by Cameron Jace
“Really?” the Pillar said. “Is that what you know?”
“You killed the Fourteen because they betrayed you and wouldn’t let you collect your souls.”
“That’s one side of the story.” The Pillar rubbed something inside his ear with his pinky, his other hand gripping the gun, pointed at the inspector.
“There is no other side to it,” Dormouse said. “You will not walk out of this building alive.”
“I came and went as I pleased in the asylum. No one could ever stop me,” the Pillar said. “Besides, you should really lower your voice, inspector. Everyone’s asleep.”
“You got that part wrong, professor.” Dormouse smiled victoriously, as the people in the hall were starting to wake up. “Because Alice killed the Chessmaster. People are about to wake up.”
And for all the conflicting reasons in the world, Dormouse saw the Pillar smiling in broad lines, his eyes wide, and it looked like his heart was fluttering. Dormouse didn’t know what to make of this. If the Pillar was this brutal beast, how come he was so happy Alice was still alive?
78
The last chess game, Chess City, Kalmykia
“You think you beat me?” The Chessmaster writhed on the ground, gasping his last few breaths. “I never lose.”
“Don’t fight it,” I tell him. “The world is a better place without you. The world is safe now.”
“And ironically, you’ll be the hero?”
“Trust me, no one ever thinks I’m the hero. I’m a nineteen-year-old mad girl at best. Most of my boyfriends die, or I make silent sacrifices for them. I have no friends. Neither do I have idols. Everything around me is a purple haze of madness, but you know what? I save a few people from time to time.”
“You killed my family. You’re not supposed to win.”
“Even if I did, I’m really, really sorry, but that wasn’t me. That was someone else.”
“I still can’t believe I’m dying after all these years of planning to get you and the Pillar,” he slurs, coughing.
I kneel down beside him. “About the Pillar,” I say. “How come the Executioner was one of the Fourteen when I saw the Pillar missing two fingers, like every other child the Executioner enslaved in Mushroomland?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it seems like the Pillar was a man, enslaved by the Executioner as a kid in Colombia at some point,” I say. “Even though the whole timeline is messed up, it still seems to me the Executioner tortured the Pillar as a kid.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Maybe it’s you who is lying and made it all up.” I want to believe the Pillar isn’t that bad. I really want to.
“You don’t get it.” The Chessmaster’s eyelids flutter. “The Pillar used to meet the Fourteen in a secret place underneath Oxford, in the kitchen. There is a reckless cook called Chopin who accidentally chops off people’s fingers. He even chopped his own finger once.”
“So?”
“The Pillar once caught him eavesdropping. They had a fight. Chopin escaped, and chopped off the Pillar’s two fingers on the way out.”
“You expect me to believe this story?”
“I don’t expect anything from you.” The Chessmaster’s eyes fling open with all the power left in him. “It’s you who is blind. It’s you who wants to believe the Pillar is a good man. Can’t you see?”
“No, I can’t,” I say. “I could never see the Pillar wanting to mass-murder people. It’s the monsters like you I come across each week who do this.”
“What if I can prove it to you?” The Chessmaster grips my arm. His need to tell me something far outweighs his weakness due to the poison he just gulped.
“What is it?” Something tells me I don’t want to hear it.
“Say my name,” he demands.
“Pardon me?”
“Say my name, Alice.”
“Okay, if that’s your last wish. You’re the Chessmaster.”
“Not that name.” His grip tightens. “My real name.”
“Ah, that. Your Russian name.” I try to recall it. “What was it? Yes, your name is Vozchik Stolb. Why?”
“Can’t you see what my name means?”
“I’m not into Russian.”
“Vozchik is a rough Russian translation of the word Carter in English,” he begins, and the world begins to spin again. “Stolb means…”
“Pillar,” I finish it for him. “You’re one of the Fourteen.”
“Yes.” The Chessmaster winces. He is determined to tell me, though. “That’s why I told you I’ve made sure he dies. I split my soul into two with the Cheshire’s help. He is after the one in London, not knowing I exist.”
Even though I’m shocked, I have to give the Chessmaster the bad news. “I’m sorry, but you really underestimate the Pillar,” I tell him. “Do you really think he doesn’t know who you are? The Pillar planned this all along. That’s why he left for London, and paved the way for me to kill you here.”
The Chessmaster’s dying eyes are in flames. He’s shocked to hear about the genius Pillar, who has fooled him, me, and the world. I am as shocked as him, having finally tied the knots of the puzzle. Who is this man called Carter Pillar, and why is he doing this?
“What are you telling me?” the Chessmaster says.
“I’m telling you if there is one man who played Chess with God and won, then it’s not you, but the Pillar.” I’m not sure what to think of the Pillar. Maybe the premonition about me killing him in the future is real. Hell, it begins to feel like a must.
“Damn you, Alice and the Pillar!” The Chessmaster lets go of me as I stand up.
I prefer to have the Pillar at my back. There is no point in being sentimental. I’m a bad girl who is determined to do good things and save the world from the worst kind of evil. To do so, I have to make choices, like killing a man I may have once hurt—if it wasn’t the Pillar, and he just pulled me into the story somehow—to save so many lives. In my book it’s not who you were yesterday. It’s who you are today.
And though the tables have turned, the Chessmaster with his pain is the villain today, and I’m trying to save lives.
It’s a grey truth. Colorless, confusing, and borderline unethical. But it’s a truth that saves innocent people’s lives.
“Damn you, Alice!” The Chessmaster won’t give up before he dies, expressing his hatred toward me.
But I have no time for him. I need to find the Pillar, and in case he turns out to be that evil genius, I will have to believe that in the future I kill him.
The Red, my guardian angel, stands before me and pats me on the shoulder. In his hands, I see my Tiger Lily.
Note: I knew it meant much to you, so I kept it safe. You did well, Alice. You did the right thing.
“Why are you sure?” I ask, hugging the pot.
Because I believe in you. And look, the people in the world are awake. You helped them open their eyes. Maybe someday they will see how great you are.
“You think I’m great?” I ask. “Why do you believe in me so much? Who are you?”
I’m the one who will guard you until you grow old, become a mother and grandma with wrinkles on your face, and have arthritis climbing on your back like a monkey.
“Not the best choice of words.” I chuckle.
It’s not about the words you hear, it’s about what you feel, Alice.
“Seriously,” I say. “Who are you? Are you my future husband, trying to get into my heart?”
The Dude doesn’t answer me.
“Wait. Are you Jack? Please tell me you’re Jack.”
The Dude doesn’t answer again, but pushes a sword into my hand.
It was Fabiola’s Vorpal sword. It’s yours now.
“Who gave it to you?” I grip the sword with Fabiola’s blood fresh on it.
She is alive. She told me to give it to you. Now go get the Pillar, if he does deserve to die.
The Dude disappears into the crowd, cameras still flashi
ng everywhere, TV spreading the news of the world having been saved, but no one mentions my name.
On my way out to find the Pillar, the Chessmaster insists on cursing me. This time, it’s a bit different. “Damn you, Alice. Damn you…and your family.”
This cements my feet to the ground. “I have no family,” I say without turning. “Lorina, Edith, and their mysterious mother aren’t my family.”
The Chessmaster laughs through his coughing and last breaths. “Oh, Lord in heaven. She doesn’t know.”
I hurl back and part the people in my space, stooping over his body, now on the ambulance’s stretcher. “What don’t I know?”
“You don’t know who your family is, Alice,” he says. “I thought you were playing me, but you really don’t remember your family.”
I pull him closer to me by the neck, disgusted by the breath coming out of his foul mouth. “I have a family? A biological family, you mean?”
“Of course.” His eyes are glimmering with some sort of mocking victory. “Your family, Alice. They’re the reason why you became who you are after the circus.”
He doesn’t stop laughing. As if my pain, and his amusement, gave him the means to live again. “It turns out I really never lose a game of chess,” he says. “Because I will die without telling about them. I will take it to my grave, and I will always be the Chessmaster who never loses.”
In spite of me holding on to him, wanting to squeeze out answers, the soul inside him departs his body. It’s like he’s been waiting for this last moment to declare his win, and leave me hopeless, helpless, and lost without knowing about my real family.
79
Lifespan Hospice, London
Inspector Dormouse was still intoxicated with the Pillar’s happiness over Alice’s survival. It even seemed like a weak point in the professor’s attitude, enough to encourage Dormouse to attack him. But the inspector’s out-of-shape body wasn’t going to help.
“Close the door behind you,” the Pillar demanded. “Before everyone wakes up.”
Dormouse couldn’t oppose the notorious monster by the name of Carter Pillar.
“Step in closer,” the Pillar said.
Dormouse did, trying to figure out what was going on. There was this one possibility. A flicker of a thought. A slice of an assumption. A far-fetched idea he didn’t want to think about. Driving all the way from Oxford to London, he’d been thinking about it. He just couldn’t swallow it.
Now, staring right into the Pillar’s face, the idea surfaced. The Pillar wasn’t the most honest of men; his moral code was shabby, and to the police force he was a serial killer. But if there was one quality about the Pillar, one which Inspector Dormouse had witnessed over and over again, it was this: the Pillar cared about Alice. He would die for her.
The look on the Pillar’s face simply exposed him. And Dormouse, being a father, knew how precious a look it was, unconditionally caring about someone.
“Who are you, Professor Pillar?” Dormouse had to ask.
Half of the Pillar’s face shone in the weak yellow under a lamp. The other half loomed behind the dark. He looked like a ghost, one who’d disappear any moment, but leave his scent behind, forever haunting you—in good ways and in bad.
“I will give you the precious chance to leave this place right now,” the Pillar said. “I will never hurt you. All you have to do is go back to your sleepy life and never mention whatever you’ve discovered. Believe me, you don’t want to know the truth.”
Dormouse hesitated.
“Go back to your daughter, inspector,” the Pillar advised. “I’m not a sentimental man, and will shoot you dead if you dig deeper into things you shouldn’t.”
Inspector Dormouse nodded, turned around, and paced toward the door. What was he really doing here, digging into the secrets of Wonderland? He was better off going back home, enjoying a nap among his family members who loved him—and were much saner than the world outside.
Inspector Dormouse even made it so far as to grip the doorknob on his way out. But then the conclusion hit him hard, a revelation so intense and surprising he feared he’d never be able to sleep again.
He turned around and faced the Pillar. “Oh, holy lord of rings,” he said. “I know who you are.”
The Pillar tilted his head with pursed lips. He even shook his head. “Don’t do it, Dormouse. Don’t think too much. It may cost you more than you can handle.”
“Let me rephrase it,” Dormouse insisted, unable to suppress his thoughts. “All of us have been mistaken from the beginning, questioning who you really were.”
The Pillar said nothing.
“We were asking the wrong question,” Inspector Dormouse said. “The right question was who you weren’t. And who you aren’t.”
The Pillar squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long sigh. He gritted his teeth, his hand tightening on the gun. “Don’t say it, Dormouse. Just leave.”
But Dormouse’s excitement and curiosity got the best of him. “You’re not the Pillar. You have no relation to the monster Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar whatsoever.”
The Pillar opened his eyes, looking angry, like a hangman sad he had to pull the lever, and pointed the gun at the inspector.
“In the name of Wonderland, Alice, Lewis Carroll, and all the mad people in the world,” Dormouse said. “Who are you?”
“I’m the one who unfortunately needs to put you to sleep—forever,” the Pillar said, and shot him dead.
The END…
Alice will return in Family (Insanity 7)
Thank You
Thank you for purchasing and downloading Checkmate. The only book in the series without an epilogue—or two. Reason? I didn’t want to prepare you for the surprises. “Oh, now to the epilogue, the big reveal!” I wanted the big reveals to hit you earlier than expected. I hope it worked.
Checkmate is the Insanity book I’m proudest of so far, and that’s because it’s a purely organic book, meaning events happened because characters said so, and because the logical turn of events and circumstances forced the story to go this way. After knowing about her past, Alice needed to prove to herself she can stand up to Black Chess by taking the harshest of decisions, and the Pillar, well, we need to know who the heck he is and what he really wants with her. All those chapters you’ve just read—trust me, I was only a means to writing them, but they developed on their own. I really liked that.
However, there was an epilogue, tying the loose end in the Cheshire’s story after meeting Mr. Jay, but I chopped it out because I didn’t want you to know who the Cheshire will possess from now, not in this book. It will be explained in Family, the next book in the series. In many ways, Family is a continuation of Checkmate.
All puzzles and landmarks mentioned are real, and so are the facts—I’m always happy when I receive emails from readers who’ve visited these places because of the books.
Characters like Mr. Paperwhite and Father Williams are Lewis Carroll’s inventions. However, characters like Chopin the Chopper are mine (he just popped up on the screen and wouldn’t let go, and, frankly, I dared not chop him out of the story, because I feared for my fingers).
Last but not least, I can’t express how much I enjoy writing this series. I probably enjoy writing it more than any of you enjoy reading it.
Book 7 : Family
Prologue Part One
Oxford University, Wonderland, 1889
A seventeen-year-old Alice Wonder ran across the Tom Quad, hardly catching her breath. Her jaw had tightened and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her facial muscles froze with horror at what she was about to witness.
She tried to wave at the man standing in the distance but her hands went numb. Her heart was about to burst out of her ribcage and splinter into a million Tiger Lilies as she struggled to keep her pace. A thought crossed her mind: He did it. The darkest villain of Wonderland really did it.
Alice panted, stumbled and almost fell, but insisted on reaching her destination. She tried to sh
out but the heavy rain dissolved her words into useless droplets of water, spat out of her trembling lips. Crying was inevitable. Why not when the sky seemed to be weeping too?
God, this couldn’t be happening? She was only seventeen years old. Alice Wonder, the girl whom Lewis Carroll based his timeless bestseller upon. The girl who inspired many, and was supposed to have a great life ahead. The girl who’d brought joy and happiness to the children of Wonderland — and the world.
Again, she was about to stumble and fall on her way. It seemed like the slippery grass was conspiring to slow her down. The rain, too. Even the flowers rocked to the heavy wind, as if talking to her. Whispering: Don’t go, Alice. You won’t like what you will see. Just don’t do it.
Oxford’s perpetual mist of grey blurred her vision. It shaded the Victorian architecture of the university and morphed it into the creepy sight of a haunted mansion instead.
Don’t go in there, Alice! She thought she heard the flowers screaming at her now. What you will see will change you forever!
But she wouldn’t stop, though she was limping now. She had to see for herself.
“Lewis!” She managed to scream feebly.
Lewis stood by the door leading to the university’s choir room in Christ Church. He stood in his priest’s outfit, hands laced in front of him, collected in spite of the pouring rain. Silent and wise in spite of what had just happened.
But he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“What happened?” She asked, her hands flapping sideways, trying to help her balance on her weakening knees.
“Don’t come in here, Alice,” Lewis pleaded, still not meeting her eyes.
“Why?” She choked on the words, her eyes widening with morbid curiousity. “Is it real?”
“Just go away,” he said. “I’m begging you.”
“Why, Lewis? Why?” She knew why, but she had to ask. She had to pretend it didn’t happen. That what the March Hare had just told her was wrong. That the Inklings were wrong. It just didn’t happen.