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“John. John, come back. What do you think you’re doing? This is Shangri-La-La land, John.”
He opened his eyes. Mary’s face hung over his, only inches away, her hot breath on his cheek. Her lips quivered, opening and closing as her eyes widened.
She hunched over him, holding his shoulders.
He closed his eyes, and then opened them again. They were in a clearing by a river.
She slapped his face and pulled him to his feet.
Once again he closed and opened his eyes, in a slow blink. They were back in the old house. The river and forest were gone.
“Do you want to go crazy?” Her cheeks flushed red, her breathing shallow.
“That’s a rabbit, John, a very big one. How the hell did it find you?”
John gazed at her, his head filled with pain.
“Don’t rabbits always see you first?”
Mary looked at him, her face a stone grey mask.
“Mercy be, John. Where’d you hear that?”
“A crazy homeless guy said it. He called me a rabbit.”
Mary took a step back into the dusty hall, her face a mass of twitching nerves. “No, you’re not a rabbit John. You can’t be, cos you’re here, and you’re real.” Her brow furrowed, for the first time she looked confused. “But they can only see you if you’re opened to them, cracked. You’re not cracked are you, John?” She winked and drew a thin smile over her ashen face. Her whole body still shook.
His head ached, and her repeated use of his name was irritating him more than usual. Would she forget it if she didn’t say it all the time, he wondered. Looking up at her flushed face he decided not to mention his annoyance.
“I’ve seen him before, a long time ago, when I was very young,” he said.
“Ah, well, very young, that would explain it then John, very young.”
She brushed some dust off his jacket, a twitchy smile on her face.
“You see, John. All children have the ability to see imaginary worlds just as clearly as they see ours. That’s why some children have imaginary friends. They are immune to the in-between.”
“In-between?” he said.
Mary shifted from foot to foot. “The in-between place, the nothing, children don’t need to go there, that’s where the crazies go, John.”
She gazed into his eyes and took hold of his hand. “I’ve seen it, the nothing in-between. I’m not crazy, John.” She dropped his hand and walked into the front room. “When you’re a child you see things in a childish way. When you see things as an adult they can be much more complicated, and dangerous.” She turned to face him. “You ever wonder where all the ideas come from, John, the big ones and the small ones, the important ones and the inconsequential. Ever wondered where they all go?”
Mary stared straight into his eyes and bit her lip. “Mr, Dodgson tried to tell people when he wrote Alice’s story, but they didn’t understand, just like they don’t understand all those fairytales. They’re not entertainment, John, they’re user-manuals,” she said, and then laughed. “Hark at me. I sound like one of them public information pamphlets or something.”
The house was once again silent, no gurgle of water or whistles of wind could be heard. The door was closed, for now. He looked at Mary standing in the dusty room; arms crossed rubbing herself for warmth. John stared at her, she seemed to glow as he realised she really was quite attractive under the craziness.
“How did you get here?” he asked, the thought only now occurring.
“In a car, John.” She turned and smiled. “Been stalking you for years.” She winked. “Course, I didn’t actually know I was looking for you, per se, until this morning on the train. If you know what I mean?”
He stood there, mouth open, the phrase ‘per se’ sung round his head as thoughts clambered over themselves, searching for some sense.
“You stalked me? And who says ‘per se’ in conversation?” he whispered, and then laughed.
Mary stared at him, her mouth beginning to twitch. “This is a bad place, John. Let’s go.” With this she grabbed his hand and led him towards the open door.
They stopped beside a yellow Mini Cooper with black racing stripes, parked half-way over the pavement outside the gate. Mary’s car was much like her personality. Numerous small dents and scrapes covered the exterior. Several empty sandwich packets and water bottles lay strewn across the back seat and the upholstery had some mysterious engrained stains, the origin of which may best be left undiscovered. This was a car that someone spent a lot of time in.
She gripped the steering wheel with a white knuckled hand, and shifted the gear lever with the other, crunching the gears.
“So, here we are, just sitting in my car,” she said, and smiled as she ran her fingers through her hair, clearing away the loose strands from her face. The smile faded as she drove off the pavement. The car shook and over-revved as she drove off.
“So where are we going?” John asked.
“No idea, John. Where are we going?”