Dying in Your Arms Tonight - Chapter Seven
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This is how my night went, I'd black out from pain or exhaustion then wake up a short busrt of energy that I had reserved during my "sleep".
I was awake, again. I was being dragged down the hallway, back toward the main area of the club, by the rope that was still tied around me. It took a minute or two, but the pain hit me with all it's mighty. The rope was squeezed tight around the bullet wound. I kicked and screamed and hollared and fought against the rope, but that only made it worse.
The pain was so unbearable, I did everything I could to not make it worse. I stopped my screaming and took a moment to look around. I was just sliding past the bar now and was slowing down. I looked at the floor behind me, a long streak of crimson blood was smeared against the dark tiled floor like a red carpet.
I felt a strong tug on the rope and I was flying across the room about a foot and a half off the ground. I hit the edge of the wooden dance floor and rolled a few times, getting me just about to the center of it.
I arched my back in pain and lifted my head a little off the ground. I saw Joey sitting against the same wall as everybody else. He looked scared, and dazed, and had a mean bruise forming on his right cheek.
I relaxed back down on the floor, staring up at the twinkling dance lights above me, and collapsed back into darkness, where there was no pain and I wasn't just inches from death.
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"Oh my God," Rachel gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock. "Chandler wasn't lying."
The four friends hopped out of the taxi and rushed toward the building.
"Hey! Get away from there! Stop!" A young male cop yelled, running towards the four and jumping in front of them. "Are you crazy? Get back there!" he pointed to the sidewalk behind a mess of police cars, cops, and blaring bright lights.
"Our friends are in there! You have to get them out!" Phoebe yelled, squaring up to the cop.
"Ma'am, we're doing everything we can to get the hostages out, now will you please get on the sidewalk?" he replied, ushering them around a few cars.
"Well you have to do more!" Ross yelled.
An older detective came over to the four friends and frazzled cop. "Is there a problem here, folkds?" he asked calmly.
"Yes, our friends are in danger and you're not doing a damn thing!" Phoebe yelled, stepping away from the cop and moving toward the detective.
"Why don't you ocme with me?" He waved his hand for them to follow and walked behind a white police suburban. "Now, what's going on?"
"Our friends, Joey Tribbiani and Chandler Bing, are behing held hostage in there," Rachel spoke up.
"How do you know they're in there?"
"Because I talked to Chandler on his cell phone. He said they shot him."
"You've had contact with him?"
"Well, yea, obviously."
"And you're sure what your friend told you is true?"
"I'm positive."
A message came over the detective's radio, calling him back to a group of officers and detectives. "Ok, well I have to go talk with my capitan, but I'll need to speak with you more later. I'm detective Murray. If you need anything, just ask for me.."
Detective Murray took off before giving them a chance to say anything more.
"So...what do we do now?" Rachel asked, leaning against the wall of the building behind them.
"Wait," Monica said quietly, staring at the club like it was a long lost enemy.
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I lied in the middle of the floor, the music turned down low but still rumbling through my head, wondering if I'd ever see my friends again. Sure, Joey was a few feet away, but I was too weak, and maybe too scared, to lift my head and silently plead with him to come and save me.
I could hear them, the three men with the thick mexican accents, as they sat at the bar and discussed what they were going to do, how they were going to get away, and what they were going to do after this was over.
I wondered what I'd do after this was over, if I was still alive, that is. Would life go on the same as it had before? Would everybody forget about this, or dismiss this as just another tragic happening? Our nation had become too used to things like this happening.
I wanted to stand up, to just walk away, or maybe jump up on the bartop and start screaming out in emotional pain. Screaming didn't fit the mood, or the moment, too out of place in a world where nobody felt comfortable in their own skin.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry for what I'd done. I wanted to make up with her and kiss her and never let go. I wanted to run out the doors and scream into the night. I shouldn't be given a second chance, but damn did I want one.
My chest ached, as did my leg and back, and I wondered why I wasn't dead yet. Why wasn't anybody coming to my aid? Did they think I was dead?
My clothes were wet and sticky and they were making my skin itch.
Maybe, just maybe, if we hadn't been so stupid, this wouldn't have happened. No, it was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We shouldn't have come in the first place. I wondered if he was blaming himself, how he felt. I wondered if he, too, would make it out of here alive.
There was one thing, amongst a few more, that I knew though, and that was that I was terrified of dying.
I didn't even know if what I was feeling was pain anymore. My whole body was tingling, like I was on a warm beach and the cool breeze was making every one of my hairs stand on end.
I wasn't lying in the middle of a dance floor, dying, anymore, not even close. I was a million miles away. Sitting on a black leather chair large enough for two and as comfortable as a cloud. I was dressed in a crisp white suit, white button down shirt, and a black tie. My feet were kicked up on a black granit coffee table and a cigar was tucked frimly between my left fingers.
The walls were painted as a life-size cityscape of New York, as if you were standing atop the highest building with each north, south, east, and west view painted around me in black and white. The room had no door, no way in, no way outl. Just me, alone once more. In front of me waws a lavish plasma screen TV.
I looked to the side table on my left. On it sat the remote for the TV. Tied around it was a string with a small white card on the end that was embroydered with the words "press play."
Curious, I picked upthe remote and gently pressed the play button. The tv made some noise then came to life. The neon sign of the club came into view and kept panning down until it reached Monica, Rachel, Phobe, and Ross. They sat slumped against the wall with two detectives standing in front of them. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Monica pulled a picture out of her pocket and ran her fingers over it. I couldn't see it though, the camera was alreadying moving away. I frantically searched the remote for a rewind button but they had all been removed. Only the PLAY and STOP buttons remained.
I turned my attention back to the TV just as the camera came to the club wall, going straight through it like it wasn't really there.
The three men still sat at the bar, looking rather frazzled now. They were a little dishelved and one of them had a split lip.
The camera moved across the room. Joey was lying on his back, eyes open, breathing heavily. A few feet away, I was lying in a pool of my own blood. I looked like hell..I looked dead. Panic shot through me and I bolted upright in my chair. I didn't want to be dead, I wanted to be alive. Anger coursed through me and I smahsed the remote on the floor. The TV immediately zapped off and I slumped back in the chair, a defeated man.
I looked around the room hopelessly. Two doors had appeared, one on one side of the room, one on the other. The one to my left was labeled "go" and the one to my right was "stay". What did that mean? Stay here in this room, this alternate universe, or stay alive, stay with the people I loved? Go on living or go on to heaven, or wherever it is that we go when we die? I wanted to stay alive and go on living, but which direction was I supposed to go?
Sorrow replaced my anger and confusion at the thought that two simple words could change my entire life...or lack there of. If I chose the wrong one, I would never get to see my friends again, the only family I'd ever truly had. I'd never get to see Monica again. I'd never get her to believe me and I'd die a hated man by the one person that I lived for.
I'd never get to figure out the color of her eyes.
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Thanks for the reviews and again, I'm sorry this took so long to get up. I promise I'll at least try and get one up by the end of the week, but now I have marching band (which I was unwillingly dragged into to do honor guard (holding flags and stuff) to deal with so I'll have even less time. And on top of that, I've applied to several places for a job and I've got my bro's grad party to help out with on saturday and a parade to do on the same day and GOD my life is going to be crazy for the next few weeks. I'll try as hard as I can to get updates up! Thanks for the reviews!
Thanks for reading, please review!
