"Facts Concerning the Strange Case of Wonderland"
Nurse Mary Duckett's Personal Journal, November 24, 1870
This evening, at the end of my rounds, as was required of me, I went to Alice's room. I opened the door to find the room very close to how Doctor Bennett and I had left it, with two blatant differences catching the eye. The first was the stuffed rabbit toy that Alice had had been, once again, thrown from her bed, but this time, it was right by the door. The second difference was that the visitor's chair that Doctor Bennett had used during his failed hypnotherapy attempt had been moved. However, my first reaction wasn't to be surprised at the relocation of the chair, but rather that something seemed off about it – an unseen, unknowable air of being slightly, and I cannot describe it in any other way, wrong, somehow.
As I went to correct the chair, however, Alice's voice startled me.
"Mary?"
Her voice was a panicked whisper, and I saw that she was, unsuccessfully, trying to feign asleep. Poor child looked scared out of whatever wits she had left.
"It's quite alright, Miss Alice." I said, "We are alone."
"We're not. No, we're not." She said with the same whisper. I hesitated. Surely it wouldn't be becoming of me as a nurse, as her caretaker, but in that moment, the dream journal resting under my mattress prompted me.
"I know. I know that she's watching."
Her eyes flew open and she looked at me with what I can only describe as baffled disbelief.
"You know?"
"Hieronymous…" I would be lying if I said the name did not hurt me so, even as it reminded me of the priceless boon he had given to me, "Hieronymous is… dead, Miss Alice."
Alice turned away. I let her keep her silence and retrieved her rabbit toy from where it had been flung to. I could see her thin shoulders moving with every sob.
"I made something for you." Alice said, her voice strained, yet quivering, "It's there, under the chair's leg."
I looked and indeed, folded into even squares, was a piece of paper; it was thin enough not to tilt the chair significantly, but thick enough to slightly alter its incline. Before I knew it, Alice had gotten out of bed and had come to my side. She locked her eyes with mine, expressing more than anything that could have come out of her mouth. Dear Lord, the child was terrified.
"They must not know."
"Doctor Bennett…"
She violently shook her head.
"They must not know. This is for you. Only you."
Her thin fingers wrapped around my closed fist and squeezed with all the feeble strength she could muster.
"I do not know if it will help you – I do not know if there is helping anyone at this point. I might, if I could, but I can't so I won't. But you, dear Mary, please, won't you keep this little secret?"
"I believe my good doctor would have wanted it so, as well." I managed. God rest his soul.
"Thank you." She said, with as graceful a bow as I have ever seen. She, I might even say merrily, returned to her bed and tucked herself in. I carefully stuck the piece of paper in one of the front pockets of my uniform. I glanced around the room to see if anything else had changed. Nothing had. I retrieved her rabbit from where it lay, the stuffed animal watching me intently with one button eye, and placed it by her side. She shifted, but her steady breathing indicated that she was, again, asleep.
I left, but it didn't take me long to find Dean and Daniel, mops in hand, cleaning the floors, with their backs turned to one another. From where I was standing, however, I could see that they had been mopping the same patch of stone, as half of the hallway, namely the half they should have cleaned first, was untouched. Upon noticing me, however, they straightened up, and Daniel (or Dean, as it is quite impossible to tell them apart) picked up his bucket and came to my side. As respectfully as the little misbegotten cretin could manage, he asked me not to step aside but to be on my way.
Of course, Theophilus Carter could not help but bid me, in his words, "a very fine evening" as I passed by his cell.
I entrust Alice's poem to my one companion, namely these pages, as it has been entrusted to me by her. I will burn the original paper after I copy it. Meanwhile, Alice rests, and I can only hope that my dear Hieronymous can, as well.
Alice's Poem: "Mary"
The healing begins, and she watches us bleed
she hears our screams and she takes heed
the deaf ears of her guardians hear nothing at all
but Mary, though helpless, hears our calls.
Listen in, Mary, for the sound of the night
know the shadows, but stay close to the light.
They are watching you.