by Cameron Jace
He is checking his tie, actually, I write, and look around to see if the Pillar is on the bus, but he isn't.
The couple. Are they holding hands? Do they look worried, not comfortable with others seeing them together?
No. They are chatting casually, I write.
Does one of them react more to the other? Look harder, Alice. Is one of them talking, making more of an effort to please the other?
Yes, I write. But that's normal. Why are you asking?
I'm not asking, he replies. I'm teaching you how to spot Wonderland Monsters. They don't have these human emotions and insecurities. A Wonderland Monster's face is void of life. For instance, if you meet the Cheshire Cat, you'll know him from his grin. It will be an empty grin, void of these simple emotions you notice about the people on the bus.
The Wonderland Monsters look like normal people? I write.
At this time in history, yes. They are reincarnated as normal-looking humans. It doesn't make them sane or friendly, though.
That's reassuring :P.
Oh, you still remember emoticons. Where are you?
Close to Christ Church, like the map indicates. Should I get off there? I write, making silly conversation. Having him on my phone isn't a bad idea. He keeps me company.
Exactly. Once you reach St. Aldates Street, watch for the bus station closest to the Tom Tower, one of the college's most important entrances, the Pillar says. I remember Dr. Truckle saying the Pillar made someone jump off the Tom Tower. If my timing is correct, the bus should be stopping there in about five seconds, he writes, interrupting my thoughts.
The Pillar is right about the timing. I wonder how. The bus stops at St. Aldates Street. It's a beautiful entrance to Christ Church College. A couple of students beat me to the door, as my stiffened legs are pondering if I really want to do this. I shrug, and it feels like I have a lump in my throat. Stepping out of the bus feels like a big commitment to catch a crazy killer.
Suddenly, a boy bumps into me from behind. "Don't act like a tourist," he whispers in my ear. "Or they'll figure out who you really are."
His voice sends a strange shiver to my soul. A good one, although I can sense he's arrogant and too sure of himself. Before I turn around to look at him, I notice he smells of playing cards.
18
ST. ALDATES STREET, TOM TOWER ENTRANCE, CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD UNIVERSITY
It's not the most amazing smell, but it reminds me of old books and things as ancient as human souls. The boy pushes me ahead to get off the bus with the other students. I don't have a chance to tilt my head and see his face.
"Goodbye, fat, old, and obnoxious bus driver, whatever your name is." He salutes the driver and nudges me off the bus as it hits the road again. I am surprised the bus driver doesn't slam back at the boy's rudeness.
On the ground, I turn around and flash my angry face at the boy. Something I am very good at. "Who the heck do you think you—"
All of a sudden, I can't speak. The boy wears a hoodie, like me, and he has this peculiar smile. Peculiar in a way I can't put my finger on it. It's like a soft smirk of mischief that is softened by the dimples on both cheeks. It makes him look familiar and oddly trustworthy. I can't yell at him. I wonder if that's why the bus driver took his insult lightly.
As the moment freezes, the boy looks down at me. A strand of black hair dangles on his forehead as he hangs on to his backpack. It's a funny bag, with all kinds of playing cards glued to it. They're all Jacks of Diamonds. I guess that's where the smell comes from. It's really silly. It doesn't match his good looks.
"Wow, girl," he says, breaking the silence. "We're not even going to kiss yet. I need comfort, dates, and a little cuddling before I go there."
"What?" My face tenses. I can't seem to shake off what people around me say. I feel insulted by his remarks. Did I really get lost in his attractive face that much? "I don't even know you."
"After all we went through on the bus?" His eyes widen, and he cups his mouth with one hand. "I was so close to dying for you. All you had to do was ask."
"You'd die for me?" I blink my puzzled eyes. "You just weren't ready to kiss me?"
"So you changed your mind about the kiss." His smirk is like the devil, and his dimples are angelic.
"Urgh," I sigh skyward, almost fisting my hands.
"You don't have to get his permission." He acts puzzled, looking at the sky above. "Jesus must have kissed somebody."
"Jesus?" I wonder why I am not just walking away from the embarrassment.
"Jesus," he repeats. "The guy who saved the world and looks as good as me."
"This is nonsense!" I freak out. Should I tell him I just left an asylum? Damn my feet. Why am I not walking away?
"I love nonsense." He pulls his hood back and holds me by the arms. "You know there is an actual science to it?"
My phone rings. It's probably the Pillar.
"Oh, you have a boyfriend?" the arrogant boy says.
"No." I can't remember which pocket in my jeans I tucked the phone in.
"Awesome!" He rubs his hands.
"I mean, yes." I find the phone in my back pocket. I feel guilty not mentioning Adam. Why in the world do I feel like that if I don't remember him?
"Bugger." The boy pouts, and I realize I don't want him to leave.
"I mean, no."
"Oh." He tilts his head back. "You're not insane, are you?"
I don't answer. My tongue is tied. I push the green button to answer the Pillar.
"His name is Jack Diamonds," the Pillar says on the other end. "He's a big distraction. Get rid of him. We don't have time."
"But…" I don't know how to explain my curiosity about Jack to the Pillar. Before I even ponder the thought, students rush out from another bus, and I find myself pushed through the main entrance with them. When I tiptoe to see Jack again, he's gone.
19
GARDEN, CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD UNIVERSITY
"Right now, you're walking under the famous Tom Tower." The Pillar is playing my tourist guide through the phone. "It was designed by Christopher Wren, who was also the architect of St. Paul's Cathedral in London."
"All right?" I remind myself that I am on a mission and that I might never see Jack again.
"The Tom Tower is a major tourist attraction. I can spend all day long telling you about it. One thing is that it houses the Great Tom, the loudest bell in Oxford."
"Do I have to know about this?"
"Everything I tell you is important, Alice. You might not use it now, but later." The Pillar is back in his lecturing mode. "The Great Tom bell is sounded 101 times every night, around five past nine, Oxford time. In the past, it was used as a curfew alarm to remind students to get back to their dorms. Also, somewhere up there was Lewis Carroll's photography studio."
"Lewis Carroll was a photographer?"
"And a mathematician and painter, among other things. The guy was a genius. He even predicted Einstein's theories in a paragraph in his other book, The Hunting of the Snark."
I am very curious about his photography. "What were his pictures like?" I don't know why, but something tells me I have to see the photos.
"They were of girls, mostly, but we'll get to that later. Focus only on everything I tell you, Alice. Everything is important," the Pillar insists, as I walk through the huge cloisters.
I get inside Christ Church College and look at a vast green area in front of me. The college is a fortress, a quadrangle of Renaissance buildings encompassing the green garden in front of me from four sides. There is a fountain in the middle of the garden. The scenery makes me forget about Jack. This place has an unprecedented presence. It's like it holds great secrets, like great men and women have walked its earth.
"I see you went speechless," the Pillar says.
"I can't explain it, but there is something about this place that feels so…"
"Mad? It's one of the most mysterious places in history. Mad people know that. Sane people think it's just a college,
where you get a degree and hang it on the wall. Walk around for a minute, Alice. Let it sink into your soul. Breathe the same air Lewis – and many other geniuses – breathed centuries ago. By the way, you should use your headset since I will be in your ear for the rest of the day."
"That's reassuring." I purse my lips, then put my headset on.
"That's better. Here's a brief history of this frabjous place," the Pillar says. "Christ Church is one of the largest colleges in the University of Oxford. It has a world-famous cathedral choir, a most respectable library, and a unique and very old cathedral. Let alone the many untold secrets it keeps safely from the sane people of this world."
"I'm listening." It's true. I wonder why I hadn't read about it before I arrived. I am already enchanted by it.
"Over the years, Christ Church has had many distinguished students, tutors, and visiting academics. In my eyes, they are the most amazingly insane men of history. To name a few: madman and philosopher John Locke, madman and scientist Albert Einstein, more than thirteen madmen British prime ministers. And, of course, our most beloved madman of all, Lewis Carroll."
"He went to Oxford? I thought he only used the place above as a studio."
"It's almost an insult not to know that, Alice. He was a math tutor at Christ Church."
I come across a temporarily closed area. The police are all over the place. Students can only pass by showing their IDs and having their bags inspected.
"I assume you've arrived at the crime scene by now," the Pillar says. "Where the Cheshire killed a girl, a professor, a jock, an old woman, and a young girl two days ago."
"How do you know that?" I look around to see if he's watching me nearby.
"You're very predictable, like most people, Alice." I can hear him puff his pipe. "You'll have to learn to be unpredictable if we want to catch the Cheshire Cat. Now walk ahead toward the police, and don't look too long at the crime scene. A regular student should have seen it before."
I approach the policeman. I can't help but shrug. It's not like I am a criminal. I am afraid he knows I belong to an asylum and will put me back in. I just can't help it. I mean, the cold oxygen I am breathing here still feels like a dream.
"Alice Pleasant Wonder," the police officer says, reading my name on the card. "A lovely name."
All I do is smile. I hope I come across as sincere and normal.
"It reminds me of the girl who killed her classmates two years ago," he says.
My heart sinks to my belly.
20
THE GREAT HALL, CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD UNIVERSITY
Time stops, and I have no idea what to do. I can't seem to utter words until the police officer speaks again. "Except that that Alice's last name was Pleasance, and she's in an asylum."
"Yeah, I always get that." My smile is plastic, but he doesn't notice. Now I know why the Pillar changed my name. Although trivial, it makes me someone else. Did the policeman really fall for that, or do I smell something wrong?
"You look perfectly sane to me," the officer says. I notice he tries to act serious, but he looks funny. He has a peculiar mustache, thin like a mouse's whiskers. "Have a good day."
"Thank you." I take the card back and take a couple of steps up into the building.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," the Pillar chirps in my ear.
"That wasn't funny."
"It wasn't supposed to be. Anyways, what you're entering now is the prestigious Great Hall."
The Pillar's words ring in my head as I enter this enchanting place. Long dining tables are stacked on both sides. They are filled with all kinds of dining instruments, bowls, forks, and placemats. Gold and brown are the most common colors in this yellowish, dimly lit place. The walls are unusually high, and majestic in ways I can't describe. Portraits are hung behind the table on both sides. Exquisite oil-painted portraits of people I don't know.
"A unique place, isn't it?" the Pillar says.
"Unbelievable." I am enamored.
"The Great Hall is where they filmed movies like Harry Potter. All that abracadabra wizard nonsense couldn't have used portraits if the Great Hall didn't exist," the Pillar says. "Also, movies like The Golden Compass, with its hodgepodge of white bears, were filmed here. The Great Hall is where every great story wants to take place."
"Really? I never knew that. Why do I sense resentment toward these movies in your voice?" I can't help but take the chance and ask him. The Pillar doesn't open up. Hearing him personally irritated at something gives me a small window into his mind.
"Why do I resent them?" the Pillar asks. "Alice. Go ask any tourist about the Great Hall, and they always mention this Harry Potter, but never Lewis Carroll and Alice in Wonderland. Harry Potter isn't even real. Lewis and Alice are."
"I assume by 'Alice,' you mean me?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You will know everything in time."
I walk further into the hall. "So why am I not in class, and here walking around the Great Hall?"
"Pull out the map from the book. What do you see?"
I do as asked and stare at the Cheshire Cat's map. It doesn't take a genius to see this is the circled spot on the map.
"Make sense now?" the Pillar says.
"It does." I fidget in my place. The magnificent place turns into a scary castle in my eyes. What if the Cheshire Cat is watching me now? What if this is a trap, and I will be dead next?
21
Inside the Great Hall, I walk among tourists. I didn't know tourists from all over the world visited during college hours, but I like the idea.
Everything around me is grand and majestic. I come across a table covered with empty teacups right before the Great Hall's massive door. "What are those teacups for?"
"They are usually for professors' and intellectualists' meetings," the Pillar says. "Rarely are they for the priests from the cathedral, who sometimes have special meetings in here too."
"Don't tell me the Mad Hatter is involved?" I don't know how I even dare to ask.
"Be careful of what you wish for, Alice," the Pillar says. "He's even worse than the Cheshire. Are you inside the hall yet?"
"I am."
"Tell me where the arrow on the map points exactly. Can you make it out?" the Pillar asks.
"It points at the portraits on the wall behind the tables in the Great Hall."
"These are portraits of very respectable men and women you're staring at, except they aren't wizards." The Pillar chews on the words. I think he really hates Harry Potter. "Well, they are real wizards of science, literature, and all sorts of arts. Can you tell me which portrait the Cheshire Cat wants us to see?"
"Hmm…" I count the portraits on the map. "It should be… let me see…" I walk tangent to the wall and, finally, stand in front of a black-and-white portrait. It's of a middle-aged man, with fair features and nurtured hair. He looks very familiar. Very intelligent. I read the sign underneath: "Charles Lutwidge Dodgson."
"Interesting." I hear the Pillar breathe into his pipe. "So, that's what the Cheshire wants us to look at."
"Who's Charles Lutwidge Dodgson?" I say.
"Shame on you, Alice." The Pillar laughs. "It's Lewis Carroll's real name. It's written right under the name on the plaque."
"Lewis isn't his real name?"
"Lewis Carroll is a pen-name, part of the forgery of the truth behind Wonderland," the Pillar says. "Let's figure out why the Cheshire wants us to look here. It's one of his games, I'm sure. There has to be a reason behind it."
"Maybe he's just fascinated with Lewis Carroll?" I suggest, unable to see something peculiar in the portrait.
"You still think this isn't the real Cheshire Cat, and just some infatuated copycat?" the Pillar says. "You're even worse than the media. Look harder at the portrait. Something must be odd. The Cheshire likes riddles."
I look, but I can't see anything that catches my eye. I even check the portrait's frame, to no avail. A couple of tourists glance awkwardly at me when I do that. "Could you just tel
l me what I am looking for?" I whisper, aware of a few people around me, probably thinking I am mad, talking into the headset all the time.
"It depends on what you want to find," the Pillar says.
"That's not funny."
"I think it is. Tell me, Alice. Lewis's picture is a profile, right? Do you see anything in the direction he is looking toward?"
"Another portrait. Einstein."
"Does he still look crazy with that white cotton-candy-like hair?" the Pillar says. "Anyways, I don't think that the Cheshire wants us to look at Einstein. How about the portrait opposite to Lewis's on the other side?"
I turn around. "Actually, there is no portrait in that spot on the other side. You think it's a secret door?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's unlikely that the answer is that far from the location of the portrait," the Pillar says. "Since the portrait faces the table, do you see anything unusual on the spot facing Lewis Carroll?"
"I do," I say. "It's definitely unusual, but I don't think it belongs to the Cheshire."
"Can you please describe it?" I sense the Pillar's curiosity in my ears.
"It's a block of cheese." I try to sound casual. Why is there a block of cheese in the Great Hall?
"Cheese. How quaint." The Pillar laughs. "Of course, I don't have to tell you what cheese and a grin have in common."
"I suppose you say 'cheese' when you grin in a picture, which refers to the Cheshire Cat somehow?"
"He has a sick, surreal sense of humor, doesn't he?"
"He has a sick mind. He kills young girls. Besides, it says 'Cheshire Cheese' on the block."
"Cheshire Cheese. Now that's clever." The Pillar snaps his fingers.
"I don't see how."
"Lewis Carroll was born in Daresbury, Warrington, in Cheshire," the Pillar says.