When We Dance
~Three: Lies Become the Truth~
All the evenings close like this
All these moments that I've missed
Please forgive me, won't you dear
Please forgive and let me share
With you around the bend
You're an angel when you sleep
How I want your soul to keep
On and on around the bend
('Around the Bend' by Pearl Jam)
"Are you even listening to yourself? You are NOT making any sense, Chandler," Monica was fuming now, her anger fueled by the overwhelming need to win this argument.
The problem was, she couldn't even remember what they were originally arguing about.
"You don't listen to a damn thing I say anyway," Chandler growled, and tossed the dishtowel he had been holding on Monica's pristine kitchen floor, a look of pure defiance crossing his face.
"Oh, you are SO crossing the line, Chandler—"
"Oh, what, are you gonna ground me MOM?" Chandler began walking toward the front door.
"Don't bother—" Monica swept past Chandler, and opened the front door, "I have to go to work anyway—and you'd better not be here when I get back!"
"I don't think you have to worry about that—you're not exactly my favorite person right now."
"Oh right back atcha!" Monica yelled as she walked out the door. She spun around on her heel, and glared at Chandler.
"I knew London was a bad idea," she said slowly.
She ignored the look of defeat Chandler wore as her words hit him—he looked like he had been punched in the gut—and slammed the door in his face.
Only when she reached her chaotic restaurant kitchen, did she let herself cry.
He felt dizzy.
Of all the things she could have said—even in the heat of the moment—that one statement stung the most.
And she knew it.
His insecurities were raging—he felt like his world was spinning out of control, like everything he knew to be real was false.
Somehow, he had managed to stagger to the sofa, his legs giving way as Monica's words rang in his ears.
He had a feeling—a deep, dark feeling—that Monica did regret London, on some level.
And that scared him to death, because he didn't regret a thing.
He heard the door open, and he held his breath, hoping that Monica had come back to retract her earlier statement.
She didn't have to apologize—he would do that, if need be—she just needed to take it back.
He turned slowly, his eyes full of hope.
It wasn't Monica; and whoever it was, punched him hard in the face.
Chandler fell off of the sofa, and took most of the cushions with him. He scrambled to his feet, but it only made the throbbing over his right eye worse.
"W-what do you want?" he croaked, as he shuffled around the sofa and bravely (stupidly?) tried to make his way to the door.
The larger man grabbed him by the arm, and threw him toward the sofa. He hit the back of it hard, and let out a pain-filled groan.
He still didn't know who they were, or what they wanted, but every instinct he had told him that he needed to get out of the apartment as fast as he could.
He grabbed the thin throw that Monica had hung from the back of the sofa, and used it to pull him up.
"You sure that's him?" the smaller man said softly.
"It's him," the larger man growled, and moved toward Chandler.
His eyes darted from the man to the door—he'd never make it.
The man grabbed him, and tossed him like a rag doll across the kitchen table.
Chandler's leg caught on one of the chairs, and as he fell toward the ground, his head slammed against the kitchen sink.
"Geez, try not to kill him Jerry," were the last words he heard, before he fell into blackness.
*
"Mon? Monica? Helloooo?" Phoebe waved her hand in front of Monica's vacant eyes.
"What?" Monica jerked back to reality, and looked over at Phoebe.
"You asked me about my date…and I was telling you, but then you kind of…faded out on me," Phoebe giggled, then sobered slightly, when she noted that Monica hadn't so much as cracked a smile, "Are you okay?"
"No," Monica said irritably, and stood up, "I just…want to know where he is," Monica's voice faded as she spoke, and her last words were barely audible.
"Mon, I'm gonna tell you something, but you have to promise not to get mad, okay?" Phoebe bit her bottom lip nervously.
"What? Have you talked to him? Where is he? Why hasn't he come back?" Monica's eyes flared up frantically, as she rambled out her string of questions.
"Mon, we don't know where he is…and that's kind of the thing. This just isn't like him. It's been almost a week! So, um, me and Joey, we…we talked to the police," Phoebe stared down at the kitchen table, hunching her shoulders as though she was expecting a violent reaction from her already edgy friend.
"The police?" Monica asked timidly, her eyes filling with tears.
"I'm sorry Mon, we didn't want you to worry too much, you know? We should have told you, I know, but—" Phoebe sighed, and looked up at Monica, "The police filed a missing persons report…but they don't have any leads yet."
"Missing persons…" Monica repeated distantly.
"I guess the good news is they don't suspect foul play," Phoebe smiled hopefully.
"Yeah," Monica smiled stiffly, as the tears that had been sitting in her eyes slid down her cheeks.
"Mon, I'm sorry," Phoebe stood from her seat, and pulled Monica in a deep embrace.
*
I watched silently, as Jerry kicked our guest in the gut and the head, as I rubbed my throbbing forehead irritably. Who knew this guy was gonna be so gutsy? Or so stupid? I looked down, and noted that he seemed to be unconscious. Jerry either hadn't noticed, or didn't care.
"Alright, man, that's enough," I say slowly, deliberately, "He needs to be alive, remember?"
Jerry halts his assault, and looks up at me.
"Just…tie him up and put him back in the closet," I sigh, and shuffle into the kitchen. I sit on one of the kitchen chairs, and watch Jerry tie up our guest, and toss him carelessly into the closet. He looks at me, a wicked grin spreading over his fat face.
"That'll teach him to fuck with us," he growls.
"Yeah," I say vaguely, as that annoying guilt creeps up on me again.
He'll be alright. And when we get our money, he'll go home.
I have to keep telling myself that—I'm not a murderer—I'm not.
*
The pain was overwhelming. His head was swimming, and his ribs were throbbing. There was the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, and the ropes that bound him seemed much tighter somehow. He winced, as he attempted to roll to his side.
From the other side of the door, he could hear his two captors arguing. He wondered what they planned to do with him? He wondered why he had been targeted.
He wondered how long he had been here.
Judging by his own rather putrid body odor, he assumed he had been here at least a few days. He was starving, and thirsty, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay conscious for extended periods of time.
Occasionally, the man that Chandler had termed 'the nice one' would bring him water, and sometimes pieces of bread or a bit of what Chandler had assumed was the man's attempt at oatmeal. But the visits were few and far between, and never when the 'big ugly one' was present.
The lack of food, oxygen and sunlight had begun to take its toll on Chandler's psyche. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to delineate between reality and fantasy. He spent many of his conscious hours thinking about, and sometimes talking to Monica. There were times, when he swore she was sitting right in front of him, talking to him as though nothing was wrong. He would often answer out loud, and in his head, his words came out perfectly clear.
As though he wasn't gagged.
Presently, his mind began to drift to Monica again, and then to Joey and Ross and Phoebe and Rachel. They were all there, asking him questions that his weakened mind didn't quite comprehend. He shook his head slightly, and struggled to focus.
Pulling himself from his reverie, he stained to listen, as the argument on the other side of the door seemed to die down slightly.
"Look, Dad said he was giving this guy ten days total. It's been seven days, and Dad hasn't heard a word from him. Do you think he even cares about his kid?"
"I don't give a shit man, I just want what's coming to me."
"Maybe we should try other sources. I mean, we already have the guy. His place was pretty nice—I'll bet his wife or whoever has some money."
"He's not married…but maybe we could hit up his friends."
"How do you know he's not married? When we followed him that day he had that woman with him."
"He's not wearing a ring, dipshit. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I think we should try these people. They must have noticed he was gone by now, right?"
*
The letter arrived in Monica's mailbox the next day. The plain white envelope had nothing written on it, and at first, it had gone unnoticed by a very distracted Monica.
It was Joey that noticed the envelope, later that day, on Monica's kitchen table.
"Hey Mon, what is this?" Joey held up the envelope as the rest of the group turned to look at him.
"I…I don't know," Monica shrugged, as she crossed the room. She took the envelope from Joey's hand, and pulled out her letter opener.
The group watched, as she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. She began to unfold it, when a Polaroid photo slipped out, and fluttered to the ground.
Monica bent down and picked up the photo slowly. She turned it over, and let out a horrified gasp.
"Chandler," she whispered, dropping the photo onto the table.
The others gathered around the table, to find a photo of Chandler, bound, gagged and blindfolded, his face heavily bruised. Underneath the photo, was that day's date, scrawled messily in black marker.
Monica collapsed into a nearby chair, as Ross picked up and unfolded the note that had accompanied the photo.
In the center of the page, was what Ross recognized as Chandler's handwriting—it was a little shaky, but the long script was unmistakable.
"They made him write his own ransom note," Ross mumbled, as he sank down in a chair next to his little sister.
"What does it say?" Rachel was standing behind Monica, her arms protectively around her best friend and roommate.
"It says…'$50,000 in two days, or…he's dead.'"
AN: So, I got the idea for the first part of this chapter this morning…weird. Then when I went into my computer, it turned out that I already had the rest of this written—I had no idea I'd already done this chapter! So I'm gonna go through my files, and see if I have inadvertently finished any of my other fics…lol. Reviews would be most helpful…it let's me know that people out there might actually be reading my crap!
;)