AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“H-Hatter’s hou…” his old man’s rasp grows quieter. The roaring of blood in my ears, however, is louder than ever.
“Mr. Budgerigar! Where is Hatter’s house?! Please, I need to know,” I beg. He’s still in my hand, the cold fleeting his feathery body. Placing a finger on his chest, I tap lightly to preform CPR and restart that fluttering little heart. Gasping, a bitter cough comes from his throat.
“House…wherever you need,” he manages, his beady eyes drawing closed and head falling aside. No. I shake him but it’s no use. He’s gone. In my grip, the budgie’s carcass grows cold and hard, draining of all color. Stroking my thumb over his wing, he begins to expand before my very eyes.
Bang. Feathers explode amidst a yellow powder that covers me, not a single bone or innard in sight. Spitting the powder from my mouth, I dust the remains of my brief, yet old friend from my body. It’s on my cleavage and everything - fucking gross. Remembering myself, I rush to stand, the sting of lacerations no longer present. In fact, everywhere the powder touched, nothing but smooth skin is present and I gasp in shock.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” a leisurely tone comes, Cash strolling towards me with his smirk back in place. The snowy landscape at his back is still, no trace of murderous flowers against the frosted jungle.
“Cash! You managed to lose them,” I run into his arms. If there was ever a time I needed a damn hug, this is it. And not just because of everything that just happened. The sting of his brother’s rejection is still the ache that remains. The one that cuts the deepest.
“Turns out they’re not a fan of the cold,” Cash tugs me closer. His face buries in my neck, our bodies molding into each other’s like a jigsaw pieces.
Since the day he arrived at the institution, Cash’s loyalty to me hasn’t wavered. He hasn’t lied or given selected truths. He doesn’t deny me the base attraction we’re both enslaved to. Cash is real, and in my lifetime, that simple attribute has been the hardest to come by. He gives without question, provides without reason. I’m indebted to the realness he’s offered. Even if I lose him after it, returning his Queen is the least I could do. Speaking of which -
“Cell.”
“What?” Cash pulls away just enough to frown at me. The expression doesn’t suit him. I smile, bopping him on the nose.
“You said cell. Not prison or dungeon or cave. The playing card is the key to free Lilianna from hercell. Living organisms, photosynthesis, are you catching on yet?” The blank look on his face I’ve seen too many times in the mirror is comical to me now. I link our fingers, guiding Cash back towards the meadow. The playing card wasn’t a decoy – it was the key to getting rid of the daisies. Entering the tree arena, my blood patters the trail back to the yellow dandelion peering up at us.
“Your majesty,” I curtesy before bending to pick her. I’m definitely peeing the bed tonight, but Cash’s expression of awe is worth it. Just before my fingers pinch her stem, he jolts me aside.
“Wait!” Cash warns, holding his hands up. “One has to find the key, the other must release the queen. That’s the deal.” I nod on an inhale. Good catch. Green eyes on me, Cash plucks the dandelion and stands, holding it carefully in his hands. “Woah. You did it, Malice. You’ve saved us all.” My fingers brush his, my chest expanding. No one has ever looked at me the way Cash is right now. Like a savior, a hero. Like his heart’s truest desire.
“Take her to the river. Watering a flower helps it to grow,” I tell him, remaining behind as he walks away on wooden legs. Unlike the twin who strode from me, Cash looks back, a dimple-studded smile on his handsome face. My heart flutters. After the trials we’ve faced, the bonds we’ve sacrificed, I did something right. Running my palm over the back of my shoulder, I rub the residue of yellow powder over an unhealed nick in my skin. Now, about Hatter’s house. ‘Wherever I need’ the budgie said. Well, I really need it-
Stepping forward, my face slams into brick. Invisible from view, my hands trace a windowsill, across a trellis free from vines to the front door I don’t need to see to know. I grip the elongated handle and twist, the interior of a house becoming visible amongst the meadow.
Well, I found all the missing hats from his workshop.
Headwear is piled on every surface, covering the living area, dining room and open plan kitchen. Organized by color, I grin and rush inside.
“Hatter! Hatter – I’m home!” I shout, running from one room to the next. My chest heaves, my smile stretched wide. After all of this, I won’t need the Queen’s aid after all. I beat the trial, gave Cash back what he’d lost and found my missing piece. We can all go on with our happy lives. “Hatter! Where are you?” I call, racing up the stairs. His bedroom is empty, the bed a mess of rags and discarded material. The bathroom, study, and attic-converted art studio, all empty. Cobwebs are rife throughout each room, my heart squeezing for a whole new reason. He has to be here. It’s the only stone left unturned. The only place that makes sense.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, touching a hand to my forehead. Heat meets my palm, a cold sweat prickling at my skin. As I thought -I’m thinking in sense. I must be sick. Entering the side bedroom Hatter made my own, I drop onto my old bed. Dust shoots into the air, filling my lungs and I splutter. For the most part, everything is exactly as I left it on that fateful day. I hadn’t wanted to leave. I was chased out, locked out and forgotten about.
My vanity desk sits opposite, an oval mirror mounted on the fine craftsmanship. In a wooden toybox, the teddies Hatter made for me peek out. I reach for my favorite, a red bunny with its bones stitched on the outside. Large, hollow eyes stare back, tear drops of fabric running the length of its cheeks. Hatter knew concealing pain is a fool’s errand. There’s beauty to be found embracing our true selves. The good, the ugly, the crazy.
Cuddling bunny to my chest, I observe a few additions that weren’t in here last time. A large dollhouse, showing a perfect replica of Hatter’s house back when I knew it. Filled with color and warmth. A wooden Hatter at the dining table serving tea and cake. It was always teatime here. My abdomen twists, my throat burning for a sip of sweet caffeination. But without him, it won’t be the same. He’s the father I always wanted. The man I forged myself to make proud.
My own tears fall heavily, unhindered. Falling into bunny’s fur, I bury my face into the stuffed creature. All I have left of the love I once knew. Maybe this is my own stupid fault. Believing those I knew would last forever. Chasing fantasies that were never meant to leave my head. Movement blurs on the other side of my tears but I don’t want to see it. I don’t care for who has come to gloat in my pain. To convince me I’m the stupid little girl my therapist failed to fix. Wiping my face on bunny’s head, I peer across to the mirror, noting the movement is coming from within.
“Hatter,” I gasp, sliding across the space onto the short, wooden stool. He’s sitting across from me, his head lowered on the other side of the mirror. I outstretch a hand, only meeting the cool glass, all the while calling his name louder and louder. The walls behind him are littered with drawings. The White Rabbit, Cheshire Cat and Tweedle Boys playing with a girl in a blue dress.
I look over my shoulder at the same illustrations, remembering the day I started drawing them. Hatter brought me a slice of cake and I’d flinched, dropping the crayons and holding out the back of my hands for punishment. He’d merely burst into laughter and picked up the crayons, filling in the characters I’d yet to meet. But whereas the drawings behind me are discolored and aged, the Hatter’s are vibrant. His head lifts, a full toothy grin stealing the breath from my lungs.
“There we are,” he muses, holding a tiny wooden version of me in his fingerless gloved hands. His blue and green eyes are laser-focused, applying one last strand of yellow thread to the doll’s head with tweezers. Yet I can’t take my eyes off his smile. Joy bleeds from him, even through the mirror’s cold surface. “What do you think? She’ll approve, don’t you think?” he asks, twisting his head. A body lingers on the outskirts of my view, but I know the voice. The steely, graveled voice devoid of emotion.
“Somehow, after all this time, I don’t think she’ll care,” Tweed states, a dagger rounding the Hatter’s throat. “And you won’t be around to find out.” The Hatter stills, as do I. His differently colored eyes rise, locking with mine. Narrowing them slightly, a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth and he gives an indistinguishable nod. A message to the viewer of this apparent memory. Before I can grasp it, the dagger is whipped away and the handle is slammed into the Hatter’s temple. He collapses before guards in full black armor drag him from the stool.
A scream is torn from my throat, my fist pounding the glass as I shoot upright. Memory or not, I’ll climb through the mirror and rewrite history if that’s what it takes. A crunch sounds beneath my shoe, only distracting me long enough to see what I stood on. Needing a double-take, I bend beneath the desk, lifting the cracked version of myself. The paintwork was perfect, the craftsmanship some of Hatter’s best. Rising, I drop back onto the stool, staring at golden eyes amongst creamy peach skin that is a perfect match for mine. The mirror has fallen still, an emptiness peering back at me until a hand slides back into view.
“What are you doing?” a female voice out of view asks. I raise my head as a Tweedle sits on the opposite side of the glass. Blonde hair pushed back from his hard, emerald eyes. Straight nose, sharply chiseled jaw and upon his bare chest, the tattoo of a black spade.
“It’s all in the breadcrumbs, my dear,” he smirks. Those green eyes hold me hostage as he produces a tiny felt hat, complete with three feathers. “Our plan will take time to put in place. Can’t have the Alice losing faith while she oh-so-patiently waits.” I barely even twitch at the A-word, my body numb. Taking a gold pen in hand, a glittery spark ignites at the end and he proceeds to draw a line through the air. A mere slit, large enough to slot the felt hat through. Lifting his hand with a flourish, he writes letters in reverse, ones I remember all too well.
Find me.
