by Tillie Cole
I wanted to run my hand over the bulge at his crotch.
I began to tingle between my legs again, and my face blazed as I recalled how touching myself there made me feel.
“Little Dolly,” Rabbit growled, and my eyes snapped to his. When I glanced down, the bulge in his pants increased in size. My eyes widened. Rabbit hissed, thrust his hands through his hair and stumbled backward.
He turned away, his hands fisted at his sides. He stopped at the wall and let his forehead drop to the brick. I heard his heavy breathing, heard him whisper “Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock” under his breath.
I didn’t move, glued to the spot. Rabbit stepped back and, without looking at me, stormed from the room.
I watched him go. My heart sank, until Rabbit came back with a box in his hands. He placed the box on the bed.
He paused, eyes closed, and sucked in deep breaths. Then his eyes opened and fixed straight on me. I couldn’t speak, wondering what was wrong, what was in the box . . .
“Presents . . . for you.” His voice broke on the last word, but he stepped aside and gestured with his hand for me to take a look.
I stared at him harder, and I saw whatever was bothering him filter away as he gazed upon me. I smiled when his shoulders relaxed and he gestured again to the box.
“More presents?” I asked, anticipation filling my bones. “But I already had my tea party, my gun and my blade!” I gave him a small smile. “You spoil me.”
“You deserve to be spoiled,” he said immediately.
Shaking my head, I said, “Silly Rabbit.”
I walked to the box, my heart beating fast as I opened the box. When I saw what was inside, I stumbled back, shock zipping through me like a bolt of electricity. I snapped my eyes to Rabbit. “My favorite things . . .” I whispered.
A sweet lightness bubbled inside me. It bubbled and bubbled until a giggle erupted from my mouth. I launched forward, opening the box completely. I reached inside and felt something cold . . . hard. I pulled, and a familiar face appeared.
“Alice!” I said, amazed. I studied my old china-faced doll.
“All that’s left is her head and a few strands of her hair. Her face is cracked, and I couldn’t find her body, but I thought you would like to see your old friend nonetheless.”
I held up Alice’s head by the few strands of yellow hair that remained. And I smiled. I smiled so wide I feared my face would crack. “I love her . . .” I whispered as I stared at my very favorite toy. “She may be broken and parts missing, but I love her all the same.”
Rabbit made a small sound. When I looked up, he seemed sad. It made me sad too. Keeping Alice’s hair gripped in my hand, her cracked head hanging by my side, I stepped toward Rabbit and looked into his silver eyes. “It’s okay, Rabbit. Alice may be damaged, but I love her all the same.” I smiled. “I’ll take good care of her from now on.”
Rabbit nodded, but I thought he still looked sad. “There’s something else in there,” he said, tilting his head toward the box.
I rushed to the box, Alice’s head in hand. I looked inside and— “No,” I exclaimed, my pulse kicking into a sprint. I laid Alice down on the bed, as gentle as can be, and lifted the next surprise from the box. When the pink plastic was in my hands, I felt so ridiculously happy.
“My boombox,” I said, staring at the loveheart stickers covering the speakers. “Rabbit . . .”
“Open it up,” he said. His arms were crossed over his chest as he observed me.
I pressed the eject button . . . and inside was a cassette. I pulled it out. “No-o-o,” I said quietly, slowly. I looked at Rabbit, who had moved in front of me. He slid his fingers along a strip of white that ran across the cassette. It had writing along the front.
“Dolly’s Mix Tape,” he said, his fingers tracing the letters. I couldn’t read them all.
“My mix tape?” Suddenly, I felt my heart get heavy. I closed my eyes. The image of a pretty woman with blond hair and a kind smile filled my mind. She had a cup in her hand, drinking tea—“Earl Grey,” she whispered. “Nothing else will do.”
Then we were dancing. Dancing, hand in hand, to the songs on this tape . . . dancing to one song in particular.
Opening my eyes, I scrambled to insert the tape and press play. That song . . . the one that had played in my head, my favorite song to dance to, emerged from the speakers.
“Rabbit,” I cooed as he stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. I moved past him and placed the boombox on the nightstand. Taking Alice by the hair, I held her tightly. In my other hand I gathered the side of my nightgown, and I let the music fill my ears. Closing my eyes, I began to twirl. My lips stretched into a smile and I sang the words. Releasing my nightgown, I put my hand in the air and opened my eyes. I held Alice out in front of me and spun her around by the sides of her face.
I looked up. Rabbit was watching me, eyes glittering. Like they always did when he watched me. Holding his stare, I dipped my shoulder in his direction, dancing for him. Rabbit always liked me dancing for him.
No one else. He once told me that I wasn’t allowed to dance for someone else, but I couldn’t remember who that was.
Only for him.
Dolly’s dance for Rabbit.
So I danced and danced until my legs grew tired. Song after song played, each one a favorite. When the tape clicked off, needing to be turned over, Rabbit got to his feet. He came to where I stood, my hair now almost dry and sticking to my face. “Enough for tonight, my little Dolly. Your small body is tired and needs to rest.” He stroked Alice’s cracked face. For a moment, I wished he had stroked mine. “It’s time for bed. We have a big week ahead of us. You must train to fight the bad men. It will be hard work.”
“But there’ll be time for dancing?” I asked, yawning wide. I cradled Alice to me as I followed Rabbit to bed. He pulled back the comforter and I climbed inside. He pulled the cover over me.
He lowered his face close to mine. “There’ll always be time for dancing, darlin’,” he assured, his voice quiet yet rough. “Always time for dancing.”
I smiled at his words and felt them warm my heart. “Goodnight,” he whispered, and then moved to the corner and sat on the floor. He rested his back against the hard wall and met my eyes.
I sat up, my brow creased in confusion. “You’re not sleeping in a bed?”
Rabbit shook his head. Angry that he was sleeping on the floor, I reached over to the other side of my bed and pulled back the comforter. I looked at Rabbit again. “Climb in.” Rabbit looked like he was about to say no. I rolled my eyes. “We always shared a bed when we were young. We’re best friends; we can do it again.” I waited for him to move. Eventually he did. I pulled the comforter over us and laid my head on the pillow. He did the same. His shoulders were stiff at first, but then he relaxed. “Silly Rabbit,” I whispered, hearing him exhale a long deep breath as I did.
My eyelids began to feel heavy as I thought of the week ahead. I couldn’t wait to get back to the basement and use my blade and gun. I wanted to be the best champion of Wonderland I could be. I thought of Rabbit as he’d watched me stab the pig and fire my bullets, such happiness in his silver eyes. I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to kill the bad men that made our world so unsafe.
Then I thought of Ellis, trapped behind that door in the darkness of Wonderland. And most of all, I wanted to destroy the bad men for her. I didn’t want her to cry anymore. I wanted her to be free and safe.
“I’ll win, Ellis,” I whispered as I fell asleep. “Me and Rabbit, we will set you free.”
Chapter 8
The Caterpillar
Rabbit
One week later . . .
The wind rushed through our hair as I watched her pointing the gun out of the corner of my eye. “Time for tea.” She aimed the gun at the windshield. “Time for tea,” she announced, in a different tone. She shook her head, exasperated.
“Darlin’?” I questioned. Her hands fell to her knees, the blue gun ly
ing on her lap.
Her bottom lip was pouting. It was painted bright pink, her favorite lipstick safe in her pocket. The wind ruffled her mass of blond curls, a black headband the only thing keeping it in any sort of place. She was wearing a clean blue dress, her black-and-white striped thigh-high socks and her polished ankle boots.
Beautiful.
“I haven’t decided what to say to the Caterpillar when we get to him. Can’t decide how to say what I want.” She looked up at me, and her shoulders slumped. Her finger ran over the engraving on her gun. “I want to say this, ‘Time for Tea,’ before I shoot him, because it’s on my gun and I think it sounds so good. Because I love tea.” Her face clouded over. “But only Earl Grey; nothing else will do.”
My chest tightened. She’d always said that when we were kids. And she would get real pissy if anyone around her tried to drink anything but Earl Grey, never mind if they tried to serve it to her. If they dared drink Darjeeling, she would completely lose her shit.
“Try them out on me,” I prompted, and her face brightened. Dolly shifted in her seat and pointed the gun at my face. I smirked.
“Time for tea,” she said. “Time for tea.” After she’d offered me five different ways of saying it, she asked, “Well?”
“Number one, darlin’. It’s perfect.”
“Yes!” she trilled, victorious, and faced forward in her seat again. “Time for tea,” she said, trying to look menacing. She didn’t do such a great job. She was too fucking beautiful for that. A corrupt angel . . . corrupted by me, agent of the devil himself.
The perfect pairing.
Dolly lowered her gun just as we passed the sign—Amarillo. The minute we hit the city limits, I felt the blood in my veins heat up and my flesh begin to twitch. The smell of hashish filled my nose even though there was none present. Just the thought of this fucker made me smell him, hear his grunt from behind me. I glanced across at Dolly, now brushing her doll-head’s raggedy hair, singing to herself. I wondered what the fat fucker did to her when I’d been gone. I could still hear his words echo through time from that night. I want them both together. I want to have them both at the same time.
Uncle Lester, the fat piece of shit who liked raping kids in pairs, gender not an issue. Well, the fucker was going to get his wish.
We’d been driving for a while to reach the Caterpillar’s hidden home. The Caterpillar, named from Wonderland because of his love of hashish—smoked from his treasured hookah.
Dolly had trained hard this past week. And she was a sight. Hit her mark with perfect aim, sliced her target with venom in her heart.
Killing perfection.
I’d never been so turned on as watching her fight. I wasn’t sure how I’d contain myself watching her make real kills.
Especially this pedophilic fucker, and any other cunts he had protecting him.
“How long now, Rabbit?” Dolly asked from the passenger seat. I saw our exit just ahead and drove onto the inconspicuous dirt road.
“No time at all.” I reached into my vest for my pocket watch. I ran my thumb over its face as we followed the road. When I saw the house in the distance, I pulled the Mustang into the cover of trees and killed the engine.
Dolly sat up in her seat, her eyes bright, her breathing fast. “Is this it, Rabbit?” She pointed at the terracotta roof up ahead. “Is this the home of the Caterpillar?”
“It is,” I confirmed through gritted teeth. I could feel the need to kill beginning to take its hold over me. I glanced at Dolly. She was looking at the house. Again, I thought of that fucker hurting her. I thought of how he hurt me.
And I really needed this fucker to die . . . in great pain.
I closed my eyes and visualized what I’d found out about “Uncle Lester” when I’d researched them all at Chapel’s home. “They’re all dispersed throughout Texas,” Chapel had said after receiving the intel from the private detective he’d hired. He wasn’t a normal PI, Chapel had informed me. But one that had worked for him for years. In not so . . . legal ways.
Uncle Lester had run to Amarillo after a kid they’d abused started to talk. The talk hit some ears that the “uncles” and Mr. Earnshaw had not wanted to reach. Some corrupt cop friend of theirs had buried the allegation as best he could. But they fled, separating, hiding away from those who might find out the truth and come looking . . .
Yet not one of the fuckers had stopped their fucked-up extracurricular activities. They had a shit-ton of money. They had many contacts with similar tastes. They could still do whatever and whoever the fuck they wanted.
Until I escaped the Water Tower and set in motion my plan to fuck with their idyllic lives. Me and my little Dolly. Blasts from their pasts they would never see coming.
Their worst nightmares made flesh.
“Are you ready, darlin’?” I asked. Dolly nodded her head, clutching her blue gun tightly.
I got out of the car and took my cane from the trunk. I straightened my cravat, rolled my shirt sleeves down my arms and put my suit jacket on. I fastened the buttons and turned to see Dolly watching me.
“So handsome.” I fought back a growl at those words coming from her lips. As she walked toward me, I couldn’t help but admire what she was wearing.
Perfection . . . until I saw those scars on her arms. The ones that she had given herself, in her deepest despair. Because of those assholes.
Because of the asshole inside this fucking terracotta-roofed house.
“Get your blade, darlin’,” I said and stepped back from the trunk. Dolly pulled it from her waist belt. She gripped the handle and met my eyes.
“I’m ready,” she declared and nodded for emphasis. She was small, but in that moment she was a fucking warrior. The champion of Wonderland.
“Stay by my side,” I said as we fell into step. I walked us through the trees. The recon on the Caterpillar showed that he had hired help. Bodyguards to protect him from anyone who might want to seek revenge for being fucked as a kid.
I welcomed bringing death to him. To all of them. I didn’t care who I killed. I never cared.
As we walked through the high grass, Dolly hummed under her breath. It was her favorite song. And she hummed it like she had no cares in the world. I looked down at her. She looked up.
Then she fucking smiled.
Her bright pink lips standing out against her pale skin and blue eyes. My Alice in Wonderland about to start her adventure. I held out my arm, stopping her in her tracks when we reached the edge of the line of trees.
The house was silent.
I pointed to the front door. “We walk right through.” I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline at the thought of taking lives.
“Right through the door,” Dolly repeated, nodding her agreement. I almost smirked at the look that took over her expression—total hardass determination.
I sucked in a deep breath and straightened. Looking down at Dolly, I took my watch from my pocket, raised it to my ear and announced, “Tick tock.”
Her eyes shone. She lifted her gun and stroked the engraved barrel. “Time for tea.”
My dick hardened, and the need to kill pounded even harder through me. The three always turned me on: blood, and death, and Dolly.
And better yet . . . Killer Dolly.
Breaking from the cover of the grass and trees, we walked toward the front door, weapons in hand. I scoured the area, waiting for the first guard to make his appearance. None came as we reached the door. I silently tried the knob. The door was locked. I felt Dolly’s eyes on mine, waiting for instruction on what to do next. I stepped back and charged at the door, kicking at the lock. The door flew open. I recovered quickly, ready to storm in when Dolly stood in my path. She looked at me over her shoulder and said, “Ladies first.”
Fuck, this girl was everything.
Dolly rushed forward, blade at her side and her gun held out in her right hand. I followed close behind, ready to defend her against anyone who came to confront us. We had traveled halfwa
y down the hallway when I heard the sound of floorboards creaking. A guard dressed all in black came running around the corner. I lifted my cane, unsheathing the blade from the gun, and aimed to shoot. But before I could, Dolly charged forward, heels clacking on the wooden floor, gun held high. My breath locked in my throat as the guard raised his gun, but before he could even get his finger on the trigger, Dolly shrilled, “Time for tea!” and sent a bullet roaring into his chest.
The guard fell back, dropping to the floor. Blood poured out and his eyes ceased blinking.
Dead.
One down.
Dolly stopped, looking over the corpse. A gasp fell from her lips and her head whipped to me. Her chest was heaving, her breathing fast. “I did it!” A single laugh. “Rabbit! I killed one! I killed one of the bad men!”
“Sure did, darlin’.”
Her back straightened with pride. Then her eyes darkened, the pupils dilating. “I want more,” she demanded and looked around. “I want more blood.” She took off at a sprint; I followed in her wake. Dolly took to the staircase. Seconds later, another guard ran down the stairs, shooting first. His bullet hit behind Dolly, chipping plaster from the stairwell’s red-painted wall. Dolly fired back, again screaming “Time for tea!”. Her bullet sliced through the guard’s leg. But I saw him lift his gun . . . aiming at her head. I pulled my rabbit’s-head trigger before he even had a chance to see me coming up behind her. My bullet tunneled straight through his forehead, ending him.
His body flopped over the stairs. Dolly ran to his limp corpse and whirled to face me. Her full hands hit her hips, and her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Rabbit!” she admonished. “I wanted to kill him!”
I fought a smile. “My apologies, darlin’.” She huffed out a breath as I stopped before her. “You can have the next one. I promise.”
Dolly kicked the body, but eventually dropped her arms and looked up at me with a pissed-off glare. “Fine.” She stepped closer still. A spatter of blood had stained the collar of her dress. I’d never been so turned on in my whole fucking life. She pressed the tip of her blade against my chest. “And I want the Caterpillar too.”
