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

by Cameron Jace

  27

  DEPARTMENT OF INSANITY, 7.5 HA HA ROAD, LONDON

  TIME REMAINING: 23 HOURS, 49 MINUTES

  Waiting for Inspector Dormouse inside the Department of Insanity’s office, I can’t help but ask the Pillar about the street name where the department is located: “Ha Ha Road?”

  “Would have sounded better if it were Bonkers Road, Fruitcake Alley, or Lala Avenue.” The Pillar keeps gesturing at police officers while we talk. He seems to enjoy being among them too much—not bad for a serial killer. “But I checked it on Google Maps. It’s a legitimate street name. Maybe that’s why they built the Department of Insanity here.”

  “The sign says Crimes of Insanity, but everyone prefers to call it Department of Insanity.”

  “Well, you can’t really call it Crimes of Insanity. If a person is mad, it can’t be a crime. Thus the diversion, but I like it. Here he comes.” He cheers at Inspector Dormouse, arriving with his beady eyes.

  “Sorry, had to take an afternoon nap,” the inspector says and sits across from us.

  “It’s not afternoon yet—” I swallow the sentence when the Pillar kicks my foot under the table.

  “We need your help, Inspector,” the Pillar says. “Remember my request on the phone?”

  “I do.” Inspector Dormouse’s belly ripples to his sigh. “You’re looking to meet the so-called March Hare.”

  “Yes. We have evidence that he is connected to several cases of animal crimes,” the Pillar says. “We’d like to interrogate him.”

  “But the March Hare has been locked up for years,” Dormouse says. “He is a very dangerous man.”

  “We have evidence he organized a crew of animal offenders before he was locked up.” The Pillar does all the talking. I can barely grasp how the March Hare is talked about so openly. “It would be a big favor if you helped us meet him. He might lead us to how to stop the rabbit from exploding.”

  “But no rabbit is going to explode anymore,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Can’t you see? We’re past the deadline of 666 minutes. It was all a hoax by a crazy magician in a cheap circus.”

  “Again, we have evidence the deadline has been extended for another twenty-four hours,” the Pillar says.

  “What evidence?” Inspector Dormouse suddenly seems alert. “Can I see it?”

  “It’s classified,” the Pillar says.

  “I’m the police. Nothing is classified to me,” Inspector Dormouse says.

  “You’re the Department of Insanity on 7.5 Ha Ha Street,” the Pillar remarks in a slightly mocking manner. “I’m sorry, but you’re not really the police.”

  “You’re right.” Inspector Dormouse waves his fatty hand in the air. “I hate my job. We haven’t solved one case since we were hired a few years ago. How am I supposed to catch a madman and convict him of a crime? A bomb inside a rabbit. Huh.”

  “I suppose you could help us, then,” I offer. “We promise you’ll get the credit if we catch the rabbit.”

  The Pillar cranes his head with admiration toward me. “She always keeps her promises,” he tells Inspector Dormouse, as he flashes a thumb at me. “I assure you, she’s not mad like all those criminals you chase. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t even own a Certificate of Insanity.”

  “You look like a fine young woman,” Inspector Dormouse says. “My daughter would look up to you. She likes animals and likes saving them.” He takes a moment to think it over. His head falls onto his chest as he thinks. He is about to sleep again. “So.” Inspector Dormouse comes back from sleep. “What were we saying?”

  “The March Hare,” I say. “We’d like to meet him.” We have to meet him, and soon.

  “Ah, that.”

  “Why is he called the March Hare, by the way?” I ask.

  “Because he is as mad as a March Hare.” Inspector Dormouse chuckles.

  “Mad as a March Hare?” I am really confused about this. I thought the saying was “mad as a Hatter,” although I know now that the Hatter was never described as “mad” in the book.

  “It’s an old saying, young girl,” Inspector Dormouse says. “In my days we used to say things like ‘you’re mad as a March Hare’ or ‘mad as a bag of snakes.’”

  “Or ‘mad as a box of frogs,’” the Pillar offers.

  “See, Professor Petmaster knows.” Inspector Dormouse yawns.

  “Mad as a casket in the basket.” The Pillar can’t help it.

  “Mad as the holes in socks.” Inspector Dormouse stands up and high-fives him.

  “Mad as a parrot with a carrot!” the Pillar says.

  Officers around turn their heads at the two loons I am talking to.

  “Mad as the man in the van.” Inspector Dormouse looks wide awake now. No coffee needed.

  “Can anyone tell me why he is called the March Hare?” I almost yell in frustration. Seriously, why are all these people not locked away in an asylum?

  “Hmm...” Inspector Dormouse adjusts his loose tie and sits back. “Well, young lady, it’s because he is usually nervous, unable to relax, always feeling anxious, and everything around him is a conspiracy.”

  “Did you know that?” I turn and look at the Pillar.

  “I heard about him.” He cocks his head.

  “So, does he have a real name?” I ask the inspector.

  “Certainly,” he says. “His name is Professor Jittery March.”

  “He is a professor?”

  “An exceptional Scottish scientist, indeed,” Inspector Dormouse says. “A theorist, architect, and landscapist.”

  “Wow, all that,” I say. “I bet he is nicknamed March Hare for all his talents.”

  “Not at all,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Professor Jittery March is now locked in a high-tech asylum. He is the maddest of the mad.”

  “Asylum?” I look at the Pillar.

  “Top-level high-tech asylum, if I have to repeat myself,” Inspector Dormouse says.

  “Why?”

  Inspector Dormouse takes a long breath and then says, “A few people are allocated to such secure asylums. They say he has gone mad looking for doors to Wonderland.”

  28

  INSPECTOR DORMOUSE’S CAR, SOMEWHERE IN LONDON

  TIME REMAINING: 22 HOURS, 11 MINUTES

  We’re waiting outside the inspector’s car, preparing to drive to meet Professor Jittery March. Now unusually alert, Inspector Dormouse is making a lot of phone calls, inside his car, trying to arrange a meeting. I don’t know what’s going on, or where the professor is locked up. Neither does the Pillar.

  “How come you don’t know about Professor Jittery?” I ask him.

  “I do know about him,” the Pillar whispers, so the inspector won’t hear us. “It’s just we don’t usually cross paths. Back in Wonderland, he was the Hatter’s best friend. He owned a house where the craziest tea parties took place. I also don’t know what his role is in the upcoming Wonderland Wars.”

  “You mean he isn’t a Wonderland Monster?”

  “Jittery?” The Pillar laughs. “I may not have known him well, but I’m sure he isn’t one. At least he wasn’t the last time I saw him.”

  “Which was when?”

  “A few years ago, in a famous convention where he was showing his genius architectural works,” the Pillar says. “Jittery designed most of the world’s greatest gardens, some public, some private.”

  “He did?” I wonder why a talented man like him is locked away.

  “You wouldn’t believe the beauty of those gardens,” the Pillar says. “He was part of a worldwide crew that designed the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, for instance. A masterpiece. He was a major landscape consultant in the designing of the Château de Versailles gardens, and the Master of Nets Garden in Suzhou, China. Such a brilliant landscaper.”

  “I don’t know about most of these gardens.”

  “Just google them. You’ll love what you see,” the Pillar says. “Jittery is also a scientist. He contributed a lot in studying the Big Bang Theory at CERN
in Switzerland. A highly respectable organization in their field.”

  “Then why is he locked away in some high-tech asylum?”

  “This is like asking why you’re locked away in the asylum—or the Muffin Man,” the Pillar says. “At some point in the future, it will be scientifically proven that the real asylum is out there, not behind bars in underground facilities. But that’s another story for another time. All I know is that Jittery was one of the few who weren’t locked away by Lewis. He is like Fabiola. Lewis Carroll released them into the real world where they could have a better life. Fabiola used to say she liked Jittery if I remember correctly. But I am sure she can’t help now.” The Pillar stops and gazes in Inspector Dormouse’s direction. “What really concerns me is this so-called high-tech asylum. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I agree,” I say. “I mean, why isn’t he just confined to the Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” The Pillar taps his cane once on the floor, eyes twitching at the inspector, making his phone calls.

  “Do you think we should try calling Dr. Tom Truckle?” I offer. “Maybe he can help?”

  “I did.” The Pillar purses his lips. “He hung up once I mentioned Jittery. Tom’s head is buried in illegal practices, bribes, and extortion. He barely tolerates me, so I don’t expose him.”

  “That’s reassuring.” I sigh.

  “Bear in mind that there is a lot we don’t know about this world we’re living in, dear Alice,” the Pillar says. “There is so much secret politics, moneymaking, and monkey business concerning asylums and insanity. Most of the people in asylums aren’t as mad as you think. I said that before, but hey, it doesn’t hurt to be boring once in a while.”

  “Are you talking about me?” I joke.

  “Nah, you’re bananas,” he says. “I was talking about me. Contrary to common belief, I am the sanest man in the world.”

  Inspector Dormouse summons us to the back of his car. We enter and close the door behind us, ready to listen.

  “Look, it’s not easy.” He cranes his neck and talks to us. He has a sleeping mask wrapped around his forehead, the way people wear their sunglasses when they don’t need them. I guess he is planning to take another nap soon. The five o’clock tea nap, maybe? “To get you to meet Professor Jittery, I will risk my career. I don’t know a man who’d risk such a thing at my age.” He tries to play coy while he is the sweetest of men. “You promised I’d get the credit of catching the rabbit if you do. I need to make sure you will stick to your promise. My daughter will be proud of me. She has never been proud of me until this point.”

  “I swear in the name of the Jabberwock and—”

  I cut through the Pillar’s sarcasm, and say, “Trust me, Inspector Sherlock. I have no use for the credit. It’s the life of a rabbit that’s at stake here.” Have I just called him by his first name to gain his trust? I think the Pillar’s tactics are growing on me.

  “Aye, young lady, I believe you. Like I said, you remind me of my daughter.”

  “So how are we going to meet the famous Jittery?” the Pillar asks.

  “You won’t, Mister Petmaster,” Inspector Dormouse says. “But you, Amy Watson, will.”

  “But why—”

  I cut through the Pillar’s disdain again. “I have a good feeling about this. You’re Sherlock, and I am Watson, your assistant,” I tell Inspector Dormouse.

  Way to go, Alice. No wonder you’re supposedly majoring in Psychology at Oxford University—where you have not attended one class so far.

  Inspector Dormouse chuckles. The car shakes.

  “So tell me why Professor Petmaster can’t meet the March Hare,” I say.

  “Like I said, I’m taking a big risk here,” the inspector says. “Jittery is a danger to society. A few men and women are secretly kept where he is. I made a few phone calls and arranged for a meeting. Since I’m one of few men in the police force allowed to meet with dangerous madmen, they agreed. Hesitantly. They only agreed when I told him his niece wishes to see him.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” Inspector Dormouse says. “I told them his niece is my only way to lure him into confessing anything about his madness.”

  “They believed you?” The Pillar raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Welcome to the real world,” Inspector Dormouse says. “No one cares about anything. Each worker in the system only cares to lift the responsibility off his shoulders. Give them a good reason and promise it’s all your fault when something goes wrong, and you’re good to go.”

  “Makes sense to me,” I say. “So why aren’t we driving to meet Professor Jittery yet?”

  “Because I will have to blindfold your eyes and stuff your ears with earplugs,” Inspector Dormouse says. “I’m sorry, but no one gets to know the location of the secret asylum. The Hole.”

  29

  FLIGHT 321, BEIJING AIRPORT, CHINA

  The man inside the private airplane, ready to take off, was one of the closest to the president of China. An important man indeed, who had served his country for many years.

  He leaned back in his seat and stared at the invitation in his hand.

  He wasn’t quite a fan of the Queen of England, but he had heard about the Event a while ago. It was without question something he would love to be a part of. He and the likes of the Queen had a lot in common.

  He was curious.

  The Chinese man ordered his pilot to change direction and fly to London immediately. It was about time the world knew about the likes of him and the Queen.

  30

  SECRET ASYLUM, THE HOLE. SOMEWHERE IN LONDON

  TIME REMAINING: 20 HOURS, 34 MINUTES

  “What’s a cute girl like you doing in the Hole?” a male voice says.

  My eyes are still wrapped with some bandana that prevents me from seeing. I can only rely on my ears and sense of smell to know where I am. But it was hard to tell in the inspector’s car. London is noisy, crowded, and I don’t know it well. I only began relying on my senses when I stepped inside what seemed like an elevator.

  Now, I can feel my heart rise in my chest as we’re chugging down. I can hear the drone of a high-tech machine.

  And I don’t answer whoever is escorting me down the Hole.

  “We sometimes have visitors to Professor Jittery.” He sounds young. In his twenties, maybe. A nurse of some sort. “But rarely a beautiful girl like you.”

  I am getting more and more uncomfortable. Having been hit on twice today is a bit confusing—I remember the lanky officer at the circus this morning. Is that what happens to all girls my age when they’re going through their days? Should I giggle and dance, happy that boys don’t realize I am insane? Happy that they think I am beautiful and cute? Or is this the kind of normal obstacle that a girl with a mission has to face all day long? It’s as if girls aren’t expected to handle big stuff or something.

  “Can I pull off my blindfold?” I ask.

  “Of course, we’re almost there,” the boy in the elevator says. “Here. Let me do it for you—”

  His hands touch my face. I slap them as hard as I can. It’s spontaneous. It’s instinctual. It’s what I learned in None Fu.

  “Ouch!” the boy says. “What was that for?”

  I pull off my blindfold, feeling the thump of the elevator stopping under my feet. Slowly, my eyes go from blurry to translucent then to normal vision. The boy’s face forms in front of me while the elevator doors open.

  When I fully regain my vision, I see the boy’s hand wounded. I did that? I must be learning to fight faster, although I didn’t need to hurt him.

  “Sorry. I’m not used to someone touching me, or even getting close. You’re cute yourself,” I say, not in an attractive way. “Shall we go?” I point at the door.

  “You also have beautiful eyes,” the boy, who turns out to be in his twenties, with short hair and a muscular figure, says.

  “I know.” I shrug, playing aloof. “But stay away. Some day
s I wake up crippled and insane.” I don’t have time for flirting. Incidents like these make me remember Jack. And I don’t want to remember Jack right now. It hurts too much.

  The boy laughs. “Beautiful and smart.” He ushers me through a corridor of white walls and white tiles. We stop before a white door, and it takes a while before I see him insert a magnetic card into a white slot in the door. The card is as white as everything else.

  How do they expect a patient to heal in here? All this white is driving me crazy.

  “Take this.” The boy hands me what looks like a very small remote control with a single red button on it. “If anything bad happens, if you want to leave, press the button. I will come to you.”

  I take it. “Don’t you have surveillance cameras inside so you’d know if something happens?”

  “No,” the boy says. “Inspector Dormouse asked for your privacy. Unless...”

  “He is right,” I say. “I better have no one watch me interrogate him.”

  “Great. Would you like to go out somewhere after this?”

  Wow. Where did that come from?

  “I killed my last boyfriend.” I am not lying.

  “So cute.” The boy doesn’t give up. “I don’t mind if you kill me.”

  “Listen.” I sigh. “You look like a nice guy. Seriously, you don’t want to know me. I talk to a flower that spits on me. I have a fear of mirrors because of a large rabbit inside them. And again, some days I wake up crippled.”

  “Wow.” He is admiring me more. “You’re insane.”

  “There, you said it.”

  “I love insane girls.”

  I sigh. I don’t know how to shake him off. “No, you don’t. Like, for instance, you know Fabiola, the renowned nun in the Vatican?”

  “Of course. Lovely lady.”

  “I watched her kill people inside the Vatican,” I say. Strangely, this seems to offend the boy a little. “With a Vorpal Sword. She fights like Jackie Chan and slits throats like a samurai."