AN: Okay, I uh, got into a bit o' trouble with a certain someone…heh. So I rushed home and wrote this chapter before '24' started. Man you are lucky that I'm not into 'American Idol' much, huh?
Okay, I swear…THIS TIME, no more updates for a week. My flight leaves tomorrow morning, so I'm serious. OMG, '24' is on! Bye.
Regression
~Fade to Black & White~
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
Joey and Phoebe scrambled out of the taxi, and dashed up toward Chandler's apartment. They impatiently rode the elevator up to the 8th floor, and halted when they reached Chandler's door.
The door was ajar; and it was eerily silent inside.
Joey and Phoebe walked into the apartment tentatively, their eyes scanning the apartment with nervous anticipation.
"Chandler?" Joey called out, as he and Phoebe stumbled through the cluttered mess that surrounded them. Phoebe headed into the bedroom, and Joey scanned the living room carefully.
What was going on? Where was Chandler? Was he hurt? Was he dead? The idea made Joey nauseous.
"He's not in his room," Phoebe said breathlessly, as she made her way into the kitchen.
Monica could not get the horrible images out of her head. She tried her best not to imagine what kind of horrible things were happening to Chandler, but the images just kept coming. She prayed that Joey was able to help him in time.
The taxi stopped at Chandler's apartment, and Monica absently tossed the driver two twenty's, before jumping out and racing into the building.
She walked up to the open apartment door, and saw Joey and Phoebe standing in the center of the chaos that was Chandler's apartment.
"Is he okay?" Monica asked, her throat closing up.
Joey turned to look at Monica, and the darkness that covered his eyes told Monica all she needed to know.
"He's not here," Joey whispered, "We don't know where he is."
Monica took a sharp breath, and looked down at the floor, where Chandler's telephone lay in two pieces—as though it had been dropped.
That was the last thing she remembered, before darkness overtook her.
He was surrounded by the darkness once more. He'd grown accustomed to it, but was never completely comfortable within it. What he wanted, more than anything, was to find his way out of this fog on his own. He wanted to be strong enough to fight these devastating emotions. But he wasn't sure he could do this alone.
He opened his eyes, and was devastated to see that he was, in fact, completely alone.
Sitting up slowly, he pulled himself out of bed, and shuffled sleepily toward the barred window. He wrapped his skinny hand around the metal bars, and looked up at the diamond-studded sky. The moon was full that night, and seemed to be smiling down at him, taunting him, shining with a splendor that Chandler would never know again.
He let go of the bars, his arms dropping to his sides with weary resignation. He looked up toward the haunting moon once more, the light reflecting the solitary tear that slid down his face.
"Oh my God, are you okay? Did you call the police?"
"Not yet…I—I needed to talk to you, more than anything," Chandler flushed, and smiled slightly. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he whipped around to find Harold standing in the middle of his living room.
Chandler vaguely heard Monica's voice, but was completely rooted to his spot. He stared at Harold incredulously, as though he were waiting for him to simply disappear.
Harold took a long step toward Chandler, and opened his mouth to speak. Chandler jerked backwards, his eyes widening as Harold extended his arm to grab his shoulder.
Chandler dropped the phone and pushed Harold to the ground, before running as fast as he could out of the apartment.
He tripped, somewhere down the street, and fell onto a street vendor, twisting his ankle in the process. As he struggled to get back on his feet, he saw Harold, advancing toward him, sweat pouring off of his round face.
"Stay away from me you son of a bitch," Chandler rasped, as he backed up toward a brick wall.
"Chandler…we need to talk. Things aren't…the way you think they are." Harold wheezed, as he struggled to catch his breath.
"What are you—you aren't even supposed to be near me!" Chandler screamed, his emotions finally taking a defiant hold.
"Chandler…please," Harold held up both hands in surrender.
Chandler leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes slowly.
"Chandler, look—your memories…they're false."
Chandler's eyes shot open, and he glared at Harold sharply.
"I'm not saying that it didn't happen—I'm saying it wasn't me."
"What?"
"Chandler, when your mother accused me of—this—I tried to explain to her that it wasn't me. It was never me. I tried to protect you from him. And I thought—"
"Who?"
"Chandler, you know. You know it wasn't me. Somewhere, deep down, you can see those memories the way they really were."
"You are lying!" Chandler hissed.
"I'm not. And deep down, you know that your father is the one to blame—not me."
Chandler was shaking his head vehemently, but Harold continued.
"We knew something was wrong, and we could never put it together. But you always acted so strangely after your father came to visit you. Then he moved to Vegas, and you tried to kill yourself, so we took you out to Vegas to see him. But you freaked out, and we had to do something. Your mother was so confused. I finally put it all together, but by then, it was too late."
"No—no, you're making this up," Chandler sobbed, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"I'm not, son, please—"
"Get away! Get away you son of a—God, I hate you! I hate you! You fucking bastard—" Chandler broke down completely, and collapsed to the ground.
"Chandler—"
"Get the fuck away from him," a voice from behind caused Harold to turn, but he was unprepared to meet the large fist.
Joey shoved Harold against the wall, and swung at him again. Harold stared at the red-faced man in horror, and was more than relieved when his blonde friend pulled him back.
"Joey, he's not worth it," Phoebe whispered, as she glared at Harold.
"Get out of here, before I call the cops," Joey growled, and watched Harold look down at Chandler, before skulking off.
Monica held Chandler's head and shoulders in her lap, as she rocked him back and forth.
"It's okay, Chandler, he's gone," she whispered softly.
Chandler stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocussed.
He didn't want to believe Harold, but now his memories seemed fuzzy and illusory.
Who could he trust, if he couldn't trust his own memories?
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I can't find, oh the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal
Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me (Elton John, Bernie Taupin)
