AN:  Okay, so apparently, I confused some folks with that last chapter, lol.  I was yelled at for making people think ("You made my girlfriend think!!") lol.

Well, that was kind of the point, really.  I know what's going on, and eventually, you will too!  But here's some help.  The Prologue was not the beginning of the story…nor will it be the end.  Anyway, here are some answers to your questions…

When We Dance

~Two: Truth Is a Whisper~

Coming down the world turned over

And angels fall without you there

And I go on as you get colder

Or are you someone's prayer

("Black Balloon", by The Goo Goo Dolls ©1998)

His head was throbbing, and his shoulders were burning.  He struggled to open his eyes, but darkness had forced itself upon him menacingly.  He struggled to move, but found that his wrists and ankles were bound together.  So he tried to scream, but could barely produce a sound.

Where was he?  What happened?  He could barely recall a thing.  He remembered a horrible, horrible fight with Monica…then…he tried desperately to recall what had happened after that…but it made his head hurt more.  He groaned and squirmed slightly, then froze when he heard someone approaching.

"Looks like he's alive," a man with a deep voice muttered.

"Told ya," another voice, not as deep, replied.

"Shut the fuck up asshole," the deep voice roared.

"So, what are we s'posed to do now?"

"We have to wait…we don't know if the money's come through yet."

"Well, how long do we have to keep him?"

"As long as we need to," the deep voice replied irritably.

"Hey, buddy, you uh, you okay?" the other voice was closer…the man must have leaned down toward him.

Chandler squirmed, and moaned loudly.  What the hell was in his mouth?

"He's fine," the gruff voice chuckled.

Chandler moaned again, as the two sets of footsteps faded away.

*

I felt the guilt creeping up on me, as we talked to the man in the closet.  After all, this man hasn't actually done anything to us; he's really nothing more than a bargaining chip, in a dangerous game that could get us all killed…or worse, arrested.  I look over at my brother, who is busy shoving my three-day old chicken fried rice into his face.  He doesn't seem to have any trouble with all of this, and that in itself is upsetting.  Am I the only one in the family with any morals?  Maybe not…I mean, I am part of this fiasco, after all.  I look over at my brother, then back down at our guest.

"Jerry, I think we should give him some water or something," I mutter.

"Huh?"

"Water; I think we should at least try to keep him alive."

"Whatever," Jerry shrugs, and looks back down at his rice.

I walk into the kitchen, and grab a cup from the drying rack.  I fill it with tap water, and cross the room again.  I crouch down, and look at the man for a moment.  He is frozen in place, his head perked up like someone straining to listen.

"Okay, buddy, I'm gonna take this rag outta your mouth, but you gotta promise not to scream.  You really don't wanna piss off my brother."

The man nods stiffly, and I pull the gag out of his mouth.  He takes a deep breath, and licks his cracked lips carefully.  I can see where the gag has started to cut the sides of his mouth, and I can feel my guilt flaming up again.

"You want some water?" I ask.

"Y-yes," his voice is raspy.

I tilt the glass into his mouth, and he sucks down the liquid hungrily.  He finishes, and I pull the glass away, and allow him a moment to catch his breath, before reluctantly pushing the gag back into his mouth.

"Sorry about this man," I whisper, before walking away.

*

"I told you, I'm doing everything I can to get you your money!"

"Well, that is good to know.  However, one of my boys saw you at the race track again yesterday."

"Well, I thought—"

"This isn't a game!  You said you didn't have anything—that you had no family.  Now that I know that's a lie, I am having trouble believing anything that you say!"

"Paul—"

"It's Mr. Radcliffe to you.  And you'd be wise to work a little harder.  Your son's life depends on it."

Charles blanched, and sank back into his chair.

"You thought that just because your kid doesn't live in Vegas, we wouldn't find him?"

"Please…leave him out of this," Charles' voice cracked.

"It's a little late for that.  You've got ten days, Charles.  I suggest you use them wisely."

*

"I didn't think the fight was that bad," Monica slumped into her kitchen chair, three days later.  "I mean, where could he have gone?"

"I'm sure he just needed some time to cool off, Mon.  He'll be back," Rachel placed a supportive hand on Monica's shoulder.

"Yeah," Monica sighed, as she absently played with an orange she'd picked up from the center of the table.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"I just…I said some things that…that I shouldn't have said."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how it is, when you're fighting with someone, and you say things you don't really mean, just to be spiteful?"

"Yeah," Rachel nodded, and pushed images of her rows with Ross out of her mind.

"I said…I said I regretted what happened in London," Monica said shakily, and sniffled.

"Oh, Mon—"

"But I don't!  I don't regret what happened, I—" Monica shook her head vehemently.

"I'm sure he knows that, Mon.  I mean, it's not like he always says the right thing," Rachel smiled sadly.

"He never says the right thing," Monica laughed through her tears, and sniffled again.

"See?  His pride was just probably hurt, ya know?  I'll bet he'll be back tonight."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Monica smiled and stood up, "I'm gonna go ask Joey if he's heard anything.  Thanks, Rach," Monica pulled Rachel into a tight embrace.

"Oh, anytime honey," Rachel smiled, and watched Monica walk out of the apartment.

As the door closed, Rachel's smile faded, and she looked down at the table.

She didn't have the heart to tell Monica that Ross and Joey had been out searching for Chandler all night.  She couldn't tell her that Chandler was nowhere to be found, had not shown up for work, and had not contacted his parents.

She didn't tell Monica that Phoebe had been having nightmares; that she had felt something wasn't right.

No, there was no need to worry Monica more than she already was.

Because Chandler was just fine…he had to be.

*

He must have dozed off, because a loud thump startled him into consciousness.  His first instinct was to open his eyes, until he remembered that he was bound, gagged and blindfolded.  He shook his head slowly, and tried to squirm into a more comfortable position.  His muscles were aching, and his head was throbbing.  He tried to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists, but the ropes had already done extensive damage; he winced as he turned his wrist, further irritating the deep burns.

He froze when he heard footsteps approach.  Instinctively, he looked up as the closet door opened.

"Okay, uh, I'm gonna untie you so you can go to the bathroom," it was the man who had given him the water a few hours earlier, "are you hungry?"

Chandler nodded.

"Okay, uh, I'm gonna untie your legs.  So uh, don't try anything, okay, because we will punish you."

Chandler nodded again, and sat anxiously as the man untied the rope around his ankles.  He was then helped to his feet, and guided across the room.

He struggled to hear any kind of familiar outside noises, hoping that he could figure out where he was.

He heard traffic, which meant he was still in the city, but no distinctive sounds stood out.

The man stopped him, and cautiously pulled down his blindfold and untied his wrists.

He was blinded by the sudden onslaught of florescent light, and he squinted quickly.

"Okay," the man pushed Chandler toward a toilet.  Chandler turned his head slightly, and saw that the man was now wearing a ski mask.  Shaking his head, Chandler turned and tried to do his business.  He moaned irritably, and looked back at his captor.

"What?" the man said, and yanked the cloth out of Chandler's mouth.

Chandler coughed, and took in a deep breath, before speaking.

"I can't…with you watching," Chandler whispered.

"Oh, right," the man said uncomfortably, and turned to face the bathtub.

Chandler looked at the man again, then took a deep breath.  He gathered his strength, and shoved the man into the bathtub, before racing out of the bathroom.

He saw the other man scrambling to his feet, as he ran toward the front door.  Fumbling with the multiple locks, Chandler looked over his shoulder and saw the large man advancing toward him.

He turned the last lock, and swung the door open, just as the man grabbed his arm and yanked him back into the apartment.  Chandler flew to the ground, his muscles screaming as he hit the ground.

"That was unbelievably fucking stupid, asshole," the man growled, and kicked Chandler in the gut several times.

He was vaguely aware that the other man had entered the room, before his world went black.