadly. She was cold and tired and her whole body hurt. She glanced to her side and knew her best friend was feeling the same way. The worst of it was that she felt responsible for all of this. The whole trip had been her idea. Leaving the hotel that night had been her idea. It was her fault they had been attacked, that they had been brought here, that they were being kept in such poor conditions. And it was her fault that their best friend had been killed.
"Oh, Phoebe," Rachel whispered silently as she felt a tear run down her cheek. "I'm so sorry."
* * * * *
Chandler paced nervously around his and Monica's apartment. He couldn't keep calm, not when he didn't know where Monica was, or if she was okay.
She had been on a trip with Rachel and Phoebe. Rachel had decided they would go on a trip, so the three girls had left to tour Europe for a couple weeks. Rachel, although she loved her daughter, had not been ready for the responsibility. She decided a trip would be good for her, a last chance at freedom. She had also decided that Monica and Phoebe were going with her. Phoebe had agreed easily. She and Mike were getting serious and were beginning to talk about moving in together. Phoebe was till apprehensive about relationships, and thought a break would do her good, give her time to think.
Monica, however, hadn't been so easy to convince. She hadn't wanted to go. She and Chandler had been married for about a year and they had recently started trying to have children. Monica didn't need a vacation, she loved her life with Chandler, to her it felt like a vacation all in itself. As much as Monica didn't want to go, Rachel was persistent. She would not take no for an answer and, eventually, Monica had given in. She knew it was important to Rachel.
Chandler finally stopped pacing and sat down nervously on the couch, but he soon jumped up and began pacing again. He couldn't even sit still, not when he didn't know where Monica was, or if she was okay, or if she was even. No, he couldn't let himself think it. She couldn't be .
Chandler allowed his thoughts to drift back to the event that had occurred five days earlier. Chandler had been watching the game with Ross, Joey and Mike (who had grown very close to the gang in the past few months) when the phone rang.
5 Days Earlier.
Chandler pulled his attention away from the game when he heard the shrill ringing of the phone. After a moment he reached over and picked it up.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hi Sweetie," he heard Monica's voice filter through.
"Hey, Mon." Chandler said happily. "I really miss you." Chandler saw the guys all roll their eyes at him. He gave them a look and got up, moving towards the kitched for privacy.
"I miss you, to." Monica replied, softly. "I love you."
"I love you, to," Chandler said smiling. He couldn't wait for her to come home. In all the time they had been a couple, they had never been apart for this long. "So, where are you guys today?"
"Uh, we're in-" she was cut off by a scream.
"Mon," Chandler said quickly, fear etching into his voice. "What was that?"
"Oh my God," he heard her whisper, and then there were more screams and sound of destruction. Chandler thought he heard a gunshot.
"Monica!" Chandler yelled, now absolutely terrified. He had never heard that tone in Monica's voice before. She seemed absolutely terrified. The guys all looked up at him, giving him concerned looks, but he ignored them.
"Mon, talk to me, please," he begged. "What's going on?"
"I-I," she stammered. "There are people. They have guns. Chandler, I'm scared."
Chandler felt fear completely take him over. He had never been so terrified in his whole life. He didn't know what to do. He had no way of helping her, of protecting her. "Mon, listen to me, you have to get out of there."
But it was to late. There was a sound of a gun going off, and what sound like Rachel scream 'NO!' He heard Monica cry out and the sound of a struggle. The last thing he heard before the phone went dead was Monica scream out 'I love you.' And then nothing.
Chandler had promptly dropped the phone in shock, causing the guys to rush over to him. They swarmed around him, asking what was wrong. Joey picked up the phone, only to find it beeping. He hung it up. Chandler collapsed onto the floor, not able to think straight. He had no idea what to do, or say. He couldn't help her because she was so far away, and he couldn't get to her, because he didn't know where she was. He looked up to see three worried faces looking down at him. He quickly told them what had happened and they had immediately called the police.
The police had told them they would look into it. They said to sit tight until they got back to them.
Chandler hated waiting, not being able to do anything. He had been to the police station so many times in the last few days, that they had practically ordered him to wait for news at home. Chandler had barely slept in the past five days, he would be out there looking for information himself if he had any idea where to look.
The police, also, it seemed didn't know where to look. They came up with nothing. And for months there was no news, that is until one day.
Chandler was at the kitchen table, working. He had thrown himself into his work in the past few months, keeping his mind occupied so he wouldn't be able to think about Monica. He hadn't heard from her since that fateful day, and he feared he would never hear from her again.
He looked up when he heard a slight nock at the door. He sighed and pulled himself up. He walked over to the door, and pulled it open. To his shock, Chandler saw someone he hadn't seen since that day. He didn't know what to say, so he stood there his mouth gaping, not knowing what to say.
A/N: So? What did you think of it so far? Who do you think is at the door? I hope you all enjoyed, please let me know what you think. Anyway, I hope to have chapter 2 up ASAP.