I took the box from the trunk and stood at the bottom of the stone stairs that led to the main door. My hand flexed around the rabbit head of my cane, my teeth gritted together and my jaw clenched.

Dolly, I reminded myself. You’re here for Dolly.

Cracking my neck, I narrowed my eyes on the front door and took the first step. With every footstep taken, I smelled the smoke from their cigars. I heard their breath in my ear. But I kept going. I kept going even though I heard their grunts, their laughs . . . felt them above me, rocking back and forth.

“You’re ready to get your darlin’?” Chapel had asked me several days ago.

“My Dolly,” I had shot back.

“Your little Dolly darlin’”. He had smiled and bowed like he always did. “Then, young Dapper Dan, send her my loving regards, and Godspeed.” A slow smile. “May the devil be firmly on your side . . .”

“Dolly darlin’,” I repeated under my breath, glancing up to the high windows I knew were hers. I turned the knob on the door, the old wood creaking loudly as it opened. A cloud of warm air hit my face. Air filled with a thick, stale dust. I stepped into the hallway, my eyes immediately relieved by the lack of light. My eyes didn’t like the light after being in the dark for so long. I looked to my left and saw a mass of white sheets covering the dining furniture. The first living room was the same. Everything was covered. Hidden away, like they had never existed. Like this fucked-up house of hell didn’t have secrets and screams trapped in its walls, pulsing as one passed. Didn’t have the echo of kids’ cries and pain.

Didn’t vibrate with depravity.

Brow furrowing, I looked down at my hand on my cane. It was shaking. I hissed, my head tilting to the side at my body’s rare display of emotion. I never felt anything. Nothing, save the urge to kill and destroy those who destroyed us.

But then there was Dolly . . . there were the memories of this damned place. The shadows that sought me out at night, forced me to constantly relive the feeling of violation. The demons of the past that made me replay each moment, every puff of breath on my ear, every sliver of sweat-soaked skin sliding against my own.

A noise from upstairs made me snap back into focus. I held the box tighter in my other hand and made for the stairs. One step, two steps, three steps . . . I kept my eyes focused on the floor above. I moved my hand over the rabbit head, flicking my finger over the latch that would unleash its hell if needed.

When I reached the top, the carpets musty and stale beneath my feet, the red and gold of the walls faded and the wallpaper peeling, I caught the distant sound of footsteps withdrawing down the stairs to my right. I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds. My eyes snapped open and my lips curled back over my teeth.

I knew who those footsteps belonged to.

I walked forward, toward a door that was a beacon to everything I was. Stopping before the closed door, I stared at the wood. Silly Rabbit, I heard in my head, a voice from the past. A light smile, laughing blue eyes, a high-pitched giggle and a playful scold. You’re my most favorite person in the whole wide world, Rabbit. I hope you know that.

Then . . . I love you . . . Three words never spoken to me before they were uttered from Dolly’s mouth.

I love you . . .

I tucked my cane under my arm and entered the room. My breath hitched as I stepped across the familiar threshold. No smell of roses greeted me. No eighties music. No pink boombox. No tea set or laughter.

The room was dead.

Extinguished of life.

I placed the foot of my cane on the floor and looked to the left. The sound of light breathing came from around the corner. I made to move, but my heart slammed into a fast beat, stopping my feet in their tracks. My nostrils flared as I closed my eyes and tried to suck in deep breaths. I never did this, never had this kind of reaction to anything. Not in eleven years. Not when I was trapped in darkness. Not when we got out—bloodily, savagely, darkly. Especially not when my knife plunged into the guards’ hearts and I watched the life fade from their eyes, the pure fascination of losing one’s life essence occupying my mind.

But this was Dolly. The only person I’d ever given a shit about.

I had no idea what state I would find her in. Whether or not her fragile mind had been destroyed. Whether or not her glass heart had been shattered. No hope of salvation.

I had no idea if my only reason for living could be saved. I shook with venomous anger when I let my mind imagine the hell those sadistic cunts would have put her through in my absence. But Chapel’s words rang in my ears . . . Unleash the anger only on those who deserve it. Let it build within your heart like a well swelling with water . . . then unleash hell on those who took your freedom.

Opening my eyes, I breathed through my rage and silently rounded the corner . . . I stopped. There she was, sitting in a chair. I sucked in a breath and heard it rattle in my ears. Her hair. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid, the woven strands falling to her lower back. And she was dressed in black. Long, baggy sleeves covered her arms.

Motherfucking black. Dolly didn’t belong in black. Only color. Blue and white and gold and motherfucking pink.

I edged around the perimeter of the room until I faced her. My heart tore down the center and I had to hold back a loud snarl when I saw her curled up on the seat, a thick blanket over her thin legs and waist as she stared lifelessly out of the window. The window that overlooked the once-manicured lawns, now nothing but high-reaching weeds and too-bushy trees. I looked across at what she was watching, in the direction of what held her so captivated.

My heart was severed completely, the two parts of its flesh repelling the other, trying to escape the rage and pain and fucking consuming darkness.

She was staring at the spot where we used to play as kids. Where she had found me all those years ago, ripping the colorful butterfly apart in my hands. I moved into her line of sight, but her blue eyes didn’t lift to meet mine, just stared through me as though I wasn’t even there. I crouched down and studied her face. Porcelain skin. Full lips. Fucking perfection.

But there was no life left in her.

I had never felt fear before, but I imagined the sinking hole I felt dropping in my stomach was something like it. A sinking feeling that Dolly had gone to a place from which there was no escape, a prisoner in her own mind.

Fragility consumed.

“Dolly darlin,’” I rasped, my voice fucking breaking.

Twenty-one. She was twenty-one and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. Perfection. My living doll.

A strand of hair lay over her face. My fingers clenched and unclenched as I tried to force myself to touch her. But I couldn’t. Except for Chapel giving me my tattoos, I hadn’t touched or been touched in years. I didn’t know how to anymore. Allergic to human affection. Repulsed by the degrading feeling of touch.

I . . . I . . . I couldn’t.

As I opened my mouth to speak to Dolly again, a loud gasp sailed through the air behind her. I straightened, gripping my cane, to see a familiar old face appear. I watched, the sinking hole quickly replaced by dark satisfaction as the blood drained from her face. “Good Lord,” she whispered as I smoothed down my black cravat and vest.

I glared at the bitch. Leaning casually on my cane, I said, “More like Lucifer, I would think.” I nodded in her direction “To you, anyhow.”

Mrs. Jenkins swallowed and tried to back out of the room. “Ah-ah,” I tutted and shook my head. She immediately stilled, eyes fixed on mine.

“He . . . Heathan James . . . it’s . . . it’s not possible . . .” she stammered and ran her eyes over me. Every inch of me.

“Rabbit.” The bitch flinched at my correction. “I am Rabbit. The motherfucking White Rabbit. So never fucking utter that peasant name to me again.”

Her skin paled, and her eyes fell to Dolly sitting on the chair. Dolly still hadn’t moved. I shifted my grip on the box I had brought inside, about to hold it out to Mrs. Jenkins when she asked, “How are you here?”

I threw the box across the room. It landed right at her feet. “Dress her.”

“Wh-what?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.

I pointed to the box at her feet. “Dress her. It wasn’t a request.” Mrs. Jenkins shook as she picked up the box and moved to where Dolly sat. Dolly didn’t look at her either. Mrs. Jenkins opened the lid of the box and gasped again.

Her old, wrinkled eyes snapped up to mine. “No—”

Before she had even finished the sentence, I had reached into my pocket and pulled out my knife. I ran the flat side of the blade down my cheek. Slowly. Controlled. Watching her terrified gaze track my every move. “You’d best do as I ask, Mrs. Jenkins. My patience and tolerance for you appear to be at an all-time low.”

She swallowed and, hands shaking like an earthquake, pulled out a blue dress, black waist belt, and black-and-white striped knee-high socks. Black ankle boots followed, along with a black silk headband adorned with a black bow.

Mrs. Jenkins straightened. “She hasn’t worn these dresses since the day you left. She . . . she is no longer that person. She is no longer obsessed with that book . . .”

I vividly recalled the very day she referred to. The blood on the striped socks pooled at Dolly’s ankles, the blood on the trim of her new, adult blue dress . . . “I’m back, bitch,” I spat out. “Dolly will be in color once again. She’ll be my Dolly, not the fuck-thing you all groomed her to be when you destroyed her innocent mind.” I pointed the knife at the old woman’s face. “Dress her. And make it quick.”

Mrs. Jenkins reached her frail old hand out for Dolly. It took every ounce of my self-control not to rush forward and snap those bones in my hands. In many places, relishing each and every crack.

Mrs. Jenkins pulled Dolly to her feet and led her to the dressing room attached to the bedroom. Dolly followed her nanny without any semblance of awareness. Her black dress reached the floor, tenting her willowy body. Dolly was small. Maybe only five foot one.

Small, but all grown up.

As the door shut, my heart struggled to slow down at the thought of how she would look when she reappeared. Then I thought of her dead eyes and knew Henry had been right. Knew my biggest fear had been realized. I prayed that Henry’s wise counsel would work.

“If she’s been hurt as much as you believe, if her mind is as fragile and childish as you believe,” Henry said, “she may not be the person you once knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“Repression, probably; I worked primarily with repressed patients when I practiced psychology. Severe abuse or trauma can prompt timid fantastical personalities, such as Dolly, to shut down. Like a frightened child may hide under a bed when she is scared, a character with a fragile mind may find solace in a similar manner. But her safe place will not be under a bed, under her comforter or in a closet, but rather in the depths of her mind. Dolly may have locked herself behind a metaphorical mental door—no talking, no real living. Seek out her uniquely programmed protection mode. She may have adopted another personality to cope. A new personality, which to her way of thinking hasn’t been touched or sullied. One that can face the world when her original self cannot.”

“Like you,” I asked. “Like you with Hyde?”

Henry’s face clouded over at the mere mention of the other being lurking in his mind. “Hyde and I are . . . a unique case. Let’s just leave it there.” He leaned forward. “If you find your Dolly repressed, in repose from this world, you can attempt to lure her back to you with familiar but— most importantly—safe things. Things she loved, she adored, she liked. Things uniquely safe to her. Above all, things she recognized as belonging in her world.” I listened to every morsel of advice Henry gave. “It may not work. Some minds, once cracked open, are lost forever, their prisons immune to breakthrough. But if there’s a chance, that’s how you bring your darlin’ back to you from inside the panic room in her head. With things she loved.”

As I leaned against the wall, resting my hand on my cane, the dressing room door opened and pulled me from the memory. This had to work. She must return.

There was no fucking way I was doing this alone.

Mrs. Jenkins led Dolly out of the dressing room. The minute Dolly appeared, I stood off the wall and felt that familiar, now completely underused flicker of a smirk pull on my lips.

Dolly.

My fucking Dolly darlin’ . . . well, almost.

Mrs. Jenkins sat her back down in the chair. “Her hair,” I said, pointing to the headband still in Mrs. Jenkins’s hand. Mrs. Jenkins moved to the vanity, which was now chipped and clearly unused. She pulled out a brush, and in minutes Dolly’s band was in place. I slowly moved before Dolly and crouched down to inspect her.

“Pink lipstick and perfume next. Her mama’s perfume and lipstick,” I ordered, the familiarity of Dolly returning minute by minute.

“R-Rabbit—” Mrs. Jenkins stuttered.

“I wasn’t asking,” I snapped. Mrs. Jenkins nervously opened a drawer in the vanity. Across the room, something pink on top of a set of drawers caught my eye. The boombox she used to love so much. I crossed the room and blew the dust from its top. I pressed the play button. The song that Dolly would always dance to came crackling through the speakers.

Her favorite song.

I looked behind me and felt my cold blood heat to boiling point as my gaze fell on Dolly. Pink lips . . . I closed my eyes. The scent of roses permeated the air, playfully chasing away the residual dankness of the Water Tower that lingered in my senses.

I opened my eyes. The music filled the room. Then my cheek twitched when I saw a flicker of movement come from Dolly. Her finger, resting on her thigh, lifted slightly. It was such a small movement, barely visible, but it was real.

She was still in there.

I knew it. Could sense it. I always could read her, and she me.

Mrs. Jenkins scurried out of my way as I crouched before Dolly again. “Darlin’,” I whispered and lifted my hand up. Without touching her, I traced my finger over every inch of her perfect face, down her long blond hair, and down to her hand. Hovering, desperate but unable to feel the heat of her pumping blood under her pale skin.

Then I stopped. I fucking froze when I saw her bare forearms.

Rage and hatred like nothing I’d ever felt before surged into my body.

Scars.

Scar after scar after scar mottled her once-perfect arms. Raised white scars. Radiating the fury that was threatening to unleash within me, I stood up, stepping away from Dolly.

Mrs. Jenkins saw what had ignited my anger. She backed away from me toward the door. Her back slammed against the wood and small, frightened sounds slipped from her throat as her hand searched frantically for the knob. I walked forward and slowly crowded her space.

“He . . . he’ll know you’re out,” she warned, the whites of her eyes shining bright with fear. I could smell its musty scent clogging the stale air between us.

“He won’t.” I raised my knife and ran the blunt side down her wrinkled cheek. Her breath hitched as the cold steel kissed her crepe-thin skin. “Tell me,” I said, watching the light from the window reflect off the brushed steel blade. “Did you enjoy it?”

Her breathing stuttered.

“Did you enjoy taking the children into the den of wolves? Did you enjoy their screams? The sight of blood and cum running down their little legs as they staggered back into the office, only to be taken by another, then another, then another, night after night, year after year?” I moved my head closer to her face until the tip of my nose was just millimeters from her cheek. “Did you enjoy dressing my Dolly up in her favorite dress and presenting her like a shiny porcelain toy to her fucked-up daddy? Her uncles? Drugged and unable to fight them off?”

“P-please,” Mrs. Jenkins begged.

“The money must have been real good to sacrifice your charge that way.” I ran the blade down to Mrs. Jenkins’s throbbing pulse. I paused, my mouth beside her ear. “I always wondered what your blood would look like gushing from your main vein. Running down your chest and soiling your clothes.” Mrs. Jenkins whimpered again. I reared back, feigning surprise. “Oh, did you actually entertain the thought that you would be allowed to live?” I shook my head slowly in disappointment. “None of you will, Mrs. Jenkins. Every one of you will pay in the most painful way possible. To me, and to my Dolly, my Wonderland darlin’ . . . and there’ll be your blood and all the others’ blood pouring in rivers of penance, slipping through the cracks in houses’ wooden floors all over my Lone Star State.” I moved forward, my face just an inch from hers. “Mmm . . . I can just smell it now. Taste it. Savoring its warmth as it licks at my tongue.” I bit my bottom lip and moaned. “My cock gets hard just thinking of it.”

“You always were evil, child. From the moment your mother dropped you off at these gates, you polluted the air.”

I pulled back a fraction. “You may well be right.” I smiled coldly. “I always had a penchant for the dark.” I shrugged. “And death . . . such sweet, messy, poetic deaths.”

With a quick slice of my hand, I slashed the blade across her throat and stepped back as Mrs. Jenkins clutched at her neck. Blood seeped between her fingers as her eyes fixed on me in horror, and she gargled, drowning before my very eyes.

I tilted my head as I watched her in fascination. Her legs shook, until they finally gave way and she plummeted to the ground. I crouched beside her, studying the body draining of life. She watched me, eyes meeting mine.

I never once looked away.

She gasped. She choked. Then with a final gargle, she stilled. Hands falling to her sides, her eyes frozen in their deathly stare.

I sighed and wiped the blood from my blade onto her clothes. “Just as I expected . . . highly disappointing.”

Getting to my feet, I reached into my vest pocket and pulled out the cards. “Queen of Hearts,” I announced, running my thumb over the card I’d made by hand, the perfect likeness of her on one side—Mrs. Jenkins’s pencil-drawn face staring up at me. My lip curled in disgust, then with a flick of my wrist, I sent the card sailing through the air to land on her bloodied chest. “One down, six to go.”

I moved back to Dolly, who was still sitting on the chair. The boombox continued playing her mama’s favorite tunes. I watched her fingers and saw them twitch again.

She was definitely in there.

Leaning forward, I placed my mouth at her ear. “Dolly, I’ve come back to get you, darlin’.” I closed my eyes when her rose perfume filled my nose. “Like I said I would.” I took a deep breath. “We’re going on an adventure, darlin’. Your White Rabbit is here to take you to Wonderland. I found the rabbit hole in this house. All those years as kids we searched for it, with no luck. But I’ve found it, darlin’. And soon, down the rabbit hole we will go.”

I closed my eyes and remembered those days . . .

“Today we’ll try the east wing, Rabbit.” Dolly pulled a hand-drawn map from the pink purse that crossed over her chest and laid it on the floor. “We’ll start here and move through every room, searching every nook, every cranny, every crevice and every loose floorboard.” She beamed at me in excitement. “Today’s the day, Rabbit. I can feel it!” She said that every time we searched the house, and grew sad when we found nothing. After every unsuccessful search, she would put her arm around my waist, cuddling in, saying, “The way to Wonderland is here, Rabbit. I know it . . . and one day we will find it. Find it and escape. You and me, Rabbit. We will have the greatest adventure of all. I just know it . . .”

Dolly’s head twitched, pulling me from the past. And I smiled when I moved back and blue eyes switched from the direction of the window to clash with mine. There was no life yet. Little real sign of my darlin’ beneath, but there was movement nonetheless.

She was hearing me.

There was a modicum of hope.

“Be right back, darlin’.”

I ran down to my car. I took what I needed from the trunk and rushed back up the stairs. Kicking back the carpet in the back hallway, I began cutting a hole in the floorboards with the saw. It took me an hour to finish. Next, I went into Mrs. Jenkins’s room. Predictably, her stash of cash was under her mattress: hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars. All for feeding the wolves, unable to be deposited in a bank lest she would have to explain the source of the payment. Abusers furtively sneaking around in the dark.

Leaving the rope from my trunk by the hole, I went back to Dolly. I packed her lipstick and perfume into a bag. Packed her favorite book, what was left of the old doll she used to love so much, and her boombox and put them in my car. In minutes I was standing before her again. I lifted her in her chair, stepping over Mrs. Jenkins’s still-warm corpse and out of the door. I placed Dolly, still in her seat, by the hole and tied the rope around her waist. I guided the other end of the rope through the hole to the floor below, to exactly where I needed it to be. As I turned back to Dolly, I noticed her hand was clenched. It had been clenched the entire time. Looking into her downcast eyes, I reached forward and gently pulled her fingers from whatever they were clasping.

My breath slammed from my chest when I saw a familiar glint of metal. “Tick tock,” I whispered automatically as my old pocket watch came into view. I swallowed, fighting the lump in my throat as Dolly’s breathing changed from quiet to fast and loud. Her eyes were once again on me. I took the watch from her palm and, like I had always done, held it up to my ear and tapped the top. “We’re gonna be late, Dolly darlin’. We’re gonna be late.” Her head turned toward me, tilting slightly. “Follow me down the rabbit hole, Alice.”

I ran down the stairs to where the end of the rope dangled, and I took hold of it. Dolly’s chair balanced on the edge of the hole above. I stared at her, my living doll, sitting frozen . . . until she glanced down. And just for a second, the merest hint of time, I saw her behind her eyes. The girl who was my entire life.

Dolly.

I yanked gently on the rope, and her thin body fell forward, plummeting down the hole and into my arms. The wooden chair crashed to the floor, the legs snapping off. I winced when I held her to my chest. I breathed heavily through my nose at her nearness. My head urged to me to drop her. To push her away.

She was close. So close against me. Her head was tucked into my neck, and I felt her warm breath against my skin. Shivers ran down my spine, so strong that I had to hold back a hiss. I breathed through the discomfort her touch caused.

It’s Dolly, Rabbit. She isn’t a threat. She’s your world.

She weighed nothing in my arms. Her smell wrapped around me.

Roses.

Roses.

Roses.

Then she moved . . .

I held still as her head tipped back and I saw her face. My heart flipped in my chest when she blinked. Once, twice, three times, as though waking from a deep sleep. Her once pale cheeks were tinged with pink. Her lips were pouting in the way Dolly’s lips always pouted.

Her eyes raked around the room, exploring all around us and up to the hole through which she had just fallen. A low gasp left her throat, then she slowly turned her face to mine. I held my breath as her blue eyes—no longer dull, but bright—looked into mine.

She rubbed at her eyes, clearing the sleep from them. When her hand dropped, her mouth opened into a small “o”. She swallowed, never moving her gaze from mine, then she whispered dryly, “R-Rab . . . Rabbit?”

My eyes closed as the name left her mouth. Her voice, beneath the hoarseness, was just as sweet and soft as it had always been.

But gone was her Texas accent. In its place was her “tea party” accent. English. My Dolly had returned to me with a perfect English accent.

“Dolly darlin’.” My voice was low and cut and fucking breaking.

She stilled, and a wide smile pulled on her mouth, the pink lipstick shining on her cracked lips. “Rabbit,” she said again, her voice still raw. “My Rabbit. My silly Rabbit. Come back for me.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, the smile fell from her face just as quickly as she had tumbled down the hole.

“What is it, darlin’?” I asked, holding her closer. I wanted to push my hand through her hair. I wanted to kiss her head like I had done as a child. But . . . but I just . . . couldn’t. Holding her this close was already causing me too much fucking pain.

But it was pain I’d take, for her.

“I was trapped, Rabbit,” Dolly said, pulling my attention back to her. She had always commanded every part of me just by speaking, touching . . . breathing.

Tears built in her eyes, her long dark lashes fluttering to stem the drops from falling. It didn’t work. “I was locked in a room full of doors, Rabbit, and I couldn’t get out.” Her breathing hitched. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “There were so many doors, and the room was dark. I tried every knob, but none would open.” A pause. “Then the one that I had to leave through was too small and I was too big.” Her eyes opened and slammed into mine. “I was stuck, Rabbit. For so long.” Her bottom lip trembled, fucking eviscerating my heart and draining the blackness from my soul.

Light. She had always been the only light that ever got in.

“I was waiting for you, Rabbit. For so, so long.” She shivered, goosebumps covering her scarred skin. “It was so cold and dark in there . . . but I waited, just like you told me to, huddled in the corner of the room. It was cold and damp, and the noises from outside made me afraid, but I tried to stay strong. Strong for you.” She hiccupped. “Tick tock, Rabbit. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. So many tick-tocks until you came back for me. It made me sadder and sadder each day that you did not come.”

A single tear fell down her cheek. Shifting my hand, I caught the tear on my finger. Then just as I did as a child, I brought the drop to my mouth.

She still tasted the same.

Dolly’s eyes searched the room, and she stiffened in my arms, eyes widening as she drank in the same fucking house of hell she had never escaped. “We’re still here,” she said, utter dread lacing her tone. “We’re still in the room, Rabbit. There are so many doors. And I’m too tall.” Her chest rose and fell erratically.

Her book. Her favorite story. Alice was too tall to leave the room of doors. Dolly thought she was too. Too tall to leave this goddamn house.

If you find your Dolly repressed . . . lure her back to you with familiar but—most importantly—safe things. Things she loved, she adored, she liked. Things uniquely safe to her . . . things she recognized as belonging in her world . . .

Henry’s words repeated in my head. I placed Dolly down in front of me. She was too thin, but still so fucking beautiful. She took a frantic but small step back, never taking her attention from my face. Leaning toward me but never touching . . . as though she couldn’t bear to touch me either.

They’d done this to her.

To us.

Reaching into my vest pocket, I pulled out a small glass vial . . . identical to the one in her favorite book. The vial of blue liquid had a label on the front reading “Drink Me.” I’d tied a black ribbon to it to create a necklace.

“Rabbit? Is . . . is that what I think it is?” Her blue eyes widened, their striking color matching the liquid in the vial.

Sugar water, dyed blue.

“It’ll shrink you, darlin’. So you can follow me through the door and out into Wonderland . . . at last.” I resisted touching her hair. It looked like spun-gold silk. “We have an adventure to start, and I need to get you out of this room of doors.”

“Yes,” she said and laughed the laugh that had echoed in my mind for eleven years. A blinding smile pulled on her lips.

She reached for the vial.

“Just a sip. We may need it again on our adventure,” I said.

“Okay,” she whispered breathlessly and took the vial in her palm. Staring at the necklace like it was the most precious thing in the world, she gently removed the cork from the top and brought the mixture to her lips. She swallowed the tiniest amount, then reattached the cork and hung the ribbon around her neck.

Her arms suddenly spread wide, and a shocked inhale sounded around the stale, empty room. “It’s working, Rabbit!” She stared down at her feet. “I’m shrinking! Can you see? I’m really shrinking!”

I smiled at my girl and the fucking beautiful look on her face. I crossed my arms over my chest and let the sound of her laughter fill my ears, my mind and my veins. “I see, darlin’. I always see you.”

A few seconds later, Dolly lifted her head, an excited gleam in her eyes. “The door!” She whipped her head in the direction of the main entrance. She ran, her long slim legs carrying her across the wooden floorboards. Her hand reached out and pulled on the knob. The door opened, and Dolly staggered back as the sunlight filtered into the dusty foyer. I stood back and watched as her hands flew to her mouth. I flinched as the bright light flooded in, but I ignored the pain it caused my eyes so I could watch her take her first steps over the threshold.

Then she turned and glanced down at my hand. She looked at the pocket watch in my palm, and she fucking smiled. I slowly stepped forward and stopped an inch behind her. I drank in her scent and raised my watch to my ear. Her cheeks flushed with excitement as she waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . then . . . I tapped the side of the watch. “We’re gonna be late, darlin’ . . .” My nose flared when her eyes widened to the size of the moon. “Tick tock.”

I brushed past her, rushing out of the door and down to my Mustang. I heard a high-pitched giggle of excitement from behind me and the sound of Dolly’s heels clicking on the stairs as she ran down each step. I threw the passenger door open for her to get inside, then took my seat in the driver’s side.

I put my sunglasses on and turned on the engine.

Hearing the passenger door close, I looked over to the girl sitting beside me. “You ready for Wonderland, darlin’?”

“Wonderland,” Dolly whispered in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever been outside of these gates, have I, Rabbit? The final barrier before we enter Wonderland.”

“No.”

“And Wonderland definitely commences just beyond?”

“Wonderland and our adventure, darlin’. Our great adventure, the one we have been waiting all these years to start.”

Dolly pressed her delicate hands into her lap and took a long deep breath. “I’m ready.” She threw me a big smile, one that eleven years of hell couldn’t dim. “Ready for whatever Wonderland has in store for us.”

The blood pumped faster through my veins as her words trickled into my ears. As we pulled away from the house that had held so much darkness for us both, I thought of the journey ahead. Thought of the blood we would shed, the hearts we would stop and the lives we would steal. And all the time, a smile threatened to grace my lips when I thought of my Dolly beside me, slitting throats, slicing flesh—her tainted blood guiding our revenge.

Dolly killing, a laugh pouring from her pink lips and crimson blood coating her fragile hands . . .

 . . . I could imagine nothing more beautiful in this or any other world.