There’s no sign of the Bandersnatch or the Red Queen when we finally wake and descend the ladder. I feel so refreshed when I rub the sleep from my eyes. The cocoon still hangs in the corner, no movement or noise coming from it. I realize the young man is gone, but I don’t ask. Maybe he disappears when Absolem is purging. I don’t know. I don’t really want to know. I just accept it as a fact of Wonderland. Some things have no explanation.

We don’t go far before we’re passing through the clearing where we had the standoff, where I had shot the Red Queen with the most insane bullets only for her to stand up and accuse me of ruining her dress. There are no bodies from the four fallen creatures. There isn’t even any blood left behind. The clearing is as pristine as if we had never been there. It’s unsettling.

“They’re part of the Queen,” Hatter offers as an explanation. “They live because she wills them to.”

“So, what are they exactly? Zombies?”

“No.” He looks ahead, his face somber. “And yes. Their bodies are alive, but their souls are dead. Passed to the Hereafter. They’re mostly just empty vessels.”

“They used to be people?” I ask in horror. It had never crossed my mind that the gruesome creatures could have been anything other than what they are.

He nods but doesn’t say anything more. I decide to leave the subject alone for now, seeing the obvious grief it causes. There is so much sadness in wonderland, in a place that always seems so magical on paper. I don’t know how the Hatter does it, watching the people he cares about being killed one by one, watching his world be destroyed by someone he once called friend, all while going on living. It’s a burden, to not be able to die with those friends, one that certainly has taken its toll. Yet, he still does it, without complaint, without disdain. He still escorts every single soul to the Hereafter and settles them into their life there. The thought humbles me. Helping the downtrodden has always been a passion of mine. The fact that the Hatter and I have that in common is amazing even as it’s sad. I wish we didn’t have to do the jobs we do, but someone has to do it. And I would rather it be me, or the Hatter, than someone who doesn’t care, or isn’t affected by it. The man behind the madness is so much more than his insanity. He is so much more than he appears, than he thinks.

“What is it you think, when you look at me like that?” the Hatter asks suddenly. I flush. Had I been looking at him while I was lost in thought?

“Look at you like what?”

“Like I am some wondrous creature. You look at me in wonder,” he replies softly.

I thread my fingers through his and smile up at him.

“You are wondrous. Is that not okay? If I look at you like that?” His face grows serious, and I frown. “Hatter?”

“Insanity is a disease that eats away at my mind. I am not some magical, beautiful thing,” he growls. “I am madness and death, and I do not deserve the look in your eyes. I am a monster that cannot die as a monster should.”

Those words are wrong. Utterly wrong. I see the beauty in his madness. I see the man beneath it all, his soul begging for someone to bring him out of the loneliness. His words strike me in the heart, and I can’t think of anything to say. I open my mouth. Say something. Say anything. Tell him he’s worthy. Tell him he’s perfect the way he is. Tell him I want it all, every last bit of it, as long as he’ll have me.

“Hatter.”

He growls, and I stop at the agony in the sound. Agony I’m responsible for. I wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t, no matter how much I plead with my eyes or tug on his hand. The silence is thick with tension, the walk back to the house is torture. Somewhere along the way, I said something wrong. Or I did something wrong, and it brought out a side of the Hatter I haven’t seen before. It’s a side I want to hug and hold and tell everything will be alright if he’ll let me. I feel the desperation coming from him in waves.

We enter the meadow, his home coming into view in front of us. He drops my hand and speeds up, practically running towards the door.

“Hatter! Wait!” I cry, trying to catch up with him, but I’m no match for his long stride on a good day. As of now, my legs are still weak and feel like jello.

He’s slamming the door open just as I climb the porch. Dormouse stands on the other side, his face serene as the Hatter storms past. On his way through, the Hatter picks up a particularly ugly vase displayed on a pedestal and slams it against the wall. It shatters, ceramic pieces flying around the entry way. I watch as blood trickles down his hand, brilliant red against his pale skin. It brings about memories of the visions, of the blood I saw pouring from his chest, and I fight a wave of nausea.

“Oh, Hatter.” I move towards him, intending to wipe the blood up no matter how much my stomach roils.

“The Knave returned,” Dormouse speaks. “But he left again when you weren’t in.”

I stop and stare at Dormouse. There’s still no emotion on his face, and I have to wonder again if he even has any at all.

“Kill the knave, kill the knave. Off with his head to free the slave,” Hatter mumbles in agitation, standing in the middle of the ceramic shards, staring at the blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. He repeats the lines, angrier with every word.

I place my hand on his shoulder in comfort, and he jerks away, hard. He slams his fist into the wall, in the same spot as the vase met its fate. He leaves a bloody mark behind where there is a crater, and when he storms away into the ballroom, there’s a trail of blood behind him. I move to follow him.

“I wouldn’t,” Dormouse says, his monotone voice halting me.

“Why not?”

“When he’s under stress, his madness comes out more. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“He would never hurt me. And besides, this is the time that he needs someone the most,” I defend. I don’t want to leave him alone. “Is there a tea party going on?”

“No. The next one isn’t due until tomorrow. But he still has to pass the last guests. They’ve been waiting for him.”

I worry my bottom lip, staring at the spots of blood on the floor.

“At least, give him a little time to calm down,” Dormouse says. “I’ve set food in your room, and the wardrobe is stocked full of clothing. Perhaps you can make use of the facilities.”

“Are you telling me I stink, Dormouse?” I ask, cocking my eyebrow at him.

I swear his lips twitch, but I can’t be sure.

“I would never tell the Clara Bee she smells like the rear end of a Jabberwocky,” he says.

I snort and shake my head. I mockingly bow to him, exaggerating the movements, before heading towards the stairs instead of the ballroom. Dormouse is right; I do smell like crap. I don’t know what a Jabberwocky is, but it must not be too pleasant if I smell like its ass. I file it away under the “Ask Hatter Later” section in my mind.

This time, I don’t seem to have any trouble finding my way to my bedroom. There must be some sort of magic about it. As soon as I stop thinking too hard, and focus on the fact I want to go to my room, I wind up right in front of the purple door. When I walk inside, it’s exactly the way I left it except that the bed is made. I certainly didn’t make it. I look around the area briefly before going straight to the bathroom.

There’s a large mirror above the sink, and I groan when I catch my reflection. I look like I took a tumble down a hill and then rolled in the mud for good measure. My hair is a massive pile of knots on top of my head, strands sticking out everywhere. There’s blood splattered on my jacket, and I grimace. I don’t even remember who or what’s blood it can be. Was I standing close to the Bandersnatch when they were hit? Is it the Queen’s blood? Is it mine? I have cuts on my cheeks from tree branches, so it can certainly be my blood. I turn away from the mirror.

I crank the water on for the tub, praising whatever deity is listening as hot water begins to pour from the faucet. There are various bottles lining the tub, and I sniff a few of them before deciding on one that smells like a mixture of Chamomile and chocolate. It’s the same smell the Hatter gives off, and I wonder if he uses the same stuff. I pour a generous amount into the tub and watch the foam start to build up.

I unbutton the jacket and shrug it over my shoulders, grimacing at the muggy feel of my skin. It drops to the ground with a heavy thump. My shoulders instantly feel ten pounds lighter. I have to peel the leather pants off; they stick to my skin and make a sucking sound as I pull them down. I’m going to suggest that Dormouse burn the entire outfit, no matter how gorgeous it is. I don’t think it can survive after all it has been through. The smell alone, I don’t know if that’ll ever come out.

Climbing into the froth-filled tub is heaven and then some. I sigh as the steaming water relaxes my weary muscles. I’m definitely getting my cardio in here in Wonderland. All this running has to be good for my thighs. I wash away the sweat, the grime, the blood from my skin before doing the same to my hair. The water turns dirty, and I have to let it out and refill it again, so I can lounge in it. The hot water feels nice as it runs over my blister-covered feet. I stay there, relaxing, until the water grows cold and my fingers wrinkle. The entire time, I think of nothing but the Hatter and his tortured soul. I want to help mend whatever is broken, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I’m certainly going to try.

I wrap a large purple towel around me, humming a song as I walk from the bathroom. I let my hair hang loose around my shoulders, so it can air dry. When I see a certain cat lounging on my bed, I stop.

“Don’t you know anything about privacy?” I ask, wrinkling my nose up at him.

“Of course,” Cheshire replies. His tail is flicking back and forth. I’m not sure if he’s agitated or feeling playful. He’s sprawled out on my bed again, exactly like a cat. This man is more feline than human. He grins as he looks me up and down. I grip my towel tighter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a creep?”

His grin widens impossibly.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes at his amusement.

“What are you doing here? Last I saw you, you had abandoned me to the Knave and disappeared with your tail between your legs.”

It still rankles me that he had left me behind. He did warn me he was only out for himself. I guess it’s really my fault for not listening. I should have expected it. I had trusted too easily. I won’t do so again.

He flips over on his back, throwing his hands behind his head and stretching out further.

“Have you been to see the Caterpillar?” he drawls, ignoring my question.

I move towards the wardrobe Dormouse had mentioned and open it. Inside are yards and yards of different fabrics. I suck in a breath at the sheer number of outfits smashed inside. The bottom is lined with shoes. Where did all this come from? I can see everything from casual clothing to extravagant dresses. Why do I need all this?

I turn towards Cheshire again, studying him. The question had been loaded with something, some undertone of emotion that he hadn’t wanted me to hear.

“Yes,” I answer wearily.

“And what did you learn?”

“That I’m the first of the triad prophesied to bring down the Red Queen.”

“And you’re prepared for that?” he asks, studying his nails. “Are you prepared to fulfill a destiny written by someone else?”

“No.” He looks up at me sharply, his eyes searching mine. “But I will do it.”

“Why?”

It’s such a simple question. One I’m not sure how to answer. Yes, I want to help Wonderland. Yes, I want to stop the Red Queen. But what business do I have saving a world that isn’t even mine? Why am I okay with fulfilling a prophecy that was, indeed, written by someone else?

I glance at the doorway. I can’t see him, but I can feel him. I don’t know how, but there’s a sort of connection between the Hatter and me. I have no idea when it happened, but it’s there. And it seems I have my answer.

“Ahhh,” Cheshire chuckles. “He’s seduced you with his madness then?”

“No. He’s awakened my curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Cheshire lectures, and he doesn’t even laugh at the irony of him using the line. That grin stays locked on his face, though, so maybe it’s a little funny to him. I’m beginning to wonder if the grin is a mask more than anything. “I suspect there’s a bit more than curiosity.”

My heart gives a hard throb at the truth in his words. I feel so much more for Hatter than simple curiosity. He’s right. Wonderland is curious. It’s inhabitants are curious. But the Hatter? The Hatter is a puzzle I keep trying to piece together, only to realize none of the pieces are from the same puzzle. He makes me burn, makes me love, makes me whole. I have to tell him that. I have to show him what he’s beginning to mean to me. He is enough. He’s enough exactly how he is, insanity and all.

Cheshire begins to fade from his place on the bed, his eyes sharp as they study me.

“Go to him,” he urges before disappearing completely. I think he’s gone when his final words echo through the room. “He needs you, Clara Bee.”

I don’t ask how he knows. I’m sure he’s really gone this time. I don’t suspect Cheshire as being too in touch with his feelings. The fact that he respects what I obviously feel for the Hatter throws me, and I realize that I’m again judging based on appearances. Never judge a book by its cover, or by the layer of Asshole attitude it uses to hide behind.

I put all thoughts of Cheshire from my mind. There’s too many layers to him, and I just don’t have the time to peel them all back. Curiouser and curiouser, that one.

I turn to the wardrobe.