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He nodded and pressed the buzzer. “Thank you, Alice.”
His tone was anything but thankful. The timbre was more resigned with an undercurrent of something close to regret.
I silently stared back as he turned away from me, one hand gripping the edge of his chair so hard his knuckles were white. A pair of brutal hands jerked me upward and dragged my limp body back to the confines of my now padded room.
Chapter 3
Zachary
Patient:Alice Hardgrave
Age: Twenty-six
Sex: Female
Diagnosis: Dysmetropsia-(AiWS) Severe Alice in Wonderland Syndrome
Six weeks ago. . .
“Alice,do you know why you’re here?”
The pitter-patter of the raindrops held its own dreary rhythm as they hit the window in a consistent tapping that echoed lightly on the sill. The meager light that emanated was dim and drab, highlighting her current imperfections as if she stood on a stage for all to see, a spotlight of surreal and cruel scrutiny. Her dark blue eyes were distant while she spoke, consistently shifting about, unable to rest on any one object - unless they were on me.
Her voice was a mere whisper. “I need to go back.”
“Back where, Alice?” I pushed the rim of my glasses up the bridge of my nose, my eyes assessing her coolly but always with a hint of calculation. A wary hawk that fully intended to play with his prey before the attack. Best to be on the offensive from the start.
“Home.”
There was a visible shudder that swept through her slender frame as she spoke the single word. Whereverhomewas, it wasn’t a safe place. This, I could sense, but didn’t voice it aloud.
“Where is home, Alice?”
“Wonderland,” she breathed.
I nodded, jotting down a few more notes while I quietly assessed her features. She was thin, frail even, her pale complexion almost ghostly in the muted bluish light. Her raven hair, once shiny and curled as I thought of the image in her profile, now lay limp and lifeless down her back. A few strands dangled over her supple breasts in an effort to conceal their rounded form.
We sat across from each other. Alice was perched on a simple metal chair that was the only piece of furniture next to my own. Windows aligned the room, bars sealing us in from the world, from reality. From where I sat, the light highlighted her willowy silhouette. Something about the way she was on display seemed almost wrong, nearly intrusive.
Alice was a pretty thing, a broad forehead that sloped into a delicate curve that ran along the bridge of her upturned nose. Her high cheekbones outlined her heart-shaped face. Remnants of a healthy blush still stained the apples of her cheeks. My focus shifted to her plump lips, perfectly pink, enticingly pouty, an image that nearly squandered my thoughts.
Her posture spoke volumes and was more expressive than any dull words could ever be. Shoulders squared back, her thin back straight and rigid, and chest pushed out, forced her long and delicate neck to remain on display, almost as if she expected a wild and feral animal to rip it out. She seemed resigned to the fact that these were her last moments. Perhaps this proper and uncomfortable position had been ingrained in her and she knew no other way to sit. A decorum that eluded to a fine and expensive upbringing. She came from money, or at least money had groomed her. And she definitely belonged tosomeone, clear signs of domination were present, but not one that had been healthy in the least bit. No, this type of domination came with manipulation and brutal force.
My eyes traveled down the length of her body and I was left to wonder how every hill and valley, each delicate ridge of her muscles and bones were covered by that alabaster skin. She was dressed in gray sweatpants and a white tank top that concealed far more than they revealed. Her white bra strap had slipped down her shoulder and my fingers itched to return the material to its proper place, to touch the fine arc of her shoulder blade and skim downward to her elbow.
Long steel links secured her wrists, holding her chained to the metal chair. A confinement that was cruel but required, regardless of my assessment. My eyes trailed along the white bandages that wrapped around those same wrists and were visible beneath the silvery metal links. She tried to cut herself with the edge of her metal bed frame the night before, and unfortunately, my new fragile doll had to be restrained.
How did she wind up in Wonderland? Such an innocent girl with such a perfectly fractured soul. I could say she was lost but Alice wasn’t lost in the physical sense. Her memories were locked up tight and it would take weeks if not months to push through her many barriers, if I wanted to. But that was not what I was being paid to do.
Realizing there was no other option but to plunge forward, I asked the inevitable question. Sometimes being direct provided the most accurate, and at times, the most unpleasant responses.
“Why did you try to hurt yourself last night, Alice?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. “To feel.”
“Feel what?” I asked cautiously. My heart rate increased slightly as I kept my expression neutral. There was no judgment in my office, but I wanted answers.
“Pain.”
