Death of the Mad Hatter (32 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-
N
INE

(
Alice Mae: Present Time)

Just like the prophecy predicted:
I wept, banished in my homeland. Nothing good would happen if I returned to Wonderland, but then again I wasn’t good. I was all Wrong.

Mr. Ruth appeared on my bed with a note secured
to his belly by a rubber band.
Read Me
was written on the outside. On the inside was a message, written on a page torn from a book so old the pages turned yellow. On the top was the title of the book
Sweets for the Slithering Kind,
a M.H. novel. It was the Jack’s handwriting.

The Mad Hatter,
the Joker Slayer, lost his head, like every man of that family. But, rest assured, Wonderland is a place where the impossible is possible.
Just because a heart no longer beats, doesn’t mean the love is lost.

The news brought me to my knees, but there was a sliver of hope that piggybacked that tragedy—
Ryley killed the Joker. I snuck as much candy as possible into my backpack, but I knew it was pointless. One day I’d have to learn to live in this world without them, and then I’d embrace my straightjacket.

I
thought about stopping by Ryley’s house. Lauren would be frazzled, not knowing what happened to her son. But, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell her. What was I to say? Your son was killed by an evil queen in a magical world you don’t ever want to find yourself in? I just hoped that one day the recipe I’d given Ryley would find its way to his father.

I never went back to the school.
My uncompleted homework never left my backpack. Dax, Irwin, Mick, even Becky and Courtney and the rest of the school would never know what happened to their classmates.

The West
Harbour Psychiatric Treatment Facility was my first and only stop. Robby Edgar was in the game room, playing with red paint. He’d created a series of lines that didn’t line up quite correctly. Moving slowly, so as not to startle him, I sat down across the table. Robby didn’t acknowledge my presence until I slid the worn, bronze watch in front of him.

He took the watch, handling it with
the greatest care. Some red paint got on the metal. I suppose it was fitting. His son’s blood was spilt. My throat refused to work properly. His big, brown eyes turned black as tears filled them.

“
Why do you have Ryley’s watch?” Robby asked, coldly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. It took me several times to speak before any words came out. When my voice returned, I only managed to say, “It
was
his watch. Time has no meaning to the dead.”

Robby never spoke again after that. He beat the watch against the table
. The metal dented. The glass shattered. Red bled onto the papers, but it wasn’t just paint anymore. The hour hand was the first to stop, but it was when the second hand stopped ticking that I willed death to come swiftly for the both of us. Even when the nurses and doctors raced to stop him, Robby didn’t stop beating his fists against the watch until it was completely destroyed. Time no longer ticked.

…
Time ceased to move forward. A second carried on for infinity…

C
HAPTER
S
IXTY

(
Alice Mae: Present Time in the Waiting Room)

31,536,000
seconds—equivalent to approximately one year—ticked away in one, infinite drawn-out moment in time. It was in that never-ending moment that I fully embraced my metaphorical straightjacket. That also just so happened to be the exact amount of time it took me to instigate my revenge. It was a naive to think death was the sweetness that I craved. Oh no, I was oh so wrong. Vengeance was what I wanted all along.

M.H’s legacy revolved around making a
poison taste so sweet that Hearts wouldn’t suspect that she was dying. He chose me to be his apprentice and do what he couldn’t. Every day that I did nothing, I failed him. In my rational thoughts, I decided to un-fail him once and for all.

The
Waiting Room
appeared exactly as it had the last time I found myself in the forsaken chamber, except for the thick layer of dust. The mermaid table still lay in ruins. Vines wiggled through the mouse door and grew up the walls. The black and white checkered tile
was still just as disorienting. A few sparklers lay on the ground. The sulfur scent was just as fresh as it had been when the Joker lit them. Down was up, but up was still a little off to the side.

The only addition in the
Waiting Room
was the sledge hammer that still had the price tag. That was instrumental if Plan “A” fell through because Genevine forgot to put on her big girl panties. If she bailed on me, that meant I no longer had the means to get my hands on
Drink Me
juice. I’d need something to widen the mouse door, wouldn’t I?

While I waited for my company, I twirled around on my toes, reenacting the last dance I
performed on stage. Instead of the disgruntled audience, I imagined an audience captivated by my recital.

Mr. Ruth pushed the door open, nearly knocking over the ceramic toad that guarded it. I glanced at the timepiece that I’d taped together after Robby had his way with it.
The hour and second hand had been restored but the hands never moved. One can never be late if time did not tick forward.

Mr. Ruth said, “There is something you should know. It’s a secret
which has been haunting me for a year and—”

“No need to share secrets, not here, not today.” I brought my finger to my lips and glanced at Theodore, just to make sure
they knew I was serious about this beautifully haunting act of treason was on a
need to know
basis.

“I’ve misplaced my straightjacket
in Wonderland.” I hoped he understood. My revenge consumed me, driving me mad. I wanted to—needed to—do something before it finished me off completely. “I have to get it back before time gets impatient with me and starts ticking again.”

“
There’s nothing wrong with being a
little
mad.”

“Little mad, good.
Lots mad, blissfully dangerous.”

“
Ah-ha! You admit it! Madness is bliss.” He nervously thumped his foot when I rolled my eyes. “Wonderland welcomes crazies, but there has to be other places to find refuge before time catches up with you.”

“I’m logically
impared.” I shrugged my shoulders and tried not to focus on just how messed up my life had gotten. I handed him a note that was addressed to Genevine. “I belong in Wonderland. But, let’s not focus on that. This will be my last request of you, old friend. Please, don’t make me beg. Tell Genevine to follow the ingredients and instructions to the ‘T.’ I’ll be waiting in this room until she sends word that the tonic is ready.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTY-
O
NE

(
Alice Mae:
Present Time in Wonderland)

When the moon scared away the sun, I cracked the mouse door
after someone continued to knock on it with much persistence. I expected to see Mr. Ruth standing on the other side. However, when I opened the door, I realized quite quickly that it wasn’t a knocking I heard, for no one was there. The knocking was actually the tick from a clock. But it wasn’t just one clock. There was a hallway of clocks. Old stopwatches, modern wrist watches, grandfather clocks, elaborate hanging ones. They all told a different time, but their ticks were synchronized.

Just inside the hallway were two bottles
and a tiny box that was no bigger than a thumbnail. I lifted the lid. Inside was a miniature red velvet cupcake, wrapped in black tissue paper.
Eat Me.
I tucked it in my pocket, saving it for later.

The first
bottle didn’t have a
Drink Me
etched on the glass, but rather there was a skull and crossbones. A snake slithered around them. I popped the cork top and sniffed the tonic. Nothing, but then again snake repellent was odorless.

I tucked the bottle inside my pocket and reached for the
Drink Me
one. I took a swig. Today, it tasted like blueberries and cotton candy. After a nauseating shrinkage, I stepped into the hallway. As soon as my foot touched the tile, all the clocks began ticking at a different rate. Some of the clocks became loud and obnoxious while others ticked as if they were the bass drum to a song. Nevertheless, as I neared the end of the hallway, one thing was obvious. The ticks slowed.

When I reached the end of the hallway, there was a massive door. It wasn’t made of wood or metal or any other substance that would make for good doorway material. It was card
stock designed much like a playing card, but it wasn’t any of the number cards. It was a face card, but it wasn’t the joker, queen, or king. It was a sketch drawing of a two faced man—M.H. and the second Mad Hatter—my Ryley.

I swung it open and
marveled at the place I’d never been in—a house of cards. Sheets were thrown over the furniture. The drapes were pulled so that no light showed through. I dug in my pocket and pulled out a flare that I’d stolen from the Joker during one of our many play dates.

Just as I was going to strike the flare, someone lit a candle. Sitting in a chair in front of the coffee table was the Jack, Genevine, Mr. Ruth, and a
man I never hoped to see again. Robby Edgar. He kept his head down, staring at the floorboards like the answers of the universe were hidden in the woodwork. When I walked closer, he lowered his head even more and pulled the top hat that belonged to M.H. over his eyes. For a brief moment, I wondered when he got it. Last I knew, the hat was worn by his son.

“You look half dead,” Robby whispered. His voice sounded rougher than I remembered.
He wore a fancy, black ballroom tux—cufflinks and a fancy silk scarf included. He had his collar popped and his shirt was pulled up high.

“Death is a friend whom I have been late to meet,” I said.

And, then it dawned on me that I couldn’t remember the last time I bothered to look presentable. My torn leggings would have looked punk-rocker, if I hadn’t paired it with my plaid skirt. My ruffled shirt would have been nice, if I hadn’t slept in it the past couple of days. The black fingernail polish on my nails brought out the pasty white in my skin. At least the polish hid the dirt under my nails. My hair was pulled back low on my neck, in a messy bun. I remembered twisting it back before I fell down the rabbit hole. Now, locks fell over my face. I touched my cheek and wondered when I last applied lipstick. For a moment, I felt naked in front of Genevine—the woman who’d shown me the power of makeup. But, the seamstress didn’t fare much better than me. She appeared much like an old hag, with her wild hair and pretty, but torn, clothes. Looking at her was like staring into a looking glass, minus the ball and chain and cluster of spiders.

“That’s a pity,”
Robby said, stealing my attention.

“Is it a pity I haven’t yet died, or that I am alive?” I said. I knew he bl
amed me for his son’s death. Hell, I blamed me for Ryley’s demise.

“When was the last time you had any sweets?” he asked.

He was measuring my intelligence? Perhaps my level of paranoia intrigued him. “I don’t crave the sweet-stuff anymore. Vengeance will taste much sweeter than any candy I’ve ever sucked on, even if it kills me.”

Keeping his hat pulled down, Robby stood up abruptly, turning so his back was to me. He began pacing around the room
. My deathly comment had bothered him. I wanted to tell him he was being a wuss, but his opinion of me no longer mattered. I couldn’t bring his son back, but I could avenge him.

Mr. Ruth followed Robby back and forth. They kept their voices low and argued about something—it didn’t matter to me, not in the least.

“Where are we, Genevine?” I asked.

“A house of cards, hidden deep within the mushroom patch.
Few people know this place even exists or that Edgar resides here. If the queen found out, she’d stop at nothing to kill him,” she said. On her lap was a beautiful, black night robe with a perfect white rose emblem embroidered on the front in the finest, white silk. She handed it to me. “I finished it last night.”

I inspected the white rose.
“And the tonic?”

“Edgar made the liquid sweet himself and the concoction
is in the skull and bones bottle,” Alfred said. Like always, he was perched on Genevine’s shoulder. He patted his belly. “And then every spider drank the tonic, I assure you.”

“
Edgar made the tonic?” I asked, glancing at Robby.

“He took over M.H’s candy operation
,” Genevine said. “But all trades go through Mr. Ruth so no one knows he’s here. It keeps rumors about his existence from getting back to the queen.”

“And if I succeed
in killing Hearts, is he to rule?”

Genevine looked at him and then back to me. Judging from her frown, I figured that she wasn’t totally on board with the decision rendered.
“I will rule in his place, unless a time comes when he is needed to reign.”

“Are you going to ditch your
over-sized bracelet?” I asked, nodding to her ball and chain. “You know the Joker taught me how to pick a lock. I could free you.”

“Ask me again if you survive,” Genevine said. “There’s no point in getting rid of it unless the queen is dead. I’ve seen her storage closet, and she’s got more where that came from.”

Mr. Ruth cursed at Robby, interrupting our conversation. “Names are important! She must know yours, you idiotic, irrational fool!”

Yep, Genevine would make a more fitting queen than Robby a
s king. She didn’t make a habit of kicking the wall out of frustration, like he just did.

Robby
kneeled beside the white rabbit. “Is that so,
Rutherford
?”

I thought Mr. Ruth might punch Robby in the chest for calling him by his actual name, but he didn’t.
Although, Mr. Ruth did pull on the scarf wrapped around Robby’s neck, revealing a thick scar underneath.
It wrapped around his neck and had fresh stitches.

Mr. Ruth yelled, “You push my buttons, Mad—”

Robby cupped his hand over the rabbit’s mouth. “What shall you do, if you survive this suicide mission, Alice Mae? Will you return to the Otherworld or stay here.”

“I’ve always preferred living in Wonderland.
I’m in sync here, whereas I’m out of step in the Otherworld.” I tilted my head to the side. “Why do you care?”

Before he could answer, Mr. Ruth bit down on his hand hard enough to draw blood. Robby released him and cradled his hand. With Robby otherwise engaged, Mr. Ruth snatched his hat and took off running. Robby scrambled to catch the white rabbit, but it soon became clear that he was never going to capture the bunny. Stopping the chase, Robby pulled the scarf off his neck and wrapped his hand wound.

“I should leave,” I said, checking the time on the broken watch that once belonged to Ryley. “I don’t have time to watch an old man try to capture a rumperbabbit while they argue about names. M.H. once thought that names were important and look where that got him.”

Gathering the robe, I double-
checked to make sure I had the bottle with the skull and snakes etched into the glass. I crossed the room and tried the doorknob. As I opened it, Robby stopped me by placing his injured hand over mine. I stared at his hand, trying to figure out in what realm he’d ever want to physically touch me.

“
Have you fallen in love?” he whispered. “Do you still dance? Are you… happy?”

“What would you need—? Why do you—? Does it really—”

When I met his gaze, all the air was sucked from my lungs. A squeak escaped my throat. I dropped the robe and the bottle, and the strength in my knees failed.

He
caught me.
Ryley
caught me. A part of me was sure his hands would slip through me, like a ghost’s. But, they didn’t. He held me in his arms. He looked as if he’d aged ten years, making him look more like his father than the young man I had fallen for. Small wrinkles lined his face. Strands of his hair were turning gray.

I pushed away from him. He was
far older than I recalled. Even if he’d lived, he would still be in his late teens. “The Ryley I knew couldn’t grow facial hair,” I managed to say to the impersonator.

“Time moves differently here.”
The mystery-man stepped closer to me and kept his hands raised in the air. He acted like I was a rabid animal. “I nick myself shaving now.”

Genevine
pressed her lips into a thin line. I screamed for her to tell me the truth, but she didn’t speak a word. Mr. Ruth hid in the shadows.

“You wrote that he lost his head!” I screamed at the Jack. I wished I had a bat or something to keep the impersonator from stepping closer to me. Surely, this scenario was a figment of my imagination! It had to be a schizophrenic episode. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands over my eyes.

“I’m going to wake up now. I’m going to wake up and find myself in some white room in some random hospital. The nurses will give me yummy drugs and make this nightmare disappear. I never escaped to the rabbit hole. I made all this up. There is no such thing as a rumperbabbit,” I said and then hyperventilated. “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’snotreal. It’snotreal.It’snotreal.It’snotreal.”

“I’m not a nightmare,” the impersonator said, pulling my hands away from my eyes. His dark eyes never
appeared so fierce. He was in control and spoke in a calm voice. “The Jack wrote you as a favor to me. It was my deepest hope that you’d go on and live your life in the Otherworld. I hoped you’d find your
happily ever after.
”

“You’re really here. You’re really alive?” I
asked.

“Sort of.”

“You should have told me you were alive!” I screamed. “You could have come for me! It is a special kind of cruel to make me believe you were dead!”

He covered my mouth with his hand. “Don’t speak. Just listen. If I could have come for you, I would have. Don’t you think I’d kill to see my family and friends again?” Ryley whispered, removing his hand from my mouth. “Don’t you think I wished my heart to stop beating because loving you from afar was killing me—killed me?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of his scar. “Kill
ed
you?”