Day: Alice and the Mad Tryst (White Roses)_Days of Blood and Roses: A Magical Girl Thriller

> A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity—he is continually in for—and filling some other Body—

> —John Keats,

> “Letter to Richard Woodhouse, 27 October 1818”

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It was now 8:02 a.m.

Heading into enemy territory to reconnoiter an enemy’s position was one thing, but it was another thing in itself getting back to the third drop zone. Benson and Cory found this out a few minutes after emerging from the tall grass, heading into the abandoned streets of the Phantom Realms. As per this morning’s briefing for this op, Lt. Frank Shaefer had said that these abandoned areas were connected to the old Rancaster district, so he told all personnel to keep their eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. And just ahead of them, as Benson and Cory rounded a street corner en route to the third drop zone, was something out of the ordinary just a few blocks ahead of them.

At first, they hid within the shadow of a disused storefront, thinking that Alice’s red musketeers had donned new uniforms and had expanded their numbers into the abandoned streets. That assumption, though, was proven wrong when Benson fished out his binoculars and took a closer look.

Instead of doppelgängers, this mysterious vanguard of uniformed women consisted of different teenage girls, all of them wearing pre-World War I military uniforms with knee-length skirts and high boots over their legs and tall shako hats atop their heads, all of them shoulder-carrying repeating rifles and long spikes hanging from baldrics slung over their shoulders. And as they surged along the cross street, a number of them carrying war hammers along with the long spikes in their baldrics unsheathed their long spikes and hammered them into the ground at five-foot intervals across the street, establishing a roadblock at the intersection. In addition, Benson also spied a few standard bearers carrying blue banners waving in the air.

“What’s going on?” Cory said.

“I don’t know,” Benson said, giving his binoculars to Cory. “Lt. Shaefer never informed us about this.”

Cory looked for himself, then gave them back, saying, “You have any idea?”

“How the heck should I know?” Benson said and put away his binoculars. “We weren’t briefed on any of this.”

“Are they enemy combatants?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Benson said, so he slung his bolt-action rifle over his shoulder and ran down the street, waving his hands—

“What are you doing?” Cory said, going after him. “Hey, get back here! Have you lost your fucking mind?”

—and then catching the attention of several of the uniformed girls on guard duty along the intersection, and halted the procession, so Benson called out to them, saying, “Hello, there!”

“Benson, what the fuck?” Cory called out.

Yet as Benson neared the strange procession, he came face-to-face with a contingent of them aiming their rifles at him. Benson raised his hands, showing them his empty palms, letting them know he meant them no harm, so one of them said, “Lower your weapons, girls,” and they did so.

When Cory caught up to him, he also raised his hands.

Then a college-aged female captain wearing a blue shako atop her head emerged from the group of uniformed women and said, “At ease, men.”

So Benson and Cory both stood ‘at ease,’ but neither man linked their hands together behind their backs. Instead, they chose to keep their hands on their sides within view of the more skittish women amongst them.

“Where did you come from, boys?” she said.

Benson and Cory traded looks, and Benson said, “We came from a scouting mission, ma’am.”

“We’ve heard of a certain Colonel and his Rough Riders,” the woman said, “charging up the hill of an enemy stronghold. Is this true?”

Again, the two men traded looks.

“It is, ma’am,” Benson said.

“You there,” the woman said, pointing out Cory with a nod of her head. “Are you mute?”

“No, ma’am,” Cory said.

So the captain looked at both men, and Benson distinctly felt the searching gaze of a woman’s eye raking across his body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and flushing blood into his dick, and prayed that she took no notice.

“Have you heard from the General?”

“General?” Banson said, remembering no mention of any general from Lts. Shaefer or Anne. “We haven’t heard anything about a ‘General,’ ma’am.”

“Then where did you hear that information?” she said.

“What information, ma’am?”

“The information about a certain Colonel and his Rough Riders,” she said. “Who did you hear that from?”

Again, the men traded looks.

“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am,” Benson said.

“Then let me guess,” the woman said. “Does the name, Lt. Anne Granger, ring any bells?”

The jaws of Benson and Cory both dropped.

Benson said, “How did you—”

“Lucky guess,” the woman said. “You both may pass, but don’t let out a word of our presence to anyone, till one of your friends brings it up first.”

She then ordered a contingent of her troops to let them pass, so two of the women that had hammered their long spikes home into the ground grabbed a hold of their spikes, holding onto them like lightning rods conducting mana through their grasp.

“It’s safe now,” she said. “Go.”

So Benson and Cory crossed the road, while the procession of girls gave them a wide berth as they passed, and after several paces the pair hightailed their asses through the thoroughfares back en route to the third drop zone. They kept on running through various streets and rounding various corners, making up for lost time, till they reached the premises of a nondescript brick warehouse in an abandoned part of the neighborhood. They walked up to the designated entrance door, huffing and puffing, and knocked three times.

Someone on the other side said, “Password?”

“Comrades,” they both said.

“This is Benson.”

“This is Cory.”

The long rusty bolt was slid back, the door opened, and they were admitted into the presence of their ‘comrades’ in arms crowding around the duo as they entered, all of them jittery after Inspector Larking had ordered Lt. Shaefer to call off the fire team, all of them asking what was happening at the same time, including two disheveled Phantom Office operatives that Benson had not seen since Alice had turned most of their numbers into copies of herself back in that godless stretch of blood-soaked lane between the Daimyo and the Dragon Volant hotels. And so, amidst the tumult of all of their comrades asking questions at once, Benson and Cory hugged their long-lost comrades and added to the cacophony of voices with Cory saying, “Rick? Norman? Is that really you?”

“It’s us, old boy,” Rick said.

“My God, when did you two get here?” Benson added.

“It’s a long-ass story, let me tell you,” Norman said.

And they continued talking amidst the jumble of voices filling the old warehouse with echoes going up to the ceiling. That is, until an equally disheveled Lt. Shaefer and Todd Curvan ordered them all to shut up and stand at attention.

When everyone had done so, standing up ramrod straight with their shoulders pulled back and their hands at their sides, Lt. Shaefer said, “Man, your phone call had us by the balls the moment you hung up on us. Just what in God's name happened out there?”

And so, Benson and Cory told them everything that had happened on the hill of the second drop zone, recounting in detail what was rushed and incoherent during Benson’s phone call at the scene under the percussive shots and shells of battlefield conditions. In particular, they pointed out the actions of a certain Colonel and his Rough Riders, though they left out any mention of another army of women in their midst.

That is, until Lt. Shaefer said, “Besides those Rough Riders you relayed over the phone, did you encounter any other group of soldiers out there?”

Again, Benson and Cory traded glances.

“What kind of soldiers?” Benson said, feeling his heart quickening at the words of that teenaged captain whose gaze had given him a hard-on.

“Female soldiers,” Curvan said, “and not those damn red musketeers we’ve been dealing with. No, they’re different—at least, that’s what Rick and Norman here have been saying after getting here.”

Benson and Cory just stared at Rick and Norman, and Benson said, “Wait, you met them?”

“Not directly,” Rick said. “We saw those virago soldiers from afar about an hour before we arrived at this location, and it’s taken us almost as long to get here. We didn’t know who they were, whether they were allied with Alice’s red musketeers or Rancaster’s masqueraders, so Rick and I had to lay low for a while before we made our move.”

“And when we did,” added Norman, “we saw them carrying repeaters, like Winchester and Henry rifles, as well as war hammers and long spikes that they’d hammer into the ground at various intersections across our route. Hence, we had to take the long way around their perimeter.”

“Have you met these soldiers?” Curvan said.

“We did,” Benson said.

“Though Benson just walked up to them like a dumbass before I could stop him,” Cory added, “and we both had our hands up. I thought they’d shoot us, but thank God, they didn’t.”

“You mean to say,” Lt. Shaefer said, “they’re friendly?”

“Yes, sir,” Benson and Cory said in unison.

“How do you know for sure?” he said.

“Their captain asked us if we’ve heard from the ‘General,’” Benson said, “but when I said we didn’t know of any ‘General,’ she mentioned Lt. Granger by name.”

“You’re shitting me,” Lt. Shaefer said.

“We’re not, sir,” Benson said. “I don’t know how their captain knew about Lt. Granger, but there it is, sir.”

“Then,” he said, “was there anything in particular that either of you noticed about them?”

“Besides the spikes and the war hammers and the repeaters,” Benson said, “we saw a few of them carrying banners.”

“What color?” he said.

“Blue, sir,” Benson said.

Lt. Shaefer looked back at Rick and Norman, then turned back to Benson and Cory and said, “This is not what Rick and Norman said when they reported the banners they saw earlier.”

“What color did you see?” Benson asked.

“Yellow,” Rick said.

“But we—” Benson stopped mid-sentence as the truth hit him like a beer slap, and he said, “There’s more than one group out there with an interest in this op.”

“Yep. It looks like it,” Lt. Shaefer said. “In fact, as far as we know, there’s at least two groups, maybe more, that we were never briefed on for this op. How many more, I don’t know, but I’m not gonna be the one to bring it up to Steve, that’s for damn sure.”

“Then what’ll we do, sir?” Benson said.

“We’ll just sit on this for now,” he said, “till either Anne or Steve bring it up. Other than that, the less either of them know that we know about this, the better. I don’t wanna get mixed up in anything that’ll compromise this op. That means everyone here is sworn to secrecy, till further notice,” he added, indicating everyone present inside the warehouse. “Is that clear, gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir,” everyone said.

All the while, Benson was praying that this wrinkle in their plans wouldn’t come back to bite them.

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It was now 8:11 a.m.

‘Alice’s voice kept growing fainter and fainter, dissipating amidst the lingering echoes of her voice in Chuang Chou’s sleepy head. Amidst these phantom echoes, the wizened Chuang Chou stirred from his drowsy state underneath a tree beside the yellow-brick road, ruffling his long beard and long robes with ‘Alice’s face swimming across his eyes, till he rubbed them with his fingers and blinked and saw blurry daylight. It took some time for the daylight to pass through the pupils of his eyes and hit the photoreceptors in his retinas, rousing him into a dumb state of wakefulness. So the old philosopher yawned and stretched his arms above his head, relieving the discomfort in his shoulders and back after sleeping on the ground.

Then he blinked his eyes—

And opened them.

Now he was a Chippewa elder sitting cross-legged next to a Hopi elder, both of them puffing on each other’s long peace pipes with smoky tendrils curling into the air. For once, the Chippewa elder wasn’t arguing with the Hopi elder about the mythology of crows and their cultural significance to their respective tribes. Indeed, now was not the time for arguing as they both sat and smoked and thought about what to do for the wayward ‘Alice’ who had forgotten her name.

Then as one, they blinked their eyes—

And opened them.

Now they were Tweedledum and Tweedledee having a thoughtful discussion. And for once, these quarrelsome brothers weren’t arguing or duking it out with pots and pans and platters and silverware over rattles and other inconsequential objects. Indeed, now was not the time for arguing as they both discussed what to do for the wayward ‘Alice’ who had forgotten her name. So for the next few minutes, they both talked it over at length, listing out the options before them and taking turns striking them down, whittling down their options in a combative form of deductive reasoning . . .

Till Tweedledum chanced upon an epiphany, saying, “We can’t help ‘Alice’ as we are now, dear brother—”

“—bet we do know who can,” said Tweedledee.

Then Tweedledum looked at Tweedledee and said, “Do you know what I’m thinking, dear brother?”

“Indeed,” Tweedledee said, nodding his head, “I think I do.”

“If that’s so,” Tweedledum said, “then let’s make sure we’re on the same page, dear brother.”

“Yes,” Tweedledee said. “I propose that we each say the name we have in mind. So you go first.”

“No,” Tweedledum said. “You go first.”

“No,” Tweedledee said. “You go first.”

“No,” he said. “You go first.”

“No. You go first.”

“Bah!” Tweedledum said, almost coming to blows with his brother but managing to restrain himself. “We’re not getting anywhere at this rate. Tell you what: I’ll say the first name, and you’ll say the last name. That way, we’ll see if we really are in agreement in our thoughts as well as in our words.”

“All right, all right,” Tweedledee said. “Then on the count of three. One! Two! Three! Lewis—”

“Carroll!” Tweedledum added.

Then Tweedledee looked at Tweedledum, and Tweedledum looked at Tweedledee, and both brothers smiled and laughed and shook each other’s hands and slapped each other’s backs, congratulating each other for agreeing on something important for once.

And as one, they blinked their eyes—

And opened them.

And the Tweedle brothers became a pair of knights, an old bald-headed White Knight and a young curly-haired Red Knight, both of them sleeping under a tree and dreaming they were oysters on a beach. Then they both stirred themselves from their slumbers under that tree by the roadside of the yellow-brick road, blinking and staring at their surroundings. In their cursory search, they found their belts and sheathed broadswords missing from the tree they were under, but now was not the time for looking for lost items.

They both stood up and looked at each other, both with the name of a certain author lingering in their minds, and looked at each other with knowing glances.

“You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?” the old White Knight said to his younger Red counterpart.

“Aye,” the young Red Knight said to his older White counterpart. “Let’s do it.”

And as one, they blinked their eyes—

And opened them.

And the Red and White Knights became a single Oyster among dozens of others sleeping on a beach and dreaming he was a Crow. And in this way, for the next several minutes, he dreamed he was a Crow flying over a less-than-familiar stretch of some cavernous world, where the floating lanterns lighting the streets below revealed a rocky firmament above. He descended towards the rooftops of this underground world, where the streets teemed with battalions of red musketeer girls resembling ‘Alice’ and other red musketeers that reminded him of Rancaster’s masquerading retainers.

As he flew along the main street, the Crow oversaw an empty square full of a rowdy crowd of Rancaster’s retainers and more doppelgängers of ’Alice’ throwing taunts and rotten vegetables at a pilloried man atop a raised platform. The Crow then circled above the square, focusing on that man standing, hunched over, with his head and hands secured in place between the wooden boards of a pillory as the crowd played a cruel game of target practice with the pilloried man.

For each part of the man’s body they managed to hit, they called out points: five points for hitting his body; ten points for hitting his head; and zero points for hitting the pillory while aiming for his head. And they were egging each other on, sometimes sabotaging each other as they made their throws, other times laughing when they missed, and then cat-calling each other for throwing like a girl or missing the mark.

And many of Rancaster’s retainers were calling out the man’s name, calling this ‘Mr. Foster’ a traitor to their cause.

So the Crow focused on his face . . .

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It was now 8:16 a.m.

After an hour and a half of continuous talking, Amelia Hearn’s voice had grown hoarse, her eyes had turned red from wiping away tears over and over, her cheeks had become wet and rosy, and her hands kept trembling while holding onto her tea cup. Bridget and Ramona reached out and placed their hands over hers, stopping the tremors, but Amelia got up from her chair and collected the empty bowls and cups and chopsticks and took them to the sink. She turned on the faucet and grabbed a dry sponge from the counter and filled it with more soap from the dispenser and proceeded to wash them, yet the pain still remained, and before she knew it, she stopped and let the faucet run.

Then Bridget and Ramona got up from their chairs, because Amelia was crying again. For her whole life, even when things went south, Amelia had kept herself in check behind a self-imposed discipline that had built up her resolve and mental fortitude over the years. As such, those in trouble who needed her services came to depend on her during her long career as an occult investigator, the Blood Rose Witch, their one source of strength and reassurance, yet now the tables had turned on Amelia herself.

So Bridget and Ramona hugged her, telling her that it was going to be okay, that she need not bear it alone.

And for the next few minutes, they stayed like this, till Amelia calmed down and said, “Thank you.”

Then, as she wiped away the stray tears, she heard the creaking of bed springs from the stairs, so she sprinted behind the kitchenette and up the stairs with Ramona and Bridget following in tow, clearing the top step, and the trio halted before another woman sitting on the bedside.

“Thank God, you’re awake,” she said.

“Who are you?” Lucy said, getting up and looking at her surroundings. “And where am I?”

“I’m Amelia Hearn,” she said, “and you’re in my loft.”

“Amelia’s the one who found you,” Ramona said, “and Bridget and I carried you over here.”

Then Bridget added, “She told us what Rancaster did to—”

That’s when Lucy backed away from the trio, till she bumped into the railing and said, “Stay the fuck away from me!”

“Whoa, calm down, Mrs. Cairns,” Amelia said, raising up her hands in a placating gesture. “We’re not with Rancaster.”

“Then how do you know my name?” she said.

“Don’t fret, okay? Just listen to me,” Amelia said and approached the flighty woman in slow and deliberate steps and held out her hands to her. “I met you before, just after you passed. Try to remember, Mrs Cairns. I’m Amelia Hearn, and I’m here to help you. Open your eyes. I’m here to help.”

Lucy just stared at Amelia for several moments and then approached her on tenuous steps, reaching out her hand to her, and touched her grasp and pulled away, then grasped Amelia’s hands again in both hands. “You’re actually real?”

“Yep,” Amelia said.

“I thought you were God or something,” she said.

Amelia chuckled at that and said, “I’m just an ordinary ghost just like you,” and she raised her hand and touched her face. “It looks like you’re no longer in limbo anymore. That’s good!”

Then Lucy looked at Ramona and Bridget behind Amelia and said, “Who are you two?”

“I’m Ramona,” one said.

“And I’m Bridget,” the other said.

“Were you crying?” Lucy said.

Amelia then looked at her watch, which read 8:20 a.m., and said, “Care for some breakfast? I’ll make some if you want any.”

Lucy nodded her head, then said, “Wait a minute. . . . Aren’t I dead already.”

Amelia smiled and said, “Even ghosts get hungry, you know. Come on,” and she led the way down the stairs behind the kitchenette, followed by Ramona and Bridget and Lucy, and prepared to make breakfast for her third guest.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Do you like ramen, Mrs. Cairns?” Ramona said.

“Yeah, I do,” she said. “Oh, and just call me Lucy.”

“Amelia makes amazing ramen,” Bridget added. “It’ll definitely perk you up. You’ll love it!”

“Bridget, are you still hungry?” Amelia said, getting out a pot and a ladle from the cupboard, and filled the pot with more water and turned the stove top on. “I can fix you up another bowl if you want.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m already full,” she said, then back to Lucy: “But really, Amelia’s ramen is awesome.”

“I second that,” Ramona said. “Her cooking is amazing!”

“Ah, you two are making me blush,” Amelia said, turning on the burner to reheat the kettle full of tea and taking out another cup from the cupboard. “Have a seat, Lucy.”

So Lucy took her seat beside Ramona’s side of the table, while Ramona and Bridget took their chairs and dragged them back to their previous places at the dining table and sat and made small talk with Lucy as she waited.

Meanwhile, Amelia turned off the burner and removed the whistling kettle and poured Lucy a steaming cupful on the table.

“Thank you,” Lucy said.

Amelia smiled and said, “You’re welcome,” and then doubled back and got out another packet of ramen from the pantry and put in the noodles and ingredients into the water that was just coming to a boil. “It’ll be ready in a bit, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, then to her fellow guests: “How did you two get here, anyway?”

“Amelia helped us get here,” Ramona said.

“Why are we all here?” Lucy said, but Ramona and Bridget traded glances and kept silent for a time, just long enough for Lucy to add, “Did I say something wrong?”

“You said nothing wrong. It’s just a touchy subject for them,” Amelia said and turned off the stove and poured another serving of steaming ramen into the bowl and placed it on the table in front of Lucy. “Chopsticks or spoon and fork?”

“Chopsticks,” she said.

So Amelia gave Lucy a pair and sat down at the table. And while she was eating and savoring the taste of her cooking, Amelia smiled at the sight of Lucy’s astral body brightening to a fluorescent glow and said, “It’s good, isn’t it?”

Lucy slurped up another mouthful of noodles and nodded, then chewed and swallowed and said, “Oh, wow! This is amazing!”

“Glad you liked it,” she said and waited for her third guest to finish her bowl and drink all of her tea. “All done?”

Lucy savored the last bit of tea left in her cup and set it aside and nodded her head again. She said, “They weren’t kidding,” and she glanced at Ramona and Bridget, then back to Amelia: “Your breakfast is really good.”

Amelia smiled again and collected the bowl and chopsticks and cup and put them back in the sink and proceeded to wash them, as well as the other cups and bowls and chopsticks from earlier. After she had finished washing and placed them on the dish rack, she doubled back towards the table and sat down.

“I know you have a lot of questions,” Amelia said, “but I can only tell you what I know so far.”

“What’s going on?” Lucy said.

She bit down on her lower lip, wondering how she was going to break it to a mother who had already experienced the death of one of her daughters and her husband and herself, then took a deep breath and exhaled and said, “Lucy, your daughter Mara is missing.”

“Oh my God!” Lucy said, cupping her hands around her mouth. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “but she disappeared from the hospital after one of my daughters and two of her friends rescued her from the Rancaster district. That’s also the place where they located the body of your other daughter Nico, and it’s where the LMPD located the bodies of you and your husband the previous day. Right now, the district is under strict quarantine, and your daughter’s case has been transferred to the Phantom Office. They’re still investigating Mara’s disappearance, but I might be able to find her if you lend me your help.”

“Tell me what to do,” Lucy said. “I’ll do anything.”

Then Amelia looked at Ramona and Bridget sitting at the table and added, “The same thing goes for both of you, as well. In order to find your daughters, I’ll need your help as well.”

“We’re all ears then,” Ramona said.

“What do we do?” Bridget said.

So Amelia looked at the faces of her three guests, three mothers who have experienced a tragic end similar to her own, and said, “Don’t take this lightly, for what I’m about to ask of you is wholly within your power to grant or withhold. I won’t force any of you to do something you won’t do, but in order to find your daughters, I must have your permission to enter your daughters’ memories.”

“Wait, why are you asking for permission?” Ramona said.

“I’m asking,” Amelia said, “because we all have secrets we’re ashamed of as mothers, things that we’d rather not have other people know about, even if we’re close to them. And I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, especially when it concerns your daughters.”

Silence filled the room after Amelia made that observation clear for them, leaving her guests mute to roll it over in their heads for a time.

Bridget answered first, saying, “If it’s for Auna’s sake, you have my permission. For her, I’ll do anything.”

Amelia smiled and said, “You’re brave.”

“You have my permission, as well,” Ramona added. “At this point, I don’t give a damn about any shame on my part. I just want to see my Kendra safe.”

Amelia beamed at her, then turned to her third guest and said, “What about you, Lucy?”

Yet Lucy remained silent for a time, looking down at the table and avoiding everyone’s gaze on her.

“Lucy, are you okay?” Amelia said, yet even as the woman opened her mouth to say something, she paused as if she were carrying a hidden weight hanging over her heart. “What’s wrong?”

“How can you do it so easily?” Lucy said. “God, I wish I had your resolve.”

“That’s because you’re new here, dear,” Amelia said and reached out and placed her hands over Lucy’s on the table. “Whatever’s hanging you up right now is probably as fresh in your mind and as heavy on your heart as anything I’ve ever experienced, and trust me, I have my own set of things that I’m ashamed of, but here’s the thing. You’re not alone, understand?”

Lucy nodded that she did and said, “Thank you.”

Amelia smiled and said, “You’re welcome, dear. Oh, and don’t force yourself, lest your words become false without a clear direction. Tell me: is there anything you need right now?”

Lucy nodded her head again.

“Then tell me,” Amelia said. “What is it?”

“I want to see Nico,” Lucy said. “I have to talk to her.”

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It was now 8:20 a.m.

Ronald Hamilton woke up from another of his weird transformation dreams with the thought of Lewis Carroll lingering in his mind, when another rotten tomato struck his head and brought him back to reality. Ever since his capture near the abandoned fortifications of the third drop zone, he had endured a barrage of taunts and rotten vegetables flung at him. And his assailants were hard throwers, too, both the adult men and women from Rancaster’s retainers and the red musketeer doppelgängers who did not throw like ordinary girls.

These red musketeers, doppelgänger and retainer alike, threw hard enough to make him wince and grit his teeth whenever their projectiles landed on his astral body. And every once in a while, whenever they landed a solid strike on his head, he’d get knocked out and sent to the land of Nod for a time, where he’d dream about being an Oyster dreaming he was a Crow, then being Chuang Chou dreaming he was a butterfly, then being a Chippewa elder talking with a Hopi elder, then being the quarrelsome Tweedle brothers . . .

Till they’d managed to wake him up again with more of their throws striking his body and head.

It was a vicious cycle that turned his stomach every time he watched the faces of Alice Liddell taunting him with a myriad of laughs and jeers. And always, as if he were repeating the same script ad nauseam, Ronald would find himself saying that he was sorry for being too late to save Alice from her fate. And the tears would fall from his eyes, mixing with the liquid sting and stench of the refuse thrown at his face. And he would wish for another bloke to throw a good solid wallop at his head, so he could escape once again into the land of Nod like a little slice of death from an endless living nightmare.

So for a time, he prayed for another solid strike to the head to release him from his guilt like nepenthe from one of Zeus’s thunderbolts. And for a time, before that blessed strike released him, he thought of his allies, from his father and Stephen and Randal Larking and Lt. Frank Shaefer and Officer Curvan to Amelia Hearn and . . . and . . .

And his thoughts drifted onto Colbie Amame, the girl who defied Rancaster and threw that fucker on his ass. And for once, Ronald grinned and chuckled to himself, catching his assailants off guard and pausing their onslaught.

“What’s this?” one of Rancaster’s retainers said.

“Have you gone daft, old boy?” another retainer added.

“Maybe he’s completely brained,” an Alice-doppelgänger said.

“Ah, man,” another doppelgänger added. “Throwing garbage at a masochist is no fun!”

“Then let’s make up another rule,” another doppelgänger said. “15 points for hitting him in the balls.”

“Ouch!” another of Rancaster’s retainers said. “Now that’s what I call cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Yeah!” another doppelgänger said. “Let’s blue-ball him, till he cries for mercy!”

“Then I’ll suck him off,” yet another Alice-doppelgänger said, “and you’ll all blue-ball him just before he cums.”

And there came a long “Oooooh!” from Rancaster’s retainers, with the males wincing and commenting that even Rancaster wouldn’t condone that. But then the females amongst the retainers smiled and said that what Rancaster didn’t know won’t hurt them, then asked their peers if they agreed, and they did with tacit nods of their heads and no objections from the others present.

With this decided, one Alice-doppelgänger ascended the raised platform and pulled Ronald’s pants down, then began stroking and sucking him like a piston. And to his horror, Ronald moaned like a bastard, breathing harder and harder at the slick friction on his dick, curling his toes and straining his thighs and fisting his hands in his restraints and gritting his teeth, prodding him closer and closer and closer to a climax . . .

Till the sensation stopped, and the doppelgänger said, “And now we start the real fun!”

And after she descended the platform, leaving Ronald (poor guy) exposed and throbbing and violated, he watched in horror at the crowd poised on throwing their projectiles . . . and screamed like he had never screamed before.

And before he knew it, Ronald Hamilton was in the land of Nod once again, standing on the curb beside a storefront in a bustling night city beneath a canopy of hanging paper lanterns overhead and a blood moon looming above the teeming streets like the eye of a vengeful god. And amidst these teeming streets, full of ghosts and yokai and other thinking entities, he found himself waiting for a different ‘Alice’ to appear.

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It was now 8:23 a.m.

With her mother behind the wheel and following Connie’s car along Camden Street, Colbie passed the time listening to some 80s new wave songs and peering out through the passenger window at the scenery of cars and pedestrians and buildings passing her by. After a harrowing half hour of questions and theorizing, not to mention a fair amount of family drama, Colbie felt the onset of an afternoon slump lulling her into lethargy, yet one glance at her mother’s hands tight on the steering wheel kept her awake.

So Colbie sat up straighter in the front seat and said, “What’s going on, Mom?”

Her mother glanced her way and seemed on the edge of saying something, but when the light up ahead turned red, she slowed down to a halt behind Connie’s car. Only then did she release her grip on the steering wheel.

So Colbie said, “Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m managing,” Leslie said, “but . . .”

“But what?” she said, but her mother didn’t say what was on her mind. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Connie thinks you’re ready,” Leslie said, “but I’m not sure you are yet.”

“Ready for what?” she said.

“You’ll see,” Leslie said, then drove on once the light turned green and followed Connie’s car towards Faraway Street, where she followed Connie into a right turn and made a U-turn along Faraway Street, so she could parallel park a little closer to the bookstore on the other side of the street. After parking, Leslie said, “Come on, let’s go,” and unbuckled her belt and opened the door and closed it.

Colbie got out of the car and shut the door, which Leslie locked, then waited with her for the cars to pass by before she walked with her mother across the street onto the sidewalk, where Connie was already standing before the entrance and looking through the window. Colbie then peered into the window pane.

A black corona stained the middle of the walkway, where Maddy must’ve had one of her outbursts.

“No wonder Kathy didn’t want us to come here,” Connie said.

“Did Maddy cause that?” Colbie asked.

“It looks like it,” Leslie said, peering through the window, then looked at the poster sign on the window pane and grimaced. “Ouch! I hope their father won’t get too mad on them.”

“Come on,” Connie said, opening the door and going inside, wherein the coffered ceiling lights came on overhead and illuminated the interior. “There’s something you need to see.”

Colbie followed her inside, wherein her mother came in behind her and placed her hands atop her shoulders, so Colbie turned around and said, “What’s going on?”

“Shhhhh,” Leslie said and pushed her along Connie’s steps. “Just observe how she works.”

So Colbie looked at Connie crouching down on the floor and touching it with her fingers and closing her eyes, then getting up and running her hand across the spines of books along the shelves towards the left part of the bookstore. Connie then turned into the left side aisle, where Colbie found her crouching over a book that lay, face up, on the floor beside a bookshelf. Connie then reached out her hand and touched its pagers and flinched, sucking in breath as she pulled her hand away. All the while, so far as Colbie could tell, Connie’s eyes seemed to gaze into something beyond the confines of this bookstore for just a moment, just long enough for her to realize that Connie possessed a form of psychometry. Then Connie picked up the volume again and glanced at the cover, then ran her fingers over it as if she were absorbing some residue that had rubbed off on it.

Leslie said, “What’s that you have?”

“It’s a copy of Amelia Hearn’s book,” Connie said.

“Entering the Secret Room, right?” Leslie said.

“Yep,” Connie said and flipped through the first few pages and ran her fingers over a certain page, saying, “A girl entered this place and took this book off the shelf and read the first few lines of the story, ’Alice and the Mad Tryst,’ but . . .”

Colbie waited for Connie to say something, but when she didn’t, she said, “But what?”

Connie glanced her way, then looked back at the book and said, “I’m not sure,” and she wrinkled her brows over something.

“What is it?” Leslie said.

Connie stayed silent and doubled back to the end of the left side aisle and ran her hand across the spines of books along the shelves as she walked. She then halted at the end of the bookshelf near the door of the private room before her, where she found a space for a thick volume missing from the shelf and then looked at the door to the private room right next to her.

“It’s a little faint,” Connie said, “but someone else must have entered this space.”

“Who?” Leslie said.

“I don’t know yet,” Connie said, “but this person took her through this door,” and she pointed at the door to the private room, where the reference books and nonfiction books were stored. “I’m sure that’s where he went. Leslie, can you shut the front door and windows for me?”

So Leslie doubled back towards the entrance and shut the front door, while Colbie watched her. Leslie then went to work manifesting blank omamori charms over the front door and the two window panes looking out into the street.

Leslie yelled, “Empódio!” (Barrier!)

And the front door and the window panes flashed, blocking out the daylight outside and shimmering in the artificial darkness, wherein the coffered ceiling lights brightened as if it were evening.

“How big is the affected area?” Leslie said.

“Not that big,” Connie said. “It’s strongest in this area and extends from the far end of this aisle to this very door,” and she pointed to the room again where she said this unknown person had taken the girl.

So Colbie watched her mother going to the end of the aisle and manifesting two omamori charms on the floor and then going towards the door and manifesting two more omamori charms on the floor just before the back door. Leslie then got up and fished out a roll of ribbon, paper tape, and a pair of scissors from an inside pocket of her jacket, then cut off a length of ribbon and taped it over the door. She then doubled back along the side aisle and taped a length of ribbon across the four talismans she had placed on the floor.

“There. Everything’s set,” Leslie said. “Colbie, you might want to step back some.”

So Colbie accompanied her mother at one end of the side aisle, while Connie stayed where she was and placed the book on the floor as she had found it, face up, with its pages open to the first page of “Alice and the Mad Tryst,” and stood back up. Connie then spread her arms with her palms open and closed her eyes and whispered a mantra that Colbie couldn’t hear.

Leslie said, “Have you seen her use her powers before?”

“Yeah,” Colbie said, “but I’ve never seen her do this before.”

With Colbie and Leslie watching, Connie just stood there for a moment with nothing happening, till the floor beneath her feet began to shimmer and glow. This glow then spread out from her feet and filled the confines of the side aisle, marked out by Leslie’s talismans, and extended itself up towards the coffered ceiling lights overhead, forming a rectangular box that encompassed the whole aisle from floor to ceiling.

Connie headed towards the end of the side aisle and crouched down over the floor and touched it with her fingers, setting off a flash through the rectangular box encompassing the side aisle.

When the flash subsided, Colbie and her mother found that Connie had assumed the form of Aaron Rancaster, flooding the space with a heavy presence. Colbie felt this power blacking out everything into a nameless and formless void, where all things are one and the same, where everything meets nothing, where the past meets the future, and where eternity meets the now. Here, there was no happiness, no hope, no love, no life, and even no soul, and the Colbie almost felt like she was losing herself as her senses dulled into sleep yet again.

“No way,” Colbie said under her breath over Connie’s ability to don the outward manifestation of another person.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Leslie said.

“Oh, hell yeah,” she said.

The vision of Rancaster ambled down the aisle with his fingers tracing along the spines of the books on the shelves, till he came across a thick book at the end of the bookshelf, entitled Juliette by Marquis de Sade, and took it off the shelf and thumbed through its pages and read a few titillating paragraphs, then whistled and said, “Ah, good old Marquis de Sade! I miss that old boy.”

Flipping to the back of the front cover, he traced a blood seal imprinted with Nico’s blood on the inside of the cover. He then closed the book, dissipating it in his hands, and proceeded towards the door to the private room, where he put his hand on the knob. On opening the door and severing one of Leslie’s ribbons, Rancaster’s ghostly double evaporated from the scene and left Connie Davis standing by the door, breathing hard.

After taking a few moments for herself, Connie doubled back towards the book on the floor and crouched down over it and touched it with her fingers, setting off another flash through the rectangular box encompassing the aisle.

When that flash subsided, Colbie and her mother found that Connie had assumed the form of a younger woman.

“That’s Auna Wenger!” Colbie said.

“Shhhhh,” Leslie said, putting her finger to her lips. “Just observe what happens.”

So Colbie continued observing, when a heavy presence flooded the bookshelves in gloom. She felt this power blacking everything out into a nameless and formless void, where all things are one and the same, where everything meets nothing, where the past meets the future, and where eternity meets the now. Here, there was no happiness, no hope, no love, no life, and even no soul, and the Colbie almost felt like she was losing herself as her senses dulled into sleep once again.

“No stealing, bambina, even from the enemy,” Rancaster said in the shapeless void around her, then added, “I’ve found a suitable place for your debut.”

“Where?” Auna said.

“Come to the door, darling, and see for yourself,” he said, and the door to the private room of the bookstore glowed a crimson color and opened just a crack before the girl. “Your time has almost come, bambina.”

So Auna approached the door and put her hand on the knob, but just as she was about to open it, the second ribbon severed and shattered the box into dissipating fragments of light. And there in place of Auna with her hand on the knob was a winded Connie Davis leaning against the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” Colbie said.

Connie turned to her and said, “I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“That was way cool,” she said.

Connie smiled at her and said, “Your mom’s cooler, trust me,” and she doubled back along the side aisle and crouched, picking Amelia Hearn’s book off the ground, and stood back up. “Here, Colbie, catch,” and she threw the book at Colbie, who caught it. “Good catch. That’ll keep you occupied during the ride.”

“Where are we going?” she said.

“To the Nayland Hospital,” Connie said. “Come on.”

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It was now 8:26 a.m.

Nico awoke to the voices of two women yelling at each other over what the heck was going on somewhere in the backroom, which she began to recognize through her mental fog. One of them questioned the other, asking if she might have mixed up some of the ingredients when she got them, while the other said that she did nothing of the sort.

“Don’t go blaming me for your bullshit,” this girl said, a voice that could only belong to the fiery Blaze. “All I did was collect them, and if there’s a mistake, it’s on you!”

“I was just asking, geez!” the other girl said, a voice that could only belong to the more level-headed Cooley. “You don’t have to get all prissy over it!”

“Oh, I’ll show you what ‘prissy’ is!” Blaze said.

And on and on their argument continued, while Nico found herself on a twin bed as her eyes adjusted to the lighting. That’s when she noticed two other girls sleeping on either side of her, Akami in front of her with her arm over her shoulder and Shiromi behind her with her arm over her waist and her loins against her ass.

Nico yelped, quelling the argument in the backroom, and said, “Get off me, you perv!” And she shoved Shiromi away from her, but when Nico turned over and sat up in bed between the Red and White Queens, she saw Cooley and Blaze at the threshold, eyes wide and mouths agape, at the sight of Nico with the sleepers.

“What are they doing here?” Cooley said.

“How should I know?” Nico said, who had that question in her mind the moment she woke up. “I just woke up.”

“And who’s the musketeer?” Blaze added.

“What ‘musketeer’?” she said.

“That one,” Blaze said, pointing to the man sleeping between six of the incense bowls Blaze had set up in front of the bed. “He’s easy to spot.”

So Nico looked past the still-sleeping Shiromi and found a blue musketeer asleep on the floor beside the bed, and for a moment, Nico blanked out on the man’s name. She just sat there looking from the blue musketeer to Blaze and Cooley, then back to the musketeer again, till the name came to her.

“I think his name’s Monsieur Dolan,” Nico said.

“And what’s he doing here?” Cooley said.

“Sleeping,” Nico said.

“I mean,” Cooley said, “why is he here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just as lost as you are.”

“Okay, what about those two?” Blaze added, pointing to the Red and White Queens. “Mind telling me why they’re with you?”

“It’s a long story,” she said and began shaking Akami and Shiromi by their arms, till they both roused from sleep and jerked their arms from her grasp. So she waved her hand across their faces and added, “Wake up, you two. Sleepy time is over.”

First, it was Akami, who stretched out her limbs and arched her back and yawned; then it was Shiromi, who stretched out her limbs and arched her back and yawned. Both girls looked at Nico and then at their surroundings, when they caught sight of Cooley and Blaze staring down at them from the bedside.

“You fucker!” Shiromi said, glaring at Blaze.

“Ah, so you still remember me,” Blaze said and smirked at her. “How does it feel getting punched through a wall?”

“I’ll punch you face in, you fu—”

“Hey, calm down!” Nico said, grabbing Shiromi’s arm.

“But that bitch just—”

“Oh, so now you wanna start something, eh?” Blaze said, fisting her hands and assuming a boxer’s stance, till Cooley grabbed one of her wrists. “Hey, what gives? Whose side are you on?”

“That’s beside the point,” Cooley said, giving Blaze a glare of her own. “You’re underneath my house, and you’re inside my dream realm. As such, you are not to start fights here under any circumstances, is that clear?”

“All right, all right, geez,” Blaze said, pulling away from Cooley’s grasp and storming away, clenching her fists. “You’re not my fucking mom, you know!”

So Shiromi said, “Tough words coming from a—”

“Stop it!” Nico said, wrapping her arms around Shiromi’s waist before she got off the bed.

But it was too late; Blaze stormed back towards the bunk bed, fisting her hands as if she were about to wallop the White Queen a few good ones the moment she got close to her, when Cooley intervened and wrapped her arms around Blaze’s shoulders, saying, “Calm yourself!”

“Then tell that fuck-face to shut up!” Blaze yelled.

“Fuck-face? You’re calling me a fuck-face?” Shiromi said, struggling to get free of Nico, but Nico wouldn't let her get off the bed and kept telling her to calm down. “I am calm! Now get off of me, will you?”

For a few moments, Akami just sat there on the bed between two struggling pairs of women trying to keep things from getting worse. To her immediate right, a struggling Nico was trying to keep Shiromi from getting off the bed, and to her far left, a struggling Cooley was trying to keep Blaze from getting over to the bed. So with Nico and Cooley occupied in keeping Shiromi and Blaze from getting at each other, Akami got off the bed and bowed to Nico and Cooley and Blaze and said, “I apologize to each of you for Shiromi’s conduct, and I hope this will suffice,” and she slapped Shiromi across the face, which echoed through the underground vault.

“Owwww, what was that for?” Shiromi said.

“That’s for starting it,” Akami said.

The act stopped Cooley and Blaze for a moment, till Cooley slapped her sister across the face, as well.

“Owwww, why’d you do that?” Blaze said.

“That’s for making it worse,” Cooley said, shoving her finger on Blaze’s chest, “after I specifically told you not to start anything, and yet you still did!”

“But she’s the one who—”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said.

“But she—”

“What did I just say, Blaze?”

“Ugh, you suck!” Blaze said and walked away, fuming.

And before Shiromi said something else, Akami put her fingers to her mouth and said, “I’ll slap you if you start again.”

At this, Shiromi deflated somewhat, enough for Nico to let go of Shiromi’s waist and sit up on the bedside.

Nico said, “You’re a godsend, you know that?”

“More like a pain in my ass,” Shiromi said.

“Says the girl who kept shoving hers in my lap,” Nico said.

Shiromi smiled and said, “I bet you enjoyed it, too.”

Nico gaped, looking at Shiromi and the wide-eyed looks of Cooley and Blaze and a face-palming Akami, till Shiromi winked at her as if what she said was but a natural expression of herself.

“God, you’re a cringe-freak!” Nico said and shoved Shiromi, which (for once) did not give Nico’s lap another helping of her ass. So Nico turned to Akami and said, “Now you see what I’ve been dealing with?”

Akami smiled at Nico, saying, “Indeed, but at least you and I try our best, unlike someone we know,” and she glanced over at Shiromi next to her.

“Whatever,” Shiromi said.

Then Cooley approached Akami by the bedside and said, “I apologize for Blaze’s conduct, as well,” and she stretched out her hand for the Red Queen to shake. “I’m Cooley, by the way.”

“I’m Akami,” Akami said, shaking Cooley’s hand, “and this troublemaker is my white counterpart, Shiromi. Come on, shake her hand.”

“All right, all right, already,” Shiromi said, shaking Cooley’s hand. “What about her over there?”

Cooley looked over her shoulder at the still-fuming woman and said, “Blaze, come over here and make up.”

“Oh my fucking God,” Blaze said under her breath, turning around but not approaching, only crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Please, act your own age and make up,” Cooley said.

“Why should I?” she said.

“Because you’re not a brat anymore,” Cooley said.

“And if I don’t?” Blaze said.

Cooley sighed and said, “Geez, no wonder Maddy threw you out of her house,” and as Blaze started gaping at her observation, as if she had done her a grave injustice, Cooley said to Shiromi, “I’m sorry. Blaze still acts childish sometimes.”

“I do not!” Blaze said.

Cooley looked back at Blaze and said, “Then come over here and prove me wrong.”

“Fine!” Blaze said and stomped her way over to the bed, over to a steely-eyed Shiromi, and said, “I’m sorry for fucking you up earlier,” then turned to Cooley: “There. Are you happy now?”

Cooley face-palmed, saying under her breath, “Why me?”

As for Nico, who had been observing their shenanigans, she grabbed Blaze’s hand and Shiromi’s hand and said, “You two, kiss and make up.”

Both girls stared at Nico, then said, “No way!” And they tried to pull away, but Nico wouldn’t let go.

“Now kiss and make up,” Nico said.

“I’d rather not,” Blaze said.

“Same here,” Shiromi said.

“All right,” Nico said. “Then you leave me no choice,” and before either girl could react, Nico went and kissed Shiromi’s lips, then kissed Blaze’s lips, then kissed Shiromi’s lips again, thereby forcing the two to ‘kiss and make up’ through an indirect kiss. “There, all done!”

Blaze and Shiromi choked out a few curses. Blaze said that Nico had poisoned her lips, and Shiromi said that she had betrayed her, and both swore that what Nico did doesn’t really count, because neither girl had consented to it.

So Cooley and Akami face-palmed themselves.

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It was now 8:28 a.m.

After getting in the car and shutting the doors and fastening her seatbelt, Leslie started the ignition and disengaged the parking brake and then pulled out of the curb and did a U-turn to follow Connie’s car to their next stop.

Both occupants were silent for the first few minutes, as Colbie couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother was keeping something from her, something that had a large bearing over the case. After listening to Leslie’s encounter with Auna and Auna’s mother in last night’s dream dive and to Inspector Stephen’s findings over the phone and observing her mother and Connie working together at the bookstore, Colbie wondered if her mother had any other connection to Auna’s mother.

So she piped up, saying, “Mom, did you know something about Auna’s mom?”

“You mean Bridget?” Leslie said, looking at her daughter.

“Is that her name?” she said, and when Leslie said yes, Colbie added, “Was she your friend or something?”

“More like an acquaintance.”

Colbie waited for her mother to say more.

After a few moments, her mother said, “You should ask Connie about Bridget, because she knew her better than I did.”

“What exactly happened between you three?” Colbie said.

So Leslie took a deep breath and said, “It started with Amelia Hearn, the Blood Rose Witch. I’m sure you’ve heard of her?”

Colbie nodded, saying, “Kendra and I talk about her with Celia from time to time.”

“Well,” her mother continued, “Ramona, Lima, and I admired her for her efforts in several of her past cases, and after she died, we three continued where Amelia left off as the Sisters’ Brigade. It’s a really dopey name, but this was back in the 90s. Anyway, you’ve heard of Kendra’s mom, too, right?”

“You mean,” Colbie said, thinking back to one of the squabbles between Kendra and Celia, “the Chrysanthemum Witch?”

Leslie smiled, saying, “You know your stuff, Colbie. Anyway, yeah, Ramona was the leader of our three-girl ‘brigade,’ and we became almost as famous as Amelia Hearn. And along the way, we got married and started families, starting with Lima, then Ramona, and then me. So we brought Connie into the Sisters’ Brigade to fill in for us while we were pregnant, and she wanted to include her friend, Bridget, as well, but . . .”

Then her mother fell silent.

Colbie looked over at her mother and noticed her keeping her eyes on the road and gripping the steering wheel, till her knuckles were white, so she asked, “What is it, mom?”

“Bridget died during childbirth,” Leslie said, “and a little less than three years after that, Ramona died during a case. Take a guess.”

“Rancaster’s case?” Colbie said.

Leslie nodded and said, “After that, Lima and I disbanded the Sisters’ Brigade, but Connie continued solo for a little more than a year and a half, till she called it quits herself.”

Again, her mother fell silent.

“Mom, are you okay?” Colbie said.

“No, I’m not,” her mother said. “After Ramona and Bridget’s deaths, Connie continued on and asked Roy to help her investigate the Rancaster case with the help of his partner, Edmund, Kendra’s dad, but the same thing happened to Edmund. So many deaths. So much pain,” and she slowed down behind Connie’s car at a red-lighted intersection and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Mom?” Colbie said.

“I’m all right, Colbie,” Leslie said.

“Mom,” Colbie said, “do you really trust me?”

“You’ve seen it yourself, Colbie,” her mother said. “You’ve been through as much as Kendra and Celia and her sisters, but you’re here, and they’re not. That’s more than I can say for them, and I’m sure Lima and Ramona would say the same thing if they were here.”

Colbie looked at her mother’s face and saw her clenching her jaw, so she said, “I won’t disappoint you, mom.”

Her mother gave her the briefest of smiles, then remained silent for the rest of the car ride with more 80s new wave songs filling the silence in between.

After that, Colbie turned her attention to the book Connie had given her and flipped past the cover and the table of contents to the first story in the collection, a novella entitled, “Alice and the Mad Tryst,” and spent the next twenty-odd minutes reading it during the car ride.

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つづく

Day: Alice and the Mad Tryst (White Roses)

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