Hey, all. Sorry to keep you waiting so long. Anyway, here you go, enjoy!

InnocentSmile97, yes the main part of the last chapter was a dream. Dodger and Fagin both have the same dream in which Dodger escapes.

Disclaimer: I am not Charles Dickens or Lionel Bart, yadda, yadda, yadda, I own nothing but the plot. We've been through this.

Chapter 6:

Charley and Ace decided to head home early after having no luck at the marketplace. They had met up with some of their friends and they hadn't found Dodger either. They were too tired and disheartened to carry on, so they wandered back to the hideout, wandering what Fagin would say and/or do when they arrived home without Dodger yet again.

"Well, ya know," began Charley, trying to look on the bright side, "all of us are lookin' for 'im, one of us is bound to find 'im sooner or later." But he wasn't half as convinced as he sounded. As the boys ascended the staircase to the warehouse, they could only think of Dodger and Fagin, about what was going through both of their minds.

"Now then," called out a weary voice as Charley rapped twice on the door. It was Fagin.

"Plummy and slam," the boy called through, then waited as the door was opened by the elderly man and the boys stepped into the warehouse. They were surprised to find that Fagin was there; as far as they knew, Fagin was going to go out and look for Dodger while Bill stayed at the den. "We covered lots of ground today, Fagin," Charley told him, walking over to his bed and removing his coat.

"Yes, but not enough," muttered Fagin, turning to lock the door. Something was bothering him about the door, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Then it came to him; the lock had been broken the night Dodger was kidnapped. For the past two days, it had not been locked properly! "Oh, my Gawd! I just realized..."

"What?" both Charley and Ace chorused, seeing Fagin examine the door.

"The lock's broken 'ere!" Both boys hurried over to the door and saw that, indeed, the lock had been broken. "That's 'ow 'e got in. No wonder we ain't been able to close it properly. I can't believe I didn't notice 'til now."

"Don't worry, Fagin," Charley tried to assure him. "We'll get a new lock, we could find a bolt tomorrow."

Fagin merely nodded and examined the broken lock for a little while longer, before sitting down at the table.

At various times all throughout the day, the rest of the gang returned to the hideout. The half that had been sent out for food arrived first; the ones looking for Dodger arriving much later in the afternoon.

"We've searched everywhere," muttered Samuel. "'E – 'e's just gone." They were sat around the table, a pan of untouched sausages in front of them.

"Come on. Eat up," said Fagin, trying his best to ignore what Samuel had said.

"We're not 'ungry, Fagin," Charley told him. Fagin stared at them. He knew why.

"Ya can't let good food like this go ter waste. Now eat!"

The boys all looked shocked at Fagin's little outburst. They silently ate their food and Fagin felt guilty for yelling at them. He just felt like he was under a lot of pressure; he had to find Dodger before he got hurt, a task which seemed impossible, all the while keeping his other boys well-fed and making sure they were okay as well. It was a lot, especially since Dodger appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth.

~ X ~

"Hey. Kid, wake up," "Thomas" shook Dodger's still form as he tried to rouse him. It was too risky to remain where they were any longer. There was a chance that somebody was living next door, and if they were, then they had most likely heard Dodger. There was also the chance that Dodger had told someone at the market, or maybe the townspeople who had overheard the boy's cries for help believed him. "Thomas" needed to make a move before anybody came calling. "Wake up!" he hissed, shaking the boy's shoulder even harder. As Dodger's eyelids flickered, "Thomas" pulled him up into a sitting position.

"Owww, me back," the boy moaned. His eyes and mind adjusted to being awoken and he became aware of "Thomas" in front of him. "What're you doin'? What's goin' on?"

"We're movin'. Leavin' this place," he replied, annoyed, as he hauled Dodger to his feet.

"What? Why now? In the middle of the night? Oh, come on, I ain't slept for days, and now you're just draggin' me up 'ere, draggin' me from place to place -"

"You never shut your mouth do ya?" snapped "Thomas," covering the boy's mouth with his hand. He was wearing gloves again. "Thomas" pulled the boy over to the door, ignoring Dodger's muffled complaints and quickly unlocked it. After stepping out, he closed the door, not even bothering to lock it again and began dragging Dodger down the deserted street. It was no easy task, though; he had one arm around Dodger's waist and the other clamped over his mouth, not unlike when he first abducted the boy. Dodger was certainly not helping "Thomas" to move along and was digging his heels into the ground. "Come on. Move it!" he hissed, jerking the pickpocket forward roughly.

"It 'urt's to walk!" Dodger snapped, his voice still muffled. "I think ya might 'ave done me back in!"

"Fine!" with an annoyed sigh; "Thomas" leaned down and hooked his arm under Dodger's knees. Standing upright, he proceeded to carry the boy through the streets like a baby, albeit still having one hand covering his mouth. Still not satisfied, Dodger continued to struggle; it was really uncomfortable to have only his neck and knees supported. "What now?"

"Yer 'urtin' me neck! Move yer 'and!"

"I don't think so. It's just a ploy so you can yell for 'elp." Dodger tried to convince him it was not so, but "Thomas" would not believe him. Truth be told, the boy was far too tired to call for help. Even his protests were starting to wear him down. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, even in the arms of his kidnapper. "Thomas" kept his hand around the boy's mouth and continued marching to his next location; another old, run-down house, dilapidated and full of wood-rot. He had been there before, but wouldn't be staying too long this time.

"Thomas" walked hurriedly down the street, anxious to get to the house. Even though it was dark, he still knew the way. He was very experienced in finding old, abandoned houses that hadn't been used for years. When he finally arrived, he removed his hand from Dodger's legs and opened the door, which required no key. After they were inside, he carelessly threw Dodger to the ground yet again, and dead-bolted the door. While "Thomas" was doing this, Dodger sat up and looked about.

The new house they were in was no better than the last. It was even smaller, only four rooms, and was even more isolated than the previous house. Dodger curled up in a corner of the room, and "Thomas" sat down in the opposite corner. The room they were in was so small that if both lay down at opposite ends of the room with their heads resting against the wall, their feet would be touching each others. The room was also bare; there was nothing in it, the only material things were the floor, a window and two doors. Dodger was so tired, he didn't want to talk to the man, but there was something he had to know.

"You know, uh – well, um," Dodger was afraid to ask, but he had to know the answer.

"Tell me. You don't have to be afraid of me, I won't hurt you." Dodger could only stare after hearing that. Couldn't he see that he had already hurt the boy? Even now, it still hurt Dodger to move a lot. It was almost like "Thomas" had two personalities; one, a calm man who genuinely seemed to want to get to know Dodger and gain his trust. And the other side of him, he was a madman who wanted the boy to suffer; his moods could flick on and off like a light switch and there was no foretelling when his mood would change. That was what Dodger found so very frightening about him.

"Well, it was what you said yesterday, 'I swear I'll kill you'," Dodger spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You didn't mean that, did ya? You ain't really gonna... kill me, are ya?" When he finished speaking he looked down, not wanting to know what the man would say.

"Well," tilting his head to the side, "Thomas" thought for a moment. "Actually, yes, I do plan on killing you. I just don't know when. Whenever I feel like it, I suppose. Could be tomorrow, could be next week. Could even be in a few moments. But I will kill you."

"Oh, Gawd!" Dodger buried his face in his hands, trying not to cry. He looked up at "Thomas," his eyes shining with tears. "Please don't kill me," he whispered, hoping that "Thomas" would have at least a shred of a heart and soul and let him go. But to his dismay, the man only shook his head.

"Sorry, kid. That's just what the others said." Dodger's wet eyes widened.

"Others?" Oh, God, this had happened before?

"Mm-hm. Plenty of others. Now, go to sleep." With that, "Thomas" lay down, curled up and closed his eyes. After waiting a moment, Dodger did the same. He found it incredibly hard to drop off, which was understandable under the circumstances. Eventually, the boy managed to fall into a troubled sleep, only to wake up a few hours later. Dodger stared at "Thomas' " sleeping form. He wasn't really going to kill him, was he? The man was psychotic, but would he really go through with it? Dodger believed he would. He had seen his abductor's temper and knew he would be capable of doing something like that.

Dodger curled up into an even smaller ball and tried to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, they flowed out anyway, so he just cried silently into the floor.

"'E's gonna kill me," he sobbed. "I don't wanna die," the crying child covered his face with his hands and turned so as to face the wall. When his tears had ceased, the boy fell asleep again and did not wake up until later in the day.

"Thomas" awoke earlier than Dodger and just sat there, watching the boy shift about in his sleep. 'Another one to get rid of,' he thought. He didn't know how he was going to do it yet, and he was in no rush; he had had plenty of practice. One thing he did know is that he would really enjoy carrying it out this time; the boy was such a nuisance, he would be glad to get rid of him.

His sinister thoughts were momentarily put on hold as Dodger stirred. "Thomas" watched silently as the boy pushed himself up onto his elbows, still facing the wall.

"Good morning," smiled "Thomas," his 'nice head' on today. Dodger looked around slightly, but did not reply. "I said, good morning," the man repeated, an edge to his voice.

"Mornin'," Dodger muttered, not looking at him.

"That's better." Dodger could not bring himself to face the man. How could he, when "Thomas" had revealed he was going to kill him only the night before? "Thomas" reached out and pulled the back of Dodger's tailcoat, turning the boy around and observing his puffy, black eye and swollen bruised cheek. Dodger frowned at him, and tried to slide back out of his reach, but his ribs ached whenever he leant forward. "Somethin' the matter?" asked "Thomas," noticing the boy trying to move away.

"Yeah; you've 'urt me bleedin' ribs!" the boy snapped. "And everythin' else, for that matter." Dodger had been thinking; if the man was going to kill him, well then, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"I was only tryna teach ya a lesson; don't ever disobey me; I can do much worse and I will, if you carry on like this. If ya do as I say, you won't get beat, see?"

"No offense, but do ya really expect me to do as ya say? Imagine if you were kidnapped, ya wouldn't just be sittin' there, would ya? No, you'd be doin' all ya could to get away. I'm only doin' what anyone else would."

"So, you'd rather get beaten tryna get away, than sat there with no injuries?"

"Yeah, I would." Dodger folded his arms and glared at "Thomas."

"Hm, that's interesting to know."

"Great. So, 'ow's about ya let me go now?"

"I don't think so." Dodger rolled his eyes.

"Come on. Ya don't seriously think I'd tell anyone, do ya?" Actually, Dodger had every intention of telling. How could he not? But he couldn't let "Thomas" know that.

"I wasn't born yesterday; I know you would."

Dodger sighed and, after a short while of struggling, slowly lay down on his back, grimacing in pain. He could feel his undoubtedly bruised stomach throbbing and placed his hands gently over his abdomen as if it would ease the pain. "'Urt, are ya?" said "Thomas" in a mocking voice. Dodger frowned and did not answer him. "Thomas'" eyes narrowed. "Hm. I think we may 'ave to sort out a few rules." Dodger still ignored him. "First rule is: always answer me when I speak to you."

"And if I don't?"

"If ya don't, well, then a beatin' is gonna come your way, isn't it? And since you've experienced this first-hand, I think we can agree that ya won't be disobeyin' me anytime soon, can't we?"

"I suppose. But I 'ave an even better idea."

"Oh, really? And what's that?"

"Let me go." "Thomas" actually laughed.

"Stubborn, aren't ya? Get it through yer 'ead: I am not lettin' ya go. The only way you'd ever get out of 'ere is if someone found ya. And we both know that ain't gonna 'appen. Even if someone did find ya, ya still wouldn't get away." Dodger did not reply to this, and tried to sit up. "Thomas" noticed the Dodger struggling and leaned forward, grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him up, causing Dodger to whimper in pain.

"Argh! Bloody 'ell! Don't do that!" he gasped, grasping his ribs.

"I was only tryna 'elp," smirked "Thomas."

"Yeah, well, don't! You only made it worse! Jus' leave me alone!"

"Now, why would I do that? Remember: jus' follow the rules and ya won't get beat." Dodger could not think of anything to say to that and besides, he was far too tired.

Both Dodger and "Thomas" sat there in silence for a while, Dodger nursing his ribs and stomach and "Thomas" scrutinizing the boy's every move. Eventually, Dodger's stomach growled loudly and the young pickpocket wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "'Ungry?" Dodger didn't answer; only looked down at the floor. He was hungry. Sure, he'd gone without food before, but not for this long; that he could remember, anyway. He would of at least had a few scraps by now; it wasn't enough, but then again, it was better than nothing. But he didn't want to give into "Thomas." So, he tried to ignore his hunger pangs, even as his stomach gave a particularly loud growl. "Well, tell me if you are; I'll get you somethin' to eat."

"I don't want anythin' from you," spat Dodger. "Thomas" looked unfazed. In fact, he actually reached into the pockets of his trenchcoat, which had been removed in the middle of his sleep, and pulled out two currant buns.

"So, ya don't want these, then?" he asked, holding them up in front of Dodger. The Artful one stared at the buns, using every little bit of willpower he possessed to not reach out and grab them.

"No," he finally said.

"Are you sure?" asked "Thomas," deliberately holding them closer to Dodger's face so that he could smell them.

"Yes, I'm sure. You can 'ave them," the boy replied tensely.

"You do realize this is the only food we have? Since you can't be trusted to not run off, I can't go out and buy any more. And I certainly can't take you with me, can I?"

"Yeah, you could."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," laughed "Thomas," setting the buns down on the floor. "Oh, well, it looks as though you'll just 'ave to starve."

"You will as well, ya know."

"Not really; I can always sneak out when you're asleep."

"Then I won't sleep any more," replied Dodger defiantly.

"You'll sleep when I beat you into unconsciousness. Would you like me to now?" Dodger didn't reply, just looked down at the ground. "Well? Would you?"

"No," Dodger mumbled quietly, still looking at the ground.

"Thomas" decided to try again.

"What's your name, boy?" Dodger shook his head and refused to answer. "Thomas" swooped over to him, and pushed the boy so he was lying on his stomach and straddled him. One of his hands firmly grasped the top of Dodger's head, the man's fingers digging into his scalp and pulling his hair, while the other hand grabbed Dodger's chin. "Thomas" twisted the boy's head sideways, as if he was trying to make it turn at a 180 degree angle. Dodger screamed in pain, trying in vain to get the man's hands off of his head. When his head was turned almost three-quarters around, "Thomas" leaned in closer.

"What's – your – name?" he hissed, slamming the side of Dodger's head into the hard, wooden floor with every word. When the boy still remained silent, save for his hollering, he resumed twisting his neck around again.

"Jack Dawkins! It's Jack Dawkins! Arrgghhhh!" Dodger screamed as his neck was painfully twisted one more time, then "Thomas" let go. The boy lay there on his stomach, clutching the back of his neck and wincing in pain.

"There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Dodger's kidnapper sat down and pulled a small, black notebook out of his pocket. "Jack Dawkins," he muttered as he wrote the name down in the little book. Dodger's right ear was now bleeding slightly.

"Why don't ya just kill me now and get it over with"? snapped Dodger.

"No. I want to do it slowly; make you suffer as much as possible."

~ X ~

After a long night for everybody in the warehouse, it was finally morning; another chance to search for Dodger.

The small group of boys that had been assigned to search for Dodger the previous day were to go out and steal food. Both Charley and Ace were in the latter group. Charley still planned to look for Dodger, though. He didn't tell Fagin; all the boys were silent this morning after Fagin's little outburst the night before. Fagin didn't even need to tell the boys to get going this morning; they all silently hurried out of the door, some still holding half-eaten sausages in their hands. He knew they were a little bit on edge around him after he had snapped at them, and he couldn't blame them, either.

~ X ~

Once again, the little gang wandered into the market, before splitting up into their respective groups.

"C'mon," Charley muttered to Ace, grabbing his arm and leading him away.

"What're we doin'? We're supposed to be getting' food."

"We will. But first we're gonna look fer Dodge some more. 'E's been gone for three days."

"I know. Oh, and don't forget; we told Fagin we'd find a new bolt for the door today. So, what we gonna do?"

"Ask around, of course," Charley replied simply, walking up to a finely dressed couple. "Excuse me," he said, polite as he could. The couple shrank back a bit when he spoke; they clearly thought he was going to beg for money. "Me friend 'as gone missin' and we was wonderin' if you'd seen 'im. 'E 'as brown 'air, brown eyes and is wearin' a big blue coat," Charley explained, just like he did the day before.

"No, sorry," Charley looked disappointed, but nodded politely and thanked them all the same.

Then Ace did the same with another couple, but had no such luck.

They both carried on trying, though, and sneaking a bit of food here and there.

"Please, sir, 'ave ya seen our friend? 'E 'as brown 'air and eyes and is wearin' a blue coat."

"Yes, actually," he replied rather haughtily. Charley and Ace exchanged excited and relieved glances, their hopes rising, before the man continued "Typical street child; screaming and making a fool of himself in the street. He was playing a game; a man was dragging him and he was screaming for a Fagin, a Charley and an Ace to please help him. Children, these days, you know, they never -"

"Oh, no! Sir, 'e weren't playin'! 'E's been kidnapped! Which way did they go?" cried Charley. This could be the day, he thought. They may finally find Dodger. The man pointed to his left and the two pickpockets immediately raced the right direction. They both recognized the direction in which they were running: it lead to the two houses they had looked in yesterday. If that man had seen somebody dragging Dodger away, then that meant that Dodger had at least escaped!

"We 'ad to find the 'ouse after 'e got out, didn't we?" Ace panted, frustrated.

"Keep runnin'!" ordered Charley. "Maybe we'll be able to get 'im away from that bloke!"

The two pickpockets refused to slow down, even when they saw the house in the distance. Instead, they sped up, only stopping when they were right in front of it. Charley wrenched the door knob while Ace fiddled with the windows. When both had opened, they rushed inside, searching different sides of the house, then swapping sides and double searching, just to be sure. They eventually met up in the main living-room, where unbeknownst to them, Dodger had been beaten and held captive only a mere few hours before.

"I don't believe this!" shouted Charley, kicking the wall in exasperation. "They musta moved! Now we'll never find 'im!"

"This can't be 'appenin'!" raged Ace, just as angered as Charley. "It's not fair!"

"C'mon. We'd better get back," muttered Charley, looking defeated as his head and shoulders slumped forward.

Whew! Finally finished! Hope this is satisfactory to you all! So, now you know the truth as to why Dodger was taken. But will "Thomas" go through with it? Will Dodger be able to escape in time? Leave your thoughts in a review!