I know I should probably write an introduction to this story, but I've wrote so many over the years that I'm afraid I'm out of original ones! Terribly sorry, friends, but that's just the truth :)

Anyway, this is an American McGee's Alice in Wonderland Fanfiction story. If you don't like pain, gore, sex, swearing, being uncomfortable or overall hate it when people come up with original ideas to go with things like this (i.e Fanfiction), then please leave now and please, close the door behind you! Of course, then again, if you don't like that stuff, then why the Hell did you play the videogames? Those are some of McGee's favorite topics, friends!

Now, I don't know why I proceed to put this in here, speaking people don't freaking listen anyway, but PLEASE, for the love of GOD, DO NOT send me flames or any bad reviews whatsoever! If you DO ignore my very nice request not to, then chances are, your gonna get a really angry PM from me lambasting you on the definition of what should be sent as a PM and what should be a review!

ANYWAY! I promise I'm a lot less of a meanie than I just appeared, so please, enjoy this story (I love the concept if I do say so myself) and please, if it strikes your fancy, review - I love those, especially the good, detailed ones! Now, onwards to the disclaimer (which is only gonna come once :)). And if you have any questions about the story line what's gonna happen next or anything else - seriously? wanna talk about the weather, want advice on what to eat for dinner - then just PM me. I'll get back to you as quickly as I can :)

Disclaimer: I do not own American McGee's Alice. That amazing work of art belongs to McGee, Spicy Horse and (controversially) EA Games. The only people I own are Quinn, Johanna, Lucy, Inspector Gregory - basically anyone who was not in the game.

PS - OH! I also do not own Dr. Wilson's Casebook contained in this chapter and a few more located on down the line. I borrowed it from somewhere on the internet (I think it was the wiki) so PLEASE, just pop that up there in the disclaimer whenever you read it :)

- Nagiana

It was raining as ever, the day that Tarquinn Reeves appeared on the stoop of The Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth, the former practice and domicile of the hypnotherapist, Angus Bumby. The young psychiatrist turned his eyes skyward to gaze up at the tall, slightly imposing, slightly crumbling brick façade of the tall building, where he heaved a sigh. He honestly didn't know what to expect. It was a bleak building, situated in one of the poorer, more dangerous sections of London and which used to be run by a psychopath who abused his patients and eventually turned them into prostitutes once he sufficiently wiped their memory to his satisfaction. Hopefully, Quinn could change all that.

He gently grasped one of the wrought iron spikes of the gate in front of him and took a step forward but stopped – frozen to the spot. This building held memories . . . memories of a madman, of many tortured children. He would have a lot to do and a lot of past memories to rewrite. It was intimidating and he hoped that he would be able to do it. He had quite a job ahead of him.

His eyes fell onto the heavy mahogany front door as it opened, revealing a portly man with a walrus mustache and wearing a dark green overcoat and black bowler hat. He had a red face as well and gestured to the much thinner man standing on the other side of the gate. "Are you Doctor Tarquinn Reeves?" He asked, and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, although I much prefer Quinn. You must be Inspector Gregory," He spoke, and the man nodded, his eyes racking up and down the younger man's slight frame, his eyes running down from his thick ebony hair, to his big brown eyes and olive-colored skin, to the leanly muscular frame supported by long legs and big feet. The shape and size of his eyes made him look younger and more feminine than he actually was but he was no ugly man by any means. He possessed good looks that bordered on pretty and slightly handsome. He wore no hat or carried no umbrella to protect himself from the rain and other elements, and no coat to shield him from the wind.

"Yes, yes, I am Inspector Gregory – now come on, lad, before you catch your death standing there!" He spoke rather impatiently as he hurriedly gestured him inside. Quinn didn't have to be told twice. He opened the squeaky gate and moved towards the steps to the inside of the Home, allowing the gate to swing shut behind him. The walk to the steps was cobblestoned, but some of the stones were missing or crumbling, allowing weeds and dried, dying grass to poke up between them. The steps were no better – all-together solid but still missing chunks of concrete in some places. He was sure it was better taken care of when Doctor Bumby was still alive, but since he had died it had fallen ever-so-slightly into disrepair.

Inspector Gregory stood aside, allowing Quinn to move past him into the house, shaking the cold from his frame as he did so. The Inspector closed the door behind them, shivering as he did so as well. "It's been harsh this winter! Some of the old timers say they haven't seen a harsher winter in decades!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded slightly as he gazed around the space surrounding him. It was a large space, obviously the common room or the entrance hall. The floors were dusty but well-taken care of, as well as the emerald green wallpapered walls. A roaring, warm fire flickered welcomingly in the stone fireplace across the way and when he turned his eyes above the fireplace, he saw an outline above it, in the obvious shape of a large picture frame that had been removed after years of hanging there. Children's toys lay strewn all over the ground and when he turned around to face the Inspector, he saw an expensive but dusty dining table strewn with every kind of art supplies you could think of, from crayons and coloring books, to paint and canvases.

The Inspector nodded, more genially this time since they were no longer out of the biting cold and rain. "I should probably introduce myself better. I am Inspector James Gregory, Scotland Yard. I was assigned to this case. You must be Doctor Tarquinn Reeves, the Psychiatrist that is here to take over Doctor Bumby's practice?" He spoke as he held out his hand, and Quinn grasped it and shook it, his eyes still running over the room and the rather dowdy décor contained within. The Inspector found himself surprised by the smaller man's impressively strong handshake.

"Uh yes, but as I've stated previously, I much prefer 'Quinn' to my full name," He spoke before he cracked a half-smile and laughed a little. "From what my colleague told me about the state of this home, I thought this place would be much more run-down! It seems quite . . . homely, though . . ." The Inspector nodded as he moved over to the fireplace, where he stood in front of it, warming his backside with the flames.

"You have Miss Alice to thank for that!" He spoke and Quinn furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion.

"Miss . . . Alice?" He asked, and the Inspector nodded.

"Yes, she is quite the little housekeeper! She is young and quiet, but able enough and kind too towards the children. They trust her and dare I say, love her."

"Is she the housekeeper? Frederick didn't tell me Bumby had a housekeeper!" He asked, and the Inspector laughed.

"No, no, nothing nearly as simple as that! She was one of Doctor Bumby's older patients. Once he died and you took up the place, she jumped to take control of the reins while you made your way here. I'm pretty sure this place would be run down if it wasn't for the lass!" Quinn nodded.

"She . . . wouldn't happen to be the infamous Alice Liddell, would she?" He asked, unable to hide his interest, and the Inspector nodded, gazing at him curiously as he did so.

"Aye, yes she is. How did you know?" Quinn shrugged his shoulders.

"In the letter my colleague wrote me, he mentioned an Alice Liddell that had been under Doctor Bumby's care. He mentioned that she had been at multiple asylums for various reasons over the past ten years, and that she had been Doctor Bumby's favorite patient. I didn't think she would be fit enough to care for a house, much less ten to fifteen children!" He spoke, and the Inspector shrugged again.

"I must admit, the lass does look fragile to the eye but I suspect she is stronger than she looks – she'd have to be after what she went through! She was one of the few who stayed strong when the Doctor died and his true intentions came into the light. He was a mad doctor, alright, but I doubt a few really knew it," The Inspector shook his head and shuddered. "He was a true psychopath, that Doctor Bumby!" Quinn furrowed his eyes even more in confusion.

"What makes you say that?"

"His obsession with Alice stemmed from a lot more than just an interest in her case, Doctor Reeves! He had been obsessed with her sister, Elizabeth – or Lizzie, as she was more commonly known – and was the true culprit that had caused the fire that killed her family. He was obsessed with blocking the memories in her mind with hypnotherapy so his secret would never come out! Poor Alice . . ." He shook his head sadly. "I'm surprised the lass is taking this as well as she has been!" Quinn shook his head.

"I've heard rumors in Paris of course – everyone has! Her case is remarkable and every psychiatrist of merit has been interested in it! I didn't know any details, though, speaking only the barest of bones managed to take itself across the channel into France and Germany. Actually, it was my mentor, Wilhelm Wundt, from the University of Leipzig, who originally informed me of her case." The Inspector nodded.

"Well, I suspect that you will meet the good Alice soon. She is currently out at the Apothecary gathering the children's medicine and other various groceries. She should be back soon. Until then, however, how about I show you to your new office?" Quinn nodded.

"Of course, lead the way!" He spoke and the Inspector made to move but stopped, turning a confusion look onto him.

"You didn't have any luggage you brought with you, did you?" He asked, and Quinn nodded.

"Uh yes I did, but my friend and colleague are sending them over in spurts. My wife and child will be here shortly as well." He spoke and the Inspector nodded as he turned and led the way to a flight of creaking stairs.

"Well this place needs a woman's touch, if you ask me! Alice has done all she could with the supplies available but now that there will be money being brought into this place, it should look better in no time!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, Johanna is quite excited about it. She's the regular little home decorator, if I do say so myself!" He chuckled and the Inspector glanced back at him as they turned and continued up another flight of stairs to the third floor.

"You mentioned a child as well?" He spoke and Quinn nodded.

"Yes, our daughter, Lucy. She is to turn two in three months." He spoke and the Inspector nodded again as they reached the third floor. It was much draftier up here and Quinn shuddered reflexively. The Inspector smiled weakly as they continued their journey down the hall.

"You should probably invest in a good coat, Doctor Reeves – for you and your wife and daughter! London winters are different than Paris's and even Germany's! It's much colder here. It is much colder and much, much wetter!" He spoke, and Quinn nodded in thanks.

"Thank you Inspector. From what I've experienced so far, I daresay I might take you up on that suggestion. Pray tell, what did Doctor Bumby do for warmth on this floor?" He asked a he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and the Inspector glanced at him.

"Well, since the children's rooms are predominantly down on the first and second floors, you will be the only one who will reside on this floor. Your apartments are connected to your office by a short hallway and two grand fireplaces are located in every room of the apartments and your office. The hallway will be, of course, as cold as it is now, but your office and apartments should be quite cozy once proper fires are started." Quinn nodded as they reached a door. It had a gold plaque stamped to the front inscribed with 'The Office of Doctor Angus Bumby M.D Psy.D'.

"I'll have to get that changed . . ." Quinn muttered, more to himself than to the Inspector, but Inspector Gregory smiled and chuckled nonetheless as he fished around in his pockets for the keys to the office.

"Yes, I suspect that you will!" He replied as he finally found the keys and unlocked the door. He opened it with a flourish and walked inside, Quinn following him close on his heels. It was a spacious enough office, warm from the already crackling fireplace on one side of the room that was surrounded by a couch and a wing-tipped chair, both decked out with emerald green velvet upholstery. A thick, plush rug lay underneath the chair and sofa near the fireplace as well as underneath the desk on the other side the room, was the same color as the walls and upholstery of the chair and sofa. Apparently, Doctor Bumby had a fondness for the color green, but Quinn didn't mind. He didn't mind the color, and he had to admit, it did add a certain professional quality to the whole room. The desk was of heavy dark cherrywood with a lamp in one corner while the rest of the space was stacked with case files and other papers that he could tell had not been moved since the day Angus Bumby had died. And finally, behind the desk, was a whole wall of bookshelves, stocked tightly with all manner of books, from medical to the classics.

"It's certainly not what I expected . . ." Quinn confessed, and the Inspector nodded.

"I know what you mean. I expected it to be more cluttered, with the ravings of a madman scribbled all over the walls in blood and feces. You know, like that mad writer they locked up in the Bastille in Paris so long ago . . ."

"The Marquis de Sade, yes . . . I know well who you are referring to. I did a case study on him for when I still back in the University under the tutelage of Wundt. It had to do when he resided in both the Bastille and Charenton Asylum towards the end of his life. Fascinating man – nymphomania, sadomasochism . . . he was extremely intelligent but definitely a product of his environment whilst growing up . . ." He trailed off and stayed in thought for a moment as he continued to observe his surroundings. "But no, I didn't quite envision Doctor Bumby's office to be like his, Inspector. I envisioned the clutter, maybe, but not mad ravings in blood and feces on the walls." He smiled and turned around to face the Inspector. "Nothing was removed?" He asked, and the Inspector shook his head.

"Nothing was removed that I know of, Doctor. The door was locked when investigators and Detectives arrived to search the place and no one thought it prudent to search his office when they found the door locked. When I was assigned the place, I only did light rifling, nothing more – as per your colleague, Doctor Frederick Fitzgerald's instructions. No one has a key except me and I doubt the young Alice has been in here too. Actually . . . it explains the dust . . ." He spoke as he wiped a finger across a nearby surface, sweeping inches of dust off the surface as he did so. Quinn nodded as the Inspector handed him the key. "So, you have everything you need, Doctor?" He asked, and Quinn nodded as he closed a fist around the key and replaced his hands back in his pockets.

"Yes, I think I do, Inspector. Thank you kindly for meeting me here and showing me to my office." He spoke, and the Inspector nodded in return.

"Don't you mention it Doctor! You have any problems, call me at Scotland Yard. I'll be here in a jiff!" Quinn smiled thankfully as they turned and Quinn escorted him to the door. "Although I doubt you will. You will have Miss Alice here to help with the children and to how you to ropes. Doctor Bumby's files all seem to be in working order, as well . . . you might want to go through them just in case, though . . ." He trailed off, and Quinn smiled and nodded as they shook hands.

"Thank you again, Inspector. I will be sure to call you if any problems arise!" He promised, and the Inspector and Quinn exchanged a few scant goodbyes before he left, closing the door behind him and leaving Quinn standing there feeling quite helpless in an office that had just recently become his.

Another closed door led off to what he presumed was the apartments that the Inspector had referred to, but he allowed that door to stay closed for now. He would probably do nothing to those rooms until Johanna and Lucy arrived in a couple of days, where he would then discuss what to do with them with his wife. He would most probably choose to sleep on the couch in his office for the next few nights while he waited. He didn't fancy sleeping in the same bed linens that, that psychopath Bumby had slept in and he doubted his wife would feel any differently. Actually, he didn't relish living in the same apartments as that man! Not after what he had heard he had done to Alice and her family!

After sighing and rubbing his hands together, trying in vain to rub some warmth back into the flesh, he moved over to stand behind his desk, where his eyes ran briefly over the case files and papers scattered and piled atop the surface. He sighed and shook his head in amazement. All this would have to be filed . . . they would have to be dictated, read and then decided upon . . . he didn't have time for this! He had an orphanage and practice to run, not-to-mention a family and other children to care for! How the Hell did the Doctor do all this and still keep his sanity?

Well . . . it probably wasn't the best analogy, but he got the picture.

"My God, why didn't Frederick warn me of this?" He asked himself bitterly under his breath as he pulled out the chair and took his seat. After rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed a case file – the first one on top of the nearby pile, in fact – only to find that it was Alice Liddell's. It was thicker than most and heavier than just a file full of papers. With eyebrows furrowing gently in confusion, he opened the file, only to have a bruised and battered casebook fall into his lap.

He let out an 'oof' as it collided with his lap and upon plopping the rest of the file down onto the desk, picked up the casebook. It was thin, but clearly had been a fellow doctor's casebook – a Doctor Wilson's to be exact. After glancing down at her file and finding that Doctor Hieronymus Q. Wilson had been Alice's doctor while she had been a patient at Rutledge Asylum, Quinn momentarily blanched at that. Rutledge? Alice had been at Rutledge? Dear God, had he known the poor girl had been at Rutledge, then he would have understood her plight a lot better! No wonder she had taken so long to recover her sanity! Rutledge was a laughingstock in both the rest of Europe and America for its primitive, barbarous methods of dealing with the insane and its perverted orderlies and cruel nurses. The doctors didn't make up for much of that as well. Doctor Wilson was one of the few at the asylum who were looked upon with esteem within the rest of the psychiatric community but not by much, especially when it got around that he had accepted a job at Rutledge.

His heart immediately went out to the poor girl. Condemned to one of the worst asylums in all of Great Britain after witnessing the fiery death of her entire family and then targeted by an insane psychiatrist that she thought she could trust . . . he doubted she would even be receptive to any of his methods after all that. He hoped she would give him a chance to prove he was nothing like Wilson and Bumby, but even he had his doubts. He seriously had his doubts when it came to Alice.

The casebook had been written between 1864 and 1874, spanning a good ten years which continued to put a sour taste in his mouth. Ten years . . . He thought, shaking his head. She spent ten years in that hellhole! What woman could possibly have come out of that situation sane?

Unable to rein in his curiosity, he flipped open the casebook to the first page. Written in a thin, spidery scrawl that screamed of Doctor Wilson's doctorate, he began to read,

1864

4, November, 1864

I recently received confirmation from the Superintendent that I will be given the opportunity to treat a very troubled and difficult patient. Dubious honor! Her name is Alice, and her prognosis is not promising. After looking at her file, I'm astonished she has survived this long. She has been nearly comatose for a year.

"Would I have admitted her had I known then what I know now?" -3/10/73

Quinn paused in his readings for a moment, his dark brows furrowing in slight confusion. The last line was written in red ink instead of the usual black, almost as an afterthought to the entries the words accompanied. They were also titled at a different date than the above passage.

Eyebrows continuing to furrow in confusion, he slowly proceeded to flip through the rest of the casebook. There were more of them too! Did Wilson come back in and add notes to the casebook? If so, then why?

He flipped back to the page he had been on, and continued reading,

11, November, 1864

Mute on a stretcher, with her head curiously bandaged, Alice seems to cling precariously to life. Her burns have healed remarkably in the year since the fire, but she languishes in a deep trance-like dementia. It's as if the blaze consumed her senses wholesale. Deaf, dumb and blind to all stimulation, she's a fair match for the infirmary's gloom.

In a frenzied instant, a cankered feline pounced on Alice while she was about to be carried inside. Startled by the cat's yowl, the bearers lost their grip and dropped the wretched girl to the ground. Most curious to behold, the cat stood atop Alice as if claiming territorial right, or as if defending a rodent captured in the day's hunt from other hungry predators. Only when an orderly threatened it with a stick did the creature scamper into a nearby hedge. Even then the cat crouched beneath the shrubbery. With eyes agape, it fixed on Alice as if it had some vital interest in our proceedings.

"It pays to heed the feline — something I've learned over the years." -21/10/73

13, November, 1864

In the twelve months since the conflagration, Alice has dropped further into a grim and darkly quiet abyss. It's a wonder the Superintendent didn't bury her deep within the Bedlam catacombs. The surgeons were able to cure the flesh, but they've done nothing to treat the inflammation of her brain. It's not sure what he expects me to accomplish with her. I suppose he thinks that in my twenty-three years within these troubled walls I've mastered a curriculum not taught in Oxford classrooms.

14, November, 1864

Her one possession is a toy — a sooty, stuffed rabbit whose single button-eye dangles from a loose thread. Plaything from her time of innocence, and her only link to life before the fire, the rabbit is now sentinel to Alice's deepening dementia.

"The rabbit may prove a valuable instrument for shock therapy. I should have noticed it sooner." -21/10/73

8, December, 1864

When I hold a flame to her eye, nothing in her vacuous gaze betrays the faintest glimmer of response. I clap a pair of blocks at her ear. There is nothing. Neither her sight nor her hearing appear to be damaged, still she registers nothing at all. The rumor (passed on by Reverend Mottle amongst others) alleges that she feels nothing — not pain, or fear or other torments — is neither credible nor kind. Still, she is far, far gone, this one.

9, December, 1864

In many ways it's as if she's in the grave already; her countenance so still she appears to be in training for the coffin. Indeed, if she were to die today in this old hospital, nary a person would take note other than those few who recall her name from the papers. There are those few who'd mutter to themselves "Ah, that's a shame - the poor girl," and then turn the page to learn more of the recent stabbings in Notting Hill.

"So quiet she appeared. Was the deep madness already coursing through her mind?" -23/10/73

Deep madness . . .? Quinn became even more confused as he continued to read through the yellowing pages of the casebook. From what the Inspector had told him earlier, Alice seemed like quite the capable, responsible young woman, albeit with a few mental issues that were completely understandable. What possibly could Doctor Wilson be referring to with his words 'Was the deep madness already coursing through her mind?'

It troubled him. The whole casebook troubled him – Hell, he hadn't even met the girl yet, and even the mere idea of her troubled him! Thank God there were only two entries left before Doctor Wilson begun his next year . . .

10, December, 1864

Though she appears weak, she must have a strong constitution to have survived until now. Her fever persists, her breathing heaves violently at times and, even after more than a year of healing, burns so massive commonly cause her great discomfort. You'd never imagine she's in any distress, though, the way lies there, as lifeless as a British Museum mummy. I daresay, however, that I'll stir her from her dreamery, even if the response is involuntary. I'll begin tomorrow with a steady treatment of cold plasters and bloodletting. The bleeding might cause some relief to her dementia. I also have a new shock apparatus that I'd like to try on her. I'm curious to see how she reacts to this treatment.

14, December, 1864

The physicians who treated her burns reported that she barely noticed when they unwrapped and dressed her wounds. Indeed, she rarely showed any agitation at all when they examined her over the months. They also report, however, that on some nights, she howled like a banshee. When the nurses responded to the screams, Alice would hush, as if magically released from her demons.

Eventually, they stopped responding to these outbursts. And, after a short while, she stopped uttering any noise whatsoever.

Quinn felt a horror so profound descend upon him from reading the last two passages that he jumped up and away from the casebook, toppling the chair he had been sitting in as he went. Cold plasters and bloodletting; a new shock apparatus – all to just get her to respond to them?! This Wilson wasn't a doctor – he was as mad as Bumby had been! And her burns . . . they did all that while she still retained her burns?!

Quinn shook his head sadly as he shakily righted his toppled chair. He closed the casebook that lay still opened on his desk, his hand still shaking as he did so. The more he read the damned casebook, the more sorrow he felt for this young woman. She had been through so much in her life – no wonder she didn't trust doctors! He just hoped he could change her mind and see that they weren't all bad. And not-to-mention, they would soon have Johanna to help around the home and Lucy would surely find playmates within the other children . . . within reason of course.

Quinn sat back down and shook his head wearily as he gently shoved the casebook aside. That was enough 'light' reading on that subject for that night. And besides . . . he really should focus on the rest of the mountain of files sitting beside him . . .