Escaping Wonderland

by Tiffany Roberts

  “Not real, not real,” she rasped, squeezing her eyes tighter closed.

  “What isn’t real?” he asked in a voice that was nothing like the one he’d used before. This voice was deep and rich, oddly leisurely, with just a hint of a rumble beneath it.

  “You, this place,” she said, barely able to keep her voice from quivering with fear. “Everything. None of this is real. I-I’m supposed to be clearing out my father’s office…supposed to be—”

  The bed creaked again, and there was a whisper of something across fabric. A moment later, the flat of the knife—now dry—slid along her forearm from the inside of her elbow toward her wrist. Alice flinched, unable to hold back a whimper.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “I-It’s still not real.”

  “How is it not real if you can feel it?”

  “It’s a simulation. We’re in an asylum. None of this is real, they just want us to believe it is.”

  Why is he acting so different? Why does he sound so different?

  He took hold of her chin with his long, strong fingers and turned her face toward him. She swore she could feel the light press of claws against her skin. He tenderly stroked her cheek. His velvety touch was strangely familiar—but not from when he’d thrown her onto the bed and restrained her.

  “Open your eyes,” he coaxed. “They’re far too pretty to keep them hidden from me for so long.”

  For one terrifying, gut-wrenching instant, Alice envisioned him gouging her eyes out with that blade. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I didn’t really have any plans. Was there something specific you wanted done to you?”

  “Let me go. Please, just let me go.”

  The flat of the blade trailed in the opposite direction. “Are you going to open your eyes or not? It’s not helping me assess you as a rational person when you’re sitting here with them squeezed shut ranting about how reality isn’t real.”

  Steeling herself, Alice opened her eyes, and was completely caught off-guard by the face in front of hers.

  “It’s you,” she breathed. She hadn’t been insane, hadn’t been seeing things.

  She’d seen those eyes and that grin before—and not on the Hatter. This was the stranger who’d been in the crowd when she arrived here, the stranger with whom she’d briefly made eye contact. The stranger she’d been compelled to seek out afterward.

  Though his face was human-like, he undoubtedly wasn’t human. He was covered in short, suede-like fur that was dull gray on his face and jet black on his neck. His jaw-length black hair was sprinkled with strands of gray, hanging in tousled locks from beneath the brim of the Hatter’s top hat. Long, feline ears jutted from either side of his head, and his face was dominated by that wide, fanged grin. His intense eyes—intent upon her—were aglow in that vibrant teal. Despite his alien features, he was handsome.

  That attractiveness, however, didn’t take away from how unsettling he was.

  “What a silly thing to say,” he replied.

  Alice’s brows lowered. “W-What? What’s silly?”

  “Of course I’m me. Who else would I be? Are you not yourself?”

  “I…I thought you were the Hatter.” Her eyes flared as she stole a glance at the open doorway. “The Hatter! Where is he?”

  The stranger’s grin tilted to one side as he lifted the knife away from her and spun it between his long, dexterous fingers. He raised his other hand and tipped his hat forward, hiding his eyes behind the brim.

  Alice’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that the top of the hat was glistening with blood.

  “You don’t need to worry about him for now,” the stranger said. “Though, perhaps, you can take some satisfaction in knowing that he’s going to be late for his own party this evening.”

  “Who are you?”

  He arched a brow. “I thought we’ve already established that I am me. Really, are you paying any attention?”

  “You never…you never told me your name.”

  “Well that’s a little more complicated than simply asking who I am, isn’t it?” He leaned forward slightly. “What’s your name? I’m fairly certain it’s not Little Dolly.”

  “Alice. My name is Alice.”

  “Alice,” he said, putting more gravel into her name than she’d thought possible. Were his voice not quite so deep, she might’ve considered it a purr. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, and his brow furrowed as though in contemplation. Then he nodded. “It suits you. I approve.”

  Alice tightened her grip on the chains. “What should I call you?”

  “That depends on what you would like to call me.” He leaned back, propping himself up on one arm, and continued twirling that big knife with impossible speed and steadiness. “People call me all sorts of things. Shadow is what I usually go by. I’m not sure if that means anything to a woman who disbelieves reality, though.”

  Alice glanced down Shadow’s body. His clothing was as rich and old-fashioned as the Hatter’s had been, but it was even fancier. He wore a long, crimson velvet coat with black cuffs. A black button-down shirt with a high collar was beneath his satiny crimson vest, which was adorned with shimmery patterns that almost looked like plants and flowers. His long legs were clad in straight black pants, and his black leather boots looked freshly polished. He appeared as though he’d just stepped out of nineteenth century London. But none of that caught her attention nearly as much as the long, black-furred tail swishing lazily behind him.

  He suddenly tossed the knife aside, swung his legs off the bed, and lay on his belly with hands—which did indeed include dark claws—beneath his chin. “I like your clothes, too.” As though to prove it, he raked his eyes over her body. Slowly.

  A blush stained her cheeks. Sitting the way she was, with her heels against the headboard and knees bent, her skirt had fallen down to her lap, exposing her thighs above the striped stockings. And she felt his eyes on her. Alice’s body warmed beneath his gaze, and her skin tingled as though craving his touch; it was like the concoction’s effects weren’t fading at all.

  “Are you going to hurt me, Shadow?” she asked.

  “No. I rather like you. I’d hoped we might get to know one another better, Alice.” His eyes flicked toward the chains binding her to the headboard. “Seems you’ve nowhere better to be at the moment.”

  Alice shifted her wrists toward him. “Could you…free me?”

  Shadow pushed himself up on his arms and swung his legs up again, folding them beneath him. His tail fell on the bed beside him, its tip flicking back and forth with subdued excitement. The position, given his height and leanness, appeared almost comical—but the blood drying on his hat eliminated the humor from the situation. It reminded her that for all his carefree, strange ways, he was still dangerous.

  He settled his hands on his knees and said, “Absolutely.”

  “Do you know where the key is?”

  Suddenly, his grin eased into something subtler, something smoldering, and his hypnotic eyes were half-lidded. “I’ve found that such bindings can often make things more interesting. If it makes you feel better, I can take a turn in them afterward.”

  Alice’s breath hitched. Heat coalesced low in her belly, and her sex clenched in sudden arousal. Her reaction to him was so swift, so shocking, that she reared away from him. “No. No. I-I would prefer to be out of them. Now.”

  “If they aren’t real, how are they still holding you?” He leaned his face closer to her. “That must mean you want to be here, at least a little.”

  Alice stared into his eyes. “That’s not…that’s not how it works. They want us to feel that this is real, but it’s not.”

  “Oh, you’re the most delightful sort of mad, aren’t you?” Shadow nimbly leapt backward off the bed, landing lightly on his feet, and tipped the bloody hat. “Grant me but a moment, sweet Alice, and I will fetch the key for you.”

  Relief eased some of the tension from her limbs. “Thank you.”