Early morning light brushes across Steve's face, nagging him to wake. He stretches his large frame and almost topples off of the small bed. He opens bleary eyes to reveal a world of blurry pink. He blinks up at the canopy of the tiny bed that is straining under his weight. This doesn't make any sense. He only had two beers. When did he climb into Essie's bed? And why?

The bed frame groans as he sits on the edge of the mattress, and looks around. He is NOT in Essie's room. In fact he is not in any place he has ever been before. There's a squeal of relief from the bed frame, as Steve stands up and dazedly stares at his surroundings. He is in a large, modestly furnished room. Almost completely circular, it is bisected by one straight wall that features two doors. A quick inspection reveals two rooms, each completing a quarter of the circle. The left hand door opens to a rustic kitchen, complete with wood burning oven and an ice chest. The right hand door reveals a bathroom with a curtained lavatory. Steve is about to relieve himself when a thought occurs.

Wait a minute, what if this is a dream? Sometimes if you pee in your dream...

"But I need to go dammit!"

He soon returns to the bedroom and continues his search for an exit. While there are no external doors, there is a window that is almost twice the size of the others. A quick examination reveals that this is definitely NOT an option. He must be at least 6 storeys up. With no rope or ladder, Steve checks the slippery, sheer, and shiny material that adorns the tower room. There is no way this could be used to fashion a rope... He tries anyway. There is now a pile of fabric resting at the base of the tower.

He has spent most of the day searching for an exit, and wasted hours trying to create the rope that now festoons the earth below. As the sky grows darker, cold air seeps in through the bare windows. Steve curses his luck as the temperature drops. Why did he wear only boxers and tee to bed? With the curtains and blankets lying discarded outside, the only thing standing between him and hypothermia is a small fire burning dully in the hearth.

Chests and 'robes reveal flouncy, impractical dresses of the flimsiest materials. He holds up a dress that appears sturdier than the others. It looks like it might just fit Kassie.

"Needs must, or whatever."

Steve wraps it around his shoulders like a shawl. Surprisingly it seems to be larger than he'd originally thought, the excess material bunching in his hands. He slips it over his head and pulls it into place. A little snug, but the dress fits. He catches his reflection in the glass of the dark window, and smooths out creases in the long skirt. His hand stills as he realises what he's doing,

"Dammit Steve, keep it together!"

With a small sigh he curls up on the small rug in front of the fire, and stares into the flames.

Tomorrow he will get out of here. Tomorrow he'll figure out what's going on. Tomorrow...

He falls asleep praying he'll wake in his own bed. Even asleep he murmurs the same words he does every night. His own personal prayer of hope,

"Goodnight Darlin'."