Zlata dragged herself out of bed at 2 a.m., just two hours after they'd finally finished bathing and toileting the girls and put them to bed. The first bag of water/food should be empty by now, she knew, and the girls needed a second. It was Zlata's turn for that. And of course, they needed their day's supply of the magical chemicals that kept them in mannequin state. Usually that was done along with the first bag of food, but the priority, with the girls getting back to the ward so late, had been to get them fed immediately. Trying to maneuver around a second pair of IV stands while giving Blondie and Pixie their baths seemed unnecessarily inconvenient, when they could just as well get the maintenance chemicals later.

Pixie, as usual, was lying atop Blondie, her chin cushioned in Blondie's breasts. They looked so sweet together like that. Zlata wondered whether they had known each other before the doctor had sealed their fate to be mannequins together.

Rachel heard faint sound of the alarm in a nearby room. She had been awakened by it some nights; sometimes she slept through it. One of the nurses would be changing out her IV bottles now, she knew. Rachel opened her eyes and looked to the right, where the nurse was walking by sleepily towards the cabinet where the bottles were kept.

It was several seconds before what she had just done with her eyes sank in. How in the hell, Rachel wondered, did I do that??

She tried to lift her arm, her leg, squeeze her hand closed. She still couldn't sense how to do any of those things. Nothing moved. But my face, she thought. Or part of my face. I can feel where it is! And I can move my eyes around!

She had not felt anything like this in all her time in the mansion.

She could see the clock on the wall. It had been something her eyes had swept past on previous occasions as the nurses turned her body to various orientations. Now she could look directly at it. The old-fashioned analog hands said it was 2:00. That has to be two in the morning, Rachel thought, since everybody's asleep but the one nurse doing IV duty.

Whatever is keeping me frozen is starting to wear off! she realized. It had never been like this before. Her heart started pounding.

And then Rachel saw Anya. Rachel's eyes had been looking towards Anya to begin with, until she had flicked them towards the side to track the nurse. When she returned her eyes to their original position, she saw that Anya's eyelids were fluttering.

Anya's eyes opened suddenly, and they caught and held Rachel's. Anya stared at Rachel for what seemed an endless time. And then she closed her eyes and opened them again, a slow blink. After a short pause, she blinked a second time. And a third. And then kept her eyes open.

And then her lips curled up at the edges.

Understanding flooded through Rachel. Three blinks. Just three. She could have kept doing it, but she stopped.

Three blinks! She's using her eyes for I-love-you! Our signal! She still loves me!!

Rachel's heart went into overdrive.

As the nurse began swapping out the IV connections, Rachel suddenly realized: I can say it to Anya too! It took concentration -- her control was still very tenuous -- but slowly Rachel blinked, and blinked again, and blinked once more.

Anya's lips twitched upward the slightest bit more.

Rachel thought she heard a gasp from the nurse. But she didn't want to look away from Anya. Not ever. She didn't want to stop seeing that tiny smile.

It's not that brilliant sunburst smile I fell in love with, thought Rachel. But it's the best thing I've ever seen in my life!

Rachel tried to smile back, but couldn't find how to do it.

Rachel felt her connection with her face fading. No, no please!! she thought. It's the IV! She's giving me more of whatever freezes me! Stop the damned IV drip! I can't lose this! What if I never have it again??

Minutes later her control was gone. The smile on Anya's face faded as well.

From beyond the blanket of gloom that descended over Rachel, there was still one ray of light coming through.

I know she still loves me, Rachel told herself, again and again. She doesn't hate me. She loves me! That will keep me going a long time.

Yelena awoke, and as usual was immediately aware of the feeling of physical need. A need to caress Marya, to kiss her, to experience her body fully and sensually. Yelena loathed feeling that way, but was helpless in the face of it.

They have done this to me, with their drug, she thought angrily. Made me crave sex with my own daughter. Yelena hated them all for the abomination perpetrated on her. Hated Dimitri most of all, as the instigator of the atrocity.

The hunger for Marya had grown worse over time. Yelena recalled, though the memory seemed far in the misty past, that initially, she hadn't felt uncontrollable desire until she and Marya were already simulating sex -- Yelena would make herself, through the character of Bad Mother, go through the motions of sexual caresses, then at some point she would pass a point of no return, and the simulation would turn real. Stopping and backing away, once that point had passed, was beyond Yelena's power.

In the months that had passed, Yelena had kept believing that she could achieve mastery of herself in bed, that the arousal imposed by the pills she was taking would become such a familiar sensation that she would learn conscious control of it.

Somehow, the opposite had happened. Yelena had less control of her sexual urges as time went by. From the time Marya had experienced her psychological break, losing touch with her real self and becoming "Hélène," a single person with two bodies, wanting nothing more than to make love with that other body, Yelena found her hunger for Marya increasing, not abating. Now, if any significant time had passed since their last sexual contact, Yelena passed that "point of no return" as soon as she saw that Marya was ready for a new round of passion.

I have to quit taking that drug, thought Yelena. I needed it at the beginning, just so that I could lubricate. I wasn't able to do that on my own, and Marya would have known that my story of "Hélène" was a lie, that I really had no desire for sex with her. I don't think it matters anymore, Yelena told herself. Marya may not notice, and in fact, maybe by this time I can simulate arousal. I've been doing this long enough. But I have to at least try it without the drug. Those pills are making my body go more and more crazy as time goes by.

I have to keep having sex with Marya, Yelena reminded herself, not to mention all those men. I have to keep Marya from that endless agonizing torture they showed me on that first day. That poor woman, thought Yelena, they're probably still doing that to her. I can't do anything about that. But I can keep it from happening to Marya.

But I don't have to want sex with my daughter. In fact, Dimitri would probably prefer that I didn't want it. He wants me to be miserable, to feel shame, to feel emotional agony. And I do, God knows I do. Until that uncontrollable need comes over me, and the drug takes over completely, making me want Marya, want her, WANT her, making me wish the lovemaking could never end, making me wish we could go beyond the cover story of being a single person in two bodies and be one person in one body, merged, melted together so we can never be apart, and never stop feeling the excitement that begins with gentle touches and caresses and leads to impossible heights of joy at being physically united. That's the part I need to get rid of. I cannot feel that way about my daughter! I wish I could just live in Marya's fantasy world, and feel only the happiness and the love, without thinking of how wrong it is. But I can't.

Marya was still asleep, it seemed, nestled against Yelena in her latest favorite position -- the two of them curled together on their left sides like spoons, Marya behind Yelena, her arms wrapped around Yelena and forearms crossed, each hand cupping one of her mother's breasts, her right leg thrust through Yelena's legs with her upper thigh up against Yelena's sex, her face resting in the curve of Yelena's shoulder and neck, her lips occasionally giving Yelena's neck soft wet kisses until she fell asleep. Yelena could feel Marya's breasts and stomach pressed against her back. Marya always held tightly, even in her sleep. Yelena had her hands softly cupped on either side of Marya's thigh where it emerged from her crotch -- despite being in skin-to-skin contact from head to foot all along her back, Yelena still felt a need for her hands to be holding Marya. Again, thought Yelena, that's the drug talking. And when her chemically-induced sexual need began to overpower her, Yelena could pull Marya's leg against her sex and rub softly against it. Usually Marya woke up when that happened, understanding it as a signal that Yelena was ready to make love. Marya was always eager for that.

Yelena loved sleeping in that position, feeling Marya curled around her, and was ashamed of loving it. It felt so nice, but was so far out of bounds.

Yelena lay as still as she could, to avoid waking Marya and to postpone the inevitable sexual play that would immediately follow her awakening. Laying still was hard. The tingling and growing wetness between her legs was only the physical manifestation of her emotional hunger for Marya, her yearning, her need. Yelena knew what was about to happen, and wished she could say, No, Marya, stop, we can't do this, I am your mother, you are my daughter. Puncturing the delusion Marya had escaped beneath, making her unable to go on with the charade, exposing her to the agony of the torture cell... No. Yelena knew she must never do that.

Behind Yelena, Marya stirred slightly, and released a soft sigh. Yelena felt Marya's warm wet tongue gently brush her neck.

No! a tiny, barely-heard voice within Yelena called out. It's so peaceful being here this way! I don't want it ruined with a sexual frenzy! I'm required to have sex with my daughter, but there's nothing that says it has to be now. I don't have to do it! I can maintain self-control. I can maintain self-control. The drug doesn't have to control me. Don't respond, Yelena. Marya may go back to sleep, and we can cuddle like this longer. Don't respond!

Marya began undulating against Yelena's back and buttocks, her thigh nudging and rubbing against Yelena's sex.

Don't respond! Don't respond...

Yelena turned in Marya's arms, letting Marya's leg slide out from between hers, wrapping her arms around her daughter, and began kissing her, open-mouthed, licking the underside of Marya's tongue with her own. Within seconds they were both moaning softly, rubbing the fronts of their bodies together with growing urgency, tangling their legs together.

Yelena dropped tiredly into the chair in front of Doctor Tourachev's desk. "Doctor, the aphrodisiac pills, the sex pills... Do you have them in a smaller dosage? I would just take fewer of them, but even a single pill runs the craving up to such a level that I just can't handle it. If you'd give me pills with about half the dosage, I could start tapering off gradually. I mean, I'd just quit altogether right now, but I don't want to have problems of withdrawal."

The doctor, Yelena saw in irritation, seemed to be working to bury a laugh. The corners of his lips curled upward. "Worried about withdrawal, are you?"

Yelena glared at him. "Yes, of course. This isn't funny."

The doctor was starting to lose the battle. He coughed to sidetrack a chuckle. "Well, withdrawal doesn't appear to be an issue. If it was, you would have noticed."

Yelena looked at him blankly. "What do you..." It occurred to her what he might be talking about. "...mean?" she finished in a hushed voice. No, she thought, oh no, tell me you're not saying what I think you are.

The doctor responded, "About two weeks ago I did cut the pills a bit, as an experiment. I was just curious to see what would happen. I replaced about half of the active ingredient with sugar. And for the last... let's see, six days, the pills have been pure sugar. Admittedly each pill would give a slight boost to your energy, though not nearly as much as a single bite of one of your dinner desserts."

Yelena shook her head vigorously, her brows angrily drawn together. "I don't believe you!"

The doctor grinned and shrugged. "Then stop taking the pills. See what happens."

Yelena sputtered, "You... You... It can't work like that. You can't make me sexually attracted to my daughter. Not without drugs."

"I beg to differ. The drug has had a psychological effect. Over time, the artificial need created by the drug has stimulated an internal need. Sexual intercourse is always a very intense experience, and can be very addictive in itself. The drug gave you a need for it at an extreme level, but the mind is entirely capable of generating its own needs. No doubt the fact you are required by circumstances to have sex with Marya in order to protect her from a terrible fate -- this has also played a role in establishing the internal need."

"But... it feels exactly the same now as it always has, with the drug. I'd notice if something was different, if you were changing the dosage. It's the same!"

"Is it? Are you sure?"

Yelena began a vehement response, but stopped herself suddenly. A thought that she had kept buried forced its way to the surface.

Something had felt different. And she couldn't identify just when it had begun to seem different. But a timeline of a couple of weeks in length seemed about right.

In the beginning, the tingling between her legs, the outward physical sign of her need, had been present constantly. Following orgasm, it would release its control of her for a period of time. During those periods of slack, Yelena remained aware of wanting sexual contact, but it was similar to wanting a blouse seen in a store window, resisting it because you knew you didn't really need it. Then the wanting would always slowly build again. But it never entirely went away.

Until recently.

Yelena had become dimly aware that after orgasm with Marya, the need for sex would, for a short time, be altogether absent, before the need renewed itself and began building again. In place of the need, during those slack periods, Yelena felt only contentment. Examining the contented feeling now, it seemed that it consisted, in part, of knowing she had done her latest part in protecting Marya, in successfully doing what she needed to do to keep Marya away from the torture cell. But another part of it reminded her of a feeling long ago, nearly forgotten, of satisfaction in being with Dimitri, in bed following sex -- of love, long gone now, that expressed itself best in the soft, adoring caresses building to the explosive climax, the sexual act from beginning to end. She had loved Dimitri that way once. And she knew, beyond possibility of denial, that she loved Marya in that same way now.

And from deeper in the pit of denial, another thought bubbled upward into her consciousness, despite all efforts to keep it buried.

In the beginning, while loathing the entrapment that forced her to give her body to an endless succession of men, several each day, Yelena had nevertheless, with the men, responded to her drug-induced need. She had relished the sensations of a sensual craving satisfied, wanting her body used so that she could feel relief from the ever-present sexual desire the drug gave her.

For some time now -- it might well be a week or so -- that consolation prize had been absent. Now Yelena derived no satisfaction of any kind from the rapes, and she had found, as they were happening, that the only way she had of tolerating the abuse came from imagining that it was Marya with the strap-on who was penetrating her. The fantasy that it was Marya pounding within her, squeezing her breasts, grunting from the effort of thrusting, was the only source of pleasure Yelena was able to find in the ordeal. Afterward Yelena always thrust down any conscious acknowledgment of the fact, knowing her capacity for shame was already at its limit. But she knew that that was what she had been doing, and now she saw the significance of it. The fact that the stimulation of her sexual desire, caused by the drug, seemed not to help her any longer with the men -- that would make perfect sense, now, if the drug was no longer there. And at the same time Yelena saw the other side of that coin: the evidence that her sexual desire for Marya was very real.

The safety net of knowing that her feelings of wanting Marya were artificially induced began to unravel.

Have they done this to me now? Yelena moaned within herself. Have they really made me desire my own daughter as a lover? No longer in response to chemicals forced on me from outside, but from within. Now it's what I want. I don't want to want it. But I do! I can't stop!

It can't be! she insisted. It's impossible!

Yelena was very familiar with the effects of the drug, and knew its power within her should be starting to fade by this time: she knew how long the pills lasted, and it had been long enough since her last dose that she should be needing another by now. In the past, with the drug as her crutch to help with the response of lubrication, that visible sign of arousal she needed to be able to show Marya, Yelena had dutifully kept taking it on schedule.

She would do without it now, as a test. She had to know for sure. If the doctor is lying, she told herself, if the pills are still the cause of my sexual responsiveness to Marya, the last one should be nearly worn off by this time. I should be able to control myself with Marya now.

Without a word Yelena bolted up from the chair and through the door. Down the hall. Opening the door to the room she shared with Marya.

Marya had risen from the bed at the sound of the door opening, and her face radiated joy. "Hélène! I missed you! When you're gone, all I can think of is you."

Marya started towards Yelena. The motion seemed to Yelena to be frozen in time.

In that frozen moment, Yelena felt the flood of desire rush through her body. Her eyes took in every curve of Marya's body, every inch of it known and adored, saw the happy grin, the bright eyes full of adoration. And Yelena suddenly wanted nothing more in the world than to hold Marya, to rub her hands over her, to feel Marya's lips pressed against her own. She felt the sudden wetness between her legs, the flush of warmth in her sex, her nipples coming erect.

Oh dear God, thought Yelena, it's all true. I want to have sex with my daughter. And there is no drug making me feel that way. For a week all I've been taking is sugar pills.

And then Marya was against her, embracing her, kissing her almost frantically. Rubbing her mound against Yelena's. Moaning in desire.

Conscious thought evaporated. Only sensation remained. Yelena moaned in response, her arms moving up and down Marya's back. Wanting again to experience Marya with every sense, feel her soft skin, see her face, hear her moans, taste and smell the juices between her legs with the slight uriny tang that she should have hated but loved because it was Marya's.

Breathing hard, Yelena pulled Marya towards the bed, pushed her gently down onto it, kissing her, whimpering with excitement, trying to caress every part of Marya at once.

Rachel hated today's position passionately. She didn't know which of them, herself or Anya, found it more humiliating. It really doesn't even matter, she thought, when the embarrassment goes so far off the scale like this.

Anya was standing, her legs straight and spread apart, her body bent double at the hips, head down towards the floor. Rachel was sitting on the floor behind Anya's legs, her arms reaching up through Anya's legs from behind and wrapping around her waist, keeping Anya from falling over. Rachel's legs were spread very wide, the inside of her upper thighs pressing against the backs of Anya's ankles.

Anya, reaching back between her own legs, had a tight hold with both hands on Rachel's breasts, her fingers curved in to make deep, painful indentations. Why, Rachel wondered, is there always such a big deal about breasts?

Rachel's breasts were throbbing with pain, which would only increase during the day -- Anya was gripping them so hard. But for Rachel, much worse than the pain was what she was doing with her own face. Her head was tilted back so that she looked upward, her mouth wide open and covering Anya's sex. Above that, the tip of her nose was pressed hard directly against Anya's anus, not hard enough to flatten her nose and block her breathing, but sufficiently hard to part the anus and press a small distance inside. Inside!! Rachel was beyond mere disgust.

Rachel's emotions were still riding high from the mutual declarations of love she had exchanged with Anya last night. She hated having to descend into something so degrading following that.

Worst of all, she didn't know whether, for the rest of her life, she would ever again feel that tiny bit of control over her body she had felt so briefly last night.

Rachel knew what the president had been doing last night, letting the ambassador unwittingly see the missing American girl, and wasn't sure he would ever feel the need to do it again. Rachel might never again be seen by the man who could free her, if only he could recognize her, and she might never again go so long without the mannequin drugs. Last night she had recovered the use of a small part of her body. What if that was the last time ever? she wondered.

But I do love you dearly, Anya, she thought. If I never get to say it again, I hope last night was enough. Ya tebya lyublyu, Anya. Please believe that will always be true.

Zlata lay on her bed, on her stomach, her chin resting on her fists. She could hear Larisa's television going, and Veronika talking to her parents on the phone. All of the nurses had occasional chats with their families. Zlata supposed the president wanted to avoid the complication of military personnel being declared missing by their families. It was uncomfortable for Zlata and the other nurses, knowing their conversations were being monitored, worrying about saying something that would get them in trouble. They tried to get their families sidetracked from asking awkward questions, and talking instead about doings at home. It was good to hear from loved ones, though it only made the nurses miss their families that much more.

Zlata returned to her earlier thoughts. Last night, Blondie had blinked at Pixie. It seemed impossible, but it had happened. At least, she was looking directly at Pixie when she did it, so it appeared the blinking must have been directed at her. It had not been an involuntary twitch. It was an intended, conscious act. It hadn't been the only sign that Blondie was in control of her eyes: Zlata had seen Blondie's eyes following her as she moved past. And Pixie had been watching her too.

Zlata understood what must have happened. One of the drugs, the one that confused the voluntary muscle system, had become depleted and ineffective. The nurses had been so late in setting up the IV that the drug's effects had started to wear off. Apparently only in the facial area, which made sense; there were so many more blood vessels in the head and face than anywhere else, and they carried away the drug more quickly when the supply ran low. The doctor had told them that the muscle-confusion drug was short-term, and had to be replenished every day without fail. The joint stiffener would last much longer, taking as much as a month to wear off. This morning, of course, after a new infusion of the drugs, the girls were completely frozen again.

Blondie had blinked at Pixie, but there was more to it than that. She had blinked three times, then stopped. It had to be a signal of some kind.

What could it mean? Something prearranged, certainly. It seemed to answer the question of whether Blondie and Pixie had known each other before.

But as simple as it was, prearranged or not, it was communication. Blondie and Pixie could communicate with their eyes.

Zlata thought of all the things she wished she could ask these women who depended on the nurses so completely. She might find a way for them to talk to her, but communication was not the only difficulty. Zlata was sure that, as the president had said they would be, she and the others were being watched. She avoided looking at either of the cameras mounted in opposite corners of her room, near the ceiling. Together, they had a view of the entire room. The ward, of course, had similar cameras in the corners. Whatever I do, thought Zlata, to try to set up some means of communicating with Blondie and Pixie, it would surely be noticed. And the things I want to find out are things the president probably wouldn't want me knowing.

Zlata gasped suddenly. Maybe, she thought, I can do it without being seen.

She immediately saw problems with the idea. She lay there and thought them through.