9
"So how did you know about Rutledge?" Tarrant asks.
Alice touches her freshly cut hair for about the thousandth time that day. It feels so strange since Bayard had sheared off her long mane, and she's still getting used to it. "My aunt sent me there when I was younger without my parents' knowledge. I managed to escape after a weeklong stay and tell them everything. We got a restraining order against her the day after. She was also the one that sent me to that Catholic school." She looks at the spread laid out in front of her on her bed. "Is all this really necessary? It's been years since they last saw me."
"Bumby never forgets. Take my word for it."
Alice begins to put on the outfit with Tarrant respectfully turned the other way — a baggy white graphic tee, faded blue jeans, a black jacket, and a baseball cap. "Remind me again how we're doing this. I don't want anything to go wrong."
"Getting out of school will be easy." Tarrant says, throwing a few more things into his bag. "There are no gates to keep us in. We'll be taking my car, since you don't have one. Once we get there, you're going to introduce yourself as Alan Ratcliffe, a chosen suitor sent by Mirana's parents, Genevieve and Prosper. The name will be enough to get you into the door, but do you still have the letter just in case?"
Alice pulls on the jeans and retrieves the letter from her pillow, closed with the official Underland seal. Not a single step had been overlooked in that regard, from Thackery agreeing to forge it from the sample of Genevieve Underland's writing Alice found in her welcome letter, —handwriting always fascinated him, all those delightful loops— to the wax seal Alice had convinced Iracebeth to let her borrow. The Red Queen is now under the impression that Alice is a valuable asset to her and gives her a little more leniency on these things.
"Got it. You can turn around now, Tarrant." She fits the cap on her head and finds that she actually quite likes the way it looks. She may keep it after all this is over. "When did Mally say she was coming over?"
"About five minutes." Tarrant looks the envelope over, checking to make sure it still retains its pristine quality. "You should practice your voice."
Alice grimaces. Out of everything, that has to be the most difficult bit of the plan so far. She still hasn't worked out something that sounds like something in between the deep voice she's got going and her perfectly average higher pitched voice. She begins warming it up with a low hum.
"Anyway, once you're in, escort Mirana out. Don't talk to anyone, don't look at anyone, and do not bring anyone else with you. After that, you'll have to fill out some discharge papers, but as long as you stay as far from Bumby as you possibly can, you should be alright. Do not, by any means, speak with him unless you must, and keep it brief. I'll be waiting for you outside. Simple." Tarrant pauses, listening. "Less in your nose and more in your throat." Alice adjusts accordingly. "Better."
Rap, rap, rap!
"That would be Mally." Tarrant says, zipping up his bag. "Would you get that?"
Alice nods and goes to the door. Mally stands in the doorway with a rather large makeup bag and a small mirror. She gives Alice a once over, looking her up and down. "Yes, I can work with this." she says cheerily. Despite the gravity of the situation, the new project clearly excites her. "I'll carve out your cheeks and jaw, then fill in those brows, because, sorry, love, you haven't got much of those." She bounces into the room and plops down onto Alice's bed. "Sit." she says, patting the mattress.
Alice crosses over and seats herself in front of Mally, forcing herself to keep absolutely still, forbidding herself to fidget even the slightest bit. Mally pulls out a pallet of flesh tones, "a contour set", as she explained it earlier.
It becomes a bit more difficult to stay still when Mally actually begins, smearing a liquid skin tone base all over her face before proceeding to beat her with what could only be described as a bright pink styrofoam ball. This is apparently called blending, but Alice calls it irksome. Mally has to keep pulling her face forward because of how often she flinches back. The powder of the same colour is slightly better, the brush soft against her face as it spreads it all over. Mally soon switches to a different brush and begins to define Alice's cheekbones with a darker colour. Alice, for her part, runs her lines in her head in an attempt to distract herself.
Hello, I'm here to pick-up Mirana Underland. My name is Alan Ratcliffe. I'm Mirana's betrothed. Mrs. Genevieve Underland sent me with a letter.
Alice frowns. No, scratch that last part unless it becomes necessary. She's got a script to follow with the front desk, but she hasn't the slightest clue what she's going to say to Mirana when she actually sees her.
Mirana, I'm here to rescue you.
No, no. Dead giveaway. There's at least one camera in every room at the asylum.
Mirana, I am your betrothed, here to take you home.
That will scare her off for sure. Who knows what they've done to her in there?
Mirana, you're coming home with me.
Worse still.
Mirana, you're leaving here.
That will do. That promises escape, freedom, which she undoubtedly wants by now.
Her thoughts are interrupted by Mally turning her face towards Tarrant. "What do you think?" Mally asks. "Should I add facial hair, or is she fine like this?"
Tarrant takes a look at her. "Better add some just to be safe." he says.
Mally turns her towards her once again. "I'll add some scruff under her chin to look natural."
"When do I get to see?" Alice asks, a bit impatient at all the head turning and the brushes and the powders and not being able to talk during the process.
"After this." Mally promises, picking up a wiry looking sponge and dabbing it in yet another powder compact. "Now, for God's sake, Alice, hold still!"
"I haven't been moving that much!"
"I disagree. Come on now. There."
Alice endures another ten minutes of Mally shoving sponges in her face before she declares Alan Ratcliffe to be finished.
"Have a look at yourself, Alan."
Alice takes the mirror from her, half-expecting to resemble something closer to a drag king with all the makeup caked on her face.
Her reflection startles her. If she were anyone else, she would not recognize the person in the mirror. Her eyes have been hollowed out more, her cheekbones are noticeably sharper, and her jawline is well cut. The facial hair is extremely convincing, scruffy enough to look natural but not so that it looks wild and unkempt. In this moment, Alan Ratcliffe is a real person.
"Thank you, Mally." Alice says with a smile.
"No problem." Mally takes her hand. "Bring her back safe, won't you? We need her. We miss her."
Alice nods. "I promise." She glances over at Tarrant, who is typing something into his phone. "Are you ready to go?" she asks in her new voice. It sounds passable, at least.
He shoves it into his pocket. "Yes, I was just putting in the address. Let's be off."
The drive to Rutledge is fairly short. Alice doesn't know whether to be relieved or disturbed that the asylum is so close to the school.
The building itself is exactly as she remembers it from all those years ago. Massive, black iron gates guard an imposing brown brick building that comes to two pointed roofs on the left and right towers. In the middle wall diving the two are seven crosses cut out from stone. The windows, though sparse, are long, arched and narrow. Above the door of the same arched design as the windows are the words "Rutledge Asylum" secured across two twin rock pillars in rusted silver that may have once seen better days. In an attempt to brighten up the place, there are white daisy bushes lining the stone pathway leading to the asylum's porch. All that achieves, however, is making the building appear more dull and grayish than it already is.
Alice is not looking forward to going back in, but Mirana's in there, and she's not leaving without her.
Tarrant parks relatively close to the entrance, slowing the bright orange buggy to a stop before putting it in park. He didn't say a word to her the entire ride there, his body growing tenser and tenser as they neared the asylum. Now, he's rigid as a board. Despite this, he manages a half-hearted smile.
"Fairfarren, Alice." he says.
"Fairfarren." Alice says, returning his smile. She hugs him tightly before stepping out of the car.
As she walks down the path to the very place she escaped long ago, memories begin to resurface of her brief time in her own personal hell. She'd only been ten years old at the time.
Imogene Kingsleigh, a forty-one year old woman half out of her mind, is completely and utterly convinced that she is doing right by God, and by her niece, Alice. She drags said niece by her wrist and into her car, belting her to the front seat in a mess of flailing limbs and a blue silk dress.
"Aunt Imogene, you still haven't told me where we're going!" young Alice wails. "I was going to go see Rory today!"
"Rory is a sick little girl, and she's made you sick too, I can see it." Imogene says. "I'm taking you to the man that made me all better so you can be all better too."
Alice pouts. "But I don't feel sick. I want to go back inside!"
"Quiet, you." Imogene hisses. "You'll wake the neighborhood." She closes the passenger side door and reenters on the driver's side. "Of course you don't feel sick." The keys go into the ignition, and with a turn, the car roars to life. "This is the sort of sickness that you don't start feeling until it's too late. If I can be cured, then so can you."
Alice sits back in her seat, folding her arms. She does not like this at all, but there is little she can do to get out of the situation. "Will you take me home after?" she asks.
Imogene pulls out of the driveway. "Yes, Alice. If you behave."
Alice had not behaved, not at all. When she found out where exactly Aunt Imogene was taking her, she'd made a run for it. Aunt Imogene, with the help of the orderlies, had, of course, caught her, and they had taken her to the nearest room and locked her in. They didn't let her out for two days, no matter how much she screamed her throat raw. Alice had learned then to be patient and pick her battles wisely. Though the orderlies withheld food from her and only allowed Dr. Bumby to bring it to her, Alice saw right through that tactic and snuck out on her own whenever they occasionally let her out after the initial two day lockdown. To hell with them if they thought they'd trick her into thinking Bumby was her friend. She'd even established a sort of survival routine.
Up to that point, she had been fine. That was before they started the aversion therapy.
Ten years old, and they'd made her watch lesbian porn and whipped her for it. Alice sported long, red stripes across her back, which they'd let heal for a day or two before they started reopening them again. It was then that Alice made her escape, in a trash bin, no less. After that, she'd found the nearest phone and called her parents to come get her. Upon learning of what Imogene and the asylum had done to her, they'd put a restraining order on her aunt and shut the place down. It reopened years later, but as far as her parents were concerned, Alice was safe from it, and that was all that mattered.
The scars on her back seem to burn once more when Alice turns the doorknob. She imagines Mirana with similar stripes across her perfect skin. Her free hand clenches into a fist, and she has to force herself to calm down. With the letter in hand, she steps inside.
The receptionist barely pays her any mind, and Alice has to rap her knuckles on the table three times to get her attention. She gives Alice an unusually sunny smile. It's a little disconcerting, since the receptionist Alice dealt with seven years ago looked like he'd just dragged himself from his grave.
"Hello, dear. Come to check yourself in?"
"Um, no, actually." she says. "I'm Alan Ratcliffe." she quickly adds, sticking out her hand for the receptionist to shake.
The receptionist warms even more, leaving her hand to linger longer than Alice is comfortable with. "A Ratcliffe, did you say? What brings one of the most powerful names into our lovely establishment?"
"Early discharge for one of your patients." Alice tries to ignore the look the receptionist is giving her. Does she really look this good as a man? She pushes the thought aside and presents the letter. "I have a letter from her mother."
The receptionist takes it, letting her fingers just barely brush Alice's. It takes all Alice's self- control not to yank her hand back The woman must be at least in her late forties. She receptionist breaks the seal and reads the letter over. "Oh, I see. Mirana Marmoreal Underland." She taps something into the computer. "She's not due for release for another two weeks, doctor's orders. However," she glances at the letter and frowns, looking suddenly disappointed. "The seal does override our records." she says reluctantly. She stands up, putting the letter aside, and walks around the desk to Alice. "Follow me." She leads Alice down the hall, grumbling about how all the rich eligible bachelors are always taken and she'll never get out of this dump, never.
Walking down the hall is nearly enough to make Alice jump out of her skin and run out screaming. The orderlies lumber about like zombies in the same dirty scrubs, and a cacophony of screaming can be heard echoing, bouncing from wall to wall. The few patients she does see appear drained, watching her with sad, empty eyes. One little blonde girl reminds her so much of herself that Alice has to force herself to look straight ahead.
They finally arrive at Mirana's room. Alice, remembering her costume, allows the orderly in first. She follows close behind, and finds a sight that rips the heart from her chest.
Mirana is curled up on a pathetic excuse for a mattress, lying stiff, dull brown eyes fixed on a camera mounted high up in the corner of a wall. Her fingers toy idly with a loose thread dangling off her pillow. Her wrists are wrapped in heavy gauze, and her once cream coloured silky hair is matted and dry, unkempt, dark brown roots making an appearance for the first time. Her eyes are red, dark circles carved underneath. They don't seem to register anyone in the room.
Alice rushes forward, overcome, wanting nothing more to envelop Mirana in her arms and kiss away the pain. Mirana finally sees her and instantly recoils, curling further into herself with a whimper. Alice feels a crack in her heart and kneels down beside the bed, putting herself in a more submissive position and hoping to appear less terrifying. She'd nearly forgotten that Mirana doesn't know she's here for her rescue.
"Mirana, this is Alan Ratcliffe, your betrothed." The orderly spits the last word, jealousy evident.
Mirana's eyes widen with alarm. "My what?"
Even though it is small and afraid, the sound of Mirana's voice brings a surge of joy to Alice. However, she needs Mirana alone to explain things. She can already see her starting to panic.
She turns to the orderly. "Would you give us a moment, please?"
The orderly huffs. "Of course." She leaves, but not before shooting Mirana a bitter glare.
Once the door closes, Mirana rolls as far away from Alice as possible, her back to her. The action hurts, but Alice can understand why. She switches back to her normal voice. "Mirana, it's me, Alice."
Mirana rolls back over. "Alice?"
Alice nods. "I'm disguised. I'm here to take you away."
Mirana's eyes narrow. She sits up, and then promptly launches herself at Alice, punching her as hard as she can, which really isn't very hard.
"You!" she snarls, voice shrill with rage. "You put me in here! I'm in here because of you!"
She manages to land a particularly hard punch, which snaps Alice out of the shock that Mirana Underland is actually punching her right now. "Ow! Hey, Mirana, listen to —"
Mirana slams a finger to her lips, stopping her punching assault. "No, you listen to me. I was perfectly fine before you came into my life, before you started complicating things. Now I have to suffer here to fix myself!" She glares long and hard at Alice before collapsing against her chest, sobbing. Alice starts to put her arms around her to attempt to console her, but Mirana slaps her hands away, wincing.
"You don't have to suffer anymore." Alice says gently. "I have a letter that says you can leave this place."
"I'm not cured…" she sniffles.
Alice sighs. "Mirana, there's nothing wrong with you. I'll explain it to you later, but we've got to go now. Tarrant is waiting out front, and if anyone recognizes him, we'll be caught."
"Recognizes him?"
"We've both been here before, and he'll tell you the same thing I'm telling you now: this place doesn't cure anything. It hurts without healing. It kills sometimes too."
Mirana takes a shuddering breath. "Alright. Alright. But I'm still mad at you."
"Just play along until we leave. Then you can hit me as much as you'd like."
They get up, slowly, and leave the room together. The orderly is waiting, and Alice silently prays that she didn't hear anything that might compromise them. Mirana had been quite loud.
"Couple's spat?" the orderly asks, nearly sounding hopeful.
"It's all sorted now, right Mirana?" Alice says.
"Right."
Mirana doesn't look too convincing, but it'll have to do. The orderly's face falls once again.
They make it to the front desk, and the orderly starts a print for the discharge paperwork before disappearing into another room. When she comes back, she has Mirana's clothes sealed in a bag along with her phone. Mirana takes it, a little light returning to her eyes, and hugs it close to her chest. The papers finish printing and the orderly has Alice sign half, then has Mirana sign a page. The papers get stapled together and filed away, then the orderly tells them they're free to go. Everything is going perfectly.
"Mirana, what are you doing out here?"
The sound of Dr. Bumby's voice sends a familiar chill up Alice's spine. Mirana recoils into her but doesn't hold onto her at all.
"She's coming with me." Alice says, trying to sound authoritative.
"She's cleared, Angus." the orderly says. "Don't make me do any more paperwork."
Dr. Bumby's disappointment is clearly visible, but he doesn't address it. "Very well then, I su —"
"Mirana, take me with you!"