A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I’d do individual responses, but it’s almost 2AM and I feel lazy as sin. Suffice it to say that I really do appreciate it. And, just so you know, this chapter has not been thoroughly proofread or edited. Sorry for any errors. I’ll look it over again when I’m more awake.

xoxoxoxox

Alice

Chapter 2: What’s in a Name?

xoxoxoxox

Abbie awoke as if from a long dream. Her head felt full, as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Slowly she became aware of two things: one, that she was freezing, and, two, that she must’ve had one hell of a nightmare. She could still feel the flickers of ice-fire pain from the mirror like phantom fingertips running over her skin.

Rolling onto her side with a groan, she reached out a hand to feel for her goose down comforter. Years ago it had been he mother’s and she slept with it every night--summer, winter, spring, or fall. Her eyebrows drew together in consternation, however, when instead of the soft material of the comforter her hand encountered something cool and moist.

The task of forcing her eyelids open felt immense, but she managed it eventually. The sight that greeted her sleepy gaze drew a gasp from her lips and she jerked upright, instantly awake.

The sky was green. Not the dull greenish-black of an impending storm, but the intense, clear green of an emerald.

As fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across a lemon-yellow sun, Abbie blinked several times in an attempt to banish the imagine. Her efforts were in vain. It refused to go away, even after she closed her eyes and counted to ten.

After a long moment, she opened her eyes and looked around, curious despite herself. She was sitting on the grassy bank of a vast, shimmering lake. The water was a pure, brilliant blue, like sapphires lit by sunlight, and was placid enough to cast back her reflection with perfect clarity.

Reaching out, she touched the water with a timid finger. It was cold and wet against her skin, like real water, but she knew it couldn’t be. Water this color didn’t exist. It had to be a dream. That explained it. She was still asleep.

The screech of a bird overhead drew her gaze and she looked up, spotting a large, black crow as it streaked across the sky toward a cluster of trees. No, not just a cluster, she realized, a forest. The trees--tall with leaves the color of fire--seemed to span for miles in both directions.

Carefully she got to her feet, drawing her oversized sweater closer to her body. It was cold, but eerily calm. Besides the bird, which had already disappeared, nothing stirred, not even the leaves of the trees. Behind her the blue-gem water of the lake stretched toward the horizon, and before her the forest loomed dark and imposing. There was no clear path, but it was evident that the only way to reach the spot where she had lain was either through the forest or by boat, though she could see no sign of land across the mirror-glass surface of the lake.

If this was a dream, she wasn’t about to stand around here until she woke up. If it wasn’t…well, if that was the case, she needed to find the man in white. He had gone into that corridor with the mirror. Perhaps he had come here, to this strange dreamland. And, if so, perhaps he knew a way out.

For a moment she worried her lower lip with her teeth, eyeing the forest. It looked frightening. Who knew what animals might be lurking inside? But she supposed that they could get her just as easily where she currently stood. She was out in the open, completely defenseless, and the switchblade she’d had in her pocket seemed to have vanished. Maybe she had dropped it when she first touched the mirror. It was hard to remember exactly what had happened then, except for the brutal shock of the cold-fire pain.

Hesitant steps took her into the dim confines of the forest, her work shoes providing little traction on the slippery grass. The air was colder here, the leaves of the tall trees effectively blocking out the majority of the sunlight. Bright rays managed to filter through the branches in some places, shining onto the ground like spotlights. Those meager shafts of light did little to dispel the darkness as the forest grew deeper, and, as slow steps carried her forward, she felt a fine tremor run through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

Something about the forest terrified her. It all seemed so foreign. She had grown up in the concrete jungle of the city. Dark forests like this had only existed in fairytales. She’d never even been to camp or been any closer to nature than the tiny park across town. The only wild animals she ever came across were squirrels and the rats and mangy cats that loitered in the alley behind the diner. She could only hazard a guess as to what sort of animals might be prowling around in the depths of this forest. Wolves, coyotes, maybe even some bears, and God only knew what else.

Suddenly, she felt like Dorothy must have felt after waking up in Oz, and a tiny smile curved her lips in spite of herself.

“Lions and tigers and bears,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m definitely not in Kansas, that’s for sure.” But where exactly she was she had no idea.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come and she forced herself to keep moving. The forest was silent save for the sound of twigs snapping beneath her shoes.

“This can’t be a dream,” she said aloud. Her last memory was of leaving the diner and following the man in white. She didn’t remember going home or getting into bed. And, besides all that, it felt real--in a terrifying, surreal sort of way.

The trees thickened, the air grew colder, the forest darker, and still she walked. How long had it been? It felt like hours since she’d awoken by the lake. Would she ever reach the other side? Would she be forced to keep walking until she collapsed from exhaustion? Perhaps she would starve to death and her corpse would provide nourishment to the animals she was certain lived in this forest. Thankfully, she had yet to come across any, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep moving. If something leapt out of the trees, would her legs have the strength to run from it? She thought not.

She had been walking so long that her feet throbbed and she could scarcely remember where she had started when the smell of smoke hit her nostrils. Surprised, she paused, inhaling deeply, then started in the direction it was coming from. Was that…? Yes, it was. She’d recognize that smell anywhere.

Her steps eventually brought her into a small clearing and she slowed to a stop, blinking dazedly at the sight that greeted her.

A grizzled old man sat on what appeared to be a giant mushroom. He had long, stringy, salt and pepper hair that fell passed his thin shoulders and bushy black eyebrows drawn straight over striking green eyes, like two decisive brushstrokes. He was sucking on the end of a hookah pipe--she recognized it immediately, since Jesse had shown her the one he kept hidden in his closet only about two weeks ago--and he blew out a puff of smoke as she stared at him in silence.

“Who are you?” he asked after a long moment, his voice low and sleepy as he lazily puffed out a ring of smoke.

She stared at him, temporarily taken aback by the question. Several seconds passed before she could find her voice, but when she opened her mouth she discovered that, strangely enough, she couldn’t think of an answer. Or, more accurately, she couldn’t remember the answer. When she tried to think of her name, she simply drew a blank. It was like staring into a black television screen.

“Who are you?” he repeated, the mouthpiece of the hookah pipe clenched tightly between his teeth.

She frowned, thinking hard. “Umm…”

“Who are you?” he asked again, green eyes flicking over her in a quick appraisal.

“I…can’t remember,” she finally forced out, shifting awkwardly in place.

“You don’t know who you are?” the old man said quizzically, arching a dark eyebrow. “How can you exist, if you don’t know who you are?”

Abruptly, she felt irritated and her frown deepened. “Why should I tell you who I am? Who are you?”

The old man merely looked at her and continued to puff on his pipe. “You’re a forgetful girl. Why should I tell you my name? If you can’t remember your own name, you certainly won’t remember mine.”

“I do remember my name,” she protested hotly, but the words sounded like a lie, even to her own ears.

“What is it then?” he asked, crossing frail arms over his chest. “Come out with it.”

“It’s…it’s…well, I know it starts with an ‘A’…” She trailed off, feeling stupid. She could clearly envision the first letter of her name, but anything beyond that was a mystery. The harder she tried to think about it, the more it eluded her, and the worse her head hurt. Soon a ferocious migraine was throbbing in her temples and she was forced to give up with a pained groan.

“Poor child,” the old man said, and for a moment she could have sworn his green eyes had darkened with sympathy. “You must have a name. If you can’t remember yours, I’ll give you a new one.” Placing the hookah pipe to the side, he gestured her closer.

Swallowing thickly, she obeyed, crossing the space between them until she was standing directly in front of the massive mushroom.

“Hold out your hand,” he commanded as he fished around in his pocket for something.

She followed his instructions without knowing why. But, then, none of this made sense. The mushroom he was sitting on was too big to be real, and even if it had been real, she knew a mushroom was too delicate to support the weight of a full-grown man.

“Here you are.” Reaching out, he dropped a tiny jar into her hand. “Keep these with you. The blue pills will make you smaller; the red pills will make you larger.”

“But why--?”

“Henceforth you shall be called Alice,” the old man said with a nod. “Run along now, Alice. Nightfall is coming. You really shouldn’t be in the forest when it arrives.”

“Alice,” she repeated slowly. Somehow, despite being unable to remember her name, she knew that wasn’t it. “Is this a dream? Do you know my real name?”

“This is not a dream.” The old man yawned broadly and slid off of the mushroom. “If you keep walking in that direction, you’ll make it out of the forest in about an hour.”

She nodded, glancing in the direction he was pointing in.

“Run along now, Alice,” he said again. “And beware the Jabberwock.”

“Jabberwock?” she repeated, turning back toward him. “What do you--?”

But he was gone. Both he and the hookah pipe had vanished.

She gaped at the spot where he had been for a long moment, then looked down at he glass jar in her hand. It held two blue pills and two red.

Without really thinking about it, she slipped the jar into her pocket and started walking in the direction the old man had indicated. It wasn’t until she had entered the path between the dense group of trees at the opposite side of the clearing that she realized he hadn’t answered her second question.

“Do you know my real name?”

“This is not a dream…run along now, Alice…”

“Alice,” she murmured to herself, clutching her sweater tightly against her chest. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any…“

This was all so very strange, but what bothered her the most was that she was starting to somehow grow immune to it all. The dark trees with their flame-colored leaves seemed somehow natural. The deathly stillness of the air was beginning to seem rather ordinary. Her encounter with a weird old man in the middle of the forest seemed commonplace. Perhaps all of the walking and the cold had affected her brain. Or maybe it was the smoke from that old man’s pipe. But, suddenly, she felt mellow, desensitized.

She had no idea it wouldn’t be that way for long.

xoxoxoxox

Sorry this is a bit short, but this spot was the ideal place to leave off. The next chapter will be longer. Please review if only to let me know that someone is actually out there reading this. ;

Harper