Faith turned over in bed, fighting to stay asleep. Fighting harder to wake up. She was dreaming. Scores of people, all dead in one night. A maze with mirrors that shattered randomly and had no end. A nightmarish cat; the one that had visited her the night that Emelia had humiliated her. It was telling her something, impatience in its... in his eyes mingled with something indefinable. A ghoulish green face with a huge nose, poking a syringe into her arm... a syringe... a watch ticking and ticking and pulling her in-
She opened her eyes, feeling sick and completely drenched in a cold sweat. She sniffed the air, despising the sweaty smell that was only making her feel sicker.
Grudgingly she pulled herself out of bed, the carpeting strangely scratchy and cold beneath her bare feet. Faith shivered, hugging herself through her t-shirt. It was a freezing, snowy winter night, and there was snow outside her window, coating the windowsill and grounds, and a grinning moon outside. Ignoring all vestiges of sanity, she walked over to the huge bow windows and opened them. Snow almost immediately began sprinkling in, but she ignored it, staring at the moon. It grinned at her. She kept a straight face, remembering the last time she had grinned back. It had vanished then.
She sighed and forced her gaze away, and instead turned her attention to the grounds. There were the hedges; the tiny (currently frozen) brook that led out to a nearby stream, the trees. Then there were pathways, leading around, providing for ample exploration. She stopped when something different caught her eye. There was someone there, walking up along the row of hedges, and she peered closer. She couldn't see much, and the moonlight was deceiving to her eyes.
Silently she turned and crossed to her dresser, grabbing some pyjama bottoms and pulling them on. Then she grabbed a jacket from the closet, and hurried out and crept downstairs. Making a brief stop in the kitchen, she grabbed two kitchen knives: the large chef's knife and the smaller, slimmer boning knife, which she slid into an inside pocket of her coat.
She navigated through the dark house, heading for the back door. The furniture was odd and distorted in the darkness, and the occasional beam of moonlight that shone in through the windows created twisted, partial shadows. Finally, after one too many frightened jumps, she gazed into a mirror. "Keep your head, girl!" she whispered fiercely to herself. "You're not a coward!" At that moment, she saw herself change: her stance, her expression... her very senses became more alert.
The final hallway to the back door was long and dark, and she crept down, listening for any signs that the intruder was inside. There were none. A small scuff from the broom closet sounded and she drew the chef's knife, ready for whatever would come out. Nothing. She opened the closet door and saw only a mouse, and closed it again in irritation. Then she opened the back door and slipped out.
The man was still there, waiting patiently by the hedges. "Who are you?" she snapped, before he had the chance to speak, unconsciously bringing the chef's knife into a throwing position.
"Ah, Faith," he said, as though he had just bumped into her at the park. "You should remember me."
"If I could see your face, perhaps I would have better luck," she replied warily. The man's face was shrouded in shadow, though she knew that she recognised the voice. Of course! Cheshire. He had spent an hour giving her reasons not to apologise in the lift only that night.
"You remember," his voice was satisfied. "And it seems that you're remembering Wonderland, as well."
"Perhaps," she said coldly. "Though that doesn't explain what the hell you're doing in my backyard."
"Waiting. I knew you'd notice me, sooner or later." She heaved an exasperated sigh. There was a pause from him, but he spoke again. "You need to hold that knife a little tighter, or it will slip."
She stared at him, and lowered it, holding it loosely at her side.
"You're acting like there's something to talk about. We've already established that there isn't," she said.
"Oh, I apologise to you and you don't even give me the time of day."
"It's night," she replied tersely.
"But you get my point," he countered. "If you could stand to take an hour just to get me to speak two words, I'm certain that you can spare another one."
"At two in the bloody morning!" she growled.
"Naturally."
"Naturally?!"
"Of course."
"What is all this nonsense?" she snapped.
"Rabbit's generally the one who said that."
She emitted something of a strangled roar of frustration. "What has bloody Wonderland got to do with anything?!"
"You're certainly not a morning person," he said casually.
"Not an insanely early-morning person," she glared at him. He grinned. "All right, fine. What do you want to talk about?" She suddenly became aware that her feet were getting awfully cold. Cheshire noticed the slightly blue tinge and scooped her up, taking her inside and ignoring her heated protests.
"Now," he said, dumping her on her bed. She switched on her electric blanket and nestled her feet into the newfound heat. "In Wonderland, there were several questions that you asked of me. I know that you don't remember much, so my answers will not make much sense."
"Then why bother giving them at all?" she interrupted. He frowned.
"Because, Faith. This is the only time that I can absolutely guarantee that the Queen cannot listen in some way." Now it was Faith's turn to frown.
"But that makes no sense. If you can get here, surely her agents can as well." He nodded.
"True, they can. But they won't."
"Why not?"
"It is nearly impossible for one of them to come here and blend in. A card guard is a card guard. A Boojum is a Boojum. Human weapons can kill these things, though not as effectively as your toys."
"Who is Samien?" she asked abruptly. "And what exactly is your role in the scheme of things?"
"You remember Samien?" he asked quietly. She nodded.
"Vaguely. The name, and that he's a general."
"In the Queen's army. That's an important part."
"Yes."
"Samien is not someone you should trust in. He's decent, but all the same, he is an agent of the Queen. He is both friend and foe, enemy and ally."
"And you?" Her head was beginning to spin. He was talking as though there were a war going on.
"I am a general of the rebels, or I would be if we had such ranks. Everyone in Wonderland knows me, which is a blessing... and a curse still."
"Because friends will offer you aid, but enemies will try to kill you."
"Close enough," he shrugged.
"Why is the Queen even in power at all? I mean, didn't Alice kill her?"
He shook his head, looking grim. "No. She went before she was ready. After she faced the Jabberwock... well, she was lucky to be alive. But she pressed on. When she fought the Queen, she was significantly less than a match for her. It was only Elliott's hypnosis that saved her that time."
"How?"
"He hypnotised her as the Queen was about to deliver her final attack. She simply gave up fighting it."
Faith frowned. "Could she have returned again?"
He sat on the edge of her bed, looking defeated. "Yes, but what was the point? She didn't want to fight anymore; she didn't want to go back to a Wonderland where she was the only... the only..." he stopped and refused to continue.
Eventually, he rose and glanced at her. "But you are remembering much."
"All I remember is conflict," she said shortly. "Conflicts with Rabbit, with everyone, actually. With my feelings. With just... everything!" She got up, feeling that her feet were warm enough, and started pacing around the room.
"How so with your feelings?" he asked quietly.
"There was someone... I was never sure how I felt about him."
"Samien?"
"No," she said. "I know how I feel about him."
"And how is that?"
"That I know absolutely nothing about him and that he confuses me."
"Interesting. Now, whom are you conflicted about?"
"Yeah, right. You think I'm going to reveal details of my pathetic... schizophrenic social life to you?"
"It would have made the wait in the snow a little more worthwhile."
"No, Cat. 'Cause I don't want to answer any more of your questions. And I just called you Cat."
"Then you are remembering?"
"Um... no."
He sighed. "I suppose now it's time for me to say, 'at least you're not the wreck you were a few weeks ago.'"
"I think I'm more of a wreck now," she said wearily. "But I'm tired. You can go ahead and make yourself comfortable wherever you want."
He raised an eyebrow. "In a house this big, I must confess, finding the guest rooms seems rather difficult." Faith grimaced, but nodded politely.
"Of course," she said stiffly. "The guest rooms are on this floor, just down that hall there."
"But don't worry about that. I'm quite all right," he said, and turned to her. She was about to say something when he vanished. She jumped back several feet and shook her head several times, trying to convince herself that she'd imagined it, but... no. He'd got her out of the lift that way, and then she realised. That wasn't natural. It was an ability that no human should have, and she stared at the spot he'd just been.
Absently she lay down in bed, pulling the knives out of her jacket pocket and placing them on a bedside table. Then she closed her eyes and dreamed. They were strange dreams, terrifying, full of card guards and Boojum and strange, familiar-yet-foreign places. Once she dreamt that she threw a jack-in-the-box and it burst into flame. Then she dreamt of firing a beautiful wand made of ice, freezing a host of card guards headed her way. Then she dreamt of throwing a knife, and it connecting with the head of a King, who had been taunting, laughing... she was like the Queen, he said, and she threw it again.
Faith opened her eyes the next morning, and the first thing she saw were the two knives stuck in her ceiling.
She opened her eyes, feeling sick and completely drenched in a cold sweat. She sniffed the air, despising the sweaty smell that was only making her feel sicker.
Grudgingly she pulled herself out of bed, the carpeting strangely scratchy and cold beneath her bare feet. Faith shivered, hugging herself through her t-shirt. It was a freezing, snowy winter night, and there was snow outside her window, coating the windowsill and grounds, and a grinning moon outside. Ignoring all vestiges of sanity, she walked over to the huge bow windows and opened them. Snow almost immediately began sprinkling in, but she ignored it, staring at the moon. It grinned at her. She kept a straight face, remembering the last time she had grinned back. It had vanished then.
She sighed and forced her gaze away, and instead turned her attention to the grounds. There were the hedges; the tiny (currently frozen) brook that led out to a nearby stream, the trees. Then there were pathways, leading around, providing for ample exploration. She stopped when something different caught her eye. There was someone there, walking up along the row of hedges, and she peered closer. She couldn't see much, and the moonlight was deceiving to her eyes.
Silently she turned and crossed to her dresser, grabbing some pyjama bottoms and pulling them on. Then she grabbed a jacket from the closet, and hurried out and crept downstairs. Making a brief stop in the kitchen, she grabbed two kitchen knives: the large chef's knife and the smaller, slimmer boning knife, which she slid into an inside pocket of her coat.
She navigated through the dark house, heading for the back door. The furniture was odd and distorted in the darkness, and the occasional beam of moonlight that shone in through the windows created twisted, partial shadows. Finally, after one too many frightened jumps, she gazed into a mirror. "Keep your head, girl!" she whispered fiercely to herself. "You're not a coward!" At that moment, she saw herself change: her stance, her expression... her very senses became more alert.
The final hallway to the back door was long and dark, and she crept down, listening for any signs that the intruder was inside. There were none. A small scuff from the broom closet sounded and she drew the chef's knife, ready for whatever would come out. Nothing. She opened the closet door and saw only a mouse, and closed it again in irritation. Then she opened the back door and slipped out.
The man was still there, waiting patiently by the hedges. "Who are you?" she snapped, before he had the chance to speak, unconsciously bringing the chef's knife into a throwing position.
"Ah, Faith," he said, as though he had just bumped into her at the park. "You should remember me."
"If I could see your face, perhaps I would have better luck," she replied warily. The man's face was shrouded in shadow, though she knew that she recognised the voice. Of course! Cheshire. He had spent an hour giving her reasons not to apologise in the lift only that night.
"You remember," his voice was satisfied. "And it seems that you're remembering Wonderland, as well."
"Perhaps," she said coldly. "Though that doesn't explain what the hell you're doing in my backyard."
"Waiting. I knew you'd notice me, sooner or later." She heaved an exasperated sigh. There was a pause from him, but he spoke again. "You need to hold that knife a little tighter, or it will slip."
She stared at him, and lowered it, holding it loosely at her side.
"You're acting like there's something to talk about. We've already established that there isn't," she said.
"Oh, I apologise to you and you don't even give me the time of day."
"It's night," she replied tersely.
"But you get my point," he countered. "If you could stand to take an hour just to get me to speak two words, I'm certain that you can spare another one."
"At two in the bloody morning!" she growled.
"Naturally."
"Naturally?!"
"Of course."
"What is all this nonsense?" she snapped.
"Rabbit's generally the one who said that."
She emitted something of a strangled roar of frustration. "What has bloody Wonderland got to do with anything?!"
"You're certainly not a morning person," he said casually.
"Not an insanely early-morning person," she glared at him. He grinned. "All right, fine. What do you want to talk about?" She suddenly became aware that her feet were getting awfully cold. Cheshire noticed the slightly blue tinge and scooped her up, taking her inside and ignoring her heated protests.
"Now," he said, dumping her on her bed. She switched on her electric blanket and nestled her feet into the newfound heat. "In Wonderland, there were several questions that you asked of me. I know that you don't remember much, so my answers will not make much sense."
"Then why bother giving them at all?" she interrupted. He frowned.
"Because, Faith. This is the only time that I can absolutely guarantee that the Queen cannot listen in some way." Now it was Faith's turn to frown.
"But that makes no sense. If you can get here, surely her agents can as well." He nodded.
"True, they can. But they won't."
"Why not?"
"It is nearly impossible for one of them to come here and blend in. A card guard is a card guard. A Boojum is a Boojum. Human weapons can kill these things, though not as effectively as your toys."
"Who is Samien?" she asked abruptly. "And what exactly is your role in the scheme of things?"
"You remember Samien?" he asked quietly. She nodded.
"Vaguely. The name, and that he's a general."
"In the Queen's army. That's an important part."
"Yes."
"Samien is not someone you should trust in. He's decent, but all the same, he is an agent of the Queen. He is both friend and foe, enemy and ally."
"And you?" Her head was beginning to spin. He was talking as though there were a war going on.
"I am a general of the rebels, or I would be if we had such ranks. Everyone in Wonderland knows me, which is a blessing... and a curse still."
"Because friends will offer you aid, but enemies will try to kill you."
"Close enough," he shrugged.
"Why is the Queen even in power at all? I mean, didn't Alice kill her?"
He shook his head, looking grim. "No. She went before she was ready. After she faced the Jabberwock... well, she was lucky to be alive. But she pressed on. When she fought the Queen, she was significantly less than a match for her. It was only Elliott's hypnosis that saved her that time."
"How?"
"He hypnotised her as the Queen was about to deliver her final attack. She simply gave up fighting it."
Faith frowned. "Could she have returned again?"
He sat on the edge of her bed, looking defeated. "Yes, but what was the point? She didn't want to fight anymore; she didn't want to go back to a Wonderland where she was the only... the only..." he stopped and refused to continue.
Eventually, he rose and glanced at her. "But you are remembering much."
"All I remember is conflict," she said shortly. "Conflicts with Rabbit, with everyone, actually. With my feelings. With just... everything!" She got up, feeling that her feet were warm enough, and started pacing around the room.
"How so with your feelings?" he asked quietly.
"There was someone... I was never sure how I felt about him."
"Samien?"
"No," she said. "I know how I feel about him."
"And how is that?"
"That I know absolutely nothing about him and that he confuses me."
"Interesting. Now, whom are you conflicted about?"
"Yeah, right. You think I'm going to reveal details of my pathetic... schizophrenic social life to you?"
"It would have made the wait in the snow a little more worthwhile."
"No, Cat. 'Cause I don't want to answer any more of your questions. And I just called you Cat."
"Then you are remembering?"
"Um... no."
He sighed. "I suppose now it's time for me to say, 'at least you're not the wreck you were a few weeks ago.'"
"I think I'm more of a wreck now," she said wearily. "But I'm tired. You can go ahead and make yourself comfortable wherever you want."
He raised an eyebrow. "In a house this big, I must confess, finding the guest rooms seems rather difficult." Faith grimaced, but nodded politely.
"Of course," she said stiffly. "The guest rooms are on this floor, just down that hall there."
"But don't worry about that. I'm quite all right," he said, and turned to her. She was about to say something when he vanished. She jumped back several feet and shook her head several times, trying to convince herself that she'd imagined it, but... no. He'd got her out of the lift that way, and then she realised. That wasn't natural. It was an ability that no human should have, and she stared at the spot he'd just been.
Absently she lay down in bed, pulling the knives out of her jacket pocket and placing them on a bedside table. Then she closed her eyes and dreamed. They were strange dreams, terrifying, full of card guards and Boojum and strange, familiar-yet-foreign places. Once she dreamt that she threw a jack-in-the-box and it burst into flame. Then she dreamt of firing a beautiful wand made of ice, freezing a host of card guards headed her way. Then she dreamt of throwing a knife, and it connecting with the head of a King, who had been taunting, laughing... she was like the Queen, he said, and she threw it again.
Faith opened her eyes the next morning, and the first thing she saw were the two knives stuck in her ceiling.