Alice leaned backwards against her door to close it. Her detached head rested in her hands, eyes closed, with her thumbs massaging her cheeks. She smiled, sighed, and relaxed her shoulders simultaneously. Her head lowered to her pelvis.

("Gerald...how did you know? What to say, what I was upset over, when I wanted to come back, what I wanted to hear...you knew it all, without asking a question. You even gave me what I was searching for...someone to notice me. You truly saw me. Then you showed me respect, and helped me, in a way I could never ask for...")

She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was her snapjaw chest. Memories of her giving her head away while it was locked inside of it flooded her mind. Her knees weakened. Her dress bunched up against the door and rode up her thighs.

("...and helped me in ways I have asked for...")

Alice's pulse increased. Her thoughts bounced around her main internal dialogue as she remembered everything Gerald had said about the snapjaw chest.

("...and told me you would help me with anything I need...")

Alice's eyes widened as an idea formed in her mind.

("...ten times over...trust those thoughts...the effect lingers...")

She raised her head back to her neck and reattached it. Her eyes were on the sonic knife that she had used to decapitate herself this morning. Alice walked to the table, grabbed the knife and its holster, and went to get a belt to secure it all to her waist.

("...if what I’m thinking gets amplified...and I trust it because they are still my thoughts...I can make myself think what I want...”)

She glanced at the hotel phone as she sauntered to the snapjaw chest.

(“...I’ll call him after I put my head back on. I don’t know how long this will take.”)

Alice lifted open the chest. It still shocked her; to see how dark it was inside, to feel it pull on her mind, to know what was coming. The tension of it all ran in torrents of energy throughout her.

(“...think about Gerald. Think about wanting him - no, needing him. Think about being headless for him. Think about...”)

Alice swallowed. Gerald was old enough to be her father, and that was being generous. She wasn’t attracted to men that old. But if she wanted to live out the fantasies she had yesterday, she needed a willing man, and one she could trust. She decided two out of three would have to do; Alice was still an impulsive, impatient woman.

(“...think about enjoying sex with him. Think about him taking my head away...”)

Alice lifted the open box towards her head, feeling arousal in the thought of being beheaded and holding onto it.

(“...think about Gerald coming back and using my body...”)

Alice’s face was inches from the open lid. The box continued to rise to meet her head. She was standing straight and tall.

(“...think about being used as a mindless woman, think about Gerald being the one to use me, think about how he saw you...”)

Her face was deep in the box. She held it like a child holding their face to a window, shielding the glare with their hands so they could satisfy their curiosity about what was visible on the other side. The lid stuck out above and beyond Alice’s head, horizontal with the floor.

(“Gerald, headless sex, Gerald, headless sex, Gerald, headle-“)

WHAM!

(“...Gerald...sex...without my...but feel...”)

Alice was not aware she was starting to fall backwards. She had taken for granted the balance that chairs, tables, and counters had given her during her other beheadings. Standing as straight as a board, with no sense of balance and no awareness of losing it, Alice fell flat on her back.

The snapjaw chest (still held up to her shoulders between her hands) landed with enough force to bounce off the ground and tumble through the air. The lid flew open. Alice’s lifeless head was ejected from the chest. Her head bobbled erratically as it rolled across the carpet.  It wobbled into a corner made by the couch and the wall with the door. Her short, chestnut brown hair was all that could be seen.

(“My...hurt so...did not...was falling...the chest”)

Alice breathed as she lay as she had fallen. The pain was shocking without lasting. She fixed her tight strapless black dress out of habit. Her arms extended, her hands with their backs down against the carpet, in a lazy search for the box. Her hands grazed the floor in wide circles several times before she realized it was out of her reach.

(“Where is...and my...still in? Where...snapjaw?”)

Her heels (raised by bent knees) tried to find friction on the carpet. Her legs cycled, knee up to foot out, up and out, up and out. Alice’s body stayed in place. She arched her back, pinning her bare, headless shoulders to the floor.

(“Don’t know...head is...matter. Just...have one...call the...who? Call...who”)

Her head was in plain sight, no more than five feet from her. But Alice crawled on her hands and knees to look for the box, not knowing her head had escaped. She found it in moments. Finding it empty forced Alice to think, but without the paused thoughts from her head to reflect in the chest, thinking had become much harder.

(“Where...head go? What if...hurt when...out? My head...”)

She rubbed her empty neck as she closed the chest. Alice could not help but grope herself when she brought her hand from her neck to the floor. Her plan to focus on Gerald was all but lost. The predicament had taken over what little thought her body could manage alone.

(“Has to...somewhere...it go? Lost own...find it? ...need to? Maybe...it later...important?”)

Alice was barely able to comprehend her situation. No past experiences flashed in to help her find an answer to her questions. She was incapable of realizing her train of thought was shaking on its rails. Memories were themselves memories; a minute repeatedly rewritten became her lifetime with Alice none the wiser that she ever knew more.

She pressed on the chest and the floor to stand up. Her legs never quite straightened out, staying bent to help her keep her balance. Alice began to walk and stumble around the room. Her hands and arms bumped into walls and forgotten furniture, both to keep her upright and guide her aimless stroll.

(“What...this? Table! Table...but what...soft...just like...”)

Alice had one of her hanging dresses in her hand. She rubbed the dress she was wearing while she gripped the other. She was distracted by the textures long enough to forget she had lost her head.

(“Soft...feels...what do...feel like?”)

Alice let go of the cloth. She made tiny steps around the suite to touch anything she could find, not unlike a customer in a specialty shop who browses through every piece of merchandise but does not want to buy anything. Wood, plastic, metal, cloth; hot, cold, dry, wet, damp; light, heavy, flexible, rigid; all of it felt new. Her fingers dragged against some surfaces but slid on others. Her body was soft but so much around her was hard.

Everything she touched was a discovery each time she touched it. Objects lost their labels. Substances lacked recognition. Names once known were forgotten.
Alice could no longer think in words.

She dithered around her suite. She brushed against the same obstacles, yet was amazed by how they felt all over again. What could have taken seconds to accomplish took fifteen minutes for Alice to achieve without her head. She managed a ten-step stroll without hitting anything. Her balance wavered the whole way, but she kept herself upright.

The first thing she touched was the phone. Her hand happened to wrap around the phone the right way. Alice lifted. It rose with her hand. The complete lack of resistance of something this sturdy fascinated her long enough for the receiver to automatically call the front desk. She dropped it a minute later, unaware it had done anything, unable to remember what such a thing could be used for.

Without a single word or intention to do so, Alice had managed to call Gerald for help.