twisting. “I said I wanted to play too, and he got so upset. So I made him play dress-up. Do you like the dress on him? Isn’t it nice?”
“This isn’t right-” Oliver swallowed, “I’m not supposed to be here-” he didn’t want to end up like that.
The Hatter sat down in front of him, leaning closer until his sweet-smelling breath wafted over Oliver’s cheeks. “But you are my friend. All my friends belong here.”
With a shout, Oliver’s shackled hands struck out, catching the large purple hat as it flew off the Hatter’s head, dried flowers scattering in a wisp of noise. The chains pulled him back, throwing his back against dirt and plaster, crushing the air from his lungs. When the tingling pain in his spine ebbed, he managed to lift his head to see the candlelight play off his captor’s features.
The anger that simmered just beneath the Hatter’s gaze flared brightly as the teapot was held in an increasingly tight grip, the white gloves pressing hard into the ceramic. Long blonde hair fell, released from the hat, jagged, uneven and endlessly tangled. Even in the dim candlelight, Oliver could make out the familiar features.
The Hatter clucked. “How rude.”
His eyes widened, “You-”
A sudden memory came to him, a strange one he hadn’t thought of since those days before Alice and her family had left their village. The image of that stray puppy, small and friendly, and its limp, bloated body that washed up on the river bank one afternoon. Several children and adults had gathered, even Alice, although she stayed some distance away. The neck and limbs of the small dog had been wrapped in tight loops of black ribbon, and even as his classmates wondered who could have done such a thing, injured such a friendly creature, Alice had remained off to the side, quiet, unassuming, looking at the play of late afternoon over the surface of the river like one would look at a fine painting. Something had bothered Oliver about that moment, something in her demeanor that had never sat right with him. It was probably why he felt no guilt about his actions toward her.
As the townspeople continued to debate over the perpetrator, Oliver had stared at Alice. Staring at her silent, aloof form, he willed her to look back into his eyes, challenge the doubt in his mind. A part of him was slightly afraid of the answer he might get, but he couldn’t stand not knowing the truth.
Alice never did turn back, never shifted a foot to look his way. He didn’t know how long he had stared, how long he waited for her to face him. By the time people finally began to disperse, Oliver had lost interest and slipped away to his quiet home like the rest of them. Less than a week later, with the strands of her hair hacked like frayed threads, Alice and her family moved away.
Alice never looked back; but Oliver couldn’t help his suspicions. Always wondered what might have happened if she turned to meet his gaze with her own blank stare….
Now, she finally looked at him.
He saw the recognition that fell over her expression, felt the recognition with an ominous twist in his stomach. The years apart changed nothing; even if he grew taller, his hair darker and his voice deeper, all one had to do was look into the eyes. Alice blinked slowly, her rose-petal lips spreading into a wide smile. Without glancing down, she poured the teapot’s contents into the lone cup that sat on its saucer between them, a thin barrier between his space and her world. Oliver couldn’t feel warm even with the hot steam that rose from the porcelain, making his eyes water and his throat run dry.
“I think,” she started, running her small tongue over her teeth, “That you shall be my most favorite friend of all. I will have lots of fun with you.”
Cold slithered up his spine as he searched around the basement, finding only darkness. The candle flickered, illuminating the corner he was in, and he barely caught the shape of a standing white rabbit and the pocket watch chain wound around its neck before it was swallowed up by the shadows again.
No, he hadn’t come down the wrong burrow hole at all-
The cup of tea was held under his nose expectantly, and he looked back at the young woman. Alice tilted her head, eyes piercingly bright amongst the dust and cobwebs.
“Why Oliver, do you fancy a cup of tea?”
-She had just come down first.
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