To Go Amongst Mad People
Title: Alice Smiled
Pairing: Implied Jasper and Alice
Warning and/or Summary: A look into Mary Alice's mind, before she became the vampire we know and love.
To see other entries in the To Go Amongst Mad People contest, please visit the Contest's FanFiction page:
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Mary sat on the plush bed in her parent's bedroom, watching Mama plump the feathers in her hat for the hundredth time. Tonight was special, so she picked the most expensive outfit she had. Mama was dressed to the nines in an elegant corset gown; it was blue to rival the bay near their house, with jewels spread tastefully around the bodice and lace around the dangerously low neckline. Mary was envious of the dress. She wanted to wear something so beautiful, yet she was left with a cheap imitation that Mama had made for her. It was wonderful, but Mary was tired of the gifts.
There was a loud thump in the next room. Mama frowned into the mirror, catching a limp feather before it could twist off. She turned her attention to her daughter. "Go help your sister, would you, Mary? Heaven knows she still can't dress herself," she said. "I want her gown on correctly and her shoes shiny. We must look our best tonight, for your father's sake."
They were attending a high society banquet tonight, thanks to the deal he landed at the office. Mary's family wasn't rich, but she had a strong feeling that they were well on their way to it. It was thanks to her, after all. If she hadn't known what was going wrong with Daddy's work, she couldn't help him fix it.
Mary got a big reward from Daddy the night he came home with the great news. When she took the beautiful porcelain doll from his hands, it was as if he was waiting for something, even after she thanked him. It wasn't until Cynthia came into the room with a big smile that Mary knew what he expected. She was happy, really. For once she felt like part of the family with Mama and Daddy smiling at her while Cynthia fawned over the doll. But Mary watched it all with indifference, waiting for that other shoe to drop; she knew it was coming. She had tried to muster a smile, but it wasn't long before she was lost in one of her dreams, one about the man she saw for months. When it was over, her doll had broken, and the other shoe dropped. She wasn't meant to smile.
She shook her head to clear the past and with a delicate sigh, Mary left Mama to her fussing, going to the room that she shared with her little sister, Cynthia. Mary was already dressed and primped. Her red dress was perfectly ironed, her long black hair braided, and her black heels waited by the front door all shiny and new. Cynthia, on the other hand, still had trouble dressing herself. Where Mary was quick to learn and excelled in school, Cynthia was always a slow learner. She couldn't blame her, Cynthia was only eight. When Mary was that age, she was already being pushed to be perfect; she was already different from other kids. Yet she still has more friends, Mary thought surly.
Opening the bedroom door, she was greeted by a tornado; or at least, a pig sty that looked like a tornado had stirred up. Mary's dresses and skirts were thrown on the floor, some of her blouses ripped, while more joined the mess. She stood in the doorway with wide eyes as Cynthia continued digging through the closet.
"My clothes!" Mary screamed. She marched into the room, and snatched the flat shoes from her sister's hands before she could throw them, too. "Cynthia, what are you doing?"
"I don't want to wear that dress," she cried, pointing to the puffy fabric on her bed. "I want to wear one like you. It's not fair!"
"You're a kid; you don't get to wear adult dresses. And it certainly doesn't give you a right to ruin my clothes!"
Mary set the shoes back in the closet before she went around the room, collecting the dresses first. They were special; Mama made them especially for her. Cynthia couldn't have them.
Mary knew Cynthia was always jealous of the things she had; she was the younger sibling, she should have been the baby, not Mary. What Cynthia didn't know was how Mama always thought of her with pride, or that Mama didn't cry because she was different from other kids. She never made Mama feel like a failure. Mary only got nice things because Mama was scared. She thought if she kept the demon happy, her real daughter would be returned.
Cynthia stood off to the side, silently watching her sister put away the clothes. As Mary held up the purple dress she wanted to wear instead of that puffy mess, Cynthia grabbed it from over Mary's shoulder. She loved the height advantage she had over her older sister.
Mary turned to get a better grip. Her fingers caught the fabric before Cynthia could pull it away. "Stop it!"
"Give it to me! I want to wear it tonight!" Cynthia yanked harder, the material straining between them.
"You wouldn't fit in it. You'd look stupid," Mary argued. "Do you want to look stupid in front of Daddy's friends?"
Cynthia glared. She let go of the dress, her hand coming up for a slap, when Mary stumbled backwards. She held on to her purple dress as she fell; she wouldn't let Cynthia have it. A loud rip echoed in the sudden silence of the room, just before Mary caught herself on the wall. Cynthia stared with scared eyes at the damage, already backing away.
Mary checked the purple dress, but it was fine, if a bit wrinkled. So where was the damage? She looked down at herself and gave a horrified gasp. Her beautiful red dress was torn from one hip to the other, gaping like a wound to reveal the slip underneath. Cynthia's foot had caught the hem, tearing the dress like paper.
The anger that filled Mary was sudden. Her cold shocked body ran hot like a fever. She opened her mouth to scream, but only had a second to brace for the nausea she knew so well. The bedroom disappeared. It was replaced with a familiar dark forest, a body racing towards her. It scared her when her dreams did this.
They shared his body; she watched through his eyes, used his hands. She saw him once before, in a different dream outside of his body. He was a tall man with blond hair, the fine physique of a warrior, and red eyes. Despite being different, they never scared her. She saw the same expression from herself. Those eyes were always filled with such sorrow or hatred. They were alike; she was never happy, he was never happy. And he was fighting again today.
The things he fought were human, yet they didn't look like people. They looked like monsters, and Mary knew from her nightmares that they all fought like dogs, or demons. She often wondered if it was real. Was there a man out there somewhere, truly fighting these monsters? She always prayed it was a figment of her imagination, but it couldn't be. It felt too real.
His hands—or were they her hands?—reached out to stop the monster, but another grabbed his arm, fingers gripping tight enough Mary lost circulation. He flung the one he held into a tree and turned his attention to the other. With a vicious growl, he lifted the creature, ready to throw it, until its teeth sank into his shoulder. Mary shared his scream of pain.
Suddenly four more creatures were there. They jumped on him, held him down on the forest floor as they attacked. Mary felt their teeth, sharp like knives, cutting against her skin.
It didn't last long; she came back to the present with the man's agonized voice in her head, echoing his scream.
Mary quickly closed her mouth and looked around; she was back in her bedroom. When did she lie down? She had been propped against the wall when she disappeared. She held her hands in front of her face; she wasn't bleeding, but she ached. Her arms hurt like a knife cut her deep and her head throbbed with a dull roar.
Mama stood above her with hopeful eyes, but her face turned dark when she realized Mary was still the same. Mary knew every time she blacked out, she always hoped the demon went away. But it never happened. Mama would continue to be disappointed, and Mary would never find a way to make her dreams come true.
"Mary Alice, look what you did to your dress!" Mama hissed as she hauled her daughter to her feet.
Mary didn't bother to say it was her sister's fault. Mama loved Cynthia more and only listened to the good things; it was enough to make Mary want to live inside her dreams, the good ones. She didn't want to see the blond man hurt anymore, and she didn't want to live inside the black room where she was surrounded by distant screams.
Mary was pulled into the den where Mama kept her sewing kit. Without a word, Mary pulled out the ottoman so Mama had room to move, and stepped up, the leather cool against her stockings. She was a little disorientated after her dream, so she would have to fight to hold still. Usually when Mama made adjustments on her dresses while she wore them, she claimed Mama stuck her with the pin on purpose. Mama always said stop moving.
Mama worked quickly and efficiently, closing the ugly tear like a master of her art. Mary took shallow breaths while the stomach was repaired; she didn't want to get stuck with the sharp pin. It gave her time to get the courage to apologize. She didn't mean for the dress to be ruined after all the hard work that went into it. It was an accident, but Mary knew Mama wouldn't believe that. She would have to take the blame for her sister. Like always.
"I'm so sorry, Mama," Mary said softly.
Mama sighed, never taking her eyes from her work. "I know, Mary. It's just frustrating for me. I put so much time into this gown for you. I didn't believe you would ruin it so quickly."
"I'm sorry. It was the dream." She never said what they were about. Mama didn't like Mary's dreams mentioned at all, but she could talk to Daddy. She never shared the nightmares with anyone, yet she often saw Daddy in her dreams and was happy to help him with work. Strangely, her dreams always helped him. "It was scary, and I didn't know what to do. I felt trapped."
"You wake up, that's what you do," Mama said sternly. "You don't speak of them to anyone. You behave yourself like a normal ten-year-old girl. That is what you're supposed to do, Mary Alice. Is that so much to ask?"
"No, Mama, I'll be good. I promise I won't dream tonight at the party."
Mama ignored the promise—she heard it before, and it never happened—as she smoothed the front of the skirt with a satisfied grin. "There, all fixed. Now try to take better care of it."
Mary stepped off the ottoman with a light warmth in her chest. She recognized it as happiness. What was the expression that went with it? A smile. She saw so many people around her smiling all the time, and she wondered why she couldn't do it, too. She had reasons to be happy, so why not smile?
She practiced in the mirror once. It hurt her face, so she didn't try it again. Besides, what did she have to smile about? She was surrounded by superficial gifts and a family that didn't love her.
Mary settled with putting a skip in her step; that would show Mama she was happy. She wasn't happy because the dress was fixed, that was a bonus, but because Mama used a kind voice. She never got that voice, only Cynthia. It didn't matter if what Mary did right, the bad outweighed the good, and she always got the cold voice of a stranger, not a mother. After all, Mary had never been a true part of the family. She was just the demon that inhabited Mama's daughter.
++-++-++
The party was held in an expensive hotel a few blocks away. When the three women arrived, ten minutes late due to the repair, the party was already in full swing. Men and women stood in groups wearing their best hats, tuxedos, gowns, and fur. Children ran around the decadent room, laughing and playing tag. Mary watched them with wide eyes.
Their parents must be drunk already, Mary thought. Mama would never let us run like that.
They met up with Daddy at their reserved table. He greeted Mama and Cynthia with a kiss; Mary received a pat on the head. She didn't complain. It was more than she thought she would get in public. She took her seat beside Cynthia and watched the room, staying silent like a good child.
The ballroom was decorated exceptionally for the party. It was the dead of winter in warm, rainy Biloxi, and Christmas was only a few weeks away, so it was no surprise to see a large pine tree in one corner of the room. It was decorated to match the room, or perhaps the other way around. It was covered in silver and gold ornaments, scattered but intentional, with golden beads and white garland strung all around it in a perfect spiral. The room was covered in gold and silver accents to match. Mary loved the ribbons draped from the chandelier; it gave the room a mystical feeling, like a fairytale.
She tried to smile politely as people passed their table, but her face was against it. She couldn't smile. To avoid the stares, she focused on her silverware. No one would sit and talk. They only touched Mama's or Daddy's shoulder, shared a smile and a few words before moving on. They didn't have anything else to do, they just didn't want to sit and chat in fear of Mary. It was no secret that she sometimes hurt people when she dreamed. There had been many incidents at school.
Before long, Mama was tired of people skittering away. She left the table to visit her friends, never once looking back. The chatter of the room suddenly seemed louder in Mary's head. She thought she heard her name mentioned once or twice.
"Any more good news today, sweetheart?" Daddy asked.
It took Mary a moment to realize he was talking to her. She looked up from the table to his smiling face and she shook her head.
He reached over the table to stroke her hair lightly. "What's wrong, Mary? You look sad, and this is a time for us to be happy."
"I know," she mumbled.
"Another fight with Mommy?"
Mary nodded. "Cynthia accidentally ripped my dress and she blamed it on one of my dreams."
"I did not!" Cynthia protested.
"Girls, no fighting tonight," Daddy said gently. He turned his attention to his eldest daughter. "Mary, it isn't your fault Mommy is upset; she's been stressing about tonight, that's all. I'm sure both of you have been very good today. You know Santa Claus is watching, and he doesn't bring gifts for naughty children."
Mary never told her parents she didn't believe in Santa Claus; it wouldn't be normal, and all the kids in her class swore he was real. Even Cynthia believed he existed. Mary also didn't correct Daddy about Mama. It was a conversation that was often repeated. It wasn't your fault, Mary. She didn't mean it, Mary. You're a good girl, Mary. They were all lies.
Daddy chose that time to refill his glass of scotch, telling the girls he would return quickly, but Mary knew he was trying to escape. He talked to her like a human being, she shared her dreams with him, yet he always led their conversations in a circle. He never tried to make her feel better. Unless she had a dream that would help him, he never encouraged her. She didn't blame him. What good was having a demon unless it worked for you?
Daddy disappeared into the crowd, and Mary couldn't spot a glimpse of Mama amongst the crush of laughing bodies. The girls were left by themselves, but not unsupervised. The couples at the closest tables kept a wary eye on Mary.
"This is boring," Cynthia groaned, slouching in her chair.
Mary scowled. "Sit up or you'll wrinkle my dress." Cynthia had stolen the purple dress while Mary was with Mama. She threw a fit claiming Cynthia would ruin the dress, but Mama didn't care.
"She is your only sister," Mama had said derisively. "It won't kill you to share."
She didn't argue. But just as Mary had predicted, Cynthia looked stupid. She was taller, so her shiny heels peeked out underneath the hem, and the top looked uncomfortably tight. Cynthia didn't care. She thought she looked amazing, especially with her new haircut that had been styled into curls. She made the dress work; Mary was just jealous.
"I'm going to walk around," said Cynthia. She already pushed her chair back.
Mary jumped up, pushing on her sister's shoulders. If she went missing, Mary would be blamed. "Daddy said he would come back. You can wait and walk with him."
"No. He won't let me play with the other kids." Cynthia fought against Mary's tiny hands.
"We didn't come here to play, Cynthia. We're supposed to be good."
"No," she said again, this time with a little more force behind the word. "You are supposed to behave. I can do whatever I want because I'm not a freak!"
The insult stung, and Mary quickly withdrew her hands. Was that what Cynthia really thought? That her big sister, the person she should look up to and imitate, was a freak? She always thought Cynthia was her only friend; they played together, shared hopes and dreams in wistful sighs before bed. Mary should've known better. She held back the tears, but one escaped down her cheek.
"Why are you crying? You know you're a freak." Cynthia scoffed. "Everyone hates you, even Mom. She hates you the most for ruining her life. I heard her and Dad talking, and she doesn't even consider you her daughter."
She already knew that, so why did it hurt so much more to hear it out loud?
Mary grabbed a napkin and hastily dabbed under her eyes. It was the first time Mama let her wear make up. What would she say if it smudged? She would never get another chance.
A sick feeling swept through her stomach. She knew what it was. No, I promised Mama! Please don't let it happen. She ignored the rest of Cynthia's insults and clenched her hands tight to fight off the nausea. The pain of her nails biting into her palms helped clear her head, but it didn't stop the power from sweeping her away. Loud ringing filled her eyes as the bright room spun, colors melting away, until she was left in the dark.
She was staring at the man this time. That was a good start; she never liked being inside his head. It was too scary. Too filled with death.
The man sat alone in a dark room, his head in his hands. She could see with the small light sitting on the table that he was hurt. His eyes were clamped shut. He mumbled to the darkness in a broken voice, "I didn't want this. I didn't ask. Why is she making me fight?"
Mary wondered who she was.
Mary drew closer to him, and knelt beside his chair. From there she could see the silver glow on his arms, thanks to the light. Hundreds of them were scattered along the skin, reminding her of the tree's decoration. They were scars, and each one of them were perfectly shaped crescents.
She touched his bare arm. She wasn't sure it would do anything; she never tried touching anything in her dreams before. Her warm hand met cold skin, and she gasped. He was solid under her fingers, but he didn't seem to feel her at all. Carefully, she traced a scar.
"I promised my family I would never kill after the war," he sobbed. "Why did she choose me out of all the dying?"
"Who?" Mary asked. Her voice was only a ghostly echo in the darkness. He couldn't hear her.
He stood up and crossed the room in a flash. Mary wasn't scared how he could be in different places with a single blink. She was too worried for him; she knew what he was thinking, even without being inside his head. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage.
She kept him locked up, and Mary knew that was a hard thing to do. She only released him when she wanted him to kill. Starving him made the monster stronger, turned it into a raging beast when it was unleashed. She liked the killing, she loved that she had such a strong creature in her possession. It would help speed up her plans.
He paced in front of the door, rubbing his arm like it hurt, as if to soothe the injury, but only succeeded in making himself scream. He ground his fingers into the fresh wounds. He couldn't dwell on the depressing matters. Pain and anger were stronger than tears and sadness.
One day, he would have his freedom. He would kill her if he had to. He already killed her friends with his bare hands, so why would it matter if she was gone? The war wouldn't be happening if she was dead.
It scared her that she could hear his thoughts in her head, yet Mary watched it all go through his mind. He was as tortured and misunderstood as she was. Whoever the woman was, Mary hoped he killed her. It seemed like she really deserved it for putting this man through so much anguish. He had been a normal man before he met her.
Chains jangled outside the door, the sharp click of a lock made both Mary and the man jump. It took barely any time before the thick door was opened with a heavy scrape. A woman stood in the doorway—she was the one putting him through all the madness. In a blink, the man had grabbed her around the throat.
She laughed, and it was sultry sound that made Mary shiver. It was laced with the promise of dark things, terrible things, and most of all, pain. "Oh Jasper, you don't think you can kill me this way, do you? Didn't I teach you better?"
Jasper. After months of seeing him, Mary finally knew his name. Jasper the killer. Jasper the monster. Jasper . . . the tortured soul.
The scene faded, leaving Mary momentarily blind and confused. She blinked, clearing her vision of the dazzling light, and was back in the frenzied ballroom. It sounded like people were screaming. Her eyes focused in front of her to find Cynthia's scared, blue face. Her fingers were wrapped around her little sister's throat much like Jasper had grabbed the woman. With a scream, Mary pulled her hands away. She accidentally scratched Cynthia's neck as she did, blood getting on her hands, due to cramped knuckles.
Mama and Daddy comforted Cynthia as she gasped and cried. The crowd held all the disdain in the world for Mary. She took two steps back, staring at her hands as if she never saw them before. She almost strangled her sister. She almost killed Cynthia!
Tears ran down her face. "I didn't mean to," she whispered hoarsely. "I didn't mean to do it. I'm sorry, Cynthia, so sorry. It was an accident. I'm sorry."
Mama didn't look convinced.
++-++-++
Another vision came true. She was in the room with distant screams. Darkness was her only luxury now, and she was afraid of it. It was cold and cramped, and she hated that she heard others being tortured. They took everything else from her, including her beautiful, shiny waist-length hair. She tried not to touch her head anymore; she hated the stubble growing there. She would never again have that beautiful hair.
She would never see her family again.
Mama had yelled and screamed when they arrived home after the party. Endangering Cynthia had been the last straw, and Mama couldn't handle living with a demon that would try to kill her only daughter. Daddy didn't argue, didn't fight for her. All the money Mary had made them went to putting her into an asylum.
That same night, Mary Alice Brandon died. But they had been nice, they let her keep part of her name; it made the memories more painful, to know she used to have a family. Now everyone called her Alice—not that she responded to it. It had been two years since she was put into the asylum and she hadn't said a word. She only cried in her cell and screamed during treatments. They promised they would help her, that they would make her better.
Nothing helped her nightmares.
She still had visions of her family, how happy they were. She saw a different blond man, someone with golden eyes, making a life. And she still had Jasper. He was the light in her secluded world. She had watched his life change over the years with a fascination she could only describe as hero worship. He had been damaged beyond repair, broken like her, yet he pulled himself from the brink. It gave Alice hope.
Jasper was different now; he was healing. Alice saw him traveling with another man and woman. They looked happy. Alice always focused on him while she sat in her cell; it kept the darkness and screams away. Not long ago, she saw something in his life she hoped to glimpse again. It was beautiful, and she cried when she saw it, because it filled with her with the faith that one day she would also know what it felt like. She thought nothing of it when others did it, but there was something about Jasper that she couldn't describe that made it beautiful.
She watched the group in her mind with baited breath. He did it often with his friends; he had to do it again. He would. He will.
Finally, Jasper smiled.
Alice released her breath, branding the image onto her heart. Everything would be all right. She would recover. She made herself a promise in that dank cell, that their two tortured souls would find each other, and they would heal together. She would finally forget all the terrible things from her past life; after all, they already forgot about her. With Jasper, she would start a new life, a better life full of light and laughter. Yes, that was her promise, and she would never forget that.
Blurry images flashed behind her eyes. She saw a shadowy man talking to her, coaxing her to believe in him, to forgive him. Then there was a forest, and mountains, and a diner where something important would happen. A family? The golden-eyed man—she would find him. And with him, came sunlight.
They're not all nightmares, she reminded herself. She just had to make the right decisions. Sitting in the small cell, warmth filled her chest. It was better than she felt in years, and it was almost sad to her because it happened while she was alone, when she should've smiled being surrounded by presents and family. But it was there. Her face ached, but she felt it. She knew how to do it now. She couldn't fight it.
For the first time in her life, surrounded by the pressing darkness, Alice smiled.