Madness (Madness #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A timid knock on my room door startles me from the work I’m doing, and I turn around, ready to admonish whoever thought it wise to disturb me, but the words die on my tongue when I see who it is.

Harry stands there timidly, his red hair frazzled and sticking out from underneath his hat.

“Harry!” I smile.

He never comes to my room to see me, deciding to keep to himself more often than not or spend time with his animals .

“Hi, Red,” he says softly, “A was wondering if ya had seen ma mouse?” his Scottish accent stronger today.

His green eyes, wide and large behind his glasses, dart around my room, but he never looks at the work that decorates my walls or at me.

I take the opportunity as I always do when he refuses to look at me to look at him – really look at him.

I wonder what secrets lie behind the glasses he wears that reflect the light but not the emotions he rarely shows, only ever showing the animals he believes he can talk to.

“I haven’t,” I frown, “Has Doris gone missing?”

“She wasn’t where a left her when a went to shower,” he frowns.

I try not to imagine him showering, how soapy and wet his body would get, but my insides flush with heat, and my panties get wet at the image that is conjured in my head.

“Red?”

“Hmm?”

“Yir bleeding.” He nods his head at my arm, which is dripping with blood onto the tiled floor.

Fuck I wasted it – too busy thinking about the boy in front of me even though he can barely look at me .

Despite my efforts over the last ten years, he somehow remains an enigma, locked away within himself from the trauma that got him admitted here. He’s built an impenetrable fortress around his emotions with the company of his mouse and rabbit—the only ones he lets in.

I hear him talking to them like they are family; his responses to them are always warm and filled with love, and I want that to happen to me.

I clasp my hand over the self-inflicted wound in an attempt to prevent further loss of my only material. The physical pain from the wounds I inflict on myself is secondary to the ache in my chest from his standoffish behaviour.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to him, hoping that today might be the day he lets me in, even just a little.

I smile, but it lacks my usual happiness, “Sorry. Do you need help looking for her?” I ask him, even when I don’t want to leave this room.

The ideas bounce around inside of my brain, and my fingers twitch against my skin with the itch to use the warm liquid that I can feel pooling between my palm and wrist on the mural I’ve been painting for the last three months.

I can almost see the final piece of the mushroom stools I’m working on coming together. Each stroke of my finger against the wall is a release for me, a way for me to channel the anger and resentment that have built up inside me from my sister's actions that got me sent here.

The mural before me isn’t just another piece of art that I’ve painted. It’s me – my soul.

The blood I’ve used isn’t just metaphorical; it’s a part of me, my only material since I’m not allowed actual paint, and I’ve lost count of the wounds that now litter my body that I’ve made to make this piece of work.

Harry shakes his head, “No. She’ll turn up. She likes to go on adventures when a canni, and she was worried about Thatcher and the storm rolling in.”

“Storm?” I ponder, turning my head to the barred window, “There was no storm forecasted.”

“New inmate comes in today. Ya know, there’s a storm every time. It’s spooky,” Harry laughs.

“Do you know who?” I ask.

I like knowing who’s coming into my institute; the more I know, the safer I am, and I need to make sure that I am safe above all else.

“Someone named Alice,” he says, but when I look back at him, he’s on his knees, crouching and looking underneath my bed.

“ The Alice ?” I almost shout.

Wonderland has an Alice who, two decades ago, somehow managed to defy the odds and escape .

If she has returned to Wonderland, it is possible that she still knows how to escape, and perhaps if she were to escape again, she could take me with her.

I gaze at my mural mournfully. I don’t want to leave it behind; it is some of my best work, after all, but my survival is the most important thing, and I need to escape Wonderland if I wish to live.

“Don’t be silly, Red. Not thee Alice, she’s dead.”

“Dead? How?”

He stands, brushing his trousers off with his hands, and runs his index finger over his throat, “Beheaded. Clean off.”

“Who?”

“No one knows. They think it was a different Alice, but they won’t talk, so they are being sent here.”

“So, Alice killed Alice?”

“Yes – well, apparently so, but it isnae guaranteed.”

“Okay, then. Are you sure you do not want me to help you search for Doris?” I ask him one more time.

The blood trapped between my hand and skin is starting to dry, and my mood has been soured by the news that the only person ever to escape Wonderland has been murdered.

The revelation sours my mood further, ruining any hope I had of finding a way out of this place without losing the people I love .

With every day spent here, I have a new urgency to escape and seek safety outside of the walls of Wonderland, but the dread creeps in, and the ticking clock above my head for my impending death tells me that I may be trapped here forever.

No longer in the mood to paint, I walk to my ensuite bathroom and wash away the wasted material, “Actually, since I have nothing left to do anymore, I insist on helping you,” I tell him, using this as the perfect excuse to try to get closer to him.

His green eyes flick to the mural on the wall and then back to me, an uneasy look travelling across his face. “You don’t want to finish?”

“Nope, I’m good,” I smile.

I move closer to him, breathing in the woodsy scent of the outdoors that seems to cling to him, and brush my arm against his. When he doesn’t move, I take it as a win, one step closer to getting what I want – him.

It’s been him for the last ten years, and while I haven’t refrained from having sex with other people, Harry has called to me like no other person here has… well, other than the two others who have stolen a piece of my soul, but they are forbidden.

They are too treacherous and out of reach to consider a future, even if it tears me apart to think of a life without them .

Harry is sweet, kind, and caring, and he shows it in how he treats sweet little Doris, the field mouse, and Thatcher, his rabbit.

We leave my room, and I shut the door behind us.

I don’t want people to see the mural until it’s done; only a few have, and they know it’s been a work in progress for months since I got my art supply privileges revoked.

My mind gets crowded without my art, and I started to slip into dangerous territory without it – thankfully, I learned a good way to cope by merging both of my coping mechanisms.

“Red! Look!” Hare shouts from down the hall, his feet already running towards us. A piece of paper is held high above his head in his hand. “Wocky gave me paper!”

He stops in front of us, his chest heaving, and his face transforms into a bright smile.

“Did he now? That’s so cool!” I exclaim, “Do I get a hug today?” I hold out my arms for him, but I let him make the choice if I’m gifted a hug today or not.

He’s a good kid, and not long after turning seventeen, his mind is stuck at the age of three on bad days and four on good ones.

Hare steps into my open arms and wraps his arms tightly around my midsection until I can’t breathe, and the paper in his hand crinkles against my back. “Are you helping Wocky?” I smile at the name given to the warden that guards us.

All wardens at Wonderland are known as the Jabberwocky - ruthless and terrifying. They rule over Wonderland with an iron fist, but Hare is the exception to the rule, and he’s somehow managed to gain a place in our Jabberwocky’s cold black heart, developing a bond with him as though they are brothers.

“I am!” he chirps as he steps back. Hare assesses Harry next to me, “Can I have a hug?”

Harry sighs but opens his arms, and I smile at the two of them together.

Everyone here knows that Hare is off limits, and he’s a beacon of innocence and gentleness that everyone loves for anyone to want to try.

Though, I don’t think they would get far in Wonderland if they did do anything to him.

Hare has somehow managed to befriend the most terrifying patient, who was placed in solitary the moment he stepped foot through the doors. Even then, it doesn’t stop said patient from roaming the halls at night.

“So, what’s the paper for?” I ask Hare, knowing that he only gets a few pieces each day; otherwise, we would all be able to wallpaper our rooms with the drawings he would give us alone.

“I get to make a name,” he says, his broad smile pulling one from my lips .

Hare is special to us all, and with his wide amber eyes that are filled with childlike wonder and his wonky teeth that are missing a few at the sides, he’s the bright spot in this otherwise dreary place.

Hare makes unique name signs for each patient who comes into Wonderland, and we take this very seriously. It also helps him know who is in which room, and he doesn’t get lost as much anymore.

Wonderland is a maze, but thanks to Hare, we now have colourful spiral arrows and bubble letter writing to show us the way to therapy.

“Is it for Alice?” I ask, curious about the newest addition to this crazy place.

“Yup! Look a pen!”

A bright pink pen is thrust into my face, “Very nice, buddy. Are you making the name pink?”

“Pink! Pink! Pink!” he shouts, jumping on the spot and clapping his hand, tearing the paper at the corner in the process.

“Hey bud, how about we walk ya to Wocky’s office, and ya can help me look for Doris?” Harry offers his hand out for Hare to take.

The warden’s office isn’t hard to find as we navigate the halls with white walls and speckled red diamonds. Hare’s special signs help when we worry that we’ve taken a wrong turn.

I’ve been trapped here for three years now, and I see no way out unless it’s in a body bag .

“Wocky!” Hare shouts, banging his fist on the warden’s door.

Both Harry and I take a step back, not wanting to gain the warden’s attention, and slip away just as the door opens.

“Bye, Hare,” I call down to him just before we turn the corner, and I’m gifted with another big smile and enthusiastic wave.

“Bye Red. Bye Har!”

We spend the next hour searching for Doris, which proves to be more difficult than I expected because she’s a tiny field mouse who could be in the walls or scurrying through the smallest crevices, and we wouldn’t know.

“Am gonna call it a night, Red. Doris will probably be in ma room before they call lights out,” Harry says, leaning against the wall across from my room.

“Do you want to come chill for a while?” I ask.

It’s a tough pill to swallow, feeling desperate for his attention to only get rejection in return.

He smiles sadly at me as if it could soften the rejection I know is coming, his voice gentle as if to comfort me, but it does nothing to ease the sting, “No thanks, lass. I’m beat, and I want ti git to ma bed, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that’s fair…” I take a step back, “Another time, ma ybe?”

“Sure.”

I close the door, leaning against it until I can’t hear the soft footfalls of his feet against the floor anymore.

I haven’t been able to crack him since we were placed in the same ward – I don’t know what possessed me to think I could today.

He’s a work in progress, just like the beautiful mural on my wall, and I need to be patient.

The razor splits my skin, and the perfect shade spills from the wound, but I don’t waste a drop this time - getting to work before the wound clots. I need to finish the caterpillar on the mushroom, but I can’t seem to get the shading right.

I have no clue how long I work.

Too lost in the work and my mind as I drag the razor across my skin again and dip my finger into the blood. I smear it across the not-so-pristine wall and blow on it to get it to dry faster, repeating the process until the shading is perfect on the caterpillar’s eye.

I wish I had blue to work with, but without access to art supplies, this is all I’m able to use. So, different shades of red litter my wall, and I smile at the picture that is flourishing.

The soft click of my lock tells me that he is here and decided he needs me tonight rather than losing himself in his plants in the greenhouse at the back of the gardens of the institute.

“Hello, Atropa.”