Chapter Text
All she could hear was the ticking of a clock. The slow, steady, monotonous beat drowning out all the sounds in the room. If she concentrated hard enough, she could swear she heard cars outside.
Tick, tick, tick.
The room she was in was completely dark. She had to focus. “Remember every little detail. It might save your life.” Her father had taught her that years ago. She wasn’t paying attention. It was just her father being paranoid about the big, bad world beyond. She wasn’t as scared as he was; she could take care of herself. She had to focus now.
Tick, tick, tick
There was someone else in the room. She swore she heard someone patter around the room, opening desks or cupboards, rustling papers. Focus on every little detail. Their steps were quick, almost nervous. And light. A small man, or a woman. She immediately pushed that last thought out of her mind. Not a woman. She wasn’t sure why. Intuition, perhaps, if such a thing even exists. There was something else about them. They were muffled, or muted, as if the person was wearing slippers. Or perhaps he was a giant animated teddy bear. She almost giggled out loud, before she caught herself. Maybe he doesn’t know she was here too. She
tried to focus on the sounds again, but she couldn’t hear anything through that constant ticking.
Tick, tick, tick.
The patter was gone; she was alone. Only now she seemed to notice the chair she was sitting in. It felt like leather. Was this the kind of detail her father had meant? Could the fabric of a chair really be the decisive clue in capturing a criminal on the loose? How many rooms with leather chairs would there be in London, let alone in all of England? Would the police really go and investigate every house with a leather chair and interrogate every owner of a leather chair in the country in order to find one person? And why was she so tired?
Tick, tick
She tried to pull herself up and out of the leather chair. For some reason the thought of trying hadn’t occurred to her until now. Maybe she had simply assumed she would have been tied up. That’s what the papers say. “Kidnapped girl found tied up in basement.” The kidnapped girls in the papers never get the chance to walk around the room.
With great energy she managed to lift herself out of the chair. Her eyelids were indescribably heavy, despite having been in that chair for what felt like days, or worse? How long had she been unconscious? This wasn’t the time for questions, she quickly reminded herself. Focus on the details. First, she would try to find a light.
Tick, tick
It became easier to ignore the noise of that ever-present ticking. She had begun to recite nursery rhymes in an attempt to drown out the noise. Mary, Mary quite contrary. How does your garden grow? Her mother used to sing nursery rhymes to her when she was younger. She wondered why she suddenly had to think of nursery rhymes. She was a grown-up now, she listened to her own music. At least, she swore she did. She finally found a lantern, and she lit up the room in a low, yellow glow.
With silver bells and cockel shells
The room was small. A dusty brown blinder covered the window, a halo of soft light encircling the covers. Under the window was a large wooden desk. It’s drawers had been left open. That must’ve been what the footsteps were looking through. As she tried to make her way to the desk, she noticed that the floor was covered in papers. They were official looking documents in all sorts of language. Some languages she could read, most she couldn’t. Some language she had never even seen before. ”A royal invitation,” one read. “The Queen extends a cordial invitation to Mr. Edwards for the upcoming Anniversarial Games. He may bring his cat.”
Fantastic, a royal connection. Even if the police were going to find her, they wouldn’t arrest him in this case. Was Mr. Edwards the owner of the footsteps before? Or perhaps she heard his cat? The only thing she knew for sure is that he wasn’t very keen with his official documents
Tick, tick
She had to get out of here. The windows weren’t an option. A kidnapper always keeps his prey in the attic or the basement, she knew that much. She clearly wasn’t in the basement, and she wasn’t jumping out of the attic window. A door then; every room has a door. There was a door. It was redwood, expertly made. There was an intricate pattern of hearts in the middle — seven of them. It made her think of a giant playing card. She giggled, out loud this time. If anyone was going to hear her, they would’ve heard her by now. Carefully, she reached out for the handle, and she tried to open the door. Locked.
And so my garden grows
She needed a key. She needed a key, fast. Between the ticking of the clock - where was that clock even - and the nursery rhymes, a third sound had appeared. A set of footsteps. Hard footsteps. Someone was walking through the house with purpose, and soon enough that purpose would be her. She was desperately pulling open drawers and boxes. Why would someone even keep the key in the room with the captive? She couldn’t let that thought linger. She had to keep looking. There had to be a key.
Tick.
The door opened. A silhouette of a man appeared in the opening. As he entered the room, she saw his sharply cut face, and his fine three-piece suit. He was wearing a top hat with a long, purple ribbon hanging from its band that reached down to his shoulder. He was holding a cat. His smile was kind, but wrong. The teeth were slightly too white, and slightly too perfect.
“Ah, Alice. I am so glad you could join us here, once again,” Mr. Edwards spoke, his voice dark and gentle, working an almost trancelike effect on Alice. He stepped forward, and Alice felt herself blacking out again.
The last thing she saw was his cat. She could’ve sworn it grinned.