Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Alice's Evidence Redux

Alice’s Evidence Redux:

(1911 A.D., The Royal City of Hearts, The Land of Hearts, Wonderland, the Realm of Ishrakie)

“OFF WITH HER HEAD!” shouts the Red Queen at the top of her lungs. Nobody dares to move as Alice regains her monstrous size, towering over the courtroom.

“Who cares for you at all? You’re nothing but a pack of cards!” proclaims Alice as the entire court of royal guards rises into the air and comes falling down upon her, eliciting a great scream.

Thrashing half from fright and half from anger, she succeeds at beating them off of her. Alice turns, crashing a massive hole in the wall and storming out of the courtroom into the Wonderlandian Forest.

The young lass bolts between thick trunks. Many broad, shiny leafed bushes rake her arms with rough shark skin texture. Her dress tears against sharp limbs and briars as she surges onward. As the initial pain from the scrapes passes, a pleasant new sensation pulses through her. It spreads through her body in waves as new sensations cascade through her mind like a great tide, making the world appear oil-painted. Lost in tactile euphoria, she caresses the plants, trying to smear their colours to no avail.

Familiar images morph out of the air before her as she sees a multitude of cat smiles stretch out through the painted world around her. She tries to focus on the nearest smile, but as soon as her eyes catch it, it disappears. Walls of trees and shadows shift as she moves through them. Pushing aside drooping sunflowers, she stumbles upon a badger in front of an easel. On the canvas is a painting of a badger in front of an easel.

“Would you stop moving? I’m trying to fix your ears,” barks the badger.

“I would, but I’m trying to finish his feet and he keeps moving,” replies the badger in the painting.

“Look, both of you stop moving. When I’ve finished your ears, then you can finish his feet,” booms a mighty voice from above as a shadow covers the badger and his work.

She looks up to see a long brush descending from the sky. It lances towards the badger. Alice screams and leaps back. The badger jumps at her voice and the tip of the brush smudges the badger’s right paw. His brush falls into organic detritus.

“Blast it, girl! You made him move!” booms the thunderous voice from above the clouds, sending Alice running off through the trees once more.

After an eternity of running, she collapses, sprawling out on the floor of the dense dark forest, panting with exhaustion. Tears overtake her.

“Now, I know you’re mad. Who weeps after they are triumphant?” Cheshire’s voice dances from a disembodied mouth that shifts out of a nearby tree branch with the rest of the cat’s ethereal body only semi-condensing into form.

“Over whom have I triumphed? I’m lost in a forest that has no end, and I’ll never get back home,” sobs Alice as Cheshire swings down from the branch and crouches in the shade of some giant pansy flowers.

His form comes to Alice as impressions. The line of his back, which in fluxing spasms, shows itself to be the cut of a leaf. The glow of his eyes is waning and waxing while his long narrow smile is the most solid of his aspects.

“Who told you this forest has no end?” asks Cheshire.

“Is it not endless?” queries Alice between sobs and burning tears.

“Well, you were not in the forest when you were in the courtroom, right?”

Alice nods weakly as she listens to the cat’s words.

“So would it not make sense that if the forest ends at the Royal City of Hearts, then it should also end at other places too?”

“Oh, this is all way too much! I want to go home,” whimpers Alice, beating the ground with her fist.

“Well, there is only one way to do that,” replies Cheshire.

“You mean there is a way?” asks Alice, her eyes pleading for hope.

“If you’re here, there must be. Doors open both ways after all. The only question is, are you strong enough to make the journey?”

“Journey?” responds Alice, confused.

“There is a tower, white as the moon, that lies beyond this shadowed forest over the Wall of the Farthest Edge and past the Mountains of the Forbidden North. If a way home is what you truly desire, only there will you find it,” explains Cheshire, its grin growing wider.

Alice climbs to her feet, her body still trembling as she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“Then I shall go at once,” proclaims Alice firmly.

“Take heed, Alice. This journey is not for the weak-willed. It will require courage and determination far beyond that of a mere child. If you do not make it to the White Tower by the final midnight of the second month of your journey, the path to the tower will become lost to you. You will never be able to return home. You will be left to wander the twisted wilds forever.”

Alice’s spirit wavers slightly as the cold snake of fear slithers up her spine.

“Thank you, dear cat, I am forever grateful to you,” declares Alice, making her way over to Cheshire and embracing him warmly in her arms.

“I am glad to be of help, but hear me, dear Alice. The path you must take is guarded not by mad queens or foolish cards, but by the foulest of beasts and the most wicked of monsters. Be vigilant, be brave.”

“I understand,” responds Alice, nodding as she turns her back to Cheshire and takes off at a full sprint into the woods, her heart filled with all the determination she can muster. After about an hour of running, she comes to a much-needed stop. Out of breath and exhausted, she stumbles forward slowly, passing beyond the treeline into a large circular clearing of luminescent purple and blue grass waving in the wind. Sleeping dandelions speckle the ethereal clearing as chattering roses converse among themselves concerning Alice’s intruding presence. The flowers are far larger than any she has ever seen and apparently far more suspicious concerning strangers.

Alice can see a massive flower bulb towering over the centre of the clearing. That’s when she feels it. A touch against her ankles, as blue and purple glowing vines begin spiralling their way up between her legs, over her private parts and up further, coiling around her stomach and breasts, feeling every part of her. Smaller vines sprout out from the larger ones, tracing the contours of her face. An unknown heat washes over her, draining her of strength, and rendering her limp and helpless. The smell of the vines assaults her nostrils, saturating her skin. The large flower bulb in the middle of the clearing shimmers with an unearthly aura of light as it blooms. From out of the bulb wafts a familiar voice.

“That’s enough. She is safe... or at least she is no threat. Not to me anyway,” muses the familiar voice, as there, lounging in the middle of the bloomed flower bulb is the Caterpillar from before, smoking his hookah and giggling to himself gleefully.

The vines heed their master’s command and stop their increasingly invasive groping. Little murmurs can be heard as they return to the ground, sulking.

“I’m sorry about my touchy vines, but they are just very protective of me,” muses the Caterpillar.

“They are a bit invasive,” replies Alice, fixing her dress.

“They can be when they are enjoying their job more than usual or when they are especially concerned for my well-being. I sincerely apologise, dearest little one,” chuckles the Caterpillar.

“Tell me please, Mr. Caterpillar, do you know of the Wall at the Farthest Edge?” asks Alice.

“Of course, and you must not dally in getting there. A long journey awaits you and everything depends on your success,” responds the Caterpillar sternly.

“What do you mean by everything?” queries Alice confused.

“Why, everything that is to come, of course, but no time for that now. There is a station about an hour north of here with a train you must catch. It should take you straight to the base of the Wall,” explains the Caterpillar.

“A train? How convenient,” laughs Alice.

“Yes, but you must go now. Hurry now or you will never catch it. When you get there, check your right pocket. After all, trains require tickets,” orders the Caterpillar as Alice nods, running off towards the train station.

The forest rolls up and down, thinning out into large swaths of meadow patched with dark glades as she runs. Rounding a group of trees housing a raucous family of parrots, Alice, at last, reaches the train station. Its ornate, blazing lanterns light up the boardwalk and its surroundings. Attendees lean from compartment doorways howling, ‘All aboard!’.

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As Alice hurries into the closest car, she sees countless tiny legs protruding from beneath the train car. To her shock, the whole train appears to be a massive centipede with compartments strapped to its back using reinforced leather.

Alice boards the train just as the doors close behind her. She lets herself collapse onto a nearby seat as the train begins to move. Checking her right pocket, she finds a train ticket somehow made its way into her possession.

In the train are aardvarks and badgers, hamsters and kingfishers, a Welsh Corgi and an iguana, bears and wombats. Some eat silkworms, others… curried cauliflower. Clover-scented smoke plumes up from ashtrays as newspapers fwap open. The mood is that of settling in, cosy and familiar.

Alice sinks comfortably into her aisle seat. Beside her, a brown spotted spider sips from a cup so small it can only hold a single drop of tea.

“Hello,” says the spider, tipping its hat to her.

“Hello to you, tiny spider. It’s very nice to meet you. Do you know who will check my ticket?” asks Alice politely.

“What do you mean? No one will check your ticket, little one. You just need it to get on the train. I mean checking tickets sounds like just about the silliest job there can ever be,” replies the spider, amused.

“Well, that makes sense, I guess. Still, they are very trusting not to check it,” replies Alice, putting the ticket back into her pocket.

The spider moves his tiny cup to his fangs and sips. A large golden labrador pushes a fully-loaded silver cart down the aisle. The cart is loaded with snacks, treats, soups, salads, and all manner of gourmet meals, alongside an oversized pot of tea and all sizes of cups.

“Would you like some tea?” asks the dog in a thick Welsh accent.

“I’m not sure. I’m exhausted. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep and let it get cold,” answers Alice, yawning deeply.

“Cold, you say. Now, why would your falling asleep affect the weather, my lady? Perhaps just a small sip of tea then?” presses the labrador.

“Um okay... yes. Perhaps a small nip would be nice. Thank you,” sighs Alice in surrender.

“One small nip of tea!” declares the labrador, causing the top cup on a stack of tiny cups to spring to life, jumping down off the stack. The tiny teacup makes its way over to the teapot, which smiles gleefully in response. Alice notices the teapot has no spout, just a face infused with enthusiasm.

The teacup closes in on the spout-less pot, causing the bottom of the pot to morph and twist, forming four legs that raise the pot so that the cup may get below its front curve. The tiny teacup settles itself in front of the pot as a spout forms between the two front legs of the pot. Steaming hot tea pours into the teacup. The porcelain skin of the cup and the pot both seem to blush.

Once the cup is full, the spout vanishes back into the pot and the legs retract, lowering the pot back down onto the tray. The tiny cup waddles slowly onto a nearby tea-saucer, being careful not to spill any of its precious piping-hot content. The tea-saucer sprouts tiny legs of its own and makes its way over to where Alice is sitting and sits down on the small passenger table in front of her.

“There you go, my lady. One small nip of tea, on the house. A cute blonde thing like you does not happen through here every day, you know?” The large labrador winks before turning his gaze back to the isle and his duties.

The tea tastes herbal, but sweet, like honey chamomile and something else she doesn’t know, it has a bitter unfamiliar aftertaste. She lifts a hand to ask for a little sugar to counteract the bitterness, but the labrador has already moved on. Not wanting to be a bother, she gives up and continues sipping her tea.

Alice turns to the spider once more. Her lips tingling from the tea, she considers asking the spider if he has ever been to the Wall, and how long the trip is supposed to last (these are of course the most logical questions to ask in this situation.) At the last second, she realises she won’t get a satisfactory answer to such questions. It will probably be something like ‘it takes as long as it takes’, or some other correct and yet nonsensical retort. Two threads intertwine in the tapestry of her mind, and the words to speak become clear to her.

“Mr. Spider?” coos Alice.

“Yes, little one?” replies the spider, still sipping his tea.

“Do you know any good stories? I would love to hear one.”

“A story to keep you awake? Or a story to help you sleep?” inquires the spider.

“Whichever one is your favourite to tell,” answers Alice, allowing her head to rest against the seat as the spider tells his favourite story to her.

Although Alice listens to the story, she does not comment or ask questions as she normally would. Finishing the tea, she sets the cup back down. She turns her gaze towards the curtains covering the windows as they undulate. None of the windows are open, so it can’t be the wind. It is as if small fingers on the other side of the curtain are gently tugging on it. She exhales deeply, drifting off as she feels herself fall inward through her seat until at last, she finds herself standing in the spider’s Story, standing beside the goat with three brains and watching him sketch.

The world feels slowed and dulled as she becomes abruptly aware of the true viscous nature of her skin. She oozes deeper into her chair, her mind far away. Cheshire slithers from underneath a nearby suitcase. He smiles at her, dancing his strange jig in the air. Outside the window, bats fly in a great black cloud. Stars shine beside the dozing moon, illuminating the grassy meadows below, casting shadows beneath short rocky protrusions. Millions of tiny legs carry the train across the miles stretched out before them.

Alice fades further out, lost within the great vastness of herself. Her lip quivers, the spell of sleep filling her like low-frequency waves of dark weight, dragging her even further down into the abyss. The spider sips his tea, droning on about the three-brained goat abandoning his bag of tools as Alice pierces the murky surface of her own consciousness and slips into deepest dream.

*Alice’s Dream*

Jeffrey from school chuckles like a gleeful aristocrat, setting his martini down on the white table linen. Servers dart back and forth between all the other occupied tables. Alice spears a dainty bite of swordfish; it is tasteless but quite good. Jeffrey’s lineless face smiles at her, his hair is slicked back with pomade and he’s sporting his finely tailored tweed jacket.

“History lessons would be so much more enjoyable if Mrs. Brisby wouldn’t gloss over the dirty bits, don’t you agree?” muses Jeffery with a smirk, the dark glint of his eyes hiding something sharp and dangerous that she cannot decipher.

Everything feels hyper-mundane as if distilled into some form of normal that is far purer than normalcy.

Realisation of the current setting strikes Alice abruptly, causing her to scatter her attention all around excitedly. I must be back in England, she thinks to herself. I’m back, but how? Oh, what does it matter? I’ve finally returned to my old life. How long have I been gone? Questions swirl around frantically in her brain.

Jeffrey from school lifts his empty glass, gesturing to the passing help that he needs another martini. Alice takes stock of herself. She’s dressed in a tight red dress. Her legs are crossed, the slit in the bottom sides of her dress exposing the top of her legs. Her child feet are stuffed into black thigh-high boots with long slender heels. She grimaces, daring not to stand for fear of falling or stumbling.

“A toast,” declares Jeffrey, hefting his new martini meaningfully.

“To what?” responds Alice, confused, not hearing herself, but knowing she said it.

“To our tenth anniversary, you don’t think I pulled strings to get us in here just because it is Thursday?” answers Jeffery, his voice a mixture of bewilderment and offence.

“No, of course, happy anniversary, dear,” Alice raises her glass of pinot grigio half-heartedly.

A dull slithering of uneasiness writhes deep inside her. Shouldn’t I be happier on such an occasion? My handsome husband has taken me out to the best restaurant in town for our tenth anniversary. Why am I not ecstatic? She tries to remember if she has ever felt joy or even mild happiness in a dream. She can recall being frightened in several dreams, but never happy. Perhaps this accounted for the washed-out nature of the scene.

“What shall we do this evening, darling? Hurry home and cuddle up next to a nice, romantic fire and talk about the local football matches?” chimes Alice with a giggle.

Jeffrey was always talking about the local football matches. He was always so passionate about the game and not half bad at playing it.

“Actually, I had other plans for this evening,” whispers Jeffrey in her ear as he moves his hand under the table, sliding it up past her thigh and under her dress. He looks at her in a way she does not understand. Her heart jolts. At first, she thinks she is afraid, however, she can feel another more exciting feeling blazing somewhere in the back of her mind, ignited by the heat of the moment. Something new is happening to her... inside her.

She feels feverish, poisoned by a toxic concoction of fearful confusion and arousing curiosity. It’s so amazing that I still feel this way about my husband after all these years. Wait… how many years has it been? But I’m not that old, or am I? How old am I? How old is he? He still looks like the boy from school. Stop... What’s going on? Where is his hand going? I have never done this or have I? No… surely not, never. I am still only a child. What’s he doing? He’s still a child too. We aren’t old enough to be married. Questions strike like lightning, scorching the storm cloud of her mind.

Why can’t I breathe? Why can’t I move? What is this tense, tingling sensation burning inside? Time passes by in fast-forward. People get up from their tables and new people arrive. Alice doesn’t recognize any of the other faces. They are all talking, but she can’t take any of it in. Their words crash over her and drain away. Her insides twist into a tight, wrenching nodule of anticipation. Something is going to happen, something I want, something I need badly, but what?

Jeffrey yanks her hand. Caught up in a rush of motion, they run. She trips in the heeled boots and bumps tables, flinging them about the room with awesome power, scattering glass and utensils. What about the bill? We haven’t paid! They are outside. Meteors rip through the sky, plummeting down upon the surrounding city. They run over strewn piles of bombarded cement and mounds of debris. Tension builds in her hips as running becomes harder. Her muscles clenched tight, preventing her from moving. Or is the dress constricting her?

Frantic reality accelerates towards some grand cataclysm, some apocalyptic explosion that will bring erasure. It’s coming, it’s coming. Reality shatters and freezes as a great darkness consumes the sky. It descends as it expands. A new kind of scream erupts from her, soundless and penetrating. Alice awakens, still screaming.

Well-dressed fruit bats flap their wings in agitation. Anteaters extend their tongues in annoyance. The train has stopped. Two Pomeranians step in, dragging burlap sacks. Alice hears loud barking commands coming from the car ahead of her. She leans to look, spotting several of the Red Queen’s Cardmen point weapons at passengers, yapping orders to move. They brandish a picture and ask the passengers something.

Without a second thought, Alice says goodbye to the gentlemanly spider and hurries off the train. Other passengers carry suitcases up and down the platform. Attendants cry ‘All aboard!’. The train doors close, and the million tiny legs ripple with movement once again.

After the glimpse of the Cardmen on the train, Alice feels even more certain of the target on her back, like a million predatory eyes watching her every move. Her body feels surprisingly well-rested yet still slightly numbed from the tea. She bolts around the station to avoid detection. Roads stretch out from the station platform in all directions. She looks farther down the tracks, and off into the distance stands the Wall of the Farthest Edge, looming the whole stretch of the horizon like a towering mountain range, cut uniformly by godly scissors.