Zyah glanced over at the bed. Player had drifted off. His body often went out fast, needing to rest and heal whether he wanted to or not. She glanced at her watch. He sometimes got a couple of hours of sleep before the nightmare took him. She hoped he would get at least that much. She knew from experience he was a very light sleeper, so she didn’t make the mistake of standing up and pacing like she wanted to. Instead, she eased her legs out and stretched to give her muscles a much- needed break.
Once more, she concentrated on young Player’s face while Absinthe read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland aloud to everyone. He stared down at his hands, even when the others clamored for the characters to run around the basement with them. They wanted entertainment. He wasn’t proud in providing it for them. Why? It made him sick to do so. He squirmed, even though he kept a little half smile on his face. Guilt crossed his handsome features. Even then he’d already been so good-looking. What did he have to feel guilty about? He was every bit as tortured as the others. Beaten. Raped. The flesh torn from his body. Thin from lack of food.
The characters from the book suddenly joined them, acting out the scenes, making the others laugh, but Player’s expression never changed from that dark, miserable little boy staring down at his hands with that enigmatic little half smile. He didn’t think he was powerful, and yet he kept the characters acting out the scenes so easily, without looking or waving his hands toward them as a child might. Cards ran across the room to the delight of the others. Flamingos were held upside down to play croquet with.
Player’s fingers began to move against his thigh in a familiar pattern. She had seen that pattern many, many times now. In his dreams and out of them. In his head he began to build things. Even while he created the illusion for his childhood sisters and brothers, he began to build the things that took him away from what was tearing him up inside.
Zyah sat up straight. Player detested the illusion of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland so much that he took himself away from it by doing something else. He occupied himself by doing things his brain was very familiar with. He built bombs. He had been forced at a young age to learn, and he was good at it. Very good. He had a mind for it, and his hands were steady. His eyes were excellent. His memory impeccable. He was fast. The pocket watch. The gold pocket watch. The one that went from the White Rabbit’s very innocent golden pocket watch to the other one that suddenly appeared in the nightmare with the shadowy figure standing over the boy at the bench.
She forced herself to breathe evenly, afraid the change in her breathing would wake Player. She knew she was getting close to some revelation. She just didn’t know what it was. Who could be so twisted that they would do these things to children? She pressed her fingers to her lips and shook her head, wiping her mind blank. She couldn’t think about that and help him. He needed help. He had to get through this. She had to get to a place where she understood what was actually happening to him to throw him from his nightmare into his illusion and then into an alternate reality that became his reality.
So keep looking at that little boy down in that basement, Zyah. What do you see him doing while the others are watching the show he’s giving them? What did she see? He was tapping the rhythm on his thigh. Building the bomb in his head. Perfecting it. She saw the moment his head came up and alarm spread through him. What was it? What was different? What did he see that no one else did? They were still smiling. The Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland characters were still cavorting around the room.
Zyah peered into the image until her eyes felt like they were bleeding. She looked everywhere and then looked again. Into the dark corners. The ceiling. She looked for the rabbit. The watch. Anything that was not part of the original story line that would have told a little boy that his illusion had gone from amusement into madness. Into the blurring of a line into possible reality.
She was connected to his mind. She had to stop trying to stay apart from him if she was going to find out the truth and let herself connect wholly with him, but if she did, it would just be that much harder to tear herself away from him.
She deserved better. She wasn’t going to settle for a man who didn’t love her. She didn’t want to be needed because she had a gift that could shore him up when his gift harmed him. She didn’t want to be wanted for sex. Okay, maybe that wasn’t being quite as truthful. She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to decide whether to continue to be a coward and just call herself that.