Chapter Twenty-Three

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                                                                      Behind Sanity 

                                                               Chapter Twenty-Three

                                                                                1 

                 It’s been weeks now, hasn’t it, Alice…

 November 25, 1873

 Today is my last day as Alice Liddell’s doctor, so this will be my last entry in this journal.  Though I would love to say that I have helped Alice, I cannot place claim on these words.  All I have done is caused her to become worse.  I have sat by, watching her drift further and further away from me and into the dark oblivion know as ‘Wonderland’.  I am turning her over to another doctor now.  Hopefully this new one will be able to help her.  More so than I was… 

 All along, I didn’t want to put her away again, unwilling to accept what I was seeing run its course before my very eyes.  I had hoped that she wouldn’t even need my help when I’d begun, but I was wrong, and I am regretful for it.

 Perhaps it is really all my fault to begin with.  Perhaps I awakened the thoughts of ‘Wonderland’ inside of her by my incessant questioning.  I can’t help but feel slightly guilty.  I just hope that perhaps there is still some shred of hope left for her.

                                                                                                                 - Johnathan A. Robertson

                                                                               2 

                “Alice Liddell?  I thought she was well,” said the echoing voice of a shadow as it drifted through the hallways at Rutledge’s.

                “Well?  Have you seen her? She’s a terrible wreck.  They moved her back into the asylum,” another replied.

                 “Is that so?  Fancy that…” 

                “Yes.  It’s been weeks.  Doctor Robertson has given her up.  That must have been discouraging to the poor girl.  Having a doctor tell you it’s useless.”

                 “Must be.”

                 “She won’t eat.  She hardly sleeps.  She refuses to bathe.  Her hair is matted and dirty.  Her skin is deathly white and she’s simply wasting away to skin and bone.  There are bruises and scars on her body from the bloodletting.  She won’t move.  She won’t come out of it.  There are bandages on her wrists where she’s clawed and bitten, trying to bring forth her own death.”

                 “And they haven’t found her a new doctor?”

                 “Not a permanent one.  Maybe soon another one will take her up.  She needs help.”

                 “Poor child…”

                 The shadows passed on.  Silence followed them out from the dark.

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