Alice & Dorothy

by Jw Schnarr

  “You should stay here,” Alice agreed.”You’re too fucked up. If they see you like this, someone will call the cops for sure. I’ll go.” She held out her hand and Dorothy slapped the last of their money into Alice’s palm. It was about a hundred bucks or so.

  “Grab smokes too,” Dorothy said. “And beer.”

  Alice coughed something metallic into the back of her throat, but she swallowed it before she had a chance to look and see if it was blood. She could tell that it was. She took the money and folded it into her pocket. Then she nodded and got out of the car. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Dorothy replied.

  Alice pulled the hood up on her sweater to keep the rain out of her eyes and then stalked across the parking lot toward the store. The bullet hole in her shoulder was obvious if you were looking for it, but thankfully the sweater was black so the blood running down her side was invisible. It was dripping and leaving pink spatters on the ground, but that couldn’t be helped now. Her gun was in the front pocket and she kept one hand curled around the handle just in case she needed it.

  When she reached the door she looked back at the Volkswagen. Dorothy was lying with her head against the door, already asleep. Lightning roared across the sky with the sound of a million kettle drums, and Alice went inside.

  Chapter 36

  The automatic doors guillotined apart as Alice entered the cool artificial light and air inside the store. There were a couple truckers standing around near the front counter, rough and tumble types with a week’s worth of stubble on their faces and the kind of grimy, weather born faces that told the world their version of air conditioning on the open road involved a rolled down window and the occasional welt from a bee travelling by at seventy miles an hour.

  Walking the aisles was a family of four collecting supplies. They had the look of people who spent most of their time working in office jobs and doing family outings with their kids on the weekends, as if that might be enough time spent with them so they didn’t grow up with a deep seeded resentment toward anything paternal. The husband was an impatient man, probably used to meeting deadlines in whatever rat race career he was in, and now he was expressing his displeasure that his two sons couldn’t decide on chips or chocolate bars for their snack. He was leaning toward the chips, as though they wouldn’t make a mess with them.

  Alice walked down the pharmacy and auto aisle, past rows of motor oil and cherry scented car refreshers, and stopped in front of identical rows of lip balm, suntan lotion, and a handful of first aid essentials. She grabbed a box of cotton bandages, pictured the blood on Dorothy’s shirt (just get me some tampons, I’ve got a heavy flow, ha HA!) and grabbed another box. Then she grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some antiseptic cream.

  She thought back to the night they’d cleaned up in the bathroom of that gas station after escaping from Rabbit’s house. They didn’t know they were sitting on his drugs then. Had things changed so quickly? That night had been full of terror, but also promise, and they’d kissed each other’s blood off and she’d cleaned Dorothy up, wiping the smell of Rabbit off both of them. She looked so helpless. It’s impossible not to love her and hate her at the same time. Dorothy’s vulnerability made Alice want to protect her and keep her safe, but it also made her want to slap the girl and tell her to get a fucking grip. But she was Dorothy’s lover and her protector, and she knew that Dorothy would follow her into hell if Alice asked her to.

  But she hadn’t asked at all, had she? She’d just grabbed Dorothy by the hand and dragged her down into a world Dorothy had only seen in Scorsese movies, where people killed each other and fucked for money and smoked heroin. Where they shot cops and got shot in return.

  Now they were here again, not in a circle really but maybe a number 6, because they’d started off somewhere good and quickly dropped into a toilet bowl, and they were swirling around in circles waiting for the final splash of water so they could be sucked down into the sewage system of the world and be spit out somewhere down river as decaying matter.

  Alice wondered what Dorothy thought of her now. If her entire life had been like this. What her path must have been like to end up here and now, and to be so calm and in control about the entire fucked up scene, like Alice had been there a hundred times before and it wasn’t any big deal to bleed out in a stolen car while being chased by drug dealers and killing cops. Then she thought back to the motel bathroom where she’d gouged out the Hater’s eye with her fingers. Maybe this was normal.

  Maybe for Alice a fucked up situation was something so totally batshit crazy Dorothy couldn’t imagine it. Babysitting the Hater was a fulltime job, and if she let it do its own thing for a while it was like sticking your tits in a bear trap; it made no sense and caused nothing but chaos and pain and asked more questions than it answered.

  What if they had been right keeping me in that hospital? Alice thought. Maybe I really needed the therapy and the drugs and the walls and doors with their wire mesh windows and shatterproof double-paned glass. Now there might not ever be time to find out, because she was fading quicker than she wanted to admit. She hoped they could clean up her shoulder, but it was really a crap shoot either way. This isn’t the movies, kiddo. You don’t shake off a bullet wound and go on with your life. You lose blood until you pass out and die. But that wasn’t the only thing that could happen. They weren’t ever going to a hospital. How could they take the risk? Alice might get an infection that rotted her organs from the inside out. She could get a blood fever so high it liquefied her brain. One day I might just not wake up when it’s time for breakfast.

  Of course, there was no reason for both of them to die, was there? Dorothy was hurt bad too. She’s taking a cue from me, Alice thought. She’s hurt worse than she’ll admit to. But she didn’t have to go down with Alice. She hasn’t done anything except get hurt. If she got really bad, Alice could dump her at a hospital. They’d arrest her, but Dorothy could tell them it was all Alice. She could plead crazy and tell them Alice had killed people and she was afraid for her life.

  After all, they were a couple crazy bitches on the run, weren’t they? That’s what her lawyers could say. They’d broken out of a mental health facility in the hospital. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to convince a jury that they had belonged there. The state had already made that decision for them.

  Alice took her medical supplies past the beer cooler and grabbed a six pack on her way by.

  The truckers were still milling around, bullshitting with the guy behind the counter and drinking coffee. The family of four had apparently decided on chocolate bars and chips, with the mother laughing off some offhanded remark about her diet. It was a setup for her husband to say something nice about her figure, but instead he rolled his eyes.

  “Do you want the damn snacks or not?” he said, exasperated. “I’m tired of listening to them whine.”

  Oh yeah, they’ll get the snacks, Alice thought. She was just kidding after all. And he was too tired to notice. There’s gonna be a day when she doesn’t care enough to make those little setups for him to say nice things, and that will be about the same time she starts fucking one of her supervisors before quitting the whole scene and taking her kids out of state to live with a relative.

  “That everything?” the guy behind the counter said.

  “Need smokes,” Alice said. “The ‘Blues.”

  “Need a driver’s license for those,” he said.

  “Forget it then. I left it in the car.”

  “Long way from home?” he said. “You look like you’re in pretty rough shape.”

  “About as far as you can get,” Alice said. “I guess I can’t get the beer either?”

  “Guess not,” the man said.

  “Whatever.” Alice had half a mind to pull out her gun and take them anyway, but decided to hell with it. Dorothy could get smokes and beer later after they’d found somewhere to hide.

  The door to the store opened, a guillotine swi
sh (off with your head!) of an automatic sliding door, and a great fat man with a short beard came running in, flustered and serious and looking like the sky was falling. “Hey call 911!” he shouted. “Some girl out there is bleeding to death!”

  “What?” the counter-man said. There was a gasp from the mother in the family of four, and she grabbed her kids close to her. Her husband looked on impassively.

  “Some girl out there’s been shot! The man with the beard said. “She looks bad too! She needs Tampons, STAT! She’s got heavy flow!”

  The counter-man looked down at the supplies Alice had gathered, her gauze and rubbing alcohol and antiseptics. Alice was looking at them too. There were four boxes of tampons on the counter, and each one said “Heavy Flow” on the front. The image underneath showed a big mouthed vagina vomiting blood. Only the blood didn’t stay on the box, it was spurting out onto the counter. It pooled around a lighter tray filled with football themed lighters and poured down over the candy and magazines beneath.

  “Fiddle-Dee-Dee,” a man behind her said, and Alice’s head spun. The fat man was gone; or perhaps he had never been. The man standing in his place was tall and bone thin, wearing a rumpled black suit and battered ten gallon hat. When he smiled he split his lips. The blood was black and dribbled down his chin. It washed over his perfect white teeth, all the same size, so vibrant—

  He was blinking rapidly. One of his eyes had a deflated soccer ball shape and was weeping blood. Alice could see his fly leg eyelashes scrabbling for purchase, making his eyes look like they were trying to swim across his face.

  Realization struck like a thunderbolt. It was The Mad Hater. The man from her dream, come to life, standing before her in the doorway to the store; standing crookedly on the mat so that the door stayed open and let the wind in, and blowing leaves and garbage and cold rain; and there was no way he could possibly be standing here because he was a figment, for Christ’s sake. This was a nightmare standing before her, not reality.

  “Hello darling,” the Hater said.

  Alice didn’t think. There was no time to think. She pulled the gun out of the pocket on her hoodie and pointed it at The Mad Hater’s face. “You’re not real!” She screamed. It’s impossible. He can’t be here, he can’t.

  “Go on, Alice. Take your shot. Kill me.”

  Alice pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 37

  There was an explosion, and the rack of chips beside The Hater burst, sending potato shrapnel everywhere. The other people in the store, quietly watching until this point, suddenly came to life. They were screaming and ducking and running for their lives. The Hater stepped around the chip aisle and disappeared from view. The air was filled with the smell of salt and vinegar, nacho cheese, and burnt gunpowder.

  “NOBODY FUCKING MOVE!” Alice shouted. She swung the weapon around in a crazy arc. She waved it at the family of four, which had begun scrambling before the door even as Alice fired the gun. “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE NOW!”

  “Easy,” a trucker in a green hat said, his hands up by his head. “Just take it easy, Miss. Nobody knows your situation here. Nobody wants to get hurt.”

  “SHUT UP!” Alice started toward the door. The people in the store were like cattle; they moved in a half circle away from her until they were all milling about in front of the cashier. She had no idea where The Hater was, but his presence was both unnerving and terrifying. Seeing him in the flesh brought her back to the bathroom, when she’d opened her mouth and saw him in the back of her throat. This was different, though. He was out of her now, and out in the world, and she had absolutely no control over him.

  She was beside the door, and it swooshed open again. The sky outside was bloated with green and black rainclouds. A brisk, wet wind blew past Alice into the store, whipping leaves and garbage and rain around her feet. She could see Dorothy across the parking lot in Rabbit’s car, her head against the glass as though asleep. She wanted to run to her now, just get in the car and get away. The wound in her shoulder seemed to pulse in agreement. She looked down and saw pink spatters on her legs, and on the floor, like she’d been doused in water based paint.

  “Alice,” a soft voice whispered. It was behind Alice, in the store. She turned on her heel, gun raised in both hands.

  Dorothy was standing in the store, so close Alice could smell the lilac and honey in her hair. She’d changed into a clean blue and white checkered dress that stopped just above her knees. She was wearing blue canvas sneakers on her feet, but Alice saw that they were spattered with blood and marbled with dark streaks. She was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, slowly rocking back and forth on her heels. When Alice looked into her face, Dorothy smiled.

  “What are you—” Alice stopped. She was unable to form her thoughts into words that made sense. How did you get here so fast? She wanted to ask. How did you get so clean? “I’m glad you’re here,” she said instead. Dorothy chuckled.

  The customers in the store seemed to be standing around and praying that if the gun went off it killed someone else. Everyone but the mother, who was clutching at her children like she was a human shield. Alice could almost hear her whispering Please God, if that gun goes off let it hit me before it hits my kids.

  Dorothy said something and Alice looked back at her. “What?”

  “He’s in here,” Dorothy whispered. She put a finger over her lips, begging for quiet. Then she turned her head and gestured toward the refrigerator aisle.

  You can see him? “That’s…no,” Alice said. “That’s impossible.” She looked at Dorothy helplessly. “Isn’t it?” It was impossible, because The Hater was in her head all this time and people couldn’t see in your head. But if Dorothy could actually see him, that meant he’d been more than just a voice. More than just hallucinations. The fact that Dorothy could see him made him real, and the realization of that fact made Alice very scared. If the Hater was an actual being outside of her body, there was really no way to control him. But then, maybe controlling him had always been an illusion; a game The Hater had played for his own ends.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Alice grabbed Dorothy by the arm and held her close. She was near to tears, she could feel them hitching her throat and making her voice shake. “Help me please! I can’t deal with this!”

  “ALICE!” The Hater yelled. His voice was thunderous. It bounced off the walls and reverberated around the store. He stepped out from behind the cluster of terrified hostages and approached the girls with slow, deliberate steps. He reached out with both arms and knocked the shelves on either side clean as he stalked the aisle. “It’s Time, girly, don’t you see? Time at last! Time to extract vengeance! Time to end it all! Pull the trigger! Finish it now!

  He made a flourish with his hand, toward the cluster of people standing at the front of the store, now milling about like hostages in a bank heist. All eyes were on the gun in Alice’s hand. They paid The Mad Hater no mind at all; it was as though he wasn’t even there.

  But that’s not true, because Dorothy sees him, Alice thought. That makes them all liars. She looked at them again, over The Hater’s shoulder. They didn’t seem scared at all. They were just standing around like zombies, waiting for the little drama before them to unfold and come to some kind of conclusion.

  But not any old ending. Alice realized. They’re here for a verdict. They came to see blood. They’re here for the trial…

  She looked hard at the crowd and suddenly felt like she was seeing them for the first time. They had hair sprouting out of unusual places; tufts sticking out from under shirt collars or in odd spaces on their heads. They were all dressed in black formal wear; the men in sharp tuxedos and the women in black and white dresses. The mother carried a small umbrella over one shoulder, and as the father reached down to kiss his little one his head bulged grotesquely under his hair. When he raised his head again Alice saw why.

  He was wearing a mask; they all were. The father reached up and adjusted his face, but it was too late; the illu
sion was ruined. He pushed the mask back into place and a large floopy rabbit ear slid out from under the string holding his face in position.

  Now Alice recognized them for what they were. Rabbits and kittens and sloppy eyed puppies, all wearing masks and wearing sharp clothes. The children milling about the mother were tiny bunnies, and they scratched at their ill fitting pants and chewed on their jacket sleeves.

  “They’re all guilty, Alice,” The Hater said. He pointed at the gun and smiled. “The guilty must be punished.”