Quatre called Relena. Heero picked up.

            "Quat?"

            "Hey, man, how'd you know it was me?"

            "Caller I.D. How you ok?"

            "Yeah, I'm sorry I wigged out like that. I was outta line."

            "It's ok. I should have left you alone. Besides. You weren't yourself."

            "I know. I'm still sorry."

            "Consider yourself forgiven."

            "Thanks a lot." Quatre turned serious. "Heero, they're going to release me."

            "Quat, that's great. Did Relena tell you we're going to swing by in a few days?"

            "I haven't heard from or seen Dorothy in five days. I called the police. They went by my house and they said that Quatre Winner owned that house, not me, and if I call my own house again, they will arrest me on a harassment charge.  Nobody will believe me because I was in the psych ward.  Please Heero. I just know something awful is happening."

            "I can't get there right away, Quat. We'll be there in a few days."

            "Heero,"

            "The earliest I can get there is day after next. I checked. That's when the next shuttle for earth is leaving." 

            Quatre sighed. "Ok, Heero. I'll talk to you later."

            "Gotcha.  Don't worry, Quat. I'm sure Dorothy is fine."

            "I hope so." Quatre hung up. He nibbled on his nails, looking anxiously out the window into the distance. 

            Dorothy prayed in the depths of sleep.  She opened her eyes. A ghastly face with sunken eyes and a grayness across the mouth stared back. The figure wore her clothes, but they were big and holey on it. Dorothy's heart beat leaped into her throat and she felt nauseous.  She slowly realized she was looking into a mirror, and the white, malnourished ghost was her.  Tears came to her eyes. Rashid had left her to watch herself fester, placing a mirror above her bed that stared her down.  She was still hand cuffed to the bed, filthy and smelly, and rats were beginning to rely on her clothing for their food.  She'd barely the strength to hope anymore.  Dorothy suddenly began thrashing about in frustration of life.  She opened her eyes, breathing hard, and really feeling how weak she was. She looked at her reflection. Great, if it wasn't bad enough Rashid had chained her to a bed and gave her a little water every other day and punished her if she refused, now she was hallucinating. She could have sworn her reflection had moved a little to the side, a couple of inches at best.  She tried to blink it away. It wouldn't blink away. It was real.  She threw her torso at the side of the room opposite of the door. She heard the bed scoot.  A sudden hope filled her with warmth and she threw her torso again at the same spot, clinging to this prayer that seemed to grow more and more tangible.  She scooted the bed again. This time, the mirror shook. She had no idea what Rashid had used to hold that thing up, but whatever it was probably wasn't very secure.  She scooted over more and more.  The mirror began to sound more like it was going to come down. Now it was a race against gravity. The mirror was wide, and if it came down, it was likely to crash into a million tiny shards on her.  She would have to get over as fast as God would let her.  She had nothing to lose any more.  She scooted over as fast as she could, throwing herself about in the bed.  The mirror shook looser and looser.  Dorothy was at angle where she could see what held the mirror.  Duct tape. 

            Horrified, Dorothy scooted even harder, her energy quickly depleting.  She was, for the most part, out of the mirror's way, should it fall.  Then, an amazing thing happened. 

            The mirror swung down.

            A muffled scream tore out of Dorothy's throat through the duct tape and she squeezed her eyes shut. The mirror's frame slammed against her left wrist cuff and shattered it, bounced off the post, and secured right back on the ceiling.  Dorothy opened her eyes wide.  Her hand was at her side. She stretched it wearily around.  It instantly flew at her other cuff, prying at it with all her might.  No luck.  She slipped her fingernail into the keyhole and shuffled it around.  Something clicked and she was overcome with joy. She ripped the tape that circled her head twice.  She screeched and panted wearily. 

            She reached for the cuffs around her ankles. Not only were they cuffs, they were shackles.  She pulled herself up and stood up on the bed and looked down.  Two separate combination locks attached the chains to the legs of the bed.  Her joy sank in to hopelessness.  The bureau, she realized. She sat back up and carefully stepped over the footboard.  She had to stretch, but reached the bureau and opened a drawer. Just some old clothes. She shuffled them around. Nothing more. She opened the next drawer. Empty. She felt around.  Still nothing.  She opened the bottom drawer. Nothing. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She picked it back up and tried to break the combination, feeling for when the gears on the lock tightened. One of the numbers for her left foot seemed to be thirty-three.  She tried again, remembering her mischievous childhood  at Romefeller. To her surprise, the lock popped open.  She gasped.  The door swung open and Rashid stepped in.  He looked at her with fearsome anger.  He dove for her and lifted her high by her shoulders.

            "Ahh! Help! Help me! Oh! Help me!" she screamed as Rashid attempted to beat her into submission.  The doorbell rang. Rashid stopped mid-slap. He flashed Dorothy an evil look and yanked the sheets from under her, bounding her with them.  He duct taped a pillow to her face.  She struggled. She heard Rashid slam the door behind him and take the stairs.  She struggled again, feeling less and less air getting through the pillow and into her lungs….

            Rashid opened the door.  There stood Quatre.