by Cameron Jace
“Happy? That’s brilliant.”
“But I feel happy without a reason to be happy.”
“Don’t be embarrassed about it. Only adults are so messed up that they rationalize the need to have a reason for being happy,” I say. “What happens next?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just here with you, Alice. We’re having fun, playing, and doing nonsense. Like every other day in Wonderland.”
“Ah.” I nod agreeably. He thinks he is in Wonderland. “Another happy day in Wonderland.”
“Though, you look a bit too old today,” he laughs.
“I haven’t slept for some time.” I have to play along. The writing has an effect on him, and it’s important to keep up with him.
“Do you think we can go visit the Hatter?” the March asks eagerly.
“Hatter?” I say. “You know where he lives?”
The March laughs uncontrollably. “You’re funny, Alice.”
“I am. Aren’t I?” I try to act like the Alice he has in mind. From the books, maybe. His mind is now in Wonderland. I don’t want to lose this connection, because it means, if I play along smoothly, he will remember the things he’d forgotten with the shock therapy in The Hole. The March is free right now. He doesn’t give two craps about the light bulb in his head.
“Of course you are. Silly, too,” the March says. “You know the Hatter has no house. He lives everywhere and anywhere.”
“Then how can we find him?” Please stay where you are March. Don’t break the connection. This might be the chance to know everything I need to know.
“Alice!” He nudges me. “Stop teasing me. We’ve been through this before. To find the Hatter you have to look for a tea party. That’s the trick.”
“Of course.” I nudge him back. “Was just teasing you, fool. So why not go look for the tea party?”
“Really?” The heartbreaking glimmer shines on his old face again.
“What else do we have to do? Let’s go.”
The March is ready to stand up but stops half way, his face paling all of a sudden.
“What’s wrong?”
He starts shaking violently. “Can’t you see, Alice?”
“See what?” I follow his gaze, but only see the cell’s wall. How I wish I could see through his eyes.
“It’s…” He points at someone coming. Someone who isn’t there now. Someone from a very old memory. “It’s…”
“Who? March? Who do you see?”
“The one I fear the most. I have to hide.” He buries his head in his hands. “You need to hide as well, Alice. Hide!”
“Hide from whom?” I shake him, fearing what I can’t see. Fearing a terrible memory. One I should not have forgotten.
“Hide, Alice, hide. Or he will hurt us. Hurt your family. Hurt the children.”
“Children?” I say. “Who are you so afraid of, March?”
“Him, Alice. HIM. Who else?”
64
The Vatican
“I really dig him,” a teenager in a skirt, taking selfies of Angelo Cardone, told her friends. “I mean this is the coolest pope ever.”
“I’m glad we missed the Lady Gaga concert to come see him,” her friend chirped.
The masses in the piazza weren’t praying or visiting. They weren’t even witnessing an honorable ceremony and welcoming the new pope. They were dancing to James Brown’s music. And on the balcony above, the new pope was the star of the show.
“Stop!” Angelo said, taking a breath, looking more like Mick Jagger for a second. “Enough with the dancing.”
The crowd dived into a haze of silence.
“We can always dance more later,” Angelo said as the music stopped. “Now, we have work to do.”
The crowd listened.
“I’m sure you all have heard about the Queen’s assassination.” He cruised the balcony like a preacher selling used bibles. “The world is sucked into madness.”
The crowd agreed.
“Since the arrival of those Wonderland Monsters, we can no longer live our daily lives in peace.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer sleep in peace.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer feel safe with our kids in school.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer trust our neighbors; in case they are a terrorist thinking they are from Wonderland. I mean, to hell with Wonderland!”
“Yeah!”
“Who are they to judge the world we live in? It’s all a scam. They aren’t from Wonderland. They have no message to pass across. They’re just killers. Psychos. They’re just mad!”
“Mad! Mad! Mad!”
“We want to get our lives back!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to have our peace back!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to party!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to have fun!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to drink all night!”
The crowd was a bit reluctant. They exchanged looks. Were they supposed to admit that out loud? A conservative woman shouted, “Nah!” But the crowd heard a ‘Yeah’. People always heard what they wanted to hear.
“Yeah!” They finally hailed.
“We want to play games all night!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to be rich!”
“Yeah!”
“We don’t want to pay taxes!”
“Yeah.”
“In fact, we prefer not to work!”
“Yeah.”
“We’d love it if the governments just pay us for being there!”
“Yeah.”
Angelo stopped and stared his fans in the eyes. “And what’s stopping us.”
“The terrorists!”
“Here you are.” He raised his hands sideways. “Wanting so much but doing so little.”
The crowd seemed confused.
“But how about if I offer you a new solution?” Angelo said. “How about if I offer you a way out of your miserable lives?”
The crowd was all ears now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Angelo said. “I have the solution against madness. All I ask of you is to listen with an open heart.”
65
The Radcliffe Asylum
I’m about to lose the March for good, even before the police decide to barge in and kill us in less than two hours.
He is lying on his back, shivering and kicking like a mad child. He cups his ears, trying not to listen to His voice. Then shuts his eyes tight, hoping it will snap him out of his scary Wonderland memories.
In spite of my demanding need to enter his head and learn about my past through his memories, I end up doing the total opposite. I realize I cherish the March’s friendship too much to sacrifice anything else.
“Calm down, March.” I grip his hand tight. “You don’t have to continue the memory. Just snap out of it.”
“I can’t,” he screams. “It won’t leave me alone. It won’t.”
At least he is now aware of the situation. Earlier, he’d been so immersed in it he thought it was real. “You can.” I insist. “Just open your eyes and look at me.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“Think of it. If Him, I mean the Pillar, is scaring you in the memory then he isn’t here in the room. In real life.”
“What did you say?” His hands cup his ears again. It seems as if he’s affected by a loud noise from the memory.
I pull his hands away. “Listen to me! It’s just hallucinations. You’re safe here with me.”
“It’s a memory, not hallucinations, Alice. I’m trying to remember as much as I can.” The March tilts his head and glares at me. “And I’m not really safe with you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He shrugs. “You’ve done terrible things with Him.”
“I know.” How many times do I have to apologize for my past? “But I’m not that Alice anymore
. I will take care of you. Want me to hide the writing on the wall? I think it’s what’s influencing your pain.”
The March relaxes a little. He props himself up and combs his white hair back with his hands. “Alice?”
“Yes, March?”
“How much time do we have left?”
“Not sure, but it’s less than two hours.”
“How about Constance?”
I look at the floor. “We’ve lost contact.”
“Poor Constance.”
“It’s my fault. But I won’t lose hope. Maybe she’s still alive.”
“I hope so, too,” he says. “But now that we have a little time left, I’ll have to ask you to do something terrible.”
“What?” I grimace.
“Listen to me.” He sounds like a child, but a saner one, full of wisdom. It’s strange. “I’m free of my memory’s influence now.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“And I haven’t seen enough.”
“It’s okay. I was selfish asking you to remember more.”
“No, you weren’t, because it helped me realize something. Actually, remember something, from my days in The Hole.”
“Like what?”
“I never lost my memories due to the shock therapy,” he says.
My heart slows down. I have a feeling he is going to drop a bomb on me. “Then what was it?”
“Lullaby pills,” the March says. “They fed them to me. Countless amounts. I remember thinking they were M&M’s or something. Sweetened lullaby pills.”
“Who gave them to you?”
“No one.”
“You lost me. I’m not following.”
“I gave them to me. It’s not clear why or what happened. But the memory of feeding myself the pills in The Hole attacked me while remembering Wonderland as a child. It all meshed together.”
“I wish you knew why.”
“I think I have an idea.” The March’s eyes show my reflection in them. Seeing myself, I remember his words: I will ask you to do something terrible.
“What is it?”
“I think I swallowed the pills after Black Chess installed the light bulb in my head.”
I’m not sure how to process that. I’ve never actually considered the light bulb to be real. “What are you trying to tell me, March?”
“I want you to access the memories in my head, Alice.” He pulls my hands near and pats them. “Please.”
“I’m not going to allow you to read the writing on the wall again.”
“Actually you will have to do worse,” he says. “Time is running out. I need you to dig into my head.”
“Worse like what?”
“Forget about the writing. I know how to get my memories back.”
Suddenly, I think I know what he is asking me. “No,” I say firmly, without even listening.
“Yes.” He squeezes my hands. “I may be a child inside, but my physical body is that of an old man. I don’t think I can handle the escape or whatever the police do when they enter.”
“We could always still push the button and lock ourselves in here.”
“Forever?” the March says. I feel like he is the adult, and I’m the child who needs convincing now. “You know you’re destined for much bigger things than a bunker for the rest of your life, Alice.”
I’m fighting the tears. Shaking my head. “No, I won’t do it.”
“It’s the only way. The shock therapy didn’t make me forget. It’s the opposite, if used on me, I’d remember things. That’s why they’ve used it on you too. They wanted you to remember the things they were looking for.” He stops for a breath. “If you want me to remember, Alice, you have to send me to the Mush Room and do to me what Waltraud did to you.”
66
The Tunnels
“Do you trust this map?” Constance asked the Dude. As much as she was risking her life, and others, by trusting this stranger, she had no other choice. He’d shown her tunnels she could finally walk through instead of crawl. Besides, his red cloak showed bright enough to light the way ahead.
“It’s an old map,” he said. “When the asylum was designed for war. The tunnels were meant for its inhabitants to escape. I’m not sure how much they’ve changed through the years.”
“So we’re like the blind following the blind?”
“Pretty much,” he said and seemed determined to keep on walking.
“I’m Constance,” she called out behind him. “But you know that already. How do you know me?”
“That’s a long story, kiddo.” He stopped at puddle of water and knelt down.
“Don’t call me kiddo.” She knelt beside him. “I’m tens of girls in one body.”
“That’s true. You’re brave,” he said, reaching for the water.
Constance wished she could see his face. She was so curious about him.
“But there is one thing wrong about you, brave girl,” he said.
“Nothing is wrong about me.” She had her hands on her waist.
“There is.” He scooped up the water and splashed it on her face.
Constance froze, not from the water, but from how she considered it an insult.
The Dude splashed her again. This time, her clothes. Again and again.
“Stop!”
“You smell like shit,” he said. “Of actual shit.”
Constance’s mouth was full of water. She was soaking wet, and could not do anything before he was finished. But he was right, she’d smelled of shit from crawling into the tunnels.
“See?” he said with a smirking voice. “You’re a pretty little mermaid now.” He stood up and walked away again, following the map.
“I’m not little!” Constance stomped after him. “And I’m not a mermaid.”
“From what I see, I have to kneel down to talk to you,” the Dude said, still examining his map on the walk.
Constance had no come back for that. She was much shorter. But then she’d decided to play stubborn. “Maybe it’s you who is too tall. Pathetic.”
She heard the Dude chuckle but couldn’t see his face. She gripped the edge of his cloak and he stopped.
“What now?” he sighed.
“If we’re going to be a team, I demand respect.”
“But of course, Nancy Drew.”
“I’m not Nancy Drew, you tall red giraffe!”
“I’m a tall red giraffe?” The Dude seemed to lose his temper, as if he were a child too. “Do you have any idea what I did to come here and save your little ass?”
“It’s not little ass. Just ass.”
The Dude threw his hands up and sighed, then turned back. “You’re something. I don’t believe I came here to save you.”
“Who sent you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just follow me and try to keep your mouth shut.”
“I will not. I crawled in a narrow tunnel full of shit. What did you do?”
“I haven’t done anything yet, but I might have to end up zipping your mouth with a binder. Or better yet, pull out all of your teeth, so you can grow old exponentially and finally shut up.”
They suddenly stood before another dead end wall. The Dude crumpled the map in his hands and grunted.
Constance laughed. “Another dead end. And you say you came here to save me. What was your plan actually?”
“According to the map, there is a door, leading to a secret room in the asylum.”
“So? We find the door and get back in. Brilliant!” She mirrored his grunt, even the way he stood.
“The door leads to the room, but also leads back to another opposite door which opens into the river,” the Dude said. “It’s a short swim and we can escape from where the police never thought was possible. I just need to find the door.”
67
The Mush Room
Dragging the March Hare to the Mush Room is sinful. Unforgivable. I’m not sure why my legs allow me to go the distance or why my head allows me the possibility.
“What are you doing, Alice?” Tom appears out of nowhere.
“The March thinks he can remember if exposed to the torture of shock therapy,” I reply while the March willingly lays himself on the table.
“What a brilliant idea!” Tom mocks us. “We only have an hour and a half left. I’m contemplating whether to push the button or not, and you’re here having fun.”
“Does that look fun to you?” I pull him from his collar and drag him to a corner against the side of the room. “I’m about to shock my best friend.”
“Best friend, huh!” Tom is losing his temper. He too is scared with the ticking clock in the back of our heads. “All mad people are friends, I suppose.”
“You’re a piece of…” I push him back against the wall.
“You shouldn’t be swearing, Alice,” the March, in his child’s persona again, says.
“That’s why I shut up.” I pat him. “Are you comfortable laying here?”
He chuckles. “That’s a neat question. Asking a man if he’s comfortable in his grave.”
I chuckle back in masked pain. It’s hard to understand whether the March is a man or a child sometimes. It seems like the two personas come and go. But aren’t we all both child and adult inside?
“You will need to strap my feet and hands down, Alice,” he says.
“How do you even know that?”
“I’ve been shocked before. Don’t remember when, but someone was trying to get the information out of my head. When I said strap, I really mean chain. But I don’t want to freak myself out.” He stares at the ceiling like someone who’s expecting a needle in the buttocks and looks away.
Chaining him, I see his limbs stiffen. I pat him again, but it has no effect on him. I wonder if I have the courage to sacrifice myself for a bigger cause like him.
“Now you have to put the cap on my head. The one with the six screws,” he says, still looking up.
Tom beats me to it and pulls it out of the wardrobe. “May I?” He makes the March wear it. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
The darker, messed up inner Tom surfaces. I’d once heard that some men apply to the military not to serve their country, but to scratch an itch of wanting to kill and harm others. Sometimes I wonder about people who work in asylums like Tom. Maybe they aren’t here to help, but to scratch an itch. An insane one.