by Cameron Jace
The truth brought nothing but headaches to him, so he gave in to sleep.
In the streets of London, the Cheshire had locked Jack in a basement while he strolled out, jumping from one body to another.
The Cheshire used those people’s bodies to do horrible things. The least of which was using the body of a ninety-year-old woman and lighting a car on fire.
But whatever he did, something was missing. What? It was simple. The Cheshire longed to know who he really was. Sure, he was a cat many, many years ago. But cats don’t have names—not really, people make them up and think that the cats care.
In the hour of truth, the Cheshire realized that he could be anyone he ever wanted, except one: himself.
Farther and farther, Tom Truckle still kept the secret of his identity, which wasn’t that hard to figure out, but most people just didn’t notice. And to make sure he wouldn’t feel the need to tell anyone, he locked himself up in the VIP floor of the asylum, now that the Pillar was gone.
But if the hour made him realize anything, then it was his utter loneliness in this world. His children didn’t love him, nor did his wife, and hardly did anyone else.
Tom ended up talking to his best friend in the world. The flamingo, which turned out to be a perfectly lovable animal.
In the few last minutes of the hour of truth, he told the flamingo who he really was. The flamingo’s eyes widened, wondering how no one ever noticed.
Epilogue Part Two
OXFORD. THE HOUR OF TRUTH, 5:30 PM
Alice, at the hour of truth, was a bit off her rocker. She was about to kill the lights in the Inklings when she saw Lewis Carroll sitting on one of the tables.
“I’m not imagining you, am I?”
“No,” he said, resting one leg on another, his hands gently set on his legs. “It’s one of the privileges of the Inklings. Sometimes I can pass through and meet you in this world.”
“So what are you? Dead?” Alice stood frozen.
“It’s complicated, and I don’t have much time to tell you,” he said. “I’m here to thank you.”
“Thank you!” His funny, curious rabbit peeked out of his pocket.
“For what?”
“For not killing me—Carolus, I mean.”
“Yeah, about that,” Alice said. “How did you let that happen, Lewis? I can’t believe something so evil could come out of you.”
“It’s a long story. Now is not the time to talk about it.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“That you have to stop worrying if you’re the real Alice or not,” he said. “I’m telling you, it’s you.”
“Yes, sure,” she said reluctantly. “But how can I be sure you’re real in the first place? How can I be sure anything is real?”
“How can anyone be sure, Alice? People walk in a haze all day. You think they’re sure of anything? The trick isn’t to be sure.”
“Then what is the trick?”
“The trick to believe.”
“Believe that things are true no matter what?”
“No. Believe in yourself.” He stood up. “I need to go now, so again, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way,” he stopped before disappearing. “You never asked me why I was grateful you didn’t kill Carolus.”
“Isn’t it obvious? So you don’t die?”
“Everyone dies, Alice,” Lewis said. “I thanked you because if you had killed Carolus, I’d never have known if I could beat him myself.”
Alice considered it for a moment. It was a good point of view. “Wait. I just realized you’re showing up in the hour of truth. Does that mean you’re real?”
But then Lewis was gone, and the lights went out.
Epilogue Part Three
THE HOUR OF TRUTH, 5:43 PM.
In the Vatican, Fabiola sat alone in her private room in the back.
She was about to take off her white dress and fold it next to the Vorpal sword on the table.
Slowly, she began unbuttoning her dress. From this day, she was not going to be a nun anymore. It had only been a matter of time.
She stared at her arms and shoulders and almost closed her eyes. They showed traces of her past in the most unusual ways.
Fabiola changed into modern clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, took her Vorpal sword and opened the door.
She stopped by the children from Columbia. The children nodded understandably. They knew what was going on, and they liked it.
Then Fabiola walked past the people who loved her and cherished her.
Smiling at her followers, she cursed the Pillar under her breath. She cursed him for so many things, but mainly for reminding her she was no nun. That no matter how she tried to hide it, she was a warrior. And World War Wonderland was only a week or two away.
Some of her people cupped their hands on their mouth, staring at her arms. Was this the nun they had loved and cherished all along?
But Fabiola had no choice. Black Chess surfaced. The Inklings were gathering. The prophecy had proven to be right. The girl was the Real Alice, even if she didn’t always seem apt to the mission.
She stepped out of the church, asking to be forgiven, for she was about to stare darkness in the eyes, hoping she’d be as strong as Alice and not get stained like in the past.
She turned and said goodbye to her people, still staring at her hands and shoulders covered in tattoos. She knew it was shocking, even to herself, after all this time. But she could not escape who she really was. The Pillar made sure she’d return to her old self, and she hated him for that.
Throughout the piazza, walked the White Queen, gripping her Vorpal sword, wearing the tattoos that mostly said:
I can’t escape yesterday because I’m still the same warrior now.
On the other side of the world, the Pillar was sitting on a bank in Oxford University when the hour of truth came. He’d managed to resist the truth for half an hour. But it was no use. Whatever this curse of truth was, it was madder than fiction.
He was fiddling with the key when the hour’s effect empowered him. There was no going back now.
He pulled out an envelope and tucked the key inside.
Slowly, he walked out of the university to the nearest post office. He borrowed a pen and wrote on a small piece of paper:
Here is the first key. Alice has another, so you have two out of six now. As for me, mission accomplished. I’m done and gone. None of you will ever see me again.
The Pillar slid the piece of paper into the envelope and licked it to a close.
He borrowed the pen again and wrote on the back of the envelope:
To the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Then he wrote the address on the back: The Vatican.
While trying to slide the envelope into the box, his glove stuck in a nail sticking out from the side. He took off the white glove, just for a moment, and found himself staring at an old heart-wrenching memory. He was staring at the two knuckles missing from the fingers on his right hand.
The END...
Alice Wonder returns in WONDER
Book 5 : Wonder
Prologue Part One
BIG BEN, LONDON
Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock were dangling their feet, sipping tea, and eating brownies on top of the Big Ben tower in London. Mr. Tick was tall, lanky, with a head that looked like a cantaloupe. He wore a long coat, but short enough at the bottom that his rainbow-colored socks showed from underneath. He didn’t wear boots, but sandals, which gave way to his big toes. Mr. Tick had three hairies on top of his head. He spent a significant time nourishing and combing them. He wondered whether to comb them to the left, to the right, or spike them up with gel. Maybe going freestyle was the next move.
But Mr. Tick’s most precious item was the golden watch that dangled from his pocket. A watch that Mrs. Tock liked to make fun of.
“You’re on time, Mr. Tick,” she said. “Just like you’ve always been.”
“I�
��m not on time, Mrs. Tock,” Mr. Tick said. “It’s you who is always late, Mrs. Tock.”
“That’s my job. I have no choice,” she said, leaning on her cane, the back of her short, stocky figure arching forward. “The Tick always arrives first, then the Tock follows. The rules of time since the beginning of time.”
“Complaining much?” Mr. Tick’s chin turned up and away from her. He was staring at the city of London buried in heavy rain, drinking raindrops from a teacup in his hand. “Blame it on the Gods of Wonderland. They’re who made us that way.”
“Sexist Gods,” Mrs. Tock said. “Why do women always come second in their calculations? I’d prefer to be a Tick, not a Tock. I’d have loved to always arrive sooner, not later.”
“Too late for that,” Mr. Tick mocked her. “Look at you. You’re old, short, stocky, and can barely walk with ease. I think being Mrs. Tock suits you fine.”
“Yeah?” She sneered, her white hair flapping to a breeze. “And you’re tall. Too tall. Bald. And thin. The characteristics of a loon.”
“We’re all loons in Wonderland,” he said, amusing himself. “Besides, I’m not bald. I have three hairies.”
This comeback irritated Mrs. Tock. So she hit him in the knees with her cane. Mr. Tick’s skinny frame collapsed to his knees. Immediately, she plucked out one of his hairies.
“Ouch,” he said.
“Ouch, indeed.” She sneered again. “Now you only have two. Bother me further, and I’ll cut off your head like the Queen of Hearts does.”
“You can’t do that to me, vicious woman.” He slowly stood up, snatching the hairy back from her hand. He spat on it then plastered it back on his head. “I’m Mr. Tick. I work for Time itself. I can’t die.”
“Not if I kill you first. And you know what’s good about being Mrs. Tock? I’ll die after you since I always come second.” She stuck out her tongue. “Which will give me the pleasure of watching you take your last breath.”
“All right.” He waved his watch in the air. “Just bloody calm down. Go play with one of your cards to kill time, lazy woman.”
“And you go sip your tasteless six o’clock tea like you do every day, monotonous man.”
“I hate you so much now.” He sighed. “You used to be fun when we were in Wonderland.”
“That’s because Wonderland was fun, enough that I overlooked your shortcomings, you tall and stupid Mr. Tick.”
“Ah, those days may never come back.” He sighed again. “Remember when we were allowed to stop time?”
Now she glowered. “Oh, my. That was frabjous. I remember how we messed with the Hatter’s mind when every hour stayed six o’clock for six years, and he would go mad trying to change it.”
“I do. I do.” He chuckled. “I really miss those days. I wonder if the Real Alice will ever show up so we can go back to Wonderland.”
“I wonder.” Now she sighed, hugging his tall frame by the waist.
Emotions surged through Mr. Tick’s soul. He stared at Big Ben. The famous clock was a few seconds late. Mr. Tick cursed the human inaccuracy. “Look at what those humans did to Big Ben, Mrs. Tock.”
“I know, Mr. Tick. Horrible. Even I don’t arrive that late.”
“Tell you what.” Mr. Tick gripped her by the shoulders and lifted her up to look in her eyes. “How about we play, like in the old days.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes veered sideways toward Big Ben. “Let’s stop time again!”
“Really? In this world?”
“Absolutely. Let’s drive people mad.”
“A very mimsy idea, Mr. Tick. I was starting to get bored out of my mind.”
Mr. Tick put her back down, then pulled out his pocket watch, fiddling with its hands. “Clock. Clock. Clock. Tick. Tac. Tock.” He started humming.
So did Mrs. Tock.
Slowly they watched London freeze into a dull and grey portrait of people, traffic, and amazing architecture caught under inanimate drops of rain, now hanging in midair.
Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock couldn’t be happier. No one had the power to do this but them. After all, they were working for Mr. Time himself, and they had been unhappily married since the beginning of… well… time itself.
Prologue Part Two
Now that the time on Big Ben had frozen at six o’clock, Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock descended to the streets. It was so much fun with everyone stuck in their place and position.
A man talking on the phone, his mouth left agape.
A woman strolling a shopping cart, still bent over it, one leg up behind her.
A speeding car stopped with an aura of its shadow stretching behind it, like in the Road Runner cartoon.
“What now, Mrs. Tock?”
“I’m enjoying this. Look at those people frozen, unaware of what’s happening to them. Do you want to slap a few people on the face?”
“Not fun enough.”
“Empty their pockets and leave them broke when they wake up?”
“Still not fun enough.”
“You could lift me up so I can poke their noses.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh,” Mrs. Tock said. “I think I know what you will consider fun enough.” She smirked.
“You nasty little short Tock.” His eyes widened. “You always know how to please me.”
Mrs. Tock’s cheeks reddened. She shrugged her shoulders and walked the streets. The first thing she did was push a car near the edge of the bridge, so when they brought time back, the driver would have no time to veer it back and would splash into the River Thames.
Mr. Tick caught the idea and started manipulating people’s positions. Now two strangers, man, and woman were kissing. Another two, one slapped the other. Then there was this businessman — Mr. Tick took his clothes off. Now he’d wake up naked in public.
On and on, they spent the next few minutes preparing the world for chaos. They even pulled a couple of news reporters from their desks and placed them ready with their microphones and cameras on the streets so that the news would go viral on the spot.
“Oh, fantastic!” Mrs. Tock knocked her cane on the ground.
“I can’t wait to watch what happens,” Mr. Tick said, fiddling with his time-stopping watch again. “Ready?”
“So eager to see the world in chaos.”
But right before Mr. Tick could bring back time, his phone buzzed. An old banana cell phone that hadn’t beeped since about fifteen years ago — who’d call time, anyways?
“Someone’s calling me?” Mr. Tick said.
“It’s a message,” Mrs. Tock corrected him. “Why haven’t I received one too?”
Then her phone buzzed.
“You’re Mrs. Tock. You’re always late, that’s why.” Mr. Tick glanced at his phone and read the message. Mrs. Tock struggled with opening hers, as she wasn’t tech-savvy.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“It’s an offer,” Mr. Tick said. “Someone knows we’re bored to death.”
“What kind of offer?”
“An offer from a Wonderland Monster.” Mr. Tick’s eyes met hers.
“Oh.” She considered this. “Well, we love chaos, but we’re not quite Wonderland Monsters.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking. We don’t belong to either Black Chess or the Inklings. I think we should decline the offer.”
“But what’s it about?”
“It’s an offer to hurt someone.” Mr. Tick shrugged. “Really hurt someone.”
“Why would a Wonderland Monster think we’d accept that?”
“Because we’re bored. And honestly, as time, we’re known to be cruel.”
“That’s it?”
“And because it’s about Alice.”
“Alice?”
“Yes, Alice.”
“Alice who?”
“Alice. Alice.”
“The Real Alice?”
“Just Alice.”
“Did they find her?”
“Not sure y
et, but they think we’re supposed to do something to her to confirm she is the Real Alice.”
“Alice is dead.”
“That’s not what the message says.”
“Hmm…” Mrs. Tock said. “Wouldn’t it be frabjous if Alice is alive. What else does the message say?”
Mr. Tick neared Mrs. Tock and whispered in her ear. Mrs. Tock’s eyes bulged. She almost lost balance with her cane. “Really?”
“I think we should do it,” Mr. Tick said. “I’m curious – and very, very bored.”
“Of course, we should do it.” She sneered all of a sudden. “I never thought so much fun was possible. But first…”
“I know,” Mr. Tick said, rubbing his watch. “Let’s first bring back time and watch this beautiful chaos in the streets of London.”
1
LECTURE HALL, OXFORD UNIVERSITY
Hi, my name is Alice. Could be Mary Ann. Who knows? What matters is that I am a person who saves lives. I really exist.
So I am sitting in a Physics 202 class at Oxford University, trying to learn. Having gotten permission from Dr. Tom Truckle to attend classes, I’ve been coming to college for the last two weeks. If I’ve learned anything about studying in college, it’d be that learning sucks.
The professor is talking gibberish about the scientific possibility of time traveling. He mentions Einstein a couple of times. I am about to raise a hand and tell him about the Einstein Blackboard at Oxford University, the one I used to travel back to Wonderland.
But who’d believe me if I told the story? Better keep it to myself.
The Real Alice from Wonderland is now a lame student in college, taking the road usually taken by every young boy and girl in the world. Grow up, study, get your certificates, get married, have kids, and die. Thank you very much for attending the joke called life.