DESCENDING INTO MADNESS

by Brown, Stacey Marie

  I glanced down at the vial, feeling the pull to it. The harsh truth was if I didn’t drink it, I was going to die. “This place is not real.” I always acted before I thought anyway, so why stop now?

  “Christmas balls, I am seriously bonkers.”

  Without a second thought, I closed my eyes and gulped down the warm, delicious buttered rum. As if a club hit me over the head, everything went black, and once again I felt myself drop into darkness.

  Descending into madness.

  Chapter 11

  “Alice.” A name sailed through the thick blackness, where it was so dark you no longer belonged to your body, but floated among the nothingness. No feeling or emotions could reach me; I no longer understood happiness or pain. I just was.

  Or was I?

  I should have felt fear at no longer being… anywhere, but nothing except a whisper of a name hovered around me like a ghost, reminding me to touch it as it passed by me, rooting me to the only fact I could understand. Alice. Yes, I had a name.

  It started as a faraway whisper, but the closer it got to me, the stronger it became, stirring something beyond the nothingness. Pressure in my head.

  Wait, did I have a head?

  Similar to poison, the pressure started to spread down from my head. Arms, torso, legs. The nothingness transformed into a white mist, coiling around my fingers and legs, until everything around me was blinding white.

  “Alice.” The name bolted through me. “Wake up!”

  As if a dagger stuck my chest and gut, pain so deep plunged through me. My lids flew open as my body lurched; a scream hurtled from my throat, my bones freezing with excruciating agony.

  “Alice. You’re alive.” A deep voice rumbled next to me with a sigh, the feel of a man’s form pressing into my side.

  I couldn’t move, tiny breaths hitching back down my windpipes as the unbelievable throbbing eased a bit. My fingernails dug into the grimy gray stone; the strong pungent smells of urine, body odor, and moldy air licked at my nose.

  Like a dribble of water coming from a faucet, awareness of my surroundings came back. Of who I was. Where I was. Stone floors, walls, and bars cast in a depressing gray, a bucket full of vomit, a pile of garments in the corner. Mrs. Claus. Frosty. Being sliced up by bloodsucking holly. So hot I felt I was on fire.

  “Oh god. It’s real,” I whispered to myself, my lids squeezing closed. My muscles still pulsated with pain, as though they had been compressed, stretched, twisted, and torn apart. “This is the part I wasn’t dreaming? Are you kidding me? I’m really here?”

  “Ms. Liddell?” Scrooge’s hand touched my back, zapping me with electricity. My body bolted awake, and I twisted my head to him. A small gasp caught in my throat at the man sitting next to me, his blue eyes roaming over me, full of relief.

  Holy-canned-cranberry-sauce. It was like I forgot how unbelievably hot this man was.

  He moved his hand away, his lids narrowing. “You gave me quite a fright, Ms. Liddell.”

  My mouth still open, my gaze drifted down, stalling on his bare chest under his velvet maroon coat. No shirt.

  A deeper memory stirred.

  Panic had my attention jump down to the clothes I wore. I was no longer in my elf uniform. I was in his white dress shirt, smelling of woods and cinnamon. Of him.

  “Oh no.” I groaned, pulling my knees up. “I stripped, didn’t I?”

  “You certainly did.” His voice came out hoarse.

  “Oh god.” I moaned, remembering other things I did besides ripping off my clothes.

  Clearing his throat, he stood up, moving away from me. “It was the poison, Ms. Liddell.”

  “I think we’re past the formality.” My bones and muscles protested, but I forced myself to stand, wobbling a bit. The shirt skimming the top of my thighs, my breasts and ass barely covered with slips of cotton. I should have been thankful they were still on.

  “I know you weren’t quite yourself.” He kept his stance defensive.

  Distant memories of me crying—demanding—for him to touch me. The feel of him made me ache for more. His touch somehow cooled the pain burning through me.

  Embarrassment flooded my cheeks, but that was because most of me still wanted him to continue. I gripped his white button-down closer to my body, gazing to the side, trying to deny the throbbing in my thighs that had nothing to do with the poison.

  “I-I had a dream… I woke up and you were gone.” I couldn’t meet his penetrating gaze, which felt like it was undoing the few buttons keeping this pretend wall up between us. “You went back to the Queen and abandoned me to die alone. I thought you left me. Betrayed me. Frosty was the one to help me escape.”

  “The snowman?” he huffed. “That certainly was a dream.”

  “Felt so real.”

  “I would never go back to the Queen.”

  “Even to save your own life?”

  “That’s not a life,” he said quietly. “It’s time I let that one go.”

  “What?” My head snapped back to him. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t worry. I no longer need to try and end it myself. Soon the festival will start. My head will be served up.”

  “No longer?” I blinked.

  “It’s not of importance.” He swiped his top hat off the floor, placing it back on his head. “I deserve my fate, but I am sorry for your part in this.”

  My forehead bunched. I still felt weak and wanted to lie down and go back to sleep, but irritation kept me standing.

  “You mean because we’re going to die?” I challenged him. “If you’re so set on our fate, why bother saving me, only to have me die in a few hours anyway?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I was dying. I know I was.”

  He didn’t answer, looking away from me.

  “You saved me.”

  “You saved yourself, Ms. Liddell. You had the antidote on you.”

  “The drink me vial?”

  “I didn’t think. I just acted when I found it. How you had extract from a mistletoe plant right when you needed it was very fortunate.” His eyebrows went up with accusation. “Like you were expecting to need it.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “You accuse me of being the turncoat, Ms. Liddell, when it is you who are the peculiar one, coming out of nowhere.”

  “Still think I work for the Queen?” I laughed dryly. “My plan all along was to be diced up by parasite holly, throw my guts up, strip off my clothes, and almost die… for what? Lure you into some trap?”

  “I worked for her, remember? I know how she thinks. Operates. I put nothing past her. She is ruthless and conniving and comprehends how to get to someone, find their weakness. You’d be the perfect bait.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Scrooge lifted his head, staring down at me coolly, but his eyes drifted over my body enough for me to feel his gaze touch my skin, spiraling desire through my veins. My nipples displayed how he made my body react to him, yearning for his touch again, wanting even more.

  His nose flared, his attention skating over the thin fabric covering me. I folded my arms over my chest, tension weeding through the small space. I ached for him. My skin got a taste and craved him like a drug. But my mind did not undergo the same feeling and compressed with anger at my stupid hormones. This time I would not be compulsive and stupid when it came to a man. I deserved better than that.

  “I guess you’ll realize I’m not a spy when my head tumbles onto the ground later today.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Wow, not even then do I get the benefit of the doubt? That is some serious devotion, to get your head chopped off just to keep up appearances.”

  “Again, I wouldn’t put it past her.” He gripped his elbows. “Or you.”

  “Fuck you,” I snapped, moving as far away as I could get from him. “Damn, you really are starting to live up to your name.”

  His chin flicked up even higher, but he didn’t respond.

  “
Cantankerous, distrustful, miserly man.”

  Only a single eyebrow curved in response. I snarled, tucking into myself, turning away from him. Forget him, Alice. He wouldn’t help you escape anyway. You need to focus on getting out of here. Surviving with your head intact. Biting a nail, I tried to come up with a plan, which was never my strong suit. I was an on-the-fly kind of person.

  The sounds of metal doors squealing and slamming open and shouts from guards hurtled down the corridor and bounced off walls. I whipped around, seeing toy soldiers march toward our chamber.

  “Shit.” My stomach plummeted. I was going to die here.

  Scrooge leaned against the bars, his arms crossed, appearing to have no cares in the world.

  A soldier opened the door to our cell; a handful more streamed in with what looked like tinsel, cuffing our arms. The stuff was stronger than it looked, like it was infused with metal.

  A soldier shoved me forward, Scrooge right next to me, looking almost bored.

  “Well, I guess this is it. Wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.” I tried to bite back the true fear twisting my gut. The echo of the wooden feet hitting stone pulsed along with my heart.

  “Quite the contrary for me, Ms. Liddell.” A slight smirk tipped the side of his mouth. “Especially earlier.”

  “Striptease before getting your head chopped off… You. Are. Welcome.”

  “You have definitely been a titillating addition to my week.” His smirk turned into a full grin. “And what you said earlier… I had to become him to survive.”

  “Who?” My feet padded over the stone, the stairs up only a few feet away. They pushed me to go first, my head craning back to look at the beautiful man behind me.

  His blue eyes blazed with life and light, the smirk back on his lips.

  “What do you mean? You became who to survive?”

  His mouth twitched. “Scrooge.”

  Chapter 12

  The number of soldiers hauling Scrooge and me out seemed a bit excessive. Some got stuck because they wouldn’t leave formation, clogging the narrow doorway.

  The absurdity of watching wooden men marching into each other like someone flicked the on switch and left was laughable. Their straight-legged stride and swinging arms only made it more difficult for them to get through the door. An amused snort burst from my nose, my head shaking. They had no individual sense and could only take orders, which for the Queen was probably great, but made mundane things more challenging.

  “Fall back! Single formation!” The leader of the toy soldiers yelled as his subordinates shoved me through the final door to the outside, my bare feet scraping over the gravel. “Her Majesty is waiting.”

  No cold weather touched me, like temperature did not exist here, but fog still coated the snowy ground, the night sky inky black. Besides lack of temperature, they didn’t seem to have daylight here either.

  The bustle of guards led us around the castle to the back. My lids blinked, taking in the scene crashing into my senses.

  “What the…?” I gaped at the enormous park and gardens expanding miles in all directions that were infested with people talking and drinking. No one laughed or spoke too loudly.

  Crimson lights, which looked like glowing drops of blood, were strung, wrapped, and draped over everything, generating an eerie glow on the snow as if the entire ground was coated in blood. The figures I could make out were all dressed in black or grays. Tall to short, fat to skinny, they all wore simple styles. No ruffles, lace, or any kind of embellishment. A few were in sexier outfits, but most were modest. Mainly the women’s garments varied in modesty. The men I saw were all adorned in black pants and dress shirts. Most of the guests appeared humanlike, but honestly, I’d given up thinking anything was normal here.

  “Penguin,” I heard Scrooge utter with a relieved sigh. Following his gaze, I saw his friend moving around the party with a tray, fresh wounds cut over his blubber, but otherwise he appeared okay. He was still alive.

  Beside Penguin, a dozen servants wove through the crowd, dressed in matching black bow ties, their ankles chained with tinsel so they couldn’t run away quickly. All were male and shirtless, walking around with beverages and snack trays for the guests. I could see polar bears, penguins, elves, hares, even a few reindeer in their half-human/half-animal state. Anything that represented the holidays or winter was being used as a domestic. A slave.

  The soldiers shoved me forward, turning me away from Penguin to where several long tables dotted with food and beverages stretched over one side of the garden. But there was nothing like a table you’d see on the holidays—bloated with comfort foods and yummy treats. No, these looked similar to ones in those ultra-modern restaurants, which had a speck of food on a plate with garnishes you didn’t know if you were to eat or admire as decoration. A place you’d leave and go straight home to order a pizza.

  No decorations adorned the table except the metal gray plates and sleek crystal wineglasses. The red lights above colored the already disturbing food a grayish hue.

  On the other side of the garden was a skating rink, with what looked like a hockey game being played.

  Curious.

  Hockey was not what I expected Her Majesty to enjoy. Not that anyone seemed to be having fun. No one laughed or cheered, but I could hear squeaks coming from the rink. It wasn’t until I was prodded closer I saw what was making the noise.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, my eyes widening.

  The Queen, dressed in black leather pants and a deep-red backless blouse, bladed over the ice. But not on skates. Upon her feet were porcupines, their quills gliding her on the ice and helping her to stop and turn around. The players all held black swans as hockey sticks, smacking into white snow rabbits that had been painted red, smearing scarlet streaks across the white.

  One of the rabbits made a pained noise, and everyone stopped dead on the ice.

  “What was that?” the Queen screeched, tossing her black swan on the ice with a crunch. “Did you just make a sound?”

  “No. No. I am sorry, Mrs. Claus.” The rabbit’s voice carried to me, his head bowed, his tiny body shaking.

  “What. Did. You. Call. Me?” Her boney figure loomed over the small bunny.

  “I meant, Your Majesty. My Queen.”

  “Off with his head!” she screamed, pointing at the rabbit.

  “No. Please. I didn’t mean to.” The rabbit put his paws together, begging. “My family. They need me.”

  “Not my problem,” the Queen snarled. “You broke the law. You pay the consequences. Now get that thing away from me.”

  Another player on her team moved in and grabbed the sobbing rabbit, picking him up by the scruff of his neck.

  I had nothing left in my stomach, but bile burned up my throat. “No!” I heard myself scream.

  The entire party snapped to me like a choregraphed move. Silence. Horror. Shock. You could hear a pin drop. Eyes pierced me in place.

  “What?” The Queen swung to me, her voice low and brutal.

  “You heard me,” I responded in kind. “What did he do to deserve death? You were using him as a hockey puck.”

  “He broke the law,” she seethed, slipping off the porcupines and stepping off the ice.

  “By what? Calling you Mrs. Claus? It’s who you are though, right?”

  “No!” she barked. “Mrs. Claus was old, fat, frumpy. Halfway to being diabetic. She sat home and baked a loving dinner for her husband, who never came home, who spent more time with his elves than her. She was a dutiful wife. Sweet, kind, forgiving. And pathetic,” she snarled. You could see the years of pain, of neglect. It twisted in her, turning her so bitter and angry her soul soured black. “She felt invisible to a man who cared about everyone in the world except her… He was adored. Worshipped. While I had to smile and pretend everything was perfect. No one even knew my name. I wasn’t a person. Just a subservient wife.” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath, regaining her emotion. Clearing her throat, her eyes narrowed on me
. “Do I look like someone who’d be home baking cookies, waiting for her unsexual, fat, lazy husband, and going to bed by seven?”

  “No.” She didn’t; that was true. “You’re cold, cruel, and probably sleep all day and devour the blood of your victims at night.”

  Gasps from the partygoers collected, sounding like a drum.

  “Fuck,” Scrooge muttered next to me. “You really do have a death wish.”

  “I’m going to die anyway. Might as well go out doing something I enjoy, right?” I peered at him. He blinked, staring at me in bewilderment. Being overly curious and impulsive, I was surprised I lived this long.

  Her jaw clenched, blood vessels popping over her neck and face. “OFF WITH HER HEAD!”

  Shrieks and movement reacted to her order, but no one really was going anywhere.

  “Was already “headed” there.” I shrugged at her. “But let the rabbit go.”

  She stood there breathing in, her expression murderous, before she answered me. “You really care about some creature you don’t even know?”

  “Yeah. It’s called being compassionate and a good person.” I glanced over at the bunny being held by the back of his neck, his huge eyes staring at me. Hopeful. Terrified.

  “You have no leverage. You are going to die anyway.” The Queen stepped off the ice. Servants rushed to her, putting on her shoes for her.

  “You’re right. I don’t. And I probably can’t plead to any kindness in your heart.”

  “Kindness is for fools. For those too weak to stand up for themselves.” She stepped up to me, her eagle eyes roaming over my hardly-clothed figure, stopping at the shirt I was dressed in, then flicking to Scrooge’s bare torso. A malicious knowing smile budded at her lips.

  “Well. Well. It seems you two were making the most of your time in the dungeon.” She moved in closer, wrapping a strand of my hair over her finger. “Yes, she is a stunning creature. I can see she is exactly your type.” Her head tilted to Scrooge. “Not nearly as sweet or naïve as the last… but she will be just as headless soon.”