"Can we take the blindfold off him, now?"
"No. We wait for 'A', first."
"How long until he arrives?"
"How should I know? 'A' doesn't tell me anything."
Tommy sat silently, listening quietly to the men converse. He didn't move in fear of being kicked again, trying not to shiver to much against the coldness of the cement walls and floor, his face, arms, and legs aching from the bindings that he'd been tied up with hours ago. Saliva had soaked through the gag on his mouth, his blindfold dampened by tears that he hadn't even known he'd been crying until a few minutes ago. He couldn't feel his hands or feet anymore.
"Oi. I think he needs a sweater. Look, he's shaking," one of the men said, kicking Tommy's foot. A few seconds later, Tommy felt a blanket being draped over his body, then tucked around behind him. He felt uncomfortable, and not because his bindings were too tight.
Confusion was all that was in Tommy's head. He had been walking home only a few short hours ago, bass in hand, when two men three times his size had attacked him. The fight had only lasted a few seconds. The men had dragged Tommy's weakened body behind the cover of a thick bush, gagged and bound him, then carried him through what Tommy had suspected had been a forest. He had been dropped down some sort of hole, landing on a hard, tile floor, where another set of men had taken him and literally threw him into the room he was in now. He was close to passing out, he knew. The thought of going unconscious here scared him, and for an insane moment, between his hysterical silent screams and confused thoughts, his mind wondered if his bass was okay.
A door clicked open. Tommy turned his head towards the noise, wishing he could see.
"'A' wants to see him in the throne room now."
Throne room? Tommy thought.
"Alright," one of the voices sighed. Soon, Tommy felt the rope on his legs loosen, then someone's hands under his armpits, pulling him to his feet. The blanket dropped to the floor. He whimpered as his joints were forced to move, painfully and stiffly.
"Walk," the voice ordered, pushing him forward. Tommy grunted, annoyed, but obeyed, stumbling for the first couple of steps as the blood rushed back into his tingling feet.
The men lead their prisoner through a twisted hallway, pushing him this way and that, guiding them to their destination. They never talked, just jabbed and poked at Tommy's back.
"Stop," the voice said. A hand grabbed his shoulder. Tommy stumbled to a halt, hearing a door, large and heavy, creak open in front of him. The hand pushed him forward again.
The gag came off. Tommy let his jaw drop open, exercising his hurting jaw. He hadn't noticed before, but he had been grinding his teeth the entire time he had been here.
"Ah. This is him?" a new voice, sweet and alluring, asked. "Hm. Did you leave him in a dust storm before bringing him to me? Or was he really this dirty when you found him?"
Tommy shifted his weight nervously, unsure if he should say anything or not. He turned his head from side to side, as if he could see what was going on around him. Suddenly, there was a hand in his hair. He took a step back abruptly, shaking his head.
"Don't touch me," he snarled. The man laughed.
"A fighter, are you? You needn't worry, Mr. Ratliff. You're in no danger here," the man said He sounded so matter-of-factly that Tommy found it hard to disagree with him.
"How do you know my name?" Tommy asked.
"There are much more important questions for you to be asking, Thomas. Think a little."
Tommy couldn't think of any better questions.
"None? Really?"
"Well… where am I?"
The blindfold was ripped from Tommy's face. He yelled. Staggering backwards, squeezing his eyes shut, he slowly opened them, slowly adjusting to the brightness of the room.
"Oh, you ruined his make-up!" the man exclaimed, eyeing the smudged eyeliner and shadow that covered most of the area around Tommy's eyes and nose.
The room was huge. The ceiling was so high that the top seemed unreasonably small. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the east wall, long, violet drapes made of velvet and silk were pulled back from each, revealing a never-ending stretch of forest and clearings. At the end of the room was an ornate throne, also covered with violet velvet. A long, thin, lavender-colored carpet created a path to the throne. The walls were painted a sort yellow-ish shade, the floors a polished white.
"Where… where am I?" Tommy breathed, his eyes wide with amazement.
"My word, you have beautiful eyes," the man said, ignoring Tommy's question. He grabbed Tommy's chin, pulling his face up (Tommy had to raise himself up on his tiptoes to keep his head from being wrenched off by the obviously taller man), intrigued. "Such an elegant shade of brown…" His face was so close to Tommy's now that Tommy felt his heart begin to speed up.
He was an incredible sight. Tall, with very well-styled black hair, and cynical blue-gray eyes that Tommy had trouble looking away from, now that he was so close. A smirk played on his lips, which Tommy guiltily noticed were lightly covered in a delicate spray of freckles. Sitting on a dangerous angle was a top hat, covered in glitter and netting, a bouquet of feathers stuck into the ribbon that rounded it. A large glittering 'A' was designed on the front, sparkling wonderfully in the light.
Tommy blinked, pulling himself out of the man's grip.
"What am I doing here?" Tommy asked, regaining his composure.
"I need a new entertainer," the man shrugged, walking behind Tommy and untying the ropes that bound his arms.
"You needed a… you could have just called!" Tommy answered, rubbing his wrists.
"Oh, no we couldn't."
"And why not?"
"There are no telephones here."
"No phones… seriously? What is this place? Hell?"
The man chuckled.
"No, not quite," he said, taking Tommy's hand and leading to the throne. With his free hand, he waved his two henchmen away. "This, my dear Thomas, is the Burrow. You may call me 'A'."
"The Burrow. Right. And where is that?"
"The Burrow is here."
"I mean where in the world-"
"The Burrow is it's own world."
Tommy's face twisted into a confused glare.
"But… what? How is that possible?"
"I don't know actually. It just is," 'A' took his seat on the throne, pulling Tommy down so he sat on the arm of the great chair. "In case you were wondering, you were taken down here through the Rabbit Hole."
"The… Rabbit Hole," Tommy repeated. He didn't believe it.
"Yes. You were taken down the Rabbit Hole, then brought here, to me," 'A' smiled. "A pleasant surprise for myself. I didn't expect you to be so adorable."
"Adorable, my ass," Tommy muttered, rising to his feet and taking a step away from the throne.
'A' chuckled.
"You can go now, if you wish. A room will be ready for you before dinner. For now, I recommend you explore your new home."
"New home? No! I'm not living here!" Tommy yelled. He had a sudden urge to stomp his foot like an angry cartoon character. The insanity of 'A' and his twisted mind was beginning to get to him.
"Oh, but you have no way home! And my men won't take you back… no, you're stuck here, Thomas," 'A' smiled deviously, then sweetly. "Go along, then. Have a look at your new home."
Tommy pursed his lips, keeping a string of profanity from leaving his mouth. 'A' turned his attention to his fingernails, seeming to completely forget that Tommy was still in the room. Tommy took a deep breath, then (because he didn't see any other option) he stormed out of the throne room as noisily as he possibly could.
Monte Pittman had long since given up trying to read. He had spent an hour at least squinting at the pages while the flame from the candle next to him made the shadows flicker irritatingly over the words.
He sat quietly, now, waiting, his pet snake Longineu lounging on the floor in front of him, stretching all the way across the room, and then some.
A knock came at the door. It was quiet, almost timid. Monte took his time rising from his chair, smoothing out his jacket, then slowly strode to the door. He opened it.
"Isaac," he greeted his visitor, nodding once.
"They have him," Isaac said. "The entertainer."
Monte's eyebrows shot up.
"Really! Does he look how I predicted?"
"Right down to the smudged face paint."
"Incredible… we'll have to retrieve him shortly," Monte said, turning on his heel and hurrying deeper into the house. He returned with a large leather bag.
Isaac stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He watched as the older man ran back and forth, grabbing various items off shelves and from drawers, placing them carefully in the bag.
"Monte?"
"Yes, Isaac?"
"What about Adam?"
Monte stopped mid-step, his breath caught in his throat.
"What do you mean, what about Adam?"
"We've been meaning to get him for months, now, and you're more concerned about this entertainer who has only been here for a day. We don't even know him, for crying out loud!"
Monte turned and looked Isaac straight in the eye. His gaze was solid, deadly serious. Isaac didn't look away.
"Adam will have to wait, for now."
"We'll get him soon, though?"
Monte went back to filling his bag.
"Soon, Isaac. I promise."