Mind Your ID

The morning was routine for Alice: She was woken by her gentle nurse and fed by those dreadfully sloppy twins resembling The Tweedles; a pair who had taken to being silent in her presence-a nasty brawl that ended in their bloodshed caused them to keep their respect and distance when around the lunatic Alice Liddell.

Then it was time for her therapy with Dr. Wilson, a part of day she generally liked,
because she felt a rather odd connection with the man, as if she had known him for most of her life. He took care of her and was the only being in Rutledge who would talk to her.
Today's session began with the doctor spreading several wooden, lettered blocks in front of Alice, and regarding her with the utmost curiosity as she tinkered with them. She arranged the letters into various words which the doctor wrote down in that simple brown journal he always carried with him.

There was silence save for the clattering of the blocks and the scratching of the doctor's pencil.
Alice let out a long sigh and sat, bewildered. The doctor looked down at her blocks,
and found she had arranged them to read 'parents' and 'dead'.
"What's wrong, Alice?"
"My parents are...gone."
"What else is wrong Alice?" She didn't look up at him but could feel his eyes on her. "Something's...broken."
"What's broken, Alice?"
"I am."
She swung her arm at the blocks and scattered them across the floor. Before
punishment could be served she scrambled to her bed and pulled the covers over her head.
After several excited moments she realized with horror that her white rabbit had been left on the cold floor. She jumped out of bed and raced to her doll, only to find it in the hands of Dr. Wilson.
"How dare you," she shouted viscously, "you have no right to touch him! You
only want to hurt him!" She beat at the doctor with relentless vigor until he forced her to the edge of her bed and pinned her hands to her sides. The cold metal of the bed frame stung her skin.

There had been another time when she was in this position and had felt this cold.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she began to utter incoherently. The doctor, her dear doctor, soothed her with whispers and patted her head gently. He urged her back into her bed, covering her. He slipped the rabbit into Alice's arms and at once her chatter subsided. The doctor produced a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from Alice's brow, continually soothing her with his words. "It will be all right, dear Alice. Be brave. Such a wonderful child..."

Alice could still feel the sting of the icy bed frame. Her mind fought back the images of that one night, her night with the Hatter.

"I remember..." she babbled. "I remember the night with the Hatter!" The doctor suddenly stopped. Her eyes met his and she cried out. "He came here to me! I held his hat! It was so cold...I must get to the Queen, I must meet up with the Mock Turtle and Gryphon, I will drink some grasshopper tea, oh poor Dormy, so torn, where is the school? where are my parents? I saw him, I saw the Hatter!"
The doctor stood over her and produced a needle from his pocket. "Hush, Alice," he said sternly, "calm yourself." He slid the needle into her skin but Alice didn't notice. "They blame me for the burning," she moaned.

He sat with her as the medicine began to take its toll on her system. She began to
quiet down, and shivered when he pulled the blankets further up her body. "Who is this Hatter you speak of?" The doctor raised an eyebrow. "The man in dark," Alice sluggishly answered, "the one who called to me in the dark..."

She drifted into sleep.

The Hatter grinned and tossed the syringe carelessly over his shoulder. He bent down and kissed Alice on her forehead. And locked her door before leaving.

He walked down the hallways of Rutledge, the echoes of screams and babbling children were music to his ears. Yes, Rutledge reminded him very much of his own home. The place Alice was about to wake up in.

Inside the doctor's office Hatter removed his medical clothing and brought his own
coat out of the closet, winking at the corpse of Heironymous Q. Wilson before shutting the door.

Not one nurse or doctor saw the Hatter that day, nor could anyone testify to any colorful man at Rutledge at any time.

And so it was that the Hatter waltzed out of Rutledge in his own, more fashionable clothing, his cane in one hand, his hat tall on his head, on his way to meet his Alice.