I do not own Gundam Wing.
Dorothy could no longer feel anything but the warm fluid dripping down her
wrists. The storm continued to pour into the valley from the lakes Breinz and Thun off
to the north. She rolled over to look at the thunderheads starting to slam into Jungfrau.
The contrast between the summer storm and its still snowy peaks filled Dorothy with a
sense of peace. She knew what she had to do. There was no anger, no pity, or fear in
it. She was slipping away from all the shame and pain in one simple act.
Nobody would miss her. Not really. Quatre had Trowa. Fatima was an
excellent glassmaker in her own right. The last time she had visited Une, the woman
had been so wrapped up in Mariemaia's slow, but steady progress that she only paid a
fraction of attention to what Dorothy had said. Nobody needed her, depended on her,
wanted her. Particularly her mother.
Mother. Dorothy winced a bit as another sharp pain jagged across her wrists.
She had shown up at her hotel room, immaculate and exuding sophistication.
"So what brings you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked. Satan let you take a
holiday? She almost added on, but held her tongue.
"Why I just wanted to visit my daughter. Our schedules are so busy I hardly
get to see you. And I was so disappointed not to be invited to the wedding," she cooed,
her lips turning into a small pout.
"I explained to you before I flew to Riyadh that it was going to be a Muslim
ceremony and that there would be no reception. I also told you that women other than
the bride are not allowed to view or participate in the ceremony. Besides, it was not all
that big of an event. It started and finished within fifteen minutes."
"Yes, but I didn't even have the opportunity to meet my new son-in-law. You
surprised me, Dorothy. I really didn't think you had the skill to land such a man. I was
certain you would call crying in the middle of the night before the wedding telling me
that he had changed his mind. I mean honestly, you're such a plain girl. I simply don't
understand what he sees in you."
She clasped her hands and sighed before continuing, "But we've all got to
work with what we've got, don't we, dearest?"
The image of grabbing a knife and slitting her throat was foremost in
Dorothy's mind. Dorothy closed her eyes and counted to ten before answering her.
"Still as charming as ever, aren't you, Mother?"
Her mother frowned.
"No need to be plebeian, Dorotea Ysabel," she sniffed, addressing Dorothy by
her formal Christian name.
"Why are you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked quietly.
Her mother's eyes sparkled. A long dull pain as if she were being gutted
slowly twisted and turned its way along the length of Dorothy's abdomen. Her mother
had the same gleam when she asked if the body that had been discovered was that of
her father's when Dorothy had returned from L1.
Always manipulating, always wanting more power, thing never change for
you, do they, Mother? Dorothy thought.
"There's a delicious arrangement I have for your new husband. I've heard
that he has gotten a proposal to underwrite for Graham Electric that he has yet to lend
his consent. They asked me to see you to sweeten the pot. He can win back his
investment ten fold with in eight weeks by underwriting the section that they are trying
to get off the ground."
Dull pain took another twist through her stomach when she asked, "What
exactly does this technology do, Mother?"
Her mother gave her a look of irritation.
"It is a neutralizing device. It can quickly and methodically cleanse an area
the size of Epsilon 495 in the L1 colony within two hours and make the facility safe for
entry with in thirty minutes after that. There's one small problem, " her mother replied
as she gestured daintily with her hands.
Dorothy looked at her in a detached manner for a moment. Her lustrous ash
blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. At the same time, her mind was quickly
calculating the size of Epsilon 495. A fifteen kilometer radius, an outer ring three and
a half kilometers in height, a strip of habitable land on the outer ring that could easily
hold between five to six million people. It was hailed as the largest colony every
made. She looked up into her mother's animated brown eyes and then down to her soft
hands with a tidy French manicure caressing the small dark green clutch that matched
her dark green suit. She drifted back to what her mother was saying.
"If Mr. Winner could persuade his subsidiary, BP Chem to release enough of
the trigger chemical that creates the bio-electric agent Graham Electric has been
developing, by this time next year, you be rich enough to not have depend on people to
purchase those silly baubles of yours."
Dorothy thought, five to six million people murdered and wiped from
existence in two hours. She looked at her mother as she waited for Dorothy to answer.
You're such an attractive woman, Mother. You are also devious,
manipulative, and utterly vicious. An image came to Dorothy's mind of her mother
precisely slitting a person's throat in order to avoid it soiling her gloves. And if that
meant someone else taking the fall for her, as far as she was concerned, that was simply
one of the misfortunes of the business.
It never ends with her, does it? Dorothy thought. She has an absolutely
insatiable appetite for war and power. She never gave a damn how many people died
just so long as it didn't get in the way of her profiting from it.
Her mother started impatiently tapping her foot.
"No, I won't speak to him," Dorothy replied.
A look of seething anger and hatred rolled across her mother's face and she
said very quietly, "What did you say to me?"
Dorothy bit her nails into her palms to keep from flinching at that voice.
"You don't run my life, Mother. I am not here for you to snap your fingers
and me to run about like a little puppet doing your despicable errands," Dorothy said.
She squared her shoulders back and looked her mother straight in the eye.
Her mother got up with a start.
"You ungrateful little bitch," she whispered to Dorothy. "Look of all that I
have done for you and you give me not one small favor in return. You stupid girl. Do
you really think you can hold onto that husband of yours? He'll toss you aside just like
one of those baubles you waste your time on. You were never good for anything. Why
couldn't God have given me a son instead of a worthless girl like you?"
Dorothy had enough. She stood up quickly and backhanded her mother with a
closed fist across the cheek. Her mother crashed back into the chair behind her. She
sat dazed and slumped, holding onto her quickly bruising cheek.
"When you sent me to identify Father's body, I could no longer deny what a
truly, utterly and completely heartless beast you were. You're not human. And I'm
surprised at myself, Mother, to think that you ever were. There's no room in your life
for anything but power. Not Father, not me, not even Grandfather when he was alive.
How pleased he would have been to realize you are so like him if he was capable of
taking that much time away from his own obsession with power."
Her mother had gained enough of her senses to grasp tightly onto Dorothy's
hand. She lifted herself up so that she could look at Dorothy face to face.
"Be careful what you say to me, Dorotea Ysabel. You can easily walk the
same path as your father. You were always just as tragic and impetuous as he was.
And think about your new husband as well, dear. You wouldn't want anything to
happen to him, would you?" Her mother caressed Dorothy's cheek with the back of
her hand.
Dorothy grabbed her wrist and watched her mother wince from the pain. She
could feel the older woman's bones distinctly, individually in her tightening clasp.
But Dorothy herself suddenly felt tired, drained of energy. She was so tired.
Of running, of watching her back, of trodding on egg shells, of never having more than
a few moments of peace. She didn't want to do this anymore.
She drew her mother up close so that their faces were just inches apart.
"There are some places, dearest Mother, that even you can't torment me,
where you will never be able to get to me."
Her mother had a look of confusion on her face. Dorothy bit back a laugh that
suddenly scrabbled up her throat.
"Frustrates the hell out of you, doesn't it?"
Her mother said nothing.
"Take your things and get out," Dorothy said, thrusting the older woman away
from her. Her mother quickly scooped up the items that had fallen on the chair from
her purse, haphazardly shoving them in. Dorothy turned and began to walk away, but
then stopped in mid-stride and turned back to the rapidly retreating woman.
"Oh, and know this, Mother. If I ever see you again, I'll strangle the life from
you inch by inch until you are nothing but a glass-eyed rag doll in my hands," Dorothy
said quietly.
Her mother stiffened.
"Be aware of who you threaten, girl," her mother said just as quietly.
"I know what I said and I know who I said it to. And it was not a threat."
Dorothy listened to the window panes rattle as the door slammed behind the
woman.
Fatima had come in to see her a few minutes after her mother left to remind
Dorothy of an appointment she had with one of the gallery owners that afternoon.
"Are you all right?" Fatima asked when Dorothy had not said anything.
Dorothy smirked as if Fatima had just told her some great joke. She leaned
over in the chair she had been sitting in and rubbed her temples.
"I'll be fine," she lied. She didn't like lying to her apprentice. At this point,
however, she was only standing in her way and would definitely not understand what
Dorothy was going to do.
"I'm going to take a nap before we go. Can you come in and wake me in an
hour?" Dorothy asked.
Fatima's apprehension didn't seem to lessen. Dorothy was beginning to think
that the woman was going to say no.
"Certainly," Fatima finally replied. Dorothy slowly let go of the breath she
was holding.
Fatima walked to the door and looked back at her.
"Are you sure you're all right? Do you want to..," the woman hesitated. "Do
you want to talk about anything?"
That surprised Dorothy. She hadn't ever seen Fatima look that concerned for
her.
Still, sentiment is not going to stop me, Dorothy thought.
"I'm fine, Fatima," Dorothy replied.
The woman turned to walk out the door.
"Fatima," Dorothy called out suddenly.
Fatima looked back at Dorothy.
"Thank you."
Fatima nodded and shut the door behind her.
It hadn't taken more much time at all for Dorothy to change and slip out onto
the ancient fire escape. She was in a taxi heading for the airport within fifteen minutes
of thanking Fatima. She already felt oddly detached from the rest of the world. She
reacted to everything around her in a desensitized, open manner.
"Destination?" the counter attendant asked pleasantly.
"Zurich," Dorothy replied.
"Roundtrip?"
"No, one way," Dorothy replied, then added, "I'm going home."
"Oh, where's home?"
"Wengen."
"Oh, I've been there. Beautiful village. So peaceful."
"Yes, it is," Dorothy managed to whisper."
The attendant handed her boarding ticket, which was a small plastic card with
a metal chip in it. She then placed an electronic signature pad before Dorothy.
"Here's your ticket," the attendant said from rote, "Please sign here and initial
here, here, and here as I ask you a few security questions." She pointed to the places
on the pad as she spoke.
"If you have any luggage or carry-on, did you pack it or did someone pack it
for you? If so, do you know this person well? Has anyone asked you to." The
attendant droned onward. Dorothy could feel herself respond correctly to the
questions, but her mind was already miles from the ticket counter, slipping away to the
peace of the cottage that awaited her.
She felt herself walk mechanically walk to the plane and board it. The
attendants tried not to disturb her too much, but Dorothy really didn't notice them. She
just stared aimlessly out the window for the entire flight.
When she reached the cottage, she immediately went to the liquor cabinet and
pulled out a bottle of vodka. She poured about a third of the bottle in a large tumbler
and took one large slug of it, then another. She winced only slightly as the alcohol
immediately dried out her tongue and throat as she swallowed the third mouthful. She
walked into the bedroom, exhausted from her trip and sank onto the cushions of the
bed. She emptied the tumbler in another couple of mouthfuls and discarded the glass
and bottle onto the desk. Within a few minutes, the alcohol began to slowly unravel
the numb feelings long enough for her exhaustion to take over and she passed out
where she lay.
On the third day, she woke up late in the morning to a pounding headache.
Her stomach swimmed about in rolling waves of nausea. She reached over for the
bottle of rum that sat on the night table and grimaced at the taste of the liquid as it hit
the back of her throat.
Should have drunk the rum first and had the nasty stuff out of the way, she
thought.
She stood up and stumbled over to the window. Even the dim sunlight forcing
its way through the summer thunderstorm creeping up the valley tortured her eyes. She
could feel the pane vibrate lightly as she heard the low rumble of thunder coming in
from a distance.
What a lovely day for a stroll.
She stumbled towards the door. She fought for several minutes to put on her
shoes without having to put down the bottle. Finally, after the battle was won, she
staggered towards the door.
The fresh alpine air slapped into her and she sobered slightly.
What was she out here for again? A stroll, yes, that's right, a lovely stroll.
She sauntered down the path that lead away from Wengen and toward
Lauterbrunnen at the base of the mountain.
The storm broke over her about a half kilometer down the path. The lightning
zigzagged across the sky and the thunder felt like a giant cuff against her body.
She kept moving.
Within a couple of minutes, warm rain began to wash over her. She was
soaked head to foot within seconds.
She kept walking down the path. Each step was more uncertain than the last.
She could dimly feel the liquor burn down her throat as she pressed the bottle to her
lips and drank in the stuff in gulps.
Finally, she stumbled and fell down. The bottle burst into shards as it hit the
ground. Dorothy could feel tiny and not so tiny bites nip at her ankles and legs where
the glass grazed her.
There was a section of her calf that itched viciously. When she ran her nails
across her skin, she found a large sliver of glass had embedded itself into her leg. After
a few tries, she was able to pull it out and examine it.
It was a long, bloody, wicked looking piece of glass and Dorothy wondered if
she might have gotten the entire piece out as she studied it. Her leg still itched like
crazy.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a panic little voice said, "You are much
too calm about this. Throw the glass away. It's not as enticing as you think. Throw it
away, Dorothy."
Dorothy ignored the voice. She continued to turn and twist the piece of glass
in her hand.
So beautiful, she thought. So hideous that it has it own kind of beauty.
She twirled around between her thumb and forefinger one more time. The
blood was almost completely washed away from it by the rain.
I have a use for you, she thought as she stared at the shard. Quickly, quickly,
before you lose your nerve.
Dorothy held her wrist out and in one downward thrust, sliced it with the glass
shard. Fiery pinpricks of pain raced up her arm and she gasped.
Not done yet, she thought weakly. She picked the shard up from where it fell
in her lap and quickly repeated the movement across her other rest. This time she cried
out for a moment, then lapsed back into silence.
She leaned back against the grass that bordered the path. She could faintly
smell it and something else, something that left a metallic taste in her mouth. Her
blood. Slowly flowing outward. She could feel her pulse in her ears now. It seemed
to thrummed on and on, but each beat quieter than the last.
Suddenly, her stomach flip-flopped. She rolled to one side and vomited.
Alcohol burned her through her stomach up her throat and even through her nose.
Dorothy thought, this is ironic, I'm getting drown by the smells of rubbing alcohol.
Who knew death could have such a clinic smell to it.
The rain pounded against her body, she could feel each drop hit her body. She
was in pain; she struggled weakly. She wanted to rip the skin from her body, but it
seemed to be taking everything just to breathe.
The world around her began to shut down. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. She
could no longer see the mountains, could no longer see Jungfrau. No longer hear the
birds jabbering inanely as they rode out the storm in a tree a few feet from where she
fell. Slowly, it crept in, winding a tighter and tighter circle. She could no longer see
her hands. Could no longer hear the weak thrum of her heartbeat.
Stripped my senses on the spot. I've never been so defenseless, she thought
idly.
Then nothing.
She found herself walking down a long pitch black corridor with the exception
of two points of light at either end of tunnel. The tunnel shook violently and she was
thrown to the floor.
I can't even make sense of this, she thought impassively.
"Dorothy!" someone cried out passionately.
That voice sounds so familiar.
Again the voice cried out. This time she felt a distinct yank on her body,
dragging her toward one of the points of light. Back in the direction which she had
come, not where she was traveling toward. She grasped against the floor, but it was
sleek and smooth. She slipped back toward the point of light even quicker.
"Dorothy!"
That almost sounded like fear. A cry of a wounded animal.
What did I do? Dorothy thought wildly. What have I broken?
That thought sent her flying back toward the entrance.
The stubborn part of her rose up.
No! NO! Go away, damn you. Go away!
She clawed at the floor, desperately trying to find a handhold that would keep
her from slamming back into herself. She looked back up at the light. It was engulfing
her.
Too late.
Even after that, it seemed to take an awfully long time to become aware of the
fact that someone was standing over her. Grasping her. Shaking her.
"Dorothy!"
Her eyes slid open a sliver. The figure was all fuzz. She could smell his
cologne.
Mmm, comforting, Dorothy thought. Her eyes slid shut again.
"Dorothy! Wake up! Look at me!"
Her eyelids open a fraction again after much protest. It seemed so hard to
focus. She concentrated on it for a long time and finally the being came into focus.
Rashid.
Rashid had her in his arms. She couldn't feel her arms beneath her biceps
because he had such a vicious grip on them.
Go away, she wanted to say. Her head lolled to one side and he shook her
again. She started to think he wanted to shake her head right off her body.
Go away, dammit. She sent the command to her mouth but all it would do
was swallow convulsively.
Aren't you dead yet? A spiteful thought asked.
She looked at him as if he were very far away. An emotion flickered dimly in
the back of her mind. She waited the long moments for it to register. Everything
seemed so far away.
She was embarrassed. That was the emotion that finally came to her through
the wide blanket of apathy. Embarrassed. The apathy shrugged lightly, sending out
ripples across her mind.
She became vaguely aware that Rashid had picked her up and was running up
the path.
Why are you doing this, Rashid? I'm dying, just let me die. Let me go.
Another soft determined voice rose up from her core.
Don't give up. Don't let go, it whispered over and over.
Dorothy drifted between a black to milky white nothingness, then back again.
She dreamt her spirit was floating high above the Earth. Suddenly, she
twirled into a nose dive and drove herself downward through the sky, through the
clouds, down, down, into the earth. She tried to scream but she could feel the breath
being pressed out of her the deeper she fell. She clawed at the earth, fear tearing into
her.
Out, must get out.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, Dorothy, a voice said to her from a long way off.
Her speed slowed and she looked up. Light filtered down the hole from far
above. She reached up farther and farther with her hands toward the opening. It
seemed so far away, but in the back of her mind she thought, Not that far. Not that far
out of reach. Reach I, almost there, can just make it.
She could feel the warmth of the sunlight touch her fingers as she found a
handful of grass to grab. Her other hand patted along the ground blindly until she
found another clump of grass. She heaved and hauled herself from the pit. She
climbed shakily onto the ground and shook the dirt from her.
Mist formed and weaved before her, taking on a shape that became more and
more familiar.
"Father." She whispered in disbelief. A sharp sense of longing and sorrow
filled her with such an intensity that she was sobbing in great wracks before he even
said a word to her.
He smiled lightly to and raise up his fingers. She looked to the hole behind
her. Great spirals of black mist spilled and swirled out of the chasm, disintegrating as
she watched. Dorothy took an involuntary step backward from the hole.
After several seconds, the mists began to fade off and Dorothy could see that
the deep chasm that had been created was now filled in. The dark mist faded as
quickly as it had started. Grass rose and greedily spread over the spot where the hole
had been just moments before.
Behind the spot stood a stone marker. Not a marker, a grave stone. Her grave
stone. With her name engraved in it.
"I hope that will no longer be necessary," her father said, gesturing to the spot.
His somber voice startled her a bit. It seemed deeper than she remembered.
"It will be up to you to get rid of that," he said, pointing to the grave stone.
She turned to him and asked, "Am I dead?"
"Like, I said, my dear, that will be for you to decide. Let's go for a walk,
shall we?" He swept out his arm before her, wanting her to lead the way.
Dorothy moved toward the grassy path. Fear picked lightly at her heart. She
could see the grass through her feet, as if she were a mere specter. She didn't know
what she was getting into, but being with her father gave her a sense of safety.
"I have missed you, Father," she blurted out.
Her father smiled and patted her shoulder somewhat absentmindedly.
"I suspected as much," he replied, then he stopped and turned to her. A look
of complete seriousness covered his face.
"But Dorotea, why did you do this? It's wrong. It's running away. I thought
I taught you better."
She could feel herself burst into tears at that.
"I was just so tired, Papa. I was sick of watching my back all the time. And
the threats. And the promises of vengeance. I was always on my guard, Papa. There
were never any breaks."
"We are all mortal, Dorotea. We all have our low points. I can't believe that
there was nobody there to help. Or is that you didn't ask for help? You were never
one to ask for help easily, dearest, no matter how many times I told you it was all
right."
"Who was I suppose to turn to, Father?"
"There are people willing to help, more than willing, all you need to do is
ask."
"Who? Show me."
Dorothy stood in a hospital room. She saw her body lying on a bed, nearly as
pale as the sheets that covered her.
Quatre stood over the bed, hands gripping the railing. He looked like he had
been crying, but his cheeks were dry.
Trowa stood by the windows, looking out at the mountains.
Suddenly, Quatre pounded his fist against the metal railing, then turned away
from his vigil and left the room. That startled Dorothy a bit. She had never seen
Quatre burst out in anger like that, not with her. He had been smiling, laughing,
consoling, even scolding, but never angry, not like just now.
Trowa stood by the window for a few minutes longer, then moved to the side
of the bed. Hesitantly, he trailed a finger down a strand of her hair.
Dorothy watched as he caressed that lone stand that wafted against her body's
shoulder, perplexed by Trowa's actions.
"Don't mind, Quatre. For some reason he thinks he can change you. I know
he can't change you, but though it may surprise you, he's a very stubborn man. I know
I can't change you. Your life is what you make of it, Dorothy, not what someone tries
to make for you. You need to decide whether or not you're going to live it."
He crooked a couple of her fingers in one of his.
"We are willing to help you, but you must learn how to ask."
He squeezed her fingers again, then left the room.
After a few minutes, Fatima walked in and sat down next to the bed. She
stayed silent for so long, but she never took her eyes off of Dorothy.
Finally, she leaned forward in her seat and said, "Do you know that was an
incredibly selfish thing that you did? I knew something was wrong and I had hoped
that you valued me as a friend and come talk to me about it. But you didn't. Instead
you ran away. You couldn't trust me. I'm your apprentice and you couldn't trust me.
I know you may have your reasons and your excuses, but it doesn't make me any less
angry with you."
Dorothy was dumbfounded. Her apprentice had never acted like that before.
Then a smile began to form across Dorothy's lips. Fatima had fire. She was beginning
to think the woman didn't have an argumentative bone in her body. She would have a
lot to discuss with her apprentice when she woke up.
If I wake up.
The thought sobered Dorothy.
Fatima had fallen silent again. Several more minutes went by and then she
got up.
"I will be here if you decide to come back. You can trust me, Dorothy. I am
your friend. I will always be your friend," Fatima said as she left the room.
It seemed like most of the day had gone by before Hassim came into the room.
Dorothy jumped at his presence. She had been idly holding her hand up against the
wall, watching the red and pink hued sunlight go through her hand and play across the
wallpaper pattern.
She really hadn't expected him to be there and watched him curiously as he
walked around to stand by the body in the bed.
"Hello, pretty lady," he whispered with a smile. "I'm sorry that you haven't
been feeling well."
He leaned against the bed rail.
"As soon as you can get up out of that bed, we're going to go dancing. You
and me, on the best dance floors in Europe, down on the Rivera. What do you think of
that, huh?"
"I knew you've felt like you've been cooped up when you were at the
mansion and when you were in Amsterdam. I'd feel trapped too. It's not fair to have
to stop living your life cause people are after you. They should be the ones that should
be cooped up. They should be the ones always having to look over their shoulder, they
should be the ones not having fun." Unconsciously, Hassim pounded his fist into his
hand with each proclamation. When he realized what he was doing, he blushed.
"Sorry," he said. "I guess I am very passionate about this, no?"
"Yes, he understands what's been happening," spirit Dorothy whispered.
"I also know that you probably thought that this was the only way out of it.
But once you wake up, Miss Dorothy, I will show you that this is not the only way.
And I do believe you will wake up. I believe in you, Miss Dorothy."
Spirit Dorothy burst into tears. No one had ever said that they believed in her
before.
"You know who else believes in you? Rashid. Though it's kind of hard to
tell right now. Blessed be Allah, I have never seen him that angry. Not even the time
when he caught you sunbathing. And I didn't think he could ever get angrier than
that."
"When the doctor told us that you were in a coma, he went over to a window
and leaned over the desk in front of it. At first, I didn't think he was listening, but then
I realized he was mumbling something. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid', I believe. Who he
was referring to, I don't know. Then when the doctor said 'she might not wake up', he
slammed his fist down so hard against the desk that it cracked. He turned to the doctor
and grabbed him and said 'She's going to wake up. And when she does, I'm going to
be there to shake her head so hard it's going to knock every filling out of that beautiful
little head of hers.' Quatre told him to stop and Rashid let go of the doctor. He let go
of the doctor. Quatre demanded that he explain himself. Rashid just said real quietly
to him, 'Why don't you ask your soul mate instead?' and left. I don't know why, but
Master Quatre just blanched over that. Trowa was there and was going to go after him,
but Master Quatre stopped him and said, 'No, let him be.'"
Dorothy's breath caught.
"Oh, God, he knows," she whispered. She was very surprised that Rashid
would display that much emotion over her. He cared for her. A lot. The thought both
frightened and excited Dorothy. But she was also upset over the fact that he knew
about Quatre and Trowa. And that he didn't seem to be taking it too well.
I wish Rashid was here for me to talk to, she thought. Her need for him
surprised her. She never wanted to impulsively reach out for someone like that with
the exception of her father. Odd, how she could feel the same way about a man she
hardly knew as she about her father.
Hassim leaned over the body and placed a kiss on its forehead.
"Rest well. You'll need your strength, because when you wake up - we are
going to dance the night away. No rest for you then."
Spirit Dorothy smiled at the determination in his voice.
It was night, completely dark with the exception of the sparkling starlight
coming through the window. She heard him long before she could see him. When he
first walked into the room, Dorothy mistook his footsteps for background noise, but
then realized that the sounds were too defined to be background noise.
His body blotted out the stars. Dorothy could feel her heart beat erratically.
She could see his face briefly as he looked with concern over her now busy monitors.
She could feel his hand touch hers as he clasped one of the body's hands.
"It's all right, it's all right," he whispered. His voice calmed her and she
could feel her heart go back to its smooth steady pattern. She could feel him squeeze
her hand softly then attempt to let go as her heart beat went back to normal. She heard
him gasp softly as she held her hand closed as tightly as she could.
"It's all right," he whispered to her. She could feel a hand caress her cheek
and linger there for several moments. "I'm not going anywhere. I can stay for as long
as you like."
She held his hand for a long, long time. When she took note of how long, she
noticed that the eastern sky was slowly lightening and the starlight beginning to fade.
He bent down to her body, his lips mere inches from hers.
Dorothy could feel a small curl of warmth rise up from her belly.
"I'm not going to kiss you," he whispered.
Dorothy slowly began to uncurl her hand in disappointment. She felt him
squeeze her hand again.
"I want you to come to me and tell me that you want me to kiss you. I will
not fall in love with a dead woman, Dorothy. If you feel this attraction, this need to be
together, then you will wake up and tell it to my face. I'm not going to let you hide
behind this. Either you will get and walk among the living, come to me and take my
hand or you will walk the ways of the dead - the decision is your, Dorothy."
He let go over her hand, stood up and watched her for a few moments longer.
The sky was a brilliant rose gold by then. Dorothy could see Rashid's intense gaze
bore into the body that lay on the bed. He then turned and left the room.
Dorothy walked over and looked at her body in the bed.
What a pale waxen doll I've become, she thought as she looked at the still
form. She leaned closer and closer. What did Rashid see in her, or even Hassim and
Fatima for that matter? What had they seen in her that she could not?
Dorothy sighed.
Well, just going to have to find out what, aren't I?
Dorothy launched herself forward towards her body. Down, down, and down
she fell.
She could hear her father whisper to her, "Is this what you really want?"
Doubt filled Dorothy.
"I'm not sure, Papa, but it seems like a good place to start to find out what I
want, isn't it?"
She could feel her father smile.
"Yes, Dorotea, it is. I will always be here when you need me."
The voice fell silent, but Dorothy did not feel the sense of loss like she had
before. All she had to do was reach out with her mind and she could feel her father's
comforting presence. She smiled, turned and began to walk through the grayness.
It seemed like she walked for a very long time, but eventually she did find the
little door to go through.
The sun blinded her and her eyes teared up. A figure stood over her and
clasped her hand tightly. She could sense both impatience and delight in his stance.
"Hello world," she thought.
"Quatre, dear, you can let go of the death grip you have on my hand," she
whispered.
Hi Everyone. I like to thank everyone that reviewed my story. Thank you, thank you,
thank you. Your reviews really do make me want to write more and more about
Dorothy and Rashid. As for when the next part might be out, I'm really not sure. Ever
had one of those weeks were you wake up and it all seems like it's hitting the fan? I'm
currently looking for a new job because I don't have a lot of confidence in being able
to keep my current one for much longer. And other things. So I figure once I'm over
the shock and some sense of direction again, I can start up on the last half of the
chapter, which will be from Rashid's point of view again. Thanks again for the
reviews. BTW, I couldn't seem to remember what the name of the little village/train
stop was when I visited Wengen. From looking at a map, I'm guessing that it was
Lauterbrunnen. However, if anyone might have the correct info, I'd really appreciate
it.
Dorothy could no longer feel anything but the warm fluid dripping down her
wrists. The storm continued to pour into the valley from the lakes Breinz and Thun off
to the north. She rolled over to look at the thunderheads starting to slam into Jungfrau.
The contrast between the summer storm and its still snowy peaks filled Dorothy with a
sense of peace. She knew what she had to do. There was no anger, no pity, or fear in
it. She was slipping away from all the shame and pain in one simple act.
Nobody would miss her. Not really. Quatre had Trowa. Fatima was an
excellent glassmaker in her own right. The last time she had visited Une, the woman
had been so wrapped up in Mariemaia's slow, but steady progress that she only paid a
fraction of attention to what Dorothy had said. Nobody needed her, depended on her,
wanted her. Particularly her mother.
Mother. Dorothy winced a bit as another sharp pain jagged across her wrists.
She had shown up at her hotel room, immaculate and exuding sophistication.
"So what brings you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked. Satan let you take a
holiday? She almost added on, but held her tongue.
"Why I just wanted to visit my daughter. Our schedules are so busy I hardly
get to see you. And I was so disappointed not to be invited to the wedding," she cooed,
her lips turning into a small pout.
"I explained to you before I flew to Riyadh that it was going to be a Muslim
ceremony and that there would be no reception. I also told you that women other than
the bride are not allowed to view or participate in the ceremony. Besides, it was not all
that big of an event. It started and finished within fifteen minutes."
"Yes, but I didn't even have the opportunity to meet my new son-in-law. You
surprised me, Dorothy. I really didn't think you had the skill to land such a man. I was
certain you would call crying in the middle of the night before the wedding telling me
that he had changed his mind. I mean honestly, you're such a plain girl. I simply don't
understand what he sees in you."
She clasped her hands and sighed before continuing, "But we've all got to
work with what we've got, don't we, dearest?"
The image of grabbing a knife and slitting her throat was foremost in
Dorothy's mind. Dorothy closed her eyes and counted to ten before answering her.
"Still as charming as ever, aren't you, Mother?"
Her mother frowned.
"No need to be plebeian, Dorotea Ysabel," she sniffed, addressing Dorothy by
her formal Christian name.
"Why are you here, Mother?" Dorothy asked quietly.
Her mother's eyes sparkled. A long dull pain as if she were being gutted
slowly twisted and turned its way along the length of Dorothy's abdomen. Her mother
had the same gleam when she asked if the body that had been discovered was that of
her father's when Dorothy had returned from L1.
Always manipulating, always wanting more power, thing never change for
you, do they, Mother? Dorothy thought.
"There's a delicious arrangement I have for your new husband. I've heard
that he has gotten a proposal to underwrite for Graham Electric that he has yet to lend
his consent. They asked me to see you to sweeten the pot. He can win back his
investment ten fold with in eight weeks by underwriting the section that they are trying
to get off the ground."
Dull pain took another twist through her stomach when she asked, "What
exactly does this technology do, Mother?"
Her mother gave her a look of irritation.
"It is a neutralizing device. It can quickly and methodically cleanse an area
the size of Epsilon 495 in the L1 colony within two hours and make the facility safe for
entry with in thirty minutes after that. There's one small problem, " her mother replied
as she gestured daintily with her hands.
Dorothy looked at her in a detached manner for a moment. Her lustrous ash
blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. At the same time, her mind was quickly
calculating the size of Epsilon 495. A fifteen kilometer radius, an outer ring three and
a half kilometers in height, a strip of habitable land on the outer ring that could easily
hold between five to six million people. It was hailed as the largest colony every
made. She looked up into her mother's animated brown eyes and then down to her soft
hands with a tidy French manicure caressing the small dark green clutch that matched
her dark green suit. She drifted back to what her mother was saying.
"If Mr. Winner could persuade his subsidiary, BP Chem to release enough of
the trigger chemical that creates the bio-electric agent Graham Electric has been
developing, by this time next year, you be rich enough to not have depend on people to
purchase those silly baubles of yours."
Dorothy thought, five to six million people murdered and wiped from
existence in two hours. She looked at her mother as she waited for Dorothy to answer.
You're such an attractive woman, Mother. You are also devious,
manipulative, and utterly vicious. An image came to Dorothy's mind of her mother
precisely slitting a person's throat in order to avoid it soiling her gloves. And if that
meant someone else taking the fall for her, as far as she was concerned, that was simply
one of the misfortunes of the business.
It never ends with her, does it? Dorothy thought. She has an absolutely
insatiable appetite for war and power. She never gave a damn how many people died
just so long as it didn't get in the way of her profiting from it.
Her mother started impatiently tapping her foot.
"No, I won't speak to him," Dorothy replied.
A look of seething anger and hatred rolled across her mother's face and she
said very quietly, "What did you say to me?"
Dorothy bit her nails into her palms to keep from flinching at that voice.
"You don't run my life, Mother. I am not here for you to snap your fingers
and me to run about like a little puppet doing your despicable errands," Dorothy said.
She squared her shoulders back and looked her mother straight in the eye.
Her mother got up with a start.
"You ungrateful little bitch," she whispered to Dorothy. "Look of all that I
have done for you and you give me not one small favor in return. You stupid girl. Do
you really think you can hold onto that husband of yours? He'll toss you aside just like
one of those baubles you waste your time on. You were never good for anything. Why
couldn't God have given me a son instead of a worthless girl like you?"
Dorothy had enough. She stood up quickly and backhanded her mother with a
closed fist across the cheek. Her mother crashed back into the chair behind her. She
sat dazed and slumped, holding onto her quickly bruising cheek.
"When you sent me to identify Father's body, I could no longer deny what a
truly, utterly and completely heartless beast you were. You're not human. And I'm
surprised at myself, Mother, to think that you ever were. There's no room in your life
for anything but power. Not Father, not me, not even Grandfather when he was alive.
How pleased he would have been to realize you are so like him if he was capable of
taking that much time away from his own obsession with power."
Her mother had gained enough of her senses to grasp tightly onto Dorothy's
hand. She lifted herself up so that she could look at Dorothy face to face.
"Be careful what you say to me, Dorotea Ysabel. You can easily walk the
same path as your father. You were always just as tragic and impetuous as he was.
And think about your new husband as well, dear. You wouldn't want anything to
happen to him, would you?" Her mother caressed Dorothy's cheek with the back of
her hand.
Dorothy grabbed her wrist and watched her mother wince from the pain. She
could feel the older woman's bones distinctly, individually in her tightening clasp.
But Dorothy herself suddenly felt tired, drained of energy. She was so tired.
Of running, of watching her back, of trodding on egg shells, of never having more than
a few moments of peace. She didn't want to do this anymore.
She drew her mother up close so that their faces were just inches apart.
"There are some places, dearest Mother, that even you can't torment me,
where you will never be able to get to me."
Her mother had a look of confusion on her face. Dorothy bit back a laugh that
suddenly scrabbled up her throat.
"Frustrates the hell out of you, doesn't it?"
Her mother said nothing.
"Take your things and get out," Dorothy said, thrusting the older woman away
from her. Her mother quickly scooped up the items that had fallen on the chair from
her purse, haphazardly shoving them in. Dorothy turned and began to walk away, but
then stopped in mid-stride and turned back to the rapidly retreating woman.
"Oh, and know this, Mother. If I ever see you again, I'll strangle the life from
you inch by inch until you are nothing but a glass-eyed rag doll in my hands," Dorothy
said quietly.
Her mother stiffened.
"Be aware of who you threaten, girl," her mother said just as quietly.
"I know what I said and I know who I said it to. And it was not a threat."
Dorothy listened to the window panes rattle as the door slammed behind the
woman.
Fatima had come in to see her a few minutes after her mother left to remind
Dorothy of an appointment she had with one of the gallery owners that afternoon.
"Are you all right?" Fatima asked when Dorothy had not said anything.
Dorothy smirked as if Fatima had just told her some great joke. She leaned
over in the chair she had been sitting in and rubbed her temples.
"I'll be fine," she lied. She didn't like lying to her apprentice. At this point,
however, she was only standing in her way and would definitely not understand what
Dorothy was going to do.
"I'm going to take a nap before we go. Can you come in and wake me in an
hour?" Dorothy asked.
Fatima's apprehension didn't seem to lessen. Dorothy was beginning to think
that the woman was going to say no.
"Certainly," Fatima finally replied. Dorothy slowly let go of the breath she
was holding.
Fatima walked to the door and looked back at her.
"Are you sure you're all right? Do you want to..," the woman hesitated. "Do
you want to talk about anything?"
That surprised Dorothy. She hadn't ever seen Fatima look that concerned for
her.
Still, sentiment is not going to stop me, Dorothy thought.
"I'm fine, Fatima," Dorothy replied.
The woman turned to walk out the door.
"Fatima," Dorothy called out suddenly.
Fatima looked back at Dorothy.
"Thank you."
Fatima nodded and shut the door behind her.
It hadn't taken more much time at all for Dorothy to change and slip out onto
the ancient fire escape. She was in a taxi heading for the airport within fifteen minutes
of thanking Fatima. She already felt oddly detached from the rest of the world. She
reacted to everything around her in a desensitized, open manner.
"Destination?" the counter attendant asked pleasantly.
"Zurich," Dorothy replied.
"Roundtrip?"
"No, one way," Dorothy replied, then added, "I'm going home."
"Oh, where's home?"
"Wengen."
"Oh, I've been there. Beautiful village. So peaceful."
"Yes, it is," Dorothy managed to whisper."
The attendant handed her boarding ticket, which was a small plastic card with
a metal chip in it. She then placed an electronic signature pad before Dorothy.
"Here's your ticket," the attendant said from rote, "Please sign here and initial
here, here, and here as I ask you a few security questions." She pointed to the places
on the pad as she spoke.
"If you have any luggage or carry-on, did you pack it or did someone pack it
for you? If so, do you know this person well? Has anyone asked you to." The
attendant droned onward. Dorothy could feel herself respond correctly to the
questions, but her mind was already miles from the ticket counter, slipping away to the
peace of the cottage that awaited her.
She felt herself walk mechanically walk to the plane and board it. The
attendants tried not to disturb her too much, but Dorothy really didn't notice them. She
just stared aimlessly out the window for the entire flight.
When she reached the cottage, she immediately went to the liquor cabinet and
pulled out a bottle of vodka. She poured about a third of the bottle in a large tumbler
and took one large slug of it, then another. She winced only slightly as the alcohol
immediately dried out her tongue and throat as she swallowed the third mouthful. She
walked into the bedroom, exhausted from her trip and sank onto the cushions of the
bed. She emptied the tumbler in another couple of mouthfuls and discarded the glass
and bottle onto the desk. Within a few minutes, the alcohol began to slowly unravel
the numb feelings long enough for her exhaustion to take over and she passed out
where she lay.
On the third day, she woke up late in the morning to a pounding headache.
Her stomach swimmed about in rolling waves of nausea. She reached over for the
bottle of rum that sat on the night table and grimaced at the taste of the liquid as it hit
the back of her throat.
Should have drunk the rum first and had the nasty stuff out of the way, she
thought.
She stood up and stumbled over to the window. Even the dim sunlight forcing
its way through the summer thunderstorm creeping up the valley tortured her eyes. She
could feel the pane vibrate lightly as she heard the low rumble of thunder coming in
from a distance.
What a lovely day for a stroll.
She stumbled towards the door. She fought for several minutes to put on her
shoes without having to put down the bottle. Finally, after the battle was won, she
staggered towards the door.
The fresh alpine air slapped into her and she sobered slightly.
What was she out here for again? A stroll, yes, that's right, a lovely stroll.
She sauntered down the path that lead away from Wengen and toward
Lauterbrunnen at the base of the mountain.
The storm broke over her about a half kilometer down the path. The lightning
zigzagged across the sky and the thunder felt like a giant cuff against her body.
She kept moving.
Within a couple of minutes, warm rain began to wash over her. She was
soaked head to foot within seconds.
She kept walking down the path. Each step was more uncertain than the last.
She could dimly feel the liquor burn down her throat as she pressed the bottle to her
lips and drank in the stuff in gulps.
Finally, she stumbled and fell down. The bottle burst into shards as it hit the
ground. Dorothy could feel tiny and not so tiny bites nip at her ankles and legs where
the glass grazed her.
There was a section of her calf that itched viciously. When she ran her nails
across her skin, she found a large sliver of glass had embedded itself into her leg. After
a few tries, she was able to pull it out and examine it.
It was a long, bloody, wicked looking piece of glass and Dorothy wondered if
she might have gotten the entire piece out as she studied it. Her leg still itched like
crazy.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a panic little voice said, "You are much
too calm about this. Throw the glass away. It's not as enticing as you think. Throw it
away, Dorothy."
Dorothy ignored the voice. She continued to turn and twist the piece of glass
in her hand.
So beautiful, she thought. So hideous that it has it own kind of beauty.
She twirled around between her thumb and forefinger one more time. The
blood was almost completely washed away from it by the rain.
I have a use for you, she thought as she stared at the shard. Quickly, quickly,
before you lose your nerve.
Dorothy held her wrist out and in one downward thrust, sliced it with the glass
shard. Fiery pinpricks of pain raced up her arm and she gasped.
Not done yet, she thought weakly. She picked the shard up from where it fell
in her lap and quickly repeated the movement across her other rest. This time she cried
out for a moment, then lapsed back into silence.
She leaned back against the grass that bordered the path. She could faintly
smell it and something else, something that left a metallic taste in her mouth. Her
blood. Slowly flowing outward. She could feel her pulse in her ears now. It seemed
to thrummed on and on, but each beat quieter than the last.
Suddenly, her stomach flip-flopped. She rolled to one side and vomited.
Alcohol burned her through her stomach up her throat and even through her nose.
Dorothy thought, this is ironic, I'm getting drown by the smells of rubbing alcohol.
Who knew death could have such a clinic smell to it.
The rain pounded against her body, she could feel each drop hit her body. She
was in pain; she struggled weakly. She wanted to rip the skin from her body, but it
seemed to be taking everything just to breathe.
The world around her began to shut down. Piece by piece. Bit by bit. She
could no longer see the mountains, could no longer see Jungfrau. No longer hear the
birds jabbering inanely as they rode out the storm in a tree a few feet from where she
fell. Slowly, it crept in, winding a tighter and tighter circle. She could no longer see
her hands. Could no longer hear the weak thrum of her heartbeat.
Stripped my senses on the spot. I've never been so defenseless, she thought
idly.
Then nothing.
She found herself walking down a long pitch black corridor with the exception
of two points of light at either end of tunnel. The tunnel shook violently and she was
thrown to the floor.
I can't even make sense of this, she thought impassively.
"Dorothy!" someone cried out passionately.
That voice sounds so familiar.
Again the voice cried out. This time she felt a distinct yank on her body,
dragging her toward one of the points of light. Back in the direction which she had
come, not where she was traveling toward. She grasped against the floor, but it was
sleek and smooth. She slipped back toward the point of light even quicker.
"Dorothy!"
That almost sounded like fear. A cry of a wounded animal.
What did I do? Dorothy thought wildly. What have I broken?
That thought sent her flying back toward the entrance.
The stubborn part of her rose up.
No! NO! Go away, damn you. Go away!
She clawed at the floor, desperately trying to find a handhold that would keep
her from slamming back into herself. She looked back up at the light. It was engulfing
her.
Too late.
Even after that, it seemed to take an awfully long time to become aware of the
fact that someone was standing over her. Grasping her. Shaking her.
"Dorothy!"
Her eyes slid open a sliver. The figure was all fuzz. She could smell his
cologne.
Mmm, comforting, Dorothy thought. Her eyes slid shut again.
"Dorothy! Wake up! Look at me!"
Her eyelids open a fraction again after much protest. It seemed so hard to
focus. She concentrated on it for a long time and finally the being came into focus.
Rashid.
Rashid had her in his arms. She couldn't feel her arms beneath her biceps
because he had such a vicious grip on them.
Go away, she wanted to say. Her head lolled to one side and he shook her
again. She started to think he wanted to shake her head right off her body.
Go away, dammit. She sent the command to her mouth but all it would do
was swallow convulsively.
Aren't you dead yet? A spiteful thought asked.
She looked at him as if he were very far away. An emotion flickered dimly in
the back of her mind. She waited the long moments for it to register. Everything
seemed so far away.
She was embarrassed. That was the emotion that finally came to her through
the wide blanket of apathy. Embarrassed. The apathy shrugged lightly, sending out
ripples across her mind.
She became vaguely aware that Rashid had picked her up and was running up
the path.
Why are you doing this, Rashid? I'm dying, just let me die. Let me go.
Another soft determined voice rose up from her core.
Don't give up. Don't let go, it whispered over and over.
Dorothy drifted between a black to milky white nothingness, then back again.
She dreamt her spirit was floating high above the Earth. Suddenly, she
twirled into a nose dive and drove herself downward through the sky, through the
clouds, down, down, into the earth. She tried to scream but she could feel the breath
being pressed out of her the deeper she fell. She clawed at the earth, fear tearing into
her.
Out, must get out.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, Dorothy, a voice said to her from a long way off.
Her speed slowed and she looked up. Light filtered down the hole from far
above. She reached up farther and farther with her hands toward the opening. It
seemed so far away, but in the back of her mind she thought, Not that far. Not that far
out of reach. Reach I, almost there, can just make it.
She could feel the warmth of the sunlight touch her fingers as she found a
handful of grass to grab. Her other hand patted along the ground blindly until she
found another clump of grass. She heaved and hauled herself from the pit. She
climbed shakily onto the ground and shook the dirt from her.
Mist formed and weaved before her, taking on a shape that became more and
more familiar.
"Father." She whispered in disbelief. A sharp sense of longing and sorrow
filled her with such an intensity that she was sobbing in great wracks before he even
said a word to her.
He smiled lightly to and raise up his fingers. She looked to the hole behind
her. Great spirals of black mist spilled and swirled out of the chasm, disintegrating as
she watched. Dorothy took an involuntary step backward from the hole.
After several seconds, the mists began to fade off and Dorothy could see that
the deep chasm that had been created was now filled in. The dark mist faded as
quickly as it had started. Grass rose and greedily spread over the spot where the hole
had been just moments before.
Behind the spot stood a stone marker. Not a marker, a grave stone. Her grave
stone. With her name engraved in it.
"I hope that will no longer be necessary," her father said, gesturing to the spot.
His somber voice startled her a bit. It seemed deeper than she remembered.
"It will be up to you to get rid of that," he said, pointing to the grave stone.
She turned to him and asked, "Am I dead?"
"Like, I said, my dear, that will be for you to decide. Let's go for a walk,
shall we?" He swept out his arm before her, wanting her to lead the way.
Dorothy moved toward the grassy path. Fear picked lightly at her heart. She
could see the grass through her feet, as if she were a mere specter. She didn't know
what she was getting into, but being with her father gave her a sense of safety.
"I have missed you, Father," she blurted out.
Her father smiled and patted her shoulder somewhat absentmindedly.
"I suspected as much," he replied, then he stopped and turned to her. A look
of complete seriousness covered his face.
"But Dorotea, why did you do this? It's wrong. It's running away. I thought
I taught you better."
She could feel herself burst into tears at that.
"I was just so tired, Papa. I was sick of watching my back all the time. And
the threats. And the promises of vengeance. I was always on my guard, Papa. There
were never any breaks."
"We are all mortal, Dorotea. We all have our low points. I can't believe that
there was nobody there to help. Or is that you didn't ask for help? You were never
one to ask for help easily, dearest, no matter how many times I told you it was all
right."
"Who was I suppose to turn to, Father?"
"There are people willing to help, more than willing, all you need to do is
ask."
"Who? Show me."
Dorothy stood in a hospital room. She saw her body lying on a bed, nearly as
pale as the sheets that covered her.
Quatre stood over the bed, hands gripping the railing. He looked like he had
been crying, but his cheeks were dry.
Trowa stood by the windows, looking out at the mountains.
Suddenly, Quatre pounded his fist against the metal railing, then turned away
from his vigil and left the room. That startled Dorothy a bit. She had never seen
Quatre burst out in anger like that, not with her. He had been smiling, laughing,
consoling, even scolding, but never angry, not like just now.
Trowa stood by the window for a few minutes longer, then moved to the side
of the bed. Hesitantly, he trailed a finger down a strand of her hair.
Dorothy watched as he caressed that lone stand that wafted against her body's
shoulder, perplexed by Trowa's actions.
"Don't mind, Quatre. For some reason he thinks he can change you. I know
he can't change you, but though it may surprise you, he's a very stubborn man. I know
I can't change you. Your life is what you make of it, Dorothy, not what someone tries
to make for you. You need to decide whether or not you're going to live it."
He crooked a couple of her fingers in one of his.
"We are willing to help you, but you must learn how to ask."
He squeezed her fingers again, then left the room.
After a few minutes, Fatima walked in and sat down next to the bed. She
stayed silent for so long, but she never took her eyes off of Dorothy.
Finally, she leaned forward in her seat and said, "Do you know that was an
incredibly selfish thing that you did? I knew something was wrong and I had hoped
that you valued me as a friend and come talk to me about it. But you didn't. Instead
you ran away. You couldn't trust me. I'm your apprentice and you couldn't trust me.
I know you may have your reasons and your excuses, but it doesn't make me any less
angry with you."
Dorothy was dumbfounded. Her apprentice had never acted like that before.
Then a smile began to form across Dorothy's lips. Fatima had fire. She was beginning
to think the woman didn't have an argumentative bone in her body. She would have a
lot to discuss with her apprentice when she woke up.
If I wake up.
The thought sobered Dorothy.
Fatima had fallen silent again. Several more minutes went by and then she
got up.
"I will be here if you decide to come back. You can trust me, Dorothy. I am
your friend. I will always be your friend," Fatima said as she left the room.
It seemed like most of the day had gone by before Hassim came into the room.
Dorothy jumped at his presence. She had been idly holding her hand up against the
wall, watching the red and pink hued sunlight go through her hand and play across the
wallpaper pattern.
She really hadn't expected him to be there and watched him curiously as he
walked around to stand by the body in the bed.
"Hello, pretty lady," he whispered with a smile. "I'm sorry that you haven't
been feeling well."
He leaned against the bed rail.
"As soon as you can get up out of that bed, we're going to go dancing. You
and me, on the best dance floors in Europe, down on the Rivera. What do you think of
that, huh?"
"I knew you've felt like you've been cooped up when you were at the
mansion and when you were in Amsterdam. I'd feel trapped too. It's not fair to have
to stop living your life cause people are after you. They should be the ones that should
be cooped up. They should be the ones always having to look over their shoulder, they
should be the ones not having fun." Unconsciously, Hassim pounded his fist into his
hand with each proclamation. When he realized what he was doing, he blushed.
"Sorry," he said. "I guess I am very passionate about this, no?"
"Yes, he understands what's been happening," spirit Dorothy whispered.
"I also know that you probably thought that this was the only way out of it.
But once you wake up, Miss Dorothy, I will show you that this is not the only way.
And I do believe you will wake up. I believe in you, Miss Dorothy."
Spirit Dorothy burst into tears. No one had ever said that they believed in her
before.
"You know who else believes in you? Rashid. Though it's kind of hard to
tell right now. Blessed be Allah, I have never seen him that angry. Not even the time
when he caught you sunbathing. And I didn't think he could ever get angrier than
that."
"When the doctor told us that you were in a coma, he went over to a window
and leaned over the desk in front of it. At first, I didn't think he was listening, but then
I realized he was mumbling something. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid', I believe. Who he
was referring to, I don't know. Then when the doctor said 'she might not wake up', he
slammed his fist down so hard against the desk that it cracked. He turned to the doctor
and grabbed him and said 'She's going to wake up. And when she does, I'm going to
be there to shake her head so hard it's going to knock every filling out of that beautiful
little head of hers.' Quatre told him to stop and Rashid let go of the doctor. He let go
of the doctor. Quatre demanded that he explain himself. Rashid just said real quietly
to him, 'Why don't you ask your soul mate instead?' and left. I don't know why, but
Master Quatre just blanched over that. Trowa was there and was going to go after him,
but Master Quatre stopped him and said, 'No, let him be.'"
Dorothy's breath caught.
"Oh, God, he knows," she whispered. She was very surprised that Rashid
would display that much emotion over her. He cared for her. A lot. The thought both
frightened and excited Dorothy. But she was also upset over the fact that he knew
about Quatre and Trowa. And that he didn't seem to be taking it too well.
I wish Rashid was here for me to talk to, she thought. Her need for him
surprised her. She never wanted to impulsively reach out for someone like that with
the exception of her father. Odd, how she could feel the same way about a man she
hardly knew as she about her father.
Hassim leaned over the body and placed a kiss on its forehead.
"Rest well. You'll need your strength, because when you wake up - we are
going to dance the night away. No rest for you then."
Spirit Dorothy smiled at the determination in his voice.
It was night, completely dark with the exception of the sparkling starlight
coming through the window. She heard him long before she could see him. When he
first walked into the room, Dorothy mistook his footsteps for background noise, but
then realized that the sounds were too defined to be background noise.
His body blotted out the stars. Dorothy could feel her heart beat erratically.
She could see his face briefly as he looked with concern over her now busy monitors.
She could feel his hand touch hers as he clasped one of the body's hands.
"It's all right, it's all right," he whispered. His voice calmed her and she
could feel her heart go back to its smooth steady pattern. She could feel him squeeze
her hand softly then attempt to let go as her heart beat went back to normal. She heard
him gasp softly as she held her hand closed as tightly as she could.
"It's all right," he whispered to her. She could feel a hand caress her cheek
and linger there for several moments. "I'm not going anywhere. I can stay for as long
as you like."
She held his hand for a long, long time. When she took note of how long, she
noticed that the eastern sky was slowly lightening and the starlight beginning to fade.
He bent down to her body, his lips mere inches from hers.
Dorothy could feel a small curl of warmth rise up from her belly.
"I'm not going to kiss you," he whispered.
Dorothy slowly began to uncurl her hand in disappointment. She felt him
squeeze her hand again.
"I want you to come to me and tell me that you want me to kiss you. I will
not fall in love with a dead woman, Dorothy. If you feel this attraction, this need to be
together, then you will wake up and tell it to my face. I'm not going to let you hide
behind this. Either you will get and walk among the living, come to me and take my
hand or you will walk the ways of the dead - the decision is your, Dorothy."
He let go over her hand, stood up and watched her for a few moments longer.
The sky was a brilliant rose gold by then. Dorothy could see Rashid's intense gaze
bore into the body that lay on the bed. He then turned and left the room.
Dorothy walked over and looked at her body in the bed.
What a pale waxen doll I've become, she thought as she looked at the still
form. She leaned closer and closer. What did Rashid see in her, or even Hassim and
Fatima for that matter? What had they seen in her that she could not?
Dorothy sighed.
Well, just going to have to find out what, aren't I?
Dorothy launched herself forward towards her body. Down, down, and down
she fell.
She could hear her father whisper to her, "Is this what you really want?"
Doubt filled Dorothy.
"I'm not sure, Papa, but it seems like a good place to start to find out what I
want, isn't it?"
She could feel her father smile.
"Yes, Dorotea, it is. I will always be here when you need me."
The voice fell silent, but Dorothy did not feel the sense of loss like she had
before. All she had to do was reach out with her mind and she could feel her father's
comforting presence. She smiled, turned and began to walk through the grayness.
It seemed like she walked for a very long time, but eventually she did find the
little door to go through.
The sun blinded her and her eyes teared up. A figure stood over her and
clasped her hand tightly. She could sense both impatience and delight in his stance.
"Hello world," she thought.
"Quatre, dear, you can let go of the death grip you have on my hand," she
whispered.
Hi Everyone. I like to thank everyone that reviewed my story. Thank you, thank you,
thank you. Your reviews really do make me want to write more and more about
Dorothy and Rashid. As for when the next part might be out, I'm really not sure. Ever
had one of those weeks were you wake up and it all seems like it's hitting the fan? I'm
currently looking for a new job because I don't have a lot of confidence in being able
to keep my current one for much longer. And other things. So I figure once I'm over
the shock and some sense of direction again, I can start up on the last half of the
chapter, which will be from Rashid's point of view again. Thanks again for the
reviews. BTW, I couldn't seem to remember what the name of the little village/train
stop was when I visited Wengen. From looking at a map, I'm guessing that it was
Lauterbrunnen. However, if anyone might have the correct info, I'd really appreciate
it.