The Passage Read Online Free Page A

I’d lost myself in the story. 
    Alice in Wonderland had been one of my favorites as a child, a magical world I escaped to every time I was sad or afraid.  No shrinking potion or evil Queen of Hearts could scare me as much as my own mother, who drank her sorrows away and eventually passed out only to repeat it all again the next day.  She was always remorseful and ashamed in the morning as I got ready for school, but she didn’t have the strength of character, or maybe the desire, to get help.  Drink was her only form of escape from a life she termed “pointless,” and “wasted.”  I tried to remind her that I was still there and I needed her, but I was too young to understand that I simply wasn’t enough. 
    I was a reminder of all she had lost; a carbon copy of the man who walked out on her without so much as goodbye and left her to raise a child alone on a meager salary.  The money went to pay for the booze, and by the time I was eleven I had been taken into care; just another child forsaken by her parents and swallowed up by the system.  I’d been one of the lucky ones; I’d ended up in a good foster home with a nice couple who treated me as if I were their own, but no amount of love they gave me could make up for the betrayal of my own parents.  When I was seventeen, I’d heard that my mother died, but I hadn’t even bothered to attend the funeral despite the urging of my foster mother.  I had too much anger and too much resentment to be able to say goodbye, so I stayed away.  I never knew what happened to my father.  He might have died as well, or he might be living somewhere, possibly with a new family, completely indifferent to the child he left behind nearly twenty years ago. 
    I kissed my fingers and pressed them to the smiling mouth of the carving.  “Thank you,” I whispered, not really sure if I was thanking the Cheshire cat for being one of my favorites or Lewis Carroll for writing the story.   
    “Good morning,” a cheery voice called out as the vicar came in with a gust of cold air and removed his hat as a sign of respect for the house of God.  “I’m Vicar Joseph Lambert. Very brisk out there this morning, isn’t it?  Winter seems to be lingering this year.”
    “Yes, I’m just taking a moment to warm up,” I said as I turned to take his outstretched hand.  “Neve Ashley, I’m the location scout for Legendary Productions .”
    “Ah, yes, of course.  Max mentioned you’d be coming.  I say, it would be thrilling to have our little church in your film.  Any parts for an inspirational clergyman who can convey just the right amount of gravitas tempered with wry humor and understanding?  A secret wedding perhaps?” he asked with an impish smile.
    “As a matter of fact, there is a secret wedding between James Stuart and Anne Hyde, but it was a Catholic ceremony, I’m afraid,” I replied, amused by his eagerness.  The vicar was an older man, who appeared to be made entirely of spheres.  His balding round head sat atop his rotund body, his moon-shaped face adorned by round spectacles that perched on a rather bulbous nose.  He did have a wonderful smile though, which made him appear as jolly as St. Nick.
    “Catholic, you say?  Well, I don’t suppose the Good Lord would mind if I were just acting, would he now?  It would be great fun, mind,” he added, beaming at me.
    “I’ll have a word with the director,” I whispered confidentially, despite the fact that we were quite alone in the church.
    “Really?”
    “I promise.  Now, would it be possible to see the crypt?” I asked as I stuffed my gloves into my pockets and pulled the camera out of my bag.  Lawrence Spellman would want pictures from every angle so that he could plan out his scene.
    “Oh yes, of course.  No one ever really goes down there anymore, but it’s quite impressive.  A few ancient Everlys are interred there, and there’s even a knight who returned from the Crusades only to die a week