by Cameron Jace
“It’s hard to believe but it does explain a few things,” I offer.
Tom is still processing. “Not everything, though it explains his fake affection for you. You’re simply his only hope to find the keys that could kill him. Once he gets them he will destroy them.”
I say nothing. It’s hard to fully theorize the Pillar’s motives, but it definitely is somewhere close to Tom’s speculations.
“The real irony would be that he is using the same technique you used with him in Wonderland.” Tom laughs awkwardly. “You pretended to be his friend to get your revenge. Now he is doing the same to you. What a sneaky, smoke-puffing mastermind.”
“I’m surprised you believe it,” I tell Tom. “You’re the last one I expected to buy into this theory.”
“You should thank Inspector Dormouse for that.”
“Dormouse? Why?”
“He contacted me a few days ago, seeking help with chasing the Pillar.”
“I’m not following. What happened?”
“A long story short, it all has to do with the number 14,” Tom began. “Turns out Professor Pillar didn’t just kill twelve people before arriving to the asylum, but fourteen.”
“What are you talking about?”
Tom recites his adventures with Inspector Dormouse in detail. How they found out that the Pillar killed fourteen people in a ritual to have fourteen lives, akin to the Cheshire’s nine. He tells me about Dormouse chasing the Pillar in the hospice, and that the Pillar probably killed him.
“So Dormouse isn’t just asleep somewhere?” I say. “The Pillar killed him?”
“Most probably,” Tom says. “We’ve been played, dear Alice. Pilla da Killa deserves an all-time Oscar for best performance in a supporting role by the Academy of Lunatics of the World.”
I blink a couple of times, unable to comprehend the revelation.
“If he is really your father, then you’re a descendant of evil itself,” Tom says. “No wonder you’re half as evil as him.”
I ignore the comment and ask the most important question at the moment. “Then why do you think he asked to meet me in here?”
“That, my dear Alice, is a question that I don’t think even Einstein could answer.”
But the answer came, faster than expected, in a most brutal way.
I watch the March Hare suddenly storm into the cell. He is panting, sweating, half of his old-man’s upper torso bending over. He rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“March.” I pat him. “What are you doing here?”
“Now that’s what I really need.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Another lunatic in my asylum.”
“Shut up.” I elbow him. “March, are you all right?”
“I am, Alice. I am,” The March says, straightening up. “It’s you who I’m worried about.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, Alice.” The March pulls out his phone, scrolls down to show me something.
This is when I begin to have an idea of the Pillar’s new game.
“You sent me this message, Alice,” The March says. “You said I have to immediately meet you in the Radcliffe Asylum. You said: “It’s happening.”
11
Buckingham Palace, London
The Queen and Margaret anxiously awaited the message they had been promised. Nothing came, so they killed time by watching the BBC news. Margaret had assumed that maybe the message would be part of the national news. Again, nothing of importance.
The BBC was covering the Vatican’s news. After the Chessmaster had brutally killed the pope on live TV a few days back, they were pressured to elect a new one right away. Masses gathered in the piazza outside St. Peter’s, awaited the announcement.
“What’s so important about this new pope?” The Queen asked, standing close to her bed, making sure Humpty’s head wouldn’t roll out and expose her in front of Margaret.
“There is a rumor that the people want the new pope to be stronger than the last one,” Margaret said.
“Stronger? How?” The Queen chuckled. “They want a Kung Fu pope?”
“Actually, it’s something like that. The people want a kickass pope, one who’d stand up to terrorists like the Chessmaster.”
“That’s absurd,” The Queen said. “All popes have to be wusses.”
Margaret’s eyes glimmered with shock. “I can’t believe you just said that. It’s insulting.”
“But it’s the truth. Popes and religious idols have to play nice all the time,” Said the Queen. “I agree with the people that it’s time to have a cruel pope. Do you think Donald Trump is a good idea?”
Margaret rolled her eyes, looked away, and resisted spitting back at the person she hated most in the world but ended up working for; which was a common feeling among employees, almost everywhere.
“So what about your messenger?” The Queen changed the subject.
“We’ll have to wait.”
“He couldn’t possibly know about the happening.”
“We can’t risk dismissing him. I heard Alice was told about her family by the Chessmaster.”
“She knows?”
“Not everything, but once she does, it’s going to get bloody.”
Carolus suddenly burst into the chamber, holding out a note. “Second message has arrived.”
The Queen snatched it from his hands immediately. “Did you see who sent it?”
“Couldn’t. Someone slipped it underneath the door by the guards.”
“What does it say?” Margaret asked the Queen.
“It’s more of a joke,” The Queen puffed. “This is nonsense.”
“Just tell me what it says.” Margaret snatched the note from her.
The Queen watched her ferocious assistant read with disappointment. She waited until she saw Margaret looking back at her, and enjoyed the disappointment in her eyes, too.
The second message simply said to wait for the third message…
12
Radcliffe Asylum
I watch Tom jump up and down in anger after hearing the March speak.
“I knew it!” He says. “The Pillar would have never asked to meet you here. It’s another one of his games.”
“Why gather us all here?” The March wonders.
“He’s got a point,” I say. “The Pillar could have just asked the March to be here as well.”
“Then who’s invited you two here? And why?” Tom pops down another pill. He seems to really fear the Pillar now. “Who’d want you here in the asylum? And why hasn’t the Pillar shown up yet.”
I cut the chitchat by dialing the Pillar’s number again. This time it’s out of reach. What’s going on?
“Could it be a new Wonderland Monster?” The March suggests. “Playing some personal game with us?”
I say nothing. I have no speculations.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Tom dashes out of the cell, walks the halls and climbs up the stairs.
The March and I follow.
Inside his office I watch him flip through news channels, looking for a clue. Most channels are covering the new pope’s arrival in the Vatican. None of it has anything to do with us in the asylum.
“Maybe we’re reading too much into this,” I suggest. “Let’s wait for the Pillar.”
“As if he is coming,” Tom says.
“If he is really after the Six Keys, then he will still want to meet with me,” I say. “Since when does the Pillar disappear for long?”
“Alice,” The March shoots me a worried look. “Are we going to be all right?”
I pull him closer and pat him again. “We will. Don’t worry.”
“Because I should be looking after Fabiola if I’m of no use here.”
“How is she?” My question is sucked away by the sudden noise outside Tom’s office. It seems like many wardens want in.
“What’s going on?” Tom shouts behind the closed door.
“Something is wrong. Really wrong.”
“What is it?” Tom tenses, even more.
“Check out the outside surveillance cameras,” someone says behind the door. “They’re all over the asylum.”
“Who is?” Tom mumbles, switching his TV channel to surveillance.
And there we see it. It doesn’t make sense — as if anything does anymore. The March, Tom, and I are staring at the police force in every shape and form surrounding the asylum’s four corners. Some of them are ready with their guns and rifles pointed at the building.
“What in madness’ name is happening here?” Tom gapes at the screen, staring at it.
“Whatever it is, the message was right,” I say. “It’s happening.”
13
Buckingham Palace, London
“…on the back!” Margaret told the Queen. “It’s an absurd joke. The messenger is telling us to find the third message on the back of the note.”
Furious, the Queen snatched the note back and read:
Switch your TV channels until you find news about what’s happening at the Radcliffe Asylum. Enjoy.
“Nothing’s happening in the asylum,” Margaret said, switching channels. But then one channel showed it.
The Queen glued herself to the screen, not quite comprehending what was going on. The news line at the bottom explained very little.
Margaret said, “It says the British police and Interpol are about to catch the most threatening terrorist organization in the world.”
“What kind of bonkers is that?” The Queen said. “How did I not know about this? What am I, the Queen of Bed and Breakfast?”
“That’s not the point,” Margaret said, raising the volume. “Why would our police think the terrorists are in the Radcliffe Asylum? I’m not quite sure what’s going on.”
The Queen said, “The real question is: who is your messenger, and how did he know about this?”
14
The Radcliffe Asylum
Eyes wide, I watch the police about to attack the asylum from Tom’s surveillance cameras. It all feels like judgment day or something. Not one reasonable explanation crosses my mind. All I know is that I’m terribly scared.
“Look!” Tom points at the news channel, covering our situation. “They think we’re terrorists.”
“Wonderland Monsters, to be precise,” I say, listening to the host.
It seems that, in some ironic twist, Interpol is convinced that the Mushroomers – including me and the March – in the asylum are responsible for every terrorist attack in the last few months. They claim that Wonderland Monsters is a codename for terrorists. That every monster in the past weeks worked for one organization, which is based in the asylum.
Dazed and confused, I’m listening to the host.
“After Inspector Dormouse’s mysterious disappearance, the British police discovered the inspector’s detailed notes,” She says. “Inspector Dormouse was chasing after the greatest terrorist organization in the world. An Interpol trusted source said, ‘We’re not talking ISIS; we’re talking those whom ISIS works for.’ This is a lunatic organization who call themselves Wonderlanders. They think this world needs to be corrected, and are not only determined to hurt us, but to execute their mission in comical matters that would make them laugh at us.”
I’m exchanging unbelievable glances with Tom Truckle, who just spilled his stash of pills on the floor.
“ISIS works for us?” He says with a raised eyebrow. “I mean they’re loons, but work for us?”
“It’s nonsense, but what about Dormouse thinking we’re terrorists. Do you know anything about that?”
“Of course he didn’t,” Tom says. “He’s been after the Pillar. I wonder why no one’s mentioned this.”
“So whoever sent me the message, collaborated with Interpol, thinking we’re terrorists?”
“We’ve been ambushed, dear Alice,” Tom says. “And I bet it’s the Pillar. He’s decided to sell us out.”
“Why would he do that if he is after the Six Keys?”
“Maybe he found them already. Who cares?” Tom continues listening to the host. So do I.
“The terrorists are an organization two centuries old,” She says. “They call themselves Mushroomers, and they hide in asylums all over the world, pretending they’re mad. Interpol’s representative says it’s been a brilliant plan. He has also confirmed their responsibility for at least six terrorist attacks, including the murdered girls with grins sewn to their faces, the so called Muffin Man almost poisoning us, the Hatter who’d implanted a bomb in a rabbit, the hookahs sold which were about to kill everyone, and the Chessmaster’s mass murders last week. Those, among many other small incidents here and there.”
“This is so messed up,” I say.
“Conspiracy theory 101,” Tom says. “Connect the dots to a few incidents, attach them to a few introverts, and whoa, you’ve got yourself a story to persuade the world.”
We keep on listening. The last part raises the stakes and tells me we’re in grave danger. The host says, “It’s not really known who are the Mushroomers’ leaders. But Dr. Tom Truckle is definitely a conspirator, helping them with a hiding place. An insane man who’d recently escaped a highly secure asylum called The Hole, and is known by the name of Professor Jittery, and codename March Hare, is their mastermind, having designed numerous landscapes where they hide their weapons of destruction.”
The March Hare’s ears tense. His eyes roll sideways and his shoulder tighten. “I did that?” He wonders, almost believing it. “I mean, there is a lot I’ve forgotten about my past, but what are weapons of mass destruction?”
“Shut up!” Tom can’t take it anymore.
I continue listening, already knowing the next name on the list: “Thirdly, comes a disturbed girl by the name of Alice Pleasant Wonder — not pleasant at all, if you ask me.” The host chuckles and flips her expensive hair extensions back onto her shoulders. “Alice Wonder is the most wanted on the list at the moment, repeatedly seen near destructive events, and so-called Wonderland Monsters. Britain’s CCTVs prove that,” — a montage of footage showing me near every catastrophe I’ve helped stop is broadcasted, but interpreted as if I were the terrorist. “This girl killed her entire group of classmates in a bus accident a few years back, an incident which seemed to cover a greater act of terrorism.”
The news channel switches to Edith and Lorina talking about me
“I mean, we’re her sisters. We’ve always known she was troubled, but we did our best. Trust me, we treated her so nicely. Gave her our clothes and celebrated her birthdays and have been so kind to her,” Edith says.
“So, so kind!” Lorina comments.
“But we never knew she was a terrorist,” Edith continues.
The pain hits harder when Jack shows up on the screen. “She is a terrible girl. I can’t even explain how evil she is.”
For a moment, I pretend I’m strong enough to handle this. I swallow hard and stand up straight, thinking my physical body would help my inner emotions to stand strong. But I am wrong. My knees give up on me and I drop to the floor.
15
White Hearts Hospital, Oxford.
Fabiola couldn’t fathom what was going on. Glued to her TV screen, events were taking place too fast for her. Even Lewis Carroll’s spirit next to her seemed confused.
“Is this what you really came to warn me of?” She asked him.
“I had a feeling things would take a bad turn,” He said, pointing at the screen. “But I never imagined this.”
“What exactly is ‘this’?” The rabbit in his pocket asked, munching on a carrot.
“Someone framed them — I mean us — for being the terrorists threatening the world?” Fabiola said, listening to the host announcing every incident the Interpol — and the FBI — thought the Mushroomers were responsible for. “The bombing in France? The shooting in Orlando? This is utter nonsense.”
“This is Black Chess,” Lewis said. “They decided to turn the world against the Inklings by playing a cal
culated game.”
“So someone faked those facts to persuade the authorities?” Fabiola said.
“Exactly. And now we’re going to be public enemy number one. We’re going to be forced to clash with the public, whom we’re actually trying to protect from Black Chess.”
“That’s some devious plan, Lewis. Who do you think is behind it?”
Lewis refrained from answering, but the words were already on the tip of her tongue. “Him?”
Lewis nodded, though not entirely confident about it. “Who else would it be?”
“Why now?”
“Why not?”
“Because he could have played such a dirty game from the beginning. Why now, Lewis?”
“Maybe the Six Keys don’t mean anything to him anymore. He’s decided to destroy the Inklings because he doesn’t need us.”
“Things can’t be so easy,” Fabiola argued. “This war is much more complicated than this. Something is very wrong here.”
Lewis took a moment, rubbing his chin. “What if it has to do with Alice?”
“Meaning?”
“She’s about to find out the truth about her family, which means her anger might be unstoppable. She will become an unmatched threat to Black Chess.”
“You mean they decided to get rid of her — and us — afraid they won’t be strong enough to match her outrage?”
“It’s the only reason I can think of.”
“If so, then why fabricate the story of the asylum being the center of terrorism?”
Lewis faced Fabiola ever so slowly, enough to give her time to get it. “I think Alice is inside. Someone’s managed to pull her in and fabricate this whole conspiracy thing to get the police to kill her. I’m starting to really believe it’s Him.”