Unhinged

by A. G. Howard

  Tracing the veins on the back of my IV-pierced hand, Mom tilts her head. “About what?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  A grimace tightens her lilac pink lips. She flips my hand over and studies my scars. I asked her a while back why she didn’t heal my palms when I was that five-year-old child. She said she was too shocked at causing the cuts to think straight.

  “He wanted us to be alone,” I continue, “to give me something. A necklace.” I touch my neck, but it’s gone. Frantic, my eyes dart around the room.

  “It’s okay, Allie,” she says. “Your necklaces are safe. Both of them.” There’s a tremor in her voice. I’m not sure if it’s triggered by my scars or the necklace. She prefers not to be reminded of the madness the ruby-jeweled key unlocks. But she knows better than to take it away after the fight we had over the jade caterpillar chess piece she hid from me a few months ago.

  “We went to the old part of town,” I say, determined to prove Jeb’s noble intentions, “because he knows how much I like the rundown theater. It started raining, so we ended up at the drainage pipe for cover.”

  “So there wasn’t a convenience store or someplace public you could’ve gone to stay dry?” she asks in a mocking tone. “Guys don’t drag girls into storm drains for anything respectable.”

  Frowning, I release her hand and tuck mine under my blanket. Hot pain races from the IV to my wrist. “He wanted privacy, but not for what you’re thinking.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He put you in danger. And he’ll be doing it again if you go with him to London.”

  I grind my teeth. “Wait … what? So you’re going to start giving us a hard time now? Of course Dad wants me to have a ring on my finger before I move in with someone. I’m his little girl. But you always told me not to rush into marriage, to feel out my life first. Have you changed your mind?”

  “That’s not what this is about.” She hands me the paper cup and stands, walking over to the flowers on the sill. She strokes the coral-tinged petals of a stargazer lily. Earlier, pink light streamed from between the blinds; now twilight has taken its place, coloring her hair the same purple hue of her dress. “Do you hear them, Allie?”

  I nearly cough up my sip of melted ice. “The flowers?”

  She nods.

  All I hear are the lilies purring in response to her attention. “They aren’t talking …”

  “Not now, but they were while you slept. The bugs, too. I don’t like what they’ve been saying.”

  I wait for her to elaborate. Mom and I have noticed that we sometimes hear different things. It’s as if the plants and insects can individualize their messages, choose to talk to us separately depending on what they have to share.

  “They’ve warned me that the one closest to you will betray you in the worst possible way.”

  “And you think that’s Jeb?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Who else could it mean, if not Jebediah? Who else do you spend all your waking hours either talking to, thinking about, or hanging out with?”

  My waking hours? No one besides Jeb.

  But my sleeping hours …

  I shut my eyes. Of course it’s Morpheus. He’s already betrayed me, by trying to encroach on my life in the human realm. By trying to force me to go back to Wonderland to fight a battle I’m incapable of winning.

  Dread nests inside the back of my skull, making my head throb.

  “Jebediah was with you last year when you went down the rabbit hole,” Mom says from beside the window. The air conditioner comes on, ruffling the lilies and carrying their sweet scent over to me. “A part of Wonderland might have infected him. Maybe it’s been dormant … waiting. Waiting to find a way to you.”

  I huff. “Technically, he was never there. That’s not logical.”

  Mom turns, her skirt rustling as she faces me. “There’s no logic to that place. You know that, Allie. No one gets out of Wonderland without some kind of stain. Being there … it changes a person. Especially if they’re fully human. Has he ever mentioned having strange dreams?”

  I shake my head. “Mom, you’re making this so much more complicated than it has to be.”

  “No. You’re the one complicating things. Why don’t you stay in the States? There are some wonderful art colleges in New York. Let Jebediah go to London without you. You’ll both be safe then.”

  I reach over to set the cup back on the nightstand. “Let him? I don’t rule him. It was his choice to wait until we could go together.”

  Her hands clench the sill behind her. “If you want a normal life, you’re going to have to break all ties with the entire experience and everything that played a part in it.” By the hard set to her chin, I know she’s not going to back down.

  I don’t even try to contain my outburst, even though I know it will kill my throat. “He didn’t choose to be there! It’s not fair for you to hate Jeb!”

  I catch movement in my peripheral vision and jerk my head to find Jeb standing at the open door. We didn’t hear him turn the knob, but by the wounded expression on his face, he obviously heard my hoarse shout.

  The question is, what else did he hear?

  My dad appears in the doorway behind Jeb. Even though he’s an inch shorter than my boyfriend, it’s Jeb who looks small and vulnerable lingering at the threshold, as if unsure whether he’s welcome to come in.

  Mom glances down at her polka dots. Someone coughs in one of the rooms across the hall and a nurse’s voice carries over the intercom, the only reprieves from our awkward silence.

  “Ali-bear,” Dad says to Mom, taking charge of the situation, “I think it’s time I show you off in that dress. How about we get some dinner?” He squeezes Jeb’s shoulder, then steps around him, patting my ankle on the way over to the window.

  Something has definitely changed between Jeb and Dad. They’re pals again, just the way they used to be.

  “Let’s give these two some privacy,” Dad says. My mom starts to protest, but the look he gives her makes her force a smile and take his hand. He kisses her wrist.

  She lays her phone next to the paper cup on the nightstand. “If you need us, call your dad’s cell,” she says without looking at Jeb or me. “Visiting hours are over at eight, Jebediah.”

  Jeb steps inside to let them out. Dad slaps his back encouragingly before closing the door.

  Hands in his pockets, Jeb stares at me, dark green eyes full of pain.

  “I’m sorry …” I struggle to piece together an apology. If he heard what my mom said about Wonderland, there will be questions to answer. Impossible questions.

  He shakes his head. “You aren’t the one who should be sorry.” He doesn’t break my gaze as he strides toward me. Dropping into the chair Mom used earlier, he scoops up my hand, laces our fingers, then presses my knuckles to his warm, soft lips. “I’m sorry. I promised to always put you first, then I walked away for a stupid phone call and nearly got you killed.” His mouth tenses, a press of firm muscle against my hand.

  “Oh, Jeb. No.” I stroke his face, smooth as silk. He shaved, and considering he’s dressed up more than usual—gray khakis and a black short-sleeved Henley—I get the impression he’s trying to polish his way into Mom’s good graces. The only tribute to his usual grunge rocker clothes are his combat boots.

  Yeah, he cleans up nice. Too bad his appearance is the least of Mom’s concerns.

  My finger traces his chin, and he watches me while I touch him. I pause at the brass labret under his lip. It’s about the size of a ladybug, but if you look close, it’s shaped like a brass knuckle. I gave it to him a few months ago for his birthday—teasing him that he needed some gangsta hardware to make him look tough.

  Even though right now he looks like a little boy, he’s always been tough for me. He beat up a guy once just for calling me the Mad Hatter’s love slave. He was my rock every time I felt the absence of my mom. And when he followed me into Wonderland—leaping into a mirror without a second thought—he nearly gave up everything to sav
e my life. I really wish he could remember that sacrifice, so he’d stop beating himself up.

  “You don’t get to be sorry, either,” I say. “Dad said you rescued me. So I owe you a thank-you. Now c’mere.” Snagging his shirt collar, I pull him close and press my mouth to his.

  His long lashes shut, and his free hand cups the back of my neck, fingers weaving through my hair. His closed-mouth kiss is so gentle, it’s almost painful, as if he fears I’ll break.

  He draws back and rests his forehead against mine so the tips of our noses touch. “I’ve never been so scared, Al. Never in my life. Not even when my dad …”

  His explanation stalls, but he doesn’t have to finish. I know what he lived through. You don’t share a duplex with someone and not bear witness to their pain. Unless you choose to ignore it.

  “What happened in the storm drain?” I ask while holding his hand. “I can’t remember anything after the water came.”

  He looks down at his boots. “When the strand of lights tangled around you, they caught one of my ankles, too, tying us together. I backstroked until I got into the shallower water outside the tunnel, then I reeled you in. But you were …” He winces, face paling. “You were so blue. And you wouldn’t wake up. Wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t breathe.” His voice catches as he glances at our hands, still entwined. “I tried to give you CPR, but it wasn’t working. I’ve never been so scared.”

  He keeps repeating that, but he has been. There was another time I almost drowned … when he told me never to scare him like that again. Another time and another place.

  “I keep seeing it, over and over,” he mumbles. “It’s like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.”

  A dream.

  “Wait,” I say. “I’m confused. You never lost me in the water? I didn’t go away somewhere and then drift back to you?”

  “You were never out of my sight.” He bites down, causing a spasm in his jaw. “Why did I make you pick up the stuff? If I hadn’t left you there, you wouldn’t have gotten tangled up.” He curses.

  “Jeb, stop it. You didn’t make me do anything.”

  He studies my face intently, as if sorting through a mental checklist that every feature is still intact. “You must’ve hit your head when the water first knocked you down. I could see your clothes filling with air bubbles, ballooning around you.” His Adam’s apple swells on a swallow. “But your body kept sinking … I wasn’t letting you go.” His gaze intensifies on mine. “You know that, right? I would never let go of you.”

  “I know.” I nuzzle his palm.

  So what happened with Morpheus was a dream after all. Of course it was. He doesn’t have the ability to move the rabbit hole. No one does. I didn’t use my key to open it. I was floating unconscious in the water. I didn’t visit Wonderland, other than in my mind.

  Which means what I saw wasn’t real. Which means things aren’t as bad as he made them out to be.

  And best of all, he’s not here in my world like he said he was.

  For once, I’m glad he was just playing me. I don’t have to feel guilty about Wonderland, because everything was a lie.

  Is your artwork lying? Morpheus’s question buoys to the surface of my mind. My mosaics—are those lies, too? Is he behind them somehow?

  I hear the doorknob turning. Jeb must, too, because he sinks back into the chair.

  A nurse comes in, an attractive younger woman with auburn hair and jewel-tipped glasses. Instead of scrubs, she’s wearing a white nurse dress, like one of those Halloween costumes—although not as short and formfitting. It’s the first time I’ve seen an outfit like that in real life. If not for the American flag pin on her lapel, she could be every guy’s librarian and nurse fantasy rolled into one. She writes her name on the dry erase board and introduces herself in a soothing voice.

  Jeb and I meet gazes and I smirk.

  “Sponge bath?” he mouths in my direction, waggling his eyebrows. I roll my eyes and try not to burst out laughing. His teasing is a good sign. It means he’s trying to forgive himself.

  Nurse Terri comes to my bedside. Her eyes are gray behind the glare of her glasses. There’s a sadness there that makes me want to do anything to cheer her up. Within minutes, I’m standing for the first time. The floor chills my bare feet. Every muscle in my body aches from my fight to swim against the flood. My legs tremble, and I hold the back of my gown, embarrassed about the tubes running in and out of me. Jeb winks, then goes into the hall to look for a courtesy phone.

  After he’s gone, I use the bathroom, then brave a glance in the mirror. A part of me fears Morpheus will be behind me in the reflection. When he’s not there, I’m relieved, until I see the red streak that stands out like flame from the rest of my platinum blond hair—the one reminder of Wonderland’s hold on my life that Mom can’t ignore. We tried bleaching it, but it won’t fade. We tried cutting it, but it always grows back the same vivid hue. She’s basically accepted it.

  But she would never be able to accept my emotional connection to that place. To accept that, even now, I sometimes miss the chaotic netherling world. If I told her, it would make her crazy with worry.

  Fresh guilt simmers inside my chest. Morpheus may have tried to fool me with a fake crumbling Wonderland, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something very wrong going on. I can’t just turn my back on that world; I can’t let it fade to decay and ruin under Queen Red’s thumb. Yet I can’t abandon the people I love here, either. I don’t know how to follow one side of me without leaving the other one behind.

  I splash my face with cold water.

  Get better, get out of the hospital, and find out the truth. Then I can decide what to do about everything.

  Once I’m back in my bed, Nurse Terri returns to offer a handful of herbal cough drops. I pop one in my mouth without hesitation, just to see her smile. The vanilla and cherry sweetness soothes my throat.

  She draws some blood for tests. I hold my breath, worried that my essence will come alive like when I’m making my mosaics. Once three plastic vials are filled and capped without incident, I breathe easy again, and Nurse Terri promises to return with broth and crackers.

  While I’m waiting for Jeb to get back, the wind picks up outside and whines through the glass panes—a sound I’m used to here in Texas, yet which leaves me uneasy tonight. I stare at the IV in my hand, watching a thin red strip of blood back up into the clear plastic tube. It flutters like a kite string. I’m about to push the nurse’s button so I can ask when the needle’s coming out, when Jeb steps inside.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” He closes the door.

  Once he’s seated, he laces a hand with mine and props his elbow next to my pillow. His free fingers play with my hair where it spreads across the mattress. A spark of pleasure races through my achy body. I’m enjoying being the recipient of his undivided attention so much, I hesitate asking my next question, but I need to know.

  “What happened with your interview?”

  “We rescheduled,” he answers.

  “But the two-page spread, that was a big deal.”

  Jeb shrugs, though his forced nonchalance is transparent.

  I bite my lip, searching for a subject change. Something positive. “You and Dad. You’re on his good side again.”

  Jeb winces. “Yeah, but now your mom hates me more than ever.”

  I study the window behind him. “You know how overprotective she is.”

  “It’s not helping, you lying for me. I heard what you said …”

  I frown. “What did you hear?”

  “That you covered for me. Told her I didn’t ‘choose to be there.’ You and I both know I did choose to be at the storm drain. I took you there without even considering all the rain or what could happen.”

  I squeeze his hand, partly out of frustration and partly out of relief. “That’s not why she’s mad.”

  “Why, then?”

  I glance at the stuffed animals on my window ledge: a bear, a rather large c
lown with a boxy-checked hat that covers the top of his head, and a goat eating a tin can with Get Well on the label. The clown looks familiar in a sinister sort of way, but I decide it must be the lighting. Shadows drape across all the toys, making them appear to have missing eyes or limbs. It reminds me so much of Wonderland’s cemetery that my stomach flips.

  “Al.” Jeb nudges me. “Are you going to tell me why you guys were yelling when I came in?”

  “She just wants me to concentrate on my career, to not get sidetracked. She feels like she lost her shot at being a photographer after being committed. It’s not you specifically. It’s about anything she perceives as a distraction.” I fidget under my covers. A lie shouldn’t be so easy to spin.

  Jeb nods. “I’m not a distraction. I’m helping. I want you to succeed just as much as she does.”

  “I know. She just doesn’t see it that way.”

  “After my meeting with Ivy Raven tonight, I should have all the money we’ll need to get started in London. That will prove how much I want to help.”

  My fingers jerk in his. So that’s why he shaved and dressed up. To make a good impression on his new heiress client. My mom’s warning of betrayal surfaces in my mind, but I push it down. I know I can trust Jeb. Still, I can’t seem to control what comes out of my mouth next.

  “You’re going to leave me for work on the first night I’m awake?” I cringe at the neediness in my voice.

  Jeb wraps my hair around his fingers. “Your mom made it clear I should be gone before she gets back. Ivy’s in town, so I’m going to meet her and let her choose a painting. She’s not in the country very often. We have to take advantage while she’s here.”

  “But it’s a holiday. Isn’t the gallery closed? Is Mr. Piero meeting you there?”

  “He’s home with his family. He’s letting me use the showroom as a favor.”

  My lips tighten. I don’t like him going alone, though I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s my netherling side, because the emotion feels animalistic … feral. A dark and disorienting instinct that’s pecking away all of the trust we’ve forged over the past year.