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Through the Looking Glass

A Short Story

by

Stephanie Rabig

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Stephanie Rabig on Smashwords

Through the Looking Glass

Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie J. Rabig

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Through the Looking Glass

She'd found the gun while she was looking for Narnia.

Her mother had been reading her The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe for a bedtime story, and she'd been fascinated with the idea of another world hiding somewhere in the normalcy of the house. So she'd poked into every nook and cranny-- closets first, naturally, since they didn't own a wardrobe.

She'd had to pull up a chair to get to the top shelf of her mother's closet, and then put a box on top of the chair to reach the very back. Her mother would've lectured her for a month if she'd seen her.

The gun had fascinated her. It had seemed such a strange thing for her calm, always-smiling mother to possess. Finding it had been even more fantastic than finding Narnia-- she'd been half-expecting to stumble onto a different world, after all. This was something completely new.

She'd tried to picture her mother walking into a gun shop and buying it, couldn't. Had finally decided that it was something left over from her father, who'd traveled on to somewhere else a couple of months before she was born. She'd never gotten any answers as to exactly where he'd gone. Maybe to Heaven, maybe to a big city, or maybe he'd found his way to one of the magical places her mother was always reading her stories about.

She would hold the gun and try to picture his face. She had red hair where her mother had black; her father had to have red hair. Both she and her mother had brown eyes-- no clue to his features there. Her mother was tiny and was always telling her that she grew like a weed; maybe her father was tall.

Alice knew her mother would've panicked to walk in and see her holding that gun, but it had always been a source of comfort. Until the night when she'd shoved the chair in front of the closet, thrown the box on top of it, scrambling up so fast she'd toppled to the floor and immediately jumped up and started to climb again, sobbing--

Shaking her head, she finished bagging up the order she'd been working on. Tom gave her an odd look and then went back to talking to Kimberly, who was eagerly chattering about the gun her father had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

She didn't think of the gun in the closet every time someone mentioned a firearm-- she'd go insane during hunting season if that was the case-- but sometimes. . .

Giving the customer her usual 'happy to be of service' fake smile as she handed over the burger and fries, she then got to work on the next order, wishing that one of her coworkers would actually talk to her for once.

Tom was an artist: she'd tried her hand at drawing during high school, and though she hadn't had any real aptitude for it, she still loved looking at other people's work, loved discussing the craft.

Kimberly was such an outdoors girl Alice was surprised she hadn't convinced their manager to let her wear her hunter's vest in place of her uniform: though she hadn't held on to her mother's love of fantasy stories, she fondly remembered the nature walks they used to take; still took them herself at least once a week.

Nina was pregnant: she'd made most of her money in high school through babysitting, loved kids.

But none of them really spoke to her. Not out of hostility or anything, they just . . . didn't.

She'd tried once or twice to join in their conversations, but they'd always looked so surprised that she was actually saying something that she'd backed off again. She liked to think of herself as a friendly person, but the truth was that she was pretty quiet until she fully knew and trusted someone. And by the time that happened, they'd gotten used to thinking of her as a wallflower.

Didn't quite know how to break that. She remembered one of the most popular girls at her school, Maryann Hartley, and how she'd seemed to be able to strike up a conversation with anyone, anytime. She'd even talked to her a few times.

Luckily, she'd managed to not make an utter fool out of herself. Like all of the other popular kids, Maryann had been attractive. But unlike some of the others, she'd been kind, and Alice had harbored a crush on her for her freshman and sophomore years, until the older girl had graduated and headed off for greener pastures.

She'd been realistic about the chances of them ever getting involved with each other, but she had fantasized about them at least becoming friends, especially on the days Maryann had actually spoken to her.

But of course that hadn't happened, and she'd returned to sitting in the back of every classroom and finishing her homework, wishing that she could just open her mouth and talk for once. She didn't mean to seem standoffish, but if she tried to explain--

If she tried to explain, she'd trip over her words and her coworkers would go from thinking she was quiet to thinking she was nuts.

Now don't start that, she told herself. Besides, it probably had nothing to do with her. They just knew each other from high school and were staying within their comfort zones, that was all.

Glancing at the clock again, she smiled. Almost time for her to leave.

On the walk back to her apartment, she noted that another 'for sale' sign had been put up. The small house could've been described as cozy once upon a time, now the paint was peeling and the yard was in disarray. It still looked better than the other houses on the block.

One of these days, she thought idly, she'd pick up a winning lottery ticket and move to a huge mansion and spend her days sipping margaritas and ordering the butler around.

She grinned, wondering if rich people even had butlers anymore. The word had always struck her as so amusingly old-fashioned.

Then she waved to Sean and Michael, the twins who lived across the road. They were in their driveway playing basketball again, which meant they made a few shots before one of them tackled the other and started a wrestling match on the lawn. They'd apparently been playing for a while today, judging from the grass stains all over their shorts and tank tops.

They waved back, and then Michael grinned mischievously and bounced the basketball off the back of his brother's head. Sean whirled around and quickly got him in a headlock.

She took out her key, the sound of their shouts and laughter filling the air behind her. Then she realized that something looked wrong.

When she couldn't put her finger on it, she frowned and went into her apartment. Nothing looked out of the--

Her air conditioner. The window unit was gone.

“You've got to be kidding me,” she muttered, inspecting the empty window like a close enough look would make it magically reappear.

Shaking her head, she walked into the bathroom and took off her uniform, washing her face and brushing some of the greasy smell out of her hair before she put on shorts and a thin t-shirt. Then she walked over to her chair and plopped down, turning on her small TV. At least whoever had snatched her a.c. hadn't decided there was anything else in her apartment worth taking.

Copper, she remembered. The other day Tom had been saying something about how his dad had been getting a ton of calls about people who'd had their air conditioners stolen because the thieves were after the copper.

No sense adding one more call to that, she decided. She hadn't had the stupid thing insured, anyway. Couldn't pay to replace it.

And no sense reporting it to the landlord, either. It wasn't something that had come with the apartment, so Keith wouldn't want to be bothered with it. Half the time he didn't want to be bothered with things that had come with the apartment.

Getting up again, she opened the window, disappointed when only muggy air greeted her. No breeze.

Oh well. She'd watch a movie and eventually forget about it.

Less than twenty minutes into the film, she realized she'd been kidding herself.

Plenty of time to roast tonight, she thought. Right now she'd take a walk.

She closed the window again-- yes, it would be stuffy when she got back, but there was no point in basically saying 'hi burglars, come on in'-- and then went to the sink, refilling an old water bottle. She had about five bucks to last her until payday three days from now, and didn't want to spend any of it on a bottle of water on the way to the trails.

The trails were the best thing about her apartment. Less than six blocks away was the result of some town beautification, back-to-nature type project from several years ago. Hadn't been kept up very well-- the trails themselves were overgrown, and most of the little decorative wooden bridges contained at least one rotten board-- but she didn't care. She could go in there and forget about everything except the color of the sunlight filtering through the leaves and the smooth texture of the streambed rocks.

Her hopes of a peaceful walk ended when she was several paces in and she heard a baby start to wail.

Not a big deal, she thought. The kid's parent would give him or her a pacifier or a bottle or a toy, and she could focus on the birds chirping again.

Knowing that the sound would go away soon helped her put it out of her mind, and she walked on, letting her usual worries fade, trimming everything down to just her and the trees and--

And that baby was still crying.

She rolled her eyes. Unlike most people, she didn't mind children screaming in stores or restaurants; she expected to encounter them there. But to hear that reminder of civilization and other people out here was deeply irritating.

Maybe she should just turn around. Obviously she wasn't alone in thinking of the shady woods as a sanctuary from today's heat. She could start up her movie again and really try to concentrate this time. Besides, it'd be sundown within a couple of hours and then the temperature would drop.

The shrieking got more high-pitched, and a hint of worry edged into Alice's annoyance. What if something was wrong?

Everything's fine, she quickly thought. Few things more normal than a kid having a temper tantrum.

She turned and took a few steps toward the beginning of the trail, and then turned right back around again, starting toward the crying.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “You're going to find some kid teasing his little brother and then you'll be stuck making small talk with the parents. . .”

Then she rounded a curve and saw a wiggling bundle in the middle of the path. Even with the sound of the shrieking, it took her a few seconds to realize that there really was a baby lying there on the trail.

Not only was it alone, but it looked like it was wearing a snowsuit.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, running forward and quickly scooping up the red-faced child, fumbling with the weird button-clasps on the thick material.

“It's okay, it's okay,” she repeated. She'd certainly heard of parents abandoning their babies, but that was at places like hospitals or churches, not out in the middle of nowhere. But this wasn't abandonment, not really. Leaving the kid here in thick clothes in this weather was slow homicide. If they'd wanted to kill the baby, they should've just done it quickly instead of torturing him or her like this; what if she hadn't shown up?

But she had, she thought. That was the important thing. “It's all right. See, outfit's off. And I'm going to find your mommy or daddy and beat the everloving hell out of them, yes I am,” she said, keeping her voice sing-songy as she rocked the baby.

He or she was wearing a dark gray cloth diaper instead of the usual disposable kind, and she decided to go ahead and take that off, too, since the kid's face was still red. She wasn't entirely sure if that was from the heat or the extended screaming, but since the skin still felt warm. . .

It was a boy, she discovered a moment later. She set him down on the discarded snowsuit and opened her water bottle, giving the child a quick bath. The water was lukewarm instead of actually cold, but maybe that was for the best. She remembered something about how people with frostbite shouldn't go near really hot water; maybe people who were overheated shouldn't go near ice cold?

Hopefully, anyway.

She lightly wrapped the cloth diaper back around him, then picked him up again and continued to rock him. A couple of moments later he finally stopped crying, and she smiled. “There you go. Now, let's--”

What in the world was she supposed to do with him? Take him to the cops, or the hospital?

The cops, she decided. They were closer, and since she was on foot--

No, she wasn't thinking straight. Go back to her apartment, call 911, and let the cops come to her.

And then she froze. There was another puddle on the ground, a short distance away from the moisture from her water bottle. Only this puddle didn't look like water.

Cradling the child in one arm, she hesitantly reached out and touched the liquid, raising her hand.

Her fingertip was stained red.

Immediately, her rage at the child's parents morphed into a gut-deep fear. She hadn't stumbled onto an abandonment, but onto an attempted murder.

Or maybe a full murder. Maybe the killer was carting off the mother or father's body right now and then was planning to come back for the kid and he'd find her sitting here--

She got to her feet, but instead of racing back toward town, she found herself looking around for more bloodstains.

This is exactly why the psycho killers in the movies always get the heroine, she told herself. Because they're never smart enough to run.

Spotting another streak of blood on the ground, she followed the trail, starting to tell herself that this was the dumbest idea she'd ever had in her life. But she was barely able to finish the thought before she saw the foot.

Alice took a step back, closing her eyes tightly. That was a dead body hidden by those thick bushes, she just knew it, and the last thing she ever wanted to see--

But maybe whoever it was wasn't dead. And if that was the case, she couldn't just run off.

Oh, yes she could. Hurry home, call 911, and let the cops or morticians or whoever deal with it. The people who came would definitely be more able to handle dead people than she was.

“I have to put you down for a minute, okay?” she murmured. She didn't trust herself not to freak out when she saw whatever had been done to this person, and she didn't want to risk dropping the baby.

She moved back to the snowsuit, pausing when she remembered it was damp. Well, a little bit of moisture would be better then putting him in the dirt, she thought. Once the child was down, she hesitantly approached the body again. Staring at the foot for a few seconds, she started to look around for a stick, and then dismissed the idea. If she'd been murdered in the woods, she wouldn't want somebody poking at her with a stick like she was a smushed raccoon on the side of the highway.

Reaching out, she nudged the foot with her palm. “Hello?”

Nothing. Now what? Did she try to drag this poor person out, or try to shove into the bushes to see what had happened? If the person was dead then this was a crime scene and she shouldn't disturb it but if--

Then the foot pulled inward as she heard a groan, and Alice fell back with a short shriek, landing hard on a tree root.

She got up, rubbing her butt, deciding that she'd be laughing hysterically at the picture she made right now if it wasn't for the fact she was about two seconds away from utter panic. And the baby was crying again. She'd probably startled him with her yelp. “It's okay,” she told him as she re-approached the bushes. “Hey. You all right?”

Another groan.

Resigning herself to seeing something that'd give her nightmares for a year, Alice crouched down and felt around under the bushes, nearly falling back again when the person grabbed her hand.

No, this is a good thing, she thought. Strong enough to do that means maybe strong enough to walk.

“Hi, I'm Alice, pleased to meet you,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Glad you're awake and all, but can you maybe loosen your grip? Losing circulation over here. Okay, or not. I'm going to pull you out of there, all right? On the count of three. One, two, three.”

She braced herself as best she could and tugged back. The person let out a weak cry, but slid toward her. There was blood soaking through the thick material covering her right leg.

Oh man, she thought. Upper leg, wasn't that where the femoral artery--

No, if that thing was hit you bled out in a matter of minutes.

Okay, so it might not be the femoral but it still didn't look good. She tugged again, and on the third time the woman came into sight. Her face was scrunched up in pain, there were leaves and dirt in her hair, and her heavy clothes were a dusty mess. Still, she looked pretty young-- probably not much older than she was. She glanced around again, half-expecting to see some crazed killer with wild hair and a huge butcher knife standing further on down the trail.

“What happened?”

The woman didn't answer, just pressed her trembling hands to her wounded leg and winced.

“You're right, never mind, you can answer questions later. Can you walk? I don't own a cell phone and I don't want to leave you here. My apartment's not far, okay? I can help you.”

“Sayvi?” she whispered.

Crap. If she didn't speak English-- “What?”

“Where's Sayvi?”

“Huh? Ohhh, the kid! The baby's fine, don't worry. In fact, he'll probably be wailing again in a minute if I don't go pick him up.”

“I want to hold him.”

“Ma'am, your hands are shaking really bad and--” Then she opened her eyes, and Alice found herself stumbling back again, though this time she managed not to fall.

The woman's eyes were completely black.

Could burst blood vessels do that? She remembered hearing about people bursting blood vessels in their eyes and the idea had always seriously freaked her out, but she didn't know what it looked like when that happened. “Can you see?”

“Of course I can see!” she snapped, peering around her, her expression gentling somewhat when she caught sight of the baby.

“Well how am I supposed to know?” Alice asked. “Your eyes are--”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that! What in the--” Another grimace, and she decided to delay the question. “Come on, let me help you up.”

When she was ten, she remembered wishing for something fantastic to happen-- finding out she was actually the princess of a faraway kingdom, learning she had a superpower. The usual fantasies. But she'd been a kid then, silly things like that could be forgiven. And she'd grown out of that phase quickly.

Having something this weird actually happen, nine years later, was either a sign of sudden severe mental illness or . . . no, had to be the illness. Not really another explanation for something like this.

For someone who looked to be about her size, the woman was surprisingly heavy. Or maybe not so surprisingly, wasn't like she helped injured people to their feet every day. They finally managed to get her to a nearly-standing position, and Alice helped her limp over to the closest tree.

“Hang on to that for a minute,” she said. “I'll get the baby.”

“Coming. Need to go through.”

Please tell me she doesn't have a head injury, too, Alice thought. “What?”

One palm pressed against the bark, the woman raised the other hand to her forehead, rubbing it for a few seconds before she slowly went on. “They're coming. I need to go through another Door. Now.”

She didn't focus on that business about another door, couldn't after the first two words. “Who's coming? The people who did this to you?” she asked, scooping up the child. “Aw man, I knew I should've volunteered to work an extra shift today. C'mon, let's get going. We don't want to be here when they come back. Don't think you can do much fighting right now and I don't exactly have a black belt.”

“You always . . . talk this much?”

“Only when I'm about to have a panic attack,” Alice said, getting her free arm around the woman's waist.

The normally short walk back to her apartment seemed to take an eternity. Every crack in the sidewalk seemed to catch either her or the other woman's feet, and the sun had gone from uncomfortable to completely unbearable.

At least she was dressed for the weather, she thought. She was surprised the woman hadn't passed out from heatstroke yet. Maybe she should've tried to get her to take off the coat before they left the woods. But she'd been having enough trouble moving already; Alice had worried that if she expended much energy struggling out of that, she wouldn't be able to make it to her apartment.

Either way, decision made, so quit fretting about it, she thought, as they finally managed to reach her door. “Okay, ma'am, I need to get my key out of my pocket. Can you stand up for just a few seconds?”

She nodded once, and Alice carefully let go of her and quickly snatched up her key. She'd just turned it in the lock when the woman toppled over. Alice cursed and threw open the door, hurrying inside and setting the baby down on the floor. Good thing she'd vacuumed a couple of days ago.

“So I guess that answer was actually no,” she said, helping her to her feet again. She couldn't tell anything from the look in her eyes-- they seemed too much like shark's eyes, and that unnerved her-- but her face looked slack. “You okay? You feeling dizzy?” she asked, shutting the door behind them. “Ma'am? Answer me, huh?”

“I'm Wendy, not Mam.”

“Wendy,” she repeated. “Okay. I'm Alice. Did I already tell you that? And hey, you didn't answer me. You feeling dizzy?” she asked, leading her over to her chair.

“I am fine. We need to leave."

"Actually, we need to look at your leg."

"I said no."

Note to self, Alice thought. Blood loss makes people cranky. "You can't go anywhere without at least a bandage. If I go get some medicine and stuff, can you get your pants off? I'd offer to help, but I haven't even bought you dinner.”

Again with the narrowed eyes. Apparently she wasn't so dazed as to not recognize a horrible joke. “Sorry,” she told her. “Seriously, I'll be right back.”

She hurried into the bathroom, knowing even as she opened the medicine cabinet that she didn't have what was needed. She had band aids and Tylenol and Pepto Bismol, not heavy-duty bandages and sterile equipment.

Oh man. What if she needed stitches? She couldn't even stand to get a shot, the thought of pushing a needle into someone else's skin--

Maybe she should call 911 after all.

Then she shook her head. Remember her eyes? she thought. People at a hospital would freak if they saw her. And unlike all those mystery novel characters, she didn't just happen to know a doctor who'd take care of a gunshot wound-- or whatever that was-- without notifying the cops.

And Wendy was already talking too much about having to leave . . . she doubted she'd like the idea of getting stuck in a hospital. She'd have to deal with this herself.

“Think, Alice,” she muttered, taking a couple of deep breaths as she stared at herself in the mirror. “You can do this.”

First things first, she thought. Clean the wound. Then you can worry about whether or not stitches are needed.

She grabbed some washcloths and turned on the warm water in the bathtub, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of large bowls. One to clean the wound, and another for rinsing.

What was she supposed to use to help clean? Would hand soap work?

Better disinfectant than nothing, she thought, pressing the small handle a couple of times and swirling the soap around in the water with one of the washcloths.

When she walked back into the main room, Wendy was no longer in the chair. She was lying on the floor next to Sayvi, giving the child a weak smile as he waved his hands wildly and squeaked at her. Her pants and coat were folded next to the chair.

She'd actually taken time to fold them, Alice thought, shaking her head. Most of the time she didn't fold up her clothes when she was feeling fine.

“I'm going to go ahead and clean this up--”

“I can.”

“If you're sure,” Alice said, setting the bowls of water down next to her. “And I've got a couple of clean towels-- I'll get those so you can use them as bandages.” And some food, she thought. She could surely use some food after that kind of blood loss. Or at least something to drink.

She brought her the towels, and then went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Unfortunately, her supplies were getting low, but she had part of a half gallon of orange juice left, and a few cans of Pepsi.

Go with the orange juice, she thought. She'd just gotten down a glass when she heard a thump from the other room.

She hurried back, finding that the baby was still waving his arms, but Wendy was prone on the floor. The wound looked cleaner, and the washcloth from the rinsing bowl was on the floor next to her limp hand.

Alice picked up the washcloth and went to get a clean one and some towels, then finished rinsing off the wound. Probably for the best that she'd passed out, she thought. Least she wouldn't have to feel all this.

The wound wasn't incredibly deep, fortunately, but it was long. Looked like a knife wound, maybe. At least she wasn't stuck trying to remove a bullet.

She awkwardly tied one of the towels around her leg, choosing a white one so that it'd be easy to tell when or if the blood soaked through. Then she got a pillow from her bed and put it under Wendy's head, and turned her attention to Sayvi.

“Looks like it's just you and me for a little bit, kid,” she said, picking him up and walking around with him for a moment before she sat down in her chair.

Less than an hour later he started fussing. Alice walked around with him again, trying to figure out what to do. She didn't have formula, no money to buy any. Maybe Wendy had some money. But she didn't feel right going through her pockets while she was unconscious. Her aunt lived an hour and a half away; even if she'd loan her some money she wouldn't get here in time.

She did go to the corner market frequently. If she could find one of the nicer cashiers, maybe he or she would pay for a can of formula for her and then she could go back on payday--

“Give him to me.”

Wendy's voice startled her so much she nearly tripped. She sat down next to the other woman and watched as she dug through the pockets of her discarded coat, taking out a small silver can and a bottle. She poured the formula-- at least she guessed that was what it was, there seemed to be a hint of blue to it-- into the bottle and then took Sayvi. The baby settled immediately once he started to drink, and Alice got another towel from the bathroom, putting it on Wendy's shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. “And I'm sorry about my earlier behavior. I don't remember all of it, but I know I was short with you.”

“Don't worry about it,” Alice said. Once she was done feeding the baby, she spoke again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Better, yes. Soon we'll be able to go.”

“Look, whoever was following you has no way of knowing where you are.”

“There are only so many Doors to open.”

“What's all this about doors?”

Instead of answering, Wendy gestured to her bookshelf. “Can you bring some of those over here?”

“Sure. Can you answer my question?”

“I'm trying to think of how to do that,” she said, as Alice brought her a couple of stacks of books. She brushed her hand over each cover, her expression changing depending on the book she touched. A part of her wanted to take them away, put them back on the shelf where they belonged. The only people who'd ever touched those books before now had been her and her mother.

“Umm . . . what are you doing?”

“Reading. It has been some time since I've had a chance to read.”

“Okay,” she muttered. “Look, no offense, but--”

“And those?” Wendy asked, scooting the stacks of books aside. “They're picture recordings?” When Alice just gave her a blank look, she continued. “Records of people acting out stories?”

“They're DVDs. So yeah, I guess so,” she said, bringing her the small stack. Wendy opened each case, touched the silver disc inside. “Let me guess. Now you're watching movies?”

Wendy grinned. “This one's handsome, isn't he?”

She glanced at the box, shrugged. “I guess so,” she muttered uncomfortably, reminded of too many times when other girls at school had made comments about various actors or boys in their class, and how for the longest time she'd had no idea how to respond without either lying about how she felt or making herself an immediate target. “Seriously, this has been a weird enough day already. . .”

“I will explain. I just like to familiarize myself with more of your world's stories when I can, and thought I could do that while I was thinking.”

“'Your world'?” she squeaked. “Oh my god, you're an alien, aren't you? That's what's wrong with your eyes.”

“There is nothing wrong with my eyes.”

“You didn't deny being an alien.”

“I'm not an alien.”

“Well, that clears things up. And me without a stiff drink,” she said. “Okay. Explain.”

“I'm not an alien, I'm from this world. Just a different version of it.”

“You still lost me.”

"My eyes. I . . . I got sick a while back, and it changed my sight. When I woke up I didn't remember much, but I could see differently. I could see the Doors."

“So there could be a door right in front of me and I wouldn't know.”

“Right.”

And here she was, sitting on the floor in front of her TV, talking to a pretty woman with shark's eyes about interdimensional doors. She had to have tripped over a rock while she was out taking her walk and right now she was actually hooked up to fifty tubes at the hospital.

“Unfortunately, there isn't one in front of you,” Wendy said. “We might have to go back to the place you found us.”

She shook her head. “No, bad idea. If someone's following you, won't they be waiting there?”

“Possibly. But we can't stay here. I don't want to give them time to put a guard at every nearby Door I might go through. There are three Doors nearby.”

“Three? That's good, isn't it?”

“They're grouped together near where we came through. The chance that there's not at least one person there waiting. . .”

“Why don't you just wait until they're gone?”

“Or wait until they send through even more.” She put the map back into her pocket. Then she carefully picked up Sayvi.

“Well, what about the next nearest door?”

“Over a hundred miles away. Do you know how we can get that far, looking as we do?”

She sighed. “No.”

“That's why I chose this Door, because of the close grouping of others. Didn't count on passing out before I could get to one of them.” She shook her head. “A moot point now. Thank you for your help, Alice.”

“I really should see you off.”

“No thank you. It's best if you don't get involved.”

“Too late for that.”

“I don't want you endangering yourself further.”

“So I'm supposed to send a person who can barely walk on her own, and a baby?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Let me just get a couple of things. If we're going to be fighting somebody I can at least bring a kitchen knife. . .”

She grabbed a knife and set it down on the table, then looked around her cupboards for anything else she might need to take.

Just go, she thought. You're only walking a few blocks.

Wasn't she?

Startled and more than a little disturbed at the thought, she quickly shut the cupboard door and hurried back to the other room, the knife in her belt. Alice eyed the weapon skeptically.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing with that?”

“Yep. Pointy end goes in the other guy.”

“No jokes. Have you ever hurt anyone?”

She opened the door. “Been in a fight or two,” she said, pitching her voice to what she hoped was an appropriately casual tone.

“How bad?”

“Gave a black eye and got one, some other bruises,” she said, getting on Wendy's wounded side and helping her out.

“Were these people you traded bruises with trying to kill you?”

She wished momentarily that she could say yes, if only so Wendy would take her seriously. But while the fights had been far from playful, neither had her opponents actually been trying to take her life. “No,” she murmured.

“Then I will take that, and you take Sayvi. If we encounter anyone, run.”

“But I--” At the look the other woman gave her, she reluctantly nodded and took the baby, holding him well out of the way as Wendy reached over and slid the knife out of her belt. “So you . . . you have killed people, then?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

Wendy glanced over at her, gave her a half-smile. “Wondering if the people who're after me are justified?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Good. You're not quite as naïve as I first feared.”

“Thank you, I think,” she muttered, looking around as they made their way down the sidewalk as quickly as possible. That was one of the few good things about living in this neighborhood . . . people normally didn't pay attention to anything that didn't directly concern them. Which was something she wouldn't have put into the 'plus' column this morning. “Why did you end up here?”

“To pass through this world is one thing. To seek actual sanctuary here is another. I thought I'd found a safe place for Darei.” She paused to rest again, a pained expression crossing her face. “It was an ambush.”

“And this 'Darei'--”

“I couldn't protect her.”

“I'm sorry.”

“As am I. Sayvi is her son. Hush now.”

They'd reached the woods.

For the first time since she'd started coming here, she felt afraid as she walked into the shadows. Sayvi squeaked, and she muttered, “Shh” an instant before she realized how stupid that was. Well, at least he wasn't wailing.

As if picking up on her thought, Sayvi started to cry.

“Murphy's Law in action,” she muttered.

Wendy gave her a puzzled look. “What?”

“Basically it means 'if anything can go wrong, it will'.”

“Seems true enough,” Wendy said. “But then, we aren't dead, so I don't suppose things have gone too wrong.”

“If you were going to be here longer, I'd explain the “I'll be right back” horror-movie rule.”

“Here's the first Door,” Wendy said, looking around once more before she put the knife in her belt and held out her arms for Sayvi.

She hesitated for a few seconds, and then spoke quickly. “Take me with you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I can't.”

“Why not? Obviously you're not the only one who can go through,” she said, nodding at the baby.

“Just because you can doesn't mean you should.”

A part of her wanted to listen to the argument, just hand Sayvi over and say, “It's been weird. Have a good life” and then go back home and try to pretend this had just been a heat-related hallucination. She could go back to work and make her monthly call to her aunt and uncle and everything would be normal.

But she felt a curiosity that she hadn't felt since the days when she'd searched for Narnia in her old home's closets, remembered her mother reading her bedtime stories and then singing her a song before she tucked her in.

Her mother would go.

She wasn't sure she could explain that to Wendy, though, and despite the glimpse she'd gotten of her when she'd been more lighthearted, looking over her books and making flirtatious comments about an actor, she was afraid that she'd laugh at her if she did try to explain.

“Well, what if one of those people after you is waiting on the other side of the door instead?” she asked. “Or if something else happens? You want to try to fight while you're holding him? Besides, if you pass out again--”

“I won't do that.”

“Did you mean to the first time?”

“It wouldn't feel right to take you away from your life.”

She laughed. “Did you see much evidence of a life in that apartment? Look, I could give you a big explanation about how much of a loser I am, but you said something about needing to hurry?”

“I might not be able to bring you back.”

“I wouldn't offer if that worried me,” she said, hoping the other woman would believe the acceptance in her voice. At least she was still holding Sayvi; that concealed the fact that her hands were trembling.

Wendy looked around again, then finally nodded. “All right.” She stretched out her hand, touching it to what seemed to be nothing. Then a bright outline formed, expanding out until a tall oval of white light nearly made her cover her eyes.

“And you're sure this is safe?” she asked.

“Second thoughts?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Nope. Of course not.” Help me, she thought, resisting the urge to just turn and run as Wendy stepped into the oval and disappeared.

“Come on,” she said, her voice drifting back and making Alice jump. “It won't stay open forever.”

Last chance to do the smart thing and just hand the kid over and leave, she thought. Then she took a deep breath and stepped through.

She wasn't quite sure what she was expecting-- heat; cold; colored lights darting all around her-- but it was perfectly normal. Which was disturbing in and of itself, she thought. Going into another dimension shouldn't feel exactly like stepping into the kitchen for a midnight snack.

Looking back, she saw just the oval of light. No hint of the forest they'd just left. Then the light grew dimmer, and disappeared.

She took a deep breath, and finally turned around.

****

This is an excerpt from the upcoming novel Faerietale. Please visit my website, http://www.changeyourstars8.com/ for updates on this project.

Also, my Smashwords page-- http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Stephanie81 – has more fiction, much of it free to download.