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7

Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going.

- Tennessee Williams

Having acquired Devlyn's irksome habit, I paced the length of my tiny room and back again. In recent weeks, Devlyn finally abandoned the "protocol" of binding me to my bed in his absence as if I was no more than a raving lunatic who required such protective measures. Obviously, I was not mad, and I did not need such restraint. Grateful for his uncharacteristic rejection of regulation, I continued pacing the room, anxiously awaiting Devlyn's return and wondering whether or not the coveted formula had proved successful.

For Devlyn's sake as well as mine, I prayed that the formula worked. Ballard would expect nothing less than absolute success, and, by this point, failure could mean only one outcome. No matter Devlyn's near irreplaceable value and almost immeasurable intellect, Ballard would not hesitate to send him to the executioner. Then, he would banish me to a lifetime in the Great Vault … or worse. It seemed strange that I could now find the horrors of the Great Vault a preferable fate to another alternative. No longer the serum's fool, I understood matters as I could never have understood them before. Over the past month or more, I interpreted the meaning behind Ballard's lecherous glances in my direction, his abrupt and frequent visits when Devlyn was not here under the pretense of monitoring my progress, and his insistence at calling me "Devlyn's whore."

Naturally, I could not fathom how Ballard came to discover the depth of intimacy that Devlyn and I shared, for Devlyn assuredly was not the sort of man to discuss such delicate matters, least of all with Ballard. However it came to pass, Ballard knew, and he must have assumed that Devlyn's almost unreasonable infatuation with me resulted directly from what I offered physically. Without question, Ballard concluded that was my only merit. And it stood to reason that he ignored me before because he thought me insane. Yet, since my documented re-emergence as Red, Ballard must have determined that I was somehow now worthy of his own attentions because, simply put, I was no longer crazy, my body inhabited by another – foreign – consciousness.

Whatever the ultimate conclusion, I despised Ballard, and his presence left me feeling both chilled and disgusted. If given the choice between him and the Great Vault, I would choose the Great Vault without the slightest hesitation or debate … provided, of course, that I was offered a choice, which, circumstances considered, appeared unlikely.

Shaking my head, I forced Ballard from my thoughts. Still, rather than think on anything of comfort, I instead considered Devlyn's earlier speculation that Scarlett's memories would soon assimilate with mine, becoming whole – a complete individual – over the course of time. Admittedly, it was a thought that yet troubled me since I could not fully trust Scarlett, both her motives and her beliefs. Regardless, she was me, a fact that was becoming more obvious with each passing day. To my dismay, I was starting to realize that I could no longer necessarily distinguish between one memory and another – Scarlett's from mine. The memories blended seamlessly into one consciousness, and it was near impossible to separate Scarlett from myself, except on the rarest of occasions. Despite my initial resistance, I had even conceded to correct Devlyn's formula concerning the productive operation of the Great Vault. Though now I wondered whether or not he truly needed my assistance to correct the formula or if his request was no more than a ploy to determine how well Scarlett had integrated herself into my thoughts and memories … my entire mind and being.

With a frustrated sigh, I finally sat down upon the bed, staring at the door and waiting. My stomach flipped, the bile rising in my throat. I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths as I swallowed down the familiar illness as well as its devastating implications.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the door opened, and Devlyn stepped inside the room. From his stoic expression, I could not tell what news he brought. His dark gaze met mine, and I stood, unable to do more than watch him as I waited expectantly.

"I have brought you a gift," he announced unexpectedly.

"A … gift?" I echoed, stunned. As he closed the small distance between us, I regained my wits. "Do not toy with me, Devlyn. Was the test successful?"

To my consternation, he ignored me, instead reaching into the pocket of his customary lab coat to retrieve a necklace. Agitated by his bizarre actions, I stood stiffly as he carefully placed the bauble about my neck. It was, I noticed, a fetching piece – a simple black ribbon adorned with a brilliant red ruby pendant. Still, I could not admire the present at such a moment as this. My nerves were frayed; all I wanted was an answer.

"Devlyn, please," I snapped. "What happened with Ballard?"

"The ruby is a token of my affection," Devlyn replied as he blatantly ignored both my apparent irritation and impatience. "I have considered for some time now confessing more than mere affection, but I admit I am neither a poet nor a romantic. And yet … however much it does not make sense and however much I fail to understand it, I do love you, Red."

For longer than necessary, I stood still and silent, absorbing his confession – a confession that neither one of us had dared confess before. In the sanctuary of my mind, I thought of love, and I was convinced that what I felt toward Devlyn was stronger than only affection or desire – that what I felt was indeed that elusive emotion that hopeless romantics used to describe the ultimate depth of attachment and dependence. Suddenly struck by all that had occurred between Devlyn and me since our first meeting, I wondered how it had come to this. Without a doubt, I was as confused as Devlyn by the complete irrationality of it all. Yet, in spite of my own emotions, I could not bring myself to return his sentiment aloud. Though I was Devlyn's so called assistant, I was, realistically, still a hostage within this room. That combined with the truth I yet concealed kept me from baring myself to an even greater vulnerability – the very consequence of admitting love for another.

Instead, I replied, "And I promise I'll hate you forever if you do not tell me now what happened with Ballard."

Though I did not wish for it, I was surprised that Devlyn did not appear either hurt or troubled by my avoidance to his profession of love. "The necklace," Devlyn began, "is also meant as a token of celebration." He paused for a rather unnecessary dramatic effect. "The formula proved an unmitigated success."

My knees went weak with Devlyn's answer. "Ballard was pleased, then?" I persisted just to make certain.

"Ecstatic," Devlyn said.

"Then we have played our part," I said as I suddenly and desperately needed to sit once more.

"Yes … I suppose," Devlyn said slowly.

He studied me, confusion mingling with concern as I sank back down upon the bed's thin mattress. My stomach churned, and I wished I had refused lunch. After all, nothing agreed with me lately. Naturally, I was not ignorant enough to fail to understand the significance of the persistent nausea, which had plagued me for nearly a month now. Once I reached a certain age, the Doctors often questioned me about the symptoms of carrying a child, for it went without saying that many of the female prisoners suffered abuse that might result in such a condition. Of course, the Doctors were not interested in the abuse itself, only the possible result. Luckily, I had never endured that particularly depraved kind of violence, but I still understood.

"Are you all right?" Devlyn asked. He knew that I had not been quite myself the past few weeks, but, despite his brilliance, common sense often eluded him. He hadn't the slightest inkling, and, for that, I was thankful. For a reason I could not name, I was not yet ready for him to know.

Glancing up at him, I said, "We should leave. Ballard has everything he wants. Can it not just end with that?"

"Leave?" Devlyn asked incredulously. "While the idea is appealing, we cannot just leave Aberdeen's Gate." He paused. "Besides, in truth, we are probably far safer here than we would be out there. The war …" his voice trailed off, leaving me to imagine my own horrors at how the war was devastating the whole of Wonderland.

"And what terrible weapon will Ballard ask of you next?" I whispered. "The knowledge you are willing to give him could destroy Wonderland."

"The Queen would never actually destroy Wonderland," Devlyn reasoned. "Without people to rule, she cannot play the tyrant. She would not wear the crown of a wasteland. Rest assured, no matter what weapons we provide, she will make certain she still rules a land filled with people to terrorize."

"Is that not simply another form of destruction?" I returned.

"Perhaps it is, but that isn't for us to decide."

So, we were back to discussing the importance of surviving, first and foremost. It left me to wonder if Devlyn would ever count anything – or anyone – as being worth the cost of his own life.

After revealing that Hatter was not, in fact, her son, Gretna rose from her chair and departed, bidding the lot of them a goodnight by reminding them that she expected them gone by morning.

Lily made a face at Gretna's back before turning to Alice and Hatter. "Well!" she exclaimed. "That was easy enough, wasn't it? Now we know that we must go to Aberdeen's Gate." She paused, appearing to be momentarily lost in thought. Finally, Lily continued, "We really must go to sleep if we want to leave before the wicked witch wakes. She's probably one of those awful people that wake at dawn." Looking at Hatter, Lily asked, "Where is your old room? The witch said we could sleep there."

"The door to the left of the kitchen," Hatter replied, and he sounded almost … mechanical, answering on instinct rather than actual thought.

Lily skipped out of the room, and then returned less than a minute later. With her hands on her hips, she said, "That is not a room. It's a closet."

"I think it was supposed to be a pantry," Hatter said, though there was no humor in his voice.

"Well," Lily huffed, "I can't even find a bed. There's junk piled everywhere, and there's cobwebs and dust … and probably spiders." Lily shuddered as if that were the most horrific thought in the world. "I hate spiders. Do you think maybe they're all dead because of the cold?" Lily did not wait for Hatter or Alice to answer before she continued, "I think they are. They must be. I haven't seen a spider since I left home. Well," she began as she grabbed a folded blanket from one of the chairs in the sitting room, "I am going to sleep in the kitchen. At least it's a little cleaner in there."

Then, Lily wished them goodnight and reminded them not to leave in the morning without her, as if they actually would. Alice would hardly abandon her worst enemy at Gretna's house, let alone the girl, though, in all honesty, Lily could probably hold her own against the likes of Gretna.

When Lily left, Alice turned her attention on Hatter. Though he still appeared somewhat stunned, he overall seemed to be accepting the entire situation far better than Alice imagined that she would have coped with such a situation. Then again, Hatter must have been thrilled to learn that Gretna was not his mother. Regardless, that would still, inevitably, leave Hatter with questions to which he might never find answers.

"Hatter," Alice said gently as she leaned forward in her chair and reached out, placing her hand over his. She could not fathom what she might say, but she wanted to remind him that she was there, with him.

Hatter shook his head, a vague half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "It's probably one of the best damn things anyone's ever told me. It sure explains a lot."

"But …" Alice prompted, feeling that there was more Hatter wanted to add to that statement.

"But …" Hatter hesitated. "Well, I'll probably never know who they were – my parents, I mean. If my mum was a prisoner, she probably died in the fire."

"What is Aberdeen's Gate exactly?" Alice asked.

Hatter shrugged. "There's rumors, that's all. All anyone knows for sure was that it was the Queen's prison, and it burned down not long after I was born." He paused before adding quietly, "They say no one survived."

"I'm so sorry," Alice whispered. She understood how difficult it must be for Hatter to learn that someone else was his mother only to realize she was likely dead. And, even if she wasn't, Alice knew Hatter didn't have the first clue as to where he might start searching for her … or his father for that matter. Though she had known who her dad was, of course, she sympathized with that particular frustration – and hurt – all too well. So, even if it seemed a slim hope, Alice said, "Maybe we'll find something at Aberdeen's Gate."

Though Hatter did not respond, he nodded before squeezing his eyes shut, and Alice noticed the blood. Quickly, Alice scanned the room and grabbed a blanket that was neatly folded over the back of one of the sitting room's chairs. She handed it over to Hatter, and, briefly, Alice hoped the blanket was one of Gretna's favorites.

When Hatter finally lowered the blanket, blood staining the fabric, he didn't meet Alice's gaze but rather stared straight ahead, frowning as if he were confused by something Alice could not see. "I used to think I'd rather survive than entertain my conscience – that the cost of having morals in Wonderland was too high a price."

It was Alice's turn to frown as she studied Hatter worriedly. His speech was … different – different, even, from the times he recited bizarre riddles and rhymes.

This was something new, and it was most assuredly not a positive development.

"I didn't think change could happen with only one person," Hatter continued. "I was wrong, you know." When Hatter finally looked at Alice, she didn't believe he was actually seeing her at all, but rather someone else. After all, it didn't even seem to Alice as if Hatter was speaking for himself. Rather, it felt as if someone else were speaking for him.

"I set the fire," Hatter whispered, glancing down at the bloodied blanket draped over his lap. "It was the only way." He sighed, sounding defeated. "A lot of people died, and I will live with that forever … but, in the end, it saved more people than it killed. It does not make me a hero; I never was a hero. But you already know that." Hatter paused again. "I made a bargain with an officer. He was nice enough, and he had just lost his son. So, the officer agreed to smuggle him out of the prison and raise him as his own."

"Hatter?" Alice asked as she grasped his hand once more in an attempt to jar him and bring him back to the present … and, more to the point, back to reality.

"No, that is not my name," Hatter replied. He glanced down at Alice's hand with a raised eyebrow as if he had not expected her to touch him. "The old man never could say it right. He always insisted on saying Hatt-er." Meeting Alice's gaze, he said, "My name is Hatta."

Author's Note: I hope this chapter has cleared up any last bit of confusion concerning Hatter's parentage ... before we move on to the next twist! Again, THANK YOU all for the reviews. You all are awesome, and I can never possibly thank you enough :-D