Mad -COMPLETED-

Hit Where it Hurts

Chapter One:

Hit Where it Hurts

***

I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people.

~Isaac Newton

***

Five Years Later:

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine,” I laugh at her reply. “The job’s going well. I’m learning a lot.” Another pause as I listen to her. “Yes, I’m getting enough to eat.”

After assurances of visiting sometime and letting her see the apartment soon, I hang up.

I have money in my pocket for the first time in a long time. I can’t think of bills or of saving, all I can think of is Alice. All I’ve ever been able to get her was stuffed toys from winning games at amusement parks. Now though…

I grin, toss on my coat, and head for the nearest book store. What novel did she say she wanted? I can’t recall, but I’m sure the clerk will help me.

The streets are packed with people returning from work, and taxis dodge in between cars like racing hornets. The bookstore is on the next street over, so I take my shortcut through a narrow alleyway. The sun is disappearing ahead of me, its last arrant rays dying the buildings and sidewalks with red.

I hum tunelessly, my hands in my pockets. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt truly content. That is, I felt great until I get ambushed.

I don’t see him until he’s behind me, the gun shoved deep in my back.

Of course, I think, the one time I have money on me I get mugged.

“Take it all, buddy. I love my life.” I’m pretty sure he won’t kill me. The gunshot could be heard on the busy street.

“You think I want money?” hisses a low, raspy voice.

“Uh…yeah,” I say, trying not to tremble with fear. Maybe I was mistaken.

“You’re strangely deluded,” there’s a sing-song lilt in his voice, a strangely familiar one. It calls up things I’ve deliberately forgotten, and I push them away.

“I like to think my opinions are based on hard, strong facts,” I say, stalling for time. “Usually, one gets mugged because the mugger wants money. You, however, seem to be a psychopath.”

The stranger laughs. I take a shuddery breath. If it is…but it can’t be, it can’t possibly be. He’s been gone for years. “I’ve been called that,” he says.

“For good reason, I assume. Okay, get it over with,” I say.

“Very well,” says the stranger casually. “Turn around.”

I do, and for a second, I do think it is Henry, but it isn’t. The face is too young and the figure too slight. He’s dressed in a ragged red hoody and ripped up jeans, the hood and a ball cap shading his face. He turns his chin at the right angle, and I stumble backward at what I see. Henry’s mad kaleidoscope eyes look out at me from a stranger’s face. This is his doing. I know it. I curse him silently.

“Henry, what have you done?” I whisper to myself.

“So you know him,” says the boy, gesticulating with the gun. His eyes have the mad fire I remember from Henry, and his voice the same rabid laughter, “You know him personally, the Mad-Hatter.”

“Mad-Hatter?” I say to myself, shaking my head.

“Indeed,” he sounds amused. “That means you’re extra special, special bullets for you.”

“Oh, God,” it’s a prayer. I want to sink to the ground but I keep my legs steady. My mind is scrambling for an escape, but there is none. This boy seems more in control then Henry, but I doubt that’ll save my life.

“You see, I’ve heard about you, too. When he’s sane, the Hatter, he loves you. When he’s mad, he speaks of destroying you. I’ll have to catch him in a mad moment, tell him what I’ve done. I’ll be rewarded,” explains the stranger. He takes out the bullets in his gun and replaces them with different ones. “It will be harder. He is sane most of the time now.”

“Why, Henry, why did you say anything?” I’m muttering to myself.

“See, one of Hatter’s minions made me what I am. I was normal before that, like you. But as soon as they got me, I didn’t exist. The humans don’t see you anymore,” he laughs bitterly. “It’s a half-world. But you can see me. Now I know why. You’re the Hatter’s blood.”

I’m sure these bullets will kill me the same as any other. I remember what Henry told me, I woke up with blood on my hands.

This boy is different than Henry. He’s crazy all right, but unlike Henry, he’s completely lucid. He isn’t having a fit.

The boy has finished replacing the bullets. “Stand facing me,” he orders.

“You’ve killed me Henry. I hope you know that.”

“You’re not dying,” says the boy with glee. I have to look away from his eyes, the multi-colored glittering madness pent up in his soul. He walks toward me, and I can’t move, my feet cemented to the ground. “Here,” he presses the gun into my chest, over my heart, “Here,” my left arm, on the bicep, “Here,” my other arm. “Here,” directly in my gut. Then he presses the gun to my forehead, between my eyebrows, and leans closer, “And here.”

I close my eyes, unable to confront those eyes when he’s so close. I can feel his breath. I can feel the madness like it’s leaking out of him.

“Those are the magic spots: heart, strength, soul, and mind. They change,” the boy backs away, the same glee in his voice, “You’ll never be the same. I’m waking up the monster.”

I am sick to my stomach now and so scared I can’t breathe. I hope he knows. I hope, somewhere, Henry knows what has happened to me and I hope he is remorseful. Yes, when sane, my brother could be remorseful.

And Alice…oh, Alice. I’ve never said it before but I hope she knows. I love her. Why haven’t I said it before? I love her.

The stranger aims carefully and pulls the trigger. That second is an infinite moment in time. I don’t see it fly toward me but I feel it hit. There is no pain, just the impact. I stumble backward. It’s my arms first, then my torso, and my heart. There is no pain and I’m not dead. I glance down at myself, there’s so much blood. I press my arm to my stomach, where the third bullet hit. My hands are warm with a sticky substance, blood and something else. Gold.

I feel the gun press between my eyebrows, and I close my eyes. He is crazy. I don’t know what he’s playing at, I don’t know how I’m still alive, but a bullet to the brain will kill me.

I feel the trigger being pulled and I feel it hit. It’s not an instant. I’m receding, and the last thing I see is my killer’s face. My sanity is gone in those last few seconds. And I see Henry’s eyes.

****

Hope you enjoy reading. More exciting parts to come!

I love writing fan fiction, but fantasy has always held an appeal for me, especially urban fantasy. Thank you Charles DeLint!

Please vote and comment.

Quote courtesy of BrainyQuote.com.