The Complete Alice Wonder Series - Insanity - Books 1 - 9

by Cameron Jace

  "I want to know who the Reds are," I tell him once we're on, squeezed between the crowd.

  "Please, stop asking." The Pillar hangs on to the pole as the bus jostles away.

  "Tell me, or I will tell everyone that you're a serial killer who just escaped from an asylum," I fire back, not giving two cents about the people around us. "This is crazy. I can't believe that I am still here with you."

  "It's love, darling," a seated woman tells me as she examines her hair in a hand mirror.

  "I think it's my mojo," the Pillar says, flirting with her.

  "Shut up!" I block my ears from all this nonsense.

  "Is this old creep hitting on you?" a boy missing a front tooth asks me. Of course, in my outfit of insanity, I must be his princess charming.

  "Yes, I am bugging her," the Pillar answers him flatly. "I know teeth don't seem to be precious to you, but if you don't want to lose another one, I'd advise you to jump out of the window and die."

  The boy vanishes in the blink of an eye. I don't think he realizes he was talking to Pillar the killer.

  "Die, remember?" the Pillar reminds him, then faces me. "Now, can we be reasonable for a moment?"

  "Reasonable?" I feel like pulling my hair out. "You call this reasonable? Ever since I met you, everything is insane!"

  "I told you, it's love, darling." The seated woman puts on her lipstick without looking at us.

  "We met in an asylum." The Pillar winks at the woman and points at me. "Isn't it romantic?" The woman seems uncomfortable when she hears this and sits a couple of seats away. "If I remember well, all you cared about this morning was saving the little girl," the Pillar continues.

  "It's still all I care about."

  "So forget about the Reds, and let's keep on moving," the Pillar says. "We know the White Queen can lead us to the Cheshire now. We should be going. On the way, we could look up the names of the girls the Cheshire asked for and hopefully find a connection."

  "You're right." I hang on to the pole and breathe slower. I can deal with the nonsense later after I save Constance for the second time. "So, where is the White Queen? What is she in this world, a ghost in a white dress?"

  "Believe me, you will never guess who she is."

  "Another Wonderland Monster, I assume."

  "Not at all." The Pillar smiles as if remembering a loved one. "She is quite a nice woman. Let's not waste time; we need to get to the asylum and change before we visit her." He turns around to talk to the driver. It's not the chauffeur this time. Just a normal guy. "Bus driver, could you please let us off at the Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum?"

  "It's not on my route," the driver blurts.

  "I'm sure you will make an exception for two insane fugitive patients like us." The smug look on the Pillar's face is priceless. People start to move away from us now, begging the driver to send us home to the asylum.

  "Thank you very much," the Pillar says and turns to me. "This way, we'll be on time to catch the plane."

  "We're flying? To where?"

  "The Vatican, of course."

  43

  EMIRATE AIRLINES — SOMEWHERE IN THE ITALIAN SKIES

  It's only hours before we're on a plane to Rome, then a taxi to the Vatican. I don't even know what's going on. Everything is happening so fast. I feel like Alice whisked to a surreal, but real-life Wonderland.

  All I am hoping is that I can save Constance in the end. At least, this would be the only sane thing that happened in the last couple of days. Whenever I remember her hugging me and making me promise her I would never give up on her, I remind myself that this is why I am following the Pillar. I wonder if she's still alive.

  The Pillar is looking forward to the sunset and hoping we'll catch it while on the plane. We have a few hours before I have to be taken back into the asylum, as per our unbelievable deal with Dr. Truckle.

  "I can't believe you blackmailed Dr. Truckle to buy us the airplane tickets," I comment, looking over the Pillar's shoulder to see the world from above. He'd insisted on sitting next to the window. Sometimes, he sounds like a four-year-old.

  "I can't believe he didn't get us first-class tickets." He pouts. "Besides, I have never been comfortable with Emirates Airlines. I don't like their slogan: When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

  "Why? I think it's a brilliant slogan."

  "When was the last time you did something mad? That's a slogan, Alice."

  I ignore his comment and start surfing the internet on my phone, looking up the girls' names.

  "Someone's learning fast. Yesterday you weren't comfortable with typing on the phone." The Pillar turns his head and puts on his glasses. "What are you surfing? Celebrity gossip, Barbie games, and music videos?"

  I ignore his silliness. "Actually, I am studying the names of the girls the Cheshire killed," I say, scrolling on.

  "Why the ones he killed, and not the names on the list?"

  "The ones on the list are just young girls Lewis Carroll photographed," I say. "They are black-and-white photos, and sometimes sepia. Some of them are actually a bit creepy. I don't know what to do with those photos of girls who died a long time ago. So I had to start somewhere. The names of the Cheshire's victims seem convenient to me."

  "And what did you find, Inspector Alice Wonder?" He lowers his glasses and peeks at my phone. It's one of the rare moments he looks like a real college professor.

  "I researched the names of the six girls he killed," I explain. "Two of them were from the same town, and the other two from another. Only the last two were from two different towns."

  The Pillar looks puzzled.

  "The four towns the girls originally came from are near Warrington, Cheshire, where Lewis Carroll was born," I elaborate.

  The Pillar raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Anything common among the girls?"

  "Not in a physical way. Not even their ages or their hobbies. Some of them were blonde, some brunettes. Some seven and some fourteen."

  "But?" He cups a hand behind his ear.

  "The towns they came from have something in common." I am proud of my research.

  "The towns? Curiouser and curiouser." The Pillar gives me his full attention.

  "Each town the girls came from was at some point considered the origin of where Lewis Carroll was inspired to write about the Cheshire Cat."

  "You didn't get that from Wikipedia, did you?" The Pillar closes his eyes and sighs.

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Wikipedia, to me, is what Wonderland is to the so-called sane people." He opens his eyes and rubs them. "It doesn't exist. Most of its info is Jub Jub." I am taking it that Jub Jub is the total opposite of frabjous. "Anyways, go on. What do you think this means?"

  "At first, I had no idea. I just thought their proximity to each other was a bit strange, but then I figured it out," I say. "Each of these towns has stone carvings of a grinning cat in one of its churches."

  "Grinning cats? Churches? Never thought those two would mix." The Pillar is even more interested now. "What are the names of the towns and the churches?"

  "St. Wilfrid Church in Grappenhall, a village adjacent to Lewis Carroll's birthplace in Daresbury in Warrington, Cheshire." I scroll down on my phone. "St. Nicolas Church in Cranleigh. It's a town close to Guildford, where one of Carroll's sisters lived. It is also where he died. A nameless church in the village of Croft-on-Tees. And finally, St. Christopher's in Pott Shrigley."

  "Each one of those churches has a statue of a grinning cat in it?"

  "Each one." I nod. "And each one claims it was the inspiration for Lewis to write about the Cheshire Cat."

  "That's one hell of a connection, although I can't see what it leads to," he says. "But the corpses of the Cheshire's victims were found in Cambridge, London, and Oxford."

  "It's where the girls' families moved later. But the five girls were born in the smaller towns with the churches. Can't you see that all of these towns were visited by Lewis Carroll, or at least he had access to th
em?"

  "Let me think this over," the Pillar says. "The Cheshire kills girls who were born in villages around where Lewis Carroll lived. Not just that, but places where sandstones or statues of a grinning cat exist. What could that mean?"

  "Like I said, I can't interpret the meaning, but this is no coincidence."

  "And where is Constance from?"

  My eyes widen. Why hadn't I thought of that?

  "Wait. You probably won't find that info on the net." He checks his phone, surfing some secret forum or something. "Just a minute." He keeps searching. "Here it is. Constance Richard—" The Pillar stops in the middle of the sentence. "In London."

  "So no connection to the other girls?" I feel disappointed. Another lost lead.

  "Not necessarily. Who said there isn't a statue of a grinning cat in London? I just don't know of it. Your theory is still possible," the Pillar says.

  The light above our seats flashes, urging us to fasten our seatbelts. We've arrived.

  "Now that we're about to land," the Pillar says, "there is something I have to do." He stands up and faces everyone in the plane. "Ladies and gentlemen, honored visitors of Rome, and probably the Vatican City after, may I have your attention?"

  "Please sit down, sir," the flight attendant demands, but he ignores her.

  "I'm the archbishop of the Frabjous Christians of Monte Carlo," he says. I am sure there is no such thing. "And I'd like you to recite this little prayer with me before we land."

  "Sir!" the flight attendant repeats, to no avail. "Please sit down! We're about to land."

  "Do you think we can land without the will of God, young lady?" he says to her and wins the passengers' attention immediately. "Do you think your seatbelts will save you from the wrath of God if He so desires to crash this plane to pieces?"

  The flight attendant shrugs and the crowd begs the Pillar to recite his landing prayer. "Okay, just make it quick." She lowers her head and walks away.

  "After me, please." He raises his hand to the plane's ceiling and begins, "Now I sit me down to land," and the passengers repeat after him, all in one voice. "I pray the Lord with open hands"—this has become the Vatican Airlines—"that if I die before we land"—I can't believe how poor his rhyming is. Why are these people even following him?—"please don't take me to Wonderland!"

  "Amen," everyone says, and I feel like I want to dig Lewis Carroll up from his grave and ask him who the Pillar really is.

  44

  VATICAN CITY

  Once we land, the Pillar stops a taxi and chirps in Italian. When I say chirp, I mean it. It's like he is someone else entirely when he talks this loud language. I listen to him the way he says bene and cups his hand like Italians do. The taxi driver is fascinated by the Pillar, although I can't understand what they are saying. All I know is the Pillar's name is suddenly Professor Carlo Pallotti.

  We finally stop at a beautiful square with narrow streets. The Pillar takes me by the hand and shows me around. He says we're going to St. Peter's, one of the oldest churches in the world.

  "Basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano." He waves at the beautiful church in front of us.

  "Mama mia!" I find myself saying. I am not mocking him. Truly, the whole place and the church are magical. I can't believe I have been trapped in the asylum for all this time. The world outside is mad, but it's also beautiful. If I weren't here on a mission, I'd be touring this location and taking pictures all day long. "But wait a minute, Professor Carlo Pallotti," I say. "What does this have to do with the White Queen?"

  The Pillar doesn't answer me. He ushers me to some kind of a parade nearby. Not in the sense of carnivals and dancing girls. This is a very respectable celebration. All the people look peaceful and modest. They seem to be waiting for someone, all looking in one direction. Carriages pass slowly between the spectators on both sides. It looks like the Queen of England's birthday parade, which I have just seen footage of on the plane.

  The Pillar takes off his hat and tucks it in his suit. He tells me that there is a dress code for being near the basilica. Hats aren't allowed.

  "So, what are we waiting for?" I ask.

  "We're waiting for her," the Pillar says, knocking his cane proudly against the ground. "The White Queen herself."

  "I notice you haven't smoked since we came back from London," I remark, standing among the celebrating people.

  "That's true." The Pillar nods. "Here is what you have to know. Of all enemies I have met in my life, I only respect one," the Pillar says, chin up, saluting other people waiting on the opposite side. "The White Queen." He nods toward a red carriage pulled by two white horses. It's filled with nuns or priestesses waving solemnly at us and the people around. I feel like I have to bow my head and wave back. They are beautiful. Old. Wise. And their smiles are relaxing. It's as if they have no envy or anxiety in their hearts. I wonder why they don't send the likes of them to nurse us in the asylum, instead of Waltraud and Ogier.

  Still, I don't think any of them is the White Queen.

  "Vatican protocol formally requires that women—Catholic queens and princesses, to be exact—wear a long black dress with a collar, long sleeves, and a black mantilla," the Pillar whispers in my ear as he salutes them with me.

  "Mantilla? You mean that shawl on their heads?" I say.

  "That's it."

  "So are these women nuns or princesses?"

  "Those are nuns. This is a very special ceremony," he explains. "Only a few selected princesses and queens were exempted and allowed to wear white in the history of the Vatican."

  "Really?"

  "It's a very sensitive exemption," the Pillar explains. "Only a few queens, like the queens of Belgium, Italy, and Luxembourg, were given that privilege. They like to call it Privilege du Blanc, 'the privilege of the white,'" he says. "Of course, the most important woman who was ever exempted is her." He points at another carriage that appears. "She's both a nun and Wonderland's White Queen."

  There is one woman in the carriage. She wears all white, her hair is white and smooth, and her face is gleaming with some invisible serene power. She isn't old like the others, probably in her late thirties. Men and women nod at her as she waves at them. The way people look at her reminds me how people used to look at Mother Teresa years ago. The woman simply has my heart, and, strangely enough, I want to go to war for her. I feel like I have met her in the past buried behind my eyes.

  "Her name is Fabiola," the Pillar announces. "The White Queen." For the first time, I see him bow his head when her carriage passes before us.

  45

  ST. PETER’S, VATICAN CITY

  We follow Fabiola to a hallway inside St. Peter's. The Pillar tells me that its inner designs are some of the most renowned works in Renaissance architecture. When I look at all this from another angle, I am such a lucky mad girl, having been to one of the oldest universities and churches in the last couple of days.

  "I need to ask this, professor," I whisper in his ear while we stand in line to kiss Fabiola's hands and receive her blessings. "I can accept that Wonderland is real and that its inhabitants live among us. I am even trying to accept that the likes of the Cheshire aren't malevolent childhood fantasies, but vicious monsters. What puzzles me is to accept them to be living all over the globe. Shouldn't all of this be happening at Oxford University, where Lewis wrote his book?"

  "When Lewis Carroll found out about the darkness lurking in Wonderland, he did his best to free its good people and entrap its monsters," the Pillar says while greeting other tourists. He has an uncanny way with old ladies. They all giggle at him, even the nuns. "After Lewis locked the monsters in Wonderland, the rest of its inhabitants had to survive through reincarnation and spells that allowed them to disguise themselves behind new personalities all over the world. It was best for them to separate, so they wouldn't cross paths. No one wanted to be reminded of what happened there. But since Wonderlanders are frabjous people by nature, they excelled wherever they were. I won't be surprised if the Duches
s ends up ruling England, the White Queen becomes the next Mother Teresa, and the Cheshire has a great chance to sell his soul to the devil. Those are a few of many others we haven't met yet." He nods at one more woman, and it's our turn to meet the White Queen.

  "In that scope, it's going to be a grand war between good and evil if the Wonderland Monsters escape like the Cheshire," I remark.

  "It's called the Wonderland Wars, Alice," the Pillar says from the corner of his mouth. "Believe me, this is nothing compared to what you're about to see soon. Didn't you see me screaming on top of Tom Quad, warning people of an apocalypse? I hope you didn't think I was joking like the sane people did." The Pillar stands up, and bows to Fabiola then approaches her.

  I watch the Pillar kneel on one leg and kiss Fabiola's hand. I hadn't noticed that his hair is strangely spiky and short. It's also receding. He whispers something to the White Queen while on his knees. Like all other women, she smiles. Her smile is so serene that I swear I can feel light in my heart. But then when he raises his head, and she takes a closer look at him, her face dims as if she has seen a ghost from the past.

  Fabiola calls the ceremony to a halt and stands up. She is tall, and she is good-looking—really good-looking. Although I can't see the features of her body from underneath her white dress, I am assuming she has a body of a ballerina. The way she stands shows she is athletic. I wonder what made her take on the role of a nun when she could have been a superstar or model in this life.

  The Pillar stands up and keeps talking to her. She throws a short glance at me over his shoulders. I smile at her, unable to do anything else. I have never seen anyone like her. She flashes a brief smile at me, too. It's a sincere smile, but then she lets out a long sigh. Something about me brings sadness to her heart.

  She turns back to the Pillar and whispers something to him. He nods. Then she holds the rim of her dress up like a princess and excuses herself from the other nuns, who lower their heads with respect.