All Characters belong to the amazing artists and writers of When Curiosity Met Insanity -
Her house was there, just as he had seen it last. Her bedroom window shuttered and closed, just as she had left it. But her door was partially open. She always had her door closed and locked, he had checked… twice. Could a bear have broken in? Fear crawled in and made a home in his chest.
He charged in, eyes darting about. He grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door and held it in front of him like a sword. He took in the scene, cataloging everything: Furniture in place, nothing on the floor, shelves untouched. Nothing to indicate a rabid bear rampage. Nothing but her absence.
"Reginald, sit down." Belle was on the couch, looking up at him with weary, tear-dulled eyes. Beside her was a police officer, who looked properly uncomfortable and sympathetic.
He walked over cautiously, still clutching the umbrella in front of him, eyes scanning the room. "Where is she…?" He whispered.
The police officer cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying and failing to look fierce and important. "She appears to have left Wonderland." He said with a matter-of-fact tone. "And there is nothing," he said sternly while looking at Belle, "to indicate that she left against her will."
"She couldn't have!" Belle cried with a barely controlled sob, "She would have told me. She would have taken her things! She wouldn't just leave like that!" Her eyes met Reginald's, pleading for understanding. "She wouldn't have left without saying goodbye!"
The umbrella slipped out of Reginald's nerveless fingers. "She's really gone?" he whispered, looking to Belle for reassurance. "She couldn't be… I don't believe it!" He fought the sudden lump in his throat and charged up the stairs to her room, crying out her name in fear and desperation. Sounds of him lifting furniture and slamming doors rocked the small cottage. It was too much for Belle and she broke down into fresh tears.
The sounds from upstairs ceased suddenly. The police officer and Belle exchanged a quick glance before hurrying up the stairs, praying that he wouldn't have done anything foolish, like throw himself out the window.
The dust from his search was still in the air, dancing in the late afternoon sunlight from the hastily opened window, casting the room in a fuzzy glow. The Hatter looked lost and out of place in the now disorderly room, still dressed in his brown haberdashery apron and his white hair tied back. He was standing next to the only untouched pieces of furniture in the room: a meticulously made bed, and a small bed stand, the latter which he was staring down at. The small clock ticked steadily next to an empty water glass and a small box, filled with trinkets, all gifts from him. He slowly pulled out a small folded piece of newspaper, creases showing evidence of being carefully unfolded and refolded. His fingers trembled as he gazed upon the photo of them dancing: the image of them at that moment they last were completely uninhibited from any propriety and caution. The joy on their faces in the midst of a dance, captured forever. He tore his eyes away from the photo and gently refolded it, placing it back in her treasure box with care. He caught sight of the corner of a book underneath the pillow. He knelt and pulled out the book, smiling through unbidden tears at the sappy romantic title. Opening the book to the last page read, he froze as the cricket bookmark slipped out. Deftly catching it as it fell, he held it up, his hand wavering as he gazed at the delicate cricket pattern. The errant bookmark was placed back on its page, the book was closed and then replaced under the pillow, carefully arranged with corner peeking out. He stood slowly with his back to Belle and the Policeman.
"Reginald… are you alright?" Belle asked, breaking the silence.
"Did she leave any warning?" He whispered so low they could barely hear him.
"What?" She asked, sniffling.
"She didn't say anything? Leave a note?" Reginald asked, his voice in a soft, dangerous tone, turning his head slightly to look at them over his shoulder. "She told me she was a visitor here and that she wouldn't stay, but would she really leave it all behind like this?"
Belle swallowed her tears and lifted her chin. "No," she said firmly, "She left no note and gave no indication she was going anywhere. She left to deliver a book order and never returned."
The police officer cleared his throat again, harrumphing into his fist. "She did leave a note," he stated, "The office received a letter a few hours ago, from a Miss Alice Liddell." His hand went to his breast pocket and paused at the low growl from Reginald.
"Reginald, please." Belle whispered. "Sir, the letter?"
The man pulled a folded sheet out of his pocket and opened it to read out loud. "To whom it may concern," He read. "I, Miss Alice Liddell, of sound mind and body, hereby state my intent to leave Wonderland, with no intention to return. I leave my home and properties to—"
In the blink of an eye, Reginald was across the room, standing nearly nose to nose with the stunned officer, removing the damning letter from the police man's suddenly slacked hand. His eyes moved back and forth across the paper and took in everything, each carefully penned letter and the flourished signature at the end. After a moment, he held the letter out to Belle and she took it, unable to tear her eyes away from Reginald's face.
Reginald pinned the officer with a stare that burned with its intensity. His once merry blue eyes had turned into icy glass and his mouth was set in a forbidding frown. The police officer met his gaze with a determined one, the sweat beading on his brow was the only sign of his distress.
After an eternity, he left the room, his footfalls leaving no sound in his wake.
Belle stared after him, shocked and dazed, eyes locked on his retreating back and frozen in place until the gentle click of the front door closing was heard. She flinched, for he might as well have slammed the door off its hinges.
The officer was on the ground, rocking back and forth and shivering with muted sobs. Belle crouched down to comfort him. She was shivering herself, partially from terror that she hadn't imagined she would get from the silly Hatter. The other part…
Her breath came out in a puff of vapor. The room was freezing! She looked around in disbelief, breath hitching in horror at the ring of frost that lined the floor and coated the walls, ending with a pair of footprints where the Hatter stood.
….
Ears cautiously approached the long Tea Party table and could barely believe his eyes. After the phone call he received from a horrified Belle, he knew exactly where he would find his friend. He just never in his life expected to see this.
The table was clean and disturbingly organized, with not even a drop of spilled tea on it's cloth or merrily whistling teapot in sight. The settings were arranged with care, each saucer, teacup, and plate a painstakingly measured distance from each other, and cloned with each setting at each seat. Trembling, the March Hare pulled a chair from the table and sat down, eyeing the still figure at the head of the table.
The Mad Hatter sat, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and his half-lidded eyes fixed on the shivering dormouse seated on his plate. Ears had never seen the tiny creature out of its teapot. They were conversing so softly that the he couldn't hear a word from where he was seated. After what seemed like an eternity, the dormouse hopped off the plate and off the table to disappear into the hedge. The chilling stare rose to settle on the Hare, who found himself unwilling to remain in it. He gulped and absently reached for a teacup. His shivering fingers missed, knocking the cup over. He cried out at the spill and the sound caught in his throat as the cup rolled over on its side, revealing the tea frozen solid in the cup.
"Ears," Reginald said, the voice almost fragile, "My Cricket was taken."
The March Hare's heartbeat rang in his ears. The air pressed down like a heavy blanket on his shoulders. The man sitting at this table was anything but the mad, myopic, love-struck Hatter that he knew. He had thought he had seen the Hatter at his worst after the whole Mary Anne affair, but this was different. This was his best friend pushed past a limit that he didn't know existed.
"H-How do you know?" Ears whimpered, hastily righting the cup back on its saucer and wishing for something, anything, to drink.
Reginald lifted a teapot and poured hot tea into a cup. Rising from his chair, he lifted the cup and walked over to the cowering Hare. Ears frantically searched those cold, half lidded eyes for his friend and instead found a frost-lined, empty gaze. Reginald gently picked up the frozen teacup and replaced it with the cup he poured.
"Drink, Ears." He said, pulling out the nearest chair and sitting down.
Not daring to look away, Ears gulped down his tea shakily, splashing the hot liquid on his shirt. He imagined that this is what a prey animal feels like, staring down a hawk that was deciding whether or not to eat him.
Reginald huffed impatiently, a flicker of his old self returning for a second. "Will you stop that?" He hissed. "I'm not going to eat you."
"Great, and now you read minds." Ears muttered.
The arrested look that crossed the Hatter's face was so…. Reginald, that the Hare almost laughed. But the laughter got stuck somewhere around the base of his throat. The icy look was back and it was thankfully not aimed at him.
Reginald stared into the darkness of the evening. "She was taken. I know she was. She would never leave without saying goodbye. And she would never leave without saying goodbye to…. me…"
Ears felt the pang of sympathy and quickly schooled his face to remain neutral. The chase for Alice stopped being a conquest a long time ago. His friend had long since passed the point he had reached with his other paramours. For any other girl, the Hatter would have given up after a few weeks and moved on. For any other girl, he would have accepted her rejection and turned to chase yet another skirt. He had known for a while now that the sweet infatuation with the petite blonde had turned into a genuine love. And for this love, he had turned into…. This. Not for any other girl, but Alice Liddell.
Clearing his throat, Ears eyed his empty cup. Reginald obligingly refilled it.
"I have to ask, what about that letter?" he asked, sipping his tea.
Still staring into the darkness, Reginald's frown deepened. "I see you spoke to Belle." He sighed. "She wrote it, it was her handwriting to be sure, but…"
"But what?" Ears asked, his teacup forgotten on the saucer.
"Somethings not right. Something wasn't…. Alice about it." He broke the staring contest with the darkness and locked his eyes onto Ears'. "There was nothing of her in the letter, no apologies, no reason." His eyes shimmered for a moment, tears locked away in the depths. "I think she was forced to write it."
Ears carefully measured his next words, hoping with every fiber of his being that their friendship was enough to keep him from being murdered on the spot.
"What if she wasn't? What if she went back to her home?"
The words hung in the air like a fog. The Hatter was as still as an ice sculpture, his white hair framing a face that was as pale, cold and as expressionless as a freckled porcelain mask. Ears leaned forward, mentally willing him to move, cry, do SOMETHING besides sit there frozen like an unnerving statue.
"Ears, this is her home." Reginald finally murmured.
"Then what are you going to do?" Ears asked, knowing that the answer would tell him if his friend was still there or not.
"I'm going to go get her and bring her back." Reginald said, his voice clear.
Ears tipped his teacup, swirling his ice-flecked tea. With the slightest grimace on his face, he downed the tea and set the cup carefully on its saucer.
"Okay." He said, relaxed and no longer afraid. "My dear friend, where do we start?"
….
….