“Where are we?”
They don’t answer me, but they don’t have to. The car door pulls open, and a large hand reaches inside to clasp around my bicep. I squeak and try to pull away, but the hand pulls me from the car quickly. I scream and grab a hold of the door, clutching it like my life depends on it.
“Momma! Daddy! Help me!”
But their betrayal hits me hard. I see it in their eyes, in the tears dripping from my mother’s, in the disappointment in my father’s. They’ve done this. They’ve sent me here.
Frantic, I fight against the hold, kicking out with all my might, a ferocious scream on my lips. Another hand reaches in and yanks me from the door, latching onto my other bicep, until I’m lifted in the air and carried in between two large men dressed in white.
“Stop! Stop! Let me go!” But no one listens. My parents slide from the car behind me and follow us inside. I stare at the word stamped onto a plaque in the bricks. “Davis Institute for the Insane.” Committed. My own parents are having me committed. I snarl in outrage as they carry me into the building, my legs swinging in an attempt to knock their hold loose. If I can just get away, I can run. I can run and never look back and wait for the moment White comes back for me.
“I’m telling the truth!” I scream, one last effort to make my parents believe me. “I saw them! I went down a rabbit hole!” Momma covers her face and turns into my father’s chest, unable to stomach seeing her daughter carried off to the crazy house. “I saw the White Rabbit! I saw the Hatter! Momma! Daddy! Don’t send me away! Please!”
Desperate, I fight against their hold harder but I’m no match for the large men carting me towards the double doors, carrying me to my prison. I’m only eight, not nearly as strong as I hope to be. I’m useless. I can’t free myself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of white, and I turn, hopeful, and find White standing in the corner. He’s holding so still, no movement, but I see him clear as day, and I reach out for him, even though my movements are restricted by the hold on my biceps. Relief fills my body. It’s time already. Thank God! Thank Wonder! But something in me wants everyone to believe me, too. I want them to see.
“White! Look right there! It’s the White Rabbit! See him!” Every eye turns at my words and stares at White in the corner, but not a single one reacts as if he’s there. Not a single person nods, or apologizes, and they don’t let me go. “White!” I scream. “Save me! Help me, White!”
His face is solemn. He doesn’t move to help me, or respond, or acknowledge he’s here for me at all. He just watches as I’m finally dragged through the double doors and into my prison. My screams grow louder, more piercing as I scream for him, scream for anyone to save me. And then I remember the book, the book that Alex gave to me. It’s tucked inside my apron, the only place safe from momma and daddy, and I pray they don’t take it away. A book does no harm. It’s only a book.
“White!” I howl, just before someone sticks a needle into my arm. It works immediately and my body grows limp, but I’m aware as they carry me to a padded room and strap me down to a table.
“Should we use a straight jacket?” one of the men asks a doctor who walks in the room.
“No, straps are fine. We don’t have a straight jacket small enough to fit her.”
A tear leaks from the corner of my eye, and the doctor watches it fall before sighing and leaving me alone in the room. I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t give in to my emotions, but my brain is aware and running in circles.
Hatter. White. Cheshire. Alex.
You promised.
Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?
Chapter 4
Aged Thirteen
“Tell me about your visions, Alice.”
I stare out of the window, watching as a raven sits on a thin branch. His beady eye meets mine, studying me, and he gives out a squawk of understanding. A bird knows when you’re inside a cage.
“Alice?”
I turn away from the raven as he takes off in flight, my jealousy of his wings bringing a glare to my face. The man on the other side of the desk sits without a care in the world, his fingers steepled in front of him as he looks over his glasses at me. He’s new, trying to make his mark on this place. I don’t tell him making a mark here isn’t a good thing, that it’s already so marked up, its indistinguishable between an asylum and a prison, even if it’s white as snow, white as fur. Dr. Taylor will learn soon enough.
“I don’t have visions.”
I’m not afforded the same liberties as the doctor is. I’m sitting in a chair far harder than his comfortable desk seat, my back forced ramrod straight against the hard metal. I can’t move, my wrists and ankles strapped to the chair. They used to only strap my wrists . . .
. . . until I kicked an orderly’s teeth out.
“My notes say you’ve spoken about a place called Wonderland and seeing various characters you claim are from there.”
“I don’t have visions,” I repeat. No, I have memories.
“It’s in your best interest to work with me Alice,” Dr. Taylor sighs, his penetrating eyes looking at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. “I can get you out of this place if you only cooperate.”
It’s the same speech I’ve heard before, where a new doctor comes in and promises to get me out, if I only do as they say, if I only pretend as if my memories are false. I know the score. When I first came to this place, they’d told me the same thing. So, I’d been a good girl, smiling when they told me, agreeing that my memories were nothing more than a fanciful imagination. Wonderland wasn’t real, I said at least a thousand times. There’s no such thing as Mad Hatters or White Rabbits or Cheshire Cats.
Nothing changed.
My parents never came back for me. The last time they visited was when I was nine, and mom had been heavily pregnant. They were trying again for a child less damaged, less insane, than me. It had hurt at first, feeling as if I was being replaced, but after a while, I understood. I wasn’t a part of this world anymore, anyway. It was okay if they pretended I’d never existed. It’s okay they probably forgot they have a child named Alice shut away inside an asylum. It’s okay that I have a sibling somewhere I’ll never know.
I realized after a year of pretending, of being who they wanted me to be, that no one gets out. No one ever does, not unless it’s in a body bag.
“Alice, are you listening to me?”
I’m getting really sick of Dr. Taylor.
“No,” I answer honestly. “Anything you say will be the same as I’ve heard before.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” He frowns, and I roll my eyes.
A lock of hair slides over my face, and I blow at it, trying to move it out of my eyes. They rarely let us get our hair cut nicely, and it’s usually a bad sign when they do. My hair is unruly now, and down to the base of my spine. I’ve considered hanging myself with it, but I honestly think that’s what they want me to do. Most patients don’t have long hair, so I have to assume it’s a test. It’s a useless one, because I don’t want to die, but it’s still one they’ve been trying for a long time.
“You’re here to get my statement, to see if it’s any different from the last doctor. You’ll make promises, you’ll tell me I’m gonna get out of here as long as I can show you I’m not mad, that I’m normal. So, I’ll smile and tell you, ‘Of course, oh, what I’ve seen is just my wild imagination, just the silly thoughts of a teenage girl.’ And you’ll say, ‘Good girl,’ and stick me back in my cell, day after day after day.” I look back out the window, soaking in the sunlight. We hardly get to go outside. The view will have to do. “No one gets out. We die here. Your job is to determine how quickly.”
He stares at me in silence for long minutes. I can feel his penetrating gaze, studying me like an insect under a magnifying glass. I hate the feeling, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m strapped down so tightly that the leather cuts into my wrists, and I’ll no doubt have punishing welts when I’
m sent back to my room.
“Do you want to die?” Dr. Taylor finally asks.
I don’t turn to look at him. Sometimes, the doctors like the power of their position, of playing God with patients too helpless to fight it. Other times, they seem almost bored. The worst ones are the ones who have pity in their eyes, who have grand dreams of saving every patient. I can’t stomach the pity.
Every night, Dr. Taylor will get to go home, to leave this place and have a nice dinner, kiss his wife if he has one, smile at any kids he might have, and then he gets to slide into a nice bed after a warm shower. I would kill for any one of those things. We don’t get to leave. We don’t get to go outside unless we’ve been well-behaved, and even then, we’re strapped to a chair or laced into a straight jacket. When I get sent back to my padded walls, I’ll get a metal tray of oatmeal for dinner that is always bland and too thick to eat without feeling like you’re swallowing paste. The shower I get will be so frigid, it’ll make my teeth chatter and threaten to send me into hypothermia. And then I’ll get to curl up in the corner of my padded room. Beds aren’t for the insane. Too many things on them can be made into a weapon. No, we get a thin mat and a holey blanket, and even those get taken away if we cause trouble.
“Of course not.” I meet Dr. Taylor’s eyes. “I want to live more than anything. But I’m told I’m living wrong, and I’ve been imprisoned in this hell and forgotten. I haven’t accepted my fate, Doctor, and I refuse to.”
He scribbles something on his notepad, and I have the urge to spring across and rip it to shreds. I’ve actually done that before when I was younger. It’s why I’m no longer allowed to be without the straps.
“Do you see yourself ever leaving here?”
“Does anyone ever answer yes?” He nods his head. “Then they’re idiots. No one leaves. We’re nothing more than experiments.”
“It says in your file you answered yes when you were younger.”
“And I learned my lesson.”
Dr. Taylor sighs and stands from his chair, pushing the hair back from his face. I watch warily as he circles the desk and leans against it. It’s a power position, one that forces me to tilt my head up in order to meet his stare.
“Perhaps, there’s another way I can help you?”
His words make me tilt my head, my brows wrinkling. That’s a new line I’ve never heard before. Curious, I say, “how?”
He squats down in front of me, his face too close, so close I want to reach out and take advantage. If not for the restraints, I would.
“There are certain liberties allowed to the doctors here,” he mumbles, his eyes dropping from mine and trailing down my body. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I suddenly feel unsafe. When his clammy fingers touch the skin at my exposed ankle and begins to trail up my pant leg, I jerk in my restraints hard enough shake the chair. “I could set you free, if only for a moment.”
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I snarl, jerking at the straps around my wrists.
“Now, Alice, I’m only doing my job. If you’re a good girl—”
I don’t let him finish. He gets too close, his face leaning into mine, assuming that I will be pliant and helpless. I rear my head back and slam it against his hard enough to make stars dance in front of my eyes. I hear a satisfying crack where my skull strikes his nose, even if black dots dance across my vision.
He falls backwards, his back hitting his too-clean desk, blood spurting from his nose.
“You fucking psycho!” he grunts. “What the fuck is your problem?”
I smile as the orderlies slam through the door. A small chuckle slips from my lips as they swarm me, restraining me further. Someone grabs hold of my skull, their hands large, and keeps it straight, so I can no longer look around.
Dr. Taylor holds a tissue to his face, trying to catch the blood that isn’t slowing. He deserves every bit of that.
“Doctor?” One of the orderlies stares at Dr. Taylor expectantly, waiting for orders.
His eyes meet mine, and I see the evil lurking there. “This patient needs to be medicated.”
My chest seizes. “No. Please don’t.”
But he continues as if he doesn’t even hear me. One of the men around me leave the room for a moment before coming back inside, a tiny cup in his fingers.
“Take the pills,” he orders.
I pinch my lips tightly shut, my eyes wide with panic. I’ve seen what the medications do to the other patients. The pills take away their ability to function, their ability to react. Some of them are so drugged up, they can’t even move, their eyes open to a never-ending horror show.
“Take the pills, Alice,” Dr. Taylor sneers, his face smeared with blood in such a way, it makes him appear insane instead of me. That’s the reality, after all, isn’t it? I was never the crazy one here.
I clamp my jaw hard, but it’s no use. The man holding my head wrenches me backwards, my neck twinging at the sudden movement. Another squeezes my jaw hard enough to bruise until I’m forced to open my mouth. As soon as I do, they drop the pills inside and force my mouth shut, another plugging my nose. I struggle underneath my restraints, my face turning first red, then purple as I fight against the lack of air.
No, no, no. I won’t lose who I am. I can’t. I silently beg anyone who can hear me, God, Wonderland, my parents, but no one comes to my rescue. No one comes to save me. I swallow.
I’m alone, forgotten, and when the pills kick in, I forget myself, too.
Chapter 5
Aged Fourteen
The doctors are so surprised the pills they shove down my throat everyday haven’t made me forget my memories. I’m so drugged up most of the time, I don’t know what I’m saying, but their names cross my mind every single moment.
Hatter, White, Cheshire, Alex . . .
I’m going mad with worry, trying to be strong. Hatter said that I’ll always be a part of Wonderland. They’ll come back for me. They have to. Please come back.
Dr. Taylor is still here, and he’s still the same asshole he’d been from our first meeting. He doesn’t actually meet with me anymore, not often. I get the “privilege” of listening to him drone on once a month. It’s mostly a discussion about how many people I’ve managed to hurt, even while drugged. They never seem to time the next dose correctly, so before they can shove more pills down my throat, I’m usually able to kick someone in the groin or bite them if they get too close. I like when they get too close.
Our discussions are almost always one-sided. The drugs don’t let me talk much. They scramble my brain to the point where it’s a struggle to function, but I see and hear everything, much to my dismay. There are some things I wish I couldn’t see.
It’s time for my monthly meeting with the idiot today, and as usual, the orderlies are off on their medication schedule. I don’t understand why the asylum keeps them around. They’re useless really. They deserve what they get, every single one of them.
I’m sitting in the corner of my padded room, my white pants and shirt dirtier than ever. They’ve stopped giving me clean ones as a type of punishment, I think. Another trick to take away my humanity. No showers for the insane.
I keep my arms wrapped around myself tightly, as if I can squeeze hard enough to keep everything from spilling out of me.
The door opens on silent hinges. No matter how dirty they allow me or this place to get, they take care of the doors. Can’t have us escaping our prison. No one wants that in the headlines.
“Alice, it’s time for your meeting with Taylor.” I don’t like the orderly who’s speaking. He’s always too rough, a sick grin on his face as he bruises my pale skin. He gets off on fear and pain, taking this job so that he can torture innocent people.
I don’t move, staring up at him with glazed eyes. The drugs have worn off enough that I can move and function, but there’s always a glaze across my eyes now that never seems to go away. One day, maybe they’ll give me too many pills, and I’ll go out that way.
He flicks open the stick he uses on difficult patients, the one that I’ve felt kiss my spine and the back of my thighs. I tense.
“What are you doing, Jeff? Just pick her up and take her. We don’t need the stick.”
The other orderly, Daniel, is kinder than the others. He’s newer, hasn’t been warped by this place yet. His green eyes meet mine, so pretty compared to the shit-brown of Jeff’s. In another world, I would have smiled at him, coy and demure, but I’ve already been corrupted. I squeeze my arms tighter around my middle.
“Shut up, Danny boy. She’s being difficult, so I can use the stick if I want to.”
Jeff moves towards me, and my arms start to shake. I can already feel the stick hitting my calves, my back, my thighs. The pain that comes with it will be immeasurable, and I won’t be able to walk without a limp for days. At least the drugs help in that aspect. I won’t feel the pain after they shove the pills down my throat.
Jeff moves a little closer, and Daniel tenses at the same time as a small whimper escapes my throat. I hate the sound immediately, wishing I could take it back when the smile spreads across Jeff’s face.
“Get up, Alice.”
I curl tighter, trying to shrink as small as possible, wishing I can just disappear. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?
“That’s enough, Jeff,” Daniel tries again, taking a step forward.
“Shut up!” Jeff raises the stick above his head, and I prepare myself for the impact, knowing it’s going to hurt bad enough to make me bleed. He’s in a mood today, and his anger is always transferred to the patients.
Daniel rushes forward then, and I flinch when he steps in front of me–in front of the stick–and stares down Jeff. No one has ever protected me before, and I don’t know how to react.
Cruel as a Queen Page 3
