At that very moment, as the others planed how to save him, Harold sat alone in the cell that, only hours earlier, he had shared with LeShawna, Geoff, and Bridgette. He did not know if they had made it back to the hotel, he didn't even know if they had made it out of the compound alive. All he did know, was he was now alone, and though he understood why they had not come back for him, he could not help feeling a little resentment towards them. He sat, staring at the walls, for what seemed like eternity, before the door opened and Dorian entered, alone.
"What d'you want?" he asked glumly, watching Dorian suspiciously. "If you're here to torture or kill me, just get it over with, I'm tired of games."
"I just want to talk, like civilized men." Dorian replied.
"Huh, civilized? You expect me to believe that a man like you is capable of being civilized?" scoffed Harold.
"I assure you, I am far more civilized than you, my gangly little friend." Dorian replied.
Harold glared at him before answering. "I'm not your friend." he said, coldly.
"Oh come now, Harold, let's try to be adults and have a conversation." said Dorian, smirking.
"You know, I think I've figured it out." said Harold abruptly. "I think I've figured out why you are the way you are."
"I've been psychoanalyzed before, boy." snapped Dorian. "By your dear friend Thomas, in fact. He did quite a remarkable job, I must say."
"Yeah, he told us about that." said Harold. "But, see, I think I have a better grasp on your personality than Thomas did."
"You do, do you?" said Dorian, with an evil grin. "And what makes you think that? You hardly know me."
"I have a very good eye for these things." said Harold.
"Alright, if you're so good then get on with it. Analyze me." said Dorian. "What makes me, me?" he added, with another smirk.
"Well if I had to guess, I'd say you were abused as a child." said Harold. "You were abused, and ignored, and you hated it. The other kids always picked on you, even though you were rich. I'm guessing your father never payed any attention to you, and your mother was too hard on you. You were beaten whenever you did something wrong, and you were beat up at school too. But you still had your dream, your dream of creating a reality show, in which you killed people. But Chris and Chef took that away, and without that outlet to unleash your fury, you turned it inward and then unleashed it back upon the world. Am I close?"
Dorian glared at Harold a moment, before answering. "Yes, you are. But I've noticed something about you, Harold. Your dying, aren't you, from a brain tumor perhaps? That's why you've been forgetting things lately, that's why you can't remember."
"Yes, it's true." said Harold, defiantly. "I have a brain tumor, and it is killing me. Haven't told anyone, I didn't want them to worry."
"How very kind of you." said Dorian, in a mocking tone. "I'll tell you what, Harold, I'll let you go, if you promise me you'll never tell anyone I admitted to you the truth about my life."
"I don't understand." said Harold. "You're willingly letting me go, when you know that keeping me here is more advantageous to you? It doesn't make sense."
"Do not question my motives, boy." snapped Dorian. "You are dying anyway. Better to let nature take its course and save myself the mess. Now get out." Without questioning him further, Harold quickly left the mansion, pausing to look back at Dorian, who was standing in the door way.
Dorian waved Harold goodbye, as though they were old friends who had just had a few drinks. "Farewell Harold." he said. "Enjoy your last days on Earth."
A/N: The title of this chapter refers to Harold's analyzation of Dorian. He is looking through the eyes of evil to see what makes Dorian the way he is.
