Alice and the Rabbit - A Shards of Heaven Story
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return. “I will apologize for this... anomaly. Perhaps when we meet again we can discuss it more fully. Know at least that all things happen for a purpose, and I know you will find purpose within even this.” Alice wondered what that was supposed to mean, not that she was able to ask, the woman continuing to speak. “Now close your eyes and relax. Take care and do not forget those you have well met.”
Alice took a moment to comply, still curious about all the woman had to say. If there was a purpose in this little delusion then it was going to take quite some therapy to find out exactly what that might have been. The wedding, no doubt, had a lot to do with it, and Alice's doubts about whether Brian really was the man she had thought he was. She had a feeling, deep down, that the wolf within her was all to right, and that she was likely about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
Something for later. First Alice knew she had to wake up; claw herself back to reality. She wondered if this little ritual with the redhead was really going to help bring her out of it all, wondered if she had any other options. In time she did as directed, her eyes closed, and indeed it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from her soul. She was free, her own person, able to choose as she wished...
The noise that then rose in intensity was very familiar, bombarding the senses.
There was traffic and voice and distant sirens. Alice opened her eyes and found she was surrounded by a bustling city, a busy thoroughfare choked with vehicles belching toxic fumes only a few paces from the pavement she stood upon. There were people like herself brushing past, ignoring her as they should, busy in their own world with their own goals.
Alice knew it was her reality; was sure of that. At least as sure as she could be. It was unfortunately not a park, and the skyline, although familiar, was clearly not Toronto. She was in Chicago, she was even more sure of that. She thought to blame a certain wolf for her current predicament, but that would mean she was slightly more insane than she currently wished to be.
She was distracted then by deep throaty barking off to her left, a large well coated dog standing at the entrance to a narrow and apparently deserted alley. It was at least not wearing any clothes, Alice noted, not that that was something she usually looked for in a dog. It was also an Afghan, and the thought of that left more of a chill than she cared to think about. It barked again, then began walking into the alley, pausing a moment later to look back toward her.
It was as if it wanted Alice to follow, she was sure of that, but she also knew she had to be crazy to even consider such a thing. She followed anyway, deeper and deeper within, avoiding the scattered trash and ignoring the failing light. In time she knew she was being followed, a large dark figure that was clearly a man. Ahead she could see two others and Alice felt the fear rise within, knowing she should never have dared come into such a place.
The man behind was dark skinned and grim, ahead she could see the Jamaican, his hair hanging in untidy dreadlocks, and another was somehow Irish, although she had no idea how she came to that conclusion. There was probably a joke in there somewhere, but somehow it just wasn't quite the time for jokes. The Afghan sat near the the Jamaican and barked yet again, the man giving a faint smile and nodding toward Alice. “Step into my office, young miss,” he said, his accent thick.
The Irishman brushed off a trash-can and offered it as a seat. Alice had a feeling she couldn't refuse, gritting her teeth. “I don't want any trouble,” she struggled to say. “I can give you money...” Alice then panicked as the Irishman grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the seat she had been provided.
“Trouble is who we are,” the Jamaican then laughed, the Irishman standing back against the wall while the darker figure kept his distance further along the alley, a length of bright steel chain draped over his shoulder. The Afghan was still seated, its eye fixed on Alice, an odd smile upon its lips.
“Now young miss,” the Jamaican continued. “Tell us all about this... Brian.”
.o0o.
About the Author:
Amos T. Fairchild is a farmer, writer, dog collector and destroyer of worlds too numerous to mention who is currently based in blissful and often cyclone ravaged northern Queensland, Australia. Born in April 1962 and author of several novels and short stories, he is currently documenting significant events in a number of parallel dimensions over a period of some seventy-three million standard years and releasing the details in an ebook format of your choice.