The One With The Transporter
Chapter six
By: Jana~
*****~*****
--The movement of the bed woke her, the brightness of the room immediately making her squint. It was morning, though it felt like she had only been asleep 20-or-so minutes. She groaned as she sat up, pulling the sheet protectively up to her neck.
"What time is it?" she asked groggily, rubbing at her face.
Chandler, who was sitting on the end of the bed looked at his watch quickly, then returned to tying his shoes. "Just after seven."
"How long have you been up?"
"About an hour," he replied as he stood. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."
"And I thank you for that."
He watched as she climbed sluggishly out of the bed. "I have a plan," he told her. "Want to hear it?"
"Can I get dressed first?" she asked, stumbling towards the bathroom where her clothes were still presumably hanging on the shower rod, hopefully dry.
He gestured in the affirmative, a tiny grin briefly crossing his features. "If you must."
"So," she called out from the partially closed door, "Does this plan involve us getting closer to or further away from home?"
"Further away, unfortunately. But, I think it's necessary, if we don't want to die."
"Ok, so, what's the plan?"
"Well, first thing we gotta do is ditch the car," he stated with authority. "They know what it looks like, they know everything about it. It makes it easier for them to find us."
"Then, how would we get around?" she asked. "Where would we go from there?"
He paused before answering her. "How do you feel about Canada?"
She abruptly tugged at the bathroom door, opening it enough to look out at him. He averted his eyes as she stood in the doorway, in nothing more than pants and a bra. "Canada? What's in Canada?"
"We can disappear better if we leave the country. Besides," he added, "I know of a good place to hide out."
When she suddenly realized he was avoiding eye contact, and why, she jumped back and closed the door all but a little.
"We can hide out on the Mr. Beaumont," he replied, which created more of a question than answered one.
"The what? Who?"
"It's a boat, that belongs to Joey-"
"The same Joey that got you this job, Joey?" she interrupted.
"Yes, but," he quickly explained, "It's a toy he's lost interest in. He'll never go there. He'll never know we're on it. We'll hop on the boat, sail to Canada, hide out for a while. Figure out what to do. I think it's our best bet here."
She seemed hesitant about going along with his plan, and she waited till she was dressed and out of the bathroom before commenting. "I don't know if I like that idea."
He scowled as he tried to decipher her reaction. "You don't trust me, do you?"
"It's not that," she insisted. "I trust you. I slept with you last night, didn't I?"
He shrugged.
"I mean, let's get serious here," she continued. "You actually want us to jump on a boat and sail to Canada? And live on what money? The little we have can't last forever."
"I didn't say I had all the answers," he shot back. Her concerns were his as well. "I'm just trying to keep us from getting killed at the moment. We'll cross any other bridges when they present themselves."
Shaking her head, she mumbled, "I just don't know if this is such a good idea."
"Well, ya'know, if you got any better ideas, I'm all ears."
Her frown caused little wrinkles in her forehead, "Are you mad at me or something?"
"No," he denied, "Of course not."
"You are!" she pointed for emphasis. "You know, it's not like I asked for this!"
"And I did?!" he shouted. "I'm a victim in this too, ya'know!"
She raised her hands, calling a truce, "Ok, ok, this isn't getting us anywhere, alright?"
He exhaled sharply, then made a similar gesture. "You're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry."
"So am I," she apologized as well. "And I'm sorry I'm dragging on the boat idea, it's just- it seems a little rash."
"I think we have to act rash," he admitted. "I think sometime very soon, we're going to have very bad people who want to do very bad things coming after us, if they're not already."
"Alright," she agreed reluctantly. "I trust your judgement." She sighed, yielding. "Let's go sailing."
***
--Monica said nothing as they continued down the highway, and the elongated silence was starting to wear on Chandler's nerves. He knew she didn't want to go on some boat, sail to some foreign country, but he didn't know what else to do. He blamed himself for that, for not knowing what to do, or how to get them out of their predicament. He felt that she blamed him too.
"Are you so angry with me that you can't even talk to me?" he asked, glancing at her profile as he kept one eye on the road.
"I'm not angry with you," she replied. "And I'm not giving you the silent treatment on purpose. I just- I don't know what to say."
He nodded once, then sighed, "I want to go home too, you know," he told her. "Believe me."
"I just keep thinking about how worried my friends and family must be right now," she said with a sigh. "My friend Rachel is probably crying, thinking the worst. My brother is probably consoling her, like he usually does when she's upset." She scoffed, smiling as she recalled, "She gets upset at the drop of a hat." Chandler smiled at the comment. "My dad is probably trying to be strong on the outside, mustn't appear weak, you know. My mom is probably blaming me for her missing her hair appointment or something."
"Sounds like you have a close-knit group of family and friends."
"Yeah, I do."
"I doubt anyone is even missing me," he admitted ruefully. "When I don't show up for work, they'll just write me off and hire a replacement. My folks don't even know I'm gone, and I doubt anyone has called to tell them. Joey could very well be in on all this, so he's probably worried about me, but for an entirely different reason. Then there's Phoebe. She'll probably start wondering about me at some point, when I don't show up at the coffeehouse after a while, but-"
"Phoebe?" Monica interrupted, a hint of jealousy to her tone.
"She's just a friend," he replied, instinctively defending himself. "She sings at the coffeehouse downstairs from our apartment. A little weird, but she's good people."
"So," she hinted carefully, "She's not a… girlfriend, or-?"
"Pheebs?" he laughed. "No, she's so not my type."
"What is your type?"
He shrugged, "I don't know. Smart, funny, kind. Passionate, a good sense of humor…"
"And Phoebe isn't any of that?"
"No, she is, it's just- When you meet someone, you have to feel something, ya'know? Like, a connection or something. I've just never felt that with her. Or anyone," he admitted.
When she said nothing in response, he looked over at her, noticing that she was staring at him. He smiled with embarrassment, "You think I'm a sappy dork now, don't you?"
She shook her head, "No, of course I don't think that," she assured him.
"I don't know," he continued, "I think I have too much of my mother in me. I told you she was a romance novelist, right?"
"Yeah, you did."
"I guess I just inherited her romantic side."
"And her interest in writing," Monica added.
He nodded silently in agreement.
"I know none of this is your fault," she said softly. "And I'm sorry if I came off like I was upset with you, cause I'm not. I'm just upset at the situation."
"Fair enough," he accepted the apology. "I'm sorry I'm not better at this rescuing the damsel in distress stuff."
She laughed, "Well, this damsel happens to think you're doing a pretty good job so far."
He chuckled, appreciative. "Thanks."
***
--"If we leave the car parked too close to the marina, anyone looking for us will be able to put two and two together and figure out that we hopped on the Mr. Beaumont," Chandler explained as he wiped his and Monica's prints off every inch of the car. "It's a bit of a hike, to the boat," he panted as he exerted himself, "But it'll buy us time."
She nodded as she hugged herself, looking around at her surroundings and the people walking in the distance. "How far?"
"Two miles," he replied, joining her with his duffel bag strapped across his neck and shoulder. "Give or take."
"Ok." She waited for him to take the first step in the next portion of their adventure, then fell in line beside him. "How long do you think it'll take us?"
"To get to the boat?" he asked. "An hour or so, if we get a good pace going."
"The sooner the better," she muttered, picking up the pace and passing him. "I don't feel at all safe out in the open like this."
Silently, he agreed, taking a jog of about 4 steps to catch up to her.
--Each step she took was as graceful as it was long, and it was then that he realized how tall she was. She also seemed to be in excellent physical shape, the only sign of her exertion being a fine sheen of sweat on her brow and a slightly heavier sigh to her breathing.
He on the other hand was starting to feel the burn. In an effort not to appear weak, he kept the pace she set and struggled to keep up, shifting the bag strapped to him often, hoping she would assume the added cumbersome duffel was to blame for his slower stride.
"You work out?" he asked, panting.
"As often as I can," she replied. "You?"
"If you call eating pizza and playing foosball working out," he laughed.
She smiled, then offered, "I can carry your bag for you, if you want."
He had too much pride to accept. "No thanks," he declined. "I'm fine."
She shrugged, "Well, if you change your mind…" She left the offer hanging.
Moments later, she picked up the pace again, increasing it just slightly every few minutes. After about 20 minutes, he was at a near-run trying to keep up with her.
He swallowed his pride and asked, "Is your offer still open? To carry the duffel for a bit?"
She smiled inwardly, knowing she had won the little game she was playing with him. A game he knew nothing about. "Sure," she told him, reaching out for him to hand her the bag.
Oblivious to her gloating, he passed her the bag, their pace only slowing slightly as she flung it across her shoulder. She immediately picked up the pace once the strap was adjusted comfortably, and he exhaled sharply as he found himself still struggling to keep her pace.
"Isn't that heavy?" he spat out between breaths, swiping at the sweat dripping down from his forehead.
"Eh," she dismissed with a shrug, "Some say I'm freakishly strong."
"I guess so!" he exclaimed. "Gotta wonder how they were able to kidnap you in the first place."
She scowled, his remark upsetting her. He had no way of knowing that she silently berated herself for allowing the abduction to happen at all. Why wasn't she able to escape them when they first grabbed her? She had taken all those defense classes. She was certainly strong enough. What had happened?
"Well," she defended herself, "They drugged me for one."
He could tell by her tone that she was upset. "Sorry," he apologized. "That was a pretty callous thing to say."
She shook her head, "It's ok."
She said she forgave him, but he thought it best not to talk to her for a while. If he didn't say anything, he wouldn't say something stupid.
***
--"We should grab some stuff to eat," he suggested, spotting a mini-market up the street a few paces. "You know, provisions for while we're on the boat."
She acknowledged him with a nod.
"We should keep it simple though," he added. "And cheap."
"Right," she agreed. "How far are we from the boat?" she asked, slowing as they neared the store. "Don't want to be lugging more stuff for a half mile or more, ya'know? If there's another store closer-"
"No, actually, it's only another block or two." He pointed at the storefront, "This is probably our best bet."
"Alright then." She started for the entrance, but Chandler's hand on her shoulder stopped her.
When she turned around, he pointed at the duffel bag. "I can take that now."
A puzzled expression made way for comprehension, and she quickly ducked out of the strap, handing him the bag before turning again towards the store's entrance.
She literally jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder again. The touch was simple, but complex, all at the same time, and the look she gave him confused him.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked, then continued quickly, "Cause, ya'know, what I said before, I really am sorry."
"What?" Her furrowed brow showed she wasn't quite following him.
"Before?" he reminded, "When I said I wondered how they grabbed you in the first place. It was totally out of line," he apologized again. "And I'm really sorry if I upset you."
She smiled at the consideration her showed her, and her feelings. "It's fine Chandler, really."
"It's just, sometimes I say stuff before thinking. It's a fault of mine…"
"It's a fault of most men," she laughed, then gestured at the store. "Shall we?"
He smiled in return. "Yeah."
***
--Chandler could see the Mr. Beaumont in the distance, looking a bit neglected from weeks of being ignored. Joey rarely went to the marina anymore, to give his boat a cleaning, maintenance, or to even sail it, but Chandler was certain that despite that, the boat was sure to be in good working order.
He'd only been sailing a handful of times in his life. Twice with his parents, and a few times with Joey when he first won the Mr. Beaumont at the silent auction he'd attended only because there was an open bar. Always a quick study, he was sure he would remember how to sail once he got aboard. It would all come back to him, wouldn't it?
He climbed aboard behind Monica, dropping his duffel bag on the deck before heading back for the ladder. "I just have to untie the rope from the cleat," he told her. "I'll be right back."
He hopped off the ladder onto the dock, wiping his hands on his pants as he approached the end of the rope. He started to work the tie when Monica snuck up behind him, unintentionally scaring him.
"Need some help?"
He startled, jumping around to face her. "Ugh! You scared the shit out of me!"
She couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry."
He shook his head, "It's alright," he breathed, turning back to the boat's tie-down. "I've got it though."
"Ok."
She was just about to turn and head back to the ladder when a man approaching caught her eye. She nudged Chandler, gesturing in the man's direction when she had his attention.
Chandler instinctively stood between Monica and the burly man, adrenaline coursing through him at an alarming speed.
Seconds later, the man was within earshot, and he pointed at the two of them as he continued towards them. "I need to talk to you," he announced, the sound of his voice as menacing as his stature.
TBC…
Ok, this chapter is a bit longer, because a few have asked for them (the chapters) to be. Also, just let me say that this story IS going to surprise you. I know it seems to be going slow, but I promise you, things are about to get interesting. Please, stick it out, it's about to take an exciting turn.
And as always, please leave a review! Reviews fuel my creativity and when that happens, I update faster!