Cheshire Cat: If I were looking for a white rabbit, I’d ask the Mad Hatter.
Alice: The Mad Hatter? Oh, no no no…
Cheshire Cat: Or, you could ask the March Hare, in that direction.
Alice: Oh, thank you. I think I’ll see him…
Cheshire Cat: Of course, he’s mad, too.
Alice: But I don’t want to go among mad people.
Cheshire Cat: Oh, you can’t help that. Most everyone’s mad here.
[Laughs maniacally; starts to disappear]
Cheshire Cat: You may have noticed that I’m not all there myself.

The upstairs light was on. He could see it. It was most likely the bathroom, seeing as the window frame was quite small, and the glass was thick and milky, impenetrable by the human eye.

He could hear the faint gurgling noises of the van, liquids rumbling about, the hot temperature of the metal parts slowly cooling and settling for the night. Dodger’s fingers remained on the key in the gear shaft, the tiny eight ball pressed into the center of his palm. Glancing at the passenger seat, his cell phone lay open. He had almost missed the turn again down Spencer’s street, and had flung it as his foot hit the break, needing both hands in order to make the turn.

It just lay there, unmoving. Dodger did the same. It beeped once, alerting him of a text message, yet his arm made no attempt to reach over and retrieve it. A heavy weight had developed in his stomach, as if it was Thanksgiving at his Aunt Martha’s, pounds and pounds of turkey and mashed potatoes lying limp inside his gut, waiting its turn for digestion.

The front porch light turned on and then flickered off. Immediately following, tiny lights illuminated the walkway to the front door. Dodger was pretty sure Ashley was preparing for his arrival.

Despite the courtesy lights, the house was dark, ominous. A large tree swayed in the breeze on the far right of the yard, creating tiny patches of shadow along the neighboring sidewalk and side yard.

If Ashley were not inside, he wouldn’t enter. If she hadn’t have called him, he would never have volunteered. Closing his eyes and leaning back, his fingers clutched the keys, his index finger poised and ready to turn over the ignition.

It was so easy to just leave. Just ignore Ashley’s calls. Drive away back to his house and into his room with his books and music, and Ninja Turtle comforter. All he had to do was apply pressure with his fingers and place his foot to the floor.

Sighing, he yanked the keys from the ignition and hoped out the van. The door squeaked loudly. He hated that. He hated his van. It was old and tired.

Dodger turned on his heels, tripping over his shoelace that caught underneath his right shoe. The tree still swayed as Dodger crept directly into the plant’s shadows, becoming a part of it.

The light upstairs was still on. Dodger just stopped and stood there, staring at the glass, his eyes squinting and watering, his focus burrowing into the light. No movement inside.

Dodger glanced at his watch. 1:27 am. The seconds ticked by. Dodger cleared his throat, the four cans of coke he had ingested earlier, having now created saliva strings that attached themselves to the back wall.

In 20 seconds he would move…No, 35 seconds. Yah, 35….

Nine minutes later, his hand clutched the gold handle and his thumb pressed down on the latch, a light from the entryway, spilling out onto his shoes and the welcome mat.

He kicked the soles of his feet across the mat, deciding he didn’t need a welcome, the dirt and gravel from his shoes smearing the hay-like surface. Dodge shuffled into the forey, and quietly shut the door, the latch clicking into place, his best plan for escape now no longer an option.