Ascending From Madness Page 3

  All my family’s actions did was make me feel even more isolated and restless. They kept a close eye on me until they thought I was sleeping soundly. A trick I pulled so many times in high school before sneaking out. Finally, when the house was still, I slunk out. I needed fresh air to clear my head. Feel free for a moment. Nothing worse than having freedom, living on your own, and coming back to prying eyes, questions, and rules. I had to find a real job and move back to the city. Soon.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I flinched as the tender wounds rubbed against the fabric, reminding me what happened earlier wasn’t some bad dream.

  I burrowed my head down, my breath ballooning out in front of me, my feet set forward with no real direction.

  “Little late to be out.” A deep husky accent came from the dark.

  “Holy shit!” I yelped, spinning toward the direction of the voice. A huge outline of a man leaned against a tree; tendrils of smoke twisted and wrapped around the hibernating apple tree branches. Blue eyes shined through the darkness, emotionless while they sliced right through me.

  “Are you out spying on me?” A pillow of smoke drifted to me, a skunky odor of pot wafting up my nose. “Tell me, are you a spy, Ms. Liddell?” Matt took another pull, the rings of smoke circling around him like a peel of an apple.

  “A spy?” I pinched my lips together coyly. Why did this feel so familiar? “No… certainly not. But if I were, would I tell you?” The words flowed off my tongue easily, making me feel I had said the same thing before—to him.

  “No,” he replied, staring right into me, drawing me to him like a magnet. He was dressed in nice gray sweatpants, a beanie, boots, and a black puffer jacket, looking relaxed and so frickin’ sexy, I had to reprimand myself again for my dirty thoughts.

  It didn’t stop me from walking to him instead of away like I should have. Stepping off the pavement, I treaded over his lawn, ceasing a few inches from him. He didn’t move, but the way his nostrils flared, my sudden nearness put him on the defense.

  “I think you would be a very cunning player,” he rumbled. “Have a man so bamboozled he wouldn’t care what secrets you robbed him of.”

  “Is this one of your secrets?” Smiling mischievously, I reached over and grabbed the joint from his fingers, a spark barbing my chest from the slight touch. I put it to my mouth, inhaling deeply. The smoke hit my lungs, and I tried not to choke and cough like a rookie.

  Holly and mistletoe… He liked the strong, pure stuff. “Damn.” I blew out the remnants, my eyes watering.

  A smirk wiggled his mouth as he watched me pat my chest.

  “To answer your question, yes.” He adjusted his shoulder on the trunk of the tree, his gaze sliding back to the house for a moment. “Jessica hates it.”

  “Wow. That was easy,” I teased. “Spilling your secrets. I didn’t even have to pull out my torture equipment.”

  “Something to look forward to then,” he replied evenly.

  Holy fuck. He was much better at playing this game than me. I looked away, my chest and thighs constricting in response.

  “Is that why you are out here, getting high, in the middle of the night?”

  “Relaxing.” He lifted an eyebrow, correcting me. His finger curling around mine as he took the smoke back. His eyes were on me as he lifted it to his lips, like he wanted me to see his mouth go where mine had just been. “Unwinding. There’s a difference.” He puffed out circular clouds to the side. “What is your excuse for being out at this time of night?”

  “Not much different from yours. Going for a walk, but I think your plan is better.” I nodded at his joint.

  “No reason we can’t do both.” He pushed off the tree, holding the roll up for me to take as he brushed by me, heading for the sidewalk.

  Shit, Alice, tell him no. This is a bad, bad, bad idea. My problem? I always seemed to jump straight into the hole of terrible ideas.

  He waited for me to catch up before we strolled silently down the street. We both knew this was wrong, but pretended it was an innocent walk at three in the morning.

  “How long?” I cleared my throat, taking another drag, tossing the huge elephant down on us. “How long have you and Jessica been married?”

  His chin lifted, his stare drifting off far down the street, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Five or six years?”

  “Is that a question?” I snorted, my head fuzzy enough to consider it funny. “Oh, wow. Do you know your anniversary?”

  He blinked, his forehead scrunching.

  A laugh burst from my chest, like champagne bubbles.

  “Shut up.” He tried to chide me, but a naughty boy smile stretched out over his face. “I do… I… I just can’t think of it right now. Shit…” He rubbed his head. “Can’t seem to remember a lot of things lately.”

  “Makes two of us.” I handed him the last bit left of the bud. “You know, to most women anniversaries are a huge deal.”

  “To most women?” He took the last hit before flicking it onto the street. “Why does it sound like you exclude yourself from that?”

  “I’m not like most women.” Stop flirting, Alice.

  “I believe that.” His eyes slid to me, creating more bubbles in my stomach. “But why do you think that?”

  “Don’t plan to get married. Have no desire to.” I shrugged. “So… no need to get fussy about anniversaries.”

  “What if you met someone?” He stared forward, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Knew he was the one. You wouldn’t marry him?”

  “Honestly, I don’t see the point, but I’m also not against it either. Guess life will let me know in time.”

  He turned, gaping at me.

  “What?”

  “You certainly aren’t like other girls I’ve ever met, Ms. Liddell,” his voice low. “Different. You have more…” He paused. “Muchness.”

  Muchness.

  My feet stopped, bile burning the back of my throat. My head spun with murky pictures I couldn’t make out. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to ease the sudden dizziness.

  “You all right?” He halted a few feet in front of me.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, keeping my focus on the line in the sludgy pavement. “Maybe it’s the pot making my brain fumble, but I just had the most acute sense of déjà vu or something. Getting it a lot lately.”

  “Makes two of us,” he muttered the phrase back to me, staring up at the sky. The moonlight trickled through the tree branches, shadowing half his face. “An electrical malfunction in the brain. One side gets the same information twice, so you think that event happened before.” He shook his head. “Well, it’s what Jessica tells me over and over anyway.”

  “You don’t agree?” I moved to him, not realizing how close I got. My neck creaked back, my body feeling the desperate need to touch him. To slide my hands in his jacket, feeling the warmth of his body under my palms. Like it was mine. Mine to touch freely.

  He peered down at me, not stepping away, his expression grave.

  “I don’t know what I agree with anymore.” He spoke quietly, but the sentiment felt like a fissure, the meaning going far deeper than what it appeared from the outside. Something I completely understood.

  “I know.” My eyes searched his, feeling that strange bond tie tighter around my gut. His eyes went back and forth between mine before he inhaled sharply, yanking his head up, taking a step back.

  “We should go back.” He pivoted, not meeting my gaze. “Jessica might wake up and come looking for me. And Timmy… he gets night terrors a lot. Wakes up crying for me.”

  “That’s awful, I’m so sorry.” I reached out to touch him, but stopped, clearing my throat. “My sister used to get them when she was young. Used to say the Miser brothers were kidnapping her.”

  “Miser brothers… Heat and Snow?” He tilted his head, his forehead wrinkling like he was trying to recall something. He shook his head, letting out an exhale.

  “Yeah. We watch a lot of Christmas movies. She w
as probably a little too young when we saw it. Haunted her for years.”

  “I wish it was that. Tim’s dreams are much darker.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, blinking. “Last one he woke up screaming saying he wasn’t real, that he wasn’t supposed to be here.” Matt’s throat bobbed. “That I had killed him.”

  “Wow.” My head drew back in surprise, my heart aching for the father.

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Between my illness and this move—we are all out of sorts. Things will calm down soon.” His sentiment was set with determination, but the words ricocheted like they were hollow inside.

  “I better go.” He gestured to his house.

  “Yeah… yes, of course.” I pinched my lids together for a second, shaking my head. “I should get home too.”

  We walked in silence. I was smart enough to know I was playing with fire. A blaze that would annihilate everything around me.

  He had a wife. A son. No matter how much I felt this connection to him. For once I had to do the right thing, the responsible thing, and stay far away from him.

  Matt Hatter was not a rabbit hole I could fall down.

  Chapter 4

  The squeak of wheels echoed down the row of books, the cart wobbling as I pushed it through the children’s reading section. Mom put me on shelving duty when I frowned at reading college catalogs this early in the day. It was well past noon already, and I hadn’t had enough coffee for my brain to be working at any capacity.

  Between the pot, lack of sleep, my thoughts constantly leaping to Matt, and my general feeling of edginess, I was not a ray of sunshine this morning when Mom woke me up at seven. Okay, I was never a ray of sunshine. At least while restocking, I didn’t have to speak to people and could get lost in the aisles of imagination.

  Grabbing a stack of books, I slid them into their proper place on the shelf, some of the illustrations too tempting not to look through before putting them away. There was something about children’s books and their detailed pictures that flickered at my imagination. Each page gave you a scene you wanted to jump into. Be part of. I would much rather be on the cushy bean bag they had in the corner, my nose in the book, instead of putting them away, but Mom was set on keeping me busy. Hence the never-ending books to be shelved or checked in.

  The wheels on the old cart squeaked down the aisle as I moved across the sections. This one was children’s crafts, baking, and things for them to do when stuck inside. Very popular in the winter.

  Stuffing a book with bright colors and the title spelled out with different crafts, I reached for the next one, almost shoving it into place without looking, but my gaze snapped to the jacket. Gingerbread Fun. The cover was full of differently decorated gingerbread men and houses.

  My fingers gripped both sides as I stared at it, a strange sensation forcing me to swallow. The déjà vu impression flooded back, my pulse in my neck thumping. The taste of gingerbread laid on my tongue, as if I had actually taken a bite of one, the sweet, spicy cookie melting on my tongue like a phantom.

  “It’s a party!” A light giggle whispered like a flower petal floating in the wind.

  At the same moment I saw a flash of black and white from the corner of my eye, and an oval toddler-sized figure waddling across the walkway. I jerked my head to the end of the row. Nothing.

  Caramel fudge.

  What was that? Licking my lips nervously, I crept to the end, peering down where the kid might have run.

  Nothing.

  No kid, no sound of pounding feet, or even breathing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Curious.

  I couldn’t deny this time a trickle of genuine fear scratched at the back of my throat. Yesterday’s incident hadn’t done that, though it really should have. I couldn’t remember hours of my time, of cutting into my skin. But this sank into my belly like rocks.

  Nothing’s there, Alice. Shaking my head and trying to ignore the pang in my gut, I returned to the cart and rammed the gingerbread book in its place without looking at it again. Propelling the cart forward, I curved it toward the farthest section, the lights not as bright and never filled with people. When I was little, I used to think this part was creepy and not in the spooky fun way. The kind that felt as if a nail was being dragged down your spine. Eyes watching you.

  The whine of the wheels as I drifted down the last row had my hair standing on the back of my neck.

  “Don’t let your imagination get the better of you,” I muttered. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

  I quickly grabbed at a book, finding its home, and reached up to put it away. A red glowing light flickered by before it slipped behind the shelves. I swiveled sharply, my heart jumping up in my throat, scrambling for the end of the row, peering around. The walkway was vacant. I shook my head, taking in a deep breath. I went to turn back for the cart, when I saw the blur of red light on the other side of the shelves from me and a dark shadow falling over the books as it headed down the aisle toward the end.

  Fear slammed my pulse against my neck, but I propelled myself to move, scooting round the rack to the next row, ready to find something there.

  It was empty.

  Curiouser.

  “What the...?” I gaped, staring at the blank wall where the row dead-ended a few yards away. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Dread dribbled down my throat, forcing me to swallow.

  “Switch! Switch!” Giggling voices jerked my head to the side. At the edge of my vision, two toddler-size figures darted into a row, a blur of green and red. Reacting instantly, I chased after them, determined to find the brats messing with me, ignoring the notion I needed to see they were real. I wasn’t losing my mind.

  Jogging after them, I shot down the aisle. The kids were nowhere to be found, and panic generated tears behind my lids. Distant giggles kept me moving, needing to find them. The desperation to prove they were there pounded adrenaline through my veins. Zigzagging through the shelves, I tried to catch them.

  Darting out into the kids’ reading area, I found it empty.

  A giggle, sounding like a little girl, made me jump around. “Stop it!” I yelled, my gaze scanning every inch, trying to find movement.

  “It’s a party!” Another kidlike voice circled me around, ripping the air from my lungs.

  “I said stop! You guys are going to get into trouble.”

  “It’s a very Merry un-Christmas.” A girl’s voice sang behind me, whirling me back.

  “To me?” A boy’s voice crooned back.

  “I said stop it!”

  “No, to you!”

  I didn’t see anything, but their voices lobbed all around me. My teeth sank down into my lip, my chest heaving for air, true terror skulking down on my shoulders, dropping beads of doubt into my gut, whispering, Alice, you are going mad.

  “Stop!” I screamed, my hands going to my ears. My back curled as their giggles echoed in my head, thumping at something so deep in the far reaches of my mind bile flushed up my throat. I dropped to my knees, nausea spinning my head.

  “Alice?”

  “Stop it!” I repeated over and over, pressing the heels of my palms into my ears, trying unsuccessfully to block the giggles and singing in my head.

  “Alice!” Hands grabbed for me, tugging at my wrists, trying to yank my hands from my head. “Oh fudge… Alice! Stop hitting yourself.” Fingers tore at mine. “ALICE. STOP!”

  The pitch of my mother’s demand halted the voices instantly. As if a switch was turned on, the pressure leaked out of my skull like evaporating fog, easing my lungs.

  Slowly, I lifted my lashes, looking at the few people in the library standing around, staring at me with horror. Gulping, I licked my lips, my gaze darting to the woman crouching beside me. Her dark brown eyes held even more terror. Her hands still wrapped around my wrists like she was afraid I would hurt myself, her fingers pressing into the wounds still healing on my hands.

  She stared at me for a few beats, searching my eyes for an answer, som
e logical reason for my actions. I had none.

  “What. Just. Happened?” She kept her tone emotionless, but her nails digging into my tender injuries spoke the truth under her façade.

  “Mom…” I croaked. “I-I…” I looked around at the few people still gawking. They were all older. A man with gray hair dressed similar to my father, a thirty-something woman, and a couple around their sixties.

  No kids.

  Their wide eyes pinned on me like I was part of a freak show. A thing in the cage that scared you, but you couldn’t turn away from.

  Alice. Let the madness in… I heard a whisper run through my mind.

  Bolting up, I tore from my mom’s hold and ran for the bathroom, needing to break from the scrutiny of their eyes, the truth and pity in their expression.

  Freak. Mad. Crazy. Mentally unstable. I could feel their disapprovals.

  Shoving through the door, I ran to the sink. Taking in slow breaths, I lifted my face to stare into the mirror.

  My reflection stared back at me. My dark brown hair slid over my shoulders, falling around my flushed face. To anyone who hadn’t seen my crazy episode, I looked like an attractive, normal girl. By people’s comments, I knew I was considered striking. I had the uniqueness of my mother’s Bulgarian heritage of olive skin, silky, long dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips. The problem was men treated looks as if the prettier you were, the stupider you were. I might not have liked school, but I wasn’t dumb. Nor did I deserve to be patted on the head while an inexperienced man took the job I earned because A) I was a woman; B) A pretty one. So I must not be smart or be taken seriously.

  Something like this just added to the stereotype. Really pretty girls were also half crazy. I couldn’t deny I felt like I was losing my grip on reality.

  My fingers squeezed the edges of the sink, my gaze locked on my reflection as if it was calling me to step through the glass. I had a strange feeling my copy in the mirror was shedding me of myself. And the more I stared at it, the more I couldn’t identify the girl in the mirror or which one was the real me.