Page 5 of Descend into Madness

“A…” I gag on my own words, blurting it out as painlessly as I can muster. “Alice.” Just the word on my own tongue makes my skin crawl, the memories of classmates screaming my birth name in mockery flaring to life in my head. I can hear their laughter, see their fingers all pointed at me.

The daughter of Lewis Carroll, as he liked to call himself. Not even his pen name prevented the ridicule when the illustrations of his beloved books were so clearly me. The girl that lost her mind and spent more time with counsellors than in school, acting out every chance she got. But my father did teach me one thing. You can create any story you like when you take the narrative into your own hands. Several stab wounds to his chest and an insanity plea proved that.

“So, what should we call you?” Tweed’s voice is sharp as a blade as he cuts through my trip down memory lane. Both twins are staring at me intently and I replace the easy-going smile I’ve learnt to master.

“How rude, I’m Malice,” I hold out my hand. Cash accepts it, kissing the back with a lingering look. I bob my head. “Mal, for short.”

“Tis a pleasure to meet you, Mal,” Cash winks and I have to say, employed stripper or not, I’m rather smitten.

3

Drawing my hands through the silky-smooth length of my hair, I bring it to my nose and inhale. Vanilla and raspberry fills all my senses until I can taste it on the back of my tongue and feel it seeping into my pours. The shower pounds onto my scalp, encasing me in the steamy throes of bliss. Cocooning myself like a caterpillar, I take my sweet time, preparing to emerge as a reformed, beautiful butterfly.

“I’m back!” a cheery voice skates through the midst and I know it’s Cash. His shadow looms on the other side of the curtain for merely a second before whipping it back and presenting me with a fluffy towel. Not the kind the inmates are usually provided with, but the premium cotton ones which are reserved for the staff. I don’t know how these twins became master sleuths but I’m not complaining. Knocking off the faucet, I accept the towel with a smile until my eyes settle on the folded blue and white checked dress on a nearby plastic chair. The one a guard will perch on to watch us shower. Perverts.

“I thought I said new clothing, like what the prissy receptionist wears,” I growl. There’s a puppy dog quality to Cash’s lop-sided grin as he lifts the offensive garment, revealing the Terminator’s belt underneath.

“What can I say? I prefer you in blue,” he winks as his brother appears. Kneeling with his back to me, he lays out the items I sent him on a scavenger hunt for whilst reeling them off one by one. All the while, I drop my towel to dress, not concerned with Cash’s eyes watching me with hawk-like accuracy.

“A pen run dry of ink, orange juice, a paperclip, a disposable toothbrush-” I bend over his back to grab for the brush and shove it in my mouth. The round, silicone ball unfurls and releases a minty substance that I gnaw, whisking my teeth towards freshness. “And the only book I could find in your room was this.”

Holding up a thickly bound book I’d kept hidden beneath my bed, I pluck it from his grip and clutch it to my mildly damp chest beneath the paper dress I loathe. At least Cash thought to grab me some underwear, although his motives may have been skewed when plucking the lacy black set from someone’s locker. I can’t imagine who’s, since everyone around here is too stuck up to floss their ass in a tiny G-string like this.

“Yeah, this is the only book they let me have as not to ‘indulge my fantasies.’ Plus side is, I can insult you as eloquently as this,” I raise my fist to clear my throat and stand tall. “There is a perennial wooden structure in an unspecified location, who’s solitary justification of existence is to supply the oxygen you squander.” I beam at the narrowed glare over his shoulder.

“You must think you’re real cute,” Tweed mutters and I spin, whipping his face with the wet mop of my washed hair. Chocking in shock, Tweed rises to grip my hips, his fingers tight enough to leave a bruise. “I’m done playing, little girl. Tell me the plan so I can get the fuck out of here. The human world vexes me no end.”

“Temper, temper, dear brother,” Cash begins but I hold up a hand to signal I can handle this. Tiptoeing with the book clenched between us, because I don’t want to be any closer to this patronizing mofo than necessary, I lean to whisper in his ear.

“If you’re going to keep up this Tweedle façade, that’d make us the same age,little boy.” Slamming my knee up into his balls, I rush to drop into the nearby chair to watch him writhe around in pain. Nothing like a decent midnight show. I’m almost surprised he toppled like a bowling pin; I’d have thought his bark had more bite than that. Cash kneels to scoop up the carefully placed items and twists to hand them over.

“Ready to get out of here?” he asks so obediently, remaining on one knee. Dictionary in my lap, I push the inkless pen behind my ear, sip on the orange juice and toy with the paperclip in my free hand. The shower was the most essential part of the plan because I have my best ideas in the shower and the scavenger hunt…well that was to provide enough time for said shower.

“Almost. There’s just one more thing we need to do first,” I declare. Tweed groans from the shower floor, re-dampening his striped vest that had mostly dried. “I can’t go anywhere without my main man, Stan."

“Who the fuck is Stan?” Tweed uses the wall to stand, holding an arm around his middle. I roll my eyes at him because clearly, the boy doesn’t listen.

“My main man,” I repeat. Finishing the juice, I toss the bottle aside and push to stand when Cash’s hand on my thigh halts me. Reaching into the back of his skinny jeans, he produces a pair of flat canvas shoes with a wicked smile. Ahh, so it’s Nurse Suzie we’ve robbed of her lacy underwear. Never pegged her as the type, although pegging might beherforte at this rate. While I mentally commend myself for just shaving with Joanna’s razor blade, hidden for suicidal purposes, Cash’s tender fingers stroke down the length of my leg, hooking up the back of my ankle to ease the first shoe on.

“Think you’ve got your fairy tales mixed up,” I comment, but let him do it anyway. Once he deems me ready, I stand clutching my dictionary and hitch up the belt tied at my waist. Leading the twins to the elevator, I use the Terminators key card to permit us access and crowd them into the corner beneath the camera. We pile out on level two just as an ear-splitting alarm tears the night in half.

“We’ve been rumbled, boys,” I smile widely, my tongue hanging out of my mouth. The night security team bursts through the fire escape doors, opting to use the staircases in emergencies.

“Where’s this Stan and why is he important?” Tweed asks as the first uniformed man runs at him, snapping out his baton. I recognize the guard from the butt-dimple lining his chin and for a brief second, I’m not sure who I want to prevail. Watching Tweed get knocked on his ass by Anus-Face might just become the new best moment of my life. Tweed doesn’t even blink as he smashes his fist into the guard's chest with enough force to send him flying backwards. Ahh man. Bye, bye Butthead.

The next is already upon him while I stand gawking. The fluidity of his fight, the definition of his muscles. Gracefully, he unhooks his braces to give him free reign of movement and oh my mini milk. His braces are left to hang over thick thighs that are only enhanced by the tight jeans. His chest heaves as he knocks foe after foe on their asses. All of which I’m logging as imagery for the good ol’ rub hub.

Tweed catches me gawking and I blush, returning to the question at hand. “He’s my longest friend,” I snap. “The only one who’s ever believed my stories were real.”

Tweed snarls as the guards continue coming. At one point, there’s three on him and somehow, he hulk-blasts out and sends them all crashing into the nearest walls. Huh, I wonder if his ejaculation could shoot me across the room like that. Wait, shut up stupid brain, no I don’t. Shaking my head and picking up my jaw from the floor, I remember the other part to his question. “Oh. Third door on the right.”

Cash, who has been leaning against the window this entire time, bolts upright and takes off down the hall. I move to follow when an electric baton stabs into my side. I cry out, not having realized through the bodies flying everywhere, one had slipped past Tweed’s barrier to get to me. Two can play at that game.

Unsheathing my own baton, I twist and duck, catching my attacker by surprise. Yeah, this bitch can fight back. His military-trained focus hangs on the club in my hand, as planned. The perfect decoy as I whip the inkless pen from behind my ear and stab him in the eye. Thumping my foot in his shin with a satisficing crack, I smack his head aside with the baton on the way down and jam the electronic end into his neck for good measure. By the time he’s collapsed on the ground, the other guards take a reluctant step back and radio for extra help. That totally has everything to do with my awesome take down and is in no way related to the exhibition of mangled bodies at Tweed’s feet.

Singing along with the siren blaring overhead, I skip over Cash, who’s struggling with the locked door. Apparently, his pockets are big enough for a damn ladder, but not a lock-picking kit.Beep, my key card goes and he frowns at it as the door pops open of its own accord. Tweed keeps watch while we slip inside the darkness and I run to the desk at the back of the classroom.

“There’s no one in here,” my accomplice shouts over the alarm but I’m already placing down my book to straighten the paperclip. Looming over the two-tiered cage of slender white bars, I soothe Stan as his huge pupil-less eyes peer up at me from inside a bed of cotton wool. Pushing the paperclip inside the tiny lock he only has because Keith tried to eat him once, I hook the release in just the right way for it to pop open and I rush to open the cage.

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