Alice wandered around the room. Right now, she was lacking the franticness that had ruled her earlier search, but what had started when Frank had died had escalated, tipping her into a weird wonderland of almost remembrance and almost-madness.
Sometimes she knew what she was looking for, but other times it was simply that vague, amorphous Other, that nebulous Cheshire Cat that she chased, always searching, searching...
For a moment she went on as if she hadn't heard him, but then she turned, a worried expression etched on her face. Her eyes were oddly clear and focussed, though the glint in them might indicate that she Wasn't Right In The Head.
"I'm looking for my son. I can't find him, and I'm terribly worried," she said, voice more clear than it had been in a long time. The clarity dissolved and reformed intermittently, coming and going.
She clutched the pillow to her chest. "My son, my son, my poor baby boy," she said mournfully, face etched with fear and despair. "My boy, my BOY!!!"