Disclaimer: Must I say it? Alice doesn't belong to me. It belongs to SyFy and Lewis Carroll. And now I feel depressed… *sniffles*

A/N: Thanks to duchessfaleen, Brumeier, CupofTeaforAliceandHatter, BlueEyes444, Alaina Downs, Rue Mo, catesy, and Weasley430 for reviewing on the last chapter!

Chapter Three

Alice couldn't bring herself to move from the sofa for around half an hour. Her worst nightmare had finally come true. She couldn't even bring herself to cry; she was completely numb. Hatter was gone, and he probably wasn't coming back. He had taken his favorite hat when he went out to get milk that morning, after all. He had probably gone back to Wonderland to open another illegal Tea shop and help resurrect the Queen's kingdom.

She immediately felt guilty for this thought and slowly sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Hatter would never do that. He had hated the treatment of the poor Oysters as much as she had. And no matter what else he did, even if he left her and went back to Wonderland, he would never get involved with Tea again. She knew that much.

She stared around the cold, empty apartment for a few minutes, then picked up her cell phone again and dialed a number. She released a deep, shaky breath and waited for her mother to pick up. "Alice?"

"Mom, he's gone," she said in a rush, words running together. "Hatter's gone. He still isn't back yet, and when I called the café, Mr. Richmond said he hadn't been in all day. Oh, Mom, what am I going to do?"

"Alice. Alice, calm down," Carol said soothingly. Under the sound of her voice, Alice heard the television playing loudly. "Are you sure that David hadn't come back? Maybe he left a note somewhere and you just didn't see it."

"Just a minute. I'll go check." Hardly daring to hope, she ran into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator, where she frequently found sweet little notes from him, pinned under an apple-shaped magnet. But there was nothing, apart from the grocery list he had started carefully composing a few days ago. She traced her finger over his loopy handwriting, then turned around and leaned heavily against the refrigerator. "No, there's nothing," she said, and wetness flooded her eyes as the tears she'd been fighting back finally came.

"Now, Alice, don't cry," her mother said, apparently hearing the telltale tears in Alice's voice. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he hasn't come back to the apartment yet."

"What?" she said thickly, sniffling and trying to see through the tears in her eyes. She scrubbed angrily at them with the back of one hand, and it came away smeared with mascara.

Carol didn't answer.

"He's left me, Mom, just admit it. He's left me, and he's gone back to Wonderland!"

"I'm sure that's not the case," she said uncomfortably. Even though she had long ago been let in on the secret of where Hatter was actually from, she was hesitant to talk about it. The story was simply too fanciful for her tastes, not that she didn't believe it. She just preferred to…avoid the subject.

Alice pushed away from the refrigerator and kicked it as hard as she could. Her injured toes throbbed in protest, but she ignored the minor pain. "I'm never going to see him again, am I? After all that we went through, all we did together. We stopped the Queen of Hearts and her whole damn regime together, for God's sake–"

"Oh my Lord. Oh my…Alice, turn on the news, right now," Carol said suddenly. There was something wrong with her voice. It sounded too high-pitched, for one thing.

"What are you talking about? Mom, I don't have time to–"

"Alice, turn on the TV now," she said.

Because she sounded so strange, Alice did as she said. She went into the living room and found the TV remote. She pressed the right button, and the TV flared to life. "What channel?" she asked bleakly. How was she supposed to concentrate on watching whatever it was that her mother wanted her to see when Hatter was gone for good?

"Channel 10. Alice, hurry."

She flipped through the channels and turned up the volume. "Mom, can't you just…" Her voice trailed off in shock as she stared at the television, and she quickly fumbled to turn up the volume again.

On the screen was a video of a trash-strewn alleyway just a few blocks from her apartment, one she recognized well. She had to walk past it every time she went to the convenience store to pick a little something up. It looked very different than what she was used to, though, because of the yellow crime scene tape across the mouth of the alley and the flashing ambulance parked just inside. As she stared, several EMTs rolled a gurney up into the back of the ambulance, slamming the doors.

A pretty brunette reporter replaced the video. "This troubling scene took place earlier today, in a remote neighborhood near the middle of the city," she said brightly. "A young man was assaulted and beaten, then left alone in an alley. Our sources tell us that a young girl who has yet to be identified found the unfortunate victim, and called 911. Both were taken to Good Hope Hospital, where the victim's condition is said to be hopeful. And though the hospital staff refused to release much information about the victim, Dr. Nick Willing had this to say earlier."

A blond man in a white coat appeared onscreen, standing in a busy hospital corridor. He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at the camera. "The victim is a man who appears to be in his late twenties, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was found wearing a brown leather jacket and a silk shirt and pants. He speaks with what appears to be a British accent. The trauma to his head has resulted in memory loss that I'm optimistic is only temporary, though all possible identification was taken by his attackers. He can't remember his name or where he lives, though earlier he did say one name. Alice. I'm sorry, I can't say anything else."

The reporter replaced the blond doctor, looking appropriately grim. "If anyone thinks they may know this man, Dr. Willing requests that you come to Good Hope Hospital and identify him. And now over to Jake with the weather–"

Alice didn't hear anything else, despite the TV's loud volume. Her legs had gone weak. She collapsed onto the sofa, barely remembering to hold onto the phone still pressed to her ear. "Oh my God. Oh my God, Mom, that was Hatter." There was a dull ringing in her ears. "He's in the hospital. With amnesia. Oh my God."

Relief surged through her. He hadn't left her, not willingly. But the relief was almost instantly overtaken by horror and fear. How badly had he been injured? Was he afraid, alone and unable to remember anything? And would the amnesia ever wear off? Her chest was tight, and she could barely breathe.

"Get ready," Carol said. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

After Nurse O'Connor had cleaned him up and left the room again, he lay in bed and stared blankly at the spotless wall across from him. His whole body ached, especially his head and abdomen, and there was an acidic taste in his mouth. He felt horrible, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But something was keeping him awake, something he couldn't even remember. The knowledge that he had forgotten something terribly important gnawed away at him.

Outside the closed door, he could hear people hurrying up and down the hall, murmuring quietly to one another.

His right hand clenched into a fist. Was there someone out there to be worried about him? Whenever he thought about it, as hard as he could, all he got was that one image of the blue dress, floating in the blankness of his mind. It should have meant something important to him, he knew, but he couldn't figure out what. Did it belong to a family member, a friend?

He slapped his left palm against his forehead, then bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from swearing out loud. Sharp pain resonated through his entire head, making him dizzy. The pain was so intense that he almost didn't notice the door open and shut behind a blond girl of around seventeen. She came over to his bed and stared down at him with the look one might give a bug trapped under a specimen jar.

"Who're you, then?" he asked after a long pause. He didn't think this could be the missing relative or friend from his memory, because she didn't seem the type to wear that blue dress he saw so clearly.

"Emily Cabot," she said briskly, holding out a hand to shake. He gritted his teeth together and managed to find the strength to lean over and give her his hand. She pumped it briskly, twice, before letting it fall back to the bed. "I'm the one who found you bleeding to death in that alley."

"Alley?" It came back to him then, in a brief flash. A person in a black mask, holding a knife in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. Striking him again and again… "I was attacked by an Oyster," he said wonderingly. "I remember that now. He stabbed me…"

"Oyster?" She gave him a strange look. "What are you talking about?"

He frowned. "I-I don't know. It just sort of came out."

"Uh-huh, whatever. So the nurses out there said you've got amnesia," she said, gesturing over her shoulder with a thumb. "Can't remember who you are or where you're from, am I right?"

"That's why I'm here," he said through gritted teeth. "If I had someone waiting for me, I wouldn't be sitting in here, would I?"

She shrugged. "Good point. Anyway, I came to give you this. I thought you might want it back." She handed him a black porkpie hat, and his hand reflexively reached out to take it. It looked familiar, and felt right in his hand. "There's a name stitched on the inside," she added. "Hatter. Is that your name, d'you think?"

Hatter. He turned the hat over and looked inside. The embroidery spelling out the name was neat and tiny, the thread white. "Hatter," he said out loud, testing the name on his tongue. It sounded right.

"It's probably going to turn out to be the name of the company that made the hat or something, but I'm going to go ahead and call you it for now," Emily said. "Hatter, I mean. It really seems to fit you for some reason."

He nodded and settled the hat atop his head, where it fit as perfectly as the name did. "Could you do me a favor? Not a big one, since we hardly know each other, but a fairly small one," he said.

"I think we know each other a lot," she said. "I had to wash your blood off my hands."

"I was hoping you might consider breaking me out of this place," Hatter said.

"Breaking you out of – are you crazy?"

"Quite possibly. I just…I'm ready to get out of here, that's all." He didn't want to mention the fact that the small, clean room was about to drive him mad. There was too much green. Green curtains, green blanket, green sheets, green chairs. He'd had a bad experience with the color at one time or another, he supposed.

She shook her head. "I don't know about this."

"Come on, help a bloke out. Besides, I've broken out of loads of places before."

"When?"

"I…can't remember, exactly. But I have done it at one time or another, I'm sure of it," he said. "This place is driving me mad. Please, just help me get the hell out of here. Then I'll be out of your hair, I promise."

She heaved a sigh and wearily rubbed her forehead. "Okay, fine. I guess. But this is totally illegal, you know that, right?"

"If we get caught, I'll distract them while you run, all right?"

"All right, all right! I'll help you."

"Thank you. You won't regret this, I swear." He tried to get out of bed, but collapsed back against the pillows and groaned instead. One hand drifted towards his abdomen, through which was shooting a sharp pain.

"How are we supposed to escape if you can't even walk?" she demanded, planting both hands on her hips.

He grimaced. "I'll think of something." Then his gaze fell on a metal wheelchair in the corner of the room. "How about that, then?"

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