King of Hearts, Queen of Spades

I : Incomplete Deck

To believe that such a magical event could occur on Earth—in reality—was something that would make Alondra Reyes delusional. In fact, she would have laughed out loud if only she did not fear the reaction of her father. He claimed that this strange story was true and had occurred to someone in their family long ago.

Such a thing could not be possible at all.

The event was ridiculous—a girl being lured into another dimension by a dark and tempting ruler who sought to win her heart; how clichéd and unrealistic.

Skimming through the pages of the completed children’s book— written and illustrated by her father— further confirmed that the man’s imagination rivaled that of the author who created The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy; or maybe not since the idea was hardly original.

She sat in the recliner of her father’s study with an amused expression on her face as she read the ending and admired the handsome illustration of the King of Hearts—the alleged villain of the story whose only sin was loving the heroine; he loved her to a point of madness.

The giggle finally broke from her throat, much to her dismay, causing her father’s scowl to deepen. She had wanted to preserve a straight face but her father wanted her honest opinion of his latest work, and she would give it.

“Daddy, you completely stole this from Alice in Wonderland.”

Her father scoffed and gathered the preliminary book from his daughter’s hands. She knew that he was displeased with the accusation of any form of plagiarism, but she could not keep her opinion secret. Her eighteenth birthday was in one week, and she already felt like an adult—being equal enough to her father to express her thoughts candidly.

“I will have you know that my mother told me this story,” he clarified. “And grandma told it to her. I’ve just made it publishable and suitable for kids.”

Alondra let her chin rest on her knuckles as she studied the man in front of her. Mauricio Reyes—in his mid-forties—was desperately trying to anchor his profits as an author rather than the professional poker player that he was, most of the time.

Alondra would welcome the change of career any day if it meant having more time to spend with her father. Even though her mother was wonderful and kind, she was more attached to Mauricio because they shared an inexplicable bond.

He was everything that she wished she was not so fearful of becoming; a dreamer, an adventurer, and a willing heart in the game of love. At times she envied her father’s capacity of loving without question because her whole life she had never been able to fully put her heart into anything.

Nothing ever made her feel irreversibly passionate and dedicated.

“Then great grandma is a thief,” she laughed. “The only thing she did was change some things but anyone can tell it’s a rip-off.”

“This is hardly the original story,” he waved his hand. “The actual story was told to me later in life, with all its graphic details by my brother. And he claimed it was—”

“—a true story, yes.” She smiled, “And you actually believe such a thing?”

Sometimes Alondra wished she could also believe in things like those but she was too rooted to reality to even consider anything illogical true. Even as a child she never once believed in fairytales though she longed to believe. Her lack of faith had been precisely what had driven her father into writing children’s books; he wanted others to believe.

Mauricio stood from his chair and walked over to the safety deposit box. He punched in the alpha-numeric combination and opened the steel door. He extracted an old manila envelope, shoved the book inside, and shut the lid and the ridiculous story it immortalized inside.

Quietly he retook his seat across from his daughter, and slid the envelope in her direction. Immediately, Alondra felt a sense of curiosity burn her fingertips.

“Open it,” he urged.

She took the questionable item and extracted the contents within. There were a few sheets of paper—from a diary—and a nearly faded photograph. Still, the image of the woman whom stared back was clear enough to make Alondra squeak in complete surprise.

“She looks a lot like you, doesn’t she?”

That’s an understatement.

Only risking a nod, she allowed the disturbing picture to fall back into the envelope while she gathered the sheets in her hands. There were probably twenty or thirty of them, all written in immaculate cursive—no doubt from the same feminine hand as the girl in the photo who had held a basket full of rabbits.

The first sheet dated back to April 14th 1919 and read:

Today I lost Vasty. I swear that I locked their cage when I left the barn, but somehow she escaped. I am most saddened by this event because it is the third one to go missing. I have made it my sworn duty to watch them each night. I will figure out this mystery even if it kills me.

Alondra looked up at her father wondering how this had anything to do with the story or her for that matter. Seemingly able to sense her question, he smiled sadly and ran a hand through his hair.

“She’s the one who wrote the story,” he explained, “And she disappeared after recounting her adventures with the King of Hearts.”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head. “No one knows where she went, or what happened.” He half smiled, “I’d like to think she went to him, accepting his love.”

Alondra stared at her father as though he were a being from outer space. How could he logically support such an absurd theory? There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the poor girl had probably been abducted by some lecherous man—raped and killed. It was what usually happened…

“There were no such evil people here,” he said. “This was the twenties, the town folks knew each other well, so it could not have been abduction by a local—someone would have known.”

Alondra rolled her eyes, “Just because everyone knew each other doesn’t mean there wasn’t a lunatic amongst them, or that some random visitor couldn’t have set his eyes on her and taken her. Certainly it’s more plausible than her having disappeared into another dimension to live with a pansy.”

He glared at her, “The King of Hearts is hardly a pansy!”

She stared at him with open embarrassment. A man of his age, fanatical over a fictional character, was hardly admirable. It was during those times that Alondra felt infinitely more mature than her father. She wondered where her sanity and good sense came from; both of her parents were insane.

“Dad, I take back what I said about poker, please continue to do that.” She shook her head, “The creation of fiction is making you delusional. And plagiarism will leave us starving! ”

He chuckled.

“At least I’m content that having a tutor all these years has made you better spoken than those of your generation,” he smiled. “I told you it would be better than school.”

Alondra agreed. She had friends, sure, but she had been spared from the drama and stupidity of high school and all the grades prior. Though her latest tutor was often a royal pain in her rear-end, she enjoyed his company and easy way of inserting information into her brain. He had a natural ability to teach and she loved all the things that he taught her. Often she liked to pretend that he was more trouble than benefit, but deep down she cared deeply for him.

“And he will be out of a job by next week,” she reminded him. “No more chaperone.”

“Ah, and won’t you miss him a little?”

“Hardly,” she lied.

In truth she would miss him dreadfully. He had been by her side for the past years—in unison with her grandmother—when her father and hippie mother went on those stupid poker tours.

If there was one thing that Alondra absolutely hated it was the smacking sound of playing cards; mostly because such noises reminded her of her father and how he wasn’t home.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he smiled, “Abel will actually stay as your grandmother’s assistant—she couldn’t let him go.”

“Really?”

Her father laughed. “Now go to your room and read those pages.”

“This is really dumb dad,” she deadpanned. “It’s just a silly legend and I’m appalled that no one looked for her.”

Her father leaned over the desk, looking around suspiciously, “They did look and they found her shoe and a letter… by a tree.”

Alondra found leaned closer to him, bewitched by the legend nonetheless. He began to whisper then, as though the walls could hear, “Apparently, she went down the hole.”

“There’s a hole?” she marveled.

He nodded. “Did you know this used to be her house?”

Alondra shivered.

That was not a pleasant fact to acknowledge. Who knew what could have happened to her. For all she knew the girl’s spirit could be roaming the house in spiteful anger, waiting to possess someone and take revenge.

“You believe in ghosts but not alternate dimensions?” he mused.

Alondra’s brow puckered—this was precisely the inexplicable bond she referred to. Her father had to be a witch or something.

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” he blinked innocently.

“Reading my mind!” she pouted.

He laughed, “Oh come now, and certainly such a thing isn’t possible.”

“And don’t mock me either.”

He waved at her, “Go play. I have to contact my publisher.”

“I’m not a kid dad— I don’t play anymore— I’m eighteen years old.”

He smirked, “Not for another week, kiddo.”

Alondra stood, and took the envelope with her though she knew that no matter what she wouldn’t believe a single word printed on the old pages. The only reason she took them was to find clues as to what could have happened to the girl whom her father had claimed had fallen in love with the mythical King of Hearts.

She still thought the character was a pansy.

“Oh, Alondra.”

She turned around to see her father holding out a sheet of paper for her. With a frown, she walked over to him and stared at the offered sheet. It was a pencil sketch—very detailed—of the King of Hearts. Only this man wasn’t softened by the charm required in a children’s book, no, he was completely mind blowing and realistic.

His eyes were intense—perpetually narrowed and almond shaped—and seemed to actually bore into her soul. The hair was dark, or so it would seem by the shading; it was cut asymmetrically—longer in the front and shorter in the back, but even so it was still long and it fell gracefully around his face.

What scared her most was the half smirk, exposing a feral side grin beneath generous lips. He looked like he could eat little children. It was creepy.

His fashion was eccentric, like something out of a fantasy movie, and his gloved hands held a card from the playing deck; the queen of spades.

The entire drawing portrayed possessiveness and arrogance. He truly looked regal and majestic—very deadly, but alluring. Indeed, her father had really softened him up for the children's book; he was too intense resembling a real human.

“That’s for you,” her father said. “Who knows, maybe when my rip off sells millions of copies you’ll be able to auction it off on ebay to buy something nice.”

Ha. Ha.

“Very funny dad.”

“Your mother says she would have run away with him too,” he laughed.

“Mom always did like the crazy ones.”

“Watch it young lady, or I may take him back.”

Selfishly, she held the drawing against her chest and turned away from her father. It wasn’t that she actually cared about the sketch, but something inside of her tugged hard for her to keep it. Maybe she longed to solve the mystery of the girl and her mysterious “king,” or maybe Alondra thought that he was simply… hot.

At eighteen she could still afford to feel hormonal and easily aroused by a pretty face—real or not.

A/N:

Hey everyone – new story. I’m going to mingle and melt many ideas together to form something unique based off of Alice in Wonderland. Beware – the story will not be light and purely fluffy. We won’t have more than three points of view and they will not shift mid-chapter either. There will be humor in this story, but the horror feel will remain. I consider it suitable for the ‘supernatural’ tag because there will be magic involved, and there will be fantasy as well. The M rating is absolutely necessary because this will have some rather interesting scenes.

Rough draft II : 8/25/2008