Page 13 of Escaping Wonderland

The Hatter charged. Shadow lunged to meet him, extending his arm. The Hatter’s momentum drove the blade straight through his breastbone and deep into the center of his chest. The human halted with a choked grunt and glanced down at the hilt jutting from his sternum.

The Hatter weakly clawed at Shadow’s shirt as his legs gave out. Shadow clamped a hand over the man’s shoulder and eased him down slowly.

With his wide, bloodshot eyes staring up at Shadow, the Hatter pressed his fingers over the tear in Shadow’s coat, which had been opened by the Hatter’s initial attack. Shadow felt no pain now—not even a memory of pain.

“Why…don’t you…bleed?” the Hatter rasped.

Shadow widened his grin. “Because I’m just a ghost.”

The Hatter slumped, falling onto his side. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. He looked like a fish stranded on land, gulping air he could not breathe. Shadow twisted the knife. The Hatter grunted. Dark blood poured from his chest, pooling on the carpet beneath him.

“Just to give you every advantage by making you asangryas possible,” Shadow said, “I’m going to steal your signature move along with your hat andmynew dolly. Bring all your rage when you come to find me.”

Helpless, the Hatter watched as Shadow released the knife, took hold of the hat’s brim, and lifted it off his head. Shadowflipped the hat upside down and lowered it. He held the Hatter’s gaze as he dipped the top of the hat into the puddle of blood at his feet. Hatred gleamed in the Hatter’s eyes. That light only faded—carried away on a final, rattling exhalation—after the hat was back in place atop Shadow’s head.

Shadow tugged the knife free—producing another spurt of blood—and sprang to his feet. He stepped over the body and used the point of the blade to tip the hat to a jauntier angle. A lively tune, one the Hatter often played downstairs, drifted into his head. He hummed along with it, adding some flourish to his stride.

It was time to go meet his dolly—surely that was cause for celebration.

Alice gritted her teeth and pulled down on her arms, keeping her fingers pressed together tight in the hopes of squeezing her hands through the manacles. She leaned to one side to put more of her weight into the effort. Tears stung her eyes as metal bit into her flesh. The pain helped clear her mind, speeding away the lingering effects of the drink they’d forced upon her.

The door was still closed, but she knew she didn’t have much time. She looked up at the manacles and followed their chains up to the headboard with her eyes.

Leverage!

Twisting her body around to face the headboard, she planted her shoes against it as solidly as their spiky heels allowed. The chains were crossed now, one over the other, but the manacles werejustloose enough for her to have turned her wrists. She hoped it would be enough to squeeze her hands through. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her straightened fingers together, trying to make her hands as narrow as possible.

One…two?—

The door burst open, swinging hard enough to slam into the wall. Alice started, her heart nearly stopping, and her throat constricting in terror. She turned her head to look at the dark doorway; the shadows there seemed to have thickened significantly. A chill skittered up her spine.

Her eyes widened when she realized that some of the shadows—darker than the rest—weremoving. They seemed to solidify as she watched, taking the shape of a tall, lean man with a top hat on his head.

The dark figure slid through the doorway sideways, arms extended to either side. The light from over the headboard was too weak to reach the figure even as he approached the bed, leaving his features shrouded in darkness. But when he raised his head, his eyes—reflective, teal orbs—and his wide, fanged grin stood out starkly against the black.

Not real. This isn’t real, he’s not real…

The shadowy figure was humming a tune that was vaguely familiar to her as he danced around the edge of the room, each of his movements just slightly out of sync with the music—which itself was just slightly off key. Something glinted in his hand when he neared the bed.

Alice clenched her jaw to hold in a scream as she realized the shadow was holding the Hatter’s oversized knife, its blade glistening with blood.

She didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know how the Hatter—who’d been frightening enough before—had become this grinningthing, but the nightmare before her was worse than anything she could’ve imagined. The concoction they’d forced upon her had dulled the worst of her fear, but she couldn’t rely upon it now that its effects were fading.

The shadow Hatter twirled as his humming reached a high note, grasped his hat, and rolled it down his arm as he slid to the bedside.

Alice shut her eyes and turned her face away, clutching the chains as she chanted, “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

Those words kept her grounded, they made herrememberwhat had happened before she arrived here, and she had a horrible sense that if she stopped repeating those words—whether in her head or aloud—she would start to perceive all this as real.

And that would break her mind.

She felt the bed dip beside her. It creaked beneath the shadow Hatter’s weight, and though he didn’t touch her, she couldfeelhis presence, only inches from her skin. She shuddered.

“Not real, not real,” she rasped, squeezing her eyes tighter closed.

“What isn’t real?” he asked in a voice that was nothing like the one he’d used before. This voice was deep and rich, oddly leisurely, with just a hint of a rumble beneath it.

“You, this place,” she said, barely able to keep her voice from quivering with fear. “Everything. None of this is real. I-I’m supposed to be clearing out my father’s office…supposed to be?—”

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