Sick Fux

by Tillie Cole

  He couldn’t be touched either.

  Just like me.

  “It says ‘Time For Tea.’”

  My eyes snapped to the writing, then back to him. A laugh bubbled up my throat and sprang from my mouth. I laughed in pure excitement as he dropped the gun into my hand and I held it tightly. I reached for the knife he had also gifted me, holding my new weapons in my grip.

  “Time for tea!” I shouted, spinning around. “Time for tea, time for tea, time for tea!” I danced around Rabbit until I was breathless and my voice was hoarse from laughing.

  I stopped dead, then stepped back, raising both the gun and blade in the air, like I thought a champion would. Rabbit watched me with wide eyes and a heaving chest. I parted my feet and lifted my chin. I wanted to look strong.

  “This is our Wonderland, darlin’. And we cannot allow these bad men to live. Until all of them have been destroyed . . . Ellis won’t be safe.” He rolled his neck. “You don’t want that, do you, little Dolly?”

  “No.” I tightened my grip on the gun and the blade. Then, looking Rabbit square in the eyes, I said, “Train me, Rabbit. Train me to destroy the bad men who hurt my friend Ellis. Teach me to make blood drip down their faces, to their feet and to the floor . . .

  “Teach me to kill. Teach me to kill them all.”

  Chapter 7

  Dolly

  “This way.”

  I followed Rabbit as he stepped backward toward a wooden door. He turned the knob. A cold blast of air, even colder than before, muscled through and blanketed my skin. I shivered, but Rabbit didn’t react. He turned his head toward me. “Down we go,” he said and descended the stairs. The foot of his cane tapped on each step. I followed him down—following my Rabbit, my guide.

  When we reached the bottom step, my eyes widened. I gripped my knife and gun tighter. “Pigs?” I said as I looked across the freezing-cold room at a mass of dead pigs hanging upside down on strange hooks.

  “A pig’s flesh and skin are the closest to an actual human’s. We will train you here.” He shrugged, both hands on the top of his cane. “When you are ready, we move to the next part of our journey.”

  “The killing?”

  Rabbit nodded slowly. He leaned forward, his face close to mine. “The best part . . . the most fun you will ever have.”

  My heart raced with excitement. I looked around the room. When I turned back around, Rabbit was watching me. I looked down his body, at his clothes and cane. “Where are your weapons?”

  The corner of Rabbit’s mouth kicked up. In a flash, he had spun the cane in his hand. In a move almost too quick for my eyes to take in, he split the cane in two. The bottom half was in his left hand, the top—owning the rabbit head—in his right. Rabbit held both hands out in front of him and charged toward the nearest pigs. I only realized that the bottom of the cane had become a blade when he plunged it into the stomach of a pig to his left, severing it in two. Before I could say anything, a loud bang fired from the cane in his right hand. I watched as bullet after bullet, so many bullets, sliced through the pig on the right. Flesh splattered to the floor and onto the walls of the room.

  Rabbit turned, his black hair mussed from the show, and lifted his eyes to face me. “My weapons, darlin’,” he said and reattached the cane pieces. He swung the foot of the cane back to the floor and placed his hands over the rabbit head once more.

  I stared, lips parted. “I would never have known . . .” I whispered, trying to study the cane. I lifted my gaze to his. “I want to fight like that.” Something glittered in Rabbit’s silver eyes.

  He stepped aside, clearing a path to a space beside him. “Then by all means.” He nodded to the spot to his right. Ignoring the cold, I moved beside him, my heels clicking on the stone floor. I tipped my head back and looked at the pigs. They were hanging from long silver hooks.

  “This place belongs to my . . . friend.” He said the word as though it were a question. “Chapel. He has secret places like this all over the South.”

  “He uses these hooks for pigs?”

  Rabbit waved his hand dismissively. “No. Not pigs.”

  “Rabbit?” I asked. “How far into Wonderland are we right now?”

  “Just at the start, little Dolly. The bad men don’t know we’re coming. We’re safe.” I released a long breath. “Now . . .” Rabbit moved beside me. Just like before, my heart beat faster. I held my weapons tighter. “First the knife,” Rabbit instructed. “Raise your hand.” I did as he said. “Now stab it into a pig.” I drew my hand back and, rushing forward, sliced the blade through the stomach of the first pig. My knife slipped through like butter. “I did it, Rabbit! I did it!” I shouted excitedly.

  “Feel it,” he commanded.

  “What?”

  “Push the knife in and out. Feel what it’s like to cut through flesh.” I pushed and pulled on the knife, and the tip hit something hard. I rammed the knife in harder and harder, until something snapped. I whipped my head to Rabbit. “Your first bone.” He nodded. “Snapped successfully. Watch out for those when we get to our kills.”

  I nodded and pulled out the knife. I plunged it into the pig again. And again and again, until only scraps of the pig remained on the strange hook. Sweat fell from my brow. I brushed my hair back from my face with my forearm and turned. Rabbit was watching me, his pupils blown. Something about the way he was looking at me—intensely and . . . maybe proud?—brought strange feelings to my chest. “Was that good, Rabbit?” I gasped, as I caught my breath.

  Rabbit’s fingers tightened around the cane’s head. He shifted on his feet, bringing the cane closer to his body. Like he was hiding something. His skin was flushed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You liked that?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  I looked back at the massacred flesh on the floor and felt a spike in my pulse. “Yes.” I smiled.

  It was a big smile.

  Rabbit edged closer, never taking his eyes from me. He stopped right before me. His head tipped back and he hissed through his teeth, before lowering his gaze back to me. “Born to kill,” he announced in a low, graveled voice. “To kill by my side.” He lifted one of his hands from his cane. He tried to reach out for my face, but at the last minute he curled his fingers into a fist and pulled back his hand with a low snarl. “Thirsty for blood. Little Dolly. My champion of Wonderland.”

  “I want more,” I said, closing my eyes, imagining the feel of his fingers on my face. Imagining him praising me. Petting me. Telling me I was his good little Dolly. “Teach me more,” I begged.

  I opened my eyes. Rabbit reached up and loosened his black cravat, exposing more inked markings on his neck. Clocks and clocks and even more clocks. He threw the cravat into his back pocket, leaving his black shirt collar open, his waistcoat buttoned, still pristine.

  “Gun,” he ordered. I held it up. Rabbit looked along the pigs. “That one.” He pointed to one at the back and moved behind me. My eyes closed, his close presence holding me in its thrall. “Raise the gun.” I did as directed, my hands trembling a little. “Push away the fear,” he said, his lips a fraction of an inch from the shell of my ear. I focused on what he said and imagined Ellis in my head.

  Rabbit breathed in and out, warm air heating my face from the chill. His fingers touched the parts of the gun I wasn’t touching. “Safety.” He clicked off a white part on the top of the gun. “Trigger,” he said, ghosting over the blue latch where my finger rested. “Now squeeze.” I did as he said and jerked back as a loud bang echoed around the room. A small cry left my throat as I saw the bullet burrow through the pig.

  “Hit,” Rabbit said, directly into my ear. I froze, and then let out a giggle when I saw what I’d done.

  “Hit!” I rushed forward and looked at the bullet wound. Whipping back toward Rabbit, I held up my gun and sang, “Time for tea!” Rabbit nodded proudly, and a surge of something shot through my veins. Something exciting. Something . . . addictive . . .

  “Again.” I clacked m
y heels against the stone floor as I made my way back to Rabbit. He stepped back to give me space. I raised my weapons again. I slashed my blade into the flesh of one pig. I sent a shaky bullet into the other.

  “Again,” Rabbit said behind me. I didn’t even turn. I just struck and shot. Again and again, until my arms ached.

  Breathless and hot-skinned, I lowered my weapons, still needing to use them again. Needing to feel flesh and muscle submitting to my blade, and the piercing of skin, gristle and bone by my bullet, I turned to Rabbit, who had never stopped watching. “Together.”

  Rabbit’s nostrils flared, and I nodded to the empty spot beside me. His lips formed a dark smirk, and then he unsheathed the blade from his cane and lifted the head to make the gun. He moved beside me, looked down at me and said, “Tick tock.”

  Laughing, I struck. I shot. He stabbed. He fired.

  Side by side.

  Piling up the flesh.

  Over and over again, until all the ammunition was spent.

  When the echoes of the final bullet had rung out, both of us breathless yet energized, I turned my head to Rabbit. He was already watching me. Lifting my blade—now dripping in blood—I brought it in front of my face and studied the filigree steel. “I like this,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “The blade?” Rabbit prompted, voice husky.

  Smiling, I raised my eyebrows. “Using them.” A dash of crimson slid down the handle. “The sight of blood.” The drop splattered onto my dress. “Though the color clashes with my pretty dress.” I pouted, realizing that my dress was now ruined. My favorite dress ever.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” Rabbit assured me. “I got plenty more dresses for you. All that design. Your favorite.”

  “Silly Rabbit,” I whispered, feeling my chest burst with warmth.

  “Enough for tonight. We have days to practice.” He turned and gestured for me to climb the stairs. I kept my weapons in my hands. I never wanted to let them go.

  As I climbed the stairs, I stared down at my gun. “Time for tea,” I sang to myself on every new step. “Time for tea,” When we reached the top, I saw the sky outside had grown dark.

  Rabbit came up beside me. “Time for a bath and bed, little Dolly,” he said softly. I wanted to argue that I wasn’t tired, but I saw in his eyes that he meant it. I wanted to obey.

  “Okay.” I let him lead me back into the house and to the bedroom. The bed was large and covered in white lace. A white nightgown lay on the bed. Rabbit had disappeared to an adjoining room. I guessed it must be the bathroom by the sound of running water. I wandered around the room until I reached the closet. When I opened the door, I smiled in delight to see racks and racks of my favorite blue dress. My black-and-white socks were piled high in drawers, and lots of black headbands were laid out on a velvet-covered shelf. Finally, there were five pairs of my boots on the closet floor.

  “Have your bath, darlin’.” I peeked around the closet door to see Rabbit on the other side. I blinked up at him and momentarily lost my breath. His cheeks were flushed, and in the bedroom’s bright light I could see every part of his face.

  My Rabbit was very handsome.

  He inched closer until his chest pressed against the wooden door. Swallowing, I pressed against it from the other side. It was as if we touched. My breathing became heavier the more I pressed against the wood. Rabbit’s became heavier too. And he never broke my stare.

  Eventually, he said, “Go have your bath, darlin’. I got some surprises for you when you get out.”

  “Okay.” I forced myself to move away from the door. I took the nightgown off the bed on my way.

  “You can wash yourself, can’t you, darlin’?” Rabbit asked just before I reached the bathroom door. His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened.

  Shaking my head, I laughed lightly. “Silly Rabbit! Of course I can.”

  I couldn’t help but think that he looked disappointed.

  In the bathroom, I undressed and sank into the warm bubbly water. I tipped my head back and thought of Rabbit. Thought of his silver eyes watching me. Thought of his deep voice speaking to me. And thought of him fighting beside me, wielding his cane without even breaking a sweat. My thighs began to clench, and a deep pressure built so greatly between my legs that I slipped my hand in between them and over my private parts just to try and find some relief. I gasped as a burst of heat shot up my spine. I snapped my hand away and sat up, wondering what it was.

  But when I thought of Rabbit again—the way he watched me, the way he looked at me, the way he cared for me—that feeling came back. My cheeks blazed with heat. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the temperature of the bathwater or my thoughts of Rabbit.

  The feeling between my thighs wouldn’t go away.

  My eyes fluttered closed, and I slipped down the tub. My fingers walked down my stomach and settled back between my thighs. My fingertips ran over my private parts, and I moaned low in my throat when the ache lessened some. I kept going, thinking of Rabbit. Thinking of his inked skin—clocks. So many clocks . . . My lips parted and another moan slipped out when I pictured us fighting side by side. The way his eyes found mine as I had sliced my blade into the flesh of the pig. The way he stepped so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face when we had finished. Like he had wanted to touch me.

  My fingers worked faster between my thighs, and my back arched as the pressure there grew. My feet flicked the water out of the tub when a feeling so addictive flushed over every inch of my skin. “Rabbit . . .” I whispered, not wanting this feeling to end. I groaned low as something big began stirring in my stomach. Sounds fled my mouth as my fingers searched for something I couldn’t describe. And then my back arched, my head fell back and my mouth dropped as a wash of pure light engulfed my body. My breathing was stuttered. My skin flushed, and a long cry fell from my throat as I became nothing but sensation.

  I calmed as the crest of the wave peaked and I began to come down. My eyes fluttered open, and my legs flopped around the water with a splash. I drew in slow breaths and stared up at the ceiling.

  Shock and surprise ran through me. I swallowed hard. I lifted my hand and stared at my fingers, wondering what they had just made me feel. As I lowered my hand, I heard a creak outside of the bathroom. I washed quickly, then got out of the tub and ran a towel over my body and through my hair.

  I pulled the nightgown over me and brushed my long hair. I glanced in the mirror, then, pleased with how I looked, opened the door to the bedroom.

  And I paused, breath held in my throat, when I saw Rabbit on the floor, shirtless, repeatedly curling his body up from his torso. He must have heard me because he stopped, abdominals tensed, holding his body still, and met my gaze.

  I swallowed as I ran my eyes over his body. His muscles were tight. Not large, but not a single layer of fat marred them. And his skin—not an inch of bare flesh could be seen. Tattoos ran over his arms, his chest, his torso and his neck.

  I . . . liked them.

  Clock after clock after clock.

  Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

  Without saying a word, Rabbit got to his feet, covered in a light sheen of sweat. He was wearing dark sleep pants on his legs. As he stood, my eyes were drawn to his crotch. A large bulge lay underneath, obvious under the thin material. Rabbit moved his arm, and my eyes snapped to his. He was watching me, cheeks flushed and lips parted. His breathing seemed as unsteady as my own.

  But I didn’t understand what was happening.

  He turned abruptly, and a louder gasp fell from my lips at the sight of his back. My hand covered my mouth in shock, and Rabbit’s shoulders tightened. His neck stiffened, then he slowly looked over his shoulder at me.

  “Rabbit . . .” I murmured and dropped my hand from my mouth. My feet dragged me forward, my eyes once again focused on his back.

  The tattoo . . . the tattoo on his back, was . . .

  “Me,” I whispered as I stopped just a hairsbreadth from Rabbit’s back. M
y hand rose of its own accord, yet it did not touch his skin. It did not touch the familiar pair of blue eyes, the long blond hair I knew so well, nor the pink lips, coated in the lipstick that my lips were never seen without.

  “Rabbit.” I traced—from a distance of half an inch—every bit of my face . . . right down to the shoulders that wore a dress made of blue.

  That of Alice.

  That of me.

  Rabbit’s head turned away and fell forward, showing me only the ends of his black hair and the large pocket watch design that graced the back of his neck. “You were all I thought about,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I knew I had to come and get you. Find you, rescue you.”

  “Rescue me . . .” I echoed. “From the room of doors?”

  Rabbit tensed again and turned to face me. I had to tilt my head up to look at his impressive height. I inhaled his scent, the musky aroma filling my nose. The muscles in his chest twitched as I stared at his magnificent body. His cheeks flushed.

  “Yes,” he eventually replied. His hand started to rise, but it clenched into a fist and lowered back down to his side. “All I saw was your face . . . where I was being kept. All I saw were these blue eyes. This blond hair . . . those pink-painted lips.” I lifted my fingers to my lips and traced the flesh. “You were the prophecy. You were always meant to come to Wonderland and defeat the bad men, ending with the King of Hearts.”

  “You marked your skin with my image to remind you of your mission. To lead me through this challenge to defeat the king and his men,” I said knowingly.

  Rabbit stalled for a second, then nodded. “Exactly that.” His lip twitched. “And now I have found you. My little champion.”

  I smiled, liking the sound of that. “My guide,” I offered in return.

  We did not speak for many seconds. We just stared into one another’s eyes. Then my eyes drifted to his body, as though they were being pulled by an invisible force. I wanted to run my finger along his stomach. My gaze dipped lower.