Dawn
By Monnie
And, I'm back. And so soon, you wonder? I get bored during school these days, and you'll probably have another update after the three day weekend we got coming up here, too. Unless I make plans, which probably won't happen, considering my friends are pretty much all talk and no "do". Well, anyhoo, I found out some really cool stuff today, from my friend Meg. Apparently, it was HER great grandfather that was the guy who exposed Auschwitz to the United States. They didn't even know it existed until he forgot to turn his camera off while he was flying. How neat-o is that? I'm best friends with a girl who's related to the guy who helped end the Holocaust! Sorry, I'm just very, very excited about this. Moving swiftly onward…there's a lot of POV switching, dialogue, choppy sentences, and repetition in this chapter, so, I'm sorry if it annoys you, or if you can't follow along. That's just too bad. ;)
This one's for all my fellow Mondler fans. You make me so proud to love them with you. xx
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Chapter Five – Trouble
Darkness. Nothing but darkness. Everything she could see was covered in an endless black ocean, the silence of the air deafening in her ears.
Thud.
Something swung open, and something cold and clammy grabbed her arm. She gasped, but something else closed around her mouth, stifling her sounds of protest. She was pulled forward, stumbling over her own feet, and hoisted up. Her feet hit something cold. It felt… metallic, almost. She wiggled her toes. Yes, it was definitely metal… but what was it?
Mumbling.
German mumbling.
She slid her foot forward, and hit something else. A wall? She reached her hand out. It was metallic also. No, it was too thin to be a wall. Where was she?
Slam.
She suddenly had the feeling she was now enclosed. A cell? No, there was no draft that would reveal iron bars. But there was someone in there with her. SS? Yes, two of them. She shivered, but not from the cold. Something was wrong.
More German mumbling. Where the hell was she? She ran her fingers down the metal. There was a dent in it. She heard someone move behind her, and she turned around, backing against the metal. The mumbling stopped.
Two footsteps.
A hand caught her mouth in the darkness, and tore at her, knocking her onto her hands and knees, and turning her stomach upside-down. He was breathing heavily. Her shirt was torn. Another pair of hands found her legs, and her voice refused to work. More clothes were torn, and she knew she wasn't in a cell.
She was at the dentist's.
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Phoebe's eyes shot open. She reached down instinctively, and her hand came in contact with a body. Monica rolled over.
"What is it?" She asked, groggily.
"Rachel's in trouble."
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"Did it fall off again?"
"Yeah."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know. I can't find it."
Ross' eyes grew wide. Michael was in trouble.
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"Chandler?"
"Joey, get up! Kip didn't come back with us!"
Joey shot up in bed. "He didn't?!"
"Why, what is it?" Chandler asked, panicking.
"If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's gonna be in big trouble."
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"What do you mean?"
"I dreamt it."
Monica raised her eyebrows. "Pheebs, I don't get it. How would you know because of a dream?"
"Don't ask me! I just – I know these things. Trust me, we need to figure out where she is."
"But, we can't!" Monica hissed, "they'll catch us!"
"At this point, I don't care. We have to help her."
"I'm not so sure…"
Phoebe looked into her eyes through the darkness. "What have you got to lose?"
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"I'll never find it. We're dead."
"Well, Michael, I hate to break it to you, but YOU'RE dead."
"I know, but it reassures me to think that you'd go down with me." Michael grinned.
"Not to me, it doesn't!" Ross paused. "I still don't get it, though."
"What?"
"How do you have a sense of humor, even though all of this?"
Michael took a daring step forward. "Just lucky, I guess."
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"Where are we going?" Chandler asked, taking three strides for Joey's one, as Joey, his hands in fists, stormed across the grounds in a rage.
"I don't know, but I'm gonna find him."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know, but –"
"- you're gonna find him?" Chandler finished.
"Yeah." Joey couldn't think of anything better to say, so he took a deep breath, and walked faster.
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"Where are we going?" Monica demanded. Phoebe was running, her eyes darting all around.
"I dunno, but we'll find her."
"Do you know where she is?"
"Not a clue, but I promise –"
"—we'll find her." Monica chorused with her. She took a couple steps forward, and grabbed Phoebe's hand, and they fell into silence in the moonlight fading.
Dawn was approaching Auschwitz.
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There were so many barracks. Chandler tried to keep quiet, but his footsteps were still echoing. There was a truck, way up ahead. A huge, steel truck near the hospital. Somehow, he knew Kip was in there. Not much farther…
Wham.
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Monica and Phoebe weren't watching the ground, they were watching the sky. The morning was close. They had to be quick if they wanted to make it. Phoebe squinted into the sun…
Wham.
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Sent flying backwards, two men and two women went crashing to the ground, landing with a sickening crunch on the cold, hard ground. Chandler coughed loudly and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He looked around. There were two girls, no older than he was, on the ground, barely conscious. He approached one of them, kneeling down by her face, as Joey groaned and laid his head back down, surrendering to his heavy eyelids' demands.
Admiring the woman, he noticed how delicate she was. She had the face of a china doll, porcelain and pale. But her limbs… God, her limbs looked as if her own weight would cause them to snap. She'd clearly been way underfed. He still couldn't help but look at her. Underneath her dirty face, her stubbly black hair, and her gaunt, sleepless expression, she was beautiful. She looked as if – as if she were glowing, somehow. When she didn't stir, he instinctively put his hand gently beside her face. Her skin was cold and rough, probably from the harsh winds of endless labor. Her lips were chapped and cracked, yet still a crimson hue. Her nose, though it was slightly crooked, fit her face like a hand to a glove, and he knew, without seeing them, that her eyes were just as entrancing. He cradled the back of her head, and pulled her close to him, rocking her, until she drew in a deep breath. The doll's eyelids fluttered open, and Chandler immediately regretted his thoughts. Through those eyes, those crystal blue eyes that pierced his very soul, he realized that she was not a doll at all.
This woman was his angel.
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