Hey folks! Thanks for all the reviews! They're great! I feel special! Hehe shucks! Anyway, this is a shortish chapter...just like it was meant to me! Only 2 more chapters left after this one! And once again, ignore any spelling mistakes...it is 2 am as i postthis! I'm pretty tired hehe! Please enjoy, and please read and review!

Oh, i have been told this chapter is a bit...hmm, disturbing, so this is jsut a forewarning! I didnt want to raise the rating of the story just for one chapter and hell...people see worse on the news! Please read and review!

I don't own friends/characters/actors...but I missssssssssssss watching Matthew Perry each week! Wah!


9:30.

"Damnit," Rachel muttered, stopping in her tracks. She hadn't meant to have stayed out that long. Especially not when it was her last night with Chandler in what could be a long time.

A tear trickled down Rachel's cheek at the thought, but she didn't bother wiping it away. She had tried that for the last hour and a half, and no matter how much she wiped, they just kept on coming. Rachel sighed and turned around, intent on heading back home. She had been walking aimlessly through the streets of New York since leaving the apartment – leaving an upset Joey and a crazy Chandler – and it had only just occurred to her how insane that was. Seems like Chandler wasn't the only one in the group that had lost their mind, she thought sardonically.

What had she been thinking? She had lost track of how many times she had heard on the news about a woman, such as herself, being attacked at night-time in New York. And if Chandler found out-

Well, if any of her friends found out, really. But especially Chandler. He was paranoid enough that something was going to happen to her; that she was going to die. This would just provide his paranoia with new fodder.

Rachel sighed, the thought of Chandler entering her mind once more. She hated this. She hated everything about this situation. She wanted nothing more for it to not be real. For her and Chandler to be happy together; for them to be together, move in together. For Chandler to propose. For them to walk down the aisle in what would be the happiest day of their lives. For them to have children; one boy, one girl. For them to try and think of a baby name that would go with Bing. She wanted to look into her child's eyes, and see Chandler's beautiful blue ones staring back at her. She wanted their kids to have their father's sense of humour.

She wanted them to watch the kids grow; send them off to collage and beyond. And for her and Chandler to grow old together, and for them to die together, knowing they had lived a long and fulfilling life.

Rachel wanted all of that. She had originally wanted that with Ross, and had dreamt of that happening between them. And then they had broken up. Rachel had still dreamt of Ross and her doing all those things together. For a while, anyway. Then she had moved on, and the man in her dreams had been faceless.

And then there had been Chandler. Sweet, funny, beautiful Chandler. She had no idea how she could have missed him, standing right there in front of her for all those years. But she had missed him. And it had taken this horrible event for her to realise her feelings towards him.

In a way, the dreams, the brain tumour; they were a blessing. She most likely would never have figured out her feelings had it not been for them. Or she would have, and it would have been too late.

"Yeah, because me figuring it out this time round wasn't too late," Rachel muttered, rolling her eyes as she pulled her jacket closer. The dreams and brain tumour weren't a blessing. She would give anything -even her knowledge of her feelings- for Chandler to be sane and healthy. Then they would be happy; not in a wonderful, togetherness sort of happy, but they would be content. And maybe Rachel wouldn't hurt as much.

In a perfect world, Chandler would be healthy and sane, and they would have realised their feelings anyway. But this was not a perfect world. It never claimed to be; pretended maybe, but never claimed. She wanted so much for it to be a perfect world, but it wasn't.

"Life sucks," Rachel murmured, glancing up at the street sign. McLeay Street. She had no idea where that was. She had no idea where she was. Had she really wandered that far? She couldn't remember. But then, this walk had been taken in an attempt for her to do some serious thinking time. Apparently, she had done that. Just a bit too hard. Next time, she would think and pay attention to where she was going.

Not that there would be a next time. Her friends wouldn't allow her to go out again. She could just imagine what Chandler would say.

'Beautiful woman walking alone in streets of New York at night. You're pretty much just screaming 'massacre me!''

Rachel smiled, shaking her head. No, that wasn't right. Chandler would say something much funnier then that. Well, he would have once. These days-

"Shit," Rachel whispered, the tears coming once more. She leant against the street sign, trying to regain her composure. It took a moment, but it worked. She straightened up, and glanced at the street sign once more. She really had no idea where McLeay Street was. Besides the place where she was at that moment, of course.

She glanced around at the people walking by, unaware of her dilemma. Half of them probably had no idea where they were either. New York was a confusing place. Rachel cocked her head thoughtfully. She really had two choices: continue walking and hope something looks familiar, or hail a cab.

She made the decision quickly. She wanted to get home to Chandler as quickly as possible. And she sure as hell didn't want to continue walking around by her lonesome in the dark. That wouldn't amount to anything good. The headline pretty much wrote itself.

Rachel glanced around once more, searching for a cab. She wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not when she couldn't find one. It was hard to get a cab in the city, but that was usually because so many people were after one as well, not because there were none in sight. Rachel sighed. She would have to continue walking until she came across one.

"Hopefully soon," she muttered as she started to walk. The dark streets of New York were really getting to her. Was this hoe Nicole and Sarah had felt?

No. Most likely not. They hadn't had any idea that they were going to be attacked.

Well, Rachel wasn't going to be attacked, but the thought of it had started to hover in her mind. She was paranoid.

It was probably a good thing though. Nicole and Sarah hadn't been prepared. Rachel was. She was paranoid. She wouldn't be surprised if she was attacked. And perhaps the fact that she was paranoid about being attacked, and Nicole and Sarah hadn't thought about it-

"Could work to my advantage," Rachel finished her thought. If you thought that something was going to happen, there was a high possibility that it wasn't going to.

So, she wasn't going to be attacked. Why was she even thinking like that?

Because Chandler thinks your going to die, a little voice whispered in her head. That's made you paranoid.

He had seen her dead, in the bath. And the little voice in his head – the voice that Rachel hated more then anything – had told him it was going to happen.

But Rachel knew that wasn't true. Chandler was seeing things. Chandler was making up things. No, the voice in his head was making up things. The voice that was telling him to do things. To slit his wrists. To jump off a building.

Rachel hated that voice. And she knew it was wrong. Chandler wasn't thinking straight. He was sick. He wasn't well. He had climbed his wall, and he just needed Dr. Mackenzie to help him back down. It was a long jump, but Rachel knew that Chandler could make it. He had good knees; he could land safely without hurting himself.

Chandler wasn't thinking straight. So, therefore, the things that he was seeing, was hearing, was thinking; they were wrong. Rachel wasn't going to die. None of them were going to die. Her paranoia went away a bit at that thought.

"Taxi!" she screamed suddenly, a cab coming into view. Her paranoia was leaving her, but she still wanted to get the hell out of there. "Tax-"

Rachel was cut off by a hand wrapping around her head, covering her mouth. She let out a surprised yelp, then started to scream against the hand as she was pulled back; pulled towards an alleyway.

She struggled wildly against her attacker, alternating between biting his hand and screaming her head off. In the midst of all the chaos, the little voice in her head was musing about how ironic this whole situation was. The moment she stops being paranoid, she gets attacked. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Rachel would have laughed. In fact, for a second, she almost did laugh. But that small moment of insane hilarity was pushed aside when she was thrown to the floor.

"Please….what do you want?" she whispered, staring up at the man looming over her. He was tall, well built, and very attractive; brown hair similar to Chandler's, deep brown eyes. Rachel shook her head, wondering why she was studying a person's looks at a time like this. It just seemed odd to her that a man, who looked like that, should not have been attacking her. He seemed like he should have been on a billboard selling shampoo, not threatening her in an alleyway. That was a job more suited to fat, ugly men.

"That is an interesting question." Rachel's thoughts were interrupted when the shampoo model started to speak. He smiled, and Rachel suddenly didn't find him attractive anymore. His smile was devious and sick, one you would see on a serial killer on the news. She didn't like that smile. Nor did she like the way he was slowly walking towards her, his hand hidden in his coat. Rachel backed up against the wall, unconsciously aware that she had sat in a puddle. That didn't matter though, even though the voice in her head was once more screaming; this time about the fact that her jacket had cost her what had seemed like half her savings. But it didn't matter. She had a horrible feeling that it was going to be ruined a bit more. "What do I want?" the man with the sick smile echoed her question. "I want a lot in life. I want the love of a woman. I want to be rich. I want to be famous. There are so many things that I want…did that answer your question?"

"N-No," Rachel stammered, pressing her back up against the wall. She could try to run, but she knew it would prove to be fruitless. He had an athlete's body; there was a very good chance that he would catch her before she was even on her feet. She could scream, but she had already tried that, and no one had come racing to save her. And really, she wasn't sure if she could scream at that moment. She was having enough trouble talking.

"No?" the man echoed once more, stopping in front of her. "No! Well, I'm sorry, princess; I must have misunderstood the question! Would you please explain it to me!" he snapped sarcastically. Rachel flinched. She didn't like his brand of sarcasm. She preferred Chandler's much more.

"I-I…I don't know…what do you want from me?" she whispered, staring up at him fearfully. He grinned; smiled that sick smile.

"I want you to hear you scream," he hissed, bending down to Rachel's level. She stared at him for a moment, her brain shutting down for a split second.

"I-I have money," she stammered. "It's not much…but-"

"I don't want your money," he snapped, cutting her off. Rachel pressed her back into the wall once more, hoping that if she pressed enough, she would go straight through to the other side. Hoping that it would get her out of this hell. She wanted to get home to Chandler. She couldn't die. It was unacceptable. Chandler wouldn't be able to cope with that. He would blame himself. He would kill himself. He would die as well. That was unacceptable.

"Please," she whispered. "Just take it…let me go…I have to get back to him."

"Him?" her attacker smiled, reaching out a hand to touch her hair. Rachel jerked away, glaring at the man. "You got a boyfriend?"

Rachel stayed silent, choosing instead to continue her glaring. The man became impatient quickly.

"I won't ask again," he growled. Rachel didn't answer. Nor did she see the hand that struck her cheek. She cried out, falling to her side.

"Y-Yes," she snapped, her hand automatically going up to her cheek.

"Really? What's his name?"

"I'm not telling," Rachel said defiantly. She flinched, expecting another slap, but the man's hand remained dormant. His face took on a thoughtful expression. Rachel watched him warily; terrified to move or yell.

"Is he a good man?" her attacker asked finally. Rachel stared at him in surprise. Of all the things that he could have asked, she had not been expecting that.

"He's a great man…a concept that you are obviously not familiar with." Rachel regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. That was not the way to get out of this hell hole. Her attacker obviously agreed, because she once more found herself on her side, her cheek stinging.

"Well, I guess you will never find out if he would make a great husband," the man snapped, grabbing her hips and pulling. Rachel opened her mouth and screamed. She screamed the way that the girls in horror movies screamed, except with more desperation and less cheese. She screamed, and then she brought her hand up and hit the man; hit him with all her might.

"Get off me!" she shrieked, trying to push him away. "No! Help me! Help me! Somebody please! I need he-"

Rachel was cut off by her attacker roughly covering her mouth with his hand. The force of his hand snapped her head back, making it connect with the hard ground. Pain exploded in her head and she moaned; unable to do anything but.

"You're in the middle of New York, princess. Do you really think that somebody is going to help you?" the guy hissed, reaching once more into his coat. Rachel watched him; unable to do much else. She couldn't move. It was as if she was paralysed, either with pain or fear. She knew she had to move, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

"Please…please don't hurt me," she whispered. "I'll do anything…just let me go home…please! He needs me!"

"He needs me, he needs me," her attacker mocked. "I don't give a damn if he needs you! At this moment in time, I'm the one that needs you!" Rachel's eyes widened at his words, causing him to laugh. "Don't worry; I'm not going to rape you. I'm not that kind of guy."

"What kind of guy are you?" Rachel asked, fearful of the answer. She had to move. She knew she had to. If Monica was in her shoes; if Phoebe was…they would have moved. They would have been long gone. But Rachel was not Monica or Phoebe. She wasn't going anywhere. And that frustrated and scared her more then the man looming over her, the sick smile still in place, and the hand being taken out of his coat.

"I'm the fun kind," the man answered, and suddenly his hand was completely out of his coat. Out of his coat, and holding something. Before Rachel could comprehend what he had, an excruciating pain in her stomach caused her to scream. She saw spots, and suspected that she had blacked out for a moment. But then she was back, and gasping for breath. The pain. The pain was too much. She didn't know what the pain was, but she wanted it gone. That, and the pressure in her stomach. Something was in there. She could feel it.

"W-Wha….no, please," she panted, clutching weakly at the man's arm. He shrugged her off, smirking once again. Rachel started crying and was surprised that it had taken that long. She was usually one to cry at a TV commercial.

"You're not going anywhere princess. And neither am I," the man sneered, and the pressure in her stomach was gone. Rachel tried to scream, she really did. She wanted to scream, the pain was so severe. But the only thing that came out of her mouth was a choked cry. Her attacker grinned once more, and held up his hand for her to see. A knife, she realised. He had stabbed her with a knife, and had just pulled it out then. She had been stabbed.

It was then that Rachel realised she was going to die. She wasn't going to lose Chandler; he was going to lose her. She was going to die, without seeing Chandler again. Without touching him, without smelling him, without kissing him. She was going to die without saying sorry; apologising for snapping at him. Rachel let out a sob. She was going to die. She couldn't die.

But she was going to.

"Please!" she sobbed, trying to back away. But she was still paralysed. "Please…don't kill me."

"That would ruin the fun now, wouldn't it?" the man asked playfully, leaning forward. He brought the knife closer; too close to her face for comfort. "You are incredibly beautiful," he whispered. Rachel shook her head, raising her hand feebly. She had never felt so weak in her entire life. She had never felt so much pain in her entire life. "It would be a pity to ruin such a pretty face." He smiled and pressed the knife against her cheek. Rachel let out another cry as the blade pierced her soft skin. That man's smile grew wider as he pressed deeper and dragged the knife slowly down.

"N-No!" Rachel pleaded, once more raising her left hand. This time though, she succeeded in grabbing his hand, and had enough strength to pull his hand away. The knife cluttered to the ground next to her head, as Rachel pressed her hand against her cheek, feeling the blood streaming through her fingers. She stared at the man, who was staring back at her.

"You attempt to stop the bleeding on your face, but don't do anything about the bleeding from your stomach?" he mused, chuckling. Rachel shook her head, trying to clear it. It didn't help and she found her eyes closing instead. She was going to die anyway. Why not make it quick and easy.

A scream left her lips as pain coursed through her right hand, as if it was on fire. She had thought that the pain in her stomach was the worst pain she could ever feel. She had been wrong. Rachel breathed through the pain, fighting off the wave pf nausea, and the darkness that was threatening to take her. She took a moment, and then opened her eyes. The man was smiling down at her, running the bloody knife across his sleeve, as if trying to clean it. Rachel took a deep breath, sweat dripping into her eyes, caused by the pain. She slowly turned her head and glanced stupidly at her right hand. It took a moment for her to realise that there was something wrong. And then it hit her, and she nearly threw up.

Her fingertips were gone. No, not gone. They were still there, but they were lying inches from the rest of her hand. She swallowed, trying to keep down the bile. Her hand. Her fingers. She continued to stare at them, studying them carefully. She could see the bone, through the blood that was trickling from the newly created stumps.

"Oh god," she moaned, her voice thick with horror and pain.

"Maybe I should do the other hand? Even it out a bit?" Rachel tore her eyes away from her mutilated hand and looked up at the man. He was smiling again; smiling his sick smile. He was going to kill her. But she didn't want that. She could still get away. If she tried. If she really-

"No!" she screamed, a burst of adrenaline rushing through her. She raised her left hand and struck her attacker on the side of the face. He fell back, and Rachel scrambled to her feet. "Help me! Somebody, please! Help me! No!" she screamed as arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. "No! You sick fuck! Get off me! Help me!"

Her screams changed to that of a strangled cry as pain exploded into her side. She took a risk and glanced down, horrified to see the knife buried into her side; buried all the way to the hilt. "No…please," she whispered, her vision darkening slightly. The knife was pulled out and she fell to her knees; fell next to her severed fingertips. Chandler would be able to find a joke in this situation, she thought suddenly. He would be able to make this situation better. But he wasn't here. She was thankful for that. He wasn't here; he didn't have to see this. But he probably would anyway. In his dreams he would. She was still going to cause him pain, even after she was gone.

"Chandler," she murmured, leaning against the wall. She was really going to miss him.

Hands grabbed at her, lying her down. She didn't struggle. She couldn't. Not anymore.

"Chandler? Is that your boyfriend?" her attacker whispered. Rachel stared at him, her eyes void of any spark. The man smirked at her silence. "Chandler, hey? Classy."

Rachel continued to stare at him, unable to do anything else. She was dying. She was fading away. And he knew it.

Her attacker smiled; grinned that sick smile, and brought the knife closer. Up to her throat. Rachel flinched at the cool steel, her breath coming out in short gasps. Her attackers grin grew wider and he jerked his hand.

Rachel let out a gasp, which came out more as a gurgle. Her throat. She wanted to raise her hand; to attempt to close the slit in her throat. Attempt to savour her life. But that wasn't going to happen. She was dying. She was about to leave.

"Well, this certainly has been fun," the man whispered. Rachel felt a warm liquid bubbling in her throat; in and around. The man grinned, and Rachel knew that smile was going to haunt her till her last breath, and well into the afterlife.

Her attacker shook his head and stood. "I was going to put you out of your misery, but I think this was is more exciting. For both of us."

Rachel stared up at him for a moment, stared at his sick smile. She knew that it would haunt her to her last breath, and she was right. Even after she closed her eyes, she could still see it. As she took her last breath, she could still see it.

And then she saw nothing.

Chandler's eyes flew open with a gasp.

Monica was there, leaning over him, but he didn't care. Rachel. Dead?

"No."