About this ebook
A pocket watch, a key, and a doorway between worlds.
Alessa grew up listening to Alice's stories about Wonderland, and saying goodbye to her is the hardest thing she's ever had to do. The girls' father won't allow the nonsense to go on any longer, so he sends Alice to the hospital, ordering Alessa to rid the house of anything to do with Wonderland.
Left with a broken pocket watch and many unanswered questions, Alessa desperately wants to believe her sister's stories. She goes searching for the truth, unaware that proof of Wonderland's existence is about to land on top of her.
Ronan is trapped in Neverland, fighting his madness and the memories of what Peter Pan and Cordelia did to him. Pan cut off his hand, but Cordelia stole his key. The one thing keeping the pain in his chest at bay.
At the expense of those closest to him, Ronan is on a mission to recover his key, then find his way back to Wonderland. But before he can achieve his goal, he falls out of one world and into another.
Thrown together unexpectedly, Alessa and Ronan join forces as they struggle with their realities, fall through magical doorways, and down rabbit holes. Will they find their way to Wonderland, or are they destined to be stuck in Neverland forever?
K. A. Last
K. A. Last was born in Subiaco, Western Australia, and moved to Sydney with her parents and older brother when she was eight. Artistic and creative by nature, she studied Graphic Design and graduated with an Advanced Diploma. After marrying her high school sweetheart, she concentrated on her career before settling into family life. Blessed with a vivid imagination, she began writing to let off creative steam, and fell in love with it. She now resides in a peaceful leafy suburb north of Sydney with her husband, their two children, and a rabbit named Twitch.
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The Edge of Madness - K. A. Last
The Edge of Madness:
An Alice in Wonderland Retelling
Wonder in Neverland Book 2
K. A. Last
www.kalastbooks.com.au
Copyright © 2023 K. A. Last
All rights reserved.
Contents
––––––––
Free Book Offer
Dedication
A Last-Ditch Effort
You Need to Let it Go
Assuming Wonderland Exists
This Infernal Quest
Believe the Impossible
You Suck at Cards
If You Drink, You’ll Shrink
First to Draw Blood
Wonderland Changes You
My Ticket Out
We’re All Living Backwards
She Talks Like Alice
So Many Unanswered Questions
Begin at the Beginning
The Possibility of Madness
The Thing that Ruined My Life
My Heart Breaks
Lessen the Blow
Do as all Good Girls Should
A Good Hat
This is Your Rabbit Hole
The Sound of Silence
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Dedication
For you.
If you’re reading this right now, thank you.
Thank you for picking up this book.
I hope you enjoy following Alessa and Ronan down the rabbit hole.
I could tell you my adventures – beginning from this morning,
said Alice a little timidly: but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.
Lewis Carroll - Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
A Last-Ditch Effort
ALESSA
I CAN’T RECALL THE first time my sister told me about Wonderland. Stories of rabbit holes, cats with grins, and talking unicorns have filled my life for as long as I can remember. Many nights we would stay up late, huddled under the blankets, Alice telling me about her adventures until it felt like I was there with her.
Wonderland is all Alice talks about, to the point she doesn’t seem to know what’s real and what’s not anymore. Sometimes, I wonder if I can tell the difference between fantasy and reality.
Alice’s reality is Wonderland.
But mine is having to say goodbye to her because of it.
I watch helplessly from the doorway as Alice fusses around her bedroom. She places things into the open case on the bed, muttering to herself in animated conversation. Her voice rises and falls in pitch, taking on both sides of her pretend argument. She stops in the middle of the room and tilts her head, staring vacantly at the small book in her hand, as though she doesn’t know where it came from.
Then her eyes clear. Alessa needs this,
she says in a matter-of-fact tone. She can’t forget what I’ve told her.
Her voice deepens as she says, She won’t forget ...
Alice?
I say, my voice small.
My sister starts, turning to stare at me for a moment, her eyes holding that vacant expression again. But then she smiles.
Alessa ...
She steps towards me, shoving the book into my hands. They aren’t just stories, you know.
I grasp the small blue book, already aware of what is written inside, and open the front cover. On the title page, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is written in my sister’s beautiful script. Of all her notes, poems, drawings, and musings about Wonderland, this book holds the most important. In Alice’s eyes, anyway.
Of course.
With shaky hands, I close the book and hug it to my chest.
Right now, I want Alice’s make-believe world to be real. Because if it’s real, then she can stay. I want her to take me to Wonderland and show me all the amazing things she’s only told me about. If it means I’ll be by her side, then I would go anywhere with her.
A knock sounds on the door, and it slowly swings open. Good morning, milady
Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!
Alice smiles and claps her hands. I’m off on an adventure today, but I fear it will be dark.
She frowns and steps back, clenching her fingers. Much darker than even the deepest part of the Murmuring Marsh.
Alice’s maid curtseys, training her eyes at the floor. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as that.
Then she hurries in and tends to the fire burning low in the grate. Lucy fluffs the curtains, straightens the items on Alice’s bureau, then stands in the open doorway again.
Lucy is wrong,
Alice whispers to me. "It will be dark, and menacing, and—"
Oh, Alice.
I grab her hand and give it a squeeze to calm her. They’ll look after you.
But I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince my sister or myself, because I don’t know what will happen to her. For weeks, I’ve pushed the word from my mind.
Asylum.
Father refuses to call it that—it’s a hospital as far as he’s concerned—and the treatment will help Alice. But I’ve heard the stories of what they do to patients there. The methods they use to ‘cure’ the supposedly insane.
Milady, do you require any further assistance this morning?
Lucy clasps her hands in front of her and waits. Her dress is pressed so that it falls in neat pleats.
I can help Alice finish packing,
I say, grateful for her interruption to my thoughts.
As you wish.
Lucy smiles, curtseys, then pulls the door closed.
Alice takes her hand from mine, goes to the bed, then focuses on folding her clothing and tucking it neatly into her case.
I don’t want you to leave.
I clutch Alice’s book until my fingers ache and move to the window. We could run away. It’s not too far down to climb out.
She smiles with her mouth closed. Don’t be silly. You’ll have Lucy. She’s your maid now. And she adores you. You can read her the book.
But ... she isn’t you,
I argue, setting the book on the bureau.
Alessa, I want to stay here with you. But Father doesn’t believe the things I tell him, and he thinks it’s for the best.
He thinks you’re mad.
I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my hands in my lap.
Alice stops fussing and stares at me. Her eyes are dull, as though the life inside them is slowly dying. She tilts her head. Do you?
I glance around the room. Drawings, poems, and other notes cover almost every inch of the blue floral wallpaper, held in place with dressmaker’s pins.
Maybe we’re all mad.
I return my gaze to hers.
When she smiles this time, it actually reaches her eyes. She perches beside me on the bed. I’m mad. You’re mad. We’re all mad here.
She laughs.
But I’m not in the mood for laughter.
Isn’t that what Chess said to you?
I blink a few times and look away again, my gaze roving over the walls.
Yes,
she says, her voice far away. And I think she’s right.
Alice’s sketches of giant flowers, tea cups, and playing cards are just a few of my favourites, scattered amongst pictures of kings and queens, and gryphons and unicorns, and other eccentric characters.
I find the sketch I’m searching for, tucked partially behind another depicting Alice talking to a giant dodo. Chess is tall and sleek, with slender arms and long, talon-like fingers. Her ears are pointy and her mouth wide, displaying two rows of sharp teeth. Despite Alice telling me Chess is rather boring, there’s something about her I don’t like.
Alice annotates her pages, with notes describing size, colour, and anything else she thinks is important. I’ve often caught her taking a particular page from the wall to add another detail, or draw another version of the character.
Chess’s page simply says: Chessamine, wide grin, sharp teeth, aloof. Then the word BORING is written in big letters and underlined.
I move my gaze and stare at a sketch of the Queen of Hearts. Alice has told me many stories about her, and her penchant for threatening to behead people. But I remind myself that these people are nothing more than characters in Alice’s stories.
They don’t really exist. At least, not outside Alice’s imagination. Do they?
I can’t believe he’s sending you away.
My voice is barely a whisper, my throat thickens, and I force back the tears that threaten to spring free.
This can’t be my reality.
I can’t lose the one person who has lit up my life for so long.
You won’t get to chaperone me this season,
I continue. Or see me all dressed up at the ball Father has spent so long organising.
Alice covers my hand with hers, sitting up straight and serious. Alessa, you’re so grown up now. You can make your own way. You don’t need me.
She squeezes my hand. Besides, it’s only for a year. And you said, the hospital will look after me. When I come home, I’ll be fixed and good as new.
Hospital.
Asylum.
But I’m not sure Alice needs fixing.
Madness is who she is. But to me, she isn’t mad.
When Alice talks about Wonderland, it’s like when I talk about walking around the gardens of Hargreave Manor. The gardens are one of my favourite places. They are so beautiful, and I love how they come alive in bursts of colour every spring. Alice describes everything just as vividly. It’s hard to believe she’s making it up.
I shake my head, this time unable to stop the tears. They spill onto my cheeks as a sob erupts from my mouth and my lips tremble. Alice pulls me close. She wraps her arms around me and strokes my hair.
"You’re strong, and you will be okay, she says.
We both will."
Her words take on a matronly tone, covering her usually vibrant and excited voice. Our mother died when I was three, and Alice, being seventeen years older than me, had to take on her role. She’s been both my sister and my mother figure for so long, the thought of losing her has torn a gaping hole in my chest.
I’ll come to visit.
I pull away and stare into her face.
She touches my cheek. I would like that very much.
Alice? Alessandria?
Father’s voice travels up the stairs. Moments later, there’s a knock on the door.
Alice stiffens beside me. Her mouth draws down and her eyes widen. In a heartbeat, she’s gone from confident and happy to terrified, and her emotions roll off her into me, making my stomach churn.
Come in,
Alice says.
The door opens and Father steps across the threshold. Alice, are you ready?
My sister lets go of me and stands, smoothing her hands down the front of her morning dress. Yes. I was just packing the last of my things and saying goodbye to Alessa.
Her tone is forced, as it always is when she speaks with Father, and I hate that she is so scared of him. I am scared of him. Father purses his lips, straightens his cuffs, then brushes invisible lint from the sleeves of his coat. The skin under his eyes is dark, as though he hasn’t slept for days, making him appear older than his fifty-eight years.
Does she have to go, Father?
I ask, my voice cracking.
He studies me for a long moment. It’s a question I’ve asked so many times over the past few weeks, from the moment he told me Alice would be leaving. The answer he’s given me each time floats in his stern gaze.
Do hurry along, Alice. I’ll be in the buggy.
Father turns to leave, his footsteps clicking on the polished floor of the stairs as he goes down to the entrance foyer.
I stare at the space in the doorway where he stood, wondering how he could bring himself to send his eldest daughter away. How can he think this is the right thing to do? We’re family. We should be together. He is supposed to love us, and support us, no matter what, but by sending Alice away, he’s sending half of me as well.
Alice returns to her case, tucks her hairbrush and a few more personal items inside, then kneels on the fourposter bed to look at the drawings pinned to the curtain behind the headboard. She takes down a page filled with words written in her elegant hand. Alice runs her fingertips over the ink, her lips moving as she mumbles, then slips the piece of paper into the side of her case. She buckles it closed and sets it in the doorway.
I push myself to stand on wobbly legs. My sister turns to me, tilting her head, and I take in her golden hair, the shape of her cheeks, and her cupid’s bow lips. She seems so young for a woman of thirty-four, as though she hasn’t aged past her teenage years, and we’re often mistaken for each other when we’re not together. Will she look the same when I visit her at the hospital? Asylum. Or will the procedures they have planned suck the life and vitality out of her?
Alice smiles, and I want to draw this moment out forever. If Alice and I stay right here, frozen in time, then I won’t have to say goodbye to her. She won’t change. And she won’t have to leave me behind.
Oh, Alessa, Alessa, Alessa,
Alice cries, the vibrancy back in her voice. I almost forgot.
She hurries over to her bureau, opens a small drawer in the top, then lifts something out. I want you to have this.
She steps across the room and presses the round object into my palm. It’s been so long it probably won’t make a difference now. I can’t imagine he’ll ever come back for it.
She stares vacantly at me, as though she’s recalling a memory.
He?
I look down at the silver pocket watch and run my thumb over the crack in the glass on the front. Alice has never shown it to me before. The hands are still. Stopped at six o’clock. He who?
Alice?
Father calls again, an angry edge to his voice. Will you come down now, please?
Hmmm?
My sister refocuses and looks at me with sad eyes. They glisten in the muted morning light that wafts like fog through the window. Her gaze drops to the pocket watch in my hand. Keep it safe for me, will you?
Of course.
I look from Alice to the timepiece, then back again. But who are you talking about? Who was going to come back for it?
Alice, we must go,
Father yells.
Alice sets her bonnet on her head, tucks her hair into the sides, then takes her case from the doorway and steps into the hall. She rests her hand on the doorjamb and looks back at me. Lock it away until I come home. It was from ...
She trails off, her eyes going vacant again, then she frowns as though she’s trying to remember.
I wait a few heartbeats for her to continue. When she doesn’t, I ask, From ... Wonderland?
Alice’s lips hint at a smile, but then she falters. I have to go. I love you.
She disappears along the hall.
I want to follow her down to the buggy, but watching her leave has broken my heart. If I go downstairs, I’ll no doubt make a scene, and Father will not be impressed. He thinks Alice has disgraced our family enough already. Word has gotten around the gossip circles that she’s going off to London’s most renowned asylum. If I were to cause a disruption, and the neighbours heard, Father would never let me out of the house again.
I go to the window to look down onto the circular drive at the front of Hargreave Manor. Father stands beside the Phaeton. He takes Alice’s case, sets it on the back of the buggy, then helps her up into her seat before climbing in to sit beside her.
He takes up the reins, and our brown mare starts out towards the road. Father has drawn the roof up, so I lose sight of Alice’s face as the buggy rounds the drive. I swipe at a tear that rolls down my cheek and step back from the window.
Despite being surrounded by so many parts of my sister—her drawings and scribblings, like small pieces of her soul bared on the walls—the room feels so empty without her in it. I turn in a slow circle and take it in.
This room is all I have left of Alice now. I’ve no doubt when I visit her, she will be a shadow of her former self. They will do everything they can to get Wonderland out of her. To cure her of her supposed madness.
The pocket watch is heavy in my hand. I stare down at the timepiece resting on my palm, the chain draped between my splayed fingers. Alice’s first trip to Wonderland started when she thought she saw a white rabbit wearing a waistcoat and carrying a pocket watch, and followed it down a rabbit hole. I grab the book from the bureau and quickly flick to the first story, searching for more details about the watch and the rabbit. But I